#gust & flame chapter iv

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

chapter iv – gust & flame

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Eris Vanserra has been a prisoner in his own home since the day he was born. He has done what he had to in order to survive and protect the few he loves. And he is playing the long game. Waiting, waiting, and waiting for the right time to make his move, to usurp his wicked father and become High Lord of Autumn Court. But things become even more complicated when a human girl drops into his life. Perhaps Eris can wait no longer to take his throne.

Word Count: 4,100+

Warnings: severe violence, spoilers for entire ACOTAR series

masterlist

Eris awoke to a polite tapping at his door.  His head shot up to look out his window to see that it was hardly dawn. He groaned in irritation and stormed over to answer, readying himself to verbally tear apart whoever interrupted his sleep. 

However, he hesitated when he realized it was one of his mother’s chambermaids.

They were chosen wisely, for they were not just her chambermaid’s, but her closest thing to friends in Autumn Court. They were not loyal to Beron, but to her. They kept all her secrets, and were her eyes and ears throughout the court. 

“This better be good,” Eris warned the chambermaid, who tried her hardest not to look scared of him. But he knew better.

“The Lady of Autumn requests your presence, my lord.”

Eris narrowed his eyes. That was not the answer he was looking for. But still he did not deny his mother’s request. 

“I will be at her chambers shortly,” Eris replied curtly, and slammed the door in her face. 

_____

The Forest House was still asleep as Eris quietly ventured to his mother’s wing. 

He didn’t bother knocking, opening the door for himself. 

His mother quickly turned at his arrival. 

Eris immediately asked, “Is everything alright?”  

He knew if his mother was in danger, the message from her chambermaid would’ve been different. But he couldn’t help but still ask. 

His mother’s face brightened at the sight of her eldest son.

She rushed forward and softly cupped his face. “I am fine, Eris. I only wished to see you.” 

“And you thought before sunrise was appropriate?” Eris rebuked. 

But any attitude he showed, his mother knew it wasn’t genuine. 

So, she gave attitude right back.

One of her eyebrows rose and she frowned softly up at him. “You have been avoiding me, my son.”

But she had a gentle heart and even when she was trying to be stern with her sons, the act always soon fell. 

Eris followed her to their usual small nook in her chambers. It was already set up for tea and coffee and breakfast. At least she planned on feeding him while interrogating.

“You know father has been on a rampage as of late. I have been busy,” Eris explained as he pulled out the chair for his mother before sitting. 

She gave him a stern look. “Do not lie to your mother, Eris.”

He glanced at the few chambermaids lingering in the room. It was a subtle glance, but his mother still caught it. 

“Will you leave us, please?” She spoke to the room ever so politely. 

They replied with a soft, “Yes, Leonora.” 

All of her servants called the Lady of Autumn by her first name while they were alone and in the safety of her private rooms. She considered them her friends after all.

When Eris once asked why she insisted on being addressed so informally, his mother said the only other person who ever used her name was his father, and she refused to let him ruin it. 

Leonora reached across the table and squeezed her son’s hand softly and gave him a gentle smile. “You know you can speak freely here, Eris.”

He only gave a curt nod. 

Yes, her servants had made bargains to pledge their secrecy and loyalty to the Lady of Autumn, so even Beron couldn’t torture them for information. And her entire wing was protected with wards so none could eavesdrop.

But Eris was conditioned to be paranoid after multiple lifetimes of being trapped in this court. 

“Something is troubling you, I know it,” Leonora spoke softly to him before taking a quick sip of tea. 

It had been almost a month since Eris met his mate and pled the inner circle of the Night Court to take her in and protect her. 

Eris thought he had been doing a good job of acting the same since.

But it appeared his mother knew him far too well. 

Eris wanted to tell her. Truly he did. But it would only make everything more real. Then someone – someone who he truly loved and cared for – would be pushing him toward his mate. Because his mother would not rest knowing one of her sons was denying himself the love of a mate. 

Leonora put her tea back down. “You haven’t been sleeping well. And you are overworking yourself – more than usual. I know your father has lately been…taut. But you are more than used to his erratic behavior. This is something else, something more.”

Eris dropped his mask. He only allowed himself to do so when he was alone with his mother, a place he knew that was safe. (As safe as they could be in their dreadful prison.)

His gaze turned desperate. Silently, his eyes pleaded with his mother, ‘Do not make me say it. Please. I beg of you.’ 

His mother turned even more sympathetic and leaned closer to her son. “I am sorry you have had to face so much hardship on your own. I know that I have not been able to protect you from too many things…”

She had to pause to recover, obviously thinking about all the abuse her terrible husband had endured on their family.

“But…never believe that you are truly alone in this world, my beautiful and good Eris. Whatever it is, I will help you.” 

“Am I good?” Eris challenged in a whisper, staring down at the table.

Leonora’s eyes filled with tears.

She cupped his jaw firmly. “Of course you are.” 

Eris let out a huff. “You are the only one who could ever believe such a thing, mother.” 

“Has he said something to you? Whatever it is, don’t you dare believe a word of it.”

But Eris was already shaking his head before she could even finish the question. 

He finally lifted his gaze from the table. “I have found my mate.” 

His mother had also learned to control her expressions while living for so long in an abusive household and marriage. 

But even Eris could read the shock in her eyes. 

The next hour, Eris explained the situation he found himself when he stumbled upon his mate for the fist time. He made sure to include that it was after she murdered three male faes to save both herself and other innocents from being trades as sex slaves. 

Leonora was quiet after he finished, clearly deep in thought. 

Eris knew what his mother wanted to say. She wanted to tell him to go after to her, to actually meet her and get to know her. 

But Eris also knew his mother wouldn’t let herself say such a thing to him.

Because she was no fool. And neither was his. 

Leonora knew the same thing that Eris did: if Y/N came to Autumn Court while Beron still lived…she would be murdered.

“You did the right thing,” Leonora finally told him softly. “She would be safer in any other court than she would ever be in Autumn.” 

“I made a bargain to ensure she was more than just safe,” Eris clarified. 

Leonora nodded once, not forgetting the part where her son made an unbreakable deal with the High Lord of Night. 

“You can still know her,” she added carefully. 

Eris looked at his mother as if she’d gone crazy. 

“You can keep her safe and get to know her. It does not have to be one or the other,” she clarified. 

“Mother, it isn’t safe. I would never risk it.” 

“Yes, you must protect her from your father. But you can–“

“No!” Eris rose from his seat so quickly that his chair fell backwards, hitting the floor with a bang. 

“Eris, please…”

“No. Do not even suggest such a thing. You of all people understand why I must do this, why I can never know her," he seethed. "More importantly, she can never know me.”

He shook his head in anger. “She is mortal. What life could we possibly have, even if her life wasn’t in danger from our connection?”

“The Cauldron does not choose mates carelessly,” Leonora tried to argue.

“There have been plenty of mates throughout history who despise one another and lived unhappily together,” Eris fumed. 

“Oh, so now you suddenly hate her?” Leonora challenged with a subtle smirk. 

Eris finally lost it and yelled, “She would hate me!”  

His chest was rising rapidly from the outburst as he finally realized he needed to control his emotions. “M-Mother, I did not mean to raise��”

“Hush, Eris. You could never frighten me.” She gestured to his fallen chair. “Please, sit down. Give yourself a moment to breathe.” 

He did as she said, trying to regain control of himself. 

“I’ve never had anything for myself,” Eris muttered after a few moments. “Everything I have is simply a privilege he has allowed me. Yet another thing he can control. And he takes any and every opportunity to prove to me that he can take any of it away whenever he so wishes.”

“What are you really scared of, Eris?” His mother asked. “Are scared to love someone? Or are you scared she will not love you in return?” 

––––––––

Y/N once again tiptoed out of her room, closing the door softly behind her. 

“Sneaking off again?” A deep voice asked behind her. 

She jumped, not sensing anyone or seeing them. 

But she whipped around to find Cassian giving her a big smile. 

“I’m not sneaking!” Y/N hissed. 

“Oh, really? You just tiptoe around for fun?” He smiled again. “Azriel claims you like to go for walks in the forest. But insist on trying to do so alone, which is not safe. And that is exactly why I am here.” 

Y/N groaned, “Azriel should have more important people to spy on…” Then she jabbed her finger into his chest. “And I do not need a personal guard.” 

Cassian ignored her last comment and asked, “How do you get down the stairs? Azriel is stumped and will not shut up about it.”

A brilliant idea came to mind. Y/N smiled mischievously. “I shall make you a deal: I will show you, if you promise not to tell Azriel.”

“Whatever for?”

“Because it will drive him mad that I willingly showed you, but swore you to secrecy.” 

Cassian’s smile now matched hers. “You have yourself a deal.” 

Y/N gave a victorious cheer and skipped to the stairs. 

When they reached it, her expression turned serious. “Do not panic. I will be fine.” 

And that is the only warning she gave before she stepped over the ledge, jumping into the dangerous well-hole of the spiraling staircase. 

“Y/N!” Cassian screamed, despite her warning. 

But just as he reached the edge, he felt the most powerful gust of wind. So powerful, that it slowed Y/N’s fall to the bottom, almost working as a parachute. She couldn’t fly like an Illyrian, but nature could make her fall gracefully from even the greatest of heights. 

Cassian shook his head, but chuckled at the sight.

He dove out the closest ledge that led to the outside and dove to the bottom of the staircase to meet her. 

“What magic was that?” He asked her as he landed a few feet away from her. 

“The wind has called to me since I was a child,” Y/N explained as she scratched a nonexistent itch on her arm. 

“You control it?”

She shook her head. “I control nothing. It simply answers my calls and in return I answer its calls, as well.”

Y/N waited for the moment where Cassian was disturbed. It always came on the rare occasion she felt brave enough to share something true, something secret. Those few always left the conversation and instantly kept their distance from her – most of the time, never to be seen again. 

But not Cassian.

“Could’ve used someone like you when I was learning to fly and figuring out wind patterns,” the giant Illyrian joked. “Would’ve saved me the bruises from falling on my arse.”

Y/N was so relieved from his unconcerned reaction, that she actually let out a laugh. 

But it quickly faded when she realized Cassian had started leading them through Velaris. 

She stopped in her tracks, “Where are you going?”

“To the River House,” he answered as if it were obvious. 

Y/N turned her body in an entirely different direction, pointing to another path. “Goodbye then. I am going to the forest.”

Cassian gave her a stern look. “Not today, you aren’t. I was asked to look after you. But now Feyre has asked me to look after Nyx…so you’re coming with me.”

He gave her a gentle shove in his direction to prove his point further. 

“I am not,” Y/N jeered. “I refuse to be charged around like one of your soldiers. You are not my keeper. No one is.” 

And to prove her point, a gust of wind whirled around them. 

“Ooo. Yes. Very scary, indeed.” Cassian cooed as he eyed the wind tunnel around him. 

Y/N didn’t like that at all, and called on the her friends further. 

Answering, the winds returned tenfold, but only focused on Cassian.

It was strong enough to actually push the male back steps. And Y/N could tell he actually had to use his strength to stay on his feet and fight back. 

She let it up after a minute. 

“Yes. Fine. I am impressed,” Cassian huffed, further proving that his efforts caused him exertion. “But I still have my orders. Rhys does not like you being left alone. So, please, will you come with me? And we both know Nyx adores you.”

It was true. The little lord had taken quite the liking to Y/N. Though none of them knew it was because Y/N would give him little gusts of wind that would catch his baby wings, allowing him to safely hover a few inches off the ground. 

It never failed to make Nyx fall into a fit of giggles – no matter how many times she did it in a row. And in return, the toddler associated only joy and laughter with Y/N’s visits. 

At first, Y/N had been shocked that Feyre and Rhysand allowed her – a stranger – around their son. He was their everything, as well as Night Court’s only heir – as of now.

But Feyre seemed to trust Y/N. And it was clear Rhysand never quite took Y/N as a serious threat. And Y/N got the inkling that the more time she spent with their “inner circle,” the less suspicious they all were becoming of her, too. 

“I didn’t realize the Lord of Bloodshed drops his general duties to nanny,” Y/N teased. 

“Of course,” Cassian answered, not offended or embarrassed in the slightest.

But Y/N returned to the matter at hand. “I still wish to go for a hike, Cassian.”

The Illyrian sighed. “How about you, Nyx, and I go for a walk…together?”

Y/N beamed up at him. “Deal.” 

–––––––

30 minutes later, the three of them walked into the forests behind the River House. Well, two of them were walking. Nyx was sitting on Cassian’s shoulders and giggling. 

“Why do you like these walks of yours so much?” Cassian asked as they climbed up another peak. 

“Velaris is beautiful, as is the House of Wind. But I am a child of silva. What little power I possess comes from nature itself. And therefore I am most at peace when I am within its clutches.” She huffed at the exertion she was using to climb. “My coven…we use to train every other day.” 

She looked down at her outfit. After her first time going down to Velaris, she noticed it was perfectly acceptable to for the females here to wear trousers instead of dresses. And for the purposes of a hike, she much preferred the former.

Cassian paused with his brows raised. “Train? As warriors?”

Y/N giggled, knowing that would be his assumption. “Not exactly. It was to clear our bodies as well as our minds.” Then she too stopped to look up at him. “But we did what we could to defend ourselves.” 

Cassian gave her a crooked smile. “I think you should be spending more time with my mate.” 

Nyx giggled as if he agreed. 

Before Y/N could ask what he meant by that, the Illyrian snapped his attention to a point in the distance.

His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. 

Y/N whispered as quietly as she could, “What is it?”

Cassian swiftly took the little high lord from his shoulders and handed him to Y/N. “Take Nyx. When I say, you run.” 

Y/N took the toddler without question, but sent a message to the wind.

A gust returned to her. 

“Thirty fae soldiers sit beyond the trees,” she informed him quickly. “We both know I cannot outrun them. And you can’t distract all of them from coming after me.” 

Cassian knew she was right. Y/N was a mortal. And while she had gifts, higher speed was not one of them. 

Without giving Y/N his next plan, Cassian picked her up in his arms and lifted off into the air. If fighting was their only choice, he wanted Y/N and Nyx nowhere near the danger. 

Nyx started to cry, seeming to sense the fear from the two adults. 

Just as Cassian reached altitude, a net came from nowhere.

It was almost glowing blue and Cassian hadn’t seen it coming.

Just as it wrapped itself around the Illyrian’s wings, two dozen arrows flew at them.

Cassian managed to pivot his body to shield Y/N and Nyx from being hit, taking all the arrows himself. 

He growled in pain. 

And next thing Y/N knew, they were crashing back to the ground. 

“Cassian!” She shrieked in fear for him. 

But she called to the wind and it slowed their descent, though not enough to completely break their fall.

Cassian’s siphons glowed red, shielding them from getting hurt in the rough landing. Y/N still protected Nyx with her own body as best she could. 

Cassian struggled to get up. But he stood tall as he unsheathed the long sword he seemed to always have strapped to his back. 

He readied himself as those thirty soldiers suddenly came running towards them. 

“Y/N, run!” He shouted over his shoulder  

And she did as she was told, knowing staying with Cassian would only endanger all three of them more.

Y/N sprinted as fast as she could down the peak without losing her footing and tumbling. 

But what she had originally feared was already occurring: the soldiers split up, half going for Cassian and the other half following after Y/N and Nyx.

Cassian couldn’t defend himself and go after Y/N at the same time. 

“Fuck,” Y/N muttered as she gasped for breath. 

New plan. 

She stopped and went for the pack that she now always had at her side.

Inside was a pouch of salt, and she fisted a handful of it, pouring a circle around her and Nyx. Then she took another handful of salt and drew a protective knot on the ground with it.

Nyx was crying harder now, hearing clashes of swords and grunts of pain from Cassian taking down soldiers one by one. 

Y/N turned to the toddler and handed him a tightly wrapped smudge of rosemary, sage, cedar, and lavender. 

"Keep this close, Nyx."

Nyx’s crying hesitated for a moment as he grasped the strange toy, as if he could understand her.

Y/N whipped around just as the soldiers neared, and unsheathed the knife she carried. 

A gust of wind shot towards the attack, so strong that it knocked the first wave of fae to the ground. But the other half remained and raised their swords, bringing them down onto Y/N. 

But a shield had been formed from the salt and Y/N’s protective spell. 

As the soldiers stumbled from the impact of hitting an imaginary wall, Y/N leapt out of her protective circle and sliced across the nearest fae’s throat. 

Maybe her only chance of surviving this was to pick them off one by one.

She turned to quickly retreat back into the circle that only she could enter. 

But she wasn’t quick enough, and her back was grazed by the sword of another male. 

Y/N cried out in pain and fell to the ground. 

She turned onto her back, expecting to be given a life ending strike. 

But the wind had other ideas and hit the soldiers with another hurricane-level gust. 

“Kill the witch!” One of them screamed. “We must grab the babe before the High Lord and his whore get here!”

Y/N looked to Nyx, who was weeping, but still clutching the smudge tightly. 

Her protective circle could not hold forever, not against fae. 

Rhysand! Feyre! Nyx is in danger! Y/N tried to mentally scream to them. 

She had no idea how daemati powers worked, but she had to try. 

With shaky feet, she rose to her feet. She sheathed her knife once again at her back. Instead, grabbing a discarded sword of a fae who had been tossed away by the wind. 

Y/N’s arms shook from the weight of the sword as she raised it and stood between the soldiers and Nyx. 

They seemed careful to approach her now, unsure of the extent of her powers. 

“Come on then,” Y/N growled, tightening her grip. 

One rushed for her while another tried to dodge to the side and get to Nyx. But he was thrown back by the shield.

Y/N’s stomach sank. She could feel the strength of the protective circle draining. Only a few more hits like that, and it would break. 

But she couldn’t dwell on that any longer.

A sword came crashing down on her.

Y/N managed to lift her sword just fast enough to block the hit. But the male used his own momentum to swing his non-sword arm and punch her across the face, knocking her to the ground. The hit knocked her own sword out of her hands, feet away.

He hovered over her. “You have tricks, witch. But you are no match for fae.”

Y/N clenched her teeth and swung her leg between his legs, hitting his privates.

The male hissed in pain and stumbled back a few steps. 

Y/N shot back to her feet purely from adrenaline, “Nice to see that part hurts you, too.” And unsheathed her knife, jabbing it into the fae’s jugular. 

Before his comrades could follow his attack and finish the job, an explosion of night surrounded them. 

It lasted only seconds.

But when Y/N regained her sight, the army was on the ground. Dead. Eyes lifelessly staring up at the sky. 

Y/N looked around, confused. 

She saw Rhysand first, walking toward her with fury in his eyes. Then her gaze found Feyre, only a few steps behind her mate. 

“Cassian!” Y/N gasped. Only now having a moment to worry about his state. 

She looked up the peak to see Azriel rushing toward Cassian, who looked like he was about to fall over. He was covered in blood, with a dozen arrows sticking out of his back and a few caught in his massive wings. 

It took Y/N a moment to process that they were safe. 

And with the end of the battle, also came the end of her adrenaline. 

“Rhys!” Feyre cried out when she realized there was a shield around her son, stopping her from reaching him.

Y/N blinked, everything was moving so slowly.

Why was it hard to focus her gaze?

With the wave of her hand, a final breeze came, blowing her salt circle apart, breaking the protective shield. 

She watched as Rhysand and Feyre clutched their child. 

Then Y/N's eyes rolled to the back of her head and she collapsed to the ground. 

–––––––

Eris walked through one of Autumn Court’s war camps, talking with his commanders and receiving updates on the state of their armies.  

That’s when he felt it. 

Fear.  

Eris held up his hand to silently signal to the commander to quiet himself. 

“General?” He asked Eris after a moment. 

Eris had to remain calm. He couldn't raise suspicion, even amongst the men he fought alongside at every turn.

It couldn’t be her, surely? 

But he continued their conversation, trying to keep his face like stone and his posture rigid. 

Only a few minutes passed when he felt the pain.

It was like a strike of lighting across his back. So biting that Eris gasped and actually stumbled a few steps. 

“General, are you alright?” 

She’s hurt. Y/N is hurt. She’s in danger, Eris’ mind said over and over again. 

The mating bond had his heart racing. Whether it was from Y/N’s fear or his own, Eris didn’t know. 

He made sure to sound curt and harsh as he snapped to his men, “I have other matters to attend to, Commander. See to it that my requests are filled before my next visit or there will be consequences.”

With that, he winnowed to the Forest House. 

Eris kept his pace normal as he made his way to his private quarters. 

If the bargain hadn’t killed Rhysand, Eris would do it himself. 

–––––––––––

What did you think?

How will Rhysand and Feyre react to Y/N protecting Nyx?

What do you think Eris is gonna do? 😬

Please send me a message and reblog 😔😔😔

chapter v

[coveholdenmyluv]

R. Braun - Honey Soaked Promises

synopsis. In which you reminisce on your quest for revenge, irrigated with broken promises and fermented with betrayal, allowing you to act as the judge between life or death for yourself and the viper dressed in the skin of the love of your life.

— or alternatively, in which you make the stupid decision to fall in love with the wrong person on your journey to freedom...

Oh well, you'll just have to kill him now.

series masterlist

chapter warnings. Unrequited love, angst, mourning/grieving, (our girl is going thru it), comfort, fluff.

chapter synopsis. Eren asks you a question that you don’t know how to answer. Then, you’re forced to endure a day of anguish.

IV| Snowmen and Candles. 10k words.

“His honeyed eyes seemed to shift a shade deeper, the vibrant saffron flame reflected its visage onto his pupils, a sight that brought among the warmth to your insides once again.”

Or, maybe you would.

Year 851

The sand seeps between your toes as you stroll along the shore, careful not to pierce the skin of your soles with the stray fragmented shells littered across the ground. Your fingers fly to the band on your head, slipping it out of your hair, seeing as it was deemed useless to prevent your long strands from tickling your face by the harsh but invigorating breeze that drew in with the waves.

Your eyes stayed locked on the caliginous ocean to your left that could be seen as terrifying and intimidating, but held an entirely unexplored world and connected you to uncharted lands. That could never been seen as terrifying to you, not anymore.

The ocean in daylight and the ocean bathed in moonlight were two vastly contrasting concepts — with the vivid hues of cerulean and gold, and the dusky shades of mercury and navy blues. One is reminiscent of Armin and the warmth he exudes, simply by living and sharing his mien. And the other, of Mikasa and the unwavering pillar of loyalty she provides, not to mention the blanket of security.

Now though, at the hours between night and day, the sea reminds you of Jean — for it melts the sense of security and warmth into one, and doesn't require you to throw on a warm jacket, neither would it force you to tie your hair back in search for a refreshing gust of air. The colors almost looked like the work of a spontaneous artist, ranging from intense and coruscating to dusky and chasmic.

The sea is pulchritudinous and enigmatic.

"How do you do it?"

Your eyes fluttered towards the sudden voice, so familiar to your ears. Just as you had expected, though unaccompanied by a pair of socks or shoes, the brunet peered up at your form, his dark hair delicately tucked behind his ears and lidded jade eyes glinting in the moonlight.

Very rarely, have you ever referred to those eyes as jade. But recently, there was no other word you could use to describe his serpentine irises.

"What are you yappin' about, Eren?" You ask, amusingly.

Laying his palm on the void spot beside him, he gestured for you to take it, which you obliged and took the time to dig a pit in the wavering sand for your feet to lay warmly in.

"Every time I'm thinking hard about something or am at a loss, to the point where my head throbs, you appear out of thin air." He explains, which causes your brow to contort in uncertainty. His words always seemed to have an extra, hidden, layer of meaning behind them.

"Sorry?"

Your response causes his eyes to roll jovially, before they settle back onto your face. "It's not a bad thing, silly. I don't mind it."

Your gaze settles back onto the horizon, noting the way the colors have seemed to deepened since the last you had ogled the scene. It shouldn't be too long before the sun completely takes its leave and trades shifts with the moon.

"Me neither." You state softly.

Eren's eyesight follows your own, before he speaks your thoughts aloud. "It's a nice day, or I guess, a nice sunset. Though it's getting dark already."

"Yeah, it is. The ocean seems, for lack of a better word, prettier than usual lately. Summer should be coming soon." You commented, your smile gentle in the remaining light of the late afternoon sun.

"Right." He agreed. "Are you planning to bring him for a visit anytime soon? He'd love to paint the sky at dawn." He suggested before the smallest chuckle, if it could even be considered that, escaped his lips at his next words. "I bet we'd have to bribe him to get any sleep. Maybe with that paint made from seashells that he keeps talking about."

At the mention of the boy who remained back behind the safety of the inner walls, a fond grin formed on your lips. "Even then, we'd take our eyes off of him for one second and the next thing we know, he somehow dragged himself back to the shore — with the paint we bribed him with too." You mention light heartedly. "Sometimes, I swear he's part merman."

Eren hums in amusement, and it's a small sound that seemed to be the most anyone could get out of him these days. You tossed and turned at night sometimes, pondering what had caused such a sudden shift in his demeanor. What had caused his eyes to sullen and the intricate stroma of his irises ingrained into them to deepen into that cataclysmic shade of jade? Perhaps they had always been that color, but if that were the case, what was it about his eyes before that had caused you to view them so differently?

The eyes truly are the windows to one's soul, though they aren't as pellucid as it would seem, for the existence of affliction and desolation always expelled sweltering steam and fog that obscured your view.

"Something is wrong, Eren." You admitted in as fragile of a voice as you could conjure, in fear you would cause him to pull away, just as he usually would when anyone would point out the obvious.

With his gaze trained intently on the darkening horizon, not sparing you a glance, he questions your words. "What do you mean?"

Tilting your head in an attempt to draw his attention to yourself, you state, "You know what I mean."

He does. His expression tells you so. Still, he did not relent. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Growing impatient and with urgency bubbling in the broth of your guts, you do not allow yourself to falter. "Cut the crap, Eren. There's somethin' you're not telling us about, and I want to know what it is."

His gaze fell to his lap, expression not gifting you a single key into his thoughts. "Nothing is wrong. I have everything under control." His voice said, vacantly so.

You were desperate, yearning for a window that he had somehow left open, for you to enter his mind. Eren was a person you held so near and dear to your heart, he was there continuously at one of the lowest moments of your life. And he is hurting, he is falling into a hollow crater located in the pits of his soul, as deep as the body of water before you, and he is doing it alone. But he shouldn't have to, not when you were right there in front of him.

You place your hand onto his arm and nudge him gently to face your way, "Don't do that, you're deflecting." You pointed out. "You can talk to us." You reassured him, before your eyes attempted to meet his yet again, and they implored for him to concede. "You can talk to me."

How do you help someone that does not want to be helped?

"I promise you, I've got it all under control."

"That's not what I'm asking. That's not what I care about." You state, unyieldingly, and willing to forget the empty promise he has just made to you, even knowing how meaningful those are to you.

His eyes moved to meet yours, the familiar intricate lines of his irises presenting themselves to you, unashamedly. "What do you care about?" He inquired.

Without a single ounce of hesitation, you state, "You."

If he felt any warmth from that revelation, he didn't show it. His brows stay furrowed as his stare intensified, as if he could read you like a book. "Is caring for me all that you feel?" He asks.

Your eyes soften as you answer his question, not phased by the slight change in your conversation. "No, of course not. I love you."

His face drew in closer to your own, and for the first time in what felt like a millennium, his eyes shed the barriers blocking you from entering the windows to his soul, like a reptile shedding skin. You could see him, all of him. He was begging you to say what he yearns to hear.

"In what way?"

Your breath falters, and your head subconsciously moves closer, enough to rest your forehead against his. You wish you could grant him what he truly wanted you to say. Without a doubt, your feelings towards the boy were not minuscule in size, you had meant what you said earlier, and that truth would reign until your last breath. You longed to bring him freshly picked daisies on your rare strolls across green fields, where you would invite him to lay with you and watch the stars. You want to be able to cry with him and share the baggage you both carry, and to not let yourselves handle any burden alone. Eren was the boy you wanted to fall in love with, to have him in the most secure place in your heart and never think to replace him.

You wish you loved Eren Jaeger, the way that he loves you. You wish you loved him instead.

But those daisies would never blossom and flourish as beautifully as they once did when you admired them years ago, and those stars would never gleam and radiate you adoring messages as they once did not so long ago, and you couldn't cry with him because just as you had with the aforementioned activities, you had already done so with someone else. Eren could not secure that sacred place in your heart, for that place was already taken.

"Eren." You whisper. You want to convey how sorry you truly are, but you don't have the heart to.

"Please Y/N," He pleads in a hushed tone, before his warm hand grasps your own, "I need to know."

Oh, how you love Eren Jaeger; unfortunately for him and for yourself, you are not in love with him.

How do you tell someone that your hearts still calls for the honeyed pools that cleaved through your soul and placed you at your worst. That you long for the sweet nectarine taste of his lips and the warmth his body exudes when sat under the sun, beside a brisk and anarchic river. That you hate the fact that, despite his sins against the people you care the most for, the imprint and memories that he left behind did not halt their daily tour around your mind.

The brutal truth is, you don't. You warp them like wet clay and force them in the caverns of your very being, not even admitting it to yourself, in fear of cementing those facts as exactly that, facts.

It feels like hours, which in actuality was merely minutes, before you properly garner your thoughts. You handpick your words like you pick berries and swallow the ones you deem useless, until you feel prepared to speak the naked truth towards the boy who desperately wants you to do the opposite.

"Y/N, we've been looking everywhere for you!" Jean shouts from a distance, his palms cupped around his mouth for projection. "Eren?" He voices his curiosity as he finally noticed that you weren't alone. "What are you guys doing?" He questions suspiciously.

Your parted mouth, set to speak your truth, halts midair at the sudden intrusion and you wonder why you hadn't detected his presence before. Both of your foreheads part in surprise, as well as your hands, and you turn to face the, now approaching, fawn haired boy. "Gods Jean. Don't do that." You scold.

The teenager simply looks from you to Eren in succession, his eyes conveying the questions he has yet to voice aloud. Knowing him, he'd definitely submit you to an interrogation the moment he deemed it right to, which you would immediately yield to. "Right... my bad." He replied without much regret, in fact he was most likely glad that he intruded when he did.

"Did you need something?" Eren asks, not even sparing the other boy a glance, simply returning his gaze where it had laid before your conversation — the sun now nowhere to be seen, a canvas of navy blue replacing where it had once stood. He did not appreciate Jeans arrival.

"Yes, obviously." Jean states, before focusing his attention on you. "Y/N, there are some new recruits that are looking to change up their hair styles. Connie mentioned your name and now there's a whole line of them-" He began, before the interrupter became the interrupted.

"It was not just me! Armin said so too!" Connie defended from afar, sometimes you swore that Sasha's abnormal hearing had somehow spread to him over the years.

The blonde mentioned by the second intruder waltzed down the shore behind him with an apologetic wince on his face, his lustrous locks bouncing with every bounding step he takes. "That's true. I'm sorry, I didn't know so many would be interested." He admits. "In my defense, I only mentioned it but those two really drove it home."

"Of course." You quip. "How could Sasha not be involved in the plotting of my demise?" A small smile formed on your face at the appearance of your friends. Your family.

Her cackles were heard before she made her appearance, such a buoyant one too. "Blame Mikasa!" She deflects, her index fingers pointing to the unbothered girl beside her. "She was the one that started your career in the first place!"

"I had nothing to do with the current situation." The ravenette states, shifting her head to playfully glare at Sasha.

"Wow, the waves are really calm tonight." Armin mentions his observation, his eyes always being drawn towards the sea and all that it offered.

You hummed, "I noticed that too."

"Perfect! I've been wanting to go for a swim since yesterday." Sasha announces as she trudged closer to the water.

"You don't even know how to swim." Jean tells her.

"I can learn." The girl states and you expected for some amount of preparation, or at the very least for her to take her shoes off, but this was Sasha. She did not care if her belongings sullied because of the salt embedded into the water.

"Sasha!" Armin yells in disbelief, "Your clothes!- and she can't hear me because she's underwater." He shook his head in disapproval. "The captain's not gonna be happy about this."

Resurfacing, with her hair bangs clinging to her face and lashes clumped together by the water, she beckons your group to join her. "Come on, the water feels good!"

"Mikasa?" You call to the girl who now stood beside you.

"I've got you." She replies and hands you a spare hair tie that she, for a reason unknown to you, always kept on hand, despite her own hair not bearing much length. Nevertheless, you accept gladly and move to put it to good use after handing her your head band that wouldn't be of any use to you right now.

"You're actually humoring her?" Jean asks you, bewildered at how easily the girl had always seemed to sway you along for most of her excursions.

Approaching the waves, you pivot to face the boy questioning your actions with a teasingly light smirk, "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em." You state and Connie whooped in delight as he followed after you.

"Ew, Y/N don't ever say that again. That's something Connie would say." He attempts to stifle his amused chuckles.

"I totally would." Connie agreed, not at all deflating at the light jab at him.

Jeans eyes roll into the back of his skull and he sighs before relenting, "Fuck it." He says and sprints to join you in the water.

"You guys comin'?" You call out to the trio who still hadn't shown any sign of moving from the shore.

Eren replied by simply sitting back onto the sand, having had stood to his feet along with you at the arrival of the others, before waving you off with a faint grin. You could tell he wasn't upset by the intrusion, not too much, and genuinely wanted to keep dry tonight. "Go ahead." He reassures, and like always, his words held depth to them. He would ask you the question that carved into his heart everyday if he had to, even if that meant his main organ being butchered like a scene of a sanguinary.

You didn't even have to glance at Mikasa to know that she would stay beside Eren, the world simply wouldn't work in the same way if that were any different. Armin though, did spare the wafting waves a glimpse, before taking his rightful seat beside the brunet. You didn't expect any less from the three, standing, or sitting in this instance, beside each other through thick and thin.

So you carried on, shielding yourself from the barrage of salt water thrusted at you by the two before you, with Jean at your side, the pair of you not accepting defeat at their hands. Prepared to handle the chastising conversation you would be dealt with from your captain when you returned to base, about how filthy your garments had grown.

Willing to endure extra chores, for an extra moment of peace.

Year 846

Faint whimpers escaped from between your fingers as your hands clamped against your lips in a futile attempt to withhold your cries. Glistening streams trickled down your cheeks and stuck to your lashes as you couldn't help but express your lamentation.

Your footsteps were hefty and lacking balance as you wobbled forward, and your body was wrapped securely in your cloak while your head was in the absence of the warmth the hood would have provided.

Icicles protruded from the evergreens that wreathed your figure, having had been caused by the slight changes in the weather as the ice slowly melted and the sun grew stronger. Snowflakes spun around you in a hypnotic dance, but you had paid them no heed.

Those days were always destined to be a day filled with sorrow, and the arrival of yet another Military Police officer in search of yourself only worsened your angst. You had made your escape into the woods once more, with both your body and breath trembling.

There was an affliction, deep within your soul, that felt as if someone was endlessly tugging and twisting at your insides and no matter how many sobs had left your lips, the ache did not lessen. Your lungs felt constricted, as if there was a source of pressure that gradually grew tighter, causing your irregular breaths to contort into painful heaves. The unyielding pain had caused your legs to feel as if they would collapse at any given second, but that is what you craved.

Any form of physical pain is what you yearned for at the moment, you would have accepted anything in an attempt to make the agony that fermented within your core, seem lesser.

You had fled deep enough within the woodlands that the animals that inhabited the conifers could have been seen going about their days — so, it had not come as a shock to you when your ears detected noises that came from your right. What had caused you to halt your grieving, was the fact that the sound that had caught your attention had seemed to match those of your own nose. Sniffling is what you heard and an exhale followed, both sounds that you deemed more human than animal.

Your head instinctively turned in the direction of the noises, and your eyes caught sight of a black boot, its owner shielded from your gaze by the trees. Your fingers wiped the tear tracks from your cheeks and you slowed your pace. Your eyes narrowed as you quietly craned your neck in an attempt at sneaking a peek at the stranger.

"Reiner?" You murmured, instantly recognizing the pale color of his hair.

He was sitting on the snow with his back against a tree trunk, and his head tilted towards the sky. It had been a couple of weeks since your first encounter with the boy, and all thoughts of him had fled your mind shortly after you had parted ways. You thought you would never see him again, bar the fact that he told you of his plans of enlisting in the military, the same as you.

Many people could say they were brave enough to do such a thing, but when the time arrived, so did silence. Still, it had surprised you of what a coincidence it was that you were both in the same part of the forest, on the same day, at the same hour; yet again.

"Hey stranger." You called out, your voice startling him and causing his body to jolt in surprise.

His eyes had widened at the sight of you, which was understandable considering he likely did not expect to see you again, and certainly not so soon. "How did you find me?" He asked.

"I wasn't really looking for you." You stated as you drew closer. "And if this is your definition of hiding, I think you'd do best without all the noise."

Your words caused him to hastily wipe his nose with the sleeve of his jacket, "I didn't notice." He admitted.

You looked at his sides and noted how empty handed he seemed. "What're you doing out here, again?"

"I could ask you the same thing. You look like you've seen better days." He said as his eyes inspected your face and you didn't blame him for saying so. You could feel how swollen your harsh tears had left your eyes, cheeks, and lips. You could only imagine how blood shot your sclera had gotten, but still, you made no attempts at shielding yourself. You had grown used to the swelling of your face and the headaches that the innumerable nights you spent curled up and silently wailing, had left in their wake. It also did not escape your mind that he sat in a similar state, albeit you admitted were slightly worse for wear.

Once you had been near enough that you could very clearly see the light pink that enveloped his eyes and nose, you sat beside him, against that same tree. Not enough that your shoulders had touched but enough that you could hear each other if you decided to whisper. "I asked first." You shrugged.

Mimicking the movement of your shoulders, he answered, "I guess it's just been a rough day for me. That and I've been feeling a little homesick lately." The latter portion of his sentence had dipped in volume and his brows furrowed slightly.

"I get that. I guess you could say the same for me." You said and although you did miss your home dearly, in your case it was that you missed the way home had made you feel. Not the conditions nor the people in general, but specifically, two boys that you hadn't seen in nearly a year.

His lidded eyes faintly widened in shock that your words had caused him. "Really?" He asked.

"Yeah." You replied with your eyes trained into nihility.

His eyes drifted away as he pondered on if he should ask or not. Even if he did, he didn't think he'd be much help. Another thought in his head began to plague his mind at that instant. It was what had continued to speak to him the moment he stepped onto this soil, and it never failed to remind him just who it was that he would converse, eat with, and sleep next to.

Six letters and two syllables.

But when did a thirteen year old ever listen to what their mind implored of them?

"Want to talk about it?" He asked hesitantly.

"...No." You whispered weakly, your gaze still. "Do you?"

Static air followed after you had returned his question. You didn't mind his lack of reply and were in fact, content in lingering inside the confines of your own mind, as it was customary on days like those. Your hippocampus shone with glimpses of dirty blonde hair and forest green pearls. Violet blossoms surrounded the person you envisioned, and warmth imbued their embrace. And then it was dusky navy blue eyes that glimmered like stars, and unruly black hair. Curls ghosted the ends of the small tufts that bounced their way around your mind and whispers, belonging to the small voice that you had began to struggle to remember, echoed in your ears.

"There was a man..." He began, though his voice only served as the diegesis to your reminiscent state. "-we met him yesterday." Though your eyes didn't move, your head shifted in his direction to indicate that you were listening. "He lived in Wall Maria, in a village somewhere in the southeast mountains." He sounded fragile when he had spoken of the man that roamed his mind. "...He said it happened at dawn. The animals were roused and there was rumbling that resembled footsteps."

It had clicked then, in your mind, what exactly the story Reiner recounted was explaining. The realization caused you to gaze at his side profile as he continued, "He went to go check, and opened the window..." He didn't have to tell you what it was that the man had found, and your understanding caused your eyes to soften, a minuscule amount of emotion returned to your expression. "The rest was a blur, the only thing he recalled was that he escaped on horse and left behind some kids."

Fight or flight response was a powerful phenomenon and basic human instincts, so you would have never held it against a man that you've never even met. "Is he doing okay?" You asked delicately.

His lashes fluttered and he looked off to the side as he assembled the courage to utter the words on the tip of his tongue. "He hung himself today."

You winced sympathetically and looked forward once again. "Oh... were you two close?" You asked and internally kicked yourself for not bearing the emotional capacity to be more comforting. The truth was, you didn't know how to.

"No, I met him yesterday." He reminded you. "But what's bothering me is that, he must have been planning to do it. So, why would he tell us that, knowing that he was going to do what he did?" He explained further.

You ignored the 'us' and 'we' that he had kept mentioning, in favor of focusing on the meat of his question. "Maybe he just wanted someone to know." You said, twiddling with your fingers as you went into thought.

"What do you mean?" He said and faced you for the first time since he had begun to elucidate his thoughts.

"Well, that's a day that is very hard to forget. It was the day that changed all of our lives, in one way or another, so I highly doubt that anyone who experienced the attack of the Titans has had a single moment of silence in their minds since then. It's like it plays on a loop, whether you're awake or asleep. All the sights, sounds, and most of all, the feelings." You explained as you recalled all that you had felt during those hellish moments. "Now, I wouldn't hold it against the guy for fleeing without those kids, hell- I don't even know his name, so what right would I have? But, I'm sure that he felt different. Even more so because, that was probably the first time he had ever admitted it aloud. I think he just wanted someone to know of the things he hated himself for... before he- y'know..."

His mouth parted in awe as he hummed to himself, and his eyes slowly shifted away from you in deep thought.

As you inspected his face for any signs that you had overstepped, you had grown doubtful in your analysis. "But, then again, those are just my thoughts. And I uh- didn't know the guy so I wouldn't take what I said seriously. Plus, you obviously already knew all about the reoccurring nightmares of that day and the hot flashes because you've lived through the aftermath yourself- so, my bad." You hastily reiterated your words.

"Oh yeah, of course." He forced himself to speak. "That's the part that I- uhm yeah I relate to that." He said and cleared his throat in an attempt to calm himself. "And anyways, don't apologize. We'll never know exactly why he did what he did, but I think that I agree with what you said, and I'm glad he was at least able to vent to me, if that was the case."

You hummed in agreement, "Yeah, I'm sure he appreciated that too." You said and directed a light smile his way for comfort, a gesture he had seemed to appreciate.

More silence billowed in the air around you and unlike the last time, you didn't get trapped in your thoughts, though one did cross your mind. One that you hoped would improve the atmosphere.

"Have you ever built a snowman?" You asked and clenched your fingers as to collect the ice from under you into one of your palms, before raising your hand and separating them to allow the white substance to return back to the ground, for emphasis.

His brow rose in question, "A snowman?"

"Yeah, like a man but one made of snow."

"I know what a snowman is." He deadpanned. "And no, I haven't. Have you?"

"No, but there should be enough snow to make one. Do you want to?" You asked and tipped your head his way, his eyes meeting your own.

A mischievous grin slowly but surely made its way onto his face, the right side of his lips raising first. That in itself was enough of an answer.

You both did your best to gather enough snow to begin to form the bottom portion of the man you were set to create. Without the use of gloves, your fingers began to grow stiff, not to the extent that it had caused you pain but enough that it drew your attention. Though, even with the noticeable stiffness in your fingers, neither one of you faltered in your molding. Although there were no parts of the ground that went uncovered by a sheet of ice, that sheet was thin and, most of the time, every time you attempted to scoop a grander amount into your hands, the ice grew muddy.

Smacking your lips in frustration, you groaned. "Ugh, dammit."

Reiner, who had been crouched a few feet away from you, looked up at the sound of your distress. "What's wrong? Don't tell me you're giving up already." He teased.

"No, obviously." Your eyes rolled in displeasure at the notion. "This snow just keeps on gettin' so damn muddy every time I try to scoop too deep." You explained as you flicked your fingers in an attempt to disperse the dirt from your digits.

The dilemma you faced had caught the attention of your companion. His amber irises began to inspect his surroundings as he brushed his palms together and stood on his feet. He approached a tree layered in the white iridescent snow, with few petioles clustered with needles escaping the sheet, and deemed it worthy. "Alright. Get on." He ordered.

The abrupt demand caused an incredulous expression to display onto your face, "Excuse me?" You answered.

In response, he crouched down again and patted the tops of his shoulders, "Hop on."

"Why?"

"Because the trees have plenty of clean snow we can use. I'll give you a boost and you can grab what you can, got it?" He explained.

His demanding attitude caused you to roll your eyes once again, before begrudgingly plodding over to his form in compliance. "Why do men always go 'round actin' like they can order me around?" You asked, rhetorically, though that didn't stop him from hurling the attitude back your way.

"You'll live." He said as you situated yourself as best as you could into a sitting position.

"I better. It would benefit you most if you didn't drop me." You replied and he lifted himself slowly. After he reached his full height, you did your best to gather as many bunches of crystal shavings into the safety of your arms — but as you inspected your surroundings, you had noticed that the higher you looked, the more bundles of frost had gathered onto the tree branches. You hummed softly as you contemplated how to handle your situation, before deciding on the most obvious action.

"What's wron-" Reiner began, only to get bombarded by a countenance full of frozen stardust that had caused him to splutter. He panicked when his legs wobbled slightly and then realized that you decided to take the plunge to stand on his shoulders. "Whoa- what the hell are you doing?!" He exclaimed as he took ahold of your ankles to stabilize your stance.

"I can get greater quality snow the higher up that I go, so quit moving so much and get on your tippy-toes." You justified your actions as your own followed suit.

"You better not step on my face or I swear to the walls-"

A light chortle bounced off of your lips, "You swear to the walls? I've never heard somebody say that here, are you from Stohess or some shit?" You asked sarcastically.

"I don't give a damn, just make sure that I don't get a face full of foot." He gritted as his stance relentlessly swayed back and forth.

You stretched your arm as high as it could reach while the other served as an anchor to the tree. "Almost there-" You murmured as your fingers slowly inched closer to your target. Unfortunately, just as your thumb and index fingers had gotten ahold of the cluster of needles, the entire white sheet that sat atop of it gradually slid down and descended towards your face. Your eyes widened in realization as you emitted a coherent, "Oof-" before your legs gave out and your body plummeted with the blanket of snow hugging your face.

Your form had fallen backwards which had caused the boy supporting you to do the same, creating a domino effect and an intelligible thump as you collided on the ground.

After a few moments of digesting the rumpus events that had occurred, you briskly sat up and shook your head to discard the ice particles that had found themselves tangled within your hair. The eerie silence that followed produced your heart to accelerate in panic, "Reiner?!" You called out.

"M under here." Came a muffled voice.

"Oops, my bad." You apologized. You didn't realize that he had broken your fall, but it explained the painless clash. You pulled yourself off of him and sat beside where he laid.

Finally free of the burden on his chest, he sat up from under the snow with wide eyes and disordered hair. "You almost suffocated me." He accused.

Chuckling at the state he was in, you ruffled his hair and snowflakes flew from his head. "But I didn't."

An obnoxious snort came from the boy and he gently clutched his stomach. "I can't believe you did that, it was so damn stupid." He derided.

Joining him in his laughter, you breathlessly defended yourself, "Stupid, but it got the job done. Look at all the snow we've got to work with now." You gestured to the pile of fluffy powder surrounding your forms.

Satisfied with what the sacrifice had accomplished, he nodded his head in determination and all but leapt back onto his boots. "Let's resume then." He said resolutely and reoccupied himself with rolling a clump of his snow until he had deemed it compacted enough to remain stable. You followed after with your own portion of ice that would soon be the middle of the body.

"Okay, so he's not gonna be as big as I had expected, but that's fine." He articulated his thought process, before turning to you. "Not all men have to be big and tough, right?"

With a faux pout, you began to tease, "Aww, is that what you tell yourself everyday?" You asked as your hands constructed what you planned to make the figures head. "Yes Reiner, you would know that not all men have to be intimidating." You had jested.

Stupefied features painted his face as his brain perceived your words. "What? You don't think I'm intimidating?" He asked you as his hands absentmindedly searched the ground for suitable stones to furnish as eyes.

"Well, you're not much taller than me really." You reminded him as he tossed you the stones he had acquired. "Anyways, I don't think you'd even qualify as a man, yet. Isn't chest hair needed for that or something? I doubt you've hit that milestone." You further expanded your reasoning as to why you didn't find the boy particularly threatening. Perhaps his stature did form most of your opinions on the subject, but you didn't doubt that the empathetic and somewhat sensitive nature he had allowed you glimpses of had also played its part.

His jaw dropped at the audacity you had to utter those words to his face. "I'm like a good couple of inches taller than you." He informed you matter-of-factly.

You embellished the stones like ornaments and meticulously placed two twigs in a downward arch so that your creation could have appeared blissful. "And yet I bet I could still topple you if I tried." You muttered and whether that bold statement was the truth or not did not burden you. Not unless he had suddenly decided to test your theory, but you doubted the thought to go through the effort had even crossed his mind. You sat back and admired your labor, though you noted that you weren't quite finished, as your ice person hadn't donned a nose yet.

In response, the boy mischievously feigned a pout as he observed your concentrated state. His pale fingers steadily inched closer to your most recently added detail and he maneuvered the dark wood in such a way that the arch aimed upwards instead of the latter, making your person don a frown that had replaced the grin you had concocted.

"You're making both men here sad, girl whose name I still don't know." He said woefully, before carving tear tracks onto the apple of the snow persons cheeks with his fingernail.

Indifferent to his fatuous display, you quipped, "Y'know, I'm getting tired of speaking with boys." And carved a set of feminine eyelashes onto the snow person. "That's better. I feel less disgusted."

Your actions only forced him to scoff, and he mimicked the same motions as before to carve a thick line across what would have been the upper lip of your creation, had they truly been personified. "Some guys have long lashes to pair with a thick mustache." He informed you.

Recognizing a challenge, your eyes narrowed playfully and you dragged your finger across the chest, forming arches that indicated the existence of breasts. "I've seen a couple gals with a nice stubble." You added, forcing the grin that threatened to manifest onto your face away, which didn't work as well as you had wanted it to. In fact, it hadn't helped at all.

Reiner, having had been inspired by your bold move, followed with his own. And so on and so forth, until your shared person had barely even been identifiable and the only thought on your mind was how exhilarated the moment of hilarity and bliss you shared with your companion had made you feel.

So, for your final move, your arm reeled back and swung forward with forceful momentum. Your sleeve had made contact with the frigid ice and caused it to disperse every which way, a great amount found its way towards Reiner before he could have even thought to dodge. Without a single flinch, he took it one step further and used his leg to stomp the rest of the form away, the snow doing the same to you as it had done to him previously. Not that the temperature had bothered you, in fact you embraced it as you typically did and vibrantly gleeful giggles spilled from within your vocal cords. Both of your melodies of exuberance mingled and interlaced to form flawless harmonies.

It was in that moment that you noticed, you had not belly laughed in so long, not as you did then. You hadn't felt so light about anything in your entire young life, and with a stranger that had yet to know your name. The pain that enveloped your core earlier that day had subsided and was replaced with a different kind. One that you had found you didn't mind. One that came with tears caused by the exertion of experiencing such pure bliss. One that caused you to cradle your stomach in an attempt to ease the contracting muscles. One that allowed release and transported your body into a state of euphoria. It was a state that you had begun to crave.

And you hated yourself for that.

How dare you experience such a tender emotion, and on that day, of all days. — When the people who deserved it the most weren't there to. How dare you live your life as if they had never existed. How dare you not spend your days mourning in a never ending rotation. How dare you have the will to proceed with your days in spite of what you lost. How dare you even think to ask for more.

And so your feelings of ardor morphed into those of anguish, your roars of hysteric laughter shifted into a paroxysm of cries in agony, and the comforting warmth nestled inside of your chest transformed into a raging inferno in the process of combusting your insides. The twisting and knotting of your lungs had returned and the pressure was slowly killing you from the inside out.

Reiner was stunned at the rate of which your emotions had performed a one eighty. One second he had felt his stomach churning with butterflies and the next, he found that his heart had plummeted and squashed those very insects that littered his insides at the sound of your wails. His eyes that were once shut in ecstasy had grown wide in concern. Your body had begun to curl inwards as you fell to your knees and you bowed your head enough that it met the cold hard ground.

He had no idea of how to react.

"W-what's wrong? Are you hurt- or did I do something?" He asked and you couldn't help but sob louder, your arms moved to enwreathe themselves around your figure. "Do you need water? I can go fetch some fresh if you want or something." He offered desperately in an attempt to find a solution to make your cries subside.

"St-Stefan." You had barely managed to emit the name in between your heaves. It was so faint and muddled that it had forced Reiner to strain his ears to decode what it was that you had asked for and even then he wasn't sure he had heard you correctly.

You just wanted Stefan.

"Is that a friend of yours? Do you want me to go get him? It'll probably take a while for me to get to your settlement and back but maybe if I could help you come with me-"

"He's dead." You breathed. "You can't go get him because h-he's dead!" You spoke with cracks present in your voice that carried its fragility.

In response, the boy froze and his eyes flew to anything but you. While your screams had subsided a small amount, your tears continued their downpour and sharp hiccups came sporadically, they were so powerful that you couldn't have prevented the jolts that ran through your body.

In the end, he had decided to remain quiet and allow you to attempt to regain your composure at your own pace, which you did so. By the time you had felt calm enough to speak, nearly thirty minutes of silence had ensued. You moved to sit crisscross as you trained your heavily lidded eyes ahead.

Even then, you didn't speak right away, only let the words gather on your tongue until it felt right to share them. "It's their birthday." You finally admitted what had been plaguing your mind from the moment the sun peeked over the horizon. "Both of them. Isn't that such a crazy coincidence? Six years apart and they still enjoyed spending it in the same ways too."

Your voice was so small that Reiner didn't dare to interrupt in fear that it might've disappeared completely. He let you unpack what it was that had caused you to sob so uncontrollably, that even mere laughter was enough to break the dam that aided you in retaining such overwhelming emotions.

"I never knew the exact date that I was born, so Stefan... such a kind Stefan, he suggested that I celebrate it on the same day that they did. They both didn't mind sharing with me, even if that meant they had to split the occasion in three." You spoke of the boys fondly and with so much adoration that brimmed your eyes. "I guess that kind of means that today is my birthday too. Although, I'm sure my actual one has passed already. I don't know why I think that way, but I do." You said and your lips had begun to feel chapped. "He would've been thirteen today... and baby Ciel-" Your sentence broke when a wave of hiccups bubbled in your throat as tears had threatened to fall once again. "Cielo would've been seven." You punctuated your statement with a broken sob and your head burrowed into your knees as you hugged your legs against your chest.

Reiner was petrified.

He did not want to know more for he feared that he knew the answer as to why you had spoken of them in past tense. Your confession had served as a sort of wake up call and reminded him once more just why he had arrived at your island in the first place. He wanted to flee and create as much distance as he could have between the two of you because he did not want to face the truth of how his actions had affected the people around him, least of all you. He reminded himself what he had been taught since young, what his people had deemed your own and he wished it didn't cause such an internal conflict. He berated himself for it — why would you, someone he had yet to learn the name of, cause him to question himself and the people that raised him into what he had become? It should not be that way, and especially not on your second meeting.

You were simply someone he had yet to know the name of, is what he repeated to himself... though, he had acquainted himself enough that he wouldn't mind seeing you everyday that would follow if it meant that he would soon learn it.

The mere sight of your form that had become so frangible had hurt him, pierced his heart and dug the blade in deeper with each tremble he saw your body endure. Why it did, he did not know, and though what he yearned for the most right at that moment was to flee, he did the opposite and drew closer.

Because when did thirteen year olds ever pay heed to what their minds pleaded.

Comforting and warmly snug arms swaddled your figure, a sentiment that was foreign to your body; a side effect from the copious amount of nights you had spent laid awake with the same emotions and thoughts plaguing you, though in those instances no consolation was offered. He didn't say a thing but simply embraced what he could of you and listened to you pour your heart out.

"The thing is, I'm not even mad that I spent the whole morning cryin', it's the only thing that I've felt in a while. Most days, I spend my time in the fields to keep busy, but even when I'm not, I just feel so fucking empty. So, in the nights where I do cry myself to sleep, I feel so relieved in the morning because it proves that I'm still human and not losing my mind. So, when I felt anything other than my usual torment, I got so damn mad at myself because, today of all days, my mind decides to make me feel something resembling happiness when really, I should keep crying my eyes out because the people that should be here, aren't." You didn't even realize that was how you had truly felt, but it was true and you allowed your tongue to spill every subconscious thought it had withheld for the first time in a long time.

Seconds of silence turned into minutes and minutes had felt as though they had morphed into hours. You knew that much time could not have passed because while the sun did seem to grow a shade more aureate, its position in the sky did not yet suggest preparation for nightfall. Your swollen eyes and throbbing head almost forced you to doze off in the warmth of Reiners arms, you leaned into him and felt the vibrations of his pounding heart, your own resounding beats following directly after in consonance.

Though, it seemed that he did not intend to stay without words. "You know, birthdays are supposed to celebrate birth." He stated.

Your brow furrowed, "What?"

"Well, and this is gonna sound cheesy but bear with me here, it's called a birthday for a reason." His voice was so mellow, you didn't mind him breaking the silence. "It's not supposed to be a remembrance of death, it's a celebration of the life you've been allowed to live, a celebration of your existence. It's the reason that most people blow out candles, some believe that it's to ward your wishes of purity and a lambent future to whatever god you praise, while others use it as a way to thank them instead, for the aid they have provided in the life they've built."

"And if they don't have a future? What if they truly are gone, what then? And what if the life they have lived wasn't prosperous or anything to be proud of?" You genuinely asked. Both Stefan and Cielo lived a life full of bad deals and if any god had played a hand in that, why would you thank the architect of a dilapidated structure?

"They're never truly gone, not unless you will them to be. You don't have to remember them for what they lost or never attained, but instead, for all their wins and what they gratified."

What he said had made sense to you, and in any other situation, perhaps those words alone would have been enough to persuade your view to change. But, every angle at what the boys had that you descried, you could not fathom what merit their life had possessed. In your eyes, they were robbed of the chance of pursuing further miles stones that they had yearned for, and maybe it was wrong for you to assume as such but those feelings came from a place of deeply rooted love that you harbored for them both.

Hesitantly, he continued, "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that your point of view of what they got to experience was not enough, which is fair because, to you they deserved the world. But, have you considered that maybe they saw their life as fulfilled? Or that they were content with the small things they were able to accomplish? And maybe it wasn't, but isn't it better to hold that perspective in your back pocket? As if, if they had the chance to look at what or who they left behind, they would feel it was enough."

"Maybe, but does that mean they're happy to have left me alone? They didn't have to both go."

"Not necessarily in a way that they're glad to have left those things or people behind, but content as in, they trust those people to keep moving forward or maybe even pick up where they left off, in a way."

That was the second instance in which you had doubted your long term goal. Both Stefan and Cielo promised that if they were granted the opportunity at actualizing your aspirations of venturing beyond the walls, they would have taken it without a second thought, and in return, you had promised the same, but in the moment, you were under the impression that you would do so together. Doing something so new, strange, and alien completely terrified you. So, while it was not enough to sway your long term goal in the opposite direction, that conversation fermented the seed of doubt, that had been previously planted by Annie, into your psyche. There was doubt in your road to revenge.

"Or! I could be completely wrong and overstepped my boundaries." He panicked at your silence, his arms and head pulled away hastily.

You faced him and wiped at your nose and cheeks to rid them of the aftermath of your meltdown. "No, it's okay really. I- uhm... needed that. I'm sorry for ruining...whatever that was." You trailed off, not really comprehending where you were headed with the apology.

The ghost of a smirk appeared on his face as he took in your words. "Oh? And what was that?" He jested.

"I just said, 'whatever that was' which means I don't know." You told him with a whimsical eye roll.

He hummed, "What a shame."

"Not really." You added.

He chuckled lightly at your remark before sincerity slipped back into his expression, "But seriously, you don't need to apologize, I get it. And plus, feel free to sucker punch me if I'm overstepping but, today is your birthday, right?" He asked.

You looked at him suspiciously, uncertain at what he was getting at. "Not really, I don't know when mine is. Also, I'm sure it's passed already, like I said earlier. Today is Stefan and Cielo's birthday." You explained, not wanting to make the occasion more for yourself than you already had.

"I'm sure both Stefan and Cielo wouldn't want to celebrate it alone, right?" He told you with hesitance very obviously laid within his tone. He was walking on eggshells as to not tip over on the tightrope of your boundaries, which he had felt like he was dancing on. He also made sure not to ask the forbidden question, one that he ached so badly to ask but he knew the answer would create such a disorder in him.

"You've never even met them."

"Nobody wants to celebrate a birthday by themselves. Who would light their candles?"

"We don't have candles, idiot." You tittered.

He hummed in thought, "Maybe not..." He moved to unbuckle his jacket and pulled out a small black pouch from within a hidden inside pocket. He fluidly untied the knot that sealed the objects inside of the portable bag and stuck his hand inside to search for something specific. Lo and behold, you didn't expect that what he would slip out was a set of matches. "This is survival 101, never leave your post unprepared." He informed you boastfully.

The sight had caused your eyes to widen as you exhaled in surprise. "What- you've got matches?" You whispered.

"Duh." He quipped which caused your astonishment to diminish. "I know they're not candles but this should do. Plus, it's not like we need it to burn for long, just make sure to blow it out quick." He explained.

You shook your head as he further baffled you, "Wait, what? Me? I'm gonna blow it out?" You asked with a finger pointed towards your face.

He mimicked your actions, his own digit being used to emphasize you, "Yes, you. Who else?"

"But why?"

He set his pouch down and opened the small box, sliding the portable miniature torches out and grabbing a singular one, before setting the rest away. "Because, I don't have anything to say to them. Even if today isn't your actual birthday, why wouldn't you want to celebrate it with them? Make a wish, tell them a secret, or simply ask them a question. Either way, once you blow them out, the smoke will ward your words their way. Isn't that a great tradition?" He asked and punctuated his question with the ignition of the little flame in his hands as he settled it between both of your faces.

Although the woods weren't yet a dark abyss, the flickering minute inferno did not fail to set alight Reiner's features. His honeyed eyes seemed to shift a shade deeper, the vibrant saffron flame reflected its visage onto his pupils, a sight that brought among the warmth to your insides once again. The dips and valleys of his face were highlighted, bringing to your attention details that you hadn't before espied. The delicate arch his nose took, the way the hair of his brows were slightly darker than those on his head, the form in which his cheeks were sculpted but still kept their youthful bounce, and even his lips appeared more voluminous due to the shadows on their perimeters. A familiar sensation had arose within you, it caused your mind to grow hazy and your surroundings to darken, and left the boy before you in an angelic halo.

Your enchantment was not one sided, for the flames glow had enhanced your profile as well. Both of your gazes connected in the illusion of being the sole inhabitants of the land from with you plucked and plowed each day. The flickering of the match before you had awoke you from its spell and reminded you of the fact that you were merely two humans in a world overrun by mindless monsters.

You cleared your throat and directed your eyes downward before you swallowed and set your sight onto the object in the hands in front of you. "Uhm, so do I say it out loud or-" You begun.

He visibly flinched in response to being awoken out of his delusion and looked anywhere besides the face he was caught memorizing. "Oh, yeah. I mean, no! You have to say it in your head otherwise it won't ring true." He explained before lowering his voice for the latter part of his instructions. "And you have to uhm... tell me your name. Cause, I have to say it for this to work." He added. "Rules are rules, you know."

"Oh, really?" You said, a brow lifted and your lips did not attempt to hide your forthcoming smirk.

"Yes." He nodded curtly.

"Y/N."

A smile carved itself onto his face as he took in the sound of your name for the very first time, of many to come. "Okay, Y/N." He nodded and tried the foreign word on his tongue; which slipped out as smoothly as fall honey. "Make your wish."

In preparation to speak to the loved ones you had lost, you sat on your knees and scooted closer to the light. You closed your eyes and searched deep within your cavernous soul for the words you craved to direct to the afterlife, if such a place existed. You asked yourself, if you had one last chance to ask or dispatch your words to both Stefan and Cielo, which ones would you choose? And you steeled yourself, and allowed your phrases and vocables to rebound throughout your mind, while you inhaled the strength to proceed.

'I hope I make you proud.'

And then, the once dancing flame, extinguished.

Fun fact: Remember that flower crown mentioned in the scene of Stefan’s death? Yeah, he was making that for you before… yk: 💀☠️

[jozor-johai]

R'hllor in the Sept

In ACOK Catelyn IV, Catelyn visits the sept at the village by Renly's host, just before Renly is killed by the Stannis' shadow and the dark powers of R'hllor.

Before any of Stannis and Mel's actions, though, the power of R'hllor is present from the start.

Though it's a sept, and Catelyn is praying to each of the faces of the Seven in turn, note that it is the flickering torchlight which makes the faces "seem alive". In fact, the first sentence of every one of these paragraphs is a reminder of how the fire is affecting the appearance of the Seven's faces: flickering torchlight danced across the walls, the smoke makes her eyes burn, the shadows shift and sway, the torch spits. And with the light of the fire dancing across the masks, Catelyn begins to see visions, of a sort.

Over again over again in this passage, it sounds like, visually, Catelyn is really doing something similar to how a Red Priest gazes into the fires, seeing the shifting images of the flames and shadows.

It seems like a real moment of the power of fire and light combined with the faces of the seven, revealing to Catelyn insights about the people around her:

Flickering torchlight danced across the walls, making the faces seem half alive, twisting them, changing them. The statues in the great septs of the cities wore the faces the stonemasons had given them, but these charcoal scratchings were so crude they might be anyone. The Father's face made her think of her own father, dying in his bed at Riverrun. The Warrior was Renly and Stannis, Robb and Robert, Jaime Lannister and Jon Snow. She even glimpsed Arya in those lines, just for an instant. Then a gust of wind through the door made the torch sputter, and the semblance was gone, washed away in orange glare. The smoke was making her eyes burn. She rubbed at them with the heels of her scarred hands. When she looked up at the Mother again, it was her own mother she saw. Lady Minisa Tully had died in childbed, trying to give Lord Hoster a second son. The baby had perished with her, and afterward some of the life had gone out of Father. She was always so calm, Catelyn thought, remembering her mother's soft hands, her warm smile. If she had lived, how different our lives might have been. She wondered what Lady Minisa would make of her eldest daughter, kneeling here before her. I have come so many thousands of leagues, and for what? Who have I served? I have lost my daughters, Robb does not want me, and Bran and Rickon must surely think me a cold and unnatural mother. I was not even with Ned when he died . . . Her head swam, and the sept seemed to move around her. The shadows swayed and shifted, furtive animals racing across the cracked white walls. Catelyn had not eaten today. Perhaps that had been unwise. She told herself that there had been no time, but the truth was that food had lost its savor in a world without Ned. When they took his head off, they killed me too. Behind her the torch spit, and suddenly it seemed to her that it was her sister's face on the wall, though the eyes were harder than she recalled, not Lysa's eyes but Cersei's. Cersei is a mother too. No matter who fathered those children, she felt them kick inside her, brought them forth with her pain and blood, nursed them at her breast. If they are truly Jaime's . . .

This is mostly an observation, but I have a few thoughts on it, too:

First, I think it's cool that we have a moment where the influence of R'hllor appears even inside a sept, even before we really understand what we're seeing here.

Metaphorically, this scene is even better as a foundation for what happens later in this chapter: Renly, whose rainbow guard proclaims him a particularly devout champion of the Seven, is overcome by R'hllor's power and Stannis' shadow like how the torchlight and shifting shadows dance across the masks in the sept.

There's room for this moment to affect an understanding of magic, too; perhaps it adds a layer to the interpretation of these fire-inspired visions that Melisandre and Thoros experience. Does this mean that a layperson, like Catelyn, can also access this power, and just doesn't know what to make of it? Or should we think that Mel and Thoros are seeing only the flickering forms of fire and not magic at all, only interpreting it?

It's possible that this is a hint to the universality of whatever magical/religious power exists in the world, despite the different religions or names for it that different cultures have. This is the power of R'hllor projected onto the masks of the Seven—perhaps both the flames and the masks are guises for a shared, common power, unknowable behind the scenes.

[victoria-daydreams]

The Dressmaker

Part IV

AN: It’s here y’all, the final chapter! It’s been a short journey, but a journey nonetheless. Thank you to everyone who reblogged, liked, and commented on this story!

Word Count: 879

Trigger Warnings: none

Taglist: @siriuslyblackonback, @unhingedcanary, @mariamyousef702, @alastorhazbin​

The Dressmaker: Part V

Bright hues of orange and yellow reflected against the irises of Selina’s eyes as a sudden gust of warm air hit her face, causing her eyes to water up from the stinging heat. The too warm smoky atmosphere surrounding her felt as if she was curled up in front of the fireplace. Hissing and popping floated into Selina’s ears as fire consumed freshly cut logs thrown into the flames. However, the crackling in her ears isn't the result of a fireplace being tended to, instead it was a fire consuming her dress shop right in front of her eyes. Her shop looked like the entrance to the netherworld.

Smoke billowed into the early morning sky while ash fell to the street like snow. The clatter of falling debris could be heard even over the cacophony of the fire, the yells of firemen, and hoses combined.

“It’s gone,” Naveen said, his voice quavering. “Everything you’ve built…” he trailed off, shaking his head.

Fresh black smoke roiled up from the burning structure, flames licking the sides of the bricks. The thickened smoke stung Selina’s, the sensation running all the way down into her throat.

“Buildings can be replaced,” Selina said, before a cough wracked her body. “People can’t be,” she added, after her coughing fit subsided.

Selina wanted to sink to her knees in anger and despair, her life’s work was being swallowed by an inferno blaze and there was nothing she could do about it. She broke his heart and he knew exactly how to get back at her for doing it.

“Do you think…he’s responsible?” Naveen asked, looking in her direction.

“Who else would it be?” she asked back, her eyes never leaving the shadowed outlines of firemen combating the fire. “Once, I told him that my shop was being bombed by bigots. And now, he actually petrol bombed my shop,” she explained, with a harsh exhale.

“I knew Changretta was going to die, but this certainly will seal his fate,” Naveen stated. “Not to mention the bruises he left you with,” he added.

Swallowing uncomfortably, Selina wrapped her scarf tighter around neck, hiding the purple discoloration mottling her skin. To say Tommy was livid at what Luca inflicted upon her would be an understatement.

“But how did Changretta know you were a Shelby?”

“Alfie,” she spat out venomously, her head snapping in his direction. “He told me himself when I called him. Goddamn bastard doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut,” she hissed.

Selina gently massaged her sore throat, “Alfie,” she said, her voice hoarse. “When Changretta and his men came to see you, was my name brought up at any point?” she asked, tightly gripping the telephone.

“Yeah,” Alfie answered in his usual gruff tone. “I told him it would cost extra to kill Tommy, because a coloured dressmaker I know would not take kindly of having her older brother assassinated,” he answered casually, causing her nostrils flared.

“Tommy explicitly told you not to say anything about me!”

“I was trying protect you Lina,”

“A piss poor job you did at that! Does your definition of protection mean having me nearly being choked to death or shot in the head?” she exclaimed.

“Maybe you should be asking Tommy that,” Alfie suggested, in an insufferably calm response. “Seeing how he is the one that put his youngest sister in such a position,” he added.

“Well, this is Alfie we’re talking about, he’s always been a strange fellow. From his point of view, he was protecting you,” Naveen said.

“I know that, and it annoys me to no end,” Selina replied, and the sound of a water cannon suddenly firing water made her jump.

Instinctively, Naveen wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to his body. In silence, the two of them watched as water cascaded down onto her smouldering dress shop. It was then, a series of images reeled through her mind like she was watching a silent film. The ribbon cutting, hiring Julia and Naveen, her first customer, the phonograph loudly playing as her and Naveen waltzed around the shop, their laughter matching the volume of the music. All the wonderful memories her shop produced disintegrated within a snap of a finger.

“Selina,”

The sound of her name being called shook Selina from her reverie and she looked in Naveen’s direction.

“Where do we do go from here? What do we do now?” he asked.

She glanced at her shop, “London,” Selina answered, with a nod as a small grin growing on her lips. “It’s the pinnacle of the fashion world,” she explained, her eyes drifting back to Naveen’s. “I couldn’t think of a better place to start anew,” she said, interlacing her fingers with his. “You, me, and Julia, London won’t know what hit them,” she quipped. 

“The dress shop, you,” Naveen began. “Have become apart of my life. I’ll follow you wherever you want me to,” he said gently, before kissing the top of her head. “If you’ll have me,” he added.

"Besides my family surviving what’s to come today, I can’t think of anything else that would please me more,”

Smiling, Naveen raised their interlocked hands to his lips, “To new beginnings,” he murmured, against her fingers.

“To new beginnings,”

[honeyynymphh]

| Tear You Apart |

Papa IV x FemReader rating: E word count: 2.5k chapter: 2 of 2 warnings: blood, choking, pred/prey, dub con, dom/sub undertones, google translated italiano

There were four things you had not expected when you had decided to break into the old abbey on a particular full moon: 1. That it would actually be inhabited 2. That it would be inhabited by people performing a satanic ritual 3. That you would end up being chased through the woods by a satanic madman 4. That you would enjoy it

can also be read on AO3 Chapter One is HERE

🌙🕯️🩸🌙🕯️🩸🌙🕯️🩸

Chapter Two

You stand together in silence for what feels like an eternity until his grip loosens and his hand leaves your mouth. The deep breath he takes makes you think that he is trying with great effort to calm himself. Copia—you are sure that is what the other man had called him—is no longer holding you in a tight embrace. The grip slackens even further though you do not dare move, you feel frozen to the spot as your heart continues to race. Slowly he eases himself back until you are no longer pressed against him and you try not to focus on how much you miss the contact. 

Wordlessly, a hand slides down your arm and gently pulls you by the wrist towards a small door at the front of the cathedral. He pulls it open and pushes you through. The strong wind gusts past you causing the glass panes to rattle and the candles to gutter and snarl. You shiver as you stand there in the dark night.

“Leave,” he says, though it is more a ragged breath more than a word. “Go through there—” He points to a small pathway where you can see a small gate at the end. “Do not run. Do not return.”

What the hell? One moment he was threatening you and now he’s suddenly letting you go? The confusion makes you blink at him stupidly. He simply stands at the doorway, his hands gripping the sides tightly. You are certain he is holding himself back with great difficulty—though from what you do not understand. The rational part of your mind is telling you to simply walk away—that this madman is actually letting you go. You should leave, go find Jake and give him a good kick. Or better yet, get out of this batshit crazy place and get back to his apartment before Jake does and lock him out.

However, you still can’t move. Not because of fear but curiosity and something else you dare not name. It’s too much to admit to yourself that you had somewhat enjoyed this demon chasing you through the dark woods and the grip he had had on you mere moments ago. And there was no denying how aroused you had become at the sight of him taking that woman with absolute abandon on the altar. This part of you wants to run again, just to see if he would follow.

Your eyes can’t help but glance toward the woods in the distance, you can still see the distant flicker of flames between the trees.

“Do not test me, agnellino.” His voice is hoarse and low. “The moon is powerful on this night, you do not understand.” 

You feel the breeze against your face as you look up at the sky. The clouds are again obscuring the moon, though you can see some of its light desperately trying to shine. A sharp sound makes you tear your eyes away to look back at Copia. His nails are digging into the stone of the door frame so hard that it is actually marked the granite. And they look more like claws than nails. Looking at his face again, it’s hard to discern the expression on that painted face but he looks like he’s in pain.

“Tell me what is happening here,” you demand. “What were those things in the woods?”

The man takes a shuddering breath, nails digging even further into the stone.

“If you do not leave now, I will devour you.” His words are spat out and you can see the sweat on his forehead. Words like that should make you want to run as fast as you can away from him, but they don’t. “Leave.”

Another tortuous sound leaves him, the stone crying out as those nails slide down it leaving deep cuts in their wake. Before now you hadn’t really thought twice about magic and demons. But after seeing those creatures in the wood and the way this man seemed to be possessed was making you wonder how much more there was to it.

Perhaps it was stupid to reach out towards him, like sticking a hand through the cage toward a feral animal. But for a moment he looked small, unsure—as if he was suffering. The instinct had come quickly and without real thought.

One of his hands snatches your wrist so quickly it's a blur. The grip is tight, and his hand feels impossibly hot. It sears against your wrist. For a moment you think he will snap it but his whole body shudders.

“You think these walls that surround us were made to keep people out, dolce?" His voice hisses out. He laughs, a low sound that reverberates through you. "Non è così. It is to keep us in on nights like these."

There is an unnatural quality to his words now, it almost sounds like two people are speaking. It makes you shudder with something that is definitely not fear and his hand squeezes your wrist painfully as he leans into you, the smell of him wrapping around you as he invades your space.

"You were given the opportunity to leave.” Violently he flings you with ease to the ground as he steps out through the door and into the night. “You should have taken it.” 

The fall knocks the breath out of you and you desperately suck in a breath as he walks toward you. The ground is cold and hard as you hastily try to scurry back.

He is moving so slowly and the expression on his face is terrifying. The tension he had held before has left him. It is clear he is no longer holding back. And while the fear does shoot through your veins at the sight of this man, that’s not all you are feeling. Arousal is simmering low in your stomach and you are certain he can smell it from the way his nostrils flare. His lips quirk up and the feral gleam in those strange eyes sears right through you. He does look like he is going to devour you. 

He pauses, hands clasped in front of him as those glittering robes are whipped about by the wind. 

“Perhaps you do want to play with Papa, dolce?” he says in tones of pure sin.

You finally manage to get to your feet and take a few steps back. The knowing grin on his face is hypnotising as he watches. Your body tenses, those eyes on you making your skin tingle in anticipation.

“Better run now, agnellino.”

You turn and bolt.

This time the excitement courses through your veins, drowning out the rational screams in your head. It was certainly a stupid thing to do—Copia had given you an option and you had stayed. Why? You don’t know or understand. But the way he had held you and looked at you had made you burn. Nobody had ever made the fire in your veins sing like that before. 

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you reach the clearing once more, the fire has already burned low and the embers spark into the air as you reach it. You can’t hear any sounds of a chase and your eyes dart around the clearing, trying to see through the trees but there is nothing in sight.

Shoulders dropping as you move towards the stone altar, you let out a breath as the tension leaves you—the disappointment is a little hard to ignore. Your fingers trace the patterns carved into the granite for a moment before you begin to walk away.

You only manage to take a few steps before something warm and hard comes crashing into you. Your scream is lost to the breeze as arms wrap with ease around your middle and lift you up before placing you on the edge of the stone altar. There is barely any time to think as hands tear at your clothes, claws slicing with ease through your muddied jeans and tugging them off before ridding you of the rest of your clothes and underwear.

You manage to sit yourself up on your elbows, watching in horrified fascination as Copia tugs you forward so your legs are over his shoulders as he kneels before the altar between your legs. A hot mouth makes a feverish path up your inner thigh, sharp teeth nipping at the soft flesh. His eyes flick up to yours and you nearly scream again at the sight of them—no longer mismatched but both completely black and barely discernable amidst the black paint. But the scream barely has time to form before it becomes a languorous moan. His tongue flickers over the hot flesh of your inner thigh before licking a long and hot stripe down your slit. It burns against every sensitive nerve and makes you twitch your hips closer to that wicked tongue.

His nose is pressed against your clit as his tongue continues to drive your pleasure to new heights. It feels unnaturally long as you feel it writhe and twist. Before you can think any further you are coming apart with ease, the blinding pleasure sending you over the edge as he continues to lap at you. It's like he's a starving man from the groans he makes and the eager way he devours your pussy, making it weep with ease. You can hear him growl as he hastily stands and pulls off the long robes. He wears nothing underneath and you can’t help but stare at the sight of him naked as he moves toward you, the paint has smeared off the bottom half of his face making him look even more deranged. You can see your own arousal shining on his lips and the sight of his hard cock makes your pussy throb with anticipation. You can already see the precum glistening from the swollen head and it looks bigger than what you’re used to. He doesn’t give you any more time to think about it before he is crawling onto the altar, forcing you to move down it until your whole body is laying on the cold stone.

Nestling himself between your thighs, his hands roaming over your naked body. In the cold of the night, they feel blistering hot. The tips of those clawlike fingers rake over your skin, teasing the peaks of your nipples. Pinching and squeezing so you are writhing underneath him.

“You’re mine to take now, dolce. All for Papa.”

He isn’t gentle when he grabs you by the hips and thrusts into you in one quick movement. The stretch of his cock inside you is too much, too soon as he buries himself to the hilt. You can feel him everywhere as he sinks in even deeper, a string of foreign words leaving his mouth. There is no pause for you to adjust to him before he is fucking you with hard and powerful thrusts.

A hand wraps around your throat, and you feel the sharp points of his clawed nails digging into your skin. It stings bright and hot, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the sight of him above you. He must be drawing blood, you are sure of it—the claws are digging in and pricking at your flesh—but it doesn’t matter. The feel of his cock is too good as your cunt clenches around him, and you can feel the orgasm building with speed. The pleasure is too great and it’s bleeding with the pain and making it sharper. 

His body moves over yours, his chest pressing against you. The hand around your throat relaxes enough so that his thumb is able to swipe against your bottom lip—you can’t help but let your tongue dart out to lick it. A metallic twang blooms on your tongue and you know he has indeed broken the skin. When he presses in even closer, a moan escapes you as his cock sinks into you even further and hits that sweet spot within you. The new angle causes you to shudder around him, your pussy delighting in the obscene way he is filling you. You moan again, screaming out a delirious plea of, “Please, Papa,” into the night air. What you are begging for you, you aren’t sure. For him to stop or for him to never cease with this brutally delicious torment.

“You make the sweetest sounds,” his voice purrs in your ear. His mouth is pressing open kisses down your neck and you can feel his wet tongue lapping at your neck. It stings but you relish in it. “Will you scream for me, agnellino?”

With deep and hard thrusts he picks up the pace again, his hips surely bruising against yours and pressing your bare back against the hard stone of the altar. Your shoulder blades are pressing uncomfortably against the cold rock but the way he pounds into you is too good to care. When his mouth clamps down on your shoulder and bites you scream in both pleasure and pain. It sends you reeling off the edge as your orgasm hits you. He doesn’t relent as the waves of it crash over you, all your nerves are alight and you can feel your own slick running down your thighs. The sensations are so overwhelming you feel the tears pricking at your eyes. Suddenly he leans back, hooking his hands under your knees so he can tilt your hips. It makes your vision go for a moment as you feel his cock sliding into you with such ease as your shoulder smarts from the bite.

“Scream for me again, dolce.” 

Your eyes are fixed on that demonic face as it spreads into a feral grin. A hand reaches between you and the pad of a finger presses against your clit. It makes you come hard and fast, and his thrusts grow more frenzied. You’re babbling incoherent nonsense when you feel the wicked warmth of him spill inside of you, a low and guttural moan tearing from his lips. The feel of him coming undone and the tight grip he has on you has another orgasm ripping from you, your flesh feeling so sensitive to every single movement. It makes you want to cry and you are certain that your face is already streaked with tears but the pleasure is too great and so you let it hit you with its full force.

It feels like forever when his movements slow and he withdraws, though the look he gives you is still unrelenting in its intensity. You sit up, trying to catch your breath as you feel him leaking out of you, coating your thighs. Glancing at the sky you can see the moon shining brightly, its light casting strange shadows over Copia’s face.

Your heart is still racing and the breeze ghosting over your skin makes you shudder. There is a howl in the distance—at least that’s what you think it is. Copia smiles at you, though there is nothing gentle about it.

Suddenly the wind dies. Another howl shoots through the night and then another joins i, this time it’s closer. You twist your head but there isn’t another soul in sight.

“You better run again, agnellino,” he says, his hands reaching between your thighs and swiping at your wet folds—the flesh so keenly on edge that you buck into his hands with a whine. He draws his fingers to his mouth, his tongue lapping at the juices that coat them. Those eyes darken again, blending so eerily with the black paint around his eyes that it’s like staring into an endless abyss. “Papa will find you.”

You run.

🌙🕯️🩸🌙🕯️🩸🌙🕯️🩸 Agnellino - little lamb Fun fact: I used to write fanfiction for The Sound of Music. Now I write this :)

Also, I really like making playlists and these were a few songs that both inspired and gave me The Vibes while writing.

Tear You Apart - She Wants Revenge Hunters Moon - Ghost (of course) Through the Deep, Dark Woods - The Veils Run From Me - Timber Timbre Lose Your Soul - Dead Man’s Bones Murders - Miracle Musical But Not Tonight - Depeche Mode You Belong to Me - Cat Pierce

[waitingforwinterwinds]

A Clash of Kings - 34 JON IV (pages 459-468)

Jon's team makes it to the Fist of the First Men, and Ghost leads Jon to treasure.

The Reader almost reports a new follower as a Bot. (Follower remains on Thin Ice.)

-

The Old Bear was particular about his hot spiced wine. So much cinnamon and so much nutmeg and so much honey, not a drop more. Raisins and nuts and dried berries, but no lemon, that was the rankest of southron heresy - which was queer, since he always took lemon in his morning beer.

🍋=🥛 "but no lemon, that was the rankest of southron heresy" yeah? enjoy your scurvy... oh, I see, lemon is a breakfast food, nvm.

A torch had been thrust down into a crevice, its flames flying pale orange banners when the gusts came. He snatched it up as he squeezed through the gap between stones. Ghost went racing down the hill. Jon followed more slowly, the torch thrust out before him as he made his descent.

They need lanterns, torches don't actually last all that long and the naked flame can get blown out in the wind. They need those sturdy 'storm lanterns' I believe they're called with the oil soaked wick and the hard to break glass covers that have their own little crash cage, but with the back shield to catch the light on one side to bounce it back and so you don't blind yourself with it.

The Reader: *is a huge fan of lanterns in general* what? a light source bias? me? pssshhhh, nahhh.

"What have you found?" Jon lowered the torch, revealing a rounded mound of earth. A grave, he thought. But whose? ... The bundle turned, and its contents spilled out on the ground, glittering dark and bright. He saw a dozen knives, leaf-shaped spear heads, numerous arrowheads. Jon picked up a dagger blade, feather light and shiny black, hiltless. Torchlight ran along its edge, a thin orange line that spoke of razor sharpness. Dragonglass. What the maesters call obsidian. ... Beneath the dragonglass was an old warhorn, made from an aurochs horn and banded in bronze.

The Cache!!!! Dragonglass = 🥛

He let them fall, and pulled up a corner of the cloth the weapons had been wrapped in, rubbing it between his fingers. Good wool, thick, a double weave, damp but not rotted. It could not have been long in the ground. And it was dark. He seized a handful and pulled it close to the torch. Not dark. Black. Even before Jon stood and shook it out, he knew what he had: the black cloak of a Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch.

Bum-bum-buuuummmmm!!!!!!

Gimme a sec I need to look up 'double weave' cause my brain is saying 'does he mean twill?' which, hilarious if yes. Nope, not twill, double-cloth. The thing where they double the threads and shuttles involved, very thick and warm.

(Twill, by the way, is a fabric that goes over two under one in a stagger, (which is probably why my brain skipped there) and was made "popular" after being produced in a little place called Nîmes, in France back in the late 1800s. as an export it was called serge de nim or twill de nim (lit. twill of Nîmes), and yes, if that sounds familiar it is because today twills are sometimes called denim. the jeans fabric. My brain thought "black jean cloaks for the Night's Watch." basically. XD)

Realistically, twill aren't an out of place thing in fantasy worlds, because the strength of the fabric came from the cotton and stitch, neither of which are revolutionary young technologies, but if we did that... oh dragons and scandalous amounts of skin are fine, but women's rights and denim, where's the historical accuracy?

ANYWAY!

I like the imagery in this chapter, with Jon and the torch, the overall vibe of "you need to look, but things will be hard to see or find, the answers you need do not lie in safe places but out beyond them."

I also like that Mormont is asking Jon for his opinion and making him think about things, reason it out, because he did know the answer when he stopped to think. Subtle growth still counts!

[callsign-marlie]

Prologue. Part I. Part II. Part III. Part IV. Part V. Part VI. Part VII. Part VIII. Part IX. Part X.

Table of Contents pairing: bradley "rooster" bradshaw x f!KazanskyOC, Jake "Hangman" Seresin x f!KazanskyOC Story Content Warning: Rate M for mature content (minors DNI!!!) including but not limited to: mentions of drug use/smoking, alcohol consumption, explicit sexual scenarios, angst that will make your head spin and more to add a/n: i was having more difficulty than I'd like to admit with this chapter. It's more of a transition and gives us a look at misha herself (and moose too!!!) next chapter though? hope you're ready for the real fun to begin ;3 x marlie

Part III. Reprisal

It had been at least 10 years since Misha had seen her godfather, but man, was he exactly the same as she remembered! Same stark white smile, same dark hair (albeit streaked with some grays in his sideburns), and the same faint scent of jet fuel on his shirt when she embraced him. His eyes were a bit duller and he had a few more wrinkles than she remembered, but Mav was still Mav, no matter what time had done to him. 

He plopped himself on the step next to Misha, knocking the side of her thigh with his fist. "Running into two people I love in one night. Must be my lucky day!"

"Love you too, Uncle Pete," she smiled truly. "But two people? Who else did you see?"

Maverick was silent, shaking his head. "Just an old flame. It's amazing with 30 years could do."

"You're still hung up on a flame from 30 years ago?" Misha questioned incredulously. "That, shocks me to the core, Mav. No way a person could hold your emotions hostage that long. You've been freer than the wind!"

"Things change," he said, eyes drifting back into the Hard Deck. "Sometimes you don't know what you have until you have it again for the first time in a while. It's like rain after a drought."

Pete's eyes swung back to his niece, ruffling her hair. "Kinda like seeing you. I miss my godbaby, sometimes."

"Uncle Pete, I'm 32," she laughed, shooing him away. "I'm definitly not a baby anymore."

"You'll always be my baby. And you'll always be a responsibility to me."

A comfortable silence fell between the two with the salt of the sea drifting through their nostrils. This, to Misha, was peace. Her uncle, her dog, and the sea with the gust of piano whirling in their ears. Misha could see in her mind an acoustic guitar, a bonfire, mouths wide with laughter, a hand resting on her shoulder...

Had she seen this scene before?

Moose traipsed over in seeing the new guest, sniffing at Pete's knuckles. His tail cautiously wagged twice before recognizing the scent, leaving a lick on Mav's arm. The pilot ruffled the dog's soft fur, a fond smile on his lips. "Hey Moosey, look at you, boy! You're huge!"

"He just turned three," Misha grinned, watching the reunion. "Can you believe it? It feels like yesterday that he got here."

"I can't, I remember you writing an email to me about him. I hope he's been serving you well."

"I don't know what I would have done without Moose," Misha replied, watching her good boy's tongue loll to the side at Maverick's scratches on the bridge of his nose. "He's been a life saver, both literally and figuratively. He alerts people when I'm having episodes and keeps me safe when things spiral out of control. Even on days where I just can't seem to function, Moose is always there ready with some snacks and water to get me through it."

Pete's eyes narrowed at her words. "Episodes? Of what?"

"It's -- uh-- more of a response to my PTSD, I guess? Anxiety attacks, my psych told me, but with pings of memory collection sometimes. I just -- drop, like my body just doesn't want to be awake to recall it in person. All of this information goes past my head at once, but when I come out of it, I can't remember anything. It's frustrating as hell."

"Does this happen often?"

Misha shook her head no. "Last time it happened was about 7 months ago now, in my shower, shockingly enough. It's more like just experiencing deja vu now. I found the right combination of meds to prevent a lot of the memory loss and unconsciousness, but there's always a chance they won't work, which is where Moosey boy comes in."

The dog's ears pricked at the sound of his master saying his name before he collapsed back at Mav's feet to greedily receive more pets.

"I know we're going to be working together on this mission, Mav," Misha started, staring back out to the black glass of the ocean. "And I want you to know I'm going to do my best. I won't make dad regret this."

Mav's face softened at her determination. There's our girl, Ice. "No doubt you will. Speaking of him, how’s he doing? I’ve been meaning to visit since I got in, but he's been all work and no play per normal.” His hand absentmindedly scratched Moose, who was basking in the attention, turning his rear in the pilot's direction.

Misha was quiet for a beat, only offering a stiff nod at the confession. How does she word this? “He’s alright. We... we don’t talk much after… you know,” she trailed, her gaze turning to her grimy sneakers.

Pete's gaze softened at his niece. “We all hit rough spots, kid. Your dad loves you no matter what, that I can assure you.” Mav’s hand went to the side of her neck and he gave a reassuring squeeze. “He never stopped updating me about you. Good, bad and everything in between. I’m so proud of you, Meesh. Seriously. What you did was not easy to do.”

A crooked smile ended up on her lips at the praise. “Yeah, well, it would have been a lot easier if I never took the Oxys in the first place. It was either clean up or I’d be buried in some state prison by now. Or worse.” She didn’t want to imagine what else could have happened. The past was the past and deserves to stay in the past.

Misha had gone quiet for a beat, the sound of the waves crushing further in the distance. “I’m not going back to that, Uncle Pete,” Misha said firmly, her eyes locking with Maverick’s. “I’m going to be better than I ever was. I’m gonna outdo myself in every possible category, even if I can’t fly anymore because of my hearing or my injuries. These guys will be ready for anything.”

Mav’s grin could have lit the sky. He replaced his hand from Moose to her her, running an absentminded finger over a long forgotten scar on top of her hand. “You know, I wasn’t sure what your old man was up to when he told me you were going to be on board with this. But now I know: like me, you’re the butt end of a horribly overplayed joke. Only difference between you and I is that actually Ice believes in you to do the right thing. You still have time for a second chance, Misha. I’ll always be the loose cannon here!”

You’re a loose cannon, chica. I like that in a woman.

A shot of ice pierced her heart, her breath hitching for the briefest of moments. What the– what the hell was that?

“Misha?” Maverick raised a quizzical brow, concern lacing his eyes at her sudden rigor. “You alright?”

“Yeah I just– I have to go back inside, Mav, I’m sorry. Penny’s probably wondering where I am. It was good talking to you, I’ll see you at debriefing.” She stood briskly, jutting around on her toes to leave her uncle in the sand without a second glance. What in the world was that voice? It was thicker, deeper. Familiar? Has she heard it before? 

That was enough coincidences for the night.

Misha had quietly returned to her spot behind the bar, slapping her towel over her shoulder, chuckling to herself in realization filling the next brew.

“What?” Penny yelled over the buzz of voices. “What’s so funny?”

Misha blindly slid the beer over to an awaiting hand. She missed the swing of the Hawaiian cotton as he spun on his heel. “I didn’t even light up, Pen. Hoo boy, it's gonna be a long night!”

—

The next morning, bright and early, Misha awoke to a black garment bag crucified on the back of her door. The material was dark and intimidating against the pure white wood grain. Groaning, she hobbled over to peak at a note tagged to the front. A new uniform for a new start. Make me proud. - Papa

She was stony faced while unzipping the fresh pressed and crisp khaki uniform, a badge with ‘Kazansky’ printed in graphite blue across the front. It held no team badge along her left breast. Her lieutenant stars on her lapels were freshly shined, her achievement badges and pins were all neatly aligned in rows. Her dad must have gotten her a new set and hand-placed all of her merits with his slow, arthritic grip. She had pondered where the strips of ribbon came from. After all, her previous set had been haphazardly thrown away in a shoebox deep within her dingy Jacksonville apartment. No way he had retrieved them - had he?

Misha shook her head. The infallible Tom Kazansky would never sink so low to dig through her mess on his hands and knees.

She mindlessly traced the top of the collar, the hard pressed curve strict on her fingertips. Her throat was tight. When was the last time she wore her khaki uniform? She couldn’t recall. With shaking fingers, she pulled it fast off of the hangar. Misha didn’t bother looking in the mirror while she stripped and threw it on at mach speed. Moose had awoken from his slumber and was staring at her quizzically, cocking his head to the side at his master’s hurried movements. 

She faced the pup, opening her arms to him. “Well, how do I look, boy?”

Moose only stared, his ears perked.

“Yeah, I know, bud,” she muttered, attempting to pull her hair into a strict bun without looking. The tight pull on her scalp tugged at the corners of her skin in a familiar tingle. It took her only two attempts and a load of the four year old gel she had found under her vanity to slick it back properly. Finally, she turned to face the mirror, and gasped.

Who the hell was that?

The reflection was gaunt, pale, and had bags under her green eyes. Her face was pock marked with small scars across the tops of her cheeks and forehead. Her cheek was angled by a familiar skin graft along her right jaw that was usually hidden by her hair. A similar dark pink scar followed the bottom of her jaw to her chest and ran crooked beneath her slightly too large uniform. She looked like a scarecrow, patched together by scraps: A monster. This person in the mirror wasn’t familiar. Her stance, her clothes, her appearance, none of it. She was a stranger. 

Her shaking right hand brushed over the top of the scar on her chest and shoulder. It had been so long since she'd seen the wound. She normally used baggy t-shirts and makeup to cover the remains of a forgotten past– of a time she just couldn’t remember. 

Misha had known she was in an accident during her tenure in TOPGUN, but she didn’t remember the details. She recalled flying with the sun too bright in her eyes, she remembered the yelling, the heat, the fucking ringing in her ears, and then a hospital bed with tubes coming from every crevice of her body. No one seemed to ever clarify for her what had happened that fateful day no matter how much she asked. It was “classified” and the information was not to be disclosed since it involved the “destruction of government property on neutral soil”. Misha had left it at that: a gap in her memory. She had tried to move on with her miserable life, scarred and disfigured from an event she couldn’t remember.

God had tested her, and she failed his trials miserably.

Misha tore her gaze away from the mirror, chin tucked to her chest, and trampled down the stairs with leadened feet. Sarah was at her place in the kitchen with Tom sipping coffee at the dinner table reading the daily paper. Both stopped in their tracks at the sight of her.

“Honey…,” Sarah muttered out, her hand gravitating to her mouth at the sight of her oldest. She rushed around the corner to pull Misha into her chest, hot tears dropping to the skin of her daughter’s neck. Misha had let out a gasp of surprise, her hands flailing up, but eventually - unsteadily - let them drop to her side to allow her mother to hug her. Sarah pulled away, her hands cupping Misha’s chin. ”There’s my girl. This is how I remember you. My gorgeous, courageous, feisty girl. You look good in khaki, dovie.”

Misha’s chest swelled at the warmth of her mother’s gaze and her childhood nickname, returning a small, meek smile. She held her hands in her own, stroking at the wrinkles of the top of her fingers. When did she get wrinkles?

“It feels weird to wear my uniform again. I feel like it’s a bit too big for me. It’s heavy! I don’t remember it ever being heavy!” Misha laughed. 

She didn’t see Tom’s grin, or the tear welling at the corner of his eye. That was his girl. There she was. She was small and timid, but seeing her like this proved that she was still alive somewhere in that corpse of a woman that stood in his kitchen. It’s heavy with the weight of your own expectations, my girl he thought to himself. Please, please don’t let it crush you.

—

The debriefing was, well, brief — Admirals Beau “Cyclone” Simpson and Solomon “Warlock” Bates were extremely concise with their explanations. Hotshot and Maverick stood at attention, the younger more strict than the other, while the plans and details were laid out plainly. The premise behind the mission wasn’t difficult to grasp: two miracle shots and one of the hardest evacuation turns that Misha had ever seen written on paper.

She didn’t need to use her statistical prowess to find a hitch.

“Sirs, there’s an extremely high possibility that not everyone will be able to accomplish that turn without failure. You know that, correct?” Misha was stern with her delivery, her eyes straight ahead. Her throat was disobeying her, that familiar tightening of anxiety dripping to her stomach. Moose, now dressed in a camouflage service vest, rested the apex of his skull under the hand at her back as a reassurance. She did not respond to his bumps against her fingers.

“Affirmative. And for some godforsaken reason, Iceman trusts you two with teaching our brightest, most talented fighters to succeed” Cyclone spat out. “Maverick I can understand because of his experience, but his own failed daughter who couldn’t even pass TOPGUN… Who didn’t even keep her wings! ” He shook his head. “In all honesty, Lieutenant Kazanksy, your track record does not impress me in the slightest. In fact, I’m so unimpressed, I actually laughed when your file was placed in my hand.”

Cyclone’s dark eyes targeted Misha. She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t perceive her. She would have rather folded herself in two than be subject to his gaze. Maverick steadied her with just a look. Breathe. Don’t let him get to you.

Hotshot took her breath, grounding her feet to the concrete.

“I’m more worried about you than Maverick causing a ruckus on this operation, even if your feet are firmly planted on the ground.”

“I assure you Sir,” Misha began, “I did my time and learned my lesson well. I have been rehabilitated and have been living clean for three years now. I won’t make the same mistakes. I’m here to crunch numbers, not metal.”

“I heard around the academy that you were an excellent mathematician,” Warlock began, his hands resting under his chin. “Aeronautics and physics, was it?”

“It was– is, Sir.” Misha grinned. She was still too frightened to pull her vision away from behind their heads, but immediately loosened her shoulders at Warlock’s praise. “I graduated at the top of my class as a RIO in Annapolis before dual-certifying as a driver in flight school, Sir.”

“And what made you decide to dual-certify?”

“Button pushing is, well… boring. Sir.”

Maverick attempted to hide his smirk and failed miserably. Warlock gave Misha a gentle smile in defeat. “You really are Ice’s daughter, aren’t you? Even your father, as intelligent as he was, was more privy on flashy acrobatics and shooting than generating routes and button pushing.”

“Is,” Maverick retorted. “Is, Sir. Iceman is still a Fleet Admiral. He’s not dead.” Four pairs of eyes interlocked with each other as the inevitable ‘yet’ lingered in the air.

tag list: @alanadetigy @luckyladycreator2 @alldaysdreamers @blue-aconite

[owlespresso]

POLLEN IV

Hiii. There's a lot of G'raha Tia in this chapter but don't worry it's just setup for later. The relationships and developing the girlies are moving. Read from chapter 1 HERE.

In two days’ time, you will ascend the Crystal Tower. Between recovering your strength and researching what you can about Allagan society and the machinations that lead up to the Crystal Tower’s creation, there’s truthfully little time to devote to your companions.

Both of them have thus far spent time pacing the length of Saint Coinach’s Find, desperately taking on any petty quests the researchers are kind enough to give them. They dispatch any rogue beasts unfortunate enough to happen too close to the camp, swinging their weapons with the same mighty fervor they had in the Tower. 

Their blatant refusal to simply rest aggravates you beyond sound reason, but there’s nothing you can do about it. They’re adults capable of making their own decisions, no matter how insolent and dunderheaded those decisions they have to be.

Meteor has avoided you ever since your return, which bodes ill for the upcoming expedition. You’re unsure of what you’ve done to incur his ire, and you’re doubly unsure that he would admit the truth if asked. Meteor, as kind and steadfast as you have found him to be, accidentally partakes in Ardbert’s brand of stubbornness and emotional constipation. The more you prod, the less likely you are to win an honest reply.

All you can do is busy yourself with a few, small tasks to distract your overwrought mind. The skies of Mor Dhona shift and churn with currents of rich, purple aether. The watery sunlight catches on each cloud of transparent vapor, casting the atmosphere in a glittering, dewey glow. The blue crystal underfoot gives way to stone as you journey towards the narrow pathway embedded into the cliffside. The beasts here, sustained by crystal rich in fire aspected aether, loaf and lumber about. 

It’s easy enough to avoid their detection. The sample you’re to collect lies at the cavern’s end—where the temperatures blaze their hottest, air sticking to you like a second skin. Typically, you would avoid venturing somewhere so intense whilst you’re supposed to be resting, but a little bit of heat isn’t going to get the best of you. The sweltering waves of humidity is a tame gust of wind in comparison to Ifrit’s lashing flames.

You toe around the edge of a boulder, footsteps soundless as you listen for any signs of life. The floor beneath you is interspersed with patched of jagged orange, compounded into the black rock by years of compression and erosion. The final chamber is swathed in near blinding crystal, its floors aglow like viscous flows of glowing magma. The beasts are thankfully in another section of the cavern, a small blessing among the ungodly heat and the clenched anxiety that comes so easily with sneaking. 

Thancred, you think, deserves a modicum more credit than he receives. Your heart thums in your throat, palms coated with sweat as you scramble into the room, grasping for pebbles with gloves hands. You shove them haphazardly into the heat-proof container the scholars supplies you with. You are no such academic, yet you cannot suppress your amusement at the sheer lack of process or the simplicity of the tools given you you. Such delicate work they do, yet they leave their gatherer of specimens to haphazardly yoink research materials like a grandmother searching for the glasses she’s dropped on the carpet.

There’s nothing careful nor elegant in the way you grasp whatever rocks you see. They’re rocks. How delicate do you truly need to be with them?

From behind you, the sound of swooping wings against the air churns close. At once, you reach for your staff, turning on your heel; as you unsheathe it. Hard wired instincts thrum to life, well-tuned machine that is your body tensed and prepared to fend off whatever threat presents itself. Unfortunately, you turn just in time to see a hippogryph thud to the floor. The bloodied tip of an arrow protrudes from between its eyes, having been shot from behind—likely intercepted mere seconds before it could reach you. Its grey, leathery wings sprawl across the glowing cavern floor.

“That was a close call,” G’raha Tia says, bow clutched tight in hand. The bottoms of his eyes crinkle with delight. “Are you alright?”

“Perfectly fine,” you reply coolly, frowning at the hippogryph’s cooling corpse. If only you had the time to properly skin it.

“I am well-aware that you could have handled it on your own,” G’raha continues quickly, as though correcting himself. “I just…” In a rare and miraculous turn of events, he trails into awkward silence, gaze shifting to the nearby wall. As well-intentioned as he is, you can’t help but be frustrated at both being caught unawares and at the leather you’ll be wasting by leaving the beast’s body behind. Being surprisingly light for its hardiness, hippogryph leather is highly coveted. It could sell for a hefty sum. “I would like to apologize if I have offended you.”

“Huh?” you blink at him, eyebrows raising. Has he mistaken the shortness of your reply as being directed at him? “No, no. It’s not you,” you inform him with a weary sigh, heaving your bag over your shoulder. The walk back to the Find will be just as treacherous as the journey within, you realize belatedly, shoulders slumping with dread.

“Wait,” he explains quietly, “There’s another passage that leads to the surface. It’s a tad tight, but it’ll let us avoid most of the beasts.”

And just like that, your irritation fizzles out. He’s more reserved than you recall. Less grating. Has your petty grudge truly made such a prominent impact on his personality? The very idea mires you in a rush of guilt. Sure, you don’t get along with the little bastard, but to beat down the… quirks of his personality has never been your intention. Your voice stays quiet, gaze weary as you speak.

“Lead on.”

As it turns out, the hidden passage is indeed a tight squeeze. Only three films across, jagged edges which protrude from spots of rogue crystal on the left force you to hug the opposite side. Meteor and Ardbert would have struggled to remain un-poked.

Contrary to what you might have feared, G’raha remains uncharacteristically silent through the trek. To think, you could be so put off by something you once wished for so fervently.

“Did they ask you to come after me?” you ask, if only to break the unbearable silence.

“No. I saw you leave and seized the opportunity to talk to you alone,” he says, voice abundant with awkward, frantic nervousness. His sudden confession nearly makes you pause and turn to face him, but you have a feeling he’d melt into a puddle if you so much as spared him a glance. “It’s terribly difficult to get some peace and quiet at the Find, especially after our recent foray into—”

“You’re rambling,” you inform him curtly.

“So I am,” he remarks with a dry laugh, “I simply want to apologize. For stealing the aether sand. At the time, I failed to realize the dangers you and yours would have had to face to get your hands on it.” His voice is low and remorseful, words mumbled sheepishly at your back. It’s surprising to hear him so humbled. G’raha, for the limited amount of time you’ve known him, has seemed to delight in the dramatic, to savor the spotlight. The fact that he would trek so far into the wilderness to deliver a simple apology as soon as possible speaks volumes to his intentions… It’s oddly touching.

“I appreciate that, G’raha,” you say, soft heart that you are. As irritating as you have found his theatrics and eccentricities to be, you cannot deny how wrong it feels for him to be so subdued, so unsure to himself. It’s uncomfortable. “And I forgive you.” Giving pause before accepting his olive branch is one last gesture of petulance—one last spark of suspense and unsurity to slightly rattle him before you make amends and by extension, put your machinations of rivalry and vengeance to rest.

“My thanks. It was unimaginably brazen to steal resources from underneath your noses, especially when you would be the ones on the frontlines while I sit safe and twiddle my thumbs.” A mote of bitterness breaches his tone like a thistle barb, the sudden admission nearly giving you second pause. It’s a struggle to read him without seeing his face, but your active mind slowly begins to slot the pisces together.

“You wanted to come ith the expedition party,” you say, because there’s no question about it.

“It only would have been right. You are all risking your lives at the behest of us scholars.” he says. A stray pebble clatters over the ground from behind you, his tone dipping into bitterness.

“You’re the best authority on Allag society we have,” you inform him, as though he needs a reminder. A gust of hot air spurts from a crack between the rock and crystal in the wall. The thickly smell of natural gasses and minerals is thick, aether so heavy it coats like a second skin. You shoulder it off, pointedly reminding yourself that you’ve worked in worse. “If we lose you, the entire operation falls on its face—”

“I’m well-aware,” he cuts in promptly. You promptly resist the urge to strangle him with your bare hands. If you slay every man that dares interrupt you, it will reflect poorly upon yourself and the Scions. Patience and discretion is key. Patience is everything, you repeat the mantra in your head a few times, clearing your head of self-righteous vitriol. 

“It’s just—I wanted to be with you, at your sides as you made the ascent. When I… When I look at the three of you, I cannot help but be reminded of tales of adventure I read as a boy—or of the heroes I learned so much during my time at Sharlayan.” he continues. It becomes decidedly difficult to remain cross with him when he spills his heart, leaves his feelings at your feet, free to be judged and torn to pieces should you feel the need. It’s throttling, to be exposed to this much of his truth all at once. “I suppose I wish I could count myself among your number. Selfish of me, I’m well-aware—”

“There’s nothing wrong with having aspirations for yourself,” you say before you can even think it through. The cave’s flor has begun to slope, indicating the beginning of the trek to the surface. Your lips purse into a frown, gaze fixed firmly on the floor as you reckon with your rapidly changing opinion of him. “As long as you don’t endanger others by pursuing said ambitions. You’re allowed to want things, even if the person you want to become is different from how you are now.”

Though, is it truly responsible to encourage him so heedlessly? G’raha, as skilled a bowman as he may be, is still solidly a scholar. You doubt he has any genuine battlefield experience, meaning he would need to start from the very ground up.

“I mean, you would obviously need to train to get to the level we’re at, but with enough time and persistence…” you trail off, unsure of where else to take that statement. Even under the tutelage of an adventurer’s guild, he could come nowhere close to the capabilities of you and yours without being blessed with the Echo. The tenuous peace between you both feels ungainly and misplaced—your words fumbling as you try to coach him through personal insecurities.

You can’t lie. You never wanted to be a hero and never desired the worshipful admiration that came with the title. It puts you at a loss, trying to advise someone you disliked until a few minutes ago on a topic you feel uncomfortable at best.

“You’re the first to encourage me so enthusiastically,” he says after a long pause. “I thank you for the faith, and for listening to the petty wants or an overdramatic scholar such as myself.” You can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Don’t thank me just yet,” you snort dismissively, though unable to stop the corners of your lips from quirking upwards. Just the tiniest bit. “Thank me when you start to see results and let me tell you, that’s gonna be far down the line.”

“Truly?” he asks, voice cresting low with disappointment. Indignant. Perhaps a little whiny. “How much time will it take?”

“Of course. You’re an adventurer long before you’re a hero. Meteor and Ardbert didn’t just sprout outta the ground as fully formed Warriors of Light, no one does.”

“Yes. That makes sense.” G’raha says, a mote of weariness to his voice, as though he had expected exactly that.

“You have to begin with the basics. Join the Adventurer’s Guild, find some lost pets, run some errands—get wrapped up in a conflict between the locals and a beast tribe until they’ve summoned a primal for you to defeat.” It’s funny, how the words so suddenly flow out of you. Memories of your early days as an adventurer crash over you in waves, one after the other, the rush of nostalgia overwhelming you. It’s strange, to feel nostalgia for only eight months ago. It all seems worlds away, now, a time when scrounging up enough for lodging was the worst of your worries.

“While I’m willing to defer to your expertise I insist that battling primals remain off the agenda, as my distinct lack of echo would have me burnt to a crisp or worse, tempered.” A slight sliver of amusement in his voice belies an improvement in his mood. The sulking doom and gloom seems to have vanished in the wake of your conversation, restoring him to his proper, smart-assed state.

“I don’t think anything in the tower could temper you, but I’m also not the expert here,” Despite all of the material you had consumed and committed to memory, it would take years of continued study to get anywhere close to his level. A part of you, still jaded and bitter, insists that deferring to him is as good as admitting defeat—but you’ve known from the start that it’s a losing battle. Now that he’s apologized, you can settle this. Lay it to rest within your aching wrists and strained eyes. 

“Well, we definitely can’t have you climb the tower. Maybe—just maybe, I can consider letting you come with us on our next assignment.” You squint as the cave’s exit appears in the distance. The sun’s rays have parted the gloom whilst you were underground, illuminating the path in a flood of effulgent light.

If G’raha takes note of your standoffish posturing, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, the sound of his quiet laugh stretches down the throat of the cavern, a mote of joy in his voice as he replies.

“I look forward to it,” he insists with a sense of finality. It sounds like a promise.

It isn’t.

G’raha Tia seals himself in the Crystal Tower for what might as well be an eternity. You’re likely to never see him again—and you very well feel cheated, for some reason.

Ardbert finds you by the campfire, later that night, elbows resting on your knees, chin atop you folded hands. The embers playfully flicker and dance, firelight glinting off across the smooth, crystal ground. Behind you, in the far distance, the Crystal Tower shines proudly for all to see. Like the world’s flashiest tombstone.

“It’s late,” Ardbert astutely observes, taking up the seat beside you.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply, dreadfully not in the mood for any petty arguments.

“You’re taking it harder than I thought you would,” he says, voice soft and passive even as he cuts to the heart of the matter. Most of the time, you appreciate his directness. Tonight, however, it comes at the cost of tact or emotional sensitivity—both of which are typically your tasks regardless. “It’s alright that you are—hell, I’ll miss the little bugger too,” he tacts on, lips twisting into a frustrated frown.

“I… was never really nice to him,” you left your gaze to the heavens, stars winking down at you both. “After he pulled that whole stunt, I think I just used it as an excuse to focus all my anger on him. There was so much to worry about. It all just compounded in my head. I took it out on him.” You unfurl yourself from your curled position and settle back into the seat, as though weighed by the confession. 

“He understood. I think,” Ardbert proposes. He’s not staring off into the distance. He’s looking at you—you can see in your periphery. The lighting flatters his roughened features and softens him. His hair is getting a little long, sideburns growing thick. You’ll offer to give him a shave, tomorrow. “He was confident in his choice. I know that much. Not so sure about how he’ll feel when he wakes up. Who knows what’ll be waiting for him in the future?”

And who knows how long it’ll take?

You bite the inside of your cheek. The familiar sting of tears at the corners of your eyes prompts you to stand, facing away from him. The sound of your name on his lips, so careful and hesitant, barely floats over the crackling of the dying flame, so tender it makes your chest hurt.

“I’m going to bed,” you say. doing all you can to keep the watery out of your voice. You march towards the cabin. Behind you, a muffled curse accompanies the grind of the chair legs against the ground. You don’t dare look back at him when he calls your name, nor when his footsteps thud hastily behind you. Because you are not going to break in front of your charge, your assignment, one of those who you’ve been assigned to protect. All who look at the three of you assume they’re the ones protecting you, too blind and biased to realize the opposite is true. 

You are their healer, their backbone, their foundation which they build home and hearth upon. Thus far, you’ve found flaws in every move you’ve made, every stilled conversation—but never have you cried. Never have you let the stone erode or the pillars crack.

Which is why it’s impossible to reckon with the way he boxes in the tiny corridor behind the cabin’s front door—where scholars and soldiers deposit their muddy boots on concrete slate. He grasps your arm and you, trembling with all of the rage and regret you cannot contain, dare to break out in a sob.

His face, cast in dim light from behind the screen door, twists in astonishment. A large hand curls around your upper arm, warm and engulfing, before he urges you close. It all cracks at once, careful stilts holding up your cool demeanor splintering and shattering under the weight of his earnest concern. He brings you close, awkwardly crowding you into his broad chest. He’s done away with his armor for the evening, you belatedly realize, cheek pressed to his tight, cable-knit sweater.

“He might as well be dead, Ardbert,” you gasp, voice choked and eyes wet. “He threw his entire life away for people who might never even exist! No one’s gonna remember him! We’re the only ones—it’s just us—and I treated him horribly!”

He holds you there, lets you cry and curl your fists into his shirt. Get ahold of yourself! A wicked voice hisses in the back of your mind—but can you?

“He was struggling with everything this entire time—and all I could focus on was how to be better than him,” you confess, in a series of brief gasps. Your voice feels hoarse and your eyes bleary as warm arms rock you back and forth. You let yourself be swayed, eyes shut, face burrowed into his chest. His hand presses against your lower back, rubbing circles through your loose blouse. He’s a hearth, melting away the stiff cold that’s so mercilessly enveloped you. The low rumble of his voice guides the staccato rhythm of your heartbeat into something smoother, calmer.

“I don’t know what the future holds. I can’t tell you that it’s all going to work out, but I have a feeling that G’raha Tia is going to wake up to a bunch of folks who’ll know that they’re so gods damned lucky to have him.”

And even if his hunch is wrong, it’s likely that neither of you will be alive to know otherwise. The retort lingers on the tip of your tongue, but you’ve not the energy to spend on another pointless disagreement.

“It’s probably impossible, knowing you, but hold out some hope for him. Even if the people who find him don’t take a shine to him, he’s crafty. He’ll find a way to make things work out for himself.” He sounds like he believes what he says. The sheer honesty of his optimism is galvanizing and terrifying all at once. It suits him, of course. He’s a natural born leader. Yet, you cannot believe in what he says. Pessimism is what keeps you—all of you—safe. Thus in that heartfelt doubt you will believe. You will mourn in it, too, you will think of G’raha Tia in all the vibrancy of his youth, fumbling over his mistakes and aspiring towards a future full of adventure and discovery. 

You will mourn, and you will allow yourself the comfort of Ardbert’s warm embrace. Come tomorrow, you will be mortified that he witnessed you in such a state.

But that will be tomorrow, and tonight remains tonight. Your shaking hands reach around his back and fist his sweater. You hold close, breathe him in. He smells of spices and the cold winds of the wilderness. Like the last leaves in autumn, crinkled and dead yet still clung onto the branch.

You depart from Saint Coinach’s Find the next morning. The trip back to the Rising Stones is blissfully short. Had it been aunty longer, you would have surely gone mad from the awkward silence. They’re both deep in thought about something, but you don’t pry. You frankly lack the energy for it after the events that have transpired this last two weeks.

“We can give Minfilia the full report,” is the first thing said between you all, murmured quietly by Ardbert as you step through Mor Dhona’s sturdy gates. “If you want to get some rest. Or catch up with the others.”

You barely resist the urge to spurn his offer with a mean scowl. You don’t need a break. You’re fine—hardly a scratch gained during the struggle up the tower. You’re not scarred, not maimed. You’re still here and able to tell the full tale of what occurred on those three, fateful excursions.

But do you really want to?

You don’t, and you’re ashamed that Ardbert sees it before you do. Since when was he able to read you?

“That would be nice,” you mutter.

“Alright, then. We’ll meet up with you later.” Ardbert reassures with a smile. You don’t watch them walk away. 

Mor Dhona is a bowl of thick fog, a cool wetness lingering in the early morning air. The merchants in the square are still in the process of unpacking and sorting their day’s wares reminding you of the provisions you’d used up during your forays into the Tower. Gauze and bandage to slap over minor abrasions, potions meant to restore one’s natural wellspring of aether. If you’re not going to turn in your report, you might as well stock up. 

Certainly a better use of your time than remaining idle.

The dulcet sound of a familiar voice stalls you on your path, deep and smooth and unmistakable. Y’shtola is the same as you remember, posture tall and prideful, and gaze keen, of her face eased with an amicable smile.

“It’s been too long since we’ve last spoken,” she says, friendly in a way that means she’s about to fellow up with a question—something she feels she’ll need to wheedle you into. “Shall we break our fasts together? I’m sure you’ve grown tired of the rations they serve at Coinach’s Find.”

And she’s right. A true meal is nigh impossible to turn down after stomaching bland rations and boiled chicken for two weeks. You can’t help but salivate as Y’shtola bargains for a full breakfast platter. Yet it’s not enough to pull the wool over your eyes.

“So,” you begin, break off to take a nervous sip of tea. “Is there anything I can help you with, Y’shtola?”

“Suspecting an ulterior motive so soon? Perhaps I want to treat a comrade to breakfast,” she says with a raised brow, the corner of her lips quirked. It’s difficult to discern whether she’s amused or annoyed. “Yet, you’re too clever for that, aren’t you? I apologize. It was not my intent to trick you. Though, the specificities of your last assignment are unknown to me, it is clear that they—or the gruesome food you were served—have taken a toll on you.”

“It’s fine,” you answer. A little too hastily, a little too forcefully. “I don’t mind telling you about it. You didn’t have to go through the trouble of—”

“Of spending time with a respected comrade? Of getting a table at a nearly empty restaurant?” Y’shtola inquires with a wry smile, bottoms of her eyes crinkling up with the expression. You bring your hands up to your face, pressing the pads of your fingers to your closed, dry eyes. “Spending time with you is by no means trouble. I have questions, but first and more importantly; how are you feeling?”

“I’m alright. Just a little tired,” Y’shtola doesn’t need to hear about your regrets, your fatigue or your qualms about your team’s befuddling dynamics.

“And you fared alright during the expeditions?” she asks. It’s flattering to have her genuine concern and her devoted attention. She doesn’t keep her distance as much as she used to. The sense of haughty secrecy that emanated from her every word has been replaced by something just a tad warmer, just a portion more personal.

“I did. Hardly a scratch,” You stare down at your tea, your reflection blinking back at you from its hazy surface. What little injuries you incurred were insignificant  when compared to what your frontline fighters endured. There had been no casualties in large part due to the diligence of yourself and the other healers accompanying you—yet there are still moments when your weary mind returns to split second mistakes you made in the throes of the fight. They replay again and again, a constant revolving cycle of what you could have done better. You’ll be better next time, you swear to yourself.

“Then what is it that ails you?” she inquires, resting her chin on the palm of her hand. She’s oblivious to the complex web of things that you’ve been caught in, otherwise you have a feeling she might not have asked in the first place. 

“Nothing,” you say, grasping for a particularly large, glazed scone. Y’shtola scoffs.

“You don’t spend as much time with me as you do a select group of our other comrades, yet even I can see that you’re struggling with something,” she says, sounding more than a touch exasperated with you. You fiddle idly with the eggs and bacon on your plate, pointedly refusing to look at her—though it’s impossible to hide from her fierce scrutiny.

“Is it really that obvious?” you duck your head, voice coming out as a hushed whisper, as though imparting a great secret unto her.

“The bags under your eyes and the defeated slouch of your shoulders betrayed you at first glance,” Y’shtola dresses you down with remorseless indifference, delicately plopping two cubes of sugar into her tea. “Given the dire nature of your most recent assignment, it would not be remiss of me to assume that something had gone awry.” Plop. Plop. One after the other, tumbling from her graceful fingers and into the murky depths of the earl grey. “Feel free to correct me should I be mistaken.”

You bristle underneath your poorly-kept, impassive veneer, jaw clenching as you weigh the pros and cons of continued dishonesty—and how much you should disclose should you fess up. The burdens you carry are your own. No one else needs to be concerned with them, or you. 

On the other hand, locking away your emotions has already begun to take a toll on you. Perhaps confiding in Y’shtola now would be preferable to an outburst later down the line. There’s only so much one individual can sear before being crushed by the weight of their damaged psyche.

“Meteor is upset with me.” you inform her in an act of internal compromise. Forfeiting a smaller portion of your troubles would surely do for now. It’s not like you see Y’shtola terribly regularly, anyways. 

“Ah. That’s a much simpler problem than I feared,” Y’shtola remarks, smile wry. “As bold as he may be in the face of the enemy, he has always seemed… shy, to me. Does his silence bother you so?"

"I don't understand the question."

"As long as he communicates effectively during your missions, I doubt it would be a problem..." she trails off, before shaking her head. Her lips curl into that same, coy smile. Like she's taking part in a joke you don't understand. "Never mind. I'm glad he has someone so devoted looking after him."

"It's just my job," you brush her accusation off with a scoff, grip tightening around your fork. "I can't do my best if they're not going to work with me."

As eager as she had been to pry the secrets out of you, she remains impassive and contemplative as you tell her your tale of woe in the most succinct and simplistic way possible. You only outline the bare bones of your journey, only going into depth about the odd room you and he had explored within the tower.

“Whatever concoction he breathed in could be to blame. If you’ve been completely honest in your recounting, I can see no other rational reason for such a sudden change,” she says, drumming her fingers against the table. “As trite as it may sound, I prescribe to you a dose of honest inquiry. The fastest and most efficient way of learning the truth would obviously be to hear it from his own mouth.”

“You say that like it’s easy,” you grumble, cupping your face in your hands. "Just ask” isn’t the advice you were hoping for, yet what else could you do? The tower has been sealed, your access to the chamber and potions within therefore revoked. You should have gathered samples immediately, or before you left, but the collective chaos and need for healing hands distracted you from the matter. Frustration bubbles anew within you, the helplessness a bitter pill to swallow. “I have no idea if he would even give an honest answer, Y’shtola. He’s very quiet—very private. I asked the other healers in our group to check in on him and he turned them away all the same.”

“If he is not willing to confide in you, his healer, then it stands to reason he would not be forthcoming with any other,” Y’shtola says, clicking her tongue in disapproval. “If that is the case, then there is nothing more you can do. The ball is in his court. You’ve taken every step you can.” 

She’s correct in her assessment, yet it doesn’t take the sting out of being labeled as “his healer”. Like you’re nothing more than a part to be tacked onto his coattails. She doesn’t mean it that way, you assure yourself, you’re just being sensitive. “You have two paths before you. Either continue to ignore him and hope the situation resolves itself with time, or simply ask. I’ve already made it clear I would choose, but your decision is your own.”

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ASOS: Arya VIII (Chapter 43)

They had come all the way back to High Heart.

By sunset they were at the top, making camp where no harm could come to them. Arya walked around the circle of weirwood stumps with Lord Beric's squire Ned, and they stood on top of one watching the last light fade in the west. 

Alright, what is this? The walking around the stumps with a boy.

Around its brow stood a ring of huge pale stumps, all that remained of a circle of once-mighty weirwoods. Arya and Gendry walked around the hill to count them. - Arya IV, ASOS

+.+.+

From up here she could see a storm raging to the north, but High Heart stood above the rain. It wasn't above the wind, though; the gusts were blowing so strongly that it felt like someone was behind her, yanking on her cloak. Only when she turned, no one was there.

BRAN?

+.+.+

They built a great fire atop the hill, and Thoros of Myr sat crosslegged beside it, gazing deep into the flames as if there was nothing else in all the world.

"What is he doing?" Arya asked Ned.

"Sometimes he sees things in the flames," the squire told her. "The past. The future. Things happening far away."

Past? Since when can they see the past?

Great, that's all we need. Melisandre trying to interpret a vision from the past.

+.+.+

"Fire consumes." Lord Beric stood behind them, and there was something in his voice that silenced Thoros at once. "It consumes, and when it is done there is nothing left. Nothing."

+.+.+

The woman could not have been more than three feet tall. The firelight made her eyes gleam as red as the eyes of Jon's wolf. He was a ghost too.

Is the ghost of High Heart a child of the forest? I don't know, don't ask me.

+.+.+

The king is dead, is that sour enough for you?"

Arya's heart caught in her throat.

"Which bloody king is dead, crone?" Lem demanded.

"The wet one. The kraken king, m'lords. I dreamt him dead and he died, and the iron squids now turn on one another. Oh, and Lord Hoster Tully's died too, but you know that, don't you? In the hall of kings, the goat sits alone and fevered as the great dog descends on him." The old woman took another long gulp of wine, squeezing the skin as she raised it to her lips.

Rip. Balon Greyjoy. Long live my new kraken king, Euron Greyjoy.

In the hall of kings, the goat sits alone and fevered as the great dog descends on him.

In the hall of kings (that would be King Bran's Harrenhal), Vargo Hoat will be abandoned, allowing Gregor Clegane to capture the castle, and brutally murder him.

+.+.+

"I dreamt a wolf howling in the rain, but no one heard his grief," the dwarf woman was saying. "I dreamt such a clangor I thought my head might burst, drums and horns and pipes and screams, but the saddest sound was the little bells. I dreamt of a maid at a feast with purple serpents in her hair, venom dripping from their fangs. And later I dreamt that maid again, slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow." 

"I dreamt a wolf howling in the rain, but no one heard his grief,"

Grey Wind at the Red Wedding.

Catelyn heard the crash of distant battle, and closer the wild howling of a wolf. Grey Wind, she remembered too late. - Catelyn VII, ASOS

I dreamt such a clangor I thought my head might burst, drums and horns and pipes and screams, but the saddest sound was the little bells.

Easy to go straight to Daenerys, but we're likely working in chronological order, so this is probably Catelyn and Jinglebell at the Red Wedding.

Robb had broken his word, but Catelyn kept hers. She tugged hard on Aegon's hair and sawed at his neck until the blade grated on bone. Blood ran hot over her fingers. His little bells were ringing, ringing, ringing, and the drum went boom doom boom. - Catelyn VII, ASOS

I dreamt of a maid at a feast with purple serpents in her hair, venom dripping from their fangs. And later I dreamt that maid again, slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow.

We all know who that is! Rip. Joffrey Baratheon.

Biggest mystery is the giant, as Sansa is quite familiar with a few of them. Given this happens in Winterfell (her little castle built of snow), I think Littlefinger is the safe bet.

Also worth mentioning, the above seems to be suggesting Sansa will still be a maid when slaying the savage giant.

+.+.+

She turned her head sharply and smiled through the gloom, right at Arya. "You cannot hide from me, child. Come closer, now."

Cold fingers walked down Arya's neck. 

Well, that's less than ideal.

+.+.+

The dwarf woman studied her with dim red eyes. "I see you," she whispered. "I see you, wolf child. Blood child. I thought it was the lord who smelled of death . . ." She began to sob, her little body shaking. "You are cruel to come to my hill, cruel. I gorged on grief at Summerhall, I need none of yours. Begone from here, dark heart. Begone!"

Glowing review from the woman who sees everything. Blood child? Dark heart? Yeesh.

There's Summerhall getting attention in back-to-back chapters. Apologies to everyone, I can't force myself to care about Summerhall.

+.+.+

"She will leave on the morrow, with us," Lord Beric assured the little woman. "We're taking her to Riverrun, to her mother."

"Nay," said the dwarf. "You're not. The black fish holds the rivers now. If it's the mother you want, seek her at the Twins. For there's to be a wedding." She cackled again. "Look in your fires, pink priest, and you will see. Not now, though, not here, you'll see nothing here. This place belongs to the old gods still . . . they linger here as I do, shrunken and feeble but not yet dead. Nor do they love the flames. For the oak recalls the acorn, the acorn dreams the oak, the stump lives in them both. And they remember when the First Men came with fire in their fists."

Those old gods don't love fire, eh? Lol.

Thoros isn't able to see visions when he's at High Heart, because it belongs to the old gods. That only makes me question why Melisandre feels so much stronger at the Wall. Yes it’s magic central, but still.

Everyone feel free to decode that acorn part for me.

+.+.+

"You have a knife," Gendry suggested. "If your hair annoys you so much, shave your bloody head."

He doesn't like Ned. The squire seemed nice enough to Arya; maybe a little shy, but good-natured. She had always heard that Dornishmen were small and swarthy, with black hair and small black eyes, but Ned had big blue eyes, so dark that they looked almost purple. And his hair was a pale blond, more ash than honey.

Now we must ask ourselves why the Daynes look like Targaryens...

+.+.+

"I never learned the lance, but I could beat you with a sword," said Arya. "Have you killed anyone?"

That seemed to startle him. "I'm only twelve."

I killed a boy when I was eight, Arya almost said, but she thought she'd better not. 

Sigh.

+.+.+

"Were you at the tourney? I saw your sister there. Ser Loras Tyrell gave her a rose."

Rose! 🌹

+.+.+

"My lady?" Ned said at last. "You have a baseborn brother . . . Jon Snow?"

"He's with the Night's Watch on the Wall." Maybe I should go to the Wall instead of Riverrun. Jon wouldn't care who I killed or whether I brushed my hair . . .

That's about the last thing you want to read if you're an Arya fan.

+.+.+

"Milk brothers. Not blood. My lady mother had no milk when I was little, so Wylla had to nurse me."

Arya was lost. "Who's Wylla?"

"Jon Snow's mother. He never told you? She's served us for years and years. Since before I was born."

"Jon never knew his mother. Not even her name." Arya gave Ned a wary look. "You know her? Truly?" Is he making mock of me? "If you lie I'll punch your face."

"Wylla was my wet nurse," he repeated solemnly. "I swear it on the honor of my House."

Other than his appearance, the first thing we learn about Edric Dayne is that he's not a credible source of information.

Now watch as the fandom manages to forget that within the span of a few paragraphs.

+.+.+

Ned looked wary. Maybe he was afraid that she was going to throw something at him. "Your lord father never spoke of her?" he said. "The Lady Ashara Dayne, of Starfall?"

"No. Did he know her?"

"Before Robert was king. She met your father and his brothers at Harrenhal, during the year of the false spring."

"Oh." Arya did not know what else to say. "Why did she jump in the sea, though?"

"Her heart was broken."

Notice what the author slipped in there.

+.+.+

Sansa would have sighed and shed a tear for true love, but Arya just thought it was stupid. She couldn't say that to Ned, though, not about his own aunt. "Did someone break it?"

He hesitated. "Perhaps it's not my place . . ."

"Tell me."

He looked at her uncomfortably. "My aunt Allyria says Lady Ashara and your father fell in love at Harrenhal—"

I'm calling big bullshit on that one, little Ned.

Sansa 🥺

+.+.+

"That's not so. He loved my lady mother."

"I'm sure he did, my lady, but—"

"She was the only one he loved."

"He must have found that bastard under a cabbage leaf, then," Gendry said behind them.

That's closer than anyone else has gotten!

+.+.+

Gendry ignored that. "At least your father raised his bastard, not like mine. I don't even know my father's name. Some smelly drunk, I'd wager

Tee-hee.

+.+.+

"Aye, he told me. Lady Ashara Dayne. It's an old tale, that one. I heard it once at Winterfell, when I was no older than you are now." He took hold of her bridle firmly and turned her horse around. "I doubt there's any truth to it. But if there is, what of it? When Ned met this Dornish lady, his brother Brandon was still alive, and it was him betrothed to Lady Catelyn, so there's no stain on your father's honor. There's nought like a tourney to make the blood run hot, so maybe some words were whispered in a tent of a night, who can say? Words or kisses, maybe more, but where's the harm in that? Spring had come, or so they thought, and neither one of them was pledged."

No harm, but I know Ned Stark enough that he wouldn't dare dishonour a highborn lady.

And then there's the other one.

+.+.+

"No." He pointed. "Look at how thick the moss grows on the stones. No one's moved them for a long time. And there's a tree growing out of the wall there, see? This place was put to the torch a long time ago."

"Who did it, then?" asked Gendry.

"Hoster Tully." Notch was a stooped thin grey-haired man, born in these parts. "This was Lord Goodbrook's village. When Riverrun declared for Robert, Goodbrook stayed loyal to the king, so Lord Tully came down on him with fire and sword. After the Trident, Goodbrook's son made his peace with Robert and Lord Hoster, but that didn't help the dead none."

Help, I think the point of this story flew over my head.

+.+.+

The red priest squatted down beside her. "My lady," he said, "the Lord granted me a view of Riverrun. An island in a sea of fire, it seemed. The flames were leaping lions with long crimson claws. And how they roared! A sea of Lannisters, my lady. Riverrun will soon come under attack."

Apparently Thoros is better at reading flames than Melisandre.

+.+.+

Lord Beric paid no heed to her outburst. "My lady," he said with weary courtesy, "would you know your grandfather's brother by sight? Ser Brynden Tully, called the Blackfish? Would he know you, perchance?"

Arya shook her head miserably. She had heard her mother speak of Ser Brynden Blackfish, but if she had ever met him herself it had been when she was too little to remember.

"Small chance the Blackfish will pay good coin for a girl he doesn't know," said Tom.

[...]

His words beat at her ears like the pounding of a drum, and suddenly it was more than Arya could stand. She wanted Riverrun, not Acorn Hall; she wanted her mother and her brother Robb, not Lady Smallwood or some uncle she never knew. 

Hmmm.

That's more than enough for me to know Brynden and Arya will meet.

+.+.+

She would have been better alone. If she had been alone, the outlaws would never have caught her, and she'd be with Robb and her mother by now. They were never my pack. If they had been, they wouldn't leave me. She splashed through a puddle of muddy water. Someone was shouting her name, Harwin probably, or Gendry, but the thunder drowned them out as it rolled across the hills, half a heartbeat behind the lightning. 

He cut down the first man as he turned toward the wolf, shoved past a second, slashed at a third. Through the madness he heard someone call his name, but whether it was Ygritte or the Magnar he could not say. - Jon V, ASOS

+.+.+

A mailed hand closed hard around her arm.

"You're hurting me," she said, twisting in his grasp. "Let go, I was going to go back, I . . ."

"Back?" Sandor Clegane's laughter was iron scraping over stone. "Bugger that, wolf girl. You're mine." He needed only one hand to yank her off her feet and drag her kicking toward his waiting horse. The cold rain lashed them both and washed away her shouts, and all that Arya could think of was the question he had asked her. Do you know what dogs do to wolves?

Sandor Clegane, back again to kidnap a child. I'm so glad that rage has been gentled.

Final thoughts:

That's the last we'll see of Edric Dayne.

Or is it?

🎶 Dun, Dun, Duuun! 🎶

-> return to menu <-

[ladyofasoiaf]

Jon ‘One Eye’ & Sansa Stark

In this meta I will try to point out the clues of Jon’s death- warging into his direwolf- coming back to life process. 

Our main hint is going to be : ONE EYE motifs... 

And interestingly this hint is always close to Sansa... 

[Most of these clues etc have been already examined by many people but I will try to put them all in order to show the pattern..]

A GAME OF THRONES:

Waymar Royce

Waymar Royce appearence and story are very similar with Jon’s. 

They look similar:

Ser Waymar Royce was the youngest son of an ancient house with too many heirs. He was a handsome youth of eighteen, grey-eyed and graceful and slender as a knife.

[AGOT; Prologue]

Jon’s eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black, but there was little they did not see. He was of an age with Robb, but they did not look alike. Jon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick where his half brother was strong and fast.  

[AGOT; Bran I]

They are both young men of Night’s Watch but they were not very welcomed by their other black brothers:

His cloak was his crowning glory; sable, thick and black and soft as sin. “Bet he killed them all himself, he did,” Gared told the barracks over wine, “twisted their little heads off, our mighty warrior.” They had all shared the laugh. It is hard to take orders from a man you laughed at in your cups, Will reflected as he sat shivering atop his garron. Gared must have felt the same.

[AGOT; Prologue]

“Yes, life,” Noye said. “A long life or a short one, it’s up to you, Snow. The road you’re walking, one of your brothers will slit your throat for you one night.” “They’re not my brothers,” Jon snapped. “They hate me because I’m better than they are.” “No. They hate you because you act like you’re better than they are. They look at you and see a castle-bred bastard who thinks he’s a lordling.” The armorer leaned close. “You’re no lordling. Remember that. You’re a Snow, not a Stark. You’re a bastard and a bully.”

[AGOT; Jon III]

Others are a very important part of Jon’s arc and story and Waymar meets with them in Prologue:

Ser Waymar met him bravely. “Dance with me then.” He lifted his sword high over his head, defiant. His hands trembled from the weight of it, or perhaps from the cold. Yet in that moment, Will thought, he was a boy no longer, but a man of the Night’s Watch.

[AGOT; Prologue]

This phrase also reminds us Jon:

It is more than impatience, Jon realized. They are afraid. Warriors, spearwives, raiders, they are frightened of those woods, of shadows moving through the trees. They want to put the Wall between them before the night descends. 

A snowflake danced upon the air. Then another. Dance with me, Jon Snow, he thought. You’ll dance with me anon.

[ADWD; Jon XII]

In Prologue, Waymar gets killed by Others:

Royce’s body lay facedown in the snow, one arm out-flung. The thick sable cloak had been slashed in a dozen places. Lying dead like that, you saw how young he was. A boy.

[AGOT; Prologue]

And Jon dies in ADWD:

Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger’s hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. “Ghost,” he whispered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold …

[ADWD; Jon XIII]

But Waymar comes back to life as a wight with ‘ONE EYE’:

Will rose. Ser Waymar Royce stood over him. His fine clothes were a tatter, his face a ruin. A shard from his sword transfixed the blind white pupil of his left eye. The right eye was open. The pupil burned blue. It saw.

[AGOT; Prologue]

So: A young man of Night’s Watch who looks like Jon dies and comes back to life with ONE EYE. 

Let’s continue with the second book...

A CLASH OF KINGS:

Orell

Orell is Wildling who is also a skinchanger. His animal is an EAGLE. 

Jon kills Orell in ACOK; Jon VI:

Jon nodded toward the one by the fire. It felt queer, picking a man to kill. 

[...]

Jon’s man leapt to his feet, thrusting at his face with a burning brand. He could feel the heat of the flames as he flinched back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sleeper stirring, and knew he must finish his man quick. When the brand swung again, he bulled into it, swinging the bastard sword with both hands. The Valyrian steel sheared through leather, fur, wool, and flesh, but when the wildling fell he twisted, ripping the sword from Jon’s grasp. 

[...]

“You ought to burn them you killed,” said Ygritte.

[ACOK; Jon VI]

But due to the magic of skinchanging, a portion of Orell’s consciousness remained in the eagle, which developed a fierce hatred for Jon.

And in ACOK; Jon VII he dreams of an eagle attacking him and people talk about vargs and skinchangers:

Then a sudden gust of cold made his fur stand up, and the air thrilled to the sound of wings. As he lifted his eyes to the ice-white mountain heights above, a shadow plummeted out of the sky. A shrill scream split the air. He glimpsed blue-grey pinions spread wide, shutting out the sun… “Ghost!” Jon shouted, sitting up. He could still feel the talons, the pain. “Ghost, to me!” Ebben appeared, grabbed him, shook him. “Quiet! You mean to bring the wildlings down on us? What’s wrong with you, boy?” “A dream,” said Jon feebly. “I was Ghost, I was on the edge of the mountain looking down on a frozen river, and something attacked me. A bird… an eagle, I think…”

[...]

“Skinchanger?” said Ebben grimly, looking at the Halfhand. Does he mean the eagle? Jon wondered. Or me? Skinchangers and wargs belonged in Old Nan’s stories, not in the world he had lived in all his life. Yet here, in this strange bleak wilderness of rock and ice, it was not hard to believe.

[ACOK; Jon VII]

So: There is a skinchanger who dies because of Jon but a part of him keeps living in his animal: eagle. 

The interesting thing is that between these two Jon chapters (Orell and eagle dream) comes a very important Sansa chapter which has many parallels with Jon VI chapter...

An example of parallels:

[…] ‘All I ask is a flower,’ Bael answered, ‘the fairest flower that blooms in the gardens o’ Winterfell.”

“Now as it happened the winter roses had only then come into bloom, and no flower is so rare nor precious…  

[ACOK; Jon VI]

Sansa lowered her head. “The blood frightened me.”

“The blood is the seal of your womanhood. Lady Catelyn might have prepared you. You’ve had your first flowering, no more.”

Sansa had never felt less flowery. “My lady mother told me, but I… I thought it would be different.”  

[ACOK; Sansa IV]

For more, please check: Jonsa Book Hints: B5 

In this chapter Sansa says she wants to be loved and Cersei warns her that “love kills too...” Next chapter is Jon with his eagle dreams and warging abilities:

A half smile flickered across the queen’s face. “[…]Robert wanted to be loved. My brother Tyrion has the same disease. Do you want to be loved, Sansa?”

“Everyone wants to be loved.”

“I see flowering hasn’t made you any brighter,” said Cersei. “Sansa, permit me to share a bit of womanly wisdom with you on this very special day. Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same.”  

[ACOK; Sansa IV]

Let’s move on to third book...

A STORM OF SWORDS:

Orell and Wargs

In ASOS; Jon I, we learn the name of the Wildling that Jon has killed in ACOK; Jon VI:

“He slew Qhorin Halfhand,” said Longspear Ryk. “Him and that wolf o’ his.”

“And did for Orell too,” said Rattleshirt.

“The lad’s a warg, or close enough,” put in Ragwyle, the big spearwife. “His wolf took a piece o’ Halfhand’s leg.”

[...]

“What’s this?” he said. “A crow?”

“The black bastard what gutted Orell,” said Rattleshirt, “and a bloody warg as well.”

“You were to kill them all.”

“This one come over,” explained Ygritte. “He slew Qhorin Halfhand with his own hand.”

[ASOS; Jon I]

This Jon chapter comes after ASOS; Sansa I. 

And these chapters have many parallels such as:

Sansa knelt at the feet of her future queen. “You do me great honor, Your Grace.” “Won’t you call me Margaery? Please, rise. Loras, help the Lady Sansa to her feet. Might I call you Sansa?”  

[ASOS; Sansa I]  

“I would be pleased to eat, Your Grace. And thank you.”

“Your Grace?” The king smiled. “That’s not a style one often hears from the lips of the free folk. I’m Mance to most, The Mance to some. Will you take a horn of mead?”  

[ASOS; Jon I]

For more, please check: Jonsa Book Hints: C1

We also learn about Sansa’s new betrothed: Willas Tyrell.. 

Willas has a bad leg and so does Jon, in ASOS:

“Willas has a bad leg but a good heart,” said Margaery. “He used to read to me when I was a little girl, and draw me pictures of the stars. You will love him as much as we do, Sansa.”

[ASOS; Sansa I]

If the mare had gone down, he would have been doomed. “A lucky thing my leg got in the way,” he muttered.

He rested for a while to let the horse graze. She did not wander far. That was good. Hobbled with a bad leg, he could never have caught her.

[ASOS; Jon V]

Let’s keep reading...

In ASOS; Jon II chapter Jon’s eagle dream from ACOK comes true and Orell’s eagle attacks Jon’s eye:

He could still hear wings, though the eagle was not in sight. Half his world was black. “My eye,” he said in sudden panic, raising a hand to his face.

“It’s only blood, Jon Snow. He missed the eye, just ripped your skin up some.”

[…]

Can a bird hate? Jon had slain the wilding Orell, but some part of the man remained within the eagle. The golden eyes looked out on him with cold malevolence.

[…]

I will need to get this tended, he thought, but not just now. Let the King-beyond-the-Wall see what his eagle did to me.

[…]

The look Mance gave Jon was grim and cold. “What happened to your face?”

Ygritte said, “Orell tried to take his eye out.”

“It was him I asked. Has he lost his tongue? Perhaps he should, to spare us further lies.”

Styr the Magnar drew a long knife. “The boy might see more clear with one eye, instead of two.”

“Would you like to keep your eye, Jon?” asked the King-beyond-the-Wall. “If so, tell me how many they were. And try and speak the truth this time, Bastard of Winterfell.”

Jon’s throat was dry. “My lord… what…”

[ASOS; Jon II]

Jon almosts loses his ‘one eye’ and becomes Jon ‘One Eye’ Snow because of this attack..

After this eagle attack Jon chapter comes ASOS; Sansa II 

And these chapters have many parallels such as:

Jon wheeled and followed Tormund back toward the head of the column, his new cloak hanging heavy from his shoulders. It was made of unwashed sheepskins, worn fleece side in, as the wildlings suggested.

[…]  

“I wear the cloak you gave me, Your Grace.”  

[ASOS; Jon II]

A new gown?” she said, as wary as she was astonished.

“More lovely than any you have worn, my lady,” the old woman promised. She measured Sansa’s hips with a length of knotted string. “All silk and Myrish lace, with satin linings. You will be very beautiful. The queen herself has commanded it.”

“Which queen?” Margaery was not yet Joff’s queen, but she had been Renly’s. Or did she mean the Queen of Thorns? Or…“The Queen Regent, to be sure.”  

[ASOS; Sansa II]

For more, please check: Jonsa Book Hints: C2

And after the chapter of an eagle attacks Jon’s eye we learn in next chapter that Sansa’s betrothed Willas Tyrell flies EAGLES:

“Willas has the best birds in the Seven Kingdoms,” Margaery said when the two of them were briefly alone. “He flies an eagle sometimes. You will see, Sansa.” 

[ASOS; Sansa II]

Why is Almost One Eye Jon and Sansa Stark being near to each other important?

Because the first Sansa Stark in Stark family tree was married with her half-uncle Jonnel ‘One Eye’ Stark:

So another Sansa being close to another Stark family member who almost had lost his one eye sounds interesting. 

Well, Jon didn’t lose his eye but his face got scarred:

He had almost forgotten about his face. “A skinchanger tried to rip out my eye.”

Noye frowned. “Scarred or smooth, it’s a face I thought I’d seen the last of. We heard you’d gone over to Mance Rayder.”

[ASOS; Jon VI]

Who else has a scarred face? Sansa’s husband- Tyrion Lannister:

“I like your scar.” She traced it with her finger. “It makes you look very fierce and strong.”

He laughed. “Very ugly, you mean.”

“M’lord will never be ugly in my eyes.” She kissed the scab that covered the ragged stub of his nose.

[ASOS; Tyrion II]

Varamyr 

What happens to this eagle later?

Skinchanger, Varamyr Sixskins, takes control of Orell’s eagle. Varamyr uses the eagle to scout Castle Black and spots Stannis Baratheon’s arrival at the Wall.

The eagle bursts into flames during the attack on Castle Black with Melisandre claiming she was responsible. 

The skinchanger was grey-faced, round-shouldered, and bald, a mouse of a man with a wolfling’s eyes. “Once a horse is broken to the saddle, any man can mount him,” he said in a soft voice. “Once a beast’s been joined to a man, any skinchanger can slip inside and ride him. Orell was withering inside his feathers, so I took the eagle for my own. But the joining works both ways, warg. Orell lives inside me now, whispering how much he hates you. And I can soar above the Wall, and see with eagle eyes.”

[...]

“Banners,” he heard Varamyr murmur, “I see golden banners, oh . . .” A mammoth lumbered by, trumpeting, a half-dozen bowmen in the wooden tower on its back. “The king . . . no . . .”

Then the skinchanger threw back his head and screamed.The sound was shocking, ear-piercing, thick with agony. Varamyr fell, writhing, and the ’cat was screaming too.... and high, high in the eastern sky, against the wall of cloud, Jon saw the eagle burning. For a heartbeat it flamed brighter than a star, wreathed in red and gold and orange, its wings beating wildly at the air as if it could fly from the pain. Higher it flew, and higher, and higher still.

[ASOS; Jon X]

Melisandre burns the eagle. Who else got burned in the books? 

Jon Snow in AGOT:

He had burned himself more badly than he knew throwing the flaming drapes, and his right hand was swathed in silk halfway to the elbow. At the time he’d felt nothing; the agony had come after.

[AGOT; Jon VIII]

And Jon burns himself in AGOT; Jon VII:

Jon tried to shout, but his voice was gone. Staggering to his feet, he kicked the arm away and snatched the lamp from the Old Bear’s fingers. The flame flickered and almost died. “Burn!” the raven cawed. “Burn, burn, burn!”

Spinning, Jon saw the drapes he’d ripped from the window. He flung the lamp into the puddled cloth with both hands. Metal crunched, glass shattered, oil spewed, and the hangings went up in a great whoosh of flame. The heat of it on his face was sweeter than any kiss Jon had ever known. “Ghost!” he shouted.

The direwolf wrenched free and came to him as the wight struggled to rise, dark snakes spilling from the great wound in its belly. Jon plunged his hand into the flames, grabbed a fistful of the burning drapes, and whipped them at the dead man. Let it burn, he prayed as the cloth smothered the corpse, gods, please, please, let it burn.

[AGOT; Jon VII]

This Jon chapter comes after AGOT; Sansa IV:

And these two chapters have many parallels such as:

So she went to the queen instead, and poured out her heart, and Cersei had listened and thanked her sweetly … only then Ser Arys had escorted her to the high room in Maegor’s Holdfast and posted guards, and a few hours later, the fighting had begun outside.

[AGOT; Sansa IV]

They took his knife and his sword and told him he was not to leave his cell until the high officers met to decide what was to be done with him. And then they placed a guard outside his door to make certain he obeyed. His friends were not allowed to see him, but the Old Bear did relent and permit him Ghost, so he was not utterly alone.

[AGOT; Jon VII]

*

Yet somehow it seemed colder with Jeyne gone, even after she’d built a fire. She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother’s queen.

[AGOT; Sansa IV]

Yet he was trembling, violently. When had it gotten so cold?

[…]


Metal crunched, glass shattered, oil spewed, and the hangings went up in a great whoosh of flame. The heat of it on his face was sweeter than any kiss Jon had ever known. “Ghost!” he shouted.

[AGOT; Jon VII]

For more, please check: Jonsa Book Hints: A10

What happens to skinchanger Orell and warg Varamyr after the eagle burst into flames?

The incident greatly affects Varamyr and supposedly kills the remnants of Orell inside the eagle. 

After the defeat of the wildlings at the battle beneath the Wall, Varamyr has lost all his possessions in his madness from experiencing the eagle’s death; he has also lost control of his snow bear and shadowcat, but his wolves remain.

[Orell dying completely and Varamyr gets mad also reminds me another resurrected character Beric Dondarrion who also has ONE EYE and him dying for good to bring Catelyn Stark back to life... And like Varamyr, Lady Stoneheart loses her mind too... ]

Let’s move on to fourth book...

A FEAST FOR CROWS:

Jon is not even in this book? 

But Sansa is and we learn few things about her crushes:

Waymar Royce:

She had fallen wildly in love with Ser Waymar, she remembered dimly, but that was a lifetime ago, when she was a stupid little girl.

[AFFC; Alayne I]

Grrm reminds us Waymar Royce aka the biggest foreshadowing for Jon in AFFC book via Sansa’s chapter... 

Loras Tyrell:

Loras was another crush of Sansa and we learn that he got burned really bad in AFFC. 

Like the eagle and Jon. 

“Tell me,” said Margaery. “I command it.” Command it? Cersei paused a moment, then decided she would let that pass. “The defenders fell back to an inner keep once the curtain wall was taken. Loras led the attack there as well. He was doused with boiling oil.” Lady Alla turned white as chalk, and ran from the room. “The maesters are doing all they can, Lord Waters assures me, but I fear your brother is too badly burned.”

[AFFC; Cersei VIII]

More about Loras // Jon, please check: Jonsa Book Hints: A8

Let’s keep reading the fifth book...

A DANCE WITH DRAGONS:

In ADWD; Prologue Varamyr encounters with Others (just like AGOT; Prologue) and Varamyr’s body dies, but his mind lives on in his wolf One Eye. 

And Varamyr also thinks about Jon and his direwolf.. 

So we have dead warg who kept living in his animal: A WOLF whose name is ONE EYE. 

Varamyr could feel the snowflakes melting on his brow. This is not so bad as burning. Let me sleep and never wake, let me begin my second life. His wolves were close now. He could feel them. He would leave this feeble flesh behind, become one with them, hunting the night and howling at the moon. The warg would become a true wolf. Which, though?

[...]

“They say you forget,” Haggon had told him, a few weeks before his own death. “When the man’s flesh dies, his spirit lives on inside the beast, but every day his memory fades, and the beast becomes a little less a warg, a little more a wolf, until nothing of the man is left and only the beast remains.”

Varamyr knew the truth of that. When he claimed the eagle that had been Orell’s, he could feel the other skinchanger raging at his presence. Orell had been slain by the turncloak crow Jon Snow, and his hate for his killer had been so strong that Varamyr found himself hating the beastling boy as well. He had known what Snow was the moment he saw that great white direwolf stalking silent at his side. One skinchanger can always sense another. Mance should have let me take the direwolf. There would be a second life worthy of a king. He could have done it, he did not doubt. The gift was strong in Snow, but the youth was untaught, still fighting his nature when he should have gloried in it.

[...]

A sleeping direwolf raised his head to snarl at empty air. Before their hearts could beat again he had passed on, searching for his own, for One Eye, Sly, and Stalker, for his pack. His wolves would save him, he told himself. That was his last thought as a man. True death came suddenly; he felt a shock of cold, as if he had been plunged into the icy waters of a frozen lake. Then he found himself rushing over moonlit snows with his packmates close behind him. Half the world was dark. One Eye, he knew. He bayed, and Sly and Stalker gave echo. When they reached the crest the wolves paused. 

[...]

The things below moved, but did not live. One by one, they raised their heads toward the three wolves on the hill. The last to look was the thing that had been Thistle. She wore wool and fur and leather, and over that she wore a coat of hoarfrost that crackled when she moved and glistened in the moonlight. Pale pink icicles hung from her fingertips, ten long knives of frozen blood. And in the pits where her eyes had been, a pale blue light was flickering, lending her coarse features an eerie beauty they had never known in life. She sees me.

[ADWD; Prologue]

Jon dies in his last ADWD chapter and his last word was his direwolf’s name: GHOST... 

Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger’s hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. “Ghost,” he whispered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold …

[ADWD; Jon XIII]

So we have a full circle: 

It started with Agot; Prologue 

and ended with ADWD; Jon XIII

Let’s not forget that Jon’s death was foreshadowed in ASOS; Sansa VI chapter. 

Lord Petyr dismissed him with a wave, and returned to the pomegranate again as Oswell shuffled down the steps. “Tell me, Alayne—which is more dangerous, the dagger brandished by an enemy, or the hidden one pressed to your back by someone you never even see?”  

“The hidden dagger.”  

“There’s a clever girl.” He smiled, his thin lips bright red from the pomegranate seeds.  

[ASOS; Sansa VI]

Next chapter was Jon:

Fore more about Jon’s death and Sansa; please check: 

Jonsa Book Hints: C12 & E7 

“Do not be so certain.” The ruby at Melisandre’s throat gleamed red. “It is not the foes who curse you to your face that you must fear, but those who smile when you are looking and sharpen their knives when you turn your back. You would do well to keep your wolf close beside you. Ice, I see, and daggers in the dark. Blood frozen red and hard, and naked steel. It was very cold.”

“It is always cold on the Wall.”

“You think so?”

“I know so, my lady.”

“Then you know nothing, Jon Snow,” she whispered.  

[ADWD; Jon I]

In conclusion:

Jon’s death, him warging into his direwolf during his death and him coming back to life arc has been foreshadowed since AGOT; Prologue and its most obvious hints were given in ADWD; Prologue by echoing AGOT; Prologue. 

The ‘ONE EYE’ motif seems like a key hint for his resurrection. 

And Sansa is always close to this motif or she has some connections with this motif via other characters or her chapters. 

A Sansa Stark being close to another ‘ONE EYE’ Stark is interesting because of the historical couple: Jonnel ‘One Eye’ & Sansa Stark in Stark family tree.. 

Even the hints of Jon’s death can be found in Sansa chapters. 

All of these tell us that Sansa will be important in Jon’s past resurrection story. 

Thanks for reading. 

Some sources:

Waymar // Jon 

Disfigurements 

Jonnel / Sansa

Jon’s fate and losing an eye

[intricate-oeuvre]

On how to be deadly || Geralt of Rivia || part I

A/N: Hey! I finally, kind of, did it! xD Based on lot of things, the Netflix series, the books and the games. Just so I can do background check. Let me know if you wanna be tagged in the future chapters. P.S. the tittle might change, not sure about this one atm.

Word count: 1k+

Summary: Axelia is Witcher experiment herself and has gone through same harsh Trials as Geralt, but she wasn’t so lucky with the outcome. Her vision didn’t become better. Therefore, she was rendered blind in the end. And because of that, she solely uses her Witcher senses to make her ways. Only potions can give her false sense of sight for limited time.Somewhere along the way she meets the Rivian. Who’s interested to know how she’s been killing monsters and hasn’t been killed herself yet.

Warnings: Nothing. Not for the first chapter.

part I || part II || part III || part IV || part V || part VI || part VII || part VIII || part IX || part X || part XI || part XII || part XIII | Epilogue

Everyone had heard about Geralt of Rivia. About Witchers and their wickedly good senses. The ways they fought monsters. About the ruins of Kaer Morhen huddled against the stone precipices- the partially demolished trapezium of the defensive wall, the remains of the barbican and gate, the thick, blunt column of the donjon.

The ruins that once stood tall and intimidating. Where in older times, witchers trained and underwent mutations. And to become one, you had to go through several gruelling stages or the witcher trials. First there is The Choice, which involves dietary changes and immense physical training.

Then there is the Trial of the Grasses, in which the young soon to be witchers, if lucky, consumed various alchemical ingredients which affected the nervous system. The Trial of the Dreams involves mutation of the eyes, bone marrow and hormones. And the Trial of the Mountains. Sometimes these processes where were enchanted from time to time, as a test of new elixirs and mutagens. Typically, this meant even more pain, vomit, or worse. Geralt emerged from these experiments with a lifetime of foul memories and the loss of pigment in his hair.

The Trial of Grasses was designed to work on boys and men, because women have different hormonal composition than men. Therefore, they were required to do new research. That’s why a girl from the same kingdom where the school was located, had been delivered on the doorstep of Kaer Morhen. As a test subject. It is known pretty well that females how lower survival chances when it comes to the Trials of Grasses.

Through screams, pain, vomit and shit, Axelia of Kaedwen managed to survive the Trials. But unlike any other witcher before her, she wasn’t so lucky when it came to obtaining cat like vision. In the end all that it led to was a blind witcheress.

Most of her life she lived in the witcher school. Unsure where such hexer could be of use.

It had turned into a gloomy day. The sun couldn’t be seen no where near the sky. It was the most ashen weather. But at the same time, it was dry, didn’t feel humid. Her head was bent down, as if she was carefully looking down where she was placing her feet. One in front of the other. But the black till like material type of blindfold was across her eyes. What point of the eyes if you don’t see? She was walking through a field filled with dry, white-ish grass, that somehow resembled her white hair. Her right palm was constantly dragging atop of the tall grass, as if she was feeling her surroundings. At the edge of the field stood pine trees. At start they seemed placed randomly, far from each other, but the more one stared, the thicker and deeper they went, turning into black endless mush. Wind blew peacefully, gently moving the ends of her hair and moving grass all around. As if someone had told her to stand still, girl abruptly stopped at the edge of the woods. With exhale she lifted her hands and untied the transparent blindfold and secured it at her hip. Looking in to the deepness of the trees, a gust of wind blew her hair behind her, deep growling sound coming from somewhere deep with-in. Reaching for a Cat potion at her belt, she took a swing and shivered. Her milky eyes gaining only cat-like black slits. She looked behind herself, where she had come from. Nothing but fields of grass and hills and mountains in the distance. Little to the left was small grove and behind that was hidden small village, only smoke from the chimneys could be seen above the trees. Turning back to the dark forest in front of her Axelia stretched her left hand to the closest tree. Her fingertips expertly scanning over the bark and caught on the ridges that were left there.

“Bear. Or wildcat. Wouldn’t leave marks like theses with-out a reason. Nor as deep.”  She whispered to herself. Remembering what villagers had said to her: that lone wanderers had been lost, never coming back and a lot of dead dears around. Rolling her neck, she reached for the silver blade on her back and with wicked smirk on her lips she walked into the dark forest.

What she didn’t know that while standing at that field, was the fact that she wasn’t the only witcher in the village.

One problem with the same monster, two people willing to pay to get rid of it.

As Geralt was about to step inside of the forest, leaving Roach in the field where she with-out worry fed on the grass, he was hit with a familiar smell, that he couldn’t pin point at the moment. Velvet rose and sandalwood. And the deeper he went into the woods, the strong the smell got. And it was accompanied with sound sword cutting through flesh, screams and groans and yells and hisses. With his silver sword in his hands he slowly made his way towards the source of the sound.

With an agonizing scream which didn’t sound human like, silence took over the dark forest. Now only using smell as his guide, Geralt made his way towards the war zone.

Finding now dead leshen. A woodland spirit that only lives to kill. The one that was responsible for the dead wanderers in the woods. Some fire was still flaming in the patches of grass and branches, which indicated the use of Igni. Everything of its body seemed to be laying somewhere around. There was one hand, there was a leg. But the deer scull head with antlers seemed to be missing.

“Here to steal my coin.” A female voice said behind the witcher. But he had felt her approach her before she had even opened her mouth. With elegant spin, Geralt had grabbed her sword that had been pointed at his back and turning both of the around, held its sharp edge against her throat.

And suddenly that smell of velvet rose and sandalwood seemed stronger than ever.

“Axelia of Kaedwen.” He stated, his brows furrowed. Her being the last person  he thought that could be here.

“Geralt of Rivia.” Axelia gritted through her teeth and elbowed witcher in the ribs.

~~~

part I || part II || part III || part IV || part V || part VI || part VII || part VIII || part IX || part X || part XI || part XII || part XIII | Epilogue

tags: @901seconds​

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

gust & flame - masterlist

Eris Vanserra has been a prisoner in his own home since the day he was born. He has done what he had to in order to survive and protect the few he loves. And he is playing the long game. Waiting, waiting, and waiting for the right time to make his move, to usurp his wicked father and become High Lord of Autumn Court. But things become even more complicated when a human girl drops into his life. Perhaps Eris can wait no longer to take his throne.

--- takes place after the events in A Court of Silver Flames

🍁 Eris Vanserra x Reader

Chapter I || Chapter II || Chapter III || Chapter IV || Chapter V || Chapter VI || Chapter VII || Chapter VIII || Chapter IX || Chapter X || Chapter XI || Chapter XII || Chapter XIII || Chapter XIV || Chapter XV || Chapter XVI || Chapter XVII || Chapter XVIII || Chapter XIX || Chapter XX || Chapter XXI || Chapter XXII || Chapter XXIII || Chapter XXIV || Chapter XXV ||

[argentvive]

The Furnace Man and the Mermaid: pt 2

Part 1 here: https://argentvive.tumblr.com/post/640436092935520256/the-furnace-man-and-the-mermaid-a-terrifying

III. Cornelis Van Dongen

Here’s the illustration of him from the chapter opening.

He’s described as

a man in rough clothes who gave off such heat that she couldn’t go close. He was like a furnace. She could see his gaunt face, alive with anguish, and she had to gasp as two little flames broke out from under his eyelids, to be dashed away like tears by his angry hand. His eyes were glowing like coals: black over a flaring, breathing red. (TSC, p. 375)

It’s as if Pullman decided one day to do as literal a depiction of a Chemical Wedding as he could think of--a Male Principle who is literally “fire” and a Female Principle who is a denizen of “water.”

Recall:  

Sulphur is the Male Principle and corresponds to fire and air, hot and dry, Red, Red King, Sol/Sun, heart

Mercury (Argentvive) is the Female Principle and corresponds to water and earth, cool and moist, White, White Queen, Luna/Moon, mind.

I could find very few depictions of Sulphur in the alchemy literature, but here’s one, from Quinta Essentia, which applies better to Lord Asriel than to Van Dongen.  Van Dongen is no devil, but he IS gaunt.  

For the purposes of Lyra’s alchemical journey, the most important thing Van Dongen does is accidentally burn her hand--the coagula of the chapter:

Van Dongen...was beating  his hands together, striking sparks our of himself that whirled in the air like tiny Catherine wheels. One of them flew all the way to Lyra’s hand and stung like a needle thrust. She gasped and slapped it out, and stepped away hastily. (p. 381)

In describing Lyra’s injury as stinging “like a needle,” Pullman is following the literary alchemy convention of using piercing weapons as a stand in for fire.  

There are a couple more references to Lyra’s burned hand later in the chapter, as well as one to her hair being “singed” by “a gust of flame” (p. 386)  So far in the HDM universe none of Lyra’s injuries has been permanent--she has suffered no dismemberment, unlike Will, for example.  Will that change in the final book?

Van Dongen tells Lyra his tale, about his separation from his daemon Dinessa and Agrippa’s experiments.  This is straight up alchemy, which I suspect everyone who’s been reading my blog recognized right away.  It’s too much to retype it all, but here are a few key phrases:

--”I am all fire, and she is all water.”

--”he [Agrippa] worked on his magnum opus, which was the isolation of the essential principles of matter”

--”One day he spoke to us about the elements of fire and water.”

--”My father was interested in change....In one thing becoming another.”

--”he assimilated our essential self to the elements: me to nature of elemental fire, her to that of elemental water”

--”Then he found he could not undo the operation....once we were transformed in that way.”

Van Dongen begs Lyra to help him find Agrippa and reunite him with Dinessa.  

IV. Dinessa 

Dinessa is Cornelis Van Dongen’s daemon--and a “water sprite,” i.e., a mermaid.  

Mermaids are not that common in alchemy stories, but they do crop up from time to time, e.g., in the Second Task in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.  Del Toro even switched things up and gave us a merman in The Shape of Water. What’s unusual with Dinessa is that iirc all the other daemons in universe are animals--sentient and talking, to be sure--but animals.  Dinessa is half-human.  

Here are a couple of mermaid images from alchemical works:

Cabala mineralis.

Solidonius manuscript, 18th century, Bibliotheque de l”Arsenal, Paris. 

Dinessa is briefly described:

She was beautiful, and naked, and her black hair streamed out behind her like fronds of the most delicate seaweed. 

She is as anxious to reunite with Van Dongen as he is with her.  Their Chemical Wedding is extraordinary and terrifying.  

Part 3.....

[theworldwithoutmagic]

The Lost Waterbender - Ch 3 - “Don’t Run Into Fire”

The Fire Nation celebrated its victory over the Avatar cycle when they killed the very last Waterbender. With no host to be reborn into, the Avatar cycle ended.

Until 100 years later, when Elsa found that Ahtohallen was more than just memories.

Elsa must now master all 4 elements and the Avatar state if she ever wants to see Arendelle again.

Rating - Soft M

Ao3 Link

Yall know why Im writing this. Elsa is clearly the Avatar after F2! This is going to be eventually femslash. I hope you guys like this chapter!

Aang and Sokka to the rescue. Heh.

Elsa only made it an hour before she noticed a ship in distance. She nearly fell through her own ice in relief. She had felt confident until she started to walk. She wasn't even sure she was still in the Dark Sea at this point. Things were... odd. A ship would at least have navigation equipment, knowledge of the surrounding seas, and could actually help her get home.

She was so happy to see the ship she almost missed the smoke. A pillar of dark smoke rose in the air above the ship, which as she got closer she could now see was massive, black, and seemingly made of metal. She had heard of nothing like this from the castle advisors and she was certain no ships of this build ever visited Arendelle's port. It was even coming right towards her now. She didn't want to assume the worst, but the appearance of the ship put caution into her approach. She considered leaving it alone since it was unlikely to have ever visited Arendelle if she was so unfamiliar with it. And it was rather foreboding, all harsh angles and belching fire.

She deliberated for a while, weighing her options. Ultimately, she decided she would still approach them. She was the Snow Queen and she could protect herself from whatever threat they may pose even if they prove to be hostile in the worst-case scenario. Pirates or a foreign enemy included. Arendelle was famous in this region even before the eternal winter incident and the chances of them knowing of its location or at least the general direction was high. Hopefully they could clear up where she is now, if nothing else.

When it got close enough, she could see people on board in striking red armor. The flame insignia flag it flew was wholly unfamiliar to her. A flick of her wrist and the ice she stood on solidified into a larger, starburst platform. There could be no mistaking who they would be dealing with if they knew anything about this region at all. The Queen of Arendelle was quite intimidating when she wanted to be and had a reputation. The ship was slowing in front of her.

Elsa chose to speak first as soon as they were within earshot. "I am Queen Elsa of Arendelle. I would like to speak to the captain of this ship." She stood tall, her voice ringing out over the ice. She could see the people on the ship squinting down at her with wary expressions. They didn't react to her title except to mutter amongst themselves.

Eventually, a man called out, "We would be delighted to receive you, your ah, majesty. We will send a boat."

"No need." She stepped forward, an icy bridge forming to the deck of the ship. The shocked gasps of the crew weren't unexpected. She only hoped they wouldn't react violently. If so, would leave the same way and escape if things did not go well. Elsa tried to tell herself not to be so paranoid, this was just covering all her options. It was only the smart thing to do. She had lost her head when the spirit called her and she refused to let it happen again.

When her feet touched the deck, she let the bridge dissolve behind her. The crew had schooled their expressions. They were obviously trained soldiers now that she could see them clearly. This was a warship. With a very distinctly flame motif. Elsa narrowed her eyes.

"What kingdom are you from?" She began, noticing the metal ship lacked even a sail to propel itself.

"The real question is where have you been hiding, waterbender?" A man in a more decorated suit of armor said from across the deck. One look at his shining metal hairpiece and medals adorning his uniform indicated this was the captain. Or at least someone in charge.

Waterbender is what he called her. She knew that term only because of the spirit in the glacier and she was shocked to hear it from the captain. She steeled herself. "I am the reagent of Arendelle. Located on the southern fjords. Perhaps you know of me as the Snow Queen."

The captain's lips were tight as he considered her. His arms crossed. "Arendelle." He tasted the word. "And how many other waterbenders are you harboring, Queen Elsa?" His mouth tugged into a smile as he used her title. Elsa didn't like it.

"If you are referring to my ice, I am the only one I have ever met with this ability." Elsa swallowed. "What kingdom are you from, Captain? I didn't catch it the first time." She felt she might need the escape plan after all. The hostility was overwhelming.

"This ship, like all others, is from the Fire Nation," he said as if that explained everything. He was pacing around her. "I have one more question for you. Where is the Avatar?"

Elsa couldn't stop her eyes from widening. This was too much to be a coincidence. The captain was grinning widely in front of her now, watching her expression. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." She saw him glance over her shoulder and nod infinitesimally to someone. She made to turn back to the railing but was blocked by a ring of soldiers.

"Unfortunately, I can't let you leave," the captain said behind her. "I am under orders directly from the Fire Lord to detain all waterbenders and bring them to him. Especially those I suspect to be the avatar. Bind her."

Elsa didn't wait for the soldiers to move. A quick wave of her hand brought up a thick wall of ice between herself and the soldiers, and swept the five closest to the railing to the side, clearing the path for her easy escape.

"Don't let her off this ship! This has to be the avatar! We need to get her quickly before she can access the avatar state." She heard someone shouting. The men were lining up.

Then, her world changed.

Jets of yellow fire, hot and directed, blasted her ice away in an instant and blocked her escape route. Elsa traced the stream with her eyes and saw it was being produced from the hands of every soldier on the deck. Fire magic. All of them. It was almost a relief to see other people like her, and Elsa felt frozen. Her entire life she had been the only one. But everyone on this ship... they have fire. Then, the first hot jet caught her in the side and she cried out, trance broken. These people were attacking her. She was outnumbered 100 to 1. She could actually lose.

Elsa whipped into action. The air dropped 40 degrees. Ice covered the feet of every man she could see. She raised her hands and great icy beams gripped the sides of the ship, sending its nose into the air to knock the remaining soldiers off-balance, including the Captain who had somehow already melted his feet free. It didn't work, and they moved fluidly into a martial arts stance she had only seen in paintings from far away before more fire shot from their hands directly towards her.

Her heart lurched. She had only a second to raise an ice wall, feeling like she was back in front of Han's men in her castle. The fire broke through her ice again. It was seemingly explosive in its destruction. She shot a beam towards the captain, hoping to pin him to the deck. He lept to the side like a dancer and dodged easily, sending more fire spinning from his feet this time. Elsa backed up squinting against the heat, throwing more walls up to protect her front. That's when she felt someone grab her from behind.

She was panicking enough that it had begun to snow over the ship, frost creeping over the deck. But the fire users behind her seemed to produce their own heat and had wrested her hands behind her. Their hot touch burned her arms and she was rapidly overpowered. She cried out and tried to pull away, but there were at least three holding her now, keeping her hands immobilized. They had shackles and were just about to click them onto her when a blast of wind knocked them off balance for a moment, and one released their grip on a hand.

She didn't waste a moment and encased them in ice up their chests this time. She made a break for the railing. More men blocked her. Before she could even call her ice, they were swept completely off the side of the ship by another powerful gust of wind.

This time, Elsa saw the source. A young man, a teenager even, covered in blue arrow tattoos was whipping up a windstorm on the deck. He blocked their fire easily with concentrated gusts of unnatural wind that could only be more magic. He was barely touching the ground between each blast. He caught her eyes after he forced another few men over the side with a spin of his staff.

"Avatar! I'm here to help! Just- Iv been looking for you." He was working his way towards her. "I can explain after we get off this ship. I can get you away from the firebenders. You have to trust me."

She pulled more ice up to grip the ship, hearing the metal groan. "Thanks for the rescue." she ground out, "but I just want to get home."

"I have a flying bison! I can take you there, anywhere. Please, just come with me." He was nearly at her side, face all earnest concentration. The whole deck was covered in ice and the captain still stood shooting flames. She was ready to dispute the boy's outlandish claim when a great roar came from above. A shaggy, six-legged creature ridden by a tan-skinned man in a ponytail came from the sky. It had a saddle like a common beast and swept from the sky to hover over the battle. Great balls of fire from the upper deck were already being directed towards it. Elsa forced another swath of ice towards the men firing them.

She was now near enough to the railing now that she could jump into the ocean below and escape. The ice gripping the ship would keep them there long enough she could get a head start. Elsa considered leaving all of them behind. But she realized she still wasn't sure precisely which direction Arendelle was in. The sun was still up and she had little frame of reference. And well.. this kid had risked his own life to free her. Watching him fight the man in front of her she noticed his face was earnest and his strikes were all non-lethal deflections. That decided it for her, in the end.

"Alright, let's go." At the end of the day, he was acting friendly towards her. She had no reason to distrust him and he had a rather convenient method of transportation. Elsa had a horrible feeling she was not anywhere near Arendelle anymore and she wanted desperately to speak to another person, especially another magic user, who knew about this avatar business.

He grinned ear to ear, finally reaching her side. "Hold on!" He grabbed her hand and put one arm around her waist and then a tight blast of air shot them both skyward. She yelped in a very undignified way and had only a moment to feel the weightlessness before they both landed in the saddle of the beast.

"Sokka, get us out of here," the boy called.

"Holy shit Aang you actually got her! And look at this fire nation ship, that's a LOT of ice, they won't be moving for a while." Sokka said. The flying bison rapidly gained altitude, zig-zagging through the sky above the ship. She could still see the ship, completely lifted from the water by her massive pillars. The water surrounding the ship was frozen entirely for a hundred paces out. She allowed herself to feel a bit of pride.

"I know!" The boy cut him off, deflecting another fireball. "It was close. They had her nearly in cuffs." They were already so high the attacks were sparse. She thinks they were almost out of range.

"Well, at least the monks won't kill us now. They can't punish us if we bring them the avatar."

Elsa's mind finally caught up with what they were talking about. "I am not going anywhere except Arendelle. You will take me there, not to any monks." She interjected, with as much queenly majesty as was possible sitting cross-legged in the saddle of the beast. "And will someone please explain this Avatar business to me?"

[ashenious]

Some Grand Affairs Amongst the Normality - Chapter 13 of ??? (Dante/Reader)

Overall Story Rating: Mature Overall Story Tags: Alcohol, Big Snake, (Like literally a big snake), Blood, Body Horror, Dead Body Mention, Fluff, Gore Mention, Depressive Thoughts, Drugging, IV Mention, Nausea, Nightmares, Reader is regular boring Human, Reader likes to clean, Reader is also a troublemaker, Slow Burn, Suicide Mention, There was only one bed, Vore (I’m so sorry)

For This Chapter: Rating: Mature (Just in case, it’s like borderline) Warnings: Blood Additional: None Word Count: 6246

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/Part 4/Part 5/Part 6/Part 7/Part 8/Part 9/ Part 10/Part 11/Part 12/Part 13/Part 14

AO3 Link: Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/Part 4/Part 5/Part 6/Part 7/Part 8/Part 9/Part 10/Part 11/Part 12/Part 13/Part 14

The strike of fear was back, the same fear that you had felt when you first met Dante, and it cleared up your drugged-up senses the instant you moved, your body flying around the corner and through the living room before you could even process where you were going. You slid onto your knees as you rounded into your room, probably giving yourself rug burn as you came to a stop, but the adrenaline coursing through you didn’t let you feel anything but the need to keep moving as you ripped open your bag.

You grabbed the wooden box inside and scooted your back against the wall behind your desk as you yanked open the top of the box. Were you not in the situation that you were in, you would’ve taken the time to admire the gun for it was unlike any gun you had seen before. It was larger than you were expecting, and as you picked it up, you noticed the lack of bullets in the box. Feeling the grip in your hand, you looked over the entirely of the sides of the gun as you located the safety. On the handle, however, your eyes caught sight of your name carved alone the side near where the thumb safety was.

Assuming it was already loaded and cocked, which now saved you from having to make too much noise, you adjusted your hand around the grip and shakily slid down the safety. You wanted to bring up your other hand to help hold the gun should you actually need to fire it as the recoil was probably going to be strong, but you looked down at your injured arm and decided against it with how useless that hand felt. You didn’t want to use the gun you were holding at all, but the situation unfolding wasn’t going to give you a choice as you heard footsteps walking toward your room. You heart was pounding in your chest, and you felt fear in every corner of your body as the footsteps grew louder and louder.

Sucking in your breath quietly, you waited, your armed hand shaking and your heart pounding loudly in you. The moment you saw movement on the other side of the desk you sat behind, you felt your heartbeat faster, something that you didn’t think it could possibly do in the moment. You hesitated to raise the gun in your hand yet as the person hadn’t seen you yet, or rather, didn’t act like they had seen you yet, and so you merely looked over their whole being.

They walked with a limp you noticed, something that wasn’t obvious before, and you wondered if it would be possible for you to shoot their other leg to allow yourself time to run away. Before you could decide on what to do, however, the person turned around, their burning red eyes catching yours, and all you could see was a fierce anger in them.

Letting your breath go sharply, you raised the gun and fired off, your arm flying back from the recoil as the bullet pierced the person’s shoulder. They didn’t flinch as the bullet flew through them however, and you felt complete dread fill you at the sight. Bringing your arm back down again, you repeated your firing as the person neared you slowly, their leg inhibiting their motion as they moved around your desk.

One of your bullets went through their shoulder again, another went past their neck, but it was when one of your bullets went through their eye that they finally reacted, a loud scream coming from them as their hands went up to their bleeding face. Not thinking twice, you pushed yourself off the wall and used the force you had pushed yourself up with to push the person down to the floor. You only flinched for a second as you felt pain surge through your injured arm, but the adrenaline quickly masked it as you turned yourself around and fled from the room as the person landed hard on the floor.

“I’ll kill you!” you heard from behind you as you neared the living room again. “I’ll eat your heart out and burn you alive!!” Sliding around the corner of the room, you about screamed at the sight of another person near the front, quickly realizing that it was Alecz and not a new person. They were holding the phone in their hand, their face pale and shocked as you ran over to them.

“What are you doing?” you called out to them as you hooked your arm with their arm, their eyes meeting yours for a second before they looked to the area behind you. “We need to go, now!!”

“I’m calling Dante, I heard the door slam shut and I sme—” they tried to explain to you before a rush of smoke filled the air, causing you to release Alecz’s arm as you tried to cover your eyes and mouth. You weren’t able to see Alecz anymore and could only hear them as they coughed, a couple of loud plastic thuds accompanying their cough behind the smog, and you lifted your shirt over your nose and mouth as you tried to catch your breath.

The footsteps began again, this time heavier than before as they made their way toward you once again. Thinking you had more time, you tried to aim your gun toward the sound of footsteps, unsure of where the man could be among all the smoke. You couldn’t see anything more than a few inches away from you, and so you tried to listen for a footstep before you fired a shot. You heard the bullet collide with a solid surface, and you cursed loudly as you tried to aim again.

“Brace yourself!” you heard suddenly to your side. Looking over quickly to where you had last seen Alecz, you felt confused by their sudden command but complied and lowered your gun as you leaned against the wall.

A sudden gust of wind overtook you, causing you to block your face with your hand as the smoke around you began to clear from the space. Finding it hard to breath, you sucked in the deepest breath you could as you waited for the smoke to clear from the wind. Only after a few seconds did the area become visible again, the intruder mimicking your actions of covering his bleeding face as the wind blew through. The air disturbance finally ceased, and you quickly turned to where Alecz was once standing, finding not them there any longer but a demon you had never seen before instead.

The demon was tall, their skin dark purple and rough with scales that covered every part of them except their face, legs, and chest. Where there were no scales on their legs and chest, there was white fur instead, and on their face was what appeared to be soft, white skin that extended up into the demon’s horns that protruded out behind them. Around their eyes was a black band of colour that had only a small strip of colour that rode up into the creature’s hair, and it was when you met eyes with the creature that you knew you had nothing to fear.

You quickly turned away from Alecz and back to the intruder, your arm raising to aim your gun at them again. Behind the man you noticed the place where your previous bullet had hit, and you made sure to aim directly at the intruder’s head as he lowered his blood splattered arms down to his sides. On the ends of his arms were black charred hands, with the tips of his fingers slowly expelling smoke from under his fingernails. You couldn’t help but cringe a bit at the sight before you moved your eyes back up to the demonic man.

“W-What do you want!?” You exclaimed with a lowered voice as to hide the fear you felt inside, despite the fact that the man could see you shaking wildly as you pointed your gun at him. You wished you had a way to will your body still as you feared that the man wouldn’t take you seriously if he knew how afraid you were.

“I’m here to kill you!!” the man screamed, flames coming out of different parts of his body with his voice. “You killed my brothers, and now I’ll kill you!!” Feeling your face furrow a bit, you knew exactly what the man was talking about, who he was talking about. You shook your head though, not wanting to acknowledge the reason for why the intruder was here. You had wanted desperately to forget all that had happened in the last month, and even more desperately to forget the events that had occurred 6 months prior, but the man in front of you was a reminder of all the horror you had seen happen in front of you.

“You need to leave!!” You screamed out. Glancing to the side, you could see that Alecz was giving you an odd expression, one where you could tell they were terribly confused on top of scared of what was happening, but you only turned your eyes back to the man. “I-I understand what you’re feeling!” you exclaimed at the man. Watching as the man took a step forward, you gulped, and quickly shot a bullet at his feet, missing by a large margin. The intruder hopped back from the shot and raised his eyes from the bullet hole on the floor to you as to glare at you. “But you don’t have to do this!”

“Yes! I do!!” the man yelled, his feet leaving the ground suddenly. Flinching at the movement, the man was in front of you before you had time to fully process that he had moved, his flesh blurring in front of your eyes as he reached for you. Before you could even react, a blur of purple appeared before your eyes over the man, and in the blink of an eye, Alecz had moved the man and themselves to the wall to the left of where you stood and had pinned the intruder to the surface.

Turning quickly, you pointed your gun at the man, but as your arm shook uncontrollably, you pulled your finger off of the trigger. You didn’t want to risk shooting Alecz, but you wanted to be ready to shoot the man if he were to overpower Alecz. You watched as Alecz and the man struggled against each other, the man trying to free himself from Alecz’s grasp as Alecz continued to try to push him back into the wall. You were startled at how strong the intruder was as he was still only in his human form and you worried how strong he would be if he was given the chance to transform like Alecz.

“Get out of here!” Alecz yelled at you suddenly, pulling you from your mind. Shaking your head out, you kept your gun aimed at the two while they continued to fight. “Go get help!!” flinching a bit, you hesitated for a moment before you pulled down your gun and looked at the door.

“I-I’ll be back soon!” you yelled toward Alecz as you turned yourself on your heel and began to move. You only made it a few steps, however, before you heard a feral scream, one that caused all the hair to raise on your body. You quickly turned around again, only to be met with the image of a purple blur moving toward you. All you could do was raise your arm up across your chest before Alecz collided with you, the force of their body sending you back into the wall.

You tried not to cry out at the pain that surged through you as you slid down the wall, the weight of Alecz pulling you down, but as a strangled noise left your throat, you heard a maniacal laugh coming from the man. You raised your eyes to glare at him, his gaze already on you, and you attempted to pull your hand up to aim your gun at him. Finding your arm trapped under a shaking Alecz, you looked down again and tried to raise yourself from the ground with your legs in an attempt to get Alecz off of you. They only continued to shake as they tried to remove themselves from you, and you found their weight too much for you to move off of you.

“A-Alecz! C’mon, I need you to move!” you stuttered out at Alecz, their head slowly lifting up. Seeing their face finally, you gasped a bit as you noticed a large wound on their forehead, one that was bleeding profusely. “Y-You’re bleeding!” you said as you tried again to help Alecz off.

“Enough of this!” you heard the intruder say suddenly. Returning your gaze to him, your eyes went wide at the sight of smoke pouring out of the man, his face no longer crazed as he laughed but instead furious as he stood opposite to where you were. Feeling a surge of fear, you again encouraged Alecz to move, your voice sharper and more full of panic than before.

Their arms shook as they tried to push off of the ground to stand back up, blood dripping down their face and off their nose to the ground below them. The puddle was growing quickly below you, and you knew that if this was happening during most any other situation that you’d hastily remove yourself from the blood. Not wanting to accidently harm Alecz and aggravate their open wound, you only lifted your arm under them to help them raise up.

Before Alecz fully rose up, they turned their face to glare at the man, but as their eyes met with the sight of the increasing amount of smoke pouring from every place on the man, their eyes widened. Their one hand quickly left the ground and landed on your shoulder roughly, pushing you back into the wall. You groaned at the force of movement and tried to raise your arm up to protest Alecz’s movement.

It was only a moment later, just after Alecz had turned to face you with their eyes wide and cheeks splattered with their blood, that the area around you was completely and blindingly white. Your eyes quickly slammed shut at the overpowering light, and you felt an impossible heat surround you immediately after the light appeared. The pressure of the air made it impossible for you to feel anything on your body, and if you weren’t already aware of Alecz’s hand on you, you wouldn’t know if they were still in front of you or not.

The light faded quickly, you saw from behind your eye lids, but the intense heat remained around you for longer. As a few seconds passed, you began to see light flickering around you, and so you opened your eyes, and gasped a bit at the sight of fire surrounding you. There was nothing left untouched by the fire around you as the furniture, paintings, and décor were all lit up, the smoke from them quickly pooling on the ceiling above you. The walls were charred from the flames, and you noticed that the scorch marks were originating from the area opposite to where you sat.

Feeling a shift on you, you turned your head quickly and were met with the sight of Alecz, their body draped over yours. You called out to them, a rough cough coming out of you just after, as you tried to shake them a bit. They didn’t move however, and you felt the panic levels in your rise.

They weren’t moving at all as you tried to lift them off and tried again to call out to them. Even if they were able to speak to you, you worried you’d be unable to hear them as the fires around you grew rapidly. Looking up from Alecz, you looked toward where the man once stood, his body barely visible behind the increasing smoke and flames in front of you. He wasn’t moving, from what you could see, and you wondered if he still had smoke pouring out from his body.

Shuffling yourself a bit, you finally freed your hand from under Alecz and raised it to grab under their arm. Feeling a warmth begin to slide down your arm as soon as you touched them, you clenched your teeth. You were unsure of where your gun had gone, and you were unsure of what was going to happen next, but you knew one thing: you needed to move and fast.

“I need you to untrigger!” you screamed out suddenly, your hand grabbing Alecz under their armpit as you pushed back against the wall with your legs. Alecz barely flinched as you yelled, but they listened, their body returning back to its human form, and you only felt your teeth clench tighter at sight of blood still rushing down Alecz in human form.

You pushed your legs forward to give yourself leverage as you pushed your back against the wall, Alecz’s body still draped against yours as you rose slowly. Your legs tried to slide forward on the floor as you rose up, but you refused to give up and kept quickly placing them back on the floor as you used your hand to keep Alecz from falling off of you to the side. Every part of your body was screaming, and you knew that you shouldn��t be able to move, shouldn’t be able to even lift Alecz as you finally rose to standing, but the adrenaline in you kept you moving as you lifted yourself and Alecz from the wall.

You began to move toward the stairs nearby, Alecz’s feet dragging as you pulled them with you. The stairs weren’t very far away from you, but they weren’t affected by the fire around you as there was a wall between them that had protected them. Although separated, the smoke from the widespread fire still rose through the stairway toward the upstairs ceiling. Stepping up the first step with a loud thud, your legs burned in pain from the extra burden on them, but you willed them on, wanting to get yourself to a place where the intruder couldn’t get to. Step after step up was torture on your legs and arm as you hauled Alecz upstairs, but you were hopeful that the man’s limp would cause some separation between him and yourself.

Finally reaching the top of the steps, you felt your vision begin to spot around you, threatening to encase all that you saw as you tried to look down the hall. You shook your head in an attempt to clear your sight as you moved yourself toward the bedroom nearby. The smoke had already made its way upstairs, and you found it hard to breath as you moved through it, but you kept moving accidently bumping into the corner of the hall as you tried to round the corner.

Alecz began to move a bit as you pulled them into their own room, and you found yourself softly cooing them as you dragged them through the room. You felt a hand clench on your back softly, and you couldn’t help but flinch and tense up at the sudden touch, but as you felt Alecz raise themselves slowly to their feet, you relaxed.

“B-Balcony…” they said weakly. Turning your eyes from the closet near you to the nearby doors to the balcony, you slowly shifted Alecz so they could hold to you beter before stepping toward the doors. Stopping just before them, you leant yourself against the wall for a second, and pulled Alecz up higher on your body by their arm.

“Hold on to me!” you commanded. Feeling Alecz clench on your shirt tighter, you let go of their body and quickly grabbed onto the balcony door. Using your body weight to open the door, you threw it open, quickly letting go of the door to return your hand to under Alecz as you stepped forward to stop yourself from falling. Smoke in the room rushed out through the door, and you found yourself coughing harshly as the sudden change in the air.

You took a shaky step forward onto the balcony, your legs still screaming at the excess weight on you, and just as you were able to fully pull Alecz outside with another step, you felt another hand grasp on your shirt tightly. You tried to shake off the hand quickly as you stepped forward onto the balcony, but you were overpowered and pulled backwards, your hand letting go of Alecz onto the balcony as you found yourself back inside.

You screamed out at the sudden movement being forced on you as you threw your bent arm back behind you and you felt your elbow collide with the intruder, only for it to be grabbed a moment later and twisted behind you, causing you to yell out again. The man continued to pull you inside, your struggle barely hindering him as you were brought farther into the room. You tried desperately to pull your arm free, the man only tightening his hold on you as you tried to free yourself.

Before you, you saw Alecz struggling to lift themselves off of the ground, their arms shaking as they lifted themselves up, and you tried to reach your foot forward to grab at the door to the balcony, missing by only a few inches as you were harshly yanked backwards. Lifting your head up from where Alecz was struggling, you felt your heart skip a beat at the sight of a red blur behind them. In the blink of an eye the blur was in front of you, with his eyes matching his coat as his hand flew past your face and into the face of the man behind you. Feeling the intruder release you at the collision of a hand into his still bleeding face, you threw yourself away from him and you used your foot to push off of his body and toward Alecz.

You turned yourself around quickly to see Dante lift up the man by his face before you felt Alecz grasp onto your ankle suddenly and you jumped a bit. Reaching down to your roommate, you lifted them to their feet, allowing them to lean on you as they rose up.

“Go! Run!!” Dante shouted suddenly, your eyes lifting from Alecz to him quickly. He was looking back at you, his eyes the brightest red and the most angry you had ever seen them, and you watched as he struggled to maintain a hold on the man in his hands.

“Downstairs is on fire!” you yelled out to him. Seeing his face furrow more, he turned back to the man in front of him, and he raised the intruder up in the air a little bit. Feeling a tug on your arm, you turned and looked at Alecz, their eyes also now a deep red as they stared at Dante.

Hearing a strained yell, you turned and watched as Dante threw the intruder into the wall opposite to him, the man’s body going through the wall at the force. Dante turned his head around as the man disappeared behind the now collapsing wall, his eyes meeting Alecz’s for a moment. The two seemed locked onto each other for a second, and you turned your gaze between them quickly.

Neither of the two said anything for the few seconds that they were looking at each other, but their gazes said everything they wanted to say out loud. Feeling another tug on your arm, you looked at Alecz, their head turning toward you and meeting your eyes.

“Hold on tight,” they said as they raised their other arm up to grab onto you. Confused, you reached higher up and held onto their shoulder as they activated their Devil Trigger. Looking back at Dante with confusion full on your face, you felt yourself be pulled toward the edge of the balcony. Stumbling back a few steps, your back hit the edge of the railing and you gasped a bit as you felt yourself continue to be pulled. Finally understanding what was happening, you pulled your arm away from Alecz and reached it out toward Dante.

“Wait, no! Dante!!” you called out to the man as you felt Alecz’s wings spread out and move the air around you. Dante only looked at you for a second, his hand twitching as he caught sight of your hand before he turned back to the collapsed wall on the other side of the room. You saw a glimpse of the intruder removing himself from the debris for only a second before you were pulled over the edge of the balcony, the sight of Dante activating his Devil Trigger the last thing you saw before only the sky was above you completely.

You felt yourself scream out at the sudden motion of falling, your arms coming up to grab onto Alec’s shoulders as they held onto you. For only a few moments was your body in freefall, but as you neared the ground, Alec’s wings spread out, the two of you spinning around in the air which caused your stomach to turn as your fall began to slow down suddenly.

Just before you landed on the ground, Alecz raised their wings up and tried to shift their feet below them, but you heard them grunt at the motion just before the two of you smacked into the ground. Alecz quickly released you as you both collided with the ground, and you rolled away from them as they released you. You were able to tuck your injured arm in just before you began to roll, but you still felt pain surge through to your fingers tips until you stopped rolling.

Rolling over quickly so your chest was flat with the ground, you pushed yourself off of the ground and ran over to Alecz as they remained laying on the ground. You called out their name as you slid to kneeling next to them, their body returning to their human form just after you placed your hand on their shoulder. Seeing the blood pooling below their face, you quickly pulled the bottom of your shirt up to your mouth, bit down on it and ripped off a long strip of it.

“Hey, I need to move you!” you said at Alecz. Hearing a small murmur of acknowledgement, you gently lifted their head up and placed the strip of cloth in your mouth before you reached over and grabbed their arm. Standing up for a second, you heaved their body over gently, and as they laid on their back, you pulled the cloth up to their wound and pressed down firmly. “It’s gonna be fine!” you found yourself saying at them as you watched over their face.

Seeing a tear appear suddenly on Alecz’s cheek, you shook your head quickly before looking back at them. But another tear appeared, and after that another did, one after another they fell off of your cheeks. Removing your eyes from Alecz, you looked up at your apartment, or what was left of it. The bottom floor was completely engulfed in flames, the windows all shattered as heat from the inside escaped through them. You could see people in the distance who looked vaguely familiar, and as you looked to them, you could hear the faint sound of an alarm screeching from within the building. You felt yourself shudder at the sight of the building, your tears falling faster the longer you looked at the building. You weren’t sure if you were crying because you were watching your home burning while one of your friends was bleeding out under your hand, or if the emotions you had pushed down earlier in favor of an adrenaline rush were finally showing up again, but all you could do was let your tears fall as you kept your hand firmly pressed against Alecz’s head.

“Hey! Are you okay!?” a voice called out from behind you suddenly. Breaking your gaze from the fires, you turned your head around to behind you to see Morrison running over toward you, a briefcase in one hand and his other holding his hat onto his head. You felt relief hit you at the sight of the man, and you called out to the man as he got closer. “Dante called me and told me to get here as fast as I could!” the man said as he knelt down next to Alecz, his briefcase falling to his side.

“T-There was a demon! A-And I—” you started to say as you watched Morrison open his case, an assortment of papers and other professional things inside.

“You can tell me later; I need you to press this onto your friends head!” Morrison instructed as he handed you an ascot tie from his case. Throwing the shred of your shirt to the side, you grabbed the cloth from the man quickly and replaced it over Alecz’s wound, earning a groan from them. “If I had known what was happening, I would’ve brought a first aid kit!”

“I-I’m just glad you’re here now,” you said at Morrison as you firmly pressed the ascot over Alecz’s head. Hearing a sudden crash from the apartments, you and Morrison quickly turned to look at the source, your eyes both being met with a large blob of charred flesh protruding from the side of the building. Feeling your mouth hang open a bit, you shifted on your knees and stared at the flesh.

Only a moment after you had first seen the blob, it began to fly through the air, its body going over you, Morrison, and Alecz toward the river that was nearby. You stared in awe at the creature flying above head, but you quickly felt your face furrow as its face became visible the closer it got to the ground. As it slammed into the ground, everything began to shake from the shockwave of its weight hitting the ground and you tried your best to keep Alecz from moving too much at the shaking. Just after the beast landed and began to roll over, a red blur appeared before it, the figure standing between you and the snake demon.

“And here I thought I that your brother was the ugliest thing I had seen before!” you heard Dante yell at the creature as he lifted his sword over his shoulder. You felt your heart pound in your ears at the sight of Dante standing before the snake creature, and you felt your hands shake as you struggled to keep it over Alecz’s head. The strike of fear that you had once felt at the riverside 6 months prior was back, and your vision began to get blurry as you continued to stare at Dante standing before the demon. You tried to pull yourself back from looking at the man, but you found yourself unable to as your body felt like it was back in the moment with the original snake, the fear, adrenaline, and exhaustion flowing through every part of you.

“Hey, you don’t look good,” you heard Morrison say at you just before you felt his hand over yours. Snapping out of your gaze at Dante, you turned and looked at Morrison, his face full of worry.

“I-I’m fine…” you muttered at him as you turned back to Dante, who had taken off from his spot and was heading toward the snake. The demon had flames pouring out of its body as it scrunched up on itself, waiting for Dante to draw near. You couldn’t take your eyes off of the creature as it and Dante began to fight, your heart racing and your body full of fear as the creature moved around Dante.

“Let me take this,” Morrison said quietly, his one hand lifting yours up as he took hold of the cloth over Alecz.

“D-Do you have a gun, Morrison?” you asked suddenly, and as you watched a confused look take over the man’s face, you turned back to the fight between Dante and the demon.

“Why in the would do you need a gun right now?” the man asked.

“I-In case that demon comes this way, I-I’d feel better with one ready to shoot…” you admitted. Hearing some shuffling near you, you turned your head and were met with the sight of Morrison pulling a gun from his belt hesitantly.

“Here,” the man said as he pressed down the safety, “Press your hand back here,” the man said as he shifted himself to face the battle nearby. Listening, you replaced Morrison’s hand over Alecz’s wound, and pressed down firmly. You still were shaking wildly, and you couldn’t take your eyes off of Dante and the snake. You heard a small sigh and looked to your side to see Morrison giving you a soft look. Gulping lightly, you returned your eyes back to Dante once again.

The transformed man and demon fought for what felt like an eternity, Dante’s sword piercing through the beast and the beast trying to pin the man under itself. You could only watch anxiously as parts of the snake were slowly sliced off of the beast and thrown to the side as Dante worked to take the beast down.

Finally, once the area had been covered in demon blood and all of the grass around where the demon had been was burnt up completely, Dante lurched forward, his sword piercing through the cut-up face of the snake. The demon screamed out a scream that made every part of your body shudder, and it retracted from the blade inside it. Before it could remove itself from the impalement, however, Dante lurched forward again and forced the beast backwards into the river. The creature let out another scream as the water encapsulated its body, steam pouring out around it as the water it was in began to boil.

Dante held the creature in the water as it struggled to pull itself free. Unable to go forward, the demon went backwards into the water, more of its body being submerged in water and creating more steam the rose up from it.

Finally, the creature stopped, no more screaming coming out of it, but Dante still remained standing in front of the body with his sword still placed into it’s face.

A minute passed where no one moved, you and Morrison only watching as Dante stood in place with his sword lunged forward in the body of the beast. When he finally moved, however, you felt yourself released a breath that you didn’t know you had held inside you, and you let go of the clothe that was in your hand as Dante removed his sword from the beat.

“Dante!!” you yelled out as you stood up slowly. Feeling a tinge of pain in your shoulder, you lifted your hand up and grabbed onto it as you stumbled forward toward the man. Dante jumped as he heard his name, his head flying around to look at you as he returned his sword to his back. Upon seeing you, he deactivated his Devil Trigger, and you could see a soft expression cross his face as he began to run toward you.

You couldn’t help but let the tears in your eyes begin to fall again, clouding your sight completely as you continued to move toward Dante. When the blur of red came closer to you, you reached your hand out to the man, and quickly he grabbed onto it and pulled himself closer to you, his other arm encircling you in an impossibly tight hug.

All you could do was bury your face into the man’s shoulder as his hand held onto yours between you and him, his other arm grabbing onto your body like the man never wanted to let go. You felt the man’s chin rest on the top of your head as you pushed your face into shoulder and when you gripped his hand tightly, you felt his grip it back just as hard, and you never wanted to let go of him.

You could hear the building still burning in the area behind you, and the sound of paramedics and firefighters soon began to wail as they got closer to the scene. There was still a faint bubbling of water and hissing of steam as the body of the demon slowly began to deflate into the river, but you refused to look at it. You instead turned your head slightly to see Alecz and Morrison in the edges of your vision as you stood in Dante’s arms.

You hadn’t felt yourself suck in a deep breath, but at the press of Dante’s hand to the middle of your back, you exhaled a shaky breath as you turned back to the man and returned your face into his shoulder. Moving from your mid-back to your upper back, Dante’s hand gripped onto you again, and although you could hear all the chaos still going on behind you, you wanted nothing more than to stop time and avoid the uncertain future that you knew was going to be unraveling before you in a short time. 

[egoiistas]

at the center of the world (4)

tag || ffn || ao3

Amestris becomes a harrowingly silent place on the afternoon of the Promised Day and only the survivors at the center are left to tread over it. Within a few hours, they won’t be the only ones wandering. The sacrifices are rising and leaving Central is more dangerous than the looming threat of invading armies.

Rated: M. it’s a horror/zombie au fic. - or it tries to be Warnings: General Horror themes , graphic descriptions of violence(kinda), Death, Zambeez

Chapter 4/11

Edward

“It didn’t work.”

Edward listened as the older man spoke with a grim timbre. It was low, and Ed was surprised he could even make out the words. The sun beginning to seep into the dark chamber with the end of the eclipse distracted him further.   A clunk of metal armor colliding with the concrete ground sounded behind him. He felt the world spin as the fight between Greedling and Pride intensified in the background. That Father asshole watched from on high, like a sick kid who watches ants squirm under a magnifying glass on a sunny day.

“What didn’t work?” He asked desperately as he ran to Alphonse, May came out of nowhere next to him. “Al?”  

“Alphonse!” May squeaked.   “The counter to his transmutation circle. I calculated it for so long and it didn’t work...” There was a pause and the tension could be felt in Ed’s chest.     “But I can use alchemy; they fixed it!”   “No, not that one.” He dropped on his knees next to the suit of armor. “The one for everyone’s soul, the reason I left you and Alphonse and Trisha... If I had known, I would have never stepped outside of Resembool.”

The din of battle grew between Father leaving through the hole, Greedling shouting and chasing after him, and the thunderous beat within his own chest. He watched Pride’s vessel disintegrate into dust.   “You’re-you’re joking, right? How is … everyone gone? Why isn’t Alphonse waking up?”   “What’s going on?” Ed heard the blind Colonel speak finally. He glanced over and Teacher’s clutch over his arm tightened without a word.

His head snapped back to Hohenheim when his father’s hand firmly gripped his shoulder.   “Edward, listen to me carefully -- if only this one time. You will need to take him to a hospital, closest one you can find. IV bags are important. Don’t transport him unless necessary. He won’t be able to eat for a while. He will need a lot of rest. Please leave the country as soon as he is able.”   “What are you going to do?” He panicked.

Hohenheim opened Al’s front armor plate and a powerful gust flung it across the room. It came from Greedling… Ling crashing into a corner of the chamber. Charred and not regenerating.

Hohenheim wasn’t bothered to look.

“We said we’d never use- Don’t toss me your notes, pops! Hey! If we can defeat the homunculus, we can get them back!”   “It’s too late.” He looked up to the light trickling in with tired eyes.”I won’t live through this again.”   Ed heard the crackling from the transmutation, and saw the red electricity flash before him. He yelled after him, “Don’t abandon us again, you lousy father!”

Edward cursed Hohenheim. Cursed alchemy. Cursed it all. His shit luck. The figurative shit hand he had been dealt.

He had brief moments where it felt like a dream; a haze that clouded his mind. He hadn’t slept all day, not that he was complaining. His bones were beginning to ache. He didn’t have to look in a mirror to see the bags under his eyes. He sat upright to settle restless legs.

If there was any silver lining to this -- and Ed tried so hard to hold on to it -- it was that they had regained his body back. But it caused inner conflict. In the few hours since, he made an effort to always be by Al, because left alone his mind would wander in the worst ways, and the thoughts that gathered would make his stumps ache. He had felt the cost was too high. He rationally knew it was Hohenheim who paid the toll, yet Ed felt that the gain of his younger brother’s body was not worth the price of losing all the people of Amestris. A swirl of self-loathing would always brew uncomfortably whenever he dwelled on this. Ungrateful, undeserving, even arrogant. The fact that his brain sputtered out of ideas only sunk his heart further and left a putrid taste in his mouth.

Fortunately, all dark clouds would dissipate upon seeing Alphonse. Even amongst the death and desolation, Ed had smiled when he saw the flesh body of his younger brother, and he felt the warmth as Alphonse murmured Brother without a metallic sound to his voice.

Alphonse slept and Ed watched. His cheeks sunken in, brittle hair cut short, and bony throughout.  Al had a severe look on his face as he slept; maybe it was just the hollows of his face creating the expression. He was so small. The outline under the blanket silhouetted a human with straight  lines and hard edges -- lacking curves of healthy muscle. He was here and resting.   May slumbered next to the hospital bed in a wide, cushioned chair; resting her head on its arms. As much as she annoyed him, May pulled through for him where Hohenheim's instructions fell short. He had her to thank for the healthy flush on Al’s bony cheeks.   The first few hours were rough. His body didn’t react well to anything, and Ed’s inexperience had shown through. Al had asked for water and like the idiot that he was, Ed had given it to him. He regurgitated it violently and the sight made Ed feel like he was going to break in half from heaving.   May had scolded him when she reentered the room and instructed him to clean up the sick as she brought in the IV stand and the bags full of saline. He watched as she took better care of his brother than he could.   Ed stood and looked out the window. The eerie presence of bodies was less on this avenue of Central. He immediately turned away, opening and closing the palm of his automail right hand. He supposed it wouldn’t be a bad thing to keep his automail if it meant Alphonse walked around. He sighed, tracing his fingers along the edges and frame of his automail. 

Winry. 

In every likely scenario, she was mostly likely swallowed in the nationwide transmutation circle. He knew it. It was logical. But every other part that didn’t adhere to logic wished, hoped, and in a desperate corner of his grieving mind, he nearly prayed for her safety, that maybe she did leave Amestris on his advice, but he wouldn’t know unless they went to Resembool. Given Al’s current condition, he couldn’t anticipate when that would be possible.   “How is he?”   Ed turned in response to the low voice. “Fine,” he whispered. “Just sleeping.”

Teacher leaned on the doorway; a small smile on her lips and arms wrapped around herself. He gestured for her to follow him outside the room. Ed could tell there was a change in her eyes. Somehow, she lost the trademark ferocity that burned behind them.   “Perhaps you should too, it’s been a long day.”   “Maybe when everyone else gets back.” He rolled shoulder. “Did the chimeras help you find Mr. Sig?”   “We did. He was at the bottom of the staircase before they pulled me in, next to the General Armstrong and her brother. We gave them a burial too.”

He could almost hear her heart breaking. He bit his cheek, looked down at his feet and told her sheepishly, “I’m sorry we failed him, Teacher.”   “Ed...” She pulled him into a hug before he could protest. He soon realized the hug was for her and not particularly for him. “We’ve all lost someone today.”   He stepped away. “That doesn’t make my sympathy any less meaningful.”   “Thank you, Ed.” He felt her hand shift towards her face, suppressing a sniffle before she let him go. “Any word from the others?”   From where he stood, the sky lit up in a spectacle of smoke and explosion. The flames had blended in so well with the sky that he almost missed it. His eyes widened and his feet took him to the nearest window. “That’s the Colonel’s alchemy.”   He felt her pace up beside him. “Are you certain?”   “Positive.” He stared as the smoke dispersed into the atmosphere. “I’ll go and check it out.” He slowly shut Alphonse’s door and began to sprint towards the double doors as they swung in front him, inches away of wiping his face clean. The door were forced open by Jerso writhing against something. “Get them- off me please- Zampano-! Augh! they got my ear!”   Ed, naturally confused, saw the other bodies come into view. Moving bodies in scrubs and lab coats. But their movements were off, feral and jerking; yet their limbs hung as if their hands were too heavy to lift. And the one on Jerso. A child. Clinging to his face, scratching and biting at his face   “Edward!”   Teacher’s voice brought him back and he bolted to help the chimera get the body off him. He saw Izumi run towards another body making its way towards Alphonse’s room and flung it towards the crowd of moving bodies in the other wing.   He reached for the child ripping the skin on Jerso’s face and before Ed could touch it, the child’s head turned and hissed at him, vaulting from the chimera’s face toward the ceiling.It clung to the surface and crawled like an insect with rapid movement back into the crowd in the other room. The horror of the sight briefly paralyzed him.  

Gorius clutches his shaking friend, “Jerso! Where’s Zampano?”

The chimera held his face in agony, blood quickly showing between his fingers. “Z-Zampano, he was overwhelmed.”  He heard Izumi hastily shut the door double doors and sealed them after a clap of her hands.   “Overwhelmed by what?”   “The-the-the corpses. They were lying down one minute and the next they were on top of us.”     Ed shook his head. It didn’t make any sense. “How is that possible?” It isn’t possible. There has to be some kind of explanation.   “We were near the lobby trying to clear the hallways, like you said, when one of the stirred. It happened in the opposite wing of where we are now, near the children’s treatment wing when one of them stood up. We thought that it was just a fluke, that maybe not everyone was dead. Then more and more started rising.” He saw Teacher bring a first aid kit and begin to dab cotton on his scratched face. “Before we knew it half the room was already on him. Ripping apart his insides, intestines and such on the floor beside him…” He tried to look down as Teacher instructed him to keep eyes forward to better treat him. “For him to survive the freaky circle and the god guy only to fall prey to his… “ He shook his head, palms rubbing his reddening eyes. “What kind of cruel joke is this to a man who lost his family already.”   Ed felt his fingers tremble. Swallowing hard, he wondered what that meant for the Colonel and the two that accompanied him. “The others are still out there in this.”   “Ed, you can’t go out in this alone.”   “We can’t just leave them there!” He shouted, realizing this was the first time he’s raised his voice at his teacher. In turn, she had been uncharacteristically quiet since the incident.   Another blast of fire. But it was closer this time. Ed darted to the window and he saw the trio taking down the undead citizens of the Amestris. He clapped his hands together, quickly creating a stairwell and impromptu doorway for them from the second floor, using the concrete and the other materials from the edifice of the building.   Scar and the Lieutenant adeptly changed their direction, pushing through toward the newly created steps.  Ed ran down with Izumi calling after him. It was reckless but if it ensured their safety, he’d risk it. He pushed the bodies aside with walls he created from the ground and yelled at them to get a move on.   Scar protected the rear as the Colonel and Lieutenant moved up to the second floor to safety . From a distance, another crowd moved towards him. “Scar, we have to go!”   Distracted by Ed’s shout, Scar was unable to avoid an impossibly bloated body slamming into him.  It exploded on impact, releasing a cloud of putrid green gas. The Ishavalan began to choke as additional bodies swarmed in .The smell, Ed noticed, attracted them.   Ed ran forward and grabbed Scar, attempting to drag him away from danger, a feat of strength beyond that of a 16 year old boy. As the horde closed in on them, Izumi landed at Scar’s side. A tattooed arm around each of them, they carried him up the stairs.   When they were all safely through the doorway, Edward clapped his hands, disintegrating  the stairs and sealing off the opening.  Bodies fell from the ascent and lay twitching on the ground as the rest of the mob began to rush the lower floor of the hospital.   “Seal the windows! And exits!” Edward exclaimed. Feeling the spin of the world stopping, he ran to Alphonse’s room, fear clawing a hole in his gut.   Bursting through the door he was met with May raggedly breathing and Alphonse clapping his hands, using alchemy to slam a cylinder of concrete into a body flinging it out of the window.   “What is going on, Brother?” Alphonse asked wearily. Al’s knees buckled and his eyes fluttered,  passing out before Ed had a chance to answer.

Ed darted forward before he hit the ground. “I don’t know Al, but I’m going to get us out of here”