#fallen premonitions

[moongothic]

Honestly I think crocodile/dragon and crocodile/Doflamingo are only interesting when treated as failed relationships spinning off into increasingly petty grudges and instigations. Become a warlord to piss off one ex by working with his hated father only for the OTHER ex to ALSO become a warlord to drive you insane. Etc.

I am now going to take his as an opportunity to rant about Dragodile because I unironically think it's an interesting ship if Crocodad Real and I don't think I'm ever going to find a better excuse to rant about it unprompted lmao SO HERE WE GO

But yes like. Dragodile is so fucking interesting to me

A marine and a pirate falling in love with each other is already some starcrossed lovers kinda BS. But then it's like, a FORMER marine and pirate who is WORKING FOR THE GOVERNMENT. That's EXTRA JUICY, it adds layers to the starcrossed lovers shit, and I am not immune to it, it's FACINATING, like what was the dynamic here

But also we don't even know when Dragon left the marines and when he and Crocodile first met, so for all we know it could've been some real enemies-to-lovers-to-enemies shit AND THAT'S SO INTERESTING

(Also the mere concept that Dragon could've been chasing Crocodile around kinda like Smoker tried to chase Luffy, only for Crocodile to become a Shichibukai and Dragon having to give up because they're on the same side now (kinda). Like. That is so fucking funny. And then he leaves the Marines to start a revolution. Or just out of spite dshgjdgs)

Then there's the absolutely hysterical part where Crocodile is the meanest, most intimidating, standoff-ish asshole around. So the idea Dragon was fucking into that is INCREDIBLE. THIS MAN LIKES BEING BULLIED DFSHFKGHFGJHDS (It's possible Young Croc might've been less mean but it's funnier if he wasn't)

And yeah. Somehow. In complete secret. A romance blooms.

And then there's a baby.

And Crocodile transes his gender.

And there's a divorce.

And 17 years later Crocodile has commited dozens of unforgivable warcrimes that are almost exactly the kind of things Dragon wanted to stop the government from doing to begin with.

Mind you, I don't actually think there's coming back from that, this relationship was burned to the ground and the ashes blown away by wind, there is nothing left

But could you imagine if despite the anger and the hurt and the warcrimes they still somehow loved each other

I would just

[thegreatyin]

goddamn that fallen london song IS good. the wordplay makes my brain itch

[decoysouled]

unprompted asks // accepting. @resolutepath // "Monsieur Neuvillette..." A wave follows Sigewinne's words as she crosses the space between them now that he has finished his conversation with the Duke, her other hand cradling the special beverage she has created just for him. "You looked tired so I made you this... I hope you're not working yourself too hard!" A firm stare follows as the Melusine studies the Iudex, caring fiercely about his health and wanting to see him doing well.

EXHAUSTION IS UNBECOMING OF THE IUDEX — any shred of personal desire, mortal need or personal relationships was to be quelled as soon as a wish for any of them arose within his chest. The image he must uphold leaves no room to wish for rest when he has fallen behind on paperwork due to a long week, nor is there any time to write to the few people he may describe as personal associates ( for even he will admit his relationships are not all simply within the bounds of professionalism, much to both his & dismay ), regardless of his wishes to.

( there is no room for his own desires when fontaine & its people rest on the other side of the scales. )

Perhaps if it were anyone else who had noticed, Neuvillette might have simply straightened his posture & denied his tiredness. Yet, he could not find it within himself to lie to Sigewinne ( or any of the melusines, for that matter ) like he might have if it were anyone else asking — depending on the person, admitting his exhaustion could lead to anything from a rather eccentric lecture to being dragged into an impromptu tea party; both of which he would much rather avoid.

( & despite his complaints, he is the first to admit he is rather fond of both those things. )

He is, at the very least, glad that the duke had seemed none the wiser to his tiredness during their conversation — then again, he would not discount the idea that Wriothesley had already known & simply neglected to mention it, for their conversation had been cut shorter than usual. He should have known better than to believe he could have fooled both him & Sigewinne, however. A pity.

❝I suppose that I may be slightly weary.❞ He concedes, voice unwavering despite its soft edges, reserved only for the melusines & a select few people. ❝Do not fret, Miss Sigewinne, I will perfectly fine once I allocate some time for rest. I cannot deny that I may be, as you stated, working myself too hard.❞ It is a confession that would never see the light of day, he hopes, for he cannot allow anyone to believe he does not have the time for his work.

( even with this increased workload, he must not allow anyone to realise that he is unable to keep up, or surely the faith of the people in his judgements would be shaken. )

❝I will do better.❞ He adds, albeit it is less of a commitment & more of an afterthought, an attempt at reassurance. Perhaps it is very human of him, to give these empty platitudes — how unbecoming, Neuvillette thinks, of someone who is not human at all. He is gentle, of course, as he reaches for the drink she offers, looking at it for a minute as if uncertain of whether he should actually consume it.

( he has heard wriothesley's complaints of her milkshakes many a time, albeit he is unsure whether the man refers to them as desolation because they are tasteless or because they leave great unhappiness in their wake. he has never thought to ask. )

❝I highly appreciate the gift, although I do apologise that I have concerned you so greatly.❞ He has never been one to refrain from expressing gratitude to someone else, although he is uncertain of whether it might be appropriate in these circumstances, considering his unfounded lack of desire to actually drink it, in case their shared companion is correct. Nonetheless, he finds himself taking a sip of the drink, hoping for the best.

It is not quite as bad as he had prepared himself for.

❝Perhaps if you have the time, Miss Sigewinne...❞ He pauses for a moment, as if thinking of how he might phrase his next request. It is, after all, unbecoming of the Iudex to have personal desires, including the desire to spend time with someone else, regardless of who that person may be. When he next speaks, it is with calculated words & a tone of conviction. ❝Would you be partial to informing me of your own wellbeing while I drink this... healthy concoction of flavours that you have created?❞

[ozzgin]

Heyyy just checked your masterlist and saw that despite you being into obey me! fandom, you don't have a fic. I'm married to Solomon in my mind so how about a situation where the reader (fem or gn your pick) is equally in love with this old man and begs him to recreate that time potion which made him immortal. Oh? Did i mention i want him to be a yandere? Please do that as well ^^

I love me my morally grey wizard ;)

I have 3 unfinished drafts for Diavolo, Barbatos and Satan on my Wattpad, but it was around the time I started getting Baki related requests here so I haven’t had the time to continue them. This goes for everyone reading, if you see a fandom title with no works you can always request something! :) This blog is only a few months old and I wasn’t writing much before (twice or thrice a year if I was generously inspired), so the variety is rather limited still. (I also finish requests at the pace of a snail, sorry about that)

Yandere! Solomon x Reader Headcanons

Featuring your fellow human classmate and now soon-to-be husband who couldn’t be happier about your wish to spend an eternity with him.

Content: gender neutral reader, obsessive behavior

It started rather subtle. Just idle curiosity at first, a mere feigned surprise that was quickly swept aside for more important matters. Sure, Diavolo bringing another fellow human to the Devildom, especially one without any powers, was at least mildly intriguing. Your situation was as tempting as a puzzle to fiddle with in between tasks. Beyond polite offers to help you handle the new challenging environment, Solomon was not planning on prying further. Then the surprises begun to queue one after another. To think that you had barely learned your way around and somehow still forged a contract with one of the devilish siblings. Then another. And another. Fascination crept its way in and the greatest sorcerer found himself begging to learn more about the mysterious (Y/N).

Naturally such fascination should’ve had an intellectual grounding and nothing more. What is it about you that has caused such a ruckus across RAD? All he needed was an answer. Yet he discovered much too late how embarrassingly involved he’d become. Childishly clutching his D.D.D. in the middle of the night, wondering if you’ve already fallen asleep, and grinning when the screen lit up with a response from you. Cancelling all plans the instant you’d ask - casually - if he wanted to join you after class to check out a new café. No, of course he had nothing else to do. Yes, it’s definitely a lucky coincidence that he’s always available when you want to hang out with him.

Once he accepted he was madly in love with you, he began fretting over all possible obstacles. The demon brothers, life after RAD. He’d never engaged much with other humans and his charisma only covered superficial pleasantries. How was he to properly convey that he’s - mildly put - obsessed with you to the point where rejection won’t be taken lightly? Uh oh. Closer to a threat than a confession. Thankfully the Heavens were gracious and you immediately returned his affections. No need for potions or hexes (not that he would’ve…he had them prepared just in case). He remembers it to this day, years after, the wide, innocent smile that you so generously bestowed upon him. Almost like a premonition, he knew you’d be the person to marry. Something he never considered in his long, lonely life.

You lazily lift your hand and admire the ring again. Solomon is quite clumsy and forgetful, but he goes all out for the things that matter. The proposal had been planned to a dizzying amount of detail and you couldn’t believe how much thought he put into it, with many aspects you otherwise assumed he’d forget or omit. Yet staring at the intricately carved band adorning your finger now, you can’t help the pang of melancholy blooming in your chest. Solomon lifts his gaze from the book he’s reading, sensing your discomfort. “Something bothering you?” He inquires with a hint of worry in his voice. “What happens after the wedding?” You demand, turning to face him. “Oh my. I personally prefer to focus on the present.” He answers with a chuckle. “Sure, because you don’t have to worry about your future. It’s mine that will end at some point.” His eyes widen and his hands are suddenly cold. He’s been so entranced by your company that he didn’t even entertain the idea of a potential end to it. He almost strokes his cheek to soothe the hard slap of your words, leaving him in a frightened stupor.

Oh no. No, no, no. Within the blink of an eye he finds himself standing before the alchemy shelves, rattling the bottles for the right ingredients. You didn’t even need to mutter a word. He knew exactly what you’re thinking of. How shameful of him to have caused you this distress in the first place. You’re young, and time for him has lost its human meaning, so your mortality hadn’t crossed his mind this entire time. He would’ve found a solution for it later, most certainly, but he didn’t expect this postponement to make you so anxious. His lips are quivering and his slender fingers are visibly trembling. Partly from the fear of almost failing you as your future husband, partly from the excitement of what’s about to come. He always imagined there’d be nothing more beautiful and precious to witness than you in your wedding attire as you tie the knot. But now? Oh, how ravishingly tempting and seducing, the fact that he can listen to the mundanely repeated words of “Til death do us part” and stare down its meaning until there’s nothing left of it. Not quite. Not for you two. The veil will be lifted and your face will radiate eternity.

After all, nothing will stand between him and his fated soulmate. What’s death to a wizard of his caliber?

[sailor-aviator]

Fool's Fare: Chapter Eleven

Fool's Fare: Chapter Eleven

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it.

Content Warning: Loss of a parent, Crying, Premonitions, Anxiety, Bermuda Triangle, Insomnia, Running from the law, Near drowning, Near death experience, Sea monster, Cursing, Death, Mentions and brief description of blood, Magic. I think that's it, but please let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 3.5k

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

You had always had a feeling of otherness surrounding you, of that you were sure. You had a knack for predicting weather changes or which ships would come home when others wouldn’t. You had known when your father stepped foot out the door that fateful morning that you would never see him again.

You had chased after him, begging him to stay, to delay his departure. Your hands had gripped the fabric of his trousers as you sank to your knees before him, tears streaking down your face as you babbled and sobbed for him to not leave your side. Your father had crouched down next to you, a gentle hand on your head as you sniffled pathetically.

“What’s the matter,” he asked gently, thumb stroking away the drops of tears that fell from your eyes.

“Something,” you hiccuped, your bottom lip trembling, “something bad is going to happen. I can feel it. Please don’t go, Papa.”

“What could possibly go wrong?” He asked, but something in his voice sounded off. At the time, you hadn’t paid it much mind. You were in hysterics, after all, and that in and of itself was so unlike you. That inner sense of knowing had always kept you cool and collected, warning you away from danger or towards something joyful. Never had you felt that deep sense of foreboding, though. Like your whole world was about to be ripped out from under you at a moment’s notice.

“Everything will be alright, little minnow,” he smiled, blue eyes twinkling in the early morning light. “There’s a sort of magic that courses through your blood, always has been. Even if something happens to me, you’ll be just fine. I promise.”

It had taken Bradley pulling you away for your father to leave, and you watched from the docks as the silhouette of his ship disappeared past the horizon, a sense of foreboding clutching at your heart.

And it had been right, of course.

You had tried to hold on to his words, praying that he was right. Hoping beyond all hope that he would come home.

But he hadn’t.

You remembered how the ocean spray dotted your cheeks, much like how it did now. The Hangman dipped with the waves as you stared out over the rails. You weren’t sure why that memory was on your mind now, the ache still as strong within your chest as it was the day it found a home there, but perhaps it was due to the sense of foreboding that now pulled at the back of your neck, warning of something yet to come.

“We’re nearing the triangle, lads,” a crewman murmured, grizzled face glancing around almost conspiratorially. You paused on your way to the galley, ears perking at his words.

“Aye, and what about it?” Snapped his companion, a surly looking fellow with a dark beard.

“Don’t tell me you’ve not heard o’ the tales of the triangle,” the first man scoffed, giving the bearded fellow a rather unimpressed look. A moment passed as the two stared at one another.

“I thought e’ry good sailor knew about the legends of the sea,” he continued with a shake of his head. He clapped his companion on the shoulder, leaning in as if to tell him a secret. Several other crew members stopped what they were doing to listen in as well.

“The Bermuda Triangle,” the man started, his tone taking on a warning tone, “is home to all sorts o’ monsters and fiend. They say God himself cursed this bit o’ sea, sending all sorts o’ devilish creatures to live here where they mightn’t cause any trouble for the res’.”

“You’re full of shite,” guffawed one man, leaning back so far on his perch, he nearly fell to the deck below. The storyteller scowled at him as several others shook their heads almost knowingly.

“You’re laughin’ now,” the storyteller growled, shaking his finger at the man, “but mark my words, lad: several of ye will be doomed to live out this cursed existence at the bottom of the sea before we see land again.”

Several more men let out a loud chorus of laughter as the crowd began to disperse. The sense of foreboding sat heavy as you turned back towards the underbelly of the ship.

In the galley, Bob was already hard at work making that night’s supper. You slid in easily beside him, chopping away at some carrots as he messed with one of the pots.

“Alright, out with it,” he said after a few minutes. You paused, looking at him in confusion as he fixed you with a rather unamused look.

“What?” You asked, sliding the carrots off to the side as you grabbed for some potatoes. He rolled his eyes at you.

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” he scowled, waving the wooden spoon at you. “You came down here with this look on your face and haven’t said a word to me since. Now what’s got you in such a mood, hm?”

You chewed on your bottom lip, avoiding his keen eyes as you contemplated on how to answer. There truly was no reason for you to be feeling this way. Or at least, nothing new that should. Of course, the rapidly approaching deadline had been near the forefront of your mind for a while, but this was different. This sense of impending doom was more urgent, more…immediate.

You couldn’t tell him that, you just couldn’t. You already felt crazy, you didn’t need word to spread of your premonitions. Really, after everything that had already happened, you didn’t need accusations of witchcraft being thrown at you—not when you were so close to the end.

“The men were just talking about sea monsters, is all,” you lied. Bob scoffed, turning back to stir whatever he had bubbling away in the pot.

“Sea monsters,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “The things they come up with.”

“You don’t think they’re telling the truth?” You pressed, an arch to your brow as you slowly went back to cutting up the potatoes.

“I’d believe it more if they actually told the truth once in a while,” he snorted back at you.

“You’re the cook on a cursed ship where all but two of the crew members don’t even need to eat,” you hummed, “and you’re questioning the existence of sea monsters?”

There was a brief pause as Bob mulled over your words.

“Hurry up with the potatoes,” he grumbled, and you did your best to hide your smirk.

The evening passed much like any other, but still a feeling kept nagging at you, and the more time went on, the stronger it became. You laid in your bed that night, the rest of the crew having retreated for some shut eye as well. Only the watchman and the helmsman stayed awake, and though you tried, not even the slow, rhythmic rocking of the Hangman could lure you to sleep. Natasha snored quietly on the other side of the room, and you envied her in that moment. You tossed and turned helplessly as you willed yourself to get at least a few hours of sleep.

You finally gave up as the telltale signs of dawn crept through the window of your cabin, casting a faint, blue glow across the wood. You let out a heavy, tired sigh as you slowly sat up. The air was cool around you, and you couldn’t help the shiver that ran up your back. Natasha shifted on her bed, rolling over as you paused and waited for her to settle once more. After a moment’s hesitation, you slowly slipped out of bed and padded towards your chest, lifting the lid to reveal your meager belongings. You changed quickly, shooting glances at Natasha’s sleeping figure every so often to make sure you hadn’t woken her up. Your boots tapped against the floor as you padded towards the door, careful to keep the old wood from creaking as you slipped out.

Clouds covered the sky, a mist clinging to the air around you as you sucked in a lungful of briny, sea air. You peered behind you, smiling softly at the helmsman, Daniel, as he nodded your way.

Waves crashed against the hull, a familiar sound that brought you some sense of relief, no matter how small it may be. You walked towards the edge of the ship, grabbing on to one of the ropes as you leaned over the railing. The water below churned into white sea foam, the spray flying up to meet your cheek. The murky depths gave no hint as to what may lurk beneath, but the feeling within you pulsed ominously.

“Must be somewhere off the coast of Florida by now.”

You startled, head twisting to take in the sight of Jake just a few feet behind you. The wind whipped around you, twisting through your hair and obscuring your vision for a brief moment before you pushed it back.

“Are we?” you asked, turning back with a squint towards the water, as if it would help confirm what he told you. The wood echoed beneath his boots as he walked towards you, pausing just behind as the waves crashed against the hull.

“I’d expect so,” he replied, squinting his eyes at the horizon, as if the answer lay somewhere just out of sight. “If we aren’t, then we should be soon.”

You hummed, the silence between you stretching from moments to seconds to minutes. Jake cleared his throat, shifting closer to you. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, his gaze trained on you, and a slight shiver ran up your spine.

“What’s wrong?”

You glanced at him, a frown pulling on your lips at his question. His face was serious, lips pressed tightly together, a crease of worry on his brow as he studied you. You shook your head, turning away from him. How could you explain this feeling within you? How could you explain to him this sense of dread and foreboding that curdled in your stomach, urging you to run, to get away. Your lips parted like you wanted to answer, but no sound came out. Instead, you let out a frustrated sigh, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you contemplated how to explain.

“I don’t know,” you settled on finally, eyes shifting from the rolling waves to the hard wood underneath your feet. The air around you felt charged, like it did during a thunderstorm. The waves seemed to grow quiet as a heavy feeling dripped through your ribs to clutch at your heart.

Another pulse ripped through you, your breath catching in your throat. Several of the crew members were making their way up to the deck now, laughing and shouting orders at one another. You looked around wildly, your heart hammering in your chest much like it had on the siren’s isle.

“Something’s not right.” Your voice sounded small even to you. Jake watched with worry at his brow as you pushed off of the railing, pushing past a pair of crew members as you searched wildly for what, you weren’t sure. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to run, to hide, to do something.

“Sail ho!”

You looked skyward as the lookout above signaled towards the horizon. Jake cursed under his breath, already taking off in search of Javy. You peered towards the sea. Sure enough, you could just make out the distinct sight of white sails billowing in your direction. You searched for Jake, spying him on the top deck next to Javy, a telescope to his eye as he peered at the sails.

“It’s a hulk,” he spat, lowering the scope and shoving it back towards Javy. “Flying the Union Jack. Ready the sails and make haste! We’re going to outrun those redcoats.”

The crew began running around the ship, readying the sails and tying knots as they went. You moved to help them, stopping short as another pulse shot through you, stilling you instantly.

“Guppy!”

Bradley grabbed you by the arm, shaking you momentarily from your stupor.

“Bradley?” You questioned, unsure of yourself in that moment. He pursed his lips as he gave you a once over, pulling on your arm and leading you across the deck.

“Come on,” he ground out, letting go of your arm momentarily to tie a rope off on the mast. “Don’t just stand around, help!”

You blinked at him, the familiar sense of panic crawling its way under your skin and towards your chest.

“Bradley, I-”

“What are you waiting for?” He asked, a frown on his face as he turned to look at you. Confusion and irritation marred his face, and you swallowed thickly.

Before you could answer, a gust of wind burst across the deck, nearly knocking you over. Bradley grabbed onto you, steadying you on your feet as the ship rocked dangerously in the sudden onslaught of waves.

“What in the hell,” Bradley cursed, watching as various other crew members also stumbled and struggled to stay upright. Droplets started to rain down, soon becoming a downpour as thunder roared above you.

“Where did this storm come from?” He shouted.

“Guppy!”

You turned to see Jake scrambling towards you, shoving a couple of his men to the side in order to get to you quicker. His green eyes flashed with near panic as he slid to a stop in front of you.

“You need to get inside!” He shouted, voice barely audible over the roar of the waves and shouts of the other men. His hand landed on your bicep, turning to tug you towards the cabins. Before he could even take a step, a shadow fell over you, and you turned just in time to see a monstrous wave towering over the masts of the Hangman. Your eyes rounded in horror as shrieks of panic permeated the air.

“Watch out!” A man cried just as the wave began its decent. You sucked in a sharp breath as the water crashed down onto the decks with a deafening roar. You had no time to grab onto anything as the water slammed into you, knocking Jake’s hand loose as you were sent careening back. Your back hit the wall of the railing, knocking the air from your lungs only for it to be replaced with a mouthful of seawater.

The water quickly rescinded, leaving you choking and gasping for air. Your throat burned from the saltwater, your eyes stinging as you fought to focus your eyesight. Your head swam with fogginess caused by the force of the wave and your head bouncing off the wood. Your hand came up to cradle your forehead, willing the pulsing to stop so you could get your bearings. You were vaguely aware fo the chaos that surrounded you, the pulses of pain giving way to something more sinister. All at once the world became to intense—the waves too loud, the flashes of lightning too bright. The sensations began to grow stronger, your breaths coming out in pants as your heart began to hammer away in your chest.

Something was wrong…but what?

Hands grabbed you, hauling you up and to the side just as another wave crashed into the ship from behind you. You landed on the deck with a grunt, the blow of your landing only softened by the person underneath you. You tore your eyes open, looking up to see Jake already watching you.

“Are you alright?” He asked, voice a deep timbre as he helped you up to a sitting position.

“I-” Before you could answer, a shrill roar like the sound of breaking class pierced the air, chilling your blood in your veins and causing your heart to stop. You scrambled to your feet, Jake not far behind you as your attention turned towards the dark waters surrounding you. That heavy feeling of dread filled you once more as movement rippled beneath the surface. The air was unsettlingly silent, pulling at your throat and squeezing it tight. The storm had calmed some, but rain still fell down onto the deck, drenching you down to the bone.

More movement caught your eye, something circling the boat, and you watched as slowly, the waves parted. Scales flickered in the light peeking through the grey clouds, causing a rippling effect along the greenish blue scales of the serpent. It was easily bigger than the whole ship, towering above the masts as it stared down with hungry, vicious eyes. Its jaw opened to reveal two rows of razor-sharp teeth, a horrible hissing noise leaving its maw as its body moved from side to side with the waves.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, terror striking through you at the sight. Several men shouted warnings just before the serpent came crashing down towards the deck. A splintering crack resounded in the air, drawing your attention to one of the masts, broken and hurtling towards the deck from the serpent’s strike. You had little time to react, only managing to dodge out of the way as the wood hit the deck, the vibrations of the impact rattling your teeth. A whizzing sound caught your attention, and you looked down just as the rope pulled tight around your ankle, dragging you back towards the railing.

You scrambled for the dagger you kept strapped to your thigh, unsheathing it and working furiously to sever the rope before it pulled you overboard. The threads released you with a snap, and you watched as the rope slithered over the railing and down into the depths below.

The serpent gave another mighty roar before once again diving towards the deck, the screams of men cutting short as the monster sank its fangs into flesh, dragging their wriggling bodies into its gullet. The sound of a familiar cry rang out in your ears, and you turned to see Mickey laying on his back, hands grasping desperately at his right leg. His teeth clenched tightly as blood poured from the wound, and a chill ran through you.

“Mickey!” You cried out, scrambling to your feet. Your boots thudded against the wood beneath you, but you only got a couple of feet before another ominous pulse shot through you, stopping you in your tracks.

The world seemed to grow still once more as the noise around you gave way to a high-pitched ringing in your ears, your breath coming out in slow, labored breaths as the feeling inside of you compelled you to turn. Slowly, you turned on the balls of your feet, facing the railing where your eyes met golden, snake-like irises. Blood dripped from the jaws of the serpent as a low, hissing noise escaped from its throat, the smell of death hot on its breath. You were vaguely aware of your name being shouted from behind you, too focused on the beast that stared you down. It made no move to strike at you, it simply continued to stare as if observing you. An energy hummed between the two of you, a feeling you could almost describe as familiarity passing between the two of you. It leaned forward slightly, nostrils flaring as it gave you a curious sniff, its exhale blowing over you as it let out a low growl. It blinked at you slowly before retreating with a hiss.

The sounds of shouting off in the distance drew your attention away from the monster and towards the water beyond where the British ship was drawing closer. The serpent’s head snapped back to look at the new ship, a low growl rumbling in its throat as it sank into the dark waters surrounding it. You let out a shaky exhale just as a hand gripped your shoulder, pulling you into a wall of solid muscle. A second body joined in, wrapping arms around you from behind.

“Jesus Christ,” Bradley breathed from behind. “You scared me half to death.”

You didn’t say anything in response, too shaken up by your experience. Why had the serpent stopped? What had passed between the two of you? You were only pulled away from your thoughts by the shaking of the chest you were pressed into.

You pulled away slightly, just enough to look up into Jake’s face. You were met with a look of terror mixed with relief as he held you. He opened his mouth as if to say something, stopping only as the terrified screams of the British crew echoed through the air. You turned in Jake and Bradley’s arms to see the serpent beginning a new hunt, its meal easy pickings as it managed to tip the British naval ship on its side. Your hands tightened in Jake’s shirt as the sea beast let out a triumphant roar, lightning cracking overhead as rain began to pour down.

“Come on,” Jake murmured, releasing you slowly and turning to what remained of the crew. “We need to get to land.”

A/N: And thus marks the end of my hiatus! I'm still working on some other updates, but hopefully I'll be a little more motivated to write now that I'll be on the road a fair bit again. Thank you so much for all your patience. I'm hoping that I'll be able to get more updates out to you guys soon, but please bear with me!

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. I no longer do taglists, so if you would like to be notified on when I post, please follow my sideblog ( @sailoraviator-library ) and turn on post notifications! You can find me and my works on AO3 under the username sailor_aviator. Until next time!

[stellarbit]

But Do Remember Often

1.8k words Warnings: Sad and I definitely cried teared up writing this.

Spoilers... ish? If you need some Tech closure, this might be for you.

Listen to this while you read it.

You wake to find yourself back in the Marauder with Tech and you have a choice to make.

Filtering in through a fog of pain and ringing in your ears, came the hum of the Marauder controls. You lightly touched your head, blinking your eyes open. The dim light of space mingled with the soft red and white controls around you. You didn’t remember when you’d fallen asleep, but there you were, slumped in the copilot chair of the Marauder.

“Ah, you are awake.” Tech’s voice came from your left.

His voice bubbled up a pleasant hum from your chest. You smiled, rolling your head to the side to find him facing you in the pilot’s seat. “How long have I been out?”

Tech sat stiffly in the chair, his hands gripping his thighs. His eyes momentarily darted to the floor before settling on the void beyond the viewport. “I… am uncertain.”

His hesitancy crinkled your nose. Adjusting yourself in the seat, you scanned the stars around you. The lingering drowsiness blurred your memory of the voyage. “Tech, how much longer do we have?”

He was silent for a moment too long, his gaze lingering on the star-strewn void outside before meeting yours with a weight that seemed to pull at the very air between you. "We... don't have a destination, not in the way you think." Tech sighed, continuing, “Before we discuss further, it's crucial to address your current state."

Your heart skipped. Something in his tone, the heaviness of his pause, stirred a dread deep within you. "What do you mean?"

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. "You are unconscious. You were injured during the mission on Tantiss - a mission I was not a part of.” The room seemed to spin slightly as his words sank in.

A pain throbbed dully at the back of your mind, urging you to focus through the haze. The distant sound of metal and earth colliding echoed through you.

"Unconscious? But I'm here, talking to you." You shook your head lightly, finding some joke in his words. “I don’t... remember being injured." You did a quick scan of your body, but nothing was amiss. 

Tech’s grip on his thighs tightened, sympathy flickering in his eyes, “You wouldn’t. It happened before... before you entered this state."

“State?” You scoffed, but images flashed by you. Falling through the forest, blaster fire, impact - all blurring together. Blinking away the scene, you focused again on Tech. For the first time, you noticed light shimmer around him.

A knowing knot formed in your throat, threatening to make you sick. Deep within your chest, locked far from your mind, a crack split wide open and the pain that followed cut off your air supply.

Quivering and choked up, you managed to ask, “If I’m here because of my injuries, then why are you here?" A tear, a premonition of what was to come, slipped from your eye and nothing could stop the rest that followed.

“Physically, you are not here with me. Nor am I with you.” Tech explained carefully, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment. You choked again at the sight. “I was not with you on Tantiss because I could not be. I perished, months ago, on Eriadu”

The revelation, the memory, felt like a cold wave flooding you.  “Tech,” you said his name in a desperate plea, as if calling it out could halt time itself. Still, you shook, your entire body rocking slightly as your head bobbed from side to side.

Tech said your name softly, his tone a beacon, snapping your attention back and anchoring you to the moment. You tried to hold back the frown, the devastation; the denial was suffocating.

He swallowed hard, the motion visible, and rose from his chair to kneel before you. His eyes lingered over you, soaking in the sight as if memorizing every detail. Tech clenched a hand into a fist; this was as hard for him as it was for you. 

“What’s happening?” You weren’t sure if you’d ever asked him so many questions before. A part of you feared you were wasting precious moments in doing so.

“It would stand to reason,” he began, his voice steady despite the emotion he worked to mask, “that in moments like these, the mind can create vivid, immersive experiences, or even memories.”

His analytical eyes met yours, and though they were filled with a deep sorrow at seeing the terror washing over you, he knew he had to let you navigate through this realization on your own.

“So this,” You sobbed, “This isn’t real?”

A faint smile pulled at the corner of his lips. Something you so cherished, lost for months, and now breaking your heart. “I am here, as much as any memory or echo can be.” Tech brought a knuckle to his chin, tapping as he processed it himself. “It's not uncommon for those with your abilities to have... visions, especially under extreme stress or near-death conditions.”

You absorbed his words, the clinical detachment with which he presented this stark reality clashing with the emotional turmoil it wrought within you. It was so like Tech to relay even the most heartbreaking news in such a factual manner.

Tech continued, “When I died, part of me remained, anchored through the force and connected to you because of our bond. It would be an apt hypothesis, all things considered, that that is how we can still speak, how I can still be by your side in this way. It's rare, uncharted…” He shook his head, clearly amazed himself. “I cannot provide all the answers. But I believe it’s your will that brought us here.”

So you were alone, yet not alone; you were communicating with something beyond the physical, a part of Tech that had refused to let go entirely.

"And what about me?" you whispered, your voice barely a breath. "Am I... am I dying?"

"Not entirely, no," Tech said firmly. "I believe you are caught in between, because of your injury. But this state... it's temporary. You can return."A selfish part of him seemed to surface, hesitant but honest, “It is your choice,” he added, the words heavy with implication.

You covered your face in your hands, wondering if you’d ever be able to breathe again. Two gloved hands tugged on your hands. Looking up, you could barely see Tech through the floodgate of tears. 

Tech reached up with a hand that, you knew, could never truly touch yours again. Yet, you felt it on your cheek brushing away the ceaseless tears. Tech's voice was gentle as he said, “But I am gone from the living world. And you... you have a choice to make: to stay lost in these memories, or to move forward.”

The pain was immense, squeezing your chest until you thought you might shatter. "How can I leave you, Tech? After everything?"

His hand still on yours, he squeezed. “I am quite aware of your strength. You are one of the strongest people I have ever known.” His head tilted in a strangely confident way. It almost made you smile. “Besides, seeing as how I am not going anywhere, you would not be leaving me.”

He stood, drawing your attention upward as he rose. Taking a step back, he gently pulled on your hand, guiding you out of the chair.

Tech stood before you, still holding your hand in the space between you, his expression adorned with a proud smile. "You will always be fascinating," he declared. Then, with a gentle tug at your waist, he drew you close to him.

The sturdiness of his presence was undeniable. You swept your hand up his neck, feeling him solid beneath your touch. You felt him there, could even smell him—every detail vivid, every memory of him acute. You missed everything about him.

“I’d like to ask you something,” he said, his gaze shifting between your eyes, a keen observer eager to capture every nuance of your reaction.

Your voice, barely a whisper, surprised you. “Yes?” When had your tears ceased?

He leaned in closer, his presence enveloping, his eyes searching yours for the truths they held. “Do you regret joining Clone Force 99?”

You took a sharp inhale, your hand instinctively tightening around his neck. “Never.”

“Do you regret knowing me?”

“Tech.” You hissed in final warning. “Now is not the time to make me mad.”

Tech hummed victoriously. “I’m merely gathering evidence to prove my theory.”

“What theory?”

“Why the right choice is to move on.” Tech chuckled as he gently started to sway with you. “Though you will find it difficult to forget my extraordinary mind.”

His quips, his humorous arrogance, tugged at your heart, making your lip quiver. Tech slowed for a moment, his gaze searching your face, unsure if you were on the brink of tears or laughter.

You expected a laugh to taste of ash, but when it came, it didn’t feel so wrong. “How could I ever forget?”

Tech’s eyes widened as he watched a smile spread across your lips. The sight seemed to delight him, a glimmer of his affectionate pride shining through.

He considered asking you to linger; he knew he’d never tire of your company. He’d be content to spend eternity with you. Yet, as he began to sway with you once more, a different thought took precedence.

He cleared his throat and said, “Then it is obvious. Remember me if you want, but you must carry on.” He ducked closer, resting his forehead on yours. "But I quite like the idea of you smiling whenever you think of me, for the rest of your life."

Tech brushed his lips against yours before pressing in with a kiss. 

You felt a tremor in your hand, but his steady grip stilled you. “Tech, I’ve missed you so much.”

"I know, and I you," he replied. "But death is a part of life, an unavoidable end. And my end…” Tech sighed and continued. “Was my choice." 

He pulled away, his hands shifting to your shoulders. “Now, you have a choice.”

You touched his hands, attempting a wobbly smile. “What would I do without you?”

Tech gazed into your eyes, his expression resolved. "You will live," he said. "You'll thrive, because that's what you do now. You adapt, you overcome."

He paused, a smile tingling at the corners of his mouth. "Make new memories, ones that I'd be proud to be a part of in spirit. Remember me often."

His touch lingered a moment longer before he slowly stepped back, "And since I am not going anywhere.” He adjusted his goggles and smirked. “It falls to you to keep the others safe, they certainly need it.” 

With a final nod, Tech turned slightly, indicating that your time together was nearing its natural conclusion, not because he was vanishing, but because you were ready. "You’re more capable than you realize. Trust in that. And when you need to, trust that I'm still here, in the memories you carry and the decisions you make."

He tipped two fingers at you. In a final quip he said, “But do remember me often.”

[heavens-moonlight]

𝗕𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦 | 𝟬𝟭 : 𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗔𝗗𝗩𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗘

SYNOPSIS | 02 : THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT

Author’s Note: The following chapter will be where the misery starts but I wanted to build character and friendship dynamics here first. Updates won't be as frequent (because of one word: life) but I have pre-written a lot for this drama already so I'll see this work to the end! Hopefully this is enjoyable so far, and feel free to let me know what you think (or what you want to see in future chapters)! Until next time! ♡

"THE INNOCENT CIVILIANS HAVE LOST, AND THE MAFIA WON!"

Your heavy palpebrae that moments earlier masked your vision in dimness, adorned with a trace of gentle sleepiness, slowly flutters open at the announcement, eyes emerging from the veil of unconsciousness. Finding yourself awakening with an overwhelming and unshakeable wave of trepidation washing over you, your chest tightens in palpable distress. The heaviness pales no less in comparison to the weight of an anvil sinking down atop your sternum, lungs punctured by bowed bones.

You sit there in a state of unease, mind racing with apprehension and discomposure, searching for answers to the troubling sensation coursing through your body. The sense of foreboding grips your heart tightly like an invisible vice, leaving you breathless and unable to shake off the unwanted feeling.

In a haste, you slide open the window beside you, the glass screeching against rubber weatherstrips expanded by scorching summer heat. Through the humidity, a light breeze brushes past, breathing air and life back into you. It's not hard to recognize the way your subconscious whispers insistently that something is amiss, the combination of uncertainty and uneasiness blending together into something you can't decipher.

Your hand comes to rest against your chest, heart pounding strongly and ceaselessly against your ribcage, almost as though wanting to escape from its confines. It sends you reeling, akin to an out of body experience. For some unexplained reason, confusion clouds your thoughts as you struggle to clear the thick shroud of fog encasing your entire being, the mist muddling and settling deep within you. A haunting sense of premonition creeps over as if some elapsed memory shares in its ominous secrets. Yet, try as you might, you could not uncover the source of this inexplicable anxiety. You're left clueless except for the empty feeling both in your mind and soul, like you have forgotten something important.

When your breathing returns to normal and your pulse has settled back into its regular rhythmic beat, you shake your head to clear it of the sudden upsetting thoughts. Only then do you realize you had fallen asleep at one point, head tilted back against the warm and worn peeling leather seats of the bus. The sound of loud conversations and even louder hum of the engine, the smell of smoke, and the bump of the vehicle's wheels on uneven pavement brings with it a gentle sway of movement that returns to you a sense of comfort you can't put into words.

Glancing down at your lap, you notice that you had left the entirety of a horror movie playing on your phone, the end credits having long since rolled endlessly, words drenched in red blinking cursorily across the screen. You rarely experienced nightmares, not even after indulging in disturbing content, and certainly not when it's broad daylight out still. So then, why now?

The sound of a book plopping down to the ground pulls you out of your reverie and you lean forward to pick it up, folding it closed to survey the front cover.

흰나비의 살인.

The White Butterfly's Murder.

You smile to yourself. It was so like Yoon-Seo to read a murder mystery on a school trip, the same exact one you had gifted to her only yesterday for her birthday. A love of thriller was what brought you both to be such good friends in the first place, and it didn't seem those like-minded interests would diverge any time soon.

"Yoon-Seo ah..." Scooting forward in your seat, you lightly tap her on the shoulder and she jolts upright, turning back to look at you, unreasonably startled, a shiver running down her spine. "What's wrong?" Your grin drops slightly at her growing restlessness, face now pale as if she had encountered an apparition. Her eyes shift back and forth, guarded for a microsecond before snapping back into her usual self.

Yoon-Seo takes noticeably deep inhales, drawing the attention of Jung-Won, her seat mate for the ride, who pauses mid-coding to look over, displeased.

"What did you dream of?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Han Seol-Hwa. Lee Yoon-Seo.” Jung-Won clicks her tongue teasingly, pointing a finger from you to Yoon-Seo. “I'm making it a rule that you guys stay away from blood, murders, and deaths this trip, alright?"

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. "Alright, I promise you eomma. No more nagging Yoon-Seo and I."

Jung-Won scowls at you playfully, pushing her glasses up higher on the bridge of her nose and you stick out your tongue in her direction impishly. Yoon-Seo laughs quietly at the exchange as you hand her back her book.

"Thanks, Seol-Hwa."

"Tell me all about it later when we've arrived." Despite muttering it under your breath to avoid being heard by Jung-Won, you fail miserably.

"Seriously?!"

You and Yoon-Seo laugh together as Jung-Won goes on a tangent about how psychologically, scary things are not good for young, impressionable minds, fingers click-clacking away all the while. Fortunately preoccupied, she doesn't notice Yoon-Seo sending you a wink, a hidden promise between you two to indulge in the realm of the supernatural regardless.

A resounding and victorious scream travels all the way from the back of the bus and you turn around to observe the friend group seated there.

"See?! I told you all Yool was the Mafia! Let's play again," Eun-Ha says, arms crossed. "You idiots never listen to me, do you?" She slaps both Yeon-Woo and Eun-Chan on the back of their heads as petty punishment.

"What can I say? You simply can't kill the master." Yool leans back, legs thrown atop the headrest of the seat in front, a proud smile stretched across his face.

As they're about to commence another game, Jin-Ha gets relayed a message through Seung-Bin. "Tell them that Kyung-Jun is sleeping and to shut the hell up."

"YAH!" The random shout is so out of place and entirely uncalled for, but it's effective for the time being. "Kyung-Jun is sleeping," Jin-Ha parrots, obedient. "You guys are always so fucking loud that we can hear you before we can see you!" Met with blank stares all around, he's finally satisfied at the reduction in volume and goes back to looking at something Seung-Bin points out to him on his phone. Unbeknownst to him, the rest switch to eyeing him in disfavor behind his back.

It wasn't hard to see the hierarchy of the bullies' group, although Jin-Ha most likely doesn't notice anything wrong with the skewed power dynamics.

Kyung-Jun unpredictably opens his eyes, turning to glare at Heo Yool specifically, but when he swivels back around again, your eyes meet coincidentally and he simply stares, an unreadable expression on his face. You avert your gaze hastily, not wanting to stir up trouble with the bullies, especially not Kyung-Jun who was quick to anger if someone so much as breathed wrongly in his direction.

Your eyes search the rest of the bus lazily before landing on Jun-Hee, sleeping peacefully unaware, head tilted towards the window. The sunlight bathes him in a soft yellow glow and you can't help but stare as a single ray of light filters through the curtains, slanting lightly across his face. You etch every slope, every contour, and every dip of his countenance behind your eyes so that the image of him doesn't fade.

The comfortable rise and fall of Jun-Hee's chest, synchronized with his steady breathing is so serene that it captivates your heart. In high noon, the gentle curves of his face seem even more soft, accentuated by the calmness enveloping his features. Fondly, you observe him in the morning's bright golden haze, and in the beauty of the falling sunbeams, you wonder if he'd ever see you in the same way.

A rolled-up piece of paper hits you square in the face and you finally drag your gaze away long enough to see who it is. Whipping your head around, you're met with snickers from Hyun-Ho and Dong-Hyun, who don't even try to hide they're the culprits.

You're being obvious. Hyun-Ho mouths the words discernibly. Just sit next to him if you're going to gawk.

You chuck the paper ball back toward him and it smacks him in the mouth, your nose scrunching up in focus mixed with annoyance.

"I think that's the most creative way I've ever seen someone being told to shut up," Dong-Hyun voices approvingly, shooting you two thumbs up.

"Are you my friend or hers?" Hyun-Ho asks childishly, somewhat snubbed.

"To be honest, she can be more frightening than you at times even though she's half your size."

You giggle to yourself as the two start squabbling in their seats across the aisle from Jung-Won and Yoon-Seo.

For the most part, after having transferred to Yooil High, you were fairly well-liked by everyone for your just and nonjudgmental attitude. That, and you pretty much kept to yourself, stayed out of trouble, and knew not to dig your nose in other's business if it didn't concern you. You weren't popular by any means, but not a single person had a true reason to dislike you and you hoped to continue that track record.

By a stroke of bad luck, your parents died a few years ago in a car accident, and you've been living with your cousin Hyun-Ho ever since, adopted by your aunt and uncle-in-law. They have been nothing short of welcoming and loving, and the same goes for Hyun-Ho, who acts no less like your real brother. Sure, he's annoying at times but it's just his overprotective nature and ease of accepting the older sibling role. You got on quite quickly with Yoon-Seo and Jung-Won, and Hyun-Ho made sure you adapted to his own friend group, introducing you to his best friends Jun-Hee and Dong-Hyun. You loved your companions dearly, all incredibly close and inseparable ever since you could remember.

But you couldn't remember when you began to see Jun-Hee as more than that.

Friends.

It's not the first, and it certainly won't be the last time you remind yourself of that fact.

Just friends. Nothing more and nothing less.

Except, you're not the only who was harboring feelings for him. Where you were quiet and discreet about it, So-Mi is loud and unabashed. It's hard to ignore and pretend you don't hear her snapping pictures of Jun-Hee shamelessly and without permission, the shutter ticking in quick succession.

"Isn't this crazy? It's like a photoshoot, right? How does he look like that? Even while sleeping?" So-Mi rattles off questions in awe, more to herself than anyone else.

Woo Ram doesn't miss a beat in his reply. "I'll tell Jun-Hee about your crazy obsession with him."

"Could you, please?" So-Mi widens her eyes, batting her lashes imploringly. "I'll use that as an opportunity to tempt him."

You hear Ji-Soo's laugh ring out brash and clear. "This delusional girl, seriously..." she chides. "You've been saying that since last year. When will you actually find the courage to tell him?"

That's the question you ask yourself also. You don't blame So-Mi. Sometimes, you think it might be better to not have been best friends with him. It only complicates your feelings further, too afraid to ruin years of friendship, but also too filled with wishful thinking on the mere possibility of it growing into anything beyond that.

Sighing, you turn to look out the window, trying your best to tune out their conversation even though it doesn't work. There's not much to hold your attention when the scenery is endless stretches of barren trees and even emptier infrastructure, or lack thereof, rolling by.

The setting sun dyes everything in a blaze of orange, making it appear as if the city was burning, the sky collapsing.

"Seduce him now," Yu-Jun taunts, voice giving way to his utter lack of confidence in So-Mi's coquetting abilities, knowing full well the impossibility that the two would ever end up together.

"Cut it out! It will happen soon...just not here." So-Mi tries to shush her friends as they holler at Jun-Hee teasingly, with all intent to wake him up.

Woo-Ram and Yu-Jun successfully manage to rouse him if the sound of So-Mi's indignant squeals is anything to go by, coupled with the unmistakable clicking of her phone's camera shutter, pressed by accident this time around.

Somewhere in between listening and musing, you had begun to doze off again when you feel the seat shift and sink beside yours. The movement is so light and careful that you don't pay it any notice at first.

"Hey, I thought when you flirt with someone, they're supposed to come to you and not away from you." Ji-Soo's snickers mix in with So-Mi's annoyed remarks aren't as jarring as you thought it'd be after everyone was subjected to the silent rule earlier.

You feel your head droop forward before someone touches the side of your face gently, fingers grazing the curve of your cheek to angle your head into the broad line of their shoulder.

The pads of their fingers trace the underside of your jaw in a featherlight motion, and you lift your face in alarm, curious as to who would do such a thing especially if they weren't necessarily close to you

Eyes trailing upward, your vision refocuses and they widen at the sight of Jun-Hee staring down at you, gaze soft and unwavering as he stares, transfixed, pupils shining. One hand is hanging in midair, held steady to shield your face from the sun.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but no words come out, a frozen expression of surprise on your visage.

Jun-Hee's lips tilt slightly upward, the motion bunching his cheeks up, almost as if he was trying hard to suppress his laugh.

Pulling yourself together, you sit up properly and lean away from his shoulder. "Sorry."

You don't notice Jun-Hee's smile dropping imperceptibly and the light in his eyes dimming as you're no longer within close proximity. "Why are you apologizing?"

"It's nothing." The response is too dismissive even to your own ears as you can't conjure up an excuse for the sudden pretense, or for your outlandish behavior.

It would be quite a long bus ride, sitting next to each other, both not knowing what to say.

The space between Jun-Hee's eyebrows crease together in confusion, but he doesn't push the matter further.

You clear your throat awkwardly, shifting in your seat to sit on your hands. When did simply talking to him become so hard to do? You've hidden your feelings for years without problem, so why was it so different now? Those feelings changed and grew. "When did you come to sit here? Weren't you just sleeping earlier?"

Jun-Hee knocks his shoulder into yours, a teasing lilt to his voice. "You were watching me?"

"Pft, as if," You deny with lackluster confidence, scoffing. "I was just observing what everyone was doing."

"Right..." He elongates the word. "...And what I was doing was sleeping. That you watched." Jun-Hee looks at you again, a deadpan but knowing look on his face. Flustered, you duck your head only for him to mirror the movement, subtly leaning his own toward yours and trying to catch your eye. It ends up with him chortling as your forehead nearly collides with your knees in the slouched over position you had subjected yourself to.

Knowing full well you were being made fun of without a hint of malice, you twist your body sideways and lean your back against the window, turning to him with a glare. "Is this fun to you?"

As he laughs, you find yourself wanting to follow suit, but stick to the bit of maintaining your mock angry façade, slapping him on the arm. If anything, he continues to chuckle, barely flinching, finding your reaction rather amusing.

"Don't worry. I promise I didn't sneak any pictures." It quickly registers to you that he was clearly teasing So-Mi for earlier. You can't help the scandalized look on your face, cheeks puffing out as you try to hold in your laugh. "I guess you did notice a camera being pressed up to your face, huh?"

"Kind of hard not to with all the noise." He shakes his head in annoyance. "But I am still sleepy." Jun-Hee pulls your arm so that you're pressed against his side again, no semblance of space remaining between the two of you as he lowers himself, sinking further down into the seat, eyes shut and head now leaning against your shoulder.

"Jun-Hee..."

"Let me borrow your shoulder for a little while."

You're about to pull away, thinking he's playing around when his grip tightens on your arm.

"Think of it as returning the favor from earlier. We can call it even."

Making a vague sound of neutrality but not moving, you relax, and Jun-Hee lessens his hold, adjusting his position to be more comfortable. "Are you going to watch this time too?" His hand squeezes your forearm once.

"Dream on," you kid.

"Maybe I will," he answers with certainty. "Until it becomes reality."

"I didn't know you were this affectionate with everyone."

"Not just anyone. Only you," Jun-Hee mumbles, tilting his head further into the crook of your neck. His lips move dangerously close to the juncture of your shoulder, your pulse point centimeters away as he shifts around, finding the most relaxing spot to rest.

"Don't say things you don't mean." You can't bite your tongue fast enough as the words tumble out unprompted. That was supposed to be an inside thought no one else should be privy to but yourself.

"Who says I don't mean it?" You tense up beside him, at a loss for words, but Jun-Hee doesn't point it out, more than not nice enough to ignore it for your sake. "I'm self-proclaimed as your favorite." He bumps his knee against yours. "I know you better than anyone else."

"Do you, though?"

"...Of course, I do."

But you don't know that I'm already halfway in love with you.

"On what basis, mister?"

"Best friend privileges."

"Right..."

You stare down at the top of his head, Jun-Hee unaware of your blatant staring and the way your smile fades at the same time one appears on his face.

"That's acceptable, no?"

"Of course, it is. Best friends. That's what we are..." You trail off.

And I guess that's all we'll ever be.

Hours later, the sky has since darkened and you can see the visible outline of the full moon on high, light not concealed by the stars weakly glimmering to illuminate the night.

Most, if not the entirety, of the students on the bus were asleep, except for you and your two lovable, but mischievous best friends sitting in front of you.

Yoon-Seo and Jung-Won peer over the back of their seats like cute meerkats, only their eyes visible, phones raised suspiciously in your direction.

"You're welcome in advance," Yoon-Seo says cheekily, showing the widest grin you've ever seen on her, eyes crinkling as Jung-Won stifles her laugh behind her hand. At your persistent eye signals, they sink back down into their seats, satisfied after overfilling their camera rolls.

As the bus slows down, indicating that your class was nearing your destination, the road gradually begins to get rougher and bumpier. It's a surprise Jun-Hee still hasn't woken up yet, sleeping soundly away still leaning on you.

Deciding to mess around with him, you slightly pivot your body so it's facing him, leaving enough room for his head to not fall off your shoulder.

"Jun-Hee," you call, tilting your head down in front of his.

"Jun-Hee ah." The bus is rocking him, lolling his head forward along with the movement, his face nearly downturned.

"Wake up, sleepyhead." Your shoulder is no longer acting as support when you turn your face directly below his and peer up, tilting your head like he had done to you miles back, smiling at his obliviousness to the harmless prank, peacefully undisturbed in his slumber.

"Kim Jun—" The bus lurches abruptly, running over a speed bump the driver misses, and your words die in your throat as it jostles Jun-Hee's body forward and consequently his head toward your own, his lips meeting yours. The next slope in the road, and the fleeting press of the accidental kiss fades away, but the butterflies in your stomach refuse to settle.

You're motionless, eyes wide, hands immediately coming up to touch your lips where they're still tingling from the lingering imprint of Jun-Hee's lips against your own, barely registering just how close his face is to yours still, remaining asleep all the same.

"Kids, we're here!"

Your teacher's announcement snaps you out of your thoughts and you hurriedly sit back as Jun-Hee's eyelids sluggishly part, the first thing they focus on is you. He grins drowsily, and you wonder what can truly fix the irreparable damage to your heart.

Get a grip, Han Seol-Hwa.

Forcing a smile that you hope isn't as awkward as it feels onto your face, you decidedly withhold the truth about the incident.

"That was the best sleep I've had in a while," Jun-Hee tells you, leaning closer to be heard over the ruckus of everyone moving around in their seats, wanting to alight the bus the moment it stops.

You scoot back reflexively with your face aflame, still not over what had happened.

Jun-Hee also pulls away, worry mixed with bewilderment evident on his face. "Are you alright?"

"What do you mean?" You cringe internally at how guilty the tone of your voice comes out.

"It's just..." Jun-Hee regards you for a moment, studying your face as you avoid his searching eyes. "You've been acting a little weird since this morning."

"I'm tired is all," you lie through your teeth.

"If I—"

Suddenly So-Mi appears next to the two of you in the aisle, eyeing you up and down judgingly. "Jun-Hee, the teacher said he wants to talk to us."

As Jun-Hee gets up but doesn't reply, you swiftly scoot out of your own seat and attempt to scurry away to where Yoon-Seo and Jung-Won are waiting for you by the wheel, wanting to avoid the dreaded conversation you knew was sure to follow.

So-Mi dismisses your presence completely, standing into the empty space between the rows in an effort to block Jun-Hee off.

His eyes count your steps and before you can move even a feet away, he grabs ahold of you, fingers wrapping securely but tenderly around your wrist. Your pulse quickens beneath your skin, and you wonder if he can feel how rapidly it bounds under his touch.

"Seol-Hwa—"

Jun-Hee appears a bit dejected for some reason you'd rather not dwell upon. You gaze down at his grasp on you before turning to face him.

"Didn't you hear me?" So-Mi interjects, trying to make him focus on her by stepping into his line of vision, but his eyes remain fixed only on you. "Seonsaengnim needs both of us for something."

Your fingers graze Jun-Hee's as you slowly remove his hand, much to his reluctance. To the bitter distaste of So-Mi, he doesn't seem like he'll go along with her any time soon. She directs her glare at you once more, and you sigh quietly, not wanting to be in the middle of this interaction one bit.

"I'll see you later Jun-Hee."

"Wait—" He tries to grab your hand again, but So-Mi is quick to turn his shoulder away, making up filler dialogue.

Given the slip unintentionally, you speed walk toward your friends, and the three of you descend the steps. You feel Jun-Hee's stare burn through the back of your head yet refuse to turn around.

Maybe if you leave everything that happened on the bus and the thoughts along with it, you'll go back to being yourself soon enough.

The teacher is pacing the edge of the curb looking perturbed, voice frustrated as he speaks into the phone, the person on the other end not comprehending a single word.

Before you can tune into what he's saying, Yoon-Seo taps you on the forearm, whispering, "Have we been here? Why do I feel like I have? It's so familiar..."

"All the youth centers look the same," Jung-Won settles, rummaging through her backpack. "Yoon-Seo, Seol-Hwa, I'm heading in first. See you inside."

You wave to her as Yoon-Seo stands beside you, unmoving and gazing up at the third-floor window of the building.

"Yoon-Seo...?" You move your hand back and forth in front of her face, and she finally blinks, her gaze returning to normal.

"What is it?" she responds absentmindedly.

"That's what I should be asking you." You halt at the blank expression on her face staring back at you.

"I thought I saw something..." She points at the window but when you look, squinting against the dark to focus your eyes, all you can see is the white curtains billowing back and forth from the window barely cracked open.

"It's only the wind. Your mind is probably playing tricks on you." Yoon-Seo seems assured by your answer for the time being, nodding. You rap on her head lightly with a loose fist, mock admonishing. "Aigoo, Miss Detective. The books are taking over your imagination."

Yoon-Seo laughs and shoves you playfully. "Don't act like you don't also live and breathe all things horror."

"But I'm not the one seeing things, am I?" Raising your eyebrows at her teasingly, Yoon-Seo simply rolls her eyes and links her arm with yours.

"Come on, let's go. It's cold out here, and I want to see the rest of this place."

The two of you enter the lobby, and the first thing you take note of is the pure white marble statue of a girl, sitting atop a pillar and staring down into nothingness, eyes soulless and devoid of emotion. It’s melancholic in a way, a personified goddess, yet alone and ostensibly powerless.

"Yoon-Seo, don't you think those eyes remind you of anyone?" You fix your gaze on the figurine closely, examining the features etched haphazardly into the rock. Whatever intention the sculptor had, you couldn't find the purpose for the seemingly out of place decor.

Yoon-Seo nudges you. "Now who's the one with the wild imagination?"

"I'm being serious here."

"I don't see any resemblance to anyone we could possibly know. There's no informative plaque on who it may be either."

You shrug. "Maybe it's just me then."

"Aren't you two going to scan?" Jung-Won ushers you and Yoon-Seo toward the flyer:

[ sᴄᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ǫʀ ᴄᴏᴅᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪ-ғɪ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴsᴛᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴏᴜᴛʜ ᴄᴇɴᴛᴇʀ ᴀᴘᴘ ᴀᴜᴛᴏᴍᴀᴛɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ]

"This place has an app? What for?" you question.

"Hmm, I'll just stick to this paper booklet they have instead." Yoon-Seo decides quickly, rifling through the readily available printed maps.

"You'll have to lead me around," you say in all earnestness. "I'm very direction disoriented."

Jung-Won doesn't even try to hide her smile. "We can tell."

"It's not my fault I was born like this." You dramatically fall back onto Yoon-Seo. "Would you two really lead me astray as my best friends?"

Yoon-Seo giggles behind you. "No way. We saw how dazed you were getting off the bus earlier. You need all the help you can get."

Jung-Won snickers, shaking her head while dragging you and Yoon-Seo through the double doors of the gymnasium where the rest were gathered.

Everyone is off scattered into their own respective friend groups, your trio throwing your backpacks haphazardly on the floor before sitting against the wall of bleachers yet to be pulled out.

Jun-Hee and So-Mi enter shortly after with the teacher, engaged in a discussion. You look away before they can notice, and focus on the girls attempting to practice for their performance instead, Woo-Ram filming their efforts. Joo-Young pushes Mi-Na out of her spotlight and steals it openly, not that Woo-Ram minded. If anything, he holds the camera ever-sturdier, a newfound excitement apparent this time around as he zooms into her face. His happiness is short-lived however, as Kyung-Joon turns off the speakers nonchalantly, forcing the girls to start over from the beginning, much to their irritation.

Despite what you decided on earlier, you can't help but throw glances over in Jun-Hee's direction. He's seated at the table reserved for school council members by the entryway, overlooking everyone as So-Mi talks his ear off, undeterred by his indifference.

"Stop staring. You're going to wear away his pretty face," Yoon-Seo jokes from your left.

"I wasn't staring," you reply back half-committally, knowing she's caught you in the act.

"You totally were," Jung-Won joins in, slowly leaning her head on your right shoulder. "Let me borrow your shoulder while I code."

"If she's allowed, I should be too," Yoon-Seo copies, mirroring Jung-Won from your left side.

"Careful, that one's Jun-Hee's. You'll have to wait your turn, Yoon-Seo."

"Oh my god," you groan, embarrassed, hiding your face into your hands as the two laugh beside you, kicking your feet from both sides with theirs. "You two are merciless."

"Are you going to deprive me of the best sleep I'll ever have?" Yoon-Seo snuggles closer, hugging you tightly to her.

"Yah! Lee Yoon-Seo!"

You had the intention of taking Jun-Hee off your mind by hanging out with your friends, only for you to see bits of his personality in Yoon-Seo, their long-time friendship having had them taking on one another's mannerisms.

"I'm using my best friend privileges." Jung-Won pats you on the knee. "Stay still."

As Yoon-Seo and Jung-Won squish into you from both sides, you can't help but giggle at the sheer absurdity of the reenactment and their dedication to coming up with jokes on the fly. You try to fight back the onslaught of laughter, but it's entirely pointless in their presence. Traitorously, your eyes crinkle in mirth, half-crescents resting atop your cheeks as your laugh tinkles in the shared space, making the other two giggle along, shaking with glee where they're pressed against you.

Jung-Won eventually caves and sits up properly when all the hooting you and Yoon-Seo are doing keeps rattling her laptop, messing up her coding. A permanent smile sits on her face though, watching you two bicker.

"Jung-Won, help, I need my inhaler. I can't breathe from laughing so much," Yoon-Seo gasps out, holding her stomach.

"I'm not getting it for you."

"I can't believe you would tease me at the expense of your asthma." You push Yeon-Seo away, sniggering as she goes back to clinging onto your arm and laying her head back on your shoulder.

Jung-Won turns to look at you and Yoon-Seo briefly, her eyes shifting to the side momentarily, a ghost of a smile settling on her lips before she resumes attention to her laptop. "Don't look but Jun-Hee is watching."

Right as she says that, you make to move your head, but Yoon-Seo expects it and holds your chin in place with her hand, pinching your cheeks playfully.

"I said don't look!" Jung-Won chuckles.

It throws Yoon-Seo into another fit of giggles as you try to speak through your puckered lips. She releases her hand quickly after, and you drop your head to lean on the crown of hers, giving up.

You elbow Jung-Won in her side. "Were you messing with me?"

"Why would I?" she says innocently, typing away.

You look at her pointedly. "Yeah, you totally wouldn't."

Jung-Won holds her hands up in a motion of surrender. "I'm not this time, really. Seeing So-Mi angry is my favorite past-time."

"So mean," Yoon-Seo sing-songs.

"And you had no part in this?" You poke Yoon-Seo in the cheek. "Who told you to have an annoyingly cute and kind best friend?"

"You mean you?"

"You know what I mean."

"It's true."

"Guess I'll have a crush on you instead."

Yoon-Seo chortles with laughter. "So, you do admit you like him!"

"I didn't say that!"

"I read between the lines."

“It was one line!”

"This really sucks," Jung-Won says off-handedly, scrolling through the app. "I can make something like this in a day."

"Huh?" Yoon-Seo inquires, lost.

"You really didn't scan the QR code earlier? It was installed automatically. Give me your phone. I'll do it for you."

"No, it's okay. I'll get by. It's a short trip."

"I wouldn't put it past Yoon Seo to carry around the paper map for two whole days," you jest.

"Careful, you can't even navigate well, Seol-Hwa."

Jung-Won snorts at Yoon-Seo's jab.

"You got me there. If you tell me to walk back the way we came from I'd probably end up walking in the opposite direction."

Yoon-Seo shakes her head in fond disbelief.

"I'm not getting any signals in here." Jung-Won holds her phone up high, arm stretching.

While you watch as Jung-Won moves her device around to figure out the cause of the lost signal and no connection to Wi-Fi, Yool rushes past, making a mad run for the storage room. Adjacent to the bleachers where you and your friends were sitting, he flings the door open with purpose and digs through the contents of the room. Various apparatus gets upended from their designated places, the speed and sheer amount of hiking gear, equipment for ball sports, as well as other items meant for the gymnasium flying out from the doorway is nothing short of the effects in a comedic cartoon. Knowing how much of a jokester Yool was, you pay it no mind and turn back to the task at hand.

You pull out your own phone to try and locate even one bar of cell phone service, only to be met with the message that the vicinity was an unserviceable area. "That's weird. We're not in a remote place or anything like that. What happens if the power goes out, then?"

Right as you say that, static from the speakers produces head-splitting screeches, causing everyone to recoil with palms over their ears in annoyance, the lights flashing once before cutting out.

With everyone fearing the worst, a few remain unmoving while screams of the rest bounce off the walls, echoing in the spacious room. You and Yoon-Seo however, have no reaction, more curious than anything else.

"Why did you turn the lights off?" Someone you can't put a name to probes in the dark. "Turn them back on!"

Following in haste after one another, the students make good use of their phone flashlights, aiming it at the court's center, revealing a figure cloaked in white standing as clear as day amidst the obscurity of the room.

While the majority cower in fear, clutching onto their friends, Hyun-Ho imperturbably throws a basketball at the unknown prowler, knocking them over in one go.

"Ouch!"

The white sheet is flung off theatrically, and out crawls a disheveled but cackling Yool.

"Aish, seriously," Hyun-Ho admonishes. "Quit goofing around."

Kicking the blanket to the side away from his feet, Yool raises his hands up in the air dramatically, acting to the end. Not a single person has managed to find the overhead lights in the meantime, the only ones illuminating the outline of his thin frame were the stage bulbs operating on a different circuit.

"While I have your attention, you guys have to listen up," he begins conspiratorially. "I heard a harrowing tale that's been passed down to everyone who steps foot into this building." Yool looks from one classmate to the next, more serious than he's ever been. "They say a female high school student took her own life here." He continues on as gasps and murmurs spring up around you. "There are things you absolutely can't do." He waggles his pointer finger dramatically for emphasis. "Don't look back after glancing in the mirror past midnight, and ignore it even if someone were to grab your ankle while you are asleep. If you don't follow these rules..." Yool pauses for staged effect before walking in broken steps like he’s possessed, arms and legs bent in odd angles, rushing straight toward the dancers still seated on the floor.

"...YOU'LL SEE A GHOST!"

Shrieks pierce the room as someone manages to flip the lights on again with perfect timing, ending Yool's one-man show.

Jung-Won clucks her tongue while you and Yoon-Seo look at one another. You were expecting her to be as nonchalant as you were, all her readings considered, but she's staring straight ahead, spooked.

"Earth to Yoon-Seo?" You touch her hand and she flinches, causing you to jump as well from her unexpected reaction.

"Huh?" She whips her head toward you, still zoned out. "Sorry." A forced smile settles on her face, an infrequent sight to her usual bright demeanor. "Don't worry, it just felt like deja vu for a minute."

"You said something similar earlier. Are you sure you're doing okay?" Your voiced is laced with worry.

"See, this is why I told you two to tone it down with the heebie-jeebies. You're only scaring yourselves." Jung-Won pats your head and then Yoon-Seo's in turn. "We should go to our rooms anyway. They all have too much energy they can't wait to waste away," Jung-Won states, gesturing to everyone milling about.

"Let's go?" You pull Yoon-Seo up, and she nods in return, reassuring you that she was finally present and not off and away in her thoughts.

As the three of you leave, your ears perk up at the last thing you hear Yool say.

"Did you guys really believe it?" His sentence is cut by a boisterous laugh, pleased to no end at the affirmative from his friends. "Eyy, come on now, it was just an innocent and fake joke. None of us are going to die. Not tonight and not for a long time to come."

SYNOPSIS | 02 : THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT

© 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐇𝐚𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞. 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨, 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞, 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭. 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞.

[moments-on-film]

Moments on Film: Carmy IS The Bear - Opening Scene Analysis

Hello friends. I hope your year is going well. If we have interacted or you’ve read my work before, hello again! If you’re new to my blog, welcome!

This is the final part I’ve been building to in a 3 part character analysis series I have written about the character of Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto from The Bear. In the first part, I analyzed how 🔗Carmy doesn’t know who he is yet because he’s never had the safety and freedom to discover who he really is by connecting with his true passion, art. In part two, I analyzed 🔗Carmy’s true purpose and how I believe his destiny is to set everyone up for success, leave the kitchen behind and step into his light.

I have rewatched The Bear multiple times, but nothing ever captures the wonder, intrigue, and immediate empathy I felt for Carmy after that fascinating opening scene in the pilot episode. I have been thinking about it since I first watched it and it has stayed with me.

Since the first time I saw it, I have always believed Christopher Storer wrote the opening scene of The Bear to provide a portal into the entire arc for Carmy’s character. Let me explain.

Think about what Carmy is doing in the opening scene. He’s approaching a bear trapped in a cage. He speaks to it softly and gently, shushes it, empathises with it, coaxes it out and unlocks the cage. Look at the words used in the script:

Trapped, locked away

Whimpers, cries from inside

Emerges

A mass of dirty, matted hair

Mouth bleeding and ill

Shivers

“Shhh…..shhhh…it’s okay…”

Sad, abused eyes

There was a cute animal in there once

“Come on….go….”

“I know.”

Why is The Bear so personified in the script? Why is Carmy talking to it like it’s a person? Carmy looks into its “sad, abused eyes”, and tells it,

“I know.”

In my opinion, in the pilot episode, Carmy encountering the Bear is more than a dream, it’s a premonition because….it is Carmy talking to his future self.

Think about everything we have seen him go through so far and read the scene below:

I think Chris Storer has given us the arc of Carmy’s character in the form of a fevered dream Carmy has while watching over a slow cooking pot of gravy while he sleeps on the metal counter.

Carmy is the bear in the cage. S1 set the trap, by the end of S2, Carmy has fallen deep into it, and I think in future seasons, Carmy will suffer greatly, then will make great attenpts to heal, get in touch with what he really wants and will set himself free.

The fact that the opening scene in the series takes place on the State Street Bridge is an indication that Carmy saving himself—letting himself out of the cage—will save his own life. This is the same Bridge where his brother Michael, trapped in the same cage he is caught in now, separately, but somehow together, saw no way out and took his own life. The symbolism is striking. The Bridge is the connection between the two realms, and the difference between life and death.

I also think that the words used to describe the bear mean that things will get so much worse for Carmy before they get better. Season 1 ended with Carmy committed to opening The Bear. Season 2 ends with Carmy caught in the walk in freezer of the restaurant, a literal bear trap of his own making where he is buried alive by his unprocessed trauma, and inability to thrive in the very place he was supposed to lead, and crippling pressure to turn a profit to pay off his debts. This is because in my opinion, the restaurant, his cage, is not his natural habitat. This is why everything in it always seems like such a struggle and so painful, forced and joyless.

I’m worried to see how things will get worse for Carmy than they already are. In the script, the bear is described as tapped, locked away, crying, whimpering from the inside, a mass of dirty matted hair, mouth bleeding and ill, shivering with sad, abused eyes.

From the moment I saw the drawing on the wall in the pilot episode, I said, wow, look at the bars, it’s a cage. Of course, I didn’t know until 2x6 that Carmy himself drew the sketch himself, as a Christmas gift for Michael, who was trapped in a horrible cage of his own at the time, which makes it all the more telling and poignant. There’s a reason why Carmy drew the sketch this way, even if it was subconscious, with the same bear trapped in a cage, which we see again in his dream.

Photo credit: moments-on-film (me)

At the end of season 2, Carmy is trapped, pacing the cage of the walk-in freezer.

I’ve been so worried about Carmy as a character since the first episode because it is so clear that he’s sick and badly needs help that he’s not getting. He has undiagnosed PTSD, and inner trauma that manifests physically in the form of nightmares, trouble breathing and terrible panic attacks that ravage his body. This has been so visceral to me throughout S1 and S2 that I wrote an analysis post about 🔗Carmy’s Vital Signs, and how they are dangerously visible on screen through Jeremy Allen White’s exceptional acting. The Bear in the pilot script is described as whimpering, crying and ill. If I am correct, this is where Carmy is headed before it can all turn around.

One other little clue that Carmy is metaphorically the bear from the opening scene, is the physical look of Carmy’s hair. From the pilot episode, Carmy’s hair has bothered me. He’s a 3 Star chef, trained with the best, and worked under the abusive chef in New York who must have had him and his hygiene under a microscope. It never made sense to me that his hair at times looked dirty and unkempt while his shirts were immaculately clean, pressed, and white. Below is a quote from an article where Jeremy Allen White talks about his hair as Carmy:

"I also wanted Carmy to always look just a little dirty. There’s a sink on set — everything was functional — and before most takes, I would get water in my hands and run it through my hair to get it looking kind of greasy.”

This always stuck out to me. He’s playing not just any chef, but, in the words of Sydney, “the most excellent CDC at the most excellent restaurant in the United States of America.” A chef who clearly cares about cleanliness, who gets on his hands and knees to scrub the floor more than once with just his hands and a washcloth. Why would he want him to look dirty? But thinking of it now, if he too knows the arc of Carmy, which he has said Chris Storer has shared with him, then he understands that where we are headed is to witness him as the bear is described, emerging from the cage, “a mass of dirty, matted hair.” The slightly dirty hair is a physical clue into the journey he is on as a character.

I think in future seasons we are going to see a great deal of guilt and therefore self flagellation from Carmy to over correct his mistakes from S2 that is going to further impact his mental and physical health. As I mentioned in a prior post, just like his tattoo, he is constantly dancing on the knife’s edge, and literally putting himself in life threatening danger.

I also have predicted in prior posts that Carmy is going to push himself so hard that he has a major health incident that might finally force Claire (if she’s still around) to actually take note of how sick he actually is. I’m not sure if she’s going to be prominently featured in S3, but I would not be surprised if a health emergency forces Carmy into her life somehow. It never made sense to me that her (then) boyfriend is sick, she’s an ER Doctor, and doesn’t seem to really notice or care.

As I mentioned in my last post, Carmy’s True Purpose, I ultimately believe that Carmy needs to get out of the kitchen and into a life where he can be happy and healthy, and connected to his true life’s purpose. I do not believe that this means Carmy will abandon his found family, or that he will do anything to betray Sydney. I believe she’s his shining star and he will do anything and everything in his power to make sure she gets hers. I also believe they will be in each other’s lives forever because they are truly soulmates. This isn’t about anyone else, though, I think this is about Carmy coming to terms with decades of abuse, unspoken thoughts and feelings, buried passions, his precarious health situation, which is in fact, eating him alive, and letting go of his long held mantra to 🔗 “just keep going”, before it kills him.

Perhaps there’s a way to marry art with the restaurant. That doesn’t solely mean he is only drawing. Maybe what Carmy really should be doing is creating, planning and designing menus, traveling the world to discover new flavors and finding inspiration that can help the restaurant, and provide him with much needed creatively, peace and, yes, joy. Maybe the restaurant will become seasonal and he and Sydney can spend the off time traversing the globe and creating menus together. Maybe down the line he can get out of the commercial kitchen, and he and Sydney’s can revamp her catering company and they can create together is a different environment. I must believe we are headed for somewhere healing, positive and beautiful, despite the valley of despair that ended S2.

The character of Carmy honestly breaks my heart. In him I see someone who so desperately needs a breakthrough and help on so many levels. He so badly needs to discover who he is and what actually makes him happy before it’s too late. I think Carmy is subconsciously very connected to this. His dream, which started the series, continues to haunt me.

One great thing about Carmy’s life are the people who now surround him. In my opinion, he needs to be very careful about how he treats them moving forward. He has people who genuinely love him and who I believe have his best interest at heart. If he pushes himself to the brink and then decides to leave the kitchen for the sake of his health, I believe everyone would ultimately understand. However, no one can take the reins of his life and fix it for him. Only he has that power and create his own reversal of fortune.

If I am correct, for his character to follow the arc of the opening dream scene, all Carmy ultimately has to do is unlock the cage and set himself free.

How he will arrive at that point is the journey of The Bear.

©️moments-on-film 2024

[haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll]

Tracklist:

Once Upon a Time • Start Menu • Your Best Friend • Fallen Down • Ruins • Uwa!! So Temperate♫ • Anticipation • Unnecessary Tension • Enemy Approaching • Ghost Fight • Determination • Home • Home (Music Box) • Heartache • sans. • Nyeh Heh Heh! • Snowy • Uwa!! So Holiday♫ • Dogbass • Mysterious Place • Dogsong • Snowdin Town • Shop • Bonetrousle • Dating Start! • Dating Tense! • Dating Fight! • Premonition • Danger Mystery • Undyne • Waterfall • Run! • Quiet Water • Memory • Bird That Carries You Over A Disproportionately Small Gap • Dummy! • Pathetic House • Spooktune • Spookwave • Ghouliday • Chill • Thundersnail • Temmie Village • Tem Shop • NGAHHH!! • Spear of Justice • Ooo • Alphys • It's Showtime! • Metal Crusher • Another Medium • Uwa!! So HEATS!!♫ • Stronger Monsters • Hotel • Can You Really Call This A Hotel, I Didn't Receive A Mint On My Pillow Or Anything • Confession • Live Report • Death Report • Spider Dance • Wrong Enemy !? • Oh! One True Love • Oh! Dungeon • It's Raining Somewhere Else • CORE Approach • CORE • Last Episode! • Oh My... • Death by Glamour • For the Fans • Long Elevator • Undertale • Song That Might Play When You Fight Sans • The Choice • Small Shock • Barrier • Bergentrückung • ASGORE • You Idiot • Your Best Nightmare • Finale • An Ending • She's Playing Piano • Here We Are • Amalgam • Fallen Down (Reprise) • Don't Give Up • Hopes And Dreams • Burn In Despair! • SAVE The World • His Theme • Final Power • Reunited • Menu (Full) • Respite • Bring It In, Guys! • Last Goodbye • But The Earth Refused To Die • Battle Against A True Hero • Power Of NEO • MEGALOVANIA • Good Night

Spotify ♪ Bandcamp ♪ YouTube

[captainsophiestark]

Gray Jedi

Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2023!

Fandom: Star Wars

Day 23 Prompt: "No, you won't understand, ever."

Summary: Y/N left the Jedi Order over differences with their teachings and a love for Anakin Skywalker. Now, however, something is wrong with Anakin, and they might be the only one who can stop tradgedy from happening.

Word Count: 2,094

Category: Angst, Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I'd spent the majority of my life as a Jedi, so I'd heard plenty of Masters utter the phrase "I feel a disturbance in the Force" or some variation of it over the years. I'd even felt a few myself, once or twice. But nothing had ever felt like the looming cloud of dread that hung over me now.

I hadn't been a Jedi for more than a year now, which made the feeling all the stranger. I'd left over a few differences with the Council and their rules, opting to become a Gray Jedi by technicality and a non-Force-user by practice. So the feeling of dark premonition battering me awake from my peaceful sleep was even stranger.

Even having let my connection with the Force fade a bit, I knew enough to not ignore this sign. Especially because the face of my former best friend, Anakin Skywalker, featured in every single flash this vision was giving me.

Anakin had been one of the reasons I'd decided to leave in the first place. Somehow, when I wasn't paying attention, I'd fallen in love with my best friend. And that kind of love was forbidden among the Jedi.

I'd put up with it for a while, for most of the Clone Wars. But finally, when it started to feel like Anakin might have returned my affections, it got to be too much for me. I couldn't have something with him and still be a Jedi. So I'd left.

Anakin had stayed, and I didn't blame him for it one bit. The Jedi were the only family he'd known since his mother, and the only family he had left since her death. I, probably stupidly, had never talked to him about my feelings. What reason would he have had to leave?

I'd been living a new, peaceful life as far away from the war and the Sith and the Jedi as I could get, and it had been going fairly well, all things considered. But now, something was clearly wrong.

I hadn't survived as long as I did in the war by completely ignoring my instincts. So, I grabbed my lightsaber and took off for the Temple, since that would be the best place to talk about my vision and to start finding Anakin.

When I got to the Temple, however, I found it almost deserted. Something was clearly, deeply wrong.

As I stood in the entryway of the place I'd once called home, I felt a harsh shove in the Force, like someone had physically put their hands on me and pushed. I stumbled, taking a few steps in the direction to keep from falling, then decided to keep going. I rested one hand on the hilt of my lightsaber, ready to draw at a moment's notice as I raced through the halls.

To my surprise, the shoving brought me right to one of the most relaxing, comfortable spaces in the Temple. Even more surprising, I found this one full of what must've been every youngling in the Order.

They looked at me questioningly, and I looked back the same way. That violent shoving in the Force had stopped, so what exactly did it want from me? Why had it dragged me here years after I'd left all this behind?

A moment later, I got my answer. The gaze of the younglings shifted from me to a point behind me, and chills went down my spine. I heard a familiar voice say my name, but nothing about his presence in the Force felt familiar.

Slowly, I turned, leaving one had on my saber. With the younglings behind me, I came face to face with Anakin Skywalker, the only man I'd ever loved. And he looked terrible.

His shoulders were hunched, and he held his lightsaber in his hand like he was ready for combat. His hair was a mess, and through the Force, I could almost see a literal cluster of darkness surrounding him. But worst of all, his eyes were yellow. Glowing Sith yellow.

"Anakin..." I breathed, keeping my tone carefully calm like I was talking to a scared animal. "What are you doing?"

"The Jedi have to be destroyed, Y/N. They are corrupt, and working for the downfall of the Republic."

"Anakin, what-"

"They've been keeping things from me my entire life. They're plotting against the Senate. This is the only way to ensure peace."

"Anakin... I understand that you're feeling hurt and angry-"

"No, you won't understand, ever! This is the only way!"

Anakin ignited his lightsaber, pure emotion and anger lacing his tone as he seemed to grow to the point of towering over me and the younglings. I should 've been terrified. Instead, I was feeling some anger of my own.

"You think I don't understand what you're feeling?" I demanded, raising my voice to match Anakin's tone. "You think I don't understand the anger, the betrayal that comes from realizing the Jedi aren't always right? That the thing you grew up with, your family, is enforcing a code that is actively hurting you? Do I need to remind you, Anakin, that I left the Order? A year ago?"

"It's not the same."

"No, it's not. Unlike you, I managed to develop somewhat healthy coping mechanisms and didn't listen to the Chancellor hissing in my ear, the snake."

"You're like the Jedi! You hate him! He's the only one who's been honest with me, who's helped me."

I sighed heavily and rested one hand on my hip. I could still feel the storm of emotions swirling around Anakin, but now I was determined to diffuse it.

"I don't hate the Chancellor Anakin, I just think he's a slimy politician. Ergo, not to be trusted. And usually not the honest type."

Anakin spluttered like he didn't know what to say, so I continued.

"Anakin, listen, I understand feeling angry and fed up with the Jedi. It's why I left! And I really don't mean this as an insult, but since you came to the Temple so late, they were especially terrible at accommodating you and helping you find healthy ways to deal with your emotions. But the Sith are absolutely not the answer either. Their path is an endless cycle of pain, anger, and hurt. You lash out, like you're doing now, in an attempt to stop the hurt. Then you feel more hate, for yourself and for the world rejecting you, as a result of what you did to try to stop the hurt in the first place. And other Sith, whoever it is that dragged you down this path, will manipulate, exploit, and abuse you through that pain to get you to do their bidding. I... I really don't want to see that happen to you, Anakin."

He took a long, long moment to respond, his eyes staring into the distance past me rather than focusing on any one thing. I just waited, trying to project all the warmth and love I'd ever felt for this man to him through the Force. Finally, he turned back to me.

"You don't know who the Sith is?"

"No. I stopped caring, to be totally honest with you, the day I left. I wanted to leave this life and everything that came with it behind."

"So why did you come back?"

I sighed, long and heavy. This was not a conversation I particularly wanted to have, especially not with a bunch of younglings listening in behind me, but it was that or let Anakin fall. The second option wasn't really an option, so that left me with the first.

"I got bodied awake by the Force in the middle of the night after spending a year ignoring it with a premonition that something bad was going to happen, and that I needed to come back here."

"And why did you listen?"

"Well... because you were in the vision, Anakin. I didn't get details, but I did get an overwhelming bad feeling, and I knew you were involved. So... I came back for you."

He narrowed his eyes at me, and I squirmed a little under the intensity of his gaze. There were so many bigger, more important things happening right now than my feelings for Anakin coming to light, but somehow that thought dominated my mind.

"You came back... for me?"

"Yeah, Ani. I mean... ugh, I can't believe I left the Order and now I'm still having to admit this, in the Temple no less." I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, completely removing my hand from the hilt of my lightsaber. I had no desire to fight my way out of this one against Anakin. Then, I used every last ounce of willpower in my body to look the man I loved straight in the eye. "I love you, Anakin. I've loved you for a long, long time. A while ago, I thought maybe you might've felt the same way, but... that doesn't matter. The Jedi Code forbids that kind of love, that kind of loyalty and reliance on another person. But you, and the love for you filling my heart, have always made me happier and stronger than I was without it. I spent a long time trying to square that with the Jedi ideals, and I couldn't. So, for that and other reasons, I left.

"But Ani, for the record, it didn't and doesn't fit with the Sith teachings, either. The Sith have no room for love. Obsession, maybe, but not love. They thrive on hate and anger, and there's no lasting room for those emotions in a loving relationship. Or in a happy existence, for that matter."

"You... love me?"

"Very very much." I gave him the smallest smile, letting as much hope as I could muster shine through. Anakin blinked back at me, his grip on his lightsaber relaxing, and I thought I noticed that cloud of darkness shrinking quite a bit.

I took a deep breath, then held out my hand to Anakin. I'd already come this far, so why not.

"Anakin... come with me. Let's both get the hell out of here, leave the Sith and the Jedi behind. Let them fight their war with their Codes and their restrictions, their lack of love and their hate and their anger, and go make our own, happy lives together somewhere else. I can't pretend to have all the answers, but I've at least had some practice developing healthier strategies for dealing with big feelings than the Jedi ever gave me. Let's go figure out more together."

For a few long, heart-stopping moments, I thought Anakin would refuse. He'd raise his saber, let the darkness win, and end everything right here and now. Then, slowly, he retracted the blade on his lightsaber. The darkness had all but gone now, and the yellow had faded slightly from his eyes. Finally, he nodded and reached for me.

"I love you too. I have for a long time. After you left, I thought I'd never see you again."

I smiled, trying to keep the sadness out of my expression as much as possible as Anakin finally took my hand. Our eyes stayed locked on each other, and I pulled him closer to me.

"Well, it's a good thing I came back then, isn't it?"

Anakin nodded, slowly at first and then much faster as he pulled me the rest of the way to him, wrapping me tight in his arms. I hugged him right back, a warm glow surrounding me and spreading through every part of my body. Who or whatever had shoved me here with the Force seemed to let out a sigh.

"C'mon, Anakin," I said, pulling back gently, just enough to smile at him. "Let's get out of here."

He nodded, a small smile finally working its way onto his own face, and I led him away from the younglings without looking back. I hated to think what might've happened if I hadn't been here, but it didn't matter. It hadn't happened, and now Anakin and I were finally getting a shot at some kind of happy ending.

A disturbance still echoed through the Force as we left the Temple and returned to my ship, but it wasn't the one that had sent me running here. Something strange and terrifying was happening in the galaxy, but now, it was happening without Anakin. Hopefully that would make a difference, and even if it didn't, at least I'd have him by my side for the rest of whatever was to come.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury

[datcloudboi]

List of Video Games Turning 10 Years Old in 2024

Alien: Isolation

Assassin's Creed: Rogue (the one where you play as an Assassin turned Templar.)

Assassin's Creed: Unity (the one set during the French Revolution.)

Atelier Escha & Logy: Alchemists of the Dusk Sky

Azure Striker Gunvolt

The Banner Saga

Bayonetta 2

The Binding of Isaac: Rebirth

BioShock Infinite: Burial at Sea (the DLC where you go back to Rapture)

A Bird Story (a sort of spin-off of "To the Moon")

BlazBlue: Chrono Phantasma

Borderlands: The Pre-Sequel! (is this a sequel to 1 or a prequel to 1? I forgor)

Bravely Default (in North America)

Broken Sword 5: The Serpent's Curse

Call of Duty: Advanced Warfare (the one with K*vin Sp*cey)

Captain Toad: Treasure Tracker

Castlevania: Lords of Shadow 2 (to date, the last new Castlevania game to release)

Child of Light

The Crew (going offline at the end of March)

D4: Dark Dreams Don't Die (a wonderfully strange game from the guy that made Deadly Premonition)

Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc (in North America)

Danganronpa 2: Goodbye Despair (in North America)

Dark Souls II

Deception IV: Blood Ties

Demon Gaze

Diablo III: Reaper of Souls

Disney Infinity 2.0

Divinity: Original Sin (from the team that would go on to make Baldur's Gate 3)

Donkey Kong Country: Tropical Freeze

Dragon Age: Inquisition (the winner of GOTY at the very first TGAs)

Drakengard 3

Earth Defense Force 2025 (EDF! EDF! EDF!)

The Evil Within (from the creative director of Resident Evil)

Fable Anniversary

Fairy Fencer F

Far Cry 4

Freedom Planet

Guilty Gear Xrd Sign

Hyrule Warriors

Inazuma Eleven (in North America. And digital only.)

Infamous: Second Son (as well as its expansion, First Light)

Kirby: Triple Deluxe

The Last of Us Remastered (just one year after the original version came out...)

The Legend of Korra (the game from PlatinumGames that you can't buy anymore)

Lego Batman 3: Beyond Gotham

Lego The Hobbit

The Lego Movie Videogame

Lethal League (from the team that would go on to make Bomb Rush Cyberfunk)

Lightning Returns: Final Fantasy XIII (the third and final chapter of the Final Fantasy XIII trilogy)

Lisa: The Painful (yes, really)

LittleBigPlanet 3

Lords of the Fallen (not to be confused with Lords of the Fallen, which came out in 2023)

Mario Golf: World Tour

Mario Kart 8 (the original version)

Metal Gear Solid: Ground Zeroes (the prologue to Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain, which came out 18 months later)

Middle-Earth: Shadow of Mordor

Might & Magic X: Legacy

Murdered: Soul Suspect (it's like Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective, but not as good)

Natural Doctrine

Oddworld: New 'n' Tasty! (a from the ground up remake of the first Oddworld game from 1997)

Pac-Man and the Ghostly Adventures 2 (yes, it got a sequel. I don't know how or why.)

Persona 4 Arena Ultimax

Persona Q: Shadow of the Labyrinth

Pokemon Omega Ruby & Pokemon Alpha Sapphire

Professor Layton and the Azran Legacy (the last time that Professor Layton himself was the protagonist. At least, until the New World of Steam comes out)

Professor Layton vs. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney

Pushmo World

Risen 3: Titan Lords

Sacred 3

Samurai Warriors 4

Shadowrun: Dragonfall

Shantae and the Pirate's Curse (the 3rd one)

Sherlock Holmes: Crimes and Punishments

Shovel Knight (yes, really)

Skylanders: Trap Team (the 4th one)

Sniper Elite III

Sonic Boom: Rise of Lyric

Sonic Boom: Shattered Crystal

South Park: The Stick of Truth

Steins;Gate (in North America)

Strider (the one from Double Helix)

Sunset Overdrive

Super Smash Bros. for Wii U and Nintendo 3DS (or Smash 4 for short)

Tales of Xillia 2

Tales of Hearts R

The Talos Principle

Theatrhythm Final Fantasy: Curtain Call

Thief (the reboot)

This War of Mine

Toukiden: The Age of Demons

Transformers: Rise of the Dark Spark (this game merged the storyline of the War for/Fall of Cybertron games with the storyline of the Michael Bay movies. I’m not joking)

Transistor

Valiant Hearts: The Great War

The Vanishing of Ethan Carter

The Walking Dead: Season Two

Wasteland 2

Watch Dogs

The Witch and the Hundred Knight

The Wolf Among Us (sequel this year!)

Wolfenstein: The New Order

Yaiba: Ninja Gaiden Z

Yoshi's New Island

[adrift-in-thyme]

I’ve been meaning to make a post like this for a while now but kept forgetting. Since First isn’t widely known I wanted people to have an explanation of who the heck this guy is (and why they should love him). So without further ado

Who is the First Hero?

(All of the following pictures are from the Hyrule Historia)

The First Hero (or First as we call him in the Linked Universe fandom) shows up in a tiny manga at the back of the Hyrule Historia (that’s basically an encyclopedia for Zelda). He isn’t technically canon and doesn’t have a game of his own. But according to the manga he is the first Link, Skyward Sword Link’s predecessor.

He lived in a time when Hylia was still a goddess and before Demise’s first attack. He was a royal knight, much like Hyrule Warriors Link, and seemed to be a man of great respect and esteem. Until, that is, he was framed for an unknown crime and imprisoned.

He remains in the dungeons for four years. Then, when his so called “premonitions of danger” begin to come true, and Demise attacks Hyrule, his people decide “oh, wait! They kinda need a hero now!” So, they set him free and practically beg him to fight for them. He’s understandably bitter about the whole thing, but being the hero he is, he goes out to battle.

No sooner has he agreed to fight, than the goddess Hylia shows up on her crimson loftwing. She has come to battle Demise and help her people escape to safety.

The loftwing looks down upon the humans as weak and cowardly. But Link stands up to him, telling him “there are those among us who have the courage to fight.” The loftwing admires him for the sentiment, but isn’t convinced. He promises to keep watch over him to see if Link is a worthy rider.

With the loftwing gone to the heavens above, Hylia gives Link the Master Sword

Link doesn’t think he is worthy of it after his imprisonment, but Hylia assures him that the sword knows better. It sees beyond his tarnished reputation to the kind, brave man beneath.

Though Link is still bitter about everything he has endured, he swears to fight for his friends. He takes the sword and hones it into something a mortal can wield.

Then, he goes to battle.

Hylia rallies the other races around Hyrule to help the Hylians. Meanwhile, Link and his men fight for seven days. Despite their efforts, Demise begins to burn Hyrule to the ground.

In the end, Link goes to face him, promising to slay him.

But he is badly wounded in the fight. He collapses, weak and near death. Before he can fade away, however, the loftwing shows up and chooses him as his rider.

He swears to ride with the loftwing forever. Shortly afterward, the dragons from Skyward Sword bless the Master Sword with the power of the Triforce. Then, Link gives the sword to Hylia, who carves Hyrule from the earth.

Link retrieves the sword and drives it into the ground, finishing the job and sending Hyrule skyward.

He wants to follow his people to the skies, but his wounds catch up to him. He falls to the ground. In his last moments he promises that his spirit will always be with his people.

Hylia seals Demise away, even as the enraged god promises to prevail. Then, she goes to where her fallen hero lies.

She holds him, crying over him and lamenting the pain he had to endure to become the hero Hyrule needed. Knowing that Hyrule will need their help once more, she then promises to reincarnate them both. Only this time, she will be a mortal.

This story, we learn, becomes legend in the era of Skyward Sword. And the loftwing who Link swore to ride with chooses the child who has his reincarnated spirit, Skyward Sword Link or Sky.

Now, as for First’s standing in LU…I’m know multiple LU fans (myself included) speculate that Jojo will include him at some point. She’s been cryptic about it when asked though, so we don’t know for sure. Neither do we know when he’ll show up (if he does). So, for now, we can only hope.

…and create our own AU’s in the meantime ;)

[decoysouled]

halloween starters // accepting. @maquiscursed // ⋆ carving pumpkins together (xiao & aether, any of our genshin verses (i'm sure pumpkin carving in a thing in fontaine, right) or modern verse!)

THERE IS SOMETHING PEACEFUL IN THE AIR OF LIYUE — often, Aether has found himself drawn back to this land & the people within, following the distant singing of his heart to the land that felt as if it could be a new home. As if it could both devour him whole until his splintered soul finally found peace among the cosmos & as if it could offer him the type of warmth he so often craves within the winter, when the frost turns his fingers a slight red. When it almost hurts to touch anything at all.

( the chilling cold had never been enjoyable for them, nor had the coldness of the lonely ever-winter within a heart that once had been overflowing with the sparks of passion for their travels, weathered by an eternity of witnessing misfortune. )

He had thought that feeling of belonging to be lost twice before: once when he was forced to leave his home world to pursue a destiny he did not want, & once when he awoke from the torment of his nightmares in the everlasting sleep he was forced into by a god he could not name, when he awoke to his sister nowhere in sight & the knowledge he would not see her for a long time to come.

( they had awoken alone beneath the world within a nation that they could not understand the language of. once, they had believed it to be misfortune. these days, they believed it a blessing. )

Perhaps that feeling of home was not from the nation, rather the person he often found himself seeking out the company of whenever he found himself within the vicinity of Wangshu Inn — that feeling had vanished the moment Xiao had seen him off before his trip to Fontaine, a promise on the tip of Aether's tongue that he would visit as soon as possible. It had been months before he had finally returned & he was surprised, admittedly, that Xiao had not seemed too perturbed by the length of his absence.

( they have never held the desire to worry him, that person who was slowly becoming quite dear to them. they wonder if he would worry anyway, even if they told him not to. they shelve that thought away for later. )

It was his desire to return to that feeling of home that had lead him back to Liyue, back to Xiao, & with it, he had brought new knowledge & the idea of an activity to try during the autumn season — if Aether were to be asked his true motive for insisting that Xiao carve pumpkins with him, he would not make it known that it was a way of gaining the company of his friend for several hours.

He is sure Xiao already knows that it is a thinly veiled excuse for spending time together, so there is no reason to make the unspoken rules of friendship something far more tangible than he would like them to be.

❝You're better at this than I thought you'd be.❞ Aether comments, looking up from his own pumpkin to watch Xiao, lips curled into a serene smile that lasts only a few seconds before it vanishes, replaced by the usual smaller one that rests on his lips to put people at ease — it is rarely reflective of his feelings, yet today, it seems he cannot find any reason not to smile.

❝That's the first step done, by thr way. You take out the seeds and insides so you can put a candle in.❞ He explains, averting his gaze to his own, rather poorly, gutted pumpkin that rests on the table. ❝Another reason you scrape out all the wet parts so that it doesn't mould as quickly. The inside will dry out after a bit, although the candles do make it rot quicker... I'm actually not sure of the point of hollowing it out?❞

It is not the first time he has enountered this sort of tradition, nor will it be the last, but within each world he has visited, those similar traditions often came with different reasons. Thus, sometimes the details & their reasonings could get a little lost in translation.

( it is interesting to see the ways mortals will justify the practices they believe to be theirs & theirs alone. there is a beauty in it, yet also sadness: the creativity of mortal beings knows no bounds, yet the universe is filled with patterns & all will eventually return to the jaws of the starry abyss in the skies. )

❝The next step is to carve a scary face into the pumpkin.❞ His instruction is spoken softly, gently, as if Aether worries his words may seem far too commanding for the balance of the peaceful atmosphere that has hung between them thus far, although he does not want it to seem optional either. This is the most important step of pumpkin carving, as he had been taught during his time in Fontaine, & so it could not be missed out for any reason.

For a moment, he does wonder if it may seem childish of him to adhere so strictly to the rules of something so trivial. He casts that thought from his mind as soon as it appears. For a few minutes, Aether falls quiet, pausing his explanation to keep a vigilant eye on his fingers as he begins to carve away at the pumpkin's sides with a knife. It is only once he has gotten into the rhythm of it & Aether is sure he won't suffer the loss of a finger that he speaks once again.

( it was best to avoid injury that may be seen by close friends, after all, even if it isn't anything they wouldn't heal from. )

❝In Fontaine, they believe that it scares away spirits that aren't able to move on from the mortal plane.❞ He explains after a moment of thought, as if attempting to figure out how best to phrase it. ❝They believe that on the day marking the end of the summer, the souls of the dead will go to the otherworld, but some spirits will return to visit their homes. For those that are evil, they carve pumpkins, dress up in costume & light bonfires to scare them away. That's why they put the candles in there, too. Pretty cool, right?❞

Or, so he hopes — if this is nonsense to Xiao, at least Aether can be comforted by the fact his words would not have fallen on deaf ears, regardless of the attitude of his companion.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

UGH FINE I'm hesitantly excited so here, have the first chapter of Golden Mercy until I've figured out what to do with the rest of it

The Legend of Zelda: Golden Mercy

Hyrule Field lay in ruins.

Battle after battle had scarred the land, taking what was once beautiful and marring it into unrecognizable disorder. Trees were uprooted, earth scorched, statues and fountains and gardens fallen and dead and overgrown with what few weeds could feed off the carnage. Banners were torn, stone overturned, and debris from fallen warriors littered the field. The earth was torn with lacerations of great magnitude, scars of injuries from a war that had just finished unfolding.

The entrance to Castle Town was filled with people. Despite the large crowds, the air was silent, suffocated in the darkness of night. Grief weighed down like a sodden blanket, pushing on the hearts of everyone there, held at bay by candles in their hands, their little flames illuminating exhausted faces.

At the front of the group of mourners was a woman in a red gown, mostly hidden away in a black cloak. Her blonde hair and golden crown were hidden beneath the dark hood, eyes focused on her candle as its wick gave life to her burning grief. To her left was another woman, to her right a man, both dressed in somber cloaks that hid richer attire underneath.

The woman on the left stepped forward alongside the crowned woman. The princess led the ritual, holding her candle high above her, and everyone followed suit. The woman to her left twirled a hand, magic casting it aglow, and the candles all started to float out of their bearers’ hands, drifting into the sky.

The princess turned to face the crowd. “Tonight, we remember their sacrifice. Tonight, we honor those who fell to save Hyrule.”

Her gaze drifted to the man who had been beside her, and she added, “Tonight, we celebrate our victory with them.”

The Hero of Hyrule watched her, holding her gaze for a moment before his eyes dipped down to the ground.

Zelda felt her own gaze drift away as well. She watched her subjects, her soldiers, her people grieve. They looked to her for guidance.

They had to. Her father was dead. She was now the ruler of Hyrule.

What was left of it.

After a year of fighting Cia, they had finally destroyed her. It had taken everything they’d had, including the Master Sword and Triforce. But they had prevailed, as destiny always dictated. If Zelda could rely on anything, she could rely on the story woven throughout history, inscribed in the golden ink of the goddesses themselves.

In the end, they always won.

But at what cost? Her kingdom lay in ruins, nobles squabbling for power, commoners scrambling for resources, soldiers looking for closure.

This was her fault. She had premonitions that something terrible would happen. When it all fell apart, she had hidden.

It’s over, she reminded herself. Cia is dead. It’s time to rebuild.

Zelda’s eyes returned to the Hero of Hyrule once more. Yes. Rebuild. They had a destiny to fulfill. Lana knew it to be true. It was why she kept watching them, it was why she refused to stay once the war was over.

Link was Zelda’s. And he always would be. Together, they had to rebuild what Cia had destroyed.

As soon as the ceremony was done, Lana disappeared with little more than a goodbye, leaving both Zelda and Link a little hurt and saddened. They’d fought and bled alongside each other for a year, yet Zelda had a feeling she would never see Lana again.

Perhaps it was for the best.

Looking up, Zelda watched the enchanted candles continue to fly away into the night sky. She said a prayer for the fallen, a prayer for her father, a prayer for her people, and a prayer for herself. Then she turned and headed for the castle, people following her silently. She would come to power on a throne of bones and brokenness, ascending to rule a kingdom that could barely even be called so. But her people followed her nonetheless.

The crowds meandered towards the throne room while Zelda was allowed to take a detour. They could wait. She wandered the cavernous halls instead, memories of a warm childhood washed away by the cold, pale light of the moon cascading over the place like icy water that carried away any life with it. Chandeliers were halfway dismantled from the ceiling or outright shattered on the ground, royal family paintings half burnt or crooked from their places of honor.

Zelda paused before a large room of tapestries and paintings, her family history displayed before her. Centuries—millennia even—of descendants of Hylia stood before her, each having overcome their own trials. Some stood out notably, some had to take on the burden of destiny more than others. Princess Zelda, the Guardian of Time who guided the Hero of Time to save two different Hyrules, who created a new identity for herself as Sheik to keep herself and the Triforce safe while actively fighting evil. Princess Zelda, the Dawn’s Light who had given her life and soul to protect the Hero of Light and a princess of shadow. Princess Zelda, the Sacred Diplomat who had fought a war against Ganon and won, who had overcome everything and reunited Hyrule, who had sealed away pure evil and helped split his soul into shards to protect the world from ever enduring such destruction again.

Each of these princesses had faced evil incarnate and won. Yet here she was, unable to protect her people from a petty sorceress.

But you did, she reminded herself. The war is over.

The war was over.

Zelda strode towards the throne room, steeling herself for her new destiny, promising she would never let her people down again.

XXX

The cold of the desert held little comfort to it, but the night sky was usually a beautifully welcoming sight. When the constellations twinkled with more lights than possible, a tan-skinned woman squinted and watched as seeming stars floated in a large cluster higher and higher into the air.

Ah. The funeral.

“What is that?” someone asked.

The woman watched the sight, her freckled face somber and serene. She bowed her head in respect, braids spilling over her shoulders, and then said quietly, “The war is over. Hyrule is mourning their dead.”

“Is it really over?” another Gerudo questioned. “It’s been a year.”

“Well, there aren’t giant portals, so I’d say that’s a pretty big hint,” another one noted, sarcasm heavy in her tone.

“What difference does it make? It’s not as if it matters to us.”

“The monsters spiling out of portals mattered, genius.”

“Yes, and where was Hyrule’s army? Busy dealing with Hyrule’s own affairs. Nobody cared if monsters came into the desert.”

“They don’t care about the desert,” the woman interrupted. “And it’s better that way. They barely know of our existence anymore.”

“That happens when they wipe us out.”

“Lady Nabooru!”

The woman turned her attention away from the lights of the funeral, watching one of her warriors run her way. “What is it?”

“There’s—there’s something going on,” the warrior stammered to explain as the others looked at her as well. “A man has appeared in the desert.”

What? A man? What was this about? Had Hyrule sent someone out here to their forsaken land? Nabooru rose, grabbing her twin scimitars, and followed the warrior. She didn’t have to go far – they crossed a few dunes and found him by some ruins. He was staring at his hands, flexing them hesitantly, his face mostly hidden from view as red hair spilled over to hide it.

Red hair. Dark skin. Those clothes. This man… this man was a Gerudo.

Slowly, his gaze moved up to meet hers. The diadem on his head was immediately familiar to her. Nabooru’s eyes widened, her breath stolen away, the chill of the desert freezing her to her core.

Every Gerudo knew the story of Ganondorf. And Nabooru knew a dark power had been on the sorceress’ side in this war.

The man breathed slowly, measuredly, as if he were testing out his lungs, as if the gravity of the situation made him have to think about every breath he took. Then he stood, towering over all of them.

When he broke the silence, he asked, “Where is my daughter?”

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood - 64

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 64: The End of a Noose

AO3 - Masterlist

Daenera found herself engulfed by the forest’s unsettling embrace, navigating silently through its depths. The crunch of fallen leaves under her feet marked her passage as twilight descended, the shadows stretching among the trees. The forest was on the cusp of nightfall, slowly descending into darkness as the last rays of light reached through branches. 

A thin mist enveloped the air, ethereal and cold. It danced around her, caressing her skin with its chilly touch, leaving droplets that glistened like pearls in her hair. Clutching her skirts, she moved with hesitant steps, her breath forming clouds that melted with the mist, as if it were siphoning fragments of her essence. A shudder ran through her, an ominous premonition, as the hairs on the back of her neck bristled with apprehension. 

The forest’s immensity disoriented her. Every path seemed misleading, compelling her to venture deeper into its enigmatic heart. 

Daenera’s heart throbbed with unease, its rhythm echoing her growing anxiety. She sensed the forbidden nature of this place, that she wasn’t supposed to be here. 

Lifting her gaze, she looked beyond the skeletal canopy of trees, stripped bare by winter’s hand. The sky stretched above in a deep shade of indigo, devoid of stars. In the absence of the stars, she felt an unsettling solitude envelop her. 

As Daenera’s eyes returned to her surroundings, she noticed a solitary wagon nestled among the trees. From its roof hung an array of trinkets, chiming a melody unfamiliar to her ears. It was the first hint of human craftsmanship she had encountered in the forest–first sign of anyone. The sight of it seemed familiar, yet not. Perhaps that was what compelled her to move closer.

“Hello?” Her voice, unsteady and distant, barely seemed her own as she called out. “Is anyone there?”

In response, a voice, soft as the breeze yet clear, murmured, “Your future… I see it. Woven in shadows and light, black and green, red and blue… Woven. Weaving, it is.”

As the breeze strengthened, the chimes suspended from the wagon’s roof sang a haunting tune, each note resonating with profound sadness. Surrounding her, the bare branches of the trees creaked and groaned, their sounds eerily akin to the snapping of bones. This unnerving melody filled the twilight, the sky above growing darker, still devoid of any stars. 

And in the distance, the agonized cry of a stag pierced the silence. 

Startled, Daenera stumbled on the wagon’s steps, falling to her knees. More cires, distant and chilling, filled the air. She quickly regained her footing, casting a wary glance back into the dark embrace of the forest before stepping through the wagon’s door.

Instead of the wooden floor she expected, her foot met with the unexpected coldness of smooth stone. 

Daenera found herself standing in the midst of the somber throne room, enveloped in darkness. Here, the oppressive shadows seemed to thrive, engulfing the weak glow of torches and resisting the illumination they offered. Despite the pale moonlight filtering through the grand windows, it could only cast a ghostly sheen over the room, the mist from the forest eerily presisting, lingering among the immense stone columns. 

The silence was heavy, almost tangible, as if the very air was holding its breath in anticipation. The faint sound of Daenera’s footsteps echoed in the vast emptiness, each step resonating with a sense of foreboding. 

At the room’s end stood the towering throne, it's daunting presence seeming to command the shadows themselves. Darkness clung to it, enhancing the menacing curve of the swords that formed the seat of House Targaryen, jutting up cruelly from the floor. 

Above her, the obscured faces of her ancestors loomed, their features lost in the shadows, yet their unseen gazes felt intensely upon her. Daenera observed the eight figures emerging from the stone columns, standing as silent sentinels. Her gaze drifted from one to another, a frown creasing her brow as her eyes fell on the unfamiliar figure of a man with half his face completely concealed by shadows. An almost skeletal hand rested solemnly against his chest. 

Her attention shifted to a figure on the opposite column, revealing an incomplete carving. It appeared as though the sculptor had abruptly halted, leaving the figure only half-emerged from the stone, an artwork frozen midway through its creation. The stone seemed scorched, black marks of soot covering the unfinished work. This unfinished statue imparted a sense of interruption, a story left untold. 

A strange sort of weight settled on Daenera’s chest. 

Beside the unfinished column, there was another that depicted a scene of desolation. This sculpture appeared as though it had been ravaged by destruction, its form disintegrating before it could ever be fully realized. The rough texture of the stone bore the marks of scarring, with deep fissures fracturing the artwork. Bits and pieces of stone lay strewn at the foot of the column, silent witness to the statue’s state of decay and that had eroded its once intended glory.  

The last figure, almost entirely engulfed in darkness, presented a stark contrast; the only visible part was a hand, delicately holding a stone flower. This singular detail, emerging from the shadows, drew her closer. 

Suddenly, something lunged from the shadows, seizing her wrist. A startled yelp escaped her lips as she felt the icy, unyielding grip. 

“Beware the wings of war and the vengeance that rides on the wind,” a voice hissed. “One shall fall, many shall mourn. Kin slaying kin.”

From the embracing darkness, a weathered face emerged into the moon’s pale light. Time had carved deep lines into his visage, as if the shadows themselves had etched their mark upon him. His eyes, wide and clouded, seemed to see beyond the physical world, carrying the weight of unseen knowledge. 

Daenera struggled against his grasp, a mix of fear and urgency rising in her throat. 

The beggar’s grip on Daenera was unyielding, his breath crept across her face like a lingering mist, carrying the unexpected scent of marigold.

He whispered ominously, “The Stranger follows you. With knives, with poison, at your command, the Stranger shall find himself in great company.”

Abruptly, the beggar retreated into the shadows, releasing her with such a suddenness that Daenera stumbled backward, landing ungracefully on the stone floor with a thud. Her palms scraped over it, burning. Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest, and when she looked up the man had vanished, his daunting words echoing in the throne room like the distant chimes outside the wagon. 

Regaining her composure, Daenera stood, her eyes scanning the room before they fixed upon the throne and the sinister crown resting upon it. Drawn by a mix of fear and fascination, she approached, the air filled with the ghostly wails of a thousand souls – the thousands that had died in the making of it. 

Reaching the first step leading to the throne’s dias, a chilling thought crossed her mind: Had anyone ever been impaled by the swords jutting out from the floor?

A sharp pain suddenly interrupted her thoughts. She hissed, looking at her palm to find a fresh cut, blood flowing warmly down her fingers, each drop falling drum rhythmically onto the floor. The sting of the wound was fleeting, overshadowed by her focus on the blood’s steady drip. 

Ascending the stairs, she held her hand over the throne, allowing her blood to fall onto its cold, unforgiving surface. The throne seemed to crave it—hungered for it. It was an offering, a sacrifice. 

Her fingers lightly brushed against the cold steel of it. 

A shiver cascaded down Daenera’s spine as she turned, her eyes landing in the witch reclining in her chair behind a table shrouded in cloth. In the center of the table rested a glass orb, a candle flickering ominously beside it. The witch’s laughter echoed through the throne room, filled with a cruel mirth. 

Trials and tribulations… Tested by fire and betrayal… So many threads, so many fates… The words seemed to emanate not from the witch’s lips, but from the very shadows that filled the room, whispered, an echo of the past. 

The witch’s eyes, dark and gleaming, peered out from beneath the hood that concealed most of her face, her cloak reminiscent of the Stranger’s, the fabric black, as though made from the shadows. A sly smirk played on her lips. 

“The dance begins,” she announced, her voice oddly trailing the movement of her lips. 

Confused, Daenera descended the steps from the stone, settling into the chair across from the witch. Perched there, her feet dangled above the floor, her small hands gripping the chair’s edge. A prick on her fingertip drew her attention momentarily, her eyes glancing down to find the skin unbroken. 

“What dance?” She inquired, her voice that of a child. 

“The one that brings fire from the skies,” the witch replied cryptically, tilting her head slightly, as though amused by the frown on Daenera’s face. “The one that pits kin against kin… You sense it, don’t you?”

“Sense what?” Daenera’s reply was faint, the innocence of youth evident in her tone. 

“The rope.”

Daenera’s frown deepened, her understanding eluding her. 

The witch watched her closely. “You will, in time.”

The throne room was suddenly filled with the haunting sounds of creaking and groaning wood. Daenera watched in awe as the threes writhed, their branches twisting skyward like gnarled fingers. Leaves rustled and skittered across the stone floor, gathering at the base of the immense columns. Lifting her gaze, she was met with the sight of the night sky stretching across the ceiling arches, a tapestry of darkness without a single star.

A chill enveloped her, her breath materialized more distinctly than before, her exhalation forming a visible cloud in the cold air. The witch’s voice, disembodied and echoing, resonated again, rising about the creak of the trees. 

Princess of Flowers… Princess of Poison… Princess of Curses…

Daenera turned her gaze back to the witch, her heart hammering loudly within her chest, feeling fear grip her. The taste of dread was acrid on her tongue. 

“It dwells within you,” the witch intoned. 

“What does?” Daenera asked. 

“The power, ancient and dark… coursing through your veins,” the witch answered. 

The wind seemed to carry her words, whispering, Blood will play a significant role in your life, with debts made and paid in equal measure. Pain will be your constant companion as the cursed power in your blood will be wielded with the precision of poison. 

“Vows of blood,” the witch continued, her gaze dropping to Daenera’s hand, now grown from its childish proportions into the hand of a young lady. Daenera opened her palm, revealing the stinging, deep red cut, nearly black in its depths. “Vows. Curses. Poison.”

The witch extended her hand, and Daenera hesitantly placed hers within it. The witch then examined the cut and the pooling blood, keeping Daenera’s fingers spread to prevent her from clenching her fist. “You feel it. You will understand. It’s in your blood. It’s your price to pay.”

Then, with a startling act, the witch dragged her tongue across Daenera’s palm, greedily consuming the blood, smearing it across her mouth and lips. 

Daenera recoiled, snatching her hand back as the witch’s laughter echoed through the room, loud enough to make the windows vibrate, like thunder cackling in the sky. Snow began to drift down from the starless sky above, landing softly on the ground. 

The stranger will visit you more times than you can count. He follows you and those you love. You will plead with him. You will barter with him. You will send him more company… 

“Do you feel it now?” The witch cackled, her voice weaving through the air. 

Strings of duty. Strings of love. Strings of fate…

Daenera rose abruptly, the chair toppling from the force of it. She felt ice course through her veins, her blood chilling as it continued to drip onto the snow-laden ground. A sense of entrapment, of being ensnared, overwhelmed her. 

Poisoned Princess. Cursed Princess. Princess of Blood…

As the overwhelming sense of fear and confusion took hold, Daenera realized she had reverted to her childlike form, her stature diminutive and vulnerable, shaking and crying. In a desperate plea for safety, she called out for ser Harwin, her voice echoing with a child’s urgency. “Harwin! Father!”

Poisoned cups may be turned around on yourself, and the power of curses always comes with a price… poisoned cups… cursed blood… 

Daenera bolted, her small feet plunging into the biting snow. The witch’s laughter thundered through the throne room, a sound as chilling as the winds that howled around her and the blood rushing in her ears. The room had transformed again; no trees remained, and snow descended from an endless, starless expanse above.

“You can feel it encircling your neck, can’t you?” the witch’s voice taunted. 

And Daenera felt a constricting sensation around her neck. Panicked, her hands clawed at the rome that had ensnared her. With a brutal jerk, she was yanked backward, her hopes of reaching the doors dashed. Briefly glimpsing the rope, she saw it was woven from threads of hundreds of colors.

Spools of duty, honor, and loyalty. Spools of love and betrayal. Spools of blood. Weaving. Being weaved. So many spools. So many possibilities. Spools for a crown. 

Suspended in the air, her feet dangled helplessly as the rope hoisted her upwards, draping over a stone arch like a noose. The pressure choked her, and she kicked wildly, struggling in vain to loosen the rope or alleviate its grip. Her body swung like a pendulum, the silent stone faces of her ancestors and the witch the only ones to witness her distress. 

Approaching her, the witch posed a malevolent question: “What was it he said to you? ‘To know one's future is to tie a noose and hang oneself with it’?”

The pressure in her head grew as her lungs ached for air. The tears cascaded down her cheeks, and she briefly feared they might turn to blood as the blood vessels in her eyes burst. Her body was hoisted higher, and from the corner of her eye, she caught sight of another figure suspended from the stone arches. Initially, she saw only boots, then a glimpse of a golden cloak, and finally, hands that she remembered as kind and firm. Fireflies hovered around the hanging figure, creeping over the burned side of his face. 

She was lifted higher. 

As she rotated slowly, the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, her teeth gritted as she desperately struggled against the noose. 

“You should have heeded his warning,” the witch taunted with merciless glee. “And he should have heeded mine.”

Spinning, Daenera’s gaze landed on a woman clad in a red and gold dress, adorned with a lion on the bodice, hanging like a macabre ornament. Her skin was ghostly pale, her golden hair flowing over her shoulders. But it was her striking green eyes, full of scorn and disdain, that truly unnerved Daenera. This woman was a stranger to her, yet she was not alone; numerous others hung suspended, enveloped in the silent descent of snow. 

Amidst this chaos, Daenera fought against the rope that bound her, emitting a strangled, horrified cry. 

Then, her eyes fell upon a woman with dark hair tinged with gray, hanging limply with her back turned, blood dripping from her dress. She was closer than the others. There was something hauntingly familiar about her, a presence that resonated with Daenera in a deeply unsettling way. 

As she continued to be hoisted up, she witnessed the surreal scene unfold around her; a man with a hand of gold, another with the head of a wolf crowned in iron, a woman in green silk and a poised expression on her face, a man with kohl-lined eyes and bells in his long hair, and a beautiful woman with pale silver hair, her body entwined with the figures of three dragons. There was a boy with dark curls and arrows jutting out his back, a burned body swaying back and forth, a young girl with sad eyes, a boy with half his body missing. 

Around them, a myriad of individuals appeared, each distinct yet sharing a familiar fate. There were men and women with hair of silver moonlight, of spun gold, black of the deepest night, fiery red, and earthy brown. Their eyes were a mosaic of colors – dull gray, vivid blue, warm brown, and piercing green. Thousands of them, each suspended from vividly colored ropes, spinning in a macabre dance. 

Feeling an unfamiliar weight on her brow, Daenera frantically tore at with one hand, ripping it off. It was a crown. 

With a surge of determination, she used the crown’s sharp points to saw at the rope, even as the witch’s laughter echoed around her, louder and louder, crackling like a thunderstorm. 

“You have one last question, Princess of the Blood,” the witch declared. 

“I… don’t know it,” Daenera gasped, choking for air. 

“You do, but you haven’t yet learned how to ask,” the witch retorted. 

Finally, the rope gave way, and Daenera felt herself plummeting into an endless fall, and with her, the stars fell as well and in the distance a baby cried.

With the fall of the dragons, the long night is coming.

Choking. 

Hands that grabbed her. 

Rope tightening around her neck. 

Hands that shook her. 

Falling.

A voice drawn taut in a loud whisper.

Her eyes flew open to the feeling of someone gripping her shoulders and shaking her firmly, fingertips desperately pressing into her flesh. A voice she recognized was calling her name, its tone laced with urgency. Gasping for breath, she sat up sharply, her mind momentarily lost in the disorienting darkness that surrounded her, a residual dread clinging to her body like a shroud made of lead.

As a reflex, Daenera’s hand shot to her neck, her mind still half-convinced to find rope wrapped around it. Her fingers, trembling slightly, found nothing but her own smooth, unmarked skin–though the ghost of it wrapped around her, tight and choking, lingered like a dream at the edges of consciousness. 

Her bed chamber was faintly lit by the dim glow of a torch held by a shadowy figure, its light barely piercing the enveloping gloom.

As her eyes rapidly adjusted to the sparse light, clarity gradually returned to her. She glanced to the side of the bed, her heart sinking slightly at the sight of the empty space beside her. Her hand brushed over the cool pillow, frowning deeply as she expected to find Aemond at her side. 

With a lingering ache in her throat and still feeling disoriented, she turned her gaze to the figure who had awoken her, their eyes blinking back at her in the dimness. 

Daenera’s voice emerged in a stammer, tinged with confusion and a trace of fear. Her heart pounded fiercely within her chest, echoing the turmoil of her abrupt awakening. Her body was taut with tension as her hand wrapped around the wrist of Joyce. 

“Wha–What is it?” she asked, her voice quivering slightly. “What has happened?”

Joyce’s gaze, serious and aged by the wavering light of the torch, met Daenera’s. Her voice, though firm, carried an undercurrent of pity. “It’s the King.”

A heavy sense of foreboding settled in Daenera’s stomach. “Is he dead?”

The unspoken confirmation was evident in Joyce’s expression. Daenera felt a tightness in her chest, her mind spinning as the remnants of the nightmare faded, giving way to the stark reality that enveloped her. 

In that moment, the torchlight flared erratically as Fenrick moved, his features set in a grim determination. “We must leave. Now.”

“We have to alert my mother,” Daenera insisted, even as Joyce briskly pulled the blankets away and handed her clothes with a silent command to dress quickly. The soft cotton of the hoses brushed against her skin as she hurriedly put them on. Joyce helped her into a simple servant’s dress, lacing it up with haste. 

“There isn’t time to go to the rookery,” Fenrick responded, respecting the princess’s privacy by turning away as she dressed. His hand rested on his sword hilt, his gaze fixed on the door, alert and ready. “The Hightowers would have sent their men to lock it down.”

“We must send word to my mother,” Daenera insisted, adjusting the unfamiliarly coarse fabric of her hastily donned dress, fingers fumbling slightly with the bodice, a stark contrast to the fine garments she was accustomed to. 

Fenrick, however, was focused on a more immediate concern, his tone firm as he said, “Our priority is to get you out of the city.”

“Jelissa and Patrick have gone ahead to the ship. They’ll be waiting for us,” Joyce informed.

Daenera’s voice trembled slightly, a mix of fear and determination. “I assume the Hightowers are making their move?”

“One of the kitchen girls overheard the boy, who found the King, speak with The Queen’s handmaid. She was able to sneak us a note,” Joyce shared, her voice underscored by the gravity of the situation. “The Hand has called for a council meeting.”

Daenera felt the urge to point out that convening a council meeting wasn’t out of the ordinary following a King’s death, but her words faltered and remained unspoken as Joyce pressed on. “They’ll start rounding up the servants soon and closing the gates. We need to leave before that happens. 

Daenera’s gaze drifted back to the empty side of the bed, a bitter taste forming in her mouth as she pondered the reason behind his absence. Did he know? The thought that he was actively involved in the current machinations against her and her mother, sent a shiver down her spine. The realization dawned on her that guards could be at her door at any moment.

Swallowing hard, she forced herself to set aside her personal grief and fears. The weight of the direness of the situation pressed heavily upon her, tightening her chest as thoughts raced through her mind. The King was dead and now was the opportune time to move against her mother. 

With swift movements, Joyce wrapped a cloak around Daenera’s shoulders, fastening it securely at the front and drawing the hood over her head. “Keep your head down.”

Daenera, driven by a sense of urgency, rushed across her chamber to a table. She quickly grabbed the witch’s coin, deeming it essential, and tucked it into her stays for safekeeping. However, her sworn shield showed clear disapproval of the delay. He grasped her arm firmly, guiding her out of the room.

“Leave it!” He insisted, his tone sharp and focused, emphasizing the need for haste over any material possessions. 

As Daenera was urged out the doors of her chambers, she was met by a small contingent of her own guards. Eddin Follard, Darvin Crooler, and Edam Varner stood watch, their hands resting uneasily on the hilts of their swords, their eyes scanning the dimly lit corridor. The tension among them was palpable as they shifted. 

Darvin Crooler, his expression solemn and his voice barely above a whisper, addressed Fenrick. “Kevan and Sihtric are arranging horses for our departure.”

Fenrick responded with a nod, his expression just as serious. The brief exchange, devoid of any unnecessary words, underscored the serious nature of their undertaking. Each of them understood the stakes, and the need for swift, discrete action. 

The corridor they traversed felt unnerving, a stark contrast to its usual bustle, though not entirely unexpected at this early hour of the morning. The absence of servants and guards only intensified the eerie, almost oppressive atmosphere that enveloped them. Only the distant sound of heavy footsteps offered any indication of life, a subtle reminder that they were not completely alone. 

Fenrick’s grip on Daenera’s arm was firm and purposeful, as if he was silently communicating the urgency of their situation. He seemed to be propelled by a fear that loosening his hold might cause Daenera to halt in her tracks. Their own footsteps echoed distressingly loud in the deserted hall, each step reverberating off the walls and seeming to linger in the air.  

To Daenera, even the flickering of the torches felt amplified, their crackles and hisses echoing in the quiet, heightening her sense of apprehension. Each sound seemed magnified, fueling her trepidation that any noise might betray their presence and intentions. The torchlight cast dancing shadows along the walls, adding a surreal quality to their cautious progress through the corridor. 

“What of–” Daenera began in a loud whisper, her words ebbing out as their escape was abruptly halted at the end of the hallway by a group of guards. 

Time seemed to stand still as Daenera instinctively held her breath, her eyes wide with fear. She harbored an irrational hope that if she remained perfectly still, she might somehow evade notice. Her body stiffened, every muscle taut with anticipation, as she watched one of the guards’ hands gravitate towards the hilt of his sword. 

The sound of his blade being drawn from its sheath reverberated through the tense air, sending a shiver down Daenera’s spine. The sharp, metallic hiss of steel seemed to hang in the corridor, a foreboding prelude to what might come next. It was quickly followed by the collective sound of the other guards drawing their swords in unison, creating an intimidating chorus of metallic echoes. 

As the tension in the corridor escalated, Daenera’s guards instinctively reacted. With swift and decisive movements, they too drew their swords, readying themselves for any confrontation. Their expressions were resolute, their stance defensive yet prepared for an offensive move if necessary.

Fenrick firmly tugged her to a safer spot behind him, positioning himself protectively between her and danger, his stance rigid and alert. With a low, determined growl, he issued a command. “Take her. Run.”

Joyce swiftly took hold of Daenera’s hand, pulling the princess along with her. Stealth was no longer their ally as the sound of their hurried footsteps echoed through the halls, their skirts and cloaks billowing with each frantic stride. Daenera’s heart seemed to throb both in her throat and in the pit of her stomach, a dual sensation of fear and adrenaline. 

Descending the stairs at a breakneck pace, with Ser Edam Varner close behind, they reached the ground floor. Suddenly, Joyce came to an abrupt halt. Daenera, caught off guard, stumbled into her maid, barely managing to stay upright. 

As Daenera raised her eyes, she was met with the sight of the gleaming, pale armor of a Kingsguard. The knight stepped out from the shadows of an adjacent corridor, his dark eyes exuding a cold authority. 

Dread gripped her chest once again, squeezing her lungs as she panted. 

“Do not run, Princess. It will do you no good,” Ser Criston Cole warned, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, yet not drawing it. 

Daenera glanced over her shoulder, her eyes briefly scanning the open doors leading to Maegor’s Holdfast’s inner courtyard. The night’s darkness was gradually giving way to the early light of dawn, the sky transitioning from deep blue to a soft morning yellow. Turning back to face Ser Criston, Daenera glared at him.

The knight advanced towards them, his movements deliberate and his expression resolute, a clear intent evident in his demeanor.

Feeling the dryness of her mouth intensify, Daenera found her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth as she managed to utter, “Am I to be their prisoner?”

“Prisoner? No,” Ser Criston responded, though his tone offered no comfort. 

Daenera glared at him. “So I am free to leave?”

“No,” Ser Criston replied, his dark eyes narrowing. “We can’t have you alert your mother of the King’s passing. Return to your chambers, Princess. It is for your own safety.”

“It sounds like you are preparing to usurp my mother, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne,” Daenera sneered, her voice full of scorn.

Ser Criston Cole drew his blade, the sound of steel leaving its sheath chilling. 

In that tense moment, Joyce acted decisively. Releasing Daenera’s hand, she swiftly reached up to the back of her head and removed the pin that held her long, graying hair in place. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders in waves of brown and gray. It was strange to see her with her hair down, jarring.  

“Joyce,” Daenera began, her voice faltering.

But Joyce’s expression was one of unwavering determination, her eyes blazing with a resolve as fierce as any dragon’s, and with a short command, she gave Daenera a shove towards the doors. “Go.”

As Daenera turned and fled, the clamor of swords erupted behind her, a cacophony as loud as thunder in her ears. The shrill sound of metal striking metal sent a shiver down her spine, fueling her flight with the urgency of fear. A bitter surge of tears clawed at her throat and blurred her vision, but she forced them back, focusing solely on escape.

Her legs carried her forward with a frantic energy, her lungs tightening within her chest, reminding her of the breathlessness that had haunted her in her dream. The dream itself was quickly fading from her memory, leaving only the chilling sensation of rope tightening around her neck. Even in the harsh reality of her current predicament, the imagined noose seemed to scratch against her skin, a ghostly reminder. 

With a grim sense of poetry, she found that her end might not be at the hands of a suffocating noose, but rather by the chilling, unforgiving kiss of steel. 

I should have gone with them, she thought regretfully, nearly losing her footing as she hurried down the steps through the courtyard. Behind her, a yelp rang out, causing her to glance back over her shoulder in a moment of unthinking reaction. This momentary distraction led to her foot catching on the edge of an uneven stone slab, and she tumbled to the ground. The impact of her palms against the stone was loud and painful, sending a burning sensation up her arms. Her knees throbbed painfully as she clamored back to her feet, her heart racing wildly.

For a brief moment, she caught sight of the sky painted in vivid oranges and bleeding reds of dawn, before her gaze returned to the task ahead. Her heart sank as she saw Ser Erryk Cargyll step in front of the exit, effectively blocking her path.

Her movements faltered, and she looked at him with a desperate, pleading expression. “Please.”

Ser Erryk’s expression softened momentarily, his brows lifting in a gesture of sympathy, revealing a momentary struggle within him. It was as if he was torn between his sworn duty and the human inclination to show compassion. This internal conflict was briefly visible in the hesitation that flickered across his face. 

And in that hesitation, Daenera found a spark of hope, only to feel it snuffed out as a hand landed on his shoulder. 

The flicker of doubt quickly transformed into a resigned acceptance of duty. This shift was solidified by the presence of his twin brother, Ser Arryk Cargyll. His voice was firm as he spoke, “I’m sorry, Princess, we have our orders.”

Daenera’s expression morphed into one of desperation. A sneer crossed her lips as she lunged forward, fueled by determination to break past the knights. But her efforts were quickly thwarted as Ser Erryk’s arm encircled her waist, pulling her back with such force that it knocked the wind out of her. In that instant, she let out a scream, raw and piercing, akin to the desperate cry of a cornered animal–the hiss of a fox caught in the net. She thrashed wildly in his grasp, her arms flailing, feet kicking at his legs, struggling to free herself. 

Ser Erryk’s voice, tinged with pleading, was close to her ear, urging her to cease her futile resistance. 

“It is no use,” he whispered. “The gates are sealed, and your men have been detained.”

His words took a moment to skin in, but as they did, Daenera’s frantic movements gradually subsided. Her nails dug into his hands, clawing at them to free herself. 

“Release me,” she demanded. 

“Will you stop fighting if I let go?” He asked, the uncertainty clear in his voice. 

“Release me,” she repeated, her voice firm and strained. 

After a brief pause, filled with hesitation, Ser Erryk loosened his hold around her waist, but he maintained a firm grip on her upper arm, not yet fully convinced of her compliance. 

Daenera reluctantly acquiesced to being led away, her steps heavy and resentful as Ser Erryk guided her back through the courtyard, his brother, Ser Arryk, flanking her other side. Her heart pounded within her chest, like a bird trapped in its cage. 

As Daenera was escorted through the doors, the scene that unfolded before her eyes brought a chilling halt to her feet. The grand hall of Maegor’s Holdfast, usually a bustling scene of life, was now marred by a grim sight. Ser Edam Varner lay motionless on the cold stone floor, his lifeless form surrounded by an ever-expanding pool of blood. 

The sight was shocking, but it was the image of Joyce that truly caused Daenera’s heart to plummet. Ser Criston Cole had her in a vice-like grip, his hand clamped around his wrist so fiercely it seemed as though he might shatter the bone. He forced Joyce to relinquish her hairpin, which chimed against the stone floor with a mournful echo. 

Ser Criston’s white cloak, once pristine, was now marred with splatters of blood. A streak of it marked his cheek, and a trickle of blood seeped from beneath his armor, evidence of a wound inflicted by either Joyce or Ser Edam.

Despite the evident pain and the bruises blooming on her face, Joyce’s expression was defiant as she glared back at Ser Criston. Her lip was split, her cheek bruised, yet there was no trace of fear in her eyes until Ser Criston’s gaze shifted to Daenera. 

Time seemed to suspend as Daenera locked eyes with Ser Criston Cole. His eyes were like blots of ink, dark and unmoved. In that frozen moment, he retracted his sword and, with a chilling finality, thrust it into Joyce’s stomach. The blade mercilessly pierced through her, emerging bloodied on the other side. Daenera watched, horror-stricken, as the grim reality dawned on her – the sheer brutality of steel against the vulnerability of flesh.

A barely audible “No…” escaped Daenera’s lips, a feeble protest against the unfolding nightmare. 

With a ruthless motion, Ser Criston withdrew his sword, pushing Joyce away and off his sword. She stood momentarily, swaying on her feet, her hand instinctively reaching for the gaping wound, her expression one of disbelief at the blood that flowed freely. 

Daenera’s scream shattered the eerie calm, a raw expression of anguish and despair. She struggled fiercely against Ser Erryk’s hold, her fists pounding against his armor in an effort to break free. Whether he released her or she managed to wretch herself from his grasp, she didn’t know as she stumbled towards Joyce, collapsing to her knees beside her. Daenera’s hands desperately pressed against the wound, the warmth of the blood stark against her skin and warm, soo warm... 

“J-Joyce!” She cried out, her voice breaking. But before she could do more, strong arms wrapped around her waist, dragging her away from the tragic scene. She fought against the grip with all her might, her legs scraping against the floor as she was forcibly pulled up the stairs. A hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her cries, while another arm constricted around her with bruising force. Tears blurred her vision, her throat constricted with grief as she continued to struggle against the inexorable pull. 

Ser Criston Cole’s voice, cold and authoritative, echoed through the hall. “Post additional guards at her door.”

His command reverberated, the final decree sealing Daenera’s fate as she was dragged away. 

Daenera was hurled with brute force into her chambers, the stone floor rushing up to meet her as she fell. The impact sent a sharp pain shooting through her elbow, radiating through her entire arm. Struggling to rise, the door was slammed shut with a deafening echo, a sound overpowered by Daenera’s blood roaring in her ears. 

In a frenzy of desperation, she sprang to her feet, her body crashing against the wooden barrier. She frantically tugged at the handles, pounded against the door, her cries for release merging into the sounds of her futile assault on the unyielding wood. But her pleas fell of deaf ears, swallowed by the solid barrier that remained firmly shut. 

Daenera’s gaze was drawn to the stark red on her trembling hands, the blood of her oldest and most cherished friend. A heart-wrenching sob forced its way out as she wiped her hands on her dress as she struggled with the turn of her stomach. 

Acidic bile rose in Daenera’s throat, clawing its way up. In a state of distress, she stumbled away from the door, rushing across the room to collapse on her knees beside the empty chamber pot. The contents of her stomach spilled forth, an acidic yellow bile that matched its bitter taste. Her stomach convulsed, tears dripping from her eyelashes as she wretched loudly. Spitting to rid her mouth of the vile flair, she wiped her face with a sleeve, her body quivering uncontrollably with shock. 

Daenera’s thoughts churned with anxiety, the fate of her men a gnawing uncertainty at the forefront of her mind. Had the morning’s brutal events extinguished the lives of all those she held close? Fenrick, a steadfast protector; Sweet Jelissa and little Patrick… And what of her other guards–Eddin Follard, Darvin Crooler, Kevan Mertyns, and Sithtric Greenfield? Were they to share the same grim fate as Edam Varner and Joyce, whose lives had been cruelly snuffed out in the conflict? 

These thoughts swirled in a tempest of fear and sorrow, and drove her over the chamber pot again, saliva hanging from her lips as she braced for another onslaught of nausea. But when no further wave of sickness came, she gingerly wiped her mouth and pushed herself back to her feet, movements shaky and uncertain. 

Driven by a profound urgency, Daenera crossed the expanse of her chambers with swift, albeit unsteady steps. Her movements were a blend of determination and trepidation as she gripped the balcony doors, and with a decisive motion, she thrust the doors wide open.

As the doors swung, the gentle embrace of dawn’s first light spilled into the chamber, along with a gentle breeze. 

Below, the sprawling expanse of King’s Landing unfolded, a tableau of peace and routine untouched by the turmoil that had seized the heights of power within the Red Keep. The city, with its winding streets and bustling markets, lay serene under the early light, its people moving about their day, blissfully unaware of their King’s passing and the looming shadow of usurpation that threatened to upend the realm. 

Elevating herself on the tips of her toes, she strained her eyes towards the harbor, seeking a glimpse of Meraxes amidst the veil of lingering darkness. Yet, the obscurity of night clung stubbornly to the scene with a mist, rendering the harbor little more than a vague shadow on the horizon. Despite this, Daenera’s heart held fast to a sliver of hope that Jelissa and Patrick had safely found their way onto the ship, that they had embarked and set sail without her.

As she lingered on the balcony, the grip of a chilling realization tightened around her. The prospect that Jelissa and Patrick might have been apprehended, ensnared by the same fate her other men were. The thought filled her with a profound sense of dread. Such a turn of events would ensure her mother remained unaware of the scheming taking place and the machinations against her to steal her throne. 

With this alarming thought, Daenera spun from the balcony’s edge, her every movement infused with urgency as she ran back through the room. Her mind was a tempest of thoughts and plans. She had to get out of the Keep, or at the very least, get word to her mother. 

Kneeling, she flung open the chest at the foot of her bed, digging through its contents, her gaze flicking through the fabric in search for the hidden dagger. Her hands sifted through the fabrics until they closed around the familiar shape of the dagger’s hilt. With a decisive grip, she secured the blade to her waist, pushing it into her belt. 

Bolstered by the presence of the weapon at her side, Daenera turned her attention to preparations for her escape. She procured a small pouch, swiftly gathering a collection of coins and jewels–assets that could aid her in the uncertain days ahead and pay her way to Dragonstone. Once the pouch was secured to her belt, she approached a table where half scribbled notes lay screw across its surface. 

With practiced haste, she took up a feather pen and a piece of parchment and wrote; 

The King is dead. The Hightowers have imprisoned me. They are usurping you. I will attempt to get away. Shall I not succeed, worry not for me. I will survive. 

Your loving daughter.

The ink from Daenera’s feather splashed onto the parchment, leaving a stain reminiscent of dark, sorrowful tears. She meticulously folded the note and secured it within the waistband of her dress for safekeeping. 

Clutching a candlestick tightly in her hand, she inhaled deeply, gathering her resolve. Daenera hoped against hope that the Hightowers had overlooked the existence of the castle’s secret passageways. 

Pressing her palm against the concealed door, she applied gentle force, silently imploring it to yield. To her relief, it responded with a soft click, swinging open to release a gust of chilly, musty air. The smell was a mix of stagnation and the unmistakable odor of rat droppings, and she could hear the faint rustling of the rodents in the darkness. 

Daenera hesitantly stepped into the shadowy passage. Although she knew the way to Aemond’s chambers by heart, her knowledge of these hidden corridors beyond was limited – a fact she now realized was a grave oversight. 

For a fleeting moment, the idea of seeking out Aemond surfaced in her mind, but she quickly dismissed it, knowing he would be compelled to return her to her chambers, ensuring her captivity. The pain of this realization was sharp and cutting.

Carefully, she navigated the labyrinthine passages, mentally mapping her route as her hands slid over the cool, rough walls in search for the correct exit. The scent of blood, still clinging to her dress from her earlier ordeal, filled her nostrils, a stark reminder of the stakes. She regretted not changing her attire, realizing too late that it might hinder her efforts to remain undetected.  

Daenera hesitated outside Rhaenys’ chamber, where the door had been partially sealed off with a heavy stone barrier. She exerted pressure against it, hoping it might give way, but it remained firmly in place. She then tapped softly on the wooden surface, her heart racing as she cast a wary glance down the dark passageway, the glinting eyes of rats the only response in the gloom. 

Growing more anxious, she knocked again, this time with more urgency, her throat tight with apprehension. She yearned for a sign that Rhaenys was still there–was still alive. 

“Hello?” A voice faintly echoed from the other side. 

“Rhaenys?” Daenera responded, hope flickering within her. 

“Daenera?”

“Can you open the door from your side?” Daenera asked, her discomfort growing as the rat scurried over her feet. It seemed the rat catchers had done nothing to control the pest. 

The wood of the door groaned under Rhaenys’ attempt to open it from her side, but the obstruction proved immovable. The stone barrier was not something that could be easily dismantled, effectively trapping Rhaenys in her room. After a moment of trying, Rhaenys’ voice came through again, defeated. “I cannot open it. My doors have been locked, and the nobles seem to have been summoned to the throne room…” 

Daenera felt a lump form in her throat, the candle flickering as she leaned wearily against the door. 

“The King is dead,” she revealed, her voice barely more than a whisper, laden with the gravity of the news she delivered. She swallowed thickly, and repeated her words in a higher tone. “The King is dead.”

In the wake of the revelation, a heavy silence hung in the air, punctuated only by the distant echoes of activity.

When Rhaenys finally responded, her voice resonated with a firm, experienced resolve, the tone of someone who had faced death before and endured. “You must run, Daenera. Go to your mother, tell her what’s happening here.”

Daenera’s concern for her grandmother grew. “What about you? I can’t just leave you here with the Hightowers, they might–”

“I cannot get out,” Rhaenys interjected firmly. “I suspect they’ll keep me as a hostage, unless I swear loyalty to Aegon. They’d do the same to you. You mustn’t let them catch you; it’s not safe. Go now, Daenera.”

“But Rhaenys–”

“Go, now, before they realize you’re missing,” Rhaenys insisted, her tone underscored with urgency. 

Clutching the candlestick tightly, Daenera whispered a heart-wrenching, “Goodbye, Grandmother.”

Daenera used one hand to guide herself along the wall, seeking stability as the candle’s flickering light cast unsettling, moving shadows around her. Her revulsion surged as she navigated the dark, confining passageways. Her heart thudded against her ribcage, mirroring the chaotic scurrying of rats that darted across her path, slowing her progression. She loathed the sensation–the visceral, pounding fear, the feeling of entrapment. Like the rats, she found herself trapped within a maze, desperately seeking an exit, her skin crawling at each unexpected touch of their tiny, leaping bodies against her feet. 

The stale air of the passages seemed to press in on her, thick with mustiness of neglect and the sharp tang of old stone. 

In an unfortunate misstep, Daenera’s foot descended upon an unsuspecting rat. Its sharp squeal shattered the silence, a fleeting protest before a sickening crunch signaled the end of its plight. She inhaled sharply as she attempted to sidestep the small corpse. Yet, fate was not on her side; her other foot snagged on an errant stone, sending her staggering forward. The candle, her sole source of light, slipped from her grasp. As it tumbled to the ground, the light flickered once–a desperate attempt to cling to life–before succumbing to the suffocating darkness, leaving her enveloped in a blanket of pitch black. 

Navigating solely by the faint whispers of sound and the tentative brush of her fingertips against the walls, Daenera found herself adrift in a world stripped of sight. Her journey through the darkness was a slow dance of memory and instinct until the texture beneath her touch subtly changed, from the coarse kiss of stone to the smooth caress of aged wood. 

Her questing hand, guided by a blend of hope and desperation, stumbled upon a latch–a modest sentinel guarding the threshold. A sigh of relief escaped her, mingling with the cool, stale air of the passage as she worked the latch with her finger that betrayed a hint of tremor. Gently, she nudged open a panel, stepping into a realm of light that assaulted her senses with its brilliance. Her eyes, protesting the sudden intrusion, squinted and watered as she hastened to close the panel again. 

The chamber, a ghost of familiarity, whispered echoes of her brothers’ laughter, a fleeting memory of unity and warmth. Sunlight filtered through the windows, casting a gentle glow that illuminated the remnants of their presence. 

Daenera afforded herself not a moment’s indulgence in the ghosts of memories that haunted the chamber. Instead, she approached the door with a purposeful stride, pressing her ear against the cool wood to discern any hint of activity beyond. Her fingers, acting on an instinct honed by necessity, clasped the hilt of her dagger, sliding it from its sheath with a silent resolve. Her heartbeat, a drum of apprehension, seemed to echo in her ears as the sound of footsteps grew nearer. She barely dared to breathe, her body tensed for any eventuality. The footsteps, however, marched past without pause, the transient threat receding into the distance and leaving behind a hushed corridor. 

Quietly, Daenera ventured forth from her temporary refuge, the hood of her cloak drawn forward to shroud her identity. She tread the empty halls with a blend of caution and urgency, her senses attuned to the slightest whisper of sound. At every echo of voices or footsteps, she would meld with the darkness, slipping into a hiding spot. 

Upon reaching the threshold of her destination, a flicker of hesitation stayed her hand. Drawing a deep breath to calm the storm within her chest, she eased the door open with a gentle, practiced touch, ensuring her entry went unnoticed. The room's warmth greeted, a somewhat welcome embrace after the chill of the stone corridors. 

The door shut behind her, sealing her within. Daenera moved quietly, her gaze sweeping the room for any sign of danger. Yet, it was the absence that caught her attention. 

The thought weighed heavily on her, a reminder how fallible this plan was, strung together by mere hope. 

The room lay enveloped in a profound quietude, its stillness so tangible that it seemed to press against the very air. Daenera’s fingers, stained with the vestiges of her recent ordeals–blood darkened to a rust hue and dirt ingrained into her skin–drifted over the parchments strewn across the table. In the chaos of scattered notes, one caught her attention with an immediate pang of recognition. It was adorned with her own script detailing her departure. 

Daenera receded into the room’s deeper shadows, seeking the sanctuary of concealment. 

From there, she would bide her time and wait for Larys’ return.

[aishangotome]

Alfons Sylvatica: Chapter 11

Chapter 10 Premium Story

♡———♡

In the end, after getting soaked in the shower, we stood before a different kind of mess – our clothes.

Alfons: "Don't you hate the thought of putting these back on?"

Persuaded by his words, we spent the night in that room, naked.

-

By morning, new clothes had been delivered, somehow arranged overnight.

While dodging Alfons' mischievous hands that tried to play another prank, I got dressed, and we returned to the castle.

Alfons: So, how was it?

Kate: Huh?

Alfons: Did I look like I was having fun while indulging in pleasure with you?

Kate: ......What!?

The direct question made my face flush instantly.

All I could recall were his sighs, his lips, the feeling of our skin rubbing together......

Kate: I-I couldn't tell.

Alfons: That's a shame. Then we'll have to do a lot more naughty things.

Kate: What......!

Alfons: Well then......I'm going to sleep now. I won't wake up until tonight, so feel free to do as you please, my exclusive Fairytale Keeper.

Alfons: You must be sleep-deprived too. Why don't you get some rest?

As always, Alfons left me abruptly.

(...Alfons' goodbyes are always so one-sided.)

I felt like I wouldn't be surprised if he disappeared like a phantom tomorrow.

That's how much Alfons seems unconnected to anything.

Not to his partying friends, not to Crown – and certainly not to me, whom he just met.

(...I feel like I shouldn't dwell on Alfons' "truth" any longer.)

It would only lead to pain.

That certain premonition suppressed the sweet ache that had sprouted in the depths of my chest.

(Just like Alfons said – "It's a relationship that won't last even a month.")

(If I let my heart be captured too...)

Kate: ......It will only hurt.

The words I coughed out to convince myself made my chest tighten more than I expected.

Pretending not to notice my wounded heart, I quickened my pace.

(It's okay. I... I don't like Alfons.)

-

Roger: ...Didn't you say you were going to bed?

Roger entered just as Alfons finished his first glass in one gulp.

Alfons: ...Eavesdropping on other people's conversations, as always, what an unpleasant ability.

Roger: I just happened to overhear it while passing by. I didn't use my ability to listen in.

Alfons, still frowning in displeasure, glanced at Roger's hand.

Alfons: Beer in the afternoon? A doctor neglecting his health is deplorable.

Roger: I was up all night. It's better than you drinking gin in the afternoon.

Roger lightly shook his beer mug and poured it down his throat.

After a satisfied gulp, he looked at Alfons again.

Roger: ...So, how is it? You like Kate, don't you?

Alfons: Of course.

Alfons: A straight, pure robin who has fallen into a den of evil and has never done anything wrong...

Alfons: Such an interesting toy is hard to come by.

Roger: ...Really?

At the suggestive tone, Alfons narrowed his eyes sharply.

Alfons: ...What?

Roger: It doesn't look like you're just interested in that kind of formal amusement anymore.

Roger: Don't you just simply like her?

Alfons: Is that a medical opinion? Unfortunately, you're wrong.

Alfons: I don't have the capacity to love.

Roger: Is that so? She seems to like you.

Alfons: Haha! Of course she does.

Alfons: This relationship is just a one-month entertainment.

Alfons: Even without love, it's bound to be fun.

Roger: ...Then don't let her get too serious.

Roger: Perhaps this is the fine line where you can look back and say, "That was a bad form of entertainment."

Alfons: ...Ha.

It was probably the most parched sigh he had ever let out.

Alfons: Since when did you become such a good person?

-

The day after returning with Alfons, there was a meeting to share the progress of our mission.

It seems they had been investigating the commonalities between the workhouse manager who led the gang of thugs and the orphanage manager where the bodies were first found. The name of a certain gentleman's club came up.

Kate: A gentleman's club... It's a members-only social club where only those recognized among the upper class can join, right?

William: Yes. It has accommodations, restaurants, bars, libraries... all of which are exclusive to members.

William: Important figures from various fields gather there to test each other and build connections.

Victor: It's highly likely that one of those clubs is directing the massacre of the poor happening in the East End right now.

("Purification"...?)

London, with its burgeoning population, has a stark divide between rich and poor.

Hunger leads to conflict, and conflict leads to tragic events.

Having caught a glimpse of the darkness of this city that makes headlines, some people brandish eugenic ideas, claiming that "the poor are born criminals."

(But... no one deserves to be killed just for living.)

People in the slums, fleeing in terror as knives are indiscriminately wielded.

People clinging to the illusion of Alfons.

The images that surfaced in my mind tightened my chest.

(If they are indiscriminately killing innocent people like that... and think of it as "purification"...)

(...That's cruel arrogance.)

**flashback to dining room**

Alfons: There are children in this world who die without anyone knowing.

Alfons: And there are people who think of it as nothing more than clearing away bothersome garbage that has piled up on the street corner.

**end of flashback**

(...Alfons has known about the existence of such people long before this incident occurred.)

(Has he lived in a place where he could feel it firsthand?)

I was afraid to face the cruel incident happening in the East End.

(But now I want to face it properly...)

That feeling welled up in my chest.

Victor: To catch the mastermind, we need to infiltrate the 'Purification' club... but it's not easy to get in there.

Victor: Most gentlemen's clubs are exclusive, and they'll be even more vigilant since they have something to hide.

William: ...So, Alfons, we'd like to ask you to infiltrate.

(...!)

Alfons: Leave it to me. I'm good at deceiving people and infiltrating.

Despite the dangerous mission of venturing into enemy territory, Alfons accepted with a nonchalant smile.

(If it's Alfons' mission... then I too–)

(As his exclusive "Fairytale Keeper," I have to see it through to the end this time and record it.)

Alfons: Oh... by the way, what about Kate?

William: If she's your "exclusive Fairytale Keeper," you'll have no choice but to take her along.

Kate: ...Yes.

For a moment, the atrocities I had witnessed at the "Purification" club flashed through my mind, and fear almost crept up from my feet, but I scolded my weak self and raised my face.

Kate: Um, how do we get into the gentleman's club? Women aren't allowed, are they...?

William: With Alfons' ability,

William: It's easy to make them believe that non-members are members, or that women are men.

Kate: ! I see...

Alfons: You don't have to push yourself, Kate.

The voice came from right behind my ear.

Even without turning around, I could sense Alfons' presence beside me, his lips close as he chuckled.

Alfons: If you're scared, you can just kill time at a nearby cafe and we'll match our stories later.

---CHOICES---

I don't want to run away

I have a responsibility

I want to help

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

Kate: This time, I don't want to run away. I'll be careful not to cause any more trouble, so please...

Kate: Let me go with you.

Alfons: It seems you are prepared to face death.

William: Haha, you've become quite a brave robin, haven't you?

Kate: Alfons, I'm counting on you.

Alfons: ...Goodness, you're really something else, aren't you?

His troubled, exasperated, yet gentle smile made my heart leap–

(I don't like him, I don't like him.)

I chanted like a mantra, pushing away the sweet emotions that welled up inside me.

Alfons: It can't be helped, then. I'll take you with me.

Alfons: It'll be fun, infiltrating enemy territory with just the two of us.

Alfons: I'm already excited to see what kind of trouble we'll get into.

And then, on a moonless night--.

-

(...We really got in easily.)

At the reception, Alfons used his ability, and we sneaked into the Purification Club's members-only hotel as members ourselves.

Elbert and Roger were waiting outside in case anything happened inside.

Kate: Let's go, Alfons.

As I stepped forward with determination, I felt a light tap on my shoulder...

Alfons: You look good in menswear, Kate.

Kate: !

He whispered in my ear teasingly.

Kate: Wh-What are you doing...?

I was wearing a pantsuit with a heavy overcoat to hide my figure.

I had also tied my long hair, which couldn't be completely hidden by the hat, and tucked it into my coat.

If anyone who wasn't under his ability realized I was a woman, the plan would be ruined.

(If I scream or anything, they might realize I'm a woman!)

Alfons: Hehe... you were so tense, I thought I'd loosen you up.

Kate: That's too dangerous!

It seems the word "tension" doesn't exist in his dictionary.

Kate: You do understand why we're here, right?

Alfons: Yes. To confirm that this club is behind the series of incidents. It would be best if we could identify the ringleader as well.

Alfons: If we can get evidence of them giving specific instructions for the incidents, we can mobilize the police.

Alfons: If we don't have that kind of evidence, we'll have to give up on the orthodox extermination, and...

Alfons: ...The Crown will have to carry out a bloody judgment, I suppose.

Kate: If you understand, then good!

I couldn't argue when he explained the plan so smoothly.

Seeing me like that, he narrowed his eyes in amusement and straightened his posture.

Alfons: Well then, let's get started--

Alfons: Shall we have a drink?

Kate: What? We're on a mission!

When I hurriedly stopped him as he headed towards the bar lounge, he turned around with a smile.

Alfons: Shh... it's for the mission, of course.

Alfons: Whether it's a slum like a garbage dump or a tidy social circle, humans have common habits.

Kate: Habits...?

Alfons: Yes. People get loose-lipped when they drink.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 12

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