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salmalin · 7 days

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My sincerest apologies and warmest welcome to my rant about FF7: Crisis Core. Or, as I like to call it,

Propaganda: The Video Game

I say this with the utmost affection. Crisis Core ranks really high up there in my favorite Final Fantasy 7 installments. I played it when it first came out, borrowing it from a friend to play on a borrowed PSP. And, the more I learn about the game and the more I replay it, the more everything lines up.

This game is not about Zack Fair.

This game is about how Capitalistic Propaganda can sink into every aspect of life to the point where it is entirely indistinguishable from reality. And it’s very overt about it. So…

Here we go.

My treatise on Propaganda’s starring role in Crisis Core.

Part One: The Timeline

Something that a lot of people gloss over due to decades of Child Heroes in media—Japanese Shonen and Shoujo series in particular—is how young these protagonists are. We’ll hand-wave a lot of stuff in non-live-action series with just a little bit of suspension of disbelief. And that’s honestly just accepted these days. But here’s the thing about those hand-waves.

Final Fantasy 7 doesn’t do that.

Now, FF7 hand-waves a lot of stuff. For example, how far you can travel in a day by foot, the distance a man weighing approximately 165lbs can jump after being genetically fused with what might as well be a cocaine demon (Jenova), and how much hairspray one can reasonably carry on a cross-country journey while on the run from the feds.

Age is not one of them.

Exhibit A: Yuffie Kisaragi.

Do I really need to say more? She acts her age. So does Zack. And Aerith, even. Most of the characters in the original lineup were over twenty for a good reason. We see several kids in the series, and they all act their age, too—both the OG and the remake. Age is not a thing that FF7 really grapples with. It’s something they take relatively seriously.

Now, to the point.

Zack is 16 when Crisis Core starts…

… and he was 13 when he ran away from home without his parents’ knowledge to join the military.

Which accepted him.

At 13.

Without a parental permission slip.

Think about that for a second.

… Or for the next several parts of this breakdown.

Part Two: The Main Character

As I mentioned in the introduction, Zack is not the main character of the events of Crisis Core. Instead, he is the focal point of the second person POV. This is not the first time Square has done this. It was done most notably with FF9, FF10, and FF12. (I’m not going to go on an Akira Kurosawa rant right now, but please check out his film “The Hidden Fortress”. FF12 and Star Wars episodes 4-6 borrow heavily from this film.) The purpose and position of this character is such that they might best witness the effects the other characters make on the world as their stories unfold, usually in the role of a love interest. For Akira Kurosawa, it may have been told this way because these people are most effected by the decisions being made.

“Well, then, Sal,” you may be asking, “who would you say is the main character? Would that be Aerith, since she’s the love interest, like in the other games?”

No, actually.

It’s the antagonist.

And by that, I mean Genesis.

Hear me out. I used to hate Genesis, for I was once young, full of judgement for flamboyancy (thanks, internalized homophobia), and was led by the narrative to believe he was mean to his friends. Then I met my Lovely beta who loved him, so I wrote a fic for her as a gift. So for that I kinda just… read stuff. Because that’s the thing about Propaganda—you gotta read stuff to navigate it. I read the in-game emails. I re-watched all the scenes I could get my hands on with him. I read his wiki and tried to track down more information about him. Then I watched the scenes in Japanese and gained a better understanding of not just Genesis, but Sephiroth’s character. And I realized that Genesis was put on this road from the start. In fact, a big part of the fact that he’s seen the way he is in Canon—only at his most hostile and lowest points—is because the story is told through Zack’s point of view.

So before we get into the breakdown, here’s the hard facts about Genesis.

1. He was a test tube baby who may or may not technically be Angeal’s fraternal twin brother, which we are not going to unpack right now.

2. He was adopted by a relatively rich family.

3. He was a child genius (which requires not only resources, but drive to achieve), and at a tender young age of like… ten or something? He decided to mess around and literally invented pasteurization. Which is incredible, and really speaks to his knowledge of the world and ability to grasp complex concepts even at a young age. But, again, this is not the time or place to unpack that.

4. He was best friends with Angeal, who might as well have been the sweetest, kindest boy to ever walk the Planet. (I’m biased. I love him.)

5. As a teenager, he became fixated on Sephiroth, who had gained national acclaim as a SOLDIER despite them being the same age. (Please see part 1 and think about that for a second.) He then goes to join SOLDIER and brings Angeal with him. And Angeal brings his step-father’s puritanical “hard work is honorable” mindset with him. (On that note, Angeal and his father’s arc really are a wonderfully scathing letter to companies that overwork their employees and how toxic/unhealthy that line of thinking is. But. Again. We are not unpacking that right now.)

6. At one point he became consumed with LOVELESS, a series of poems with heavy prose and symbolism thicker than syrup. It got to the point where he was so well known for it that there was an entire fanclub dedicated to both him and analyzing the text.

7. While he was in SOLDIER, he repeatedly had his achievements publicly accredited… to Sephiroth.

Over and over and over again.

Everyone did, really. They mention it in the beginning of the game. Sephiroth even got public credit for Zack’s raid on the castle when he wasn’t even there. How much of his legacy is real? How much of it is made up? How much of it was faked? We don’t know. No one knows. But he keeps getting credit, anyways. And when Genesis confronts him about it, Sephiroth doesn’t care. In the Japanese version of their fight scene, you could even say he indirectly implies that he wants Genesis to take his place as the “hero”. In the English, Sephiroth’s line is, “Come and try.” But in the Japanese the line is closer to, “Wouldn’t that be nice?” Which, depending on how you take his tone, can mean wildly different things—from mocking, to earnest, or even admiration—which is especially to tell because he might be annoyed with Genesis at the moment.

Fun Fact: In Ever Crisis, Sephiroth explicitly says they are making up his achievements in the press to target boys his age for recruitment. (Thus why they accepted Zack at age 13.)

My theory on this line is that he is being cynical; that Genesis doesn't understand just how harrowing and even humiliating his experience has been. This only enforces my theory that the "come and try" translation in the English not only does a disservice to a line as wonderfully heavy as, "Wouldn't that be nice?", but fundamentally misunderstands Sephiroth as a character.

8. Genesis then took the fight to Shin-Ra. Inspiring a good chunk of their staff to leave the company, he then staged multiple attacks on facilities, staff, and the main building—which also spilled out into the city of Midgar. He murdered his parents, buried them, killed everyone in town, and… Yeah. It wasn’t pretty. A lot of innocent people died simply because they were vaguely associated with Shin-Ra. These are the actions of a villain. What’s more, this is clearly a sign that he has been acclimatized to death and violence by Shin-Ra to the point where he doesn’t even consider taking hostages.

Except.

Except the entire town was a Shin-Ra town.

Banora, canonically, was a Shin-Ra built town, which means everyone there was basically an employee of the company. No one was safe. Everyone was a threat. And that…

That was how he was raised. And he finally knew the truth—that every moment of his life was touched, controlled by Shin-Ra, all the way down to his very conception. He has never known freedom. He has never known his own identity. And now that very cage was killing him, slowly and painfully, and turning him into something that couldn’t even be recognized as human. He was watching himself rot in the mirror, and it was all because of Shin-Ra’s greed. And as he searched for salvation, he sunk into LOVELESS as he always had, hinging his entire life on Minerva’s Gift because he knew he was dying and that was all he had.

9. And then he died…

10. … but then it turned out LOVELESS was actually kind of a blueprint, and he did meet the Goddess, and he did get reborn without his degradation so he was rewarded for his journey in the end.

So why wasn’t Genesis the main character of the game?

Simple.

His actions challenge the status quo without being about the status quo. It’s a story about revenge. It’s a story about retribution. It’s a story about answering mass violence with mass violence and ultimately being rewarded by it. And while, yes, the series is an action-based violence simulator, the violence in the original FF7 was a guided, tactical effort. (For all that the characters aren’t the brightest bulbs in the sun lamps.) But the biggest, most obvious shift in the narrative happened when they realized their role as terrorists—bringing mass violence to the company via bombing and open aggression—was just resulting in increasing levels of retaliation against uninvolved people. They might as well have been a child beating the ankles of a giant. The goals and themes of the game fundamentally change when they realize that answering mass-scale societal violence with mass-scale physical violence was not only unsustainable, but also wasn’t going to solve their problem.

FF7 is about change and learning when violence—and what kind of violence—is appropriate in the face of different threats.

Genesis’ arc undermines all of that, and making him the main character would contradict the very heart of the OG game.

So, instead, we are positioned as Zack, connected to him through a mutual friend. From there we see all the damage and horror this vengeance brings to those living under the status quo.

But also, that plotline’s a major downer in a lot of ways, so they needed to lighten things up a bit to keep audience involved. And that’s why Zack is, well…

Part Three: Zack is a Himbo

Please, for the love of all that is holy, keep in mind that everything I say here is with the utmost affection.

Zack is dumb as a rock.

He is a charismatic, enthusiastic sixteen year old jock who ran away from home at thirteen years old to join the military. Which, please know, why I say “military” I mean “private security guard force with a standard-issue Death Baton and a license to kill”. The first scene in the game is him being excited that he gets to murder a bunch of people in a simulation, which he is immediately scolded for by his mentor. He is a glorified, souped up private security guard who is canonically only in it for the glory at first. He wants to be a “hero”, but doesn’t seem to fundamentally know what that means. And, over the course of the story, the definition of that clearly changes for him.

Which tracks, because the story takes place over a period of time with high stress.

Occasionally I see people saying they wish that Zack had more complexity to him, and honestly? The game. Would be. SO. BAD.

Full Disclosure: I am not the biggest fan of Zack specifically because he lacks a lot of nuance. I wish he was a bit more complex, too. But I also know that would break the game. What’s worse, if he was still on Shin-Ra’s side because he understood Shin-Ra’s mission… Well… That would make him a villain, or a cog at best. That’s not main character material. It would make the ending more messed up, though.

Anywho, Zack was thirteen when he left home. He had no formal education. He didn’t tell anyone what he was doing. He even joined without a permission slip from his parents. This means that Shin-Ra was accepting thirteen, possibly fourteen year olds into the military. (Some people will say this tracks because you can get a job at fourteen in many parts of Japan. But, and this is important, you aren’t allowed to be a security guard until you’re quite a bit older, and you need a specific license for it, much like in the US.) Clearly they didn’t teach this boy critical thinking skills. Not because he’s a himbo, but because having their Super-Powered Private Security Force With A License To Kill think independently would explicitly go against their interests. (EX: Genesis.)

Shin-Ra needs SOLDIERs to follow orders or the company would no longer be able to function. Seconds and Thirds aren’t even allowed to reject missions. (One could argue that sending certain someone on back-to-back missions would be a good way for them to eliminate undesirables within the ranks by sending them to their deaths, which… would make an incredible fic idea, actually.) We already know that First, Second, and Third Class rank assignments do not actually reflect the power of the SOLDIER. This is canon. I would instead argue that those who make the rank of First Class aren’t necessarily the most powerful, but are instead the most visible in the media, thus the easiest to market, and/or the easiest to manipulate and control. (For a great example of this, see The Umbrella Academy.)

The point is, Zack may have been elevated to his position as a first specifically because he is malleable and single-minded. Even after all he saw with Genesis, he stuck by the company to the very end, with the exception of the time Sephiroth was literally guiding him to fail a mission. Zack allowed himself to take Shin-Ra’s side every time, taking down their enemies and following their orders, preserving his “honor as SOLDIER” as he had been taught. The only thing that made him stop…

… was literally getting put in a jar.

It was when he was no longer a SOLDIER.

Part Four: Honor

There is no such thing as SOLDIER Honor.

I repeat: There is no such thing as SOLDIER Honor.

It is a fictional thing that is borne of an ideology based around hard work. It only has power because it is believed in. It is an intangible social construct similar to the law, mathematical order of operations, and gender roles. So why are Angeal and Zack obsessed with it?

Pretty simple.

Angeal’s step-father followed it.

Now, we know three things about Angeal’s step-father.

1. He was chill with the fact that Gillian was already pregnant when they started dating.

2. He was a very good father.

3. He worked himself to death trying to pay off the sword he bought Angeal.

This, of course, says a lot about Angeal considering he rarely uses the sword. He essentially sees that sword as the symbol of his step-father’s life. Everything he uses it for, he sees as more important than his step-father’s life. That thing is usually Zack.

Zack, who is the child who joined the military based on stories of heroes.

Zack, who rises against Angeal in the name of his own step-father’s ideology and tries to talk him down, even at the very end. But Zack fails because he fundamentally doesn’t understand what’s going on, partially because “Soldier Honor” is just one more aspect of this narrative he was given. It is a narrative that Angeal has had to step away from, even though he doesn’t want to leave the memory of his step-father behind. He was a good man. He was a good, hardworking man.

And that is why he died.

Corporations will use you up until there is nothing left, then honor your memory/sacrifice. Shin-Ra was doing the exact same thing the company his step-father worked for did; using up SOLDIERs until they outlived their usefulness. And Angeal was horrified to realize that his “SOLDIER Honor” wasn’t honor at all.

It was willingly submitting to control.

But, unlike Angeal, over time, this meaning changed for Zack. Partially because he didn't understand it fully in the first place. It became about acting with integrity. It became about helping people. It became about not lying down and watching the abuse Shin-Ra handed out in exchange for literal money; for maintaining the status quo.

At the very end, Zack understood what it meant to be a hero.

Part Five: The Conclusion

To sum up, Zack believed in and idolized the propaganda spread by Shin-Ra at such a young age, and was so convinced by it, that he ran away from home at thirteen to join the military.

He was their target demographic, so they happily took him into their ranks. What’s more, people think this is normal enough that we see no one opposing this, because the only people who oppose Shin-Ra are “extremists” or “violent terrorists”.

Zack then became their loyal puppy, groomed to fill his role as super-powered attack dog to sick on anyone they deemed appropriate, and he filled the role. He believed he was doing good. He didn’t think they were invading another country, because that’s not what he was told.

He went after Genesis, because that’s what he was told, and he wouldn’t let Genesis’ actions shake his faith in the company.

Then he went after Angeal, hoping to get answers, only to become more confused. Angeal taught him about SOLDIER honor. He taught him about a higher calling. He was the one who made Zack truly loyal to the company. This challenged everything Zack knew.

He went with Sephiroth, planning a small rebellion of their own (a white lie on paperwork) to get answers, only to find things he wasn’t ready for and couldn’t fully understand.

Zack is shaken by each of these events. Horribly. At times, we even watch him grieve. But time and time again, he doesn’t leave the company. He sees the damage they do first hand, and he doesn’t leave the company. The company isn’t the problem, to him. He reads their emails, does their dirty work, and “maintains his SOLDIER honor”.

Zack swallows what they give him right up until what they give him is torture.

Zack swallows what they give him until he becomes their victim.

Every step of the way, Zack is fed a story of how the world is. He was raised on it. He lived it. He became part of it. He was paid peanuts to enforce the status quo Shin-Ra installed in the world by force, and he was proud of it because it was, to him, something to be proud of.

Zack believes the propaganda whole-sale, and we get to watch, from the point of view of an outsider, as it slowly destroys his life before killing him.

Propaganda has the power to make suffering normal. Propaganda has the power to make murder righteous. Propaganda has the power to take a thirteen year old boy out of his home so they can give him a sword, and when they point him in the direction of their enemies he charges of his own volition, because they made him believe in their cause. And he believes in their cause because he believes that it makes life better for everyone.

But that’s not what’s actually happening.

That’s just what he was told.

Crisis Core is about propaganda, and the depths to which it can affect our lives. It changes our belief systems. It changes our perceptions of reality. And when it’s torn down around our eyes, it can make us go insane. It can make us violent and unreasonable as we realize just how much violence is being forced upon us—violence other people just plain do not see. It's just a a piece of paper. It's just a law. It's just a job.

It's just a war.

Final Fantasy 7 was about Fascism.

Crisis Core is about the propaganda that built it. It is told from the point of view of a boy, then a man, steeped in it. He watches until the people suffering around him—Sephiroth, Genesis, and Angeal—are twisted into villains by the truths and lies around them. Genesis and Angeal are tortured by truths, Sephiroth is transformed by lies, and Zack is subsequently hunted down to conceal them.

Crisis Core is Propaganda: The Video Game.

#thank you for coming to my TED talk #ffvii #ff7 #final fantasy vii #final fantasy 7 #ffvii crisis core #ff7 crisis core #zack fair #genesis rhapsodos #sephiroth #angeal hewley #crisis core

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hwaightme · 1 month

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Lone soul

(masterlist)

🏢pairing: singer!seonghwa x gn!reader 🏢genre: comfort, healing, angst, fluff, sci-fi/spec.fiction, soulmate au 🏢summary: numb to the pleas of those who receive the 'lone soul' verdict, what can happen when a man who lives for love enters your office, and for the first time you are met with eyes that wonder, that care, that feel so familiar, so true? 🏢wordcount: 4.1k total 🏢warnings/tags: unedited, set in another reality (softcore 1984?), discussing romance/love, fictional gov structures, soulmate theory/lone soul theory, partnership, companionship, sweet conversation, romance/romanticism, learning about what makes you who you are, trust, bonding, mutual respect 🏢 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🏢 a/n: crafted after the beautiful ask from @sorryimananti-romantic <3 thank you my love <3 and to all, thank you for reading, any notes/reblogs appreciated!

Early morning - perfect time to check the mail, perfect time to watch the world fall apart. Each letter on the page left a searing sensation, hot iron piercing through the skin and twisting itself again and again, confirming the one thing that the reader feared, in cold formal terminology. There was little left to suggest any alterations, no additional words to imply an uncertainty or the need for a re-testing. Nothing. The letter, along with the rest of the contents of the hefty envelope were clear as the breaking of Park Seonghwa’s heart - he was a Lone Soul.

Rushing back inside, cowering away from the horrifically cheerful chirping of the birds outside, the young man stared at the piece of paper, flipping it again and again in his hands as if the words were going to magically change themselves and reveal a deeper meaning, or express their sincerest apologies for the mistake. He had been so certain in himself, in love, that Seonghwa had never even imagined the possibility of receiving anything from the National Soulmate Register Office aside from a prompt response to his request for a Soulmate Search.

What could this mean for his career? He, a song-writer with more lyrics written about love than he could remember - how would fellow musicians, artists, groups, companies, the public react upon hearing that the creator of their favourite tunes was confirmed to be lacking in a soulmate. How could he craft songs about love when he was not destined for it? When he would never find out the real feeling of meeting and having a soulmate, and watching the stars align? Seonghwa glanced at the awards that decorated the display case in his living room, settling on titles ‘Meant To Be’ and ‘Love, Love, Love’. This had to be a joke. A cruel joke. He knew love better than anyone could, he could feel it, express it and write it. Certainly better than anyone at that damn Office could. Seonghwa’s anguish rapidly transformed into a seething anger as he slammed the papers onto the coffee table and stormed away to change into the nearest outerwear he could find. With equally feverish determination and the envelope wedged under his arm, the man sped to the metro, only checking the location of the Office when he passed the turnstiles.

If one were to ask any friend, neighbour or relative, they would all say that Seonghwa was a hopeless romantic. A believer in a happily ever after, a person who grew up overcoming so many challenges and turning to be surrounded by and receiving so much love that all he wanted to do was to share it. Truthfully, you were intrigued by his result as much as he was, this onyx-haired man with his head cradled in his hands, eyes studying the carpeted floor beneath him as he awaited for any elaboration from you. But there was no such thing as a mistake in your line of work. With a short sigh you finished your inspection of Seonghwa’s result letter, setting it down on the centre of the table, and began to type up his details for what you called a ‘routine check’ - truly, it was you making airs and pretending that you were trying your hardest to see if anything at all could be changed. A cruel, but necessary dance to ease the fall of those who ended up on the Lone Soul Registry, since, the sooner the individual accepted it, the sooner they could begin taking steps towards another future.

You suppressed a bitter smile; parents who were soulmates, brother who had found a soulmate early on in his life… no possibility of this outcome being hereditary. Checking key milestones of his life, you could only see things that point towards adoration itself and an appreciation of life’s beauty. There was even growth to self-acceptance and self-love - commendable. Scrolling, scrolling through, now accompanied by Seonghwa’s desperate gaze settled on your form that forced you to control your bored expression and settle on professional neutrality, there was nothing that gave you obvious hints on why exactly this young man was now in the Registry, but your judgement decided against pursuing this curious case further. It was far too early, on a Friday, and any more snooping would most certainly be above your pay grade and above average activity.

“Unfortunately, I cannot provide you with any more information other than what had already been given to you through the letter and booklet. If it is of interest to you I can provide you with some more resources on potential Lifestyle adjustments and point you to Lone Soul networks-”

“What I need is answers!” Seonghwa raised his voice, setting a hand down onto the edge of the desk a little too aggressively for you to feel totally comfortable. Your eyes narrowed as you regarded him with suspicion.

“Sir, all that could be provided to you-”

“This is a government office, for goodness’ sake. Don’t you have access to everything? This isn’t possible. This cannot be possible. How am I, of all people, a Lone Soul?”

“You are not the only Lone Soul, Mister Park. And yes, we are a government office, and as such, are able to offer you a number of resources that can help cope with the change and find a new rhythm-”

“New rhythm, you have got to be kidding.”

Biting the inner corner of your upper lip you admonished yourself for the joke that slipped through in response to the agitated visitor. Luckily for him, and perhaps unluckily for you, he had made it into the Office right at opening time, and coincidentally, you had no consultation bookings set for the hour. Of course, the receptionists had to be kind enough to change that in the blind of an eye, and now you had to power through yet another session of all stages of grief while not yet having drunk a single cup of coffee. The man was adamant on getting something, anything out of you - you were sure of it, even if it was a false promise. Inspecting his profile, which you pulled up and exploded onto the full screen of your monitor once again, you noted his request submission twenty seven days ago. And then another one, twelve days ago. All asking the same thing: who his soulmate was, what he could do, so on and so forth. The usual. So he was a desperate one. A shame.

“Unfortunately there is nothing I can do to change the status, seeing as it is permanent, but if you are interested in Lone Soul Matching then we can arrange a separate appointment to discuss this further.”

The mention of the Matching process seemed to be the final nail in the man’s hopeful coffin as he slouched forward, and whatever had been left of his anger quickly dissipated to reveal a shattered, melancholic artist who had just realised that whatever muse he had worshipped was nothing but a lie. You almost felt sorry as you slid the rest of the papers across, complete with a self-help guide and an information pamphlet summarising all services available in the NSRO. The minutes ticked away, but Seonghwa remained frozen in place. It was almost as if with your words, even though standard and practically scripted, you revealed to him a dark truth and the music that ruled the real world. You had uncovered his ears and sung the song of the harsh present, and he could not dare find himself relieved or content with the outcome. He knew that you were only a messenger, a passing face that represented thouSeonghwads of people working for an answer, but you could read a resentment in his expression as he finally raised his head after having hid his face from you. The usual agony, a standard response that you had been trained to not antagonise, and instead to de-escalate. You sat straighter, clasped your hands together and leaned forwards, an unreadable hint of a smile on your lips, somewhat comforting, but alluring to a chilling power that you still retained for as long as you were in this office.

“Shall we make another appointment? Or would you prefer to take some time to process the results and engage with us at a later date?” as you tilted your head a little, you took note of the clouded over, spaced out gaze of the man before you. Even when Seonghwa answered with a confirmation, you were not sure of what exactly he was agreeing to, nor if he was entirely there with you. “Mister Park, would you kindly state your availability?” he shook his head, evidently clearing the haze he was in, and you were met with the mist of two endlessly dark orbs.

His eyes were translating many stories to you, some of which you probably heard on the radio. Love songs, serenades, ballads, rap about love… songs turned into an amorous encyclopaedia a while ago. Even in this, Seonghwa was bound to be ‘just another’. At the same time, your heart hurt for him; perhaps the same as it did for others who came into your lonely office at the end of the corridor, perhaps in some other mysterious way. But anyhow, your expression softened, and you allowed yourself to sympathise with his misery. It was never pleasant to find out that you were not destined to have a life partner, to have that fairy tale happily ever after.

You have seen relationships fall apart before your very eyes after couples who naively thought that requesting the Soulmate Search would simply reveal one anothers’ names instead of a mismatch and a Lone Soul. You have seen familial disappointments, arguments… but at the same time, you witnessed unfiltered joy, liberation, excitement. There was never one answer to fated romantic solitude. You wished you could say that to the very distraught young man sitting in front of you. He was not much different in age to you. He was just like everyone - human. A human faced with intense change. Change that you yourself knew a little too well. In a moment of weakness, though you would like to think it was bravery, you made a tentative proposal, a tiny thin straw to grasp:

“I wholly understand how it must be for you, Mister Park. Which is why I would strongly recommend we meet again. Not for a request or escalation, but for a chat.”

“...a chat? You cannot be serious…” he uttered, head slipping into his hands once more, fingers running through long tresses, eyebrows furrowed.

“I am perfectly serious. Aside from human investigation and data management we do offer other types of services and support, considering our line of work,” while you were trying to be compassionate, the words would not twist themselves, choosing to remain in strict lines and scenarios, as though you were reading from a pre-prepared script. Thankfully, Seonghwa did not seem to mind, far too consumed by grief that you knew would pass eventually.

“And what would that be?”

“Like I said, a chat. Or many chats, depending on what feels most comfortable for you.”

“Are you saying you… are therapists?”

“Thoroughly trained and fully licensed.”

“I will be honest, that is quite impressive. I never knew that about the NSRO,” the hint of amusement was all you needed to know that he was climbing upwards, closer and closer to regaining at least some stability.

“The centre of our business and operations is people.”

“I figured.”

“Then, if this is of interest to you, would you be able to tell me the times you are available or prefer?”

“And about payment-”

“Government service.”

“Oh. Okay fair.”

“Then? Mister Park?” you tilted your head, eyeing the man. While his present demeanour was far from threatening - a quality which you had attributed to him following earlier outbursts, he was not quite a picture of comfort. A little dishevelled here and there, top a little crumpled. Many details reminiscent of a picture hanging on a wall being ever so slightly tilted.

“I have a concert in two days… then a festival next week… oh but that’s later so no trouble…” he was mumbling to himself as he recalled his schedule. It was awe inspiring to see his emotionality dissipate as soon as he talked about work. Your prior worries of how he would handle his career after being declared a Lone Soul disappeared rapidly, and you clicked on your calendar for Monday, feeling Seonghwa would be one unlikely to stall.

“Monday? Hm… four? PM? I have a couple of schedules in the morning but should be free then.”

“Four it is. Fantastic, well, Mister Park, I just booked the appointment for our chat, and the details should have automatically been sent to you via email. You will receive a text message reminder the day before, but should there be any other concerns do not hesitate to contact us.”

“Well I would assume I would be wanting to contact you, rather than the whole Office?” slowly, Seonghwa stood up, giving you one last tired smile.

“Of course. The email would be from me, and my official contact details would be in the signature. Anything else I can assist with?” While professionalism was preventing you from rushing the singer out of the office, your head was already drumming out an incessant, painful beat; it genuinely was far too early in the morning, and you were forced to feel far too many things.

“Thank you,” the words were quiet, but genuine, and most certainly took you by surprise, “thank you for not leaving me alone.” The morning sunlight seeped into your office, casting a glow over his form. Tall, lean, disposition so familiar to you.

“Not at all. Good luck for the concert, and see you Monday.”

“See you Monday.”

He turned to leave your office, and as soon as the mutely coloured door clicked shut you closed his records, switching to massaging your temples. With one swift turn you were staring out of the windows behind you, wondering if the otherwise traditionally pleasant day appeared different to Seonghwa too. An artist, a dreamer, a lover. A couple of minutes passed, and you noticed him appearing out of the building and ambling across the concrete tiled yard. Another Lone Soul.

He would have been a great soulmate, you concluded, and with a sigh, rose to trudge to the shared kitchen for a cup of something mediocre, wondering if you had been like him when you discovered your own identical fate. No, no you hadn’t been. Passing a few posters that lined the corridors of the NSRO, you chuckled. No, you were not ambitious enough to dedicate yourself to what was essentially fuelled by love. Instead, you looked at the careers page of this exact place. In a few swift clicks, you had applied. In a few numb weeks, you had been interviewed and tested. In a few monotone months, you were no longer a Lone Soul, but a faceless, nameless entity that dissolved in the grey walls, unaffected, unobserved.

It was impossible to tell how many Mondays had passed. Even when Seonghwa decided to stop seeing you for ‘official’ chats, your meetings never exactly stopped, him having made it a habit to find you after your strenuous work hours and his own untameable scheduling. Quiet strolls, occasional bursts of conversation. A stop at a vending machine for beverages here and there. Nothing demanding on either of you. Except perhaps the fact that you decided to take the long way home on Mondays. But that was on you. And you did not mind. And neither did he mind nor care, apparently, considering how his frequent outings could always turn into a scandal, but somehow, it never turned out to be so. Maybe society had finally changed and people learned how to mind their own business, or maybe you really were faceless. At least one person could see you.

While Seonghwa had been surprised to find out that you, too, were a Lone Soul, you could see an immediate change in his approaches. A more relaxed, trusting manner and a sweeter resolve, he had transformed from a man mourning his future to a man who found a kindred spirit and in turn, rediscovered hope. You noted that a glimmer in his eyes did suit him best. He was inquisitive: almost in every session prior to their end he asked about what it was like to be a Lone Soul in the long term, and he quickly familiarised himself with all the relevant vocabulary that floated in the community’s shared lexicon. In part because it was your job and in part because you had been touched by his sense of self that was blooming anew, you told him all and then some. Of course, it was endearing how even though he was perfectly away that he would not experience that standard run of the mill romance nor that exhilarating, somewhat spiritual connection with another, he was still adamant on being a believer in romance.

Romance that went beyond love. Romance could be a good cup of tea drunk on a cool autumn day in one’s favourite cafe. It could be a particularly deep and vulnerable conversation with someone close that brought clarity. It could be a soothing melody trickling into the ears after drowning in cacophonous cityscapes. To Seonghwa, romance was everywhere regardless of whether one had a soulmate or not. To you it was bewildering, interesting, but a little outrageous. You would have agreed to disagree on this, not being one to enjoy dwelling in general, but there was one other thing that set Seonghwa apart from many you knew. He wholeheartedly saw a face in your fog, and the floating somnolence you had been for a number of years now was being kept on its toes, trying to collect all the pieces of yourself you intentionally scattered. You began to realise that sometimes, it might be important to know who you were.

You had to start simple. You were you, an employee in the NSRO specialising in Lone Souls, from management of the Registry, to reporting and analysis, to direct support in re-identification as a Lone Soul. That much was clear, and that much you could recite to anyone and anytime. Now for other things… you were walking in a park, it was evening, the air was turning cooler and cooler. The city did not sleep, but the buildings appeared fatigued and worn down, much like yourself after a long day. No wonder this was your favourite part of this metropolis. Seonghwa would scold you for giving such vague descriptions and relying on your environment to define you. You looked off to the side to glance at the man himself who was huddling in a jacket - new, at least to you.

You did not like much, but tolerated most things. You tolerated how Seonghwa would debate with you, in fact you could dare say that you indulged in these interactions. You tolerated how he looked at you - kind dark brown eyes, stellar grin, all the attention in the world directed right at you. There was never a doubt that he was listening, caring, remembering. Now that you thought about it, again, you were not saying much about yourself, all of your mentioned tolerances leading back to your companion. Before you could drift any further into your musings, a sudden hum of a tune that you swore you knew from somewhere jolted you back into reality.

“Oh! Look over there?” Following Seonghwa’s hand, you spotted the source of the sound, “beautiful rendition of ‘I Can’t Help Falling in Love’, don’t you think?” You shrugged, simply satisfied with the fact that you were right in your suspicions that the song was indeed one you had heard before.

You followed Seonghwa as he trailed to the small crowd that gathered around the musician. Gracefully the saxophone turned into a live creature, entrancing the audience and inspiring the capable hearts. Blankly, you watched the flying fingertips that faded into shining metal and falling leaves.

“Isn’t it romantic?” Seonghwa joked, his tone turning playful.

“I… suppose? It might be?”

“Then tell me what you think of it, I’d love to know,” you turned to find him studying you, softly gleaming. The fairy lights strung up on the surrounding trees made him appear even more graceful than usual, if that was even possible. You could not help but return his blissful amiability with a quick smile of your own, and your best efforts to answer.

“Well… I think his technique is good. And many people are stopping, which suggests that he is objectively good and knows how to engage the audience.”

“Ooh, that’s true. Very interesting. What else?”

“I think that he picked a good time to perform. The park was recently redecorated and the weather this evening is clear. Plenty of walkers. Probably good business.”

“True, true…” he trailed off, seemingly deep in thought. You wonder if your observations were sufficient, “I really do love how you think.”

“What do you mean? Was that sarcastic?” you raise an eyebrow.

“Not at all. Never will be. It is just so unlike how I approach things usually, so I truly marvel at how you do it. In your great way,” not a hint of malice. Only that same curiosity. Those same eyes that saw you. Better than you saw yourself.

That was what it was - the idea finally came to you. You were blunt, preferred all things to be direct, and any empathy was given similar to how one would prescribe medication. Clinical. With an analytical mind you had no trouble scrutinising individuals through numbers, but then could not ‘count’ on someone, that same analytical and hyper-logical brain preventing you from doing so. You felt for people, you could relate to people, you could guess their emotions, but remained the observer. That was your definition. That was who you were.

“And um… how do you see it?” Seonghwa nodded at your question, and began.

“I see a soundtrack to many beginnings, middles and endings. I see the musical notes twirling in a waltz with the autumn leaves, the dance floor illuminated by the many fairy lights. I see each mind with their own story to this song, some reliving memories and others crafting a magnificent illusion. Beyond the park, I see residents in those apartment buildings over there,” he pointed at a couple of windows that were illuminated still, and were facing the park, “them looking out at the saxophonist wistfully, mystified by how he knew that this was exactly what they needed to dispel concerns of the earlier hours in the day.”

You two continued to journey on until you made it to a nearby bench, and decided to rest. Sat side by side, arm to arm, you observed the ebbs and flows of other friends, families, lovers who flocked to the musician, only to be swept away by the night and to be replaced by another.

“Isn’t what you just said all made up?” cautious, you queried.

“Might be, but to me, it is romance. Or rather, the idea of romanticising. I am quite fond of seeing what I cannot physically see, and then inventing more and more on top of it until we have a complete tale.”

“No wonder your songs are such major hits.”

“Oh you flatter me.”

“No, no, you…this, you capture all of this so prettily. Few can.”

“Much like yourself.”

“I do not-”

“Just differently.”

“To you, perhaps, but not to many.”

“What makes you so sure?” he was countering you rapidly.

“Enough Lone Soul meetups. Most of us are like how I am.” pointing at yourself, you emphasised the point.

“Hm, I should start going to them if there are so many cool personalities there.”

A sharp exhale the upwards twitch was all you could muster before falling completely silent, wanting to pretend that you could see the surroundings like how Seonghwa could. They remained dull and uniform, but the notion that there was this certain someone who, thanks to their past and present, could perceive so beautifully and had the unfathomable kindness to share his interpretations with you was what you were grateful for. Through his eyes, you could see what was around you. Through his eyes, you could finally see yourself. Through his heart, you could be understood.

“Thank you,” your voice barely a murmur, “thank you for not leaving me alone.”

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idkfitememate · 4 months

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Deer Bones and Golden Crowns Pt.1

♡︎ « Next Part ⋙

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : GN! “Normal” Reader x Vil (& others!!)

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. : 5k

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : Descriptive Gore, yandere-esk reader, bodily gore

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note :(My sincerest apologies(/s), but this is a male reader! He/Him pronouns!! Anyone can read of course, but if I find any comments of a fetishized nature, your comment will be deleted and you will be promptly blocked! Thank you!!~)

Wendigo’s are spirits that claim body over the dead and force the risen corpse to eat the flesh of their brethren, turning others into flesh eating creatures such as themselves.

Changlings were many things, but the one thing they all had in common was that they were placed in the cradles of human children who were snatched away in the night by fairies. They had the innate ability to change their forms and appearances to become something they weren’t, to convince others they were that new form.

Now… what if these two creatures were to mate? A creature of infinite flesh and identities and one of never endearing hunger for flesh and a spirit of famine?

You would get the second in command of the young Schoenheit. Vil’s right hand man and assistant since birth.

(y/n).

He was of average height, average build, average hair color, average eye color, average everything.

Nothing about him stood out amongst the gorgeous crowd of those whom he would work with.

Though, he had an innate eye for beauty and details, even in the most of drab places. He had the ability to turn any old lump of coal into diamond. He could spot anyone and turn them into a star.

That’s why his parents worked out a deal with Vil’s.

(y/n) works with Vil to keep appearances and popularity stay shining, and Vil’s family will continue to house and tend to (y/n)’s.

Fair, yes?

Well it was, for some time anyway. Before Vil was whisked off in that Ebony Carriage guided by those horses of bone, off to Night Raven College, leaving (y/n) behind.

Leaving his friend behind.

At least, (y/n) would like to say they were friends, but he knew better. He was nothing more than another tool in Vil’s arsenal to keep him in the spotlight, but honestly? (y/n) couldn’t complain.

After years of being a glorified servant of the other, he grew an attachment to the blond/purple haired man. Seeing him everyday was apart of the fae boy’s daily routine and him being missing from it was already messing with him.

Even though Vil had only been taken shipped off around a day ago. But that wasn’t the biggest issue.

The biggest issue would have to be the fact that an Ebony Carriage had come for him a few nights before, and in a fit of rage he destroyed it.

Though he did more than just throw stones or bricks, he intended to send a message. YOU intended to send a message.

A message asking why the fuck they would dare try to separate you from your *kostbar schimmernder stern.

You broke the coffin in, shattering the glass surrounding it. You did torch the wood of the carriage, and completely destroyed the small mirror that rested on the top of that forsaken coffin.

You sent it on its way as a warning.

Only to come and regret that decision as you watched from the tree line as the carriage that now held the sleeping body of your friend rid off under the moonlight.

After his leaving, you barely left your room, only carrying out your job with… lesser clients via email or a messenger. Though if not in your room, you’d be in the forest, most likely with your parents.

Speaking of, all your life you kept your family heritage a secret. Whenever someone wanted to meet your parents - such as Vil’s parents - they’d speak through a servant or you. Not to say that they looked inhuman, in fact, they were like you in human forms. Both shockingly average.

But rather because neither, no matter how much practice they had, they could never get over their… urges.

Your mother was a very, very old wendigo, older than most fae really. You could hear her cries beyond the gates of the house, the signs of a successful hunt. Never was she not bloody, her hair drenched in the red, sticky substance and her teeth stained crimson. She carried the scent of death with her everywhere, and sometimes you could see her “fixing” her body, otherwise known as sewing her skin back together. She had made an effort to never allow you to see her “true” form, but that was for naught as very early on in your life you had seen her stalking back to the house, two dead bucks trapped in her maw as her bones and joints creaked with every movement.

Her bloodshot eyes meeting yours. Blood dripping off her skull and large, sharp antlers onto your dolls.

You personally could say the dolls looked better dressed in red.

And your father, ever the trickster he was. With a glance of the untrained eye, and he would seem entirely human. Though, by living with him you could both see and feel, deeply that something was wrong. How his joints would twitch and jut in odd ways, how his expressions were always just slightly off the mark. How he wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t drink. How he never slept or even breathed. If you pressed into his skin enough, you could feel a wooden texture beneath the flesh, and his eyes were dull, as if carved from stone.

His teeth twitched as though alive, and his throat would make the oddest noises, such as bark rubbing together or leaves rustling against each other. Sometimes you could find him staring into the forest, his eyes completely blacked out, his body changing and shifting. His arms too long and his legs too short. His hair both shaggy and sleek while long and short. Haunting noises scraping themselves from his throat.

And sometimes you could hear something respond.

After Vil left, you’d go hunting with your mom, seeing the love she put into every kill for you, as you began to eat with her. She forbade you from eating meals with her due to her diet, but seeing how upset you were, she made an exception.

The feeling of raw deer flesh on your tongue as you gnawed on bones to help clean your teeth, feeling blood run down your chin as you shoved your face into the neck of a fresh kill, your mother kneeled over in her true form, chuffing and licking at your back with love. The grime of dried blood and small hairs beneath your nails as you clawed deeper and deeper into the corpse.

You found a beauty in it.

The beauty of life and death; the circle of life, you supposed.

You’d do the same with your dad, him helping you with your magic output. Finding out that you had inherited your mothers instincts with your fathers innate ability to change. Not your signature spell, but a powerful magic nonetheless.

You spent your days inside or with your family as grief at the loss of your friend consumed you.

You regretted not going when you had the chance. You wanted and needed to find a way inside that damned school.

As you cuddled into the warmth of the pile your family had formed on a pile of blankets and pillows under a window that allowed sunlight to stream onto you, you began to form a plan.

Didn’t that designer work there? What was his name…

Divus Crewel?

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍮🍯🍧୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

It hadn’t been hard really, to get in contact with the fashionista, but after a couple emails you finally got one back.

The school year had started by now, so designing for him was more of a pastime right now rather than a job. But that didn’t stop others from making requests. And no matter how punctual he was with his years of experience, there would always be something or someone to throw him off. Having someone to manage a schedule and otherwise would be a large help, and with your rather impressive portfolio, you knew he’d be bound to say yes.

And yes he did say.

You were scheduled to move to NRC in a few days, packing your belongings in a large suitcase. You heard the door open to your room but didn’t move from your packing instead letting your mother walk to you. You closed the suitcase in time the stopthe blood splatter from the large dead bear she dropped to touch your clothes. Finally looking up at her, she had a small smile on her patchwork face.

“Eat.”

That was all she said but you understood. Usually - with you anyway - the hunts were small with deer or bucks, the occasional fox, wolf or small bunny for a snack. But a bear, that was something worth celebrating. Not to say your mother couldn’t catch something larger, but it was the largest thing she caught for you.

It was a parting gift.

You knew that hunting would become a scarce activity and that’d you’d once more need to get acquainted with regular foods, so this was a very welcome gift, as after this it’d be nothing but cooked meats for you, unfortunately.

Your hands easily gripped the flesh through It’s fur, tearing a large chunk off its neck. You ran a hand through the thick coat before tugging, and with a swift pull, nearly all fur came off the chunk.

You brought the bare skin to your mouth, sinking razor sharp teeth into it. You could tell it was fresh, from the mass amounts of blood that spilled down your chin. The disgusting sounds of flesh being chewed could be heard throughout the home as your father walked in, in his hands a box.

You placed your bite down and rubbed your hands on your pants, turning to him. He stepped over, not minding the blood now on his shoes, and crouched dow, placing the box in your lap.

He ran and hand through your hair as you took in the box.

It was white with a large red bow, small black accents patterned across the top.

Gently untying the bow and lifting the top, a butchers set and a makeup set lay before you, in the center a small gemstone mixed with purple and red sat before you. Picking it up you realized what it was.

When practicing your magic, your parents would offer up an old wand or pen, as was customary. You had yet to do anything with your own life, in the sense that you had yet to fly the nest.

And here you were, making your first decision for yourself. One that would lead you away from here.

From them.

A magic gem.

You could feel the power dripping from inside it, pushing into your being and forcibly flowing through your veins. Looking at the knife and makeup brush sets you noted the small indents in parts of their bases. You gently placed the gem in the sharpener - it was the most normal looking compared to the others, looking like a metal wand - and waved it a bit, small sparkles emanating from its tip.

You stared at the duel sets, then gently set the sharpener down, before leaping up and hugging your father. Your mother quickly got up as well, wrapping her much longer arms around you and your father, none of you minding the blood staining your clothes.

Tomorrow was a new day.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🎂🍭🍡୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

“Glad to see you made it in one piece.”

You stood before Divus Crewel, sciences teacher of Night Raven College and fashion designer. Together in the hall of mirrors, he motioned you forward and began to walk to another mirror, to what you only could assume were the teachers housing.

Dragging behind you were multiple bags, considering the contract you both came up with required you to be on campus the whole time you were employed during the school year, if only to keep you close. The black and white man apparently much more preferred face to face meetings over calls and e-mails.

Divus looked back at you. You had at least five large suitcases and a slew of smaller bags, but were carrying them with ease. By now you had both stepped through the mirror towards his current home and were simply walking the trail to the building, but you were keeping up with his brisk pace with no problem.

He’d be a fool to say he hadn’t heard of you. Just like all the models he worked with, your name was all over the high world of acolytes. You had clients in every circle, and not one of them was dissatisfied. One of the youngest in the business, at only eighteen, Divus would’ve expected you to be a bit ‘shaky on your legs’ so to speak, but you held yourself up high, no signs of stopping or of any fatigue.

Such an interesting boy you are…

“I meant to ask before, but what made you so eager to ask for this role?” Crewl was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. He knew Vil had just recently came to NRC, leaving you without your biggest star. So to reach out to Crewl just a few weeks later, he had a feeling he knew why you were here. But he wanted to see if you’d admit it.

“I had recently seen your work. And after… ‘loosing’ Vil, a lot of my work time has dropped. I needed to be busy again, after my few weeks of down time. I hope you understand, fashion is a bit out of my expertise, but I figured it’d be a fun new experience.”

Crewl opened the door to the rather large mansion-like building, guiding you down hall after hall, you immediately making note of every twist and turn as the salt and pepper haired man showed you to what you assumed would be your room for the rest of the school year.

“I see… well, these will be your living quarters till the end of our current contract. I will leave you to get situated for tonight and will show you around the school tomorrow. This weekend will be spent showing you around the rest of this building and fully ironing out your role and duties under me, understood?” You nodded.

“Good pup. Have a good night.” You stared at the back of his head as he walked out of the room and closed the door. You immediately looked around the room taking it in.

It was large, much larger than your own back home. High walls with near ceiling to floor length windows surrounded you, the walls painted in grays and black with hints of purples and golds.

A tribute to the Headmaster of this place, you assumed.

Your new Alaskan king sized canopy bed sat in a corner with sheets that matched to walls, the only other furniture being a desk with a chair, a nightstand, and a dresser. You sighed, knowing your pockets were about to be drained in order to personalize the room.

You walked over to a door, opening it to find the largest walk-in closet - next to Vil’s - you’d ever seen. The damn thing even had a couple levels.

Then you checked the bathroom, which had a glass shower with far too many buttons levers, a quite large and wide clawfoot bathtub, a large vanity with two sinks - why would you ever need two??? - and a towel closet that, again, was much to large for its intended purpose.

Though curiously, in the back of the towel closet, was a magic imbued safe. Quickly figuring out that it responded to a spell of the users choice, you choose a spell of Wendigo nature and unlocked it, walking back to the main room and taking out both sets of “wands” your father gave you. You removed the sharpener from the box and took the others back into the bathroom, quickly pushing them into the safe and locking it back up.

Now, it was time for a room makeover… or the best you could right now, anyway.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍪🍦🍯୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

The last of your clothes are placed into the closet and sighed. All unpacked, all that was left was actually giving the room a makeover, you were just stuck between actually putting in some elbow grease and doing it yourself, or just magicing - is that a word? - the room and being done with it.

As you pondered, you glanced out the window, noting the moon was starting to rise, sky dark and shining with stars. At that same moment, your stomach growled. You huffed and walked over to the window, staring out at the back of the building, noticing in a forest behind it. In fact, you now recalled that a forest surrounded the damn thing.

How… convenient.

You grabbed your wand and threw on a pair of boots and an over coat that was already painted a deep crimson, as well as a small satchel, and stalked out the door, humming quietly to yourself.

You snuck through halls, hypersensitive to any boards that seemed a little too loose for your liking. You leapt over railing and fell to the first floor, opening the front door silently and closing it behind you. Your nail grew into a point, and you entered it to the lock, locking the door back into place. Then, you took off into the night, rushing through trees.

You dropped to all fours and ran faster, taking in the night air.

You heard your limbs snap as your form changed, long and jagged antlers protruding from your head as the skin melted off your face. Your limbs lengthened and your legs became unguligrade, bones cracking and rebuilding themselves. Your awkward run became a strong gallop, your body thinning until your ribs pushed through your skin and spine protruding from your back.

You sniffed the air, taking in the scents of different animals that desperately ran from you already, your presence already disrupting the peace of the forest simply by being there.

… a little doe was nearby.

Your head snapped in her direction. Skin that was still rotting off you flying off from the sheer force of your head. You leaned low, head nearly touching the floor of the forest, stalking towards her direction.

Your breathing was shallow, antlers lightly scraping the branches above you. Slowly, the doe came into view, lightly munching away on grass and flowers in the moonlight. Tan fur flowed in the wind, ears twitching and nose sniffing.

She was beautiful.

When you came into the clearing, her head perked up immediately, looking at you. You huffed and stayed low, tail wagging behind you in wait. She stared for a moment longer before quietly diving back down into her meal. If you had lips, you would’ve smiled.

You continued to crawl forward, the doe no longer caring about your being there, caring only for the flowers she feasted on. You finally came to a point where she was only a few feet away, her scent searing into your nose, making your already shallow breathing harder.

You stalled, letting the wind brush through your fur, before you strike. And the moment came.

You leapt from the ground, jaw crunching around her neck before she could make a noise. Blood licked your nostrils, splattering across your form as the sickening snap of her neck resounded through the forest.

Without hesitation you marred her pure flesh with your tainted teeth. You tore through her skin to the meat, biting down on her shoulder. You shredded the muscle, chewing till bone then working your way down till nothing but the guts remained, to which you began to shift back.

Your body was still covered in the sticky blood. You made sure all your clothes shifted with you, counting the layers in your head. With a nod you whipped out your wand and whispered a spell, the remaining guts and bone bunching themselves together. With the small satchel in hand, you scooped up the remains and began the trek back to the house, moon hanging in the sky, the only witness to your brutality.

You went the way you came once entering the establishment, steps light and airy. You made it to your room in record time, waltzing into the bathroom and hiding your cloak and boots in the back, near the safe. You removed the pouch from a pocket and set on the sink as you washed up, a quick shower rising you of your sin. You and the pouch made your way into the bedroom and the pouch made its way into a small drawer in your nightstand, a chilling spell placed over it as you snuggled up in the side sheet, satin pajamas hugging your figure.

It was only a few hours you slept, rising when the suns rays had just barely touched the surface of the world. You rose with no hesitation, wide awake almost immediately. You rushed to the bathroom and began your morning ritual, having picked up some tips from Vil as the years went by. Face creams and masks, makeup of all types. You’d gotten so good that you knew you could rush with no restraint.

You had more than enough time before school started, hell, you knew you were most likely one of the only people awake. But it was for a purpose.

You needed to be on the good side of the teachers above all.

You may have only been employed with Crewl, but throughout your day, you mostly only be speaking and seeing the teachers. Rushing to your drawer - without changing. There was no need right now - you took out what was left of the doe. You slipped on some fuzzy slippers and rushed down the halls, again, missing all creaky floorboards and sniffing the air, following the smell of herbs and coffee in the mansion.

You made it to the kitchen without trouble, opening the pouch and feeling around in the pouch, removing the intestines.

Sausage was on the menu this morning. You hoped no one was a vegan.

It was easy to begin cooking. Vil loved your cooking. No one could do it right like you, he constantly said. Once more, you were fast and effective, starting the coffee maker. You also started some eggs and hash browns, biscuits and chopping fruit.

You multitasked, buttering the biscuits and flipping eggs, making both sunny side up - a personal favorite for you - and scrambled. As you took the hash browns out, you heard shuffling behind you, as well as the meowing of a cat.

… Can cats eat sausage?

You turned around and met the gaze of an older man with greying hair and a black cat around his shoulders.

Mozus Trein… and his cat, Lucius.

“I assume you are Crewl’s new assistant?” Short sweet and strait to the point. You simply nodded, taking the fresh made sausage out the pan and letting it cool off to the side. With a step, you took the cup you placed from under the coffee machine, turning back to him.

“Do you like anything in your coffee? Or do you prefer it black? Or, would you prefer anything else?” Lucius jumped off from the older man’s shoulders onto the island counter, him taking a seat and crossing his legs. You noted he was fully dressed for the day, despite it barely being six am.

“Milk and two sugars, thank you.” He hummed. The glanced away before turning back. “And would you mind grabbing the paper? We get it delivered, should be at the door by now.” You nodded and took off, not looking back.

Now that it was light out, you took your time to examine the halls a bit more thoroughly. Paintings lined the walls, each of different landscapes that painted the world of Twisted Wonderland.

The most prominent being - of course - the seven lands in which The Great Seven all hail from.

The Queendom of Roses, Sunset Savana, the Coral Sea, the Scalding Sands, Briar Valley, and others.

Each portrait was lifelike. Each snowflake glinting back at you and each thorn looking as though you’d cut yourself if you poked at it. You could see each individual grain of sand and scale on a fish. It was impressive.

Finally making it to the front once more, you were met with a man who was getting ready to head out. He had dreads and was wearing something akin to a suit, though a waiter’s apron was tired to his waist. You had come from behind, so hearing you he turned, and you also saw he had white paint streaked across his skin.

“Now, who may you be?” He asked, you staring becoming blatant. Your eyes didn’t move from analyzing him, grunting. After another moment of silence and the man seemingly starting to sweat, you hummed, moving to the front door and throwing it open. You quietly picked up the newspaper and turned back to him.

“Crewl’s new assistant, (Y/n).” Was all you said, though you kept staring. After another moment of silence, he seemed to note that you were waiting for him to introduce himself.

“Well then uh… names Sam. I run Mr. S’s Mystery Shop. Pop by if you’re in the need for anything..?” He drew off as he watched you walk away, back in the direction of the kitchen.

“What a weird kid…”

Your steps once more echoed in the halls as you re-entered the kitchen, seeing that Mozus had helped himself and served himself up a plate. Before you could announce yourself, however, a large hand clapped itself on your back, making you stumble forward.

Without a word, you fell face first onto the floor, newspaper still in hand.

Still, quiet silence followed.

“Uh… you okay, kid?” Your grunted, still lying on the floor. A hand, the same one you guessed, grabbed you by the scruff of your sleep shirt and yanked you upward, you still like a kitten. When you were dropped back onto your feet, you turned and found the PE teacher, Ashton Vargas.

You nodded at him before he could speak and wondered over to Mozus, who was watching the whole interaction with little care. You gently placed the newspaper in front of him and he thanked you with a nod, Lucius meowing at you.

You then faced Ashton, holding a hand out. He grasped it and squeezed - though you’re sure it was unintentional - and shook it with vigor.

“Sorry ‘bout that! Ashton Vargas, PE teacher here at Night Raven. You?” You nodded in kind.

“(Y/n), Crewl’s new assistant. Pleasure.” Your face remained blank through the interaction, gaze breaking for a moment only to look at the breakfast you’d prepared, then looking back at the rather built man.

“I’ve prepared a breakfast if you-“ “I’m good, thank you.” Your eyebrow raised in question and the man laughed, making Mozus groan.

“I already ate about… twelve-dozen eggs this morning during my pre-school work out!” Your eye twitched at the thought. Due to your biology, you could ingest raw egg no problem, but to eat twenty-four strait raw eggs just sounds… you couldn’t do it. So instead, you simply nodded and walked over to the food, grabbing a bit of everything before looking back at the two.

“Where is Mr. Crewl’s room?” Ashton blinked before nodding towards the door.

“Just down the hall, he’s closest to the kitchen actually. Shocked he ain’t out here yet honestly.” You nodded and made your way out of the kitchen, walking steadily down the hall, balancing the plate on one hand.

Walking down the hall, you kept an eye out for the correct door. You didn’t want to open a closet or anything. But suddenly, someone crashed into you. Crewel fell from the impact, your form still standing strong with the plate of food unmoving.

“Where were you?!? I’ve been searching for ten minutes now!! Come come, time is waisting and I still have to put you in uniform.” You tilted your head as Crewel stood back up, walked behind you and began to push you to what you could only assume was his room.

“Uniform?” You questioned. Crewel sighed, but smirked as well. “Yes uniform. A little something a threw into our contract at the very end. You don’t mind, do you?” You grunted. Should’ve seen something akin to this coming, you supposed, but you couldn’t loose this. You hadn’t even seen Vil yet.

“Fine.” “Good, now, come along.” And off you both went, to gain your new uniform.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍩🍮🍨୧⁐��⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

The uniform wasn’t too bad. A fluffy tailcoat - with coat tails, not real ones - that went to the backs of your knees, a vest that was the reverse of his in terms of color, black dress pants and black dress shoes. You looked nice, in your own opinion at least.

As you looked yourself over in the mirror, Crewel sat at his desk, munching away on the breakfast you made.

“This is pretty good...” He mumbled as he watched you twirl in the mirror, taking in every part of your new outfit. He hummed, placing his fork down and grabbing his teacher pointer and standing.

“Come on, let’s not waste anymore time. I’ll give you a quick rundown of some things I’ll need you to do at the school, but as I said, we will fully go over your duties during the weekend. Understood?” You nodded and walked out with him, patting your body and sighing when you felt your ‘wand’ in your picket.

And off you both went. Walking the trail towards the gate that would lead to NRC.

To your new life for the next couple of months, maybe even years.

Something inside you, your heart perhaps, beat rapidly at the thought of seeing Vil again, even if just for a class period. You were… excited?

Yes, excited.

It was time to begin. To get your Vil back.

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : Nah I gotta split this motherfucker up because what in the hell-

I’m so fucking tied but I wanna continue this but it’s already so fucking long- eh I’ll finish it later have this-

Love you guys <3

#vil shoenheit x reader #vil x reader #vil schoenheit #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #x reader #yandere reader #male reader #x male reader

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tumblemumbler · 4 months

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Don't be shy, drop some fic recs?

Ok ok, I’m always afraid to do this because I hate to forget one and then the author doesn’t get acknowledged but I will do my best. Many of these are already listed by @enigmaticxbee who has heroically compiled numerous lists of fanfic recommendations by category. Many others out here doing that work (thank you!!), so this is very much just a “some things I loved” list. Most are explicit because I love me some smut.

love you but you’re green by wtfmulder - an incredible combination of nostalgia and sex

Contact High by Penumbra - I’m new to the game here, but it’s my understanding that this is a Classic Must Read and it’s for good reason

Suncadia by SisterSpooky1013 - one of the first ones I read, a case file and a getting together story that gave me a whole range of feels and got me excited to read more x files fics

Destined Reckoning by Spark_a_Flame - an AU crossover with a Stephen King book I’ve never read, but it didn’t matter. I’m always here for some post apocalyptic Mulder and Scully

Dropped Call by Phillip_Padgett - the absolute glorious smut this human writes is unbelievable. This is one of my favorites but there are no bad choices, every story is a banger (ha. Hahaha. Sorry)

Tremors in the unshakeable ground by coppersunlight - I’m not alllll about the angst, I’m more of an occasional partaker, but this filled a deep need I didn’t know I had for some goddamn Diana Fowley accountability

Shine On by cecily_sass - every once in awhile I read something with a premise I don’t even expect to like just because I know the author is good, and this one hooked me very quickly. It’s hard to describe what is so compelling: the words, the character choices, I don’t even know, just go read it.

from this morning forward by thursdaysinspace - a charmingly realistic look at how m&s do the hard work to find their way back to each other in the revival. Sweet, sexy, and gives the characters credit for all the effort it takes to make love last.

The X Files - Slip of the Tongue by Skinfull - every week I await the new installment, like a perfect little treat the universe is giving us for being fans

Si Hoc Legere Potes, Liberaliter Educatus by Aloysia_Virgata - so many great ones from this author, but this one cracked me up and gave me some feels too. A little revival therapy

Love and Bearclaws by Edie_Rone - short, sweet, and so so cute. A perfect little vignette

Throwing Good After Bad by oohnotvery - a clever twist on a common trope of the two of them going undercover together. Twists and turns and sex, oh my!

Takeout Interruptus by lonegunga1 - you need an ao3 login for this one. Just a cute funny slice of life in early MSR

Honestly there are so many more so my sincerest apologies to the authors I have read and enjoyed and didn’t properly get into this list - the fault is in my memory not in their work. Hopefully I have left them a comment at one point so that they feel appreciated! Also, all these authors have written many good things, go down those rabbit holes it’s the best.

One bonus, which is not actually X Files at all:

The Adventure of the Lady Detective and the Writer by mldrgrl - a romance saga between Stella from The Fall and Hank Moody from Californication. I was very skeptical and now I am a complete convert, this ship is genius.

#txf #msr #the x files #xf fanfic #x files fic #mulder x scully

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sevilynne · 25 days

Note

Sorry in advance, I'm going to rant here a bit.

Why do 80% of Snaters have to bring his looks into the discussion? Like, the way he looks has nothing to do with his character! I just saw another post calling him a "disgusting, oily, ugly man" in their rant on how he is an evil person, like... I look, apart from being a woman, exactly like him. Like, I 100% match the book description. Crooked teeth, shoulder long hair that gets greasy way to quickly, big, hooked nose, dark eyes, too skinny, walks in a "gliding" way: that's me! Why do the marauders fans have to do this?! Don't they realize that there are people, who will look like the charakter they hate on? This fucking fandom made me so insecure about my nose, that I am considering an operation at 19 years old! I just cried for half an hour after seeing jet another post about how ugly Snape is and no wonder he never found love! It just causes so much pain. If they want to hate on Snape's character, fine by me! But why can't they leave the way he looks out of it? Why?

Sorry for freaking out here, but you are one of the few pro Snape accounts one can write to anonymously and I don't want them to be able to figure out who I am. Thank you for reading this messy thing i wrote, it just needed to be said.

I must offer my deepest, sincerest apologies for posts you’ve seen. Alas, Marauder Stans possess a troubling insensitivity and thoughtless disregard for the nuances of character and narrative. In Sev V. S Marauders arguments, when they find themselves cornered without a coherent defense for their beloved quartet, rather than talk about the substantive truths about Sev, they instead throw callous, almost vulgar fixations on his appearance.

Marauder Stans, as fervent as they may be, are often proved problematic. Their disdain for Sev runs so deep that they not only dismiss his importance and erase him from his own circle but also stoop so low to attacking his appearance and ridiculing his poverty.

Marauder Stans seem to revel in disparaging Sev, often going out of their way to strip him of any redeeming qualities. It's that they take pleasure in rewriting his narrative, erasing his virtues and amplifying his flaws, making a one-dimensional caricature that serves their biases. It's a weird thing, revealing more about their own prejudices than about Sev himself.

Your appearance is a distinctive and beautiful part of who you are, but it does not, in any way, define your value or your capacity to be loved and cherished. Those who resort to attacking someone’s looks often do so because it’s the quickest, most mindless way to inflict pain. It says more about their own insecurities than it does about you. You deserve to be appreciated for the incredible person you are, far beyond the surface.

Please remember that you are so much more than any fictional character, you have your own unique story, rich with experiences and emotions that are entirely your own. Here, you are loved and valued for who you are, regardless of how you look or the way you express your personality.

You can always try to block every Marauders Stan who spews negativity about Severus’s appearance. Hypocrisy is those are often the same people who accuse him of bullying, completely oblivious to the irony of their own actions. They fail to recognize that by mocking an 11-year-old who grew up in the grip of poverty and isolation, they are perpetuating the very behavior they 'condemn'.

Have a pleasant day! (Apologies, I'm bad at comfort. And in summary, they hate Severus's character by itself and it's appearance and NOT because he bullied kids, and people like spewing insults at Severus because he is conventionally unattractive, unlike Potter and Black.)

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denaliwrites · 11 months

Text

It's How I'm Made

Tenth Doctor x Genderfluid!Reader

Summary: The Doctor has been especially protective of you since your coming out, even willing to go to bat for you in the face of aliens that look like they could probably snap him in half. Can be read as a sequel to On the Brave Shit.

Soundtrack: YES MOM by Tessa Violet

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Enbyphobia. Misgendering. Anxiety.

"Do you really think you can stop me, little girl?" the alien in front of you taunted, and you hated that it worked, that you wavered, that you almost lost your grip on the pipe you were using as a makeshift weapon.

The alien laughed, rubbing salt on the wound.

"Oh, come on now," you heard the Doctor say from behind you. "You can't be that dull. I mean," he paused for effect, scratching the back of his head as he awkwardly shuffled closer, "that's obviously an adult human. And, also, he's clearly a man. I mean, look at him!" The Doctor motioned vaguely at all of you, with a knowing look shot to you before shifting back into a passive expression.

Your heart swelled, though, and with a new surge of confidence your grip tightened and you stood firmer, facing off the alien with a glare.

"Don't be ridiculous, this is obviously--"

"An adult human male, yes," the Doctor cut in, followed up with a dramatically exasperated sigh. "Really, you'd think an alien from a planet with sixty-seven genders would get it, wouldn't you?" he asked, turning to you.

You blinked. "Sixty-seven?"

"Oh, yes," the Doctor said cheerfully. "And, remarkably, none of them are 'male' or 'female.' I mean, they have a few that are close enough, at least in terms of what a human can wrap their head around."

"Oh." That explained why the alien in front of you seemed... like a guy? You thought, anyway.

"Could also be the perception filter," the Doctor commented absentmindedly. "Anyway. Apologize to my friend, please." You knew the Doctor well enough to tell when he was no longer making polite requests. When he was angry.

And by God, he was pissed.

The alien, luckily, seemed to catch onto that. It turned to you, bowing deeply. "My sincerest apologies."

"Oh. Er... accepted?" You weren't... really sure what to make of this whole situation. It wasn't every day you got misgendered by an alien from a species with sixty-seven genders yet couldn't seem to grasp the idea of gender presentation.

As if no transgression had passed, the Doctor effortlessly moved on with a grin. "Now, how about we get you home?"

After you and the Doctor had dropped the alien off on its home planet and you had met, by your estimate, sixteen and a half of those aforementioned sixty-seven genders, you leaned against the TARDIS doors while the Doctor flipped random switches on the console -- you swore it was different every time.

"Are you all right?" the Doctor asked suddenly, and it was only then that you realized there were tears rolling down your cheeks.

"Erm, y-yeah, I'm... fine."

He did not look convinced -- understandably.

"Listen, what that alien said --"

"Is that all people see when they look at me? A little girl playing dress up?" you asked suddenly, stopping the Doctor in his tracks. "Is that all I'll ever be?"

The Doctor looked so devastated for a moment before he cleaned up his expression and replaced it with his carefully curated neutral default.

"I thought--" You were cut off by a sob that you did your best to choke back. "I thought I looked so great today."

"Hey, now," the Doctor said, joining you at the door in a few long bounds. You stared up at him hopelessly. "You do look great," he assured you as he leaned against the door with you. "You look how you want to look, and that's what matters. Right?"

"Not if people don't see me as what I'm trying to be."

"Oh, there's no trying," the Doctor said. "You are what you are. Other people don't matter. Even I don't matter. The only person, or alien, or whatever, who matters is you."

The way he looked at you made your heart swell, but you still weren't entirely convinced.

"Do you feel masculine right now?" he asked.

"Not really," you answered honestly.

"... Right. Well. I should've expected that. Okay. Did you feel masculine before that alien said anything?"

"... Yeah," you answered, still honest.

"Then you're masculine. Don't let anyone take that away from you. Especially an alien from a species with sixty-seven genders and yet no concept of being a different gender than the one you were born as."

"Do they have trans aliens in that species?"

"Yes! That's why it's so baffling!" the Doctor sighed exasperatedly.

"Oh, so they're just.... like, a mega bigot," you observed with a laugh. The Doctor returned the sound, and the two of you dissolved into a fit of giggles that lasted way too long, yet not long enough.

#tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x you #doctor who x reader #the doctor x reader #the doctor x you #reader insert #queer reader #genderfluid reader #trans reader #doctor who fic #doctor who fanfiction #doctor who #the doctor #david tennant

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itsmaybitheway · 5 months

Text

WiP Wednesday 04/17

Hello lovely lovely people of Tumblr, I’ve been awful at being on here so my sincerest apologies 🤍 Life and work has been hectic but I’m slowly making my way through my notifications!!!

Thank you @suseagull04 @junebugclaremontdiaz @emmalostinwonderland @cha-melodius @cricketnationrise @porcelainmortal @wordsofhoneydew @porcelainmortal @theprinceandagcd @duchessdepolignaca03 and @happiness-of-the-pursuit for the Several Sentence Sunday tags, I unfortunately was battling in the jaws of capitalism (was at work) all day so I shall use them today!! And thank you @onthewaytosomewhere @msmarvelouswinchester and again to Sara for WiP Wednesday tags! I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH Y’ALL ARE GEMS 💎💍

Today’s snippet is from a WiP I have for @thebrownstone servers Eras Tour Event. Since this fic is inspired by a song in Speak Now, you guys’ll read the whole thing on 22nd of April 🤍

He’s the one who let ‘sweetheart’s and ‘babe’s and ‘I love you’s in the morning get to his head; he’s the one who foolishly thought they might have meant something more to Alex, just the way they did to him; he’s the one who fell in love with the sun personified knowing he himself is nothing but darkness.

Big strong arms wrap themselves around Henry, tears continuing to stream down his face and everything feels right in a way it shouldn’t. Because Alex doesn’t love him the way he wants, the way he yearns, the way he needs.

Those arms shouldn’t be around him, shouldn’t hold him like he matters because then he’ll believe it. He’ll believe and misinterpret all the friendly gestures the way he’s been doing all these months…

Because Alex doesn’t mean it like that when he holds Henry in a tight embrace, when ‘sweetheart’ spills from his lips like they never belonged to anyone else, when he looks at Henry with that shine in his eyes that makes him weak in the knees. He means them all in a friendly way.

Alex is just affectionate, loving, he is just gregarious. And Henry? Henry is weak, and in love, willing to live off of love crumbs and slowly die like a parched man drinking sea water than accept the reality.

As always an open tag to anyone who wants to take part and please tag me if you do, I wanna see what y’all been cooking 🤍 and some no-pressure attached tags below the cut

@agame-writes @affectionatelyrs @absolute-audacity @anchoredarchangel @anincompletelist @bitbybitwrites @cheesecurdsgravyandfries @clottedcreamfudge @daisymae-12 @dumbpeachjuice @everwitch-magiks @firenati0n @gayrootvegetable @getmehighonmagic @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @inexplicablymine @kiwiana-writes @littlemisskittentoes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @magicandarchery @ninzied @nocoastposts @orchidscript @priincebutt @read-and-write- @rmd-writes @sherryvalli @sunnysideprince @zwartmagazine

#wip wednesday #my wips #cant wait to post #rwrb #firstprince #rwrb fanfiction #first prince #firstprince fanfic #rwrb fanfic #red white and royal blue fanfic #red white and royal blue fanfiction #red white & royal blue fanfic #red white & royal blue #red white and royal blue

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shesjustanothergeek · 1 year

Text

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Fifteen

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Hey, besties! Guess who passed their State Board Exams…? ME! I DID! Now, all I gotta do is fill out some paperwork, and I'll be licensed. I've started working already, but it's only three days a week right now, so pretty good! Don't hesitate to comment or ask me questions. I love hearing them and seeing others discuss them. Happy reading, everyone, and let the celebrations commence!

Chapter Warnings: Violence

The celebrations of Aegon's birth had finally arrived. All the Great Houses were expected to come—all but one. The Velaryons and part of the Targaryen faction were not extended an invitation. Rhaenys had taken this as a political slight by Queen Alicent. She was collateral damage in the cold war between Rhaenyra and her old friend. Guilty by association.

Lord Corlys was still fighting for control of the Stepstones and had put his loyal Lady Wife on the Driftwood throne to rule in his stead. The alliance of the Triarchy and House Martell of Dorne was of much concern, and without the aid of the King's fleet, the battle was all but lost. Yet, through it all, the Sea Snake remained on the collection of islands, fighting tooth and nail against those who wished control of his rightful territory.

Princess Rhaenys did not know of your efforts inside the Keep, slowly but surely attempting to send help to the losing battles. The day she was crowned the "Queen Who Never Was" came to mind. She felt abandoned by her cousins, Daemon and Viserys, for refusing to take a stance on the insurgents. Baela was her only solace, her heart missing the pieces her children used to occupy. She would never forgive them if her husband died.

You sat at the exponentially smaller desk in your room, the maids you had yet to become familiar with brushing your silky hair as you read two pieces of parchment.

Jace and your father had sent you letters. Daemons were curt, mentioning nothing about how he missed or thought of you while away. It was as if he was speaking to a fellow warrior, not his daughter. Only ensuring you were still on track with your efforts, wanting to know how far the influence of the Hightowers reached and when to expect words regarding the Stepstones. You ignored him for now, folding it in threes and placing it in the side drawer of your desk as you read your brother's.

"Dear Sister,

Jealousy became me when I bid you farewell a few days ago. I knew what I said was wrong as the words lept from my tongue. I am not proud, and regret has haunted me since. I express my sincerest and deepest apologies.

You have always been open and honest with your emotions, and I wish to do the same. I love you, sissy, despite what my words may have alluded to. You have experienced hardships that no child of that age should witness, and you did not grow to resent your family for it. I cannot say the same for me if something similar happened.

I wish the Queen did not invite you to Kings Landing, not because I am jealous, but because I haven't a clue what I mean to do without you. Father wants me to be strong, like you. He wants me to practice swords like you. He wants me to listen to Mother's audiences like you, but I am not you. I am a boy whose lineage is clouded with stolen kisses and an accidental fire.

I wish you were still here so I could feel your embrace. I do not believe I can handle Daemon for much longer. How have you done it for so long?

The days cannot go fast enough as I await your return. I intend to give you a proper apology once you are home. Perhaps we can spend some time in Aegon the Conqueror's Garden as I grovel? I will arrange a picnic for when I do. I don't want to beg on an empty stomach.

Missing you,

Jacaerys Velaryon, your wretched little brother."

His endearing letter did not help the ache for Dragonstone. A smile burned your cheeks as you rubbed the dry paper between your fingers. You could smell the brimstone on the fibers, the sulfuric scent taking you home.

"My Lady," a servant gained your attention, taking your focus off the sweet words. "The men should be returning from their hunts in the Kingswood soon. I would suggest we start readying you for the tourney later today."

You nodded wordlessly, giving them a tight-lipped smile as you put Jace's letter next to Daemon's. You will be sure to write them both later.

You were confident Jace would love to hear how the tourney went. He had always gravitated toward stories of knights in shining armor valiantly jousting for a lady's favor. He had spoken several times about wanting to participate in the events. That was the only thing that pushed him to pursue the sword, other than your mother's and father's orders.

You could picture your little brother atop a white steed, armor resembling a dragon with a lance in his hand, asking for the favor of one special noble girl. The image brought a genuine grin to your face. Jace was always the gentleman his Mother taught him to be.

You wanted to stand out amongst the crowd of green royals you were sure to be seated with. It was to be your first public appearance since your legitimization, and you had to make an impression. You allowed your ladies to bathe you, and upon your exit from the tub, you requested one to show you the variety of gowns you had brought. Black was always the most innovative option, representing the colors of your House, and there were plenty to choose from, thankfully. It was only a matter of which one.

You decide to help your decision by considering the weather and environment. Most of the gowns you had were thick for the constant chill of Dragonstone and would indeed have you draped over a chair with a fan to cool off despite the changing seasons. That had only left you with a few options, which immensely helped. It had revealed a dress you once deemed too scandalous to wear in your family's presence.

It was not typical Westerosi fashion. Rhaenyra had commissioned a tailor in Dorne to create a gown when you officially became of bedding age.

You could tell it was something she had longed to wear as a girl, a freeing and rebellious design, but etiquette and her position would not allow her to wear such exotic clothing. You did agree with her that it was stunning. The deep plunging 'v' of the neckline certainly accentuated your breasts and made them much more pleasing to the eye as your maids tightened the strings in the back.

The fabric was a combination of red with an overlay of black lace. Golden thread held the seams together, and a matching cape to your shoulders, leaving your arms bare. Pieces of Aurelian were sewn on the shoulder pads of it, looking like crumpled yellow leaves that cascaded down your biceps. A circled belt of silver was delicately snitched around your waist, the excess of the metal resting between your legs.

After you were dressed, the servants ushered you to the vanity, holding the draping fabric so it did not catch as they began to fix your ebony hair. They elected not to put it in its usual braided style, instead rolling and twisting the long strands onto themselves until they reached the base of your head, pinning it to your head. It was simple, and you immensely enjoyed the freedom it gave to your range of motion.

Next, they adorned you with matching jewelry and a delicate headpiece that arched over the crown of your head. A necklace of a curled golden dragon wrapped around the hollow of your throat, a long needlelike chain attached to it as a polished metal fang hung at the end. They then slid a hammered bronze cuff on your wrist and rings of the same color, dragonglass, and rubies for its gems. The ladies applied the final touch of makeup to your skin, a fine powder to rid the shine from your nose, a dusting of rouge, and a hint of rose-colored balm to your lips.

You felt like the Targaryen princesses of centuries past, the blood of old Valeryia pumping your heart.

You would give anything for your Mother to see you now, dressed in the traditional colors of her House. Though you couldn't hide your relief in Daemon not being here, you were sure he would've made you change or barred your door to stop you from escaping in such scandalous garb. You stood, finding the dagger Daemon had gifted you and the belt it was connected with. You hooked it around your waist, adjusting it to be just out of view.

Your servants stared at you in awe, more amazed by their work than you as you grabbed the wreath of black charm lilies and black crystal pansies you requested to give your favor to the knights who asked. You didn't believe any of them would but knew it was proper to have one nonetheless. You smiled at your ladies, conveying your gratefulness through your unusual eyes. You turned, facing the three women, your cape resembling a waterfall.

"I believe I haven't inquired of your names yet," you prompted, looking them over. The youngest of three fiddled with the hem of her white apron, avoiding your gaze. "I do apologize for that. You all have been very kind to me."

"I am Jeyne," the oldest spoke first, giving you a curtsy. Grey hair poked from under her servant cap, wrinkles creasing the corners of her eyes.

"I am Fiora," the next one spoke, bowing. She appeared not much older than you, with bright green eyes and a splash of tan freckles on her nose and cheekbones.

You would guess the youngest girl, around Jace's age, continued playing with her clothes, muttering a meek "Dyana" and quickly bending her legs. You frowned at her response, sensing her anxiety, and reached for her tiny fingers, rough and dry with callouses.

"You need not be frightened, Dyana. I am not as wicked as the whispers claim me to be," you jested with a grin. She returned it, but it did not reach her eyes. A pang of sadness struck your chest as your gaze flicked over her as if you could understand the reason for her apprehension at a glance.

"My Ladies," you said, standing and clasping your hands in front of you as you bowed your head. "It is a pleasure to become acquainted finally. I am sure we will become close during my stay here." You smiled at all of them once more, your attention resting briefly on the meek fair skinned girl. "If any of you need something from me in the meantime, no matter how small or trivial, I will be at your service as you are to me."

The three shared bewildered expressions, Fiora's mouth agape as all muttered their thanks.

You supposed their reaction was understandable. They had never been treated like people before, almost making you feel bad for your motives.

Your plan would not hurt them in the long run. If anything, they would most likely be grateful to have a princess as an ally. Most nobles did not realize how much of their life depended upon the people serving them, not considering that they saw and heard everything within their homes. You would be a fool not to take advantage of that during such tumultuous times.

"Well," you clapped your palms together, giddy to finally have that out of the way, "I have grown rather famished and wish for some snacks before I watch men get rammed with sticks." Jeyne grinned, and Fiora bit her pink lips at your crude words. "I know that this is not proper, but I truly am in the dark. If you would not mind, could you lead me to the kitchens? I frequented them much at Dragonstone, as midnight snacking is a vice of mine, and wish to know where they are when the cravings emerge."

Knowing your next moves hinged on their response, you had planned those words carefully. You needed to tell them something that they believed was a secret. Daemon had told you once that revealing something one would deem embarrassing, that displaying vulnerability to a fellow human would have them drop their defenses, but if they were smart enough to realize this, it would ruin everything.

Fiora gave a toothy grin, nodding vigorously before looking at her companions. The other two shared the same smile. Through those actions, you could quickly tell what her personality was. She was a giddy and sweet girl, albeit a bit more susceptible than someone of her age should be. The other women followed along. Her joy was contagious as they approached the kitchens with you on their heels.

A self-satisfied smirk replaced the kind smile you wore for your servants.

Everything was going according to how you imagined it. Your maids took kindly to you, and as you traversed the long hallways and steps of the Keep, each passing nobleman and servant noticed your presence. One Lady gasped as you rounded a corner and met face-to-face, quickly scurrying away like a scared field mouse. A man who stood over a full head taller than you raked his eyes over your form, his attention staying on your breasts long enough for Jeyne to notice. She silently stepped before you could truly capture his face, only noting his long black hair and eyes.

Servants bustled throughout the kitchens, some throwing large pieces of dough on a floured table, others running with plates of food and ingredients in their hands. None of them paid attention as you entered, hidden behind the uniformed girls, having to duck beneath a misplaced stone in the stairwell ceiling.

Jeyne, Dyana, and Fiora led you through an archway into a room filled with even more people who still did not notice you, peeling carrots, potatoes, and other vegetables. You felt your chest deflate in defeat at your seemingly unimportant presence, not anticipating them to continue their tasks and not spare you a glance. It was not every day a member of the royal family graced them with their appearance.

It almost felt like the servants of the Keep did not see you as a Targaryen but as just another one of them. Your mouth soured at the thought, digging your nails into your palms until they left imprints. It would be best if you were happy to see them collectively agree you were not like the rest of your kin, but still, not receiving the recognition you tried so hard for was gutting. You could feel your body deflating, curling in on itself as your previous confidence dwindled.

No matter, you told yourself. This can work to my advantage.

They saw you as not someone to be feared, and perhaps you could extend those same opinions toward your Mother. Rhaenyra needed everyone who resided in the Red Keep to be on her side when she ascended the throne, the nobles who lived at court, and the knights who protected and defended the Targaryen name. Everyone was needed.

Jeyne handed you a peach from off the wooden table a male servant used to cut some vegetables, smiling as your thumb stroked the fuzzy skin. You could still remember when fruits such as that were unavailable to you, though these memories were faint and grew more difficult to recall as time passed. Dyana then found a jug of cider, filling a small goblet up to wash down the sweet taste that danced on your tongue, and Fiora used the corner of her apron to wipe the stray juices that dribbled out of the corner of your mouth. You smiled at them both gratefully, fighting on the inside not to swat their doting hands away, feeling like a child again.

You sucked the last bit of the pulp from the large seed before removing it from your lips and throwing it in the bucket they used for scraps. You continued to sip on the brass goblet Dyana had given you, following them from out of the kitchens and into a courtyard you had never seen before. It was lined with pens filled with livestock. Sheep, pigs, goats, and chickens belting, chirping, and snorting as you passed.

You were still determining exactly where the tourney would be held but had yet to hear of the vast and spacious arena it was. You knew you would be sitting inside the royal box next to the other noble members of your family, and you couldn't hide how less than joyful that made you feel. You did wonder if the King would be there, knowing that what the Maester and Otto said were complete lies about his health. Some of you still held onto hope that there was some truth in their deceitfulness. Indeed, they couldn't be so bold as to say something that could easily be disproven with one's eyes. The next Council meeting would undoubtedly be an eventful one.

Your ladies led you back inside an entrance of the castle you had never seen before, urging you to follow their steps and assuring you were close. Soon, the low rumbling of voices could be heard. Different pitches and accents all melted into one continuous barrage of sound as you ascended the stairs to your seat.

The first leg of the tourney was set to begin in a short while, and most of the royal family had already made their appearance. Even the eldest prince sat in a high back chair, practically falling asleep with a cup of wine in his hand. A slight grin formed on your face at the endearing sight, appearing as if you were looking at a babe rather than a man grown. His perfectly pink lips stuck out in a pout, a sigh escaping as he adjusted in his seat.

You were standing above him diagonally on the top riser and could see every huff, and every scoff he made as his Mother spoke to him, but Aegon could not see you. Queen Alicent said straight ahead, not looking at him as you saw her permanent scowl. It was her firstborn's name day, which should be celebrated with nothing but smiles and laughs. One would think she would be happy for such an occasion.

Aegon said something to his Mother that made her snap her head in his direction, ready to offer him some choice words as she saw you.

You could hear the gasp leaving Alicent clutching the pointed star of the Seven glued to her neck. You swore by the sound she made she had not seen you but the Stranger himself as her face paled. The Queen whispered something as she quickly looked away. Aegon was just as shocked as you regarding his Mother's reaction. He thought she might faint as he swiftly turned to see what it was all about.

Your gazes looked at one another, and your cheeks reddened under his stare. You felt your heart flutter in your chest, offering him a quick curtsey as you walked to an open seat at the lowest riser, crossing your legs as you adjusted the dagger at your hip.

Aegon had died. Well, it certainly felt like it when he laid his eyes on you. For once, his vision was clear and not yet clouded by the drink, and he could see your perfectly crafted body. He immediately went to the plunging neckline of your dress; how could he not? Your breasts were right there where he could see, noticing how much bigger they were than he initially imagined. He then noticed the curled golden dragon around your neck, reminding him of his own, Sunfyre. Had you chosen that for him? Did you purposefully put that on with him in mind? Aegon could feel his cock harden at the thought.

He watched you descend the giant stone steps, holding your skirts up so you did not trip as he saw your bare ankles. He could hardly contain the twitch of his hips at the sight. Aegon had been with many women in his life, too many to count, and yet seeing just a peak of your hidden skin had him nearly spilling in his breeches.

He thought back to your moment in the Godswood. Underneath the Heart Tree, the fragments of the sunrise peeking through the leaves dotted your skin with beautiful rays of yellow. One had been over your eyes, and Aegon had seen your pupils shrink and reveal more of the purple that bathed there. He never wanted to leave that moment with you. He wanted to stay forever underneath that tree, trace the scars on your skin, and kiss every part of you until he had you squirm underneath him.

Aegon remembered how your breathing hastened as your jaw trembled at his touch, your face contorted into a gorgeous pout as he pulled your lip with his thumb. He noticed how you were clenching your thighs together even though you had no idea. Nothing had changed between the two of you, he realized. Aegon knew you desired him as much as he desired you. You just did not know it yet.

Gods. He wanted to take the empty seat next to you so badly but knew what his Mother would say if he did-- what she would do if he did. So, instead, he signaled for a serving girl to fill his chalice to the brim, drowning his sorrows in Arbor Red.

***

You felt rather pathetic as you shifted in your seat, the wood creaking with your weight as you still held your wreath of flowers. You could sense everyone's eyes on you and the empty chairs positioned at your sides. No one wanted to sit next to the bastard, you mocked in your head, feeling as if your eyes would pop out of your skull if you rolled them any harder.

It was the fifth round of the tourney, and five men had been knocked off their horses, but no fighting had ensued. Bracken, Tully, Arryn, Tyrell, and Blackwood boys had to skulk back to the stables knowing they had lost.

The King had still yet to show if he was ever going to, and you had given a fierce glare at Otto Hightower a few rows up when he announced the tournament had officially started. You had caught the stare of Princess Helaena in the process and immediately softened, returning her kind smile before the One-Eyed Prince stole her. You made a mental note to see her at the feast the following evening, perhaps share a dance or two.

With the end of the fifth round started the sixth, and the vibrant lion banners of House Lannister were prominently displayed as Ser Tyland entered the arena. He sat atop his chestnut horse, trotting over to the squire that held his lance. He approached the royal box, and you thought for a moment he might ask you for your favor. You couldn't hide the distance as he smiled up at you but turned his face away, looking at someone behind you.

"I am Ser Tyland of House Lannister," he announced.

Yes, you twat, you said internally, we know who you are. You live here.

"Princess Helaena," he called, and she looked up from her fingers to the man below her. His voice nearly made you vomit. "Would you do me the honor of bestowing your favor for the next round, Princess?" he asked chivalrously.

She glanced at her grandsire beside her, and he nodded in approval as she stood, her pale yellow dress shining in the autumn sun.

"Of course," she smiled, walking to the steps to place her ring of white and blue flowers on the pole of his lance.

"I thank you, your Grace," he replied and then trotted back to the waiting young squire.

Helaena stood there momentarily, her eyes glassy as she looked at you. It didn't feel like her gaze was on you, but more looking through you as she whispered. "Heed the beast within the deep. Rock runs red, and rocks bleed."

You looked at her confused, brows furrowing, and reached for her hand, asking her to speak louder. She quickly smacked it away, her eyes widening in fear as if she was suddenly woken from a dream, and she hurried up the steps.

You didn't have time to dwell on Helaena's outburst as Ser Tyland Lannister's opponent entered the wring. His armor was an impenetrable crepuscule steel and as shiny as the scales that covered your dragon's flesh, a helmet the same color with a mane of yellow hairs spanning from his crown to the base of his neck. His banners were ones you had only seen on paper. Most of the fabric was black, just like his thick armor, but the sigil was a deep golden kraken with ten long tentacles, nearly spanning the entire flag. The squid-like beasts of House Greyjoy were said to terrorize the depths of the oceans and sink the ships of those unsuspecting.

You were unsure of which Greyjoy it was. Dalton or Veron or maybe a cousin or some distant kin that shared the name. You didn't care who it was. They were just another lord or knight seeking fame inside a wood and dirt stadium.

You signaled for a servant, and he gave you a chalice of wine as you slumped in your seat. You didn't want to cloud your mind with alcohol, always the one to be alert and observe things other people may not notice, but this was getting rather irksome, and you needed something to do other than sit and look pretty.

"Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy," the knight said, his horse a dusty grey color as he lifted his helmet off his head. You ignored him with confidence that it was not you he was speaking to, taking another gulp of wine as you swirled the drink.

Dalton was a fierce and ruthless man. You had heard his stories of his youth sailing the Basilisk Isles with his late uncle, pillaging the towns there. He had somehow claimed a Valyrian steel sword named Nightfall during those plunders. At one point, he had aided in the battle of the Stepstones as a sellsail, where his uncle was murdered. It had been rumored in a fit of vengeance, he killed every enemy within his sight and emerged from the battle victorious and drenched in blood. Since then, he bore the title of the Red Kraken.

"I come seeking the favor of the bastard girl the court speaks so much of." A collective gasp sounded in the royal box, shocked at his words.

You barked out a laugh at Ser Dalton, attempting not to choke on the liquid you just swallowed. You should have been insulted at him for calling you such a name. In the eyes of the law and the Seven, you were no longer a bastard, but clearly, that did not stop people from claiming you as such.

"You have found her, Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy," you mocked, crossing your legs as you began to play with a small leaf. You smiled as you noticed the maroon outline of his House sigil on his breastplate.

Everything thing about him was dark and menacing. He radiated an aura of malevolence from the inside as if you would cut him open; he would not bleed the same red. "Though, I do not think you deserve my favor after calling me such a name." Men and women released more gasps, and you could hear someone muttering a soft "Gods be good" under their breath.

You waited for the following apology, but it did not come, leaving you sitting there like a fool. You hummed in disapproval, pushing yourself upright.

"I am no longer a bastard girl," you stood, holding the flower wreath between your fingers, "but that of a woman born from a night of sinful heat and passion. I am skilled with the blade and well-read. I study history, philosophy, and the politics of the realm." Ser Dalton's onyx gaze crept from your leather slippers to the white streak in your hair. He watched you step closer and lean over the railing so only he could hear you. "I am not just a simple fucking bastard girl."

He watched the words roll off your tongue, gripping his lance tighter with parted lips as you placed the circle of black and wine-colored flowers on it.

You fixed your spine, staring down your nose at the bannerman before you. "Win this joust Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy, and I will forgive the slight you have made upon me. For I am afraid if you do not, the sand of the Iron Islands shall turn to glass, and your Salt Wives will finally be free. You have my favor and my luck." You flicked your wrist as you walked back to your seat. "Off with you."

"Thank you, Princess. You honor me deeply." He lifted the fist that carried his helmet and crossed it over his chest, bowing his head with an amused smirk.

You sat down, grabbed the cup you had been working on, and asked the servant to fill it again, unbothered with his courtly manners. Ser Dalton placed his helmet back on and readied his horse for the first bout.

You almost chuckled at the sight, drink to your lips. Sitting on his horse, he looked like a nasty black pony with a yellow mane, ready to bite and kick anyone nearby. His whole get-up was quite ridiculous as you continued to watch.

Ser Tyland's armor was so very much... Lannister. There was no other word to describe the style. He wore a long red flowing cape, his dense silver breastplate trimmed with gold in the shape of a lion.

An announcer with a sizeable brass horn stepped onto a wooden platform a few meters before the royal box. He wore a plum-colored hat with a dyed feather and an off-white tunic dampened with sweat and stained with dust as he shouted the outlining phrases for the beginning of this round. He introduced each House and their respective ranks within them.

"Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke, conqueror of thirteen Salt Wives, Lord of the Iron Islands," he boomed into the sky, swaying his hand to the right side of the arena to where the man was. He paused to let the crowd shout their praises.

Screams and hollers of people echoed loudly, drowning out the announcer as he introduced Tyland next. You could see the proud Lannister boy's ego was hurt at the apparent favoritism, and you feigned a pout at the sight.

Finally, he blew his horn, signaling they could begin. Ser Dalton did not waste a breath in fear as he charged at Ser Tyland, his yellow-striped lance already bent and ready to take his opponent off his horse. You scoffed, taking another sip of the sickly sweet wine.

If he planned to knock Tyland down on his first try, he clearly did not comprehend the point of a joust. You did not understand why the audience would love him if he intended to get this over swiftly. This was supposed to be entertainment and not battle. It was meant to be a spectacle for the crowd, a break from the mundane life of the court.

At the last second, as Dalton and Tyland were about to collide stick to the chest, Ser Dalton lifted his lance straight. Ser Tyland's breezed past his rival, completely missing his goal with a cheer from the crowd. You mirrored their sentiments but did not show it on the outside, only adjusting in your seat with a soft sigh. You saw Dalton to the left now, and if you did not know any better, smirked at you. Arrogant, just like the Lannisters.

They went at it again, the hooves of their steeds thundering on the packed earth. This time neither of them started with their poles down, only for Ser Tyland to raise it at the last moment and knock Ser Dalton in the shoulder. Sadly, he did not fall off his horse and only lost his grip on the lance, dragging a line in the dirt. You laughed, pleased to have witnessed at least some bruising to the man's pride.

You tried your best to ignore the stares of those behind you. They had been on you since you sat. No doubt, if you looked, you would only be met with aversion and disgust. You steeled yourself, moving from your slouched position to rest your hands on the arms of the chair.

Aegon was part of the stares, though his expression differed significantly from the others. His Mother had cast him a sidelong glance at his reaction, and only then did he outwardly calm. He had been inside his mind until the squid boy approached you, asking for your favor. He even had the gull to call you a bastard! In front of nearly the entire court of the Red Keep! Oh, how Aegon wanted to call his dragon and burn the fish to pieces.

It also did nothing to soothe him when he saw you lean over the box fence, telling the squid boy only something he could hear. He knew your breasts were on display for the man judging by his hungry gaze. At one point, Aegon swore he saw him adjust his stance in the saddle.

Aegon was furious. His nails dug into his seat's material, feeling splinters wedge underneath them. He stole a pitcher of wine from a servant, keeping it on his lap so he could have continued access to it.

He was so, so furious as he watched your sudden interest in the tournament. He knew you were only mesmerized by the men in front of you because Ser Dalton gave you attention. Aegon wasn't upset over that; no, he was upset over the fact that the Lord of Pyke had won the round by hitting Tyland Lannister straight into the chest, sending him flying into the dust. He noticed how your shoulders lifted with barely contained excitement as he watched Ser Dalton send a bow your way.

He groaned, not filtering his discontent for the rest of the rounds that unfolded, which, sadly, each one Ser Dalton was the victor of. Eventually, the final bout started. His opponent was a Glover boy from the north, unsure of which one, but it didn't matter as he witnessed the Red Kraken get thrown from his horse. Aegon couldn't help but cheer theatrically at the sound of the lance splintering when colliding with his stomach.

He had caught your sudden gaze then, brown eyes flitting over how he stood and clapped his hands. You didn't smile but gave him a look of confusion, your thick brows furrowing. He had felt his jubilance subside, but only slightly.

Suddenly, Ser Dalton shouted, yanking a sword and shield from his squire and challenging the victor to a duel. Aegon felt his stomach sink into his chair as a strand of his blonde mane obscured his vision. Oh, splendid, he mused; the squid has pride.

The Glover had taken up the challenge without strife, still proudly wearing the banner of his House on his back. Aegon wondered if you had ever witnessed a duel before. He knew you had taken a life, but it was not the same as watching someone do it. Selfishly, he dreamed you would turn away at the sight and seek comfort from him, but that was all it was... a dream.

You watched with surprise as the Glover's and Dalton's swords clashed, the clang ringing in your ears. Each slash and thud of their metal longswords sent a jolt through your bones, curling your toes and squeezing your drink in a vice-like grip. You hated to admit that you felt nervous, your heart beating just a little too fast to be considered normal.

Ser Dalton's swings were wild but held a skillful precision, connecting with the Glover's side. It knocked the wind out of the poor boy's lungs and had him raising his shield as Dalton kicked it, sending him stumbling further.

He was so savage, so bloodthirsty that it made you shiver. You finally understood why he was called the Red Kraken, and you feared for the Glover's life. Surely, he wouldn't kill the boy; you hoped he wouldn't. The poor lad looked like he had just become a man. He was much shorter than Dalton but still taller than you, and he looked like this was his first tourney. You wished he would yield.

Ser Dalton swung at the boy, his armored fist connecting to his jaw with a nauseating crunch of bone and metal. Confidently, he kicked to disoriented teen in the stomach, knocking him to the ground, his sword falling just out of reach. He went to pull his shield to defend himself, but Dalton stomped on the arm that carried it. You could see how the Kraken stood over the Armored Glove, unable to hear what he said to him. You didn't need to. You knew what came next, and it did not frighten you. The Glover lost the duel as the Greyjoy raised his sword, cutting off the words that attempted to leave his tongue with a blade to the throat.

It was bloody. So very bloody. The essence of the Glovers' life force spurted from his body onto the face of Ser Dalton Greyjoy, dripping from his chin. You heard the gasps of those around you, a platter dropping at the horrific show as the ground became saturated with red. You didn't feel sad as you watched two people drag his body away, the crowd bursting into cheers and applause. In fact, you felt hardly anything, sitting as if nothing had happened as the announcer raised Ser Dalton's hand in triumph. You were used to death by now.

To the outside person, you looked alright, but Aegon knew you were anything but. Your knuckles blanched around your drink, resting it in your lap. He felt foolish to think you would shy away from such things. He knew you were much more robust than that, but still, he hoped you would run to him.

Everything next seemed to happen in slow motion. Aegon watched the crown of roses intended for the Queen of Love and Beauty be placed into Dalton's bloodied palms, strutting over to the royal box as he called out the most beautiful name he had ever heard... Yours.

His little one. His love.

Aegon went to jump out of his seat, but the firm hand of his Mother yanked his arm, abruptly pulling him back down before he could mock the royal family with his outburst. He wanted to rip his Mother off him and run to you. He wished to hide you from the hundreds of eyes staring at you. This wasn't right. He panicked. This cannot be right. You were his, and he was yours until the end of days.

He pictured what Ser Dalton's head would look like on a spike as you walked down the stairs and onto the small platform below. He watched the Salt Lord's eyes rake across your body as he placed the crown on your head, whispering something that made you clench your fists.

Everyone knew what this meant grandiose display meant. The Lord Reaper of Pyke intended to court his pretty girl and make a Salt Wife out of her. No, Aegon thought. That will never do.

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I hope y'all liked this chapter. It's an exciting one! We've met a new character, Dalton Greyjoy. He plays a big part in The Dance of Dragons. I won't spoil it for anyone, but let's say his heart runs black… The next chapter is the feast for our baby boy's 20th birthday! Let's hope Aegon gets everything he wishes for.

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlykat, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @brezzybfan, @dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfild, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @bellameshipper, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @buckylahey, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @joliettes, @existential-echo, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess, @rachelnicolee, @candy12110, @w3ird11, @ruhjkie, @fatalewomen, @somemydayy, @ariana-dumbledore8, @marikkjj, @zillahvathek, @sunfyresrider, @sunny-boy-06

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226 notes · View notes

lightofraye · 3 months

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do you ever think just for a little bit, that you might be wrong?

having so many angry people come and tell you that you're wrong, doesn't that make you doubt yourself?

if you were a little bit more humble and a little less entitled, you would consider that you are human too, therefore you're just as prone to making mistakes as anyone else.

maybe you should research better your sources, some of the people you've been talking to have said before that they just like to rile people up, they've admited to making up stuff just for fun.

you also have a dignosed sociopath among your sources, which means they cannot understand emotions.

there's also a troll in disguise, who brags about making people like you believe anything, and then laughs their ass of when you people start making theories based on their bs.

seriously, is it that crazy to believe that Jensen really loves the woman he married?

Hello anon.

You asked a lot here, and I first want to thank you for actually being respectful and polite about it. I don't think I'm being attacked for sharing speculation so much as these particular fans took offense that I'm pointing out that Jensen is, well, an imperfect human. And they didn't have to read my posts--that's just it. Why does it matter if a lone, small-time blogger, is saying something opposite of what they think and feel? I'm not hunting them down, am I? No. I stick to my little corner here.

Okay. Now that's out of the way... let's address what you said.

do you ever think just for a little bit, that you might be wrong?

All the time. It's called being an imperfect human. Not just about Jensen, about everything. Hell, in one screenplay I've been writing on and off (based in the late 1800s) I actually consult my historian daughter-in-law. I'm not joking either.

having so many angry people come and tell you that you're wrong, doesn't that make you doubt yourself?

A dozen--and this is me being generous because their identity is protected through the anonymous feature--of people being pissed at me is not "many" and no... it wouldn't.

Now, if they had concrete proof of anything that I said was wrong, I would actually retract what I said. When it was already pointed out to me that I got an Austin property and the Colorado condo incorrect, I apologized right in the open! When I get a piece of fact wrong, I do apologize. Even if it killed me.

So far, I haven't really seen anything concrete that says I'm wrong. And no, sadly, "Jensen said so!" is not enough. Not when a lot of what he's said is contradictory or an outright lie. (Example: Prequelgate.)

if you were a little bit more humble and a little less entitled, you would consider that you are human too, therefore you're just as prone to making mistakes as anyone else.

Please point out where I arrogantly stated that I knew better than anyone. That I alone knew better than anyone. Please. I beg you. And "entitled" is a strong word, but I'll roll with it. Because... I am entitled to share my opinion on just about anything. Just as you and others are entitled to feel pissed off about it. (Though you are not entitled to the protection of anonymous responses.)

The vast majority of what I've shared and written has been agreed upon by other Jensen Ackles fans and even non-fans! You think I came to some observations on my own?? Or that I didn't wrestle with it for months?

maybe you should research better your sources, some of the people you've been talking to have said before that they just like to rile people up, they've admited to making up stuff just for fun.

You mean like... oh... AustinAmy? Or Abi? Jensen Ackles fans who lied? Them?

And, um. Who do you think I've been getting information from? @walker-girl? @its-sassyboots? Or @hologramcowboy? Or @neecy83? Or @jarpadswalker? Or @supernaturalconvert? (My sincerest apologies to those I tagged. Ahem.)

In actuality? None of them.

Most of what I've mentioned, brought up, were through my own two eyes and ears. I read articles. I watched con panels. I observed pictures that I found through public media. Some, sure, were screenshots that were preserved, thankfully, when Danneel went on a deletion spree to hide her hideous behavior, but most... public. Social media. I didn't 'talk' to anyone.

I did it myself. Why do you think it takes a while for new posts? Because I vet them as much as possible!

And who is making stuff up? Please. I'd love to know.

you also have a dignosed sociopath among your sources, which means they cannot understand emotions.

Er. Who? Because again... I'm not getting anything from just one person. I vet as much as possible or ask for videos. For proof.

there's also a troll in disguise, who brags about making people like you believe anything, and then laughs their ass of when you people start making theories based on their bs.

Again: You mean like AustinAmy and/or Abi? Or Cynifer? Or Dot? Because those so-called members of the Ackles Army are the ones spreading lies.

No one I've spoken to. Because again--I ask for proof. Why do you think I asked about the videos that were sent to me? So I could see for myself.

And I'm still waiting for anyone to point out whatever I wrote is wrong... and back it up.

(Opinions, however, will always be opinions. I guess I do need to state in plain English that some of what I've stated is speculation and I have every right to write my speculations.)

seriously, is it that crazy to believe that Jensen really loves the woman he married?

Yes.

Because he himself stated that his marriage works better when they're apart. That he himself said that when Danneel was on the set of Supernatural, he couldn't be himself. That he himself said that more than once when he came home, she'd hand him the keys and take off herself.

Because a lot of his stories read very generic. There's nothing specific. Just "Danneel likes French food and French music." Okay? When a con or two ago, it was Italian food. Or he'd go sit outside and watch the kids run around. Where's the heart? Where's the specific thing that would stand out in a memory--like maybe while he was moving furniture upon Danneel's direction, he snagged his pants against something and she had to free him while laughing her ass off?

Not to mention, in a lot of photos, there's no genuine affection. It reads like a business arrangement more than a love story. Their kisses in public? And no, I'm not saying they need to be tongue deep to show a kiss. I'm saying their kisses read like cold fish, with his lips so closed and desperately pulling away all the time.

Even Danneel has more open affection and warmth with a family friend than she does her own husband!

So... yes. It is hard to believe.

I've not seen any genuine love or warmth from Danneel--not in anything she's said to do, or done to him. And Jensen... same for him, from him, about her.

Look, anon, I get it.

As hard as it sounds, I am passionate about Jensen. I've been a big fan since his time on Days of Our Lives. I've seen him grow and then stagnate as an actor. I've seen him go from this open, slightly shy and reserved young man to... to this. I could show you, nearly, a timeline of seeing him being bright and full of energy to someone who looks like he's dying inside. This isn't an attack, I promise you.

It's an observation. No, it's not a projection (as I've been accused). It's someone who grew up in an abusive household (like Jensen with his father; his own words) and learned how to read people in order to survive. As a result, I could tell when someone was devastated even before they were ready to talk about it. I was the person people turned to for a shoulder because they knew I'd listen and actually care.

It's how I made my own family.

It's how I came into having a daughter.

I'm not sharing this to toot my horn, anon.

Because isn't it possible... that maybe I'm the one who is right? And it's shattering a vision of an actor who should be seen as an imperfect human being as opposed to the perfect man with the perfect marriage and the perfect career?

#anti danneel #anti elta #jensen supportive #jensen concern #I wrote an essay

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blueisquitetired · 1 year

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When you got time, do you have any tips on writing Ingo and Emmets dialogue? I really like how you write them but I can't seem to get their speech down. It's mainly Ingos which is annoying since he canonical has more dialogue than Emmet.

Oh thank you!! I’m glad you enjoy- writing these boys dialogue is one of my favorite parts of writing and has made me seriously consider how I write speech for every character I do. It’s been great practice!

Okay, actual advice time lol.

HOW TO WRITE INGO AND EMMET

(According to me, Blue)

(Now, keep in mind that there isn’t one true way to write the boys, and this is just how I personally write them. Take this with a grain of salt)

When you’re first starting out writing the boys I recommend writing dialogue in your own voice and then submasifying it.

For example, let’s take this dialogue and transform it:

“Sorry I’m late for work! My dog chewed through my nice pants so I had to find some new ones! It’s been a bit of a rough day today, not gonna lie.”

So starting with Ingo-

Ingo talks extremely formally and is super long winded. When writing dialogue for him, try to imagine a fancy British butler who uses long words and long sentences. Replace normal words with more “fancy” ones and use more words then you really need to. (A thesaurus can be extremely useful for this)

“My sincerest apologies for my tardy arrival!”

Then, pepper in train terms as much as possible. If he goes three sentences without saying something train related, find a way to stick one in. If you’re stuck, look up a list of train words and take inspiration (I’ll include a list of train expressions I commonly pull from at the bottom of the post) (Make sure to use “Bravo!” and “All aboard!” whenever applicable as well)

“I awoke to the unpleasant surprise of joltik holes in my trousers this morning- which delayed my cab significantly as I was forced to find an undamaged pair!”

I personally strive to use consonants (stuff like I’d, we’ll, don’t) as little as possible with the boys. For Emmet it’s to add to the choppiness of his dialogue and for Ingo it’s because that man would rather use fifty words when one will do. (It also makes them sound more professional!)

“Honestly, after a morning like this one, I pray that the remainder of today’s tracks prove to be much smoother.”

Another thing to keep in mind is that Ingo is extremely polite while Emmet is a bit more blunt. Try to use titles like “sir” and “miss” when writing Ingo- and then just don’t bother with Emmet.

Next up is Emmet, who I personally find much harder then Ingo! Unlike Ingo who’s dialogue you need to add words to, Emmet you need to subtract and simplify! This is the post I originally read to kinda get the jive of things, but here’s my pointers!

First off, figure out what concepts the are being expressed in your sentence, and split those apart.

“Sorry I’m late for work!” has two parts- an apology and an acknowledgment that the person is late. For Emmet we would want to split this single sentence into two.

“I am Emmet! I am late! Sorry!”

Next is vocal ticks! Emmet has several, and they should ideally be sprinkled in sparingly through his dialogue. (You can see that I used ‘I am Emmet’ in the previous section)

‘I am Emmet’ should be used when he is joining a conversation or when he’s about to say something about himself. It CAN be used more then once in a single conversation- but try not to overdo it.

‘Verrrrrrrry’ is another one! Other submas authors have him roll the r on other words as well, but I stick with verrrrrry. This one is easy to use- just extend the word very with extra Rs and use very whenever naturally applicable.

‘Yup’ is one as well- and one I admittedly don’t use often. It rarely jives with the way I write Emmet so I usually don’t bother- but you should definitely keep it in mind!

And of course, train terms! Less often then Ingo of course (since he says less words in general) but if you can find a way to fit it in, go for it.

“The joltiks chewed holes in my pants! Verrrrry naughty. Had to find new pants. Holey pants do not pass safety checks! Yup!”

Finally, the man likes his patterns! When writing Emmet it’s a good idea to have his Blubapedia page open nearby so you can just steal chunks of his script from that. (You can, and should do this for Ingo too!)

“Bad morning. Oh well. Follow the schedule! Everybody smile! All aboard!”

Of course, the man is perfectly capable of speaking longer sentences- but when and where he does so is up to the author.

All that being said, it’s important to remember that you’ll likely have to attempt their dialogue a few times before getting a sentence to flow right. Even for these examples I had to do a couple takes until I found one that really worked!

Here’s a couple of other notes for writing Pokémon characters in general:

Watch out for expressions and words that use animals. (like beeline or ‘in the dog house’) Try to replace those words with their Pokémon counterparts- (such as combeeline [which I’ve typed so many times I’ve started using internally in my day to day life]) or something that sounds close enough (like if your censoring f***, ducklett doesn’t work nearly as good as duck. So try muk instead!)

Do your best to replace religious swears with Pokémon religion! Instead of heavens, or the big G word, use words like, ‘Dragons!’ Or ‘Sweet Swords of Justice!’ (Of course, these are Unovan swears. For Hisui you should be using things like ‘Sinnoh’ and ‘great Time!’. Other regions have their own legendaries as well)

And finally, my list of train terms I pull from regularly!

Cab (or car): To refer to one’s body

“I am afraid my cab is in need of repairs.”

Tracks: A plan or intended route

“Very well! I will follow the tracks you have set!”

Destination: The goal or like, the actual destination

“Bravo! Your talent has brought you to the destination called victory!”

Station (or terminal): A location

“Very well! Let us set our tracks to the Pearl Clan’s station!”

Two Car Train (or three or four or whatever number you need): Friends or a team

“Emmet and I are a two car train!”

Couple (opposite being uncoupled): To join together

“I must ask that you couple your car to mine as we make our way through here. It can get quite dangerous!”

Engine: Another term for your body, but more specifically in regards to energy or drive

“I’m afraid I must rest my engine.”

Refuel: Eat.

“It is getting quite late- let us take a break to refuel.”

Conducting: Guiding

“I look forward to conducting you on this endeavor!”

Derailment (or collision, wreck, trainwreck): Something that has gone wrong.

“Apologies. It appears I have been derailed.”

Unscheduled (opposite being scheduled): Something unexpected

“Ah! A cave in! It appears we must make an unscheduled stop.”

Passenger: Person (or Pokémon)

“It appears we have picked up some unexpected passengers!”

Conductor: Ingo sometimes uses this to refer to himself (works especially well in Hisui)

“Passenger, please refrain from stabbing the conductor”

Delay: Something happening later then scheduled

“Apologies for the delay! Let us begin!”

Sidetracked: put off course

“Ah, but now I have sidetracked us with this talk.”

All aboard!: Good conversation ender 💙

“ALL ABOARD!!!”

#submas #blue askbox #blue’s writing #subway master ingo #subway master emmet #writing tips

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viablemess · 2 months

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I researched Polites history / myths so you don't have to

I wrote an overview of what I can find about Polites in the Odyssey, other source material, etc.

I'm hoping this is helpful for folks who are curious, looking for inspiration for fanworks, new and returning Epic fans alike. This was intentionally done very casually so all mistakes are my own. I’m also not a mythology/history/Greek scholar in any capacity, so my sincerest apologies for any catastrophes I committed. Did I copy paste some Google scholar work cited without fixing the errors? Yes. Am I okay with that for a Tumblr post? Absolutely. Lmk if you need help finding any referenced texts :)

To preview what I will be covering—first I’ll go over mentions in the Odyssey and how they vary across translations. Then I’ll get into some other content that folks have written either about the Odyssey / the Greek language in more academic circles, or other works that are less formal (they’ve published and I think they’re fun, and they relatively are similar in content to the Odyssey). Next, I’ll add in some more “out there” published works that are more loosely inspired. Finally, I’ll do a deep dive into two specific concepts that I have seen (werewolves, ghost story, taken from an acadenic article about vampires) which relate to Polites.

Before we get started, a few disclaimers: Polites is a type of butterfly, so there’s that. There is also a Polites called Polites of Troy. He is King Priam and Queen Hecuba’s legitimate son and Hector’s brother. So, there is a Polites who is related to Hector, and is likely one of the “kill the brothers of Hector” that Neo is tasked with in Epic. So, when you’re looking up Polites info, if you’re new to the realms of Greek literature (like me) those are some weeds to dig through. The deity Iris does at one point speak through Polites (Hector’s brother) as a side story.

Now, transitioning to the Odyssey…

So in the Odyssey Polites is briefly mentioned at best; some sources say he is "The dearest friend of Odysseus" others say "the dearest to me of my crew" etc. The translations vary. Also, he lead the group into Circe's palace, and he eventually talked Odysseus into leaving Circe's Island. This would mean that in comparison to Epic, Polites lived longer in the myth figure. So, it is ambiguous when he died based on the Odyssey alone.

That said, Polites feels like an ambiguous person based on the Odyssey as source material. He cares about Odysseus (closest friend) and wants him to return home to his family and people (gets him off Circe's Island). That's about all we got.

And now for the other materials:

Odysseus by Geraldine McCaughrean is fascinating. I've not read the whole thing but again my goal here is to connect source materials for inspiration for the sunshine character. Polites gets much more screen time here than in the Odyssey. He is still odulysseus' best friend, and he commands some of the fleet at the time. He still shows respect for Odysseus calling him "captain, my lord" But also "master" in some instances, perhaps hinting that he is/was a slave? He and Odysseus are the only ones who know about scylla, which creates a new dynamic and is the one to tie Odysseus to a poll and try to calm him down during the sirens, so he does not jump overboard. Polites does, however, drown to his death in this version having gotten tangled in ropes and swept overboard.

In Goerne, N. Gender Roles in Ancient Greece and Ancient Rome: Odyssey and Aeneid in Comparison. the author mentions that Polites did fall victim to Circe's song specifically and walked into her hall, Eurylocous was the one who was able to return to Odysseus because he hung back.

In Moorman, C. (2014). Kings and Captains: Variations on a Heroic Theme. University Press of Kentucky. Polites is acknowledged as Odysseus' favorite in contrast to Eurylocous who serves as Odysseus' foil.

Cole, D. R. (1976). 'ASTY'AND'POLIS':" CITY" IN EARLY GREEK. Stanford University. Brings up the good point that POLIS as a word is representative of a city, as is the word ASTY. Polis only shows up in Polites' name, asty shows up more frequently including but not limited to Astyanax. Other scholars have mentioned how this is a geopolitical tension of what makes a city, but I'm not sure if I'm reading those scholars correctly and welcome other opinions. This is by no means my area.

I'm chomping at the bit to find a copy but Polites is frequently mention in The Odyssey: Missing Presumed Dead by Simon Armitage. The pages I can find on Google are slim but I think Circe mistakes Polites for the captain? Or Polites is referred to as captain because he has a position of leadership within the fleet.

TRIGGER WARNING TO SEXUAL ASSAULT BELOW. Based on Daniel Ogden, The werewolf in the ancient world. Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 2021. Pp. 288. ISBN 9780198854319. Daniel Ogden's book argues that Polites is one of the original depictions of a werewolf in Greek literature, more specifically, the ghost of a werewolf. Pls note that I am getting this material based on a review written by Scott Bruce of Fordham University, “Chapter 5 argues at length that the wolfskin-wearing ghost of Polites, a crewman of Odysseus, should be considered a werewolf.” this also refers to the Hero of Temesa by Pausanias of Magnesia, if you want to Google that story. I believe they are the same. I also got material from the article Ogden, D. (2022). Did the Classical World Know of Vampires?. Preternature, 11(2), 199-224. The story goes that in Temesa Polites got drunk and raped a local woman and as a result was stoned to death (other stories depict a different crew member raping a woman and being stoned to death). Then Polites comes back and haunts Temesa as a demon/ghost, and an oracle says if the townspeople sacrifice a virgin to him once a year he won't kill them. Then, Euthymus of Locri fell in love with the woman intended to be sacrificed and chased Polites into the sea, ending the curse. Other readings if the same story say that Polites eats the victim, not just murders and or SAs them. Some readings also mention him wearing a wolfskin, which could be an early nod to him doing these activities under the influence of being a werewolf.

If I find more sources I will be back, but for now that's all folks.

#epic the troy saga #epic the circe saga #epic the underworld saga #epic the thunder saga #epic the musical #polites epic the musical #odysseus #odysseus epic #fanfiction prompt #fanwork #odysseus of ithaca #if anyone was curious #this becamse my special interest for a few days #if anyone does any fanworks based on this content #share with me #id love to read or view yalls work #all mistakes are my own

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nadinebrooks · 2 years

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Here is the link to my masterlist

Severus Snape x Reader: The New Potions Master

Warnings: None that I can think of. This is set driving the Half Blood Prince (6th Year) so for the sake of this, just pretend that Professor Slughorn isn't the Potions Professor.

"Hmph. You're not exactly what I was expecting." The old Potions master stood in the doorway of the new Potion professor's office. He casually leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed and this sort of amused look on his face. She was not what he was expecting at all. He didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.

"Pardon me?" The young women looked away from whatever had been occupying her attention. She adjusted her glasses so that she could see the dark haired professor standing in her doorway a little better.

The new professor was even more beautiful than Snape imagined. The photos he had seen of her didn't do any justice to looking at her in real life.

She had written the newest edition of Potion textbooks that Hogwarts was using this year. She had also written a couple other books about her studies as well that he found rather interesting. Her picture could be found on the back in the bottom right corner of every book she had written.

"I'm very well qualified for this position if that's what you're proposing professor."

"No, my sincerest apologies. I'm not questioning your qualification at all." Snape raised an eyebrow at the very young professor. She looked to be in her mid to late 20s. Now she was taking his position as the potions professor while he moved over to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. "I've read many of your articles and books Miss. (l/n) and I am very impressed by your work. The only person I know that could perfectly replicate some of those complicated potions are myself."

"Thank you Professor. It's Snape, right?" (y/n) got up from her spot at her desk and walked over to him. She had heard a lot about him before coming to work at Hogwarts.

"That is correct. It's Snape. Severus Snape." He held out a hand to shake hers.

"It is a pleasure to meet you Professor Snape. It's about time that I put a face with a name. I've already heard so much about you."

"Oh." He raised an eyebrow. "Who have you been talking to about me?"

"The students." She admitted not being able to meet his eyes. (y/n) looked down at her shoes not wanting to see the look on his face.

The last thing she wanted was to see his face when he came to the understanding that she associated with the students more than the other professors.

She already knew that he thought she was too young for the job. A lot of people thought she was far too young for the job.

Truthfully, she felt like it was a lot more easier to relate to the the students since she had only graduated a couple of years ago. They found it easy to relate to each other.

"Please look at me when you're speaking." Snape used his finger and place it under (y/n)'s chin forcing her to look him in his eyes. "Only the children refuse to look me in the eyes when I'm talking to them. I don't plan on treating you like one of them. You are my equal Miss (l/n). Though you do look as if you could fit right in with the children. "If you don't mind me asking, how old are you?"

"Please call me (y/n)." She waved her hand letting him know it was okay for him to call her by her first name. She still found it a challenge to get the students to call her Professor (l/n). It felt way too professional. "And I'm (any age you would like to use)."

"Why you're merely a child." Snape couldn't himself. It accidentally slip out and he instantly regretted it. He could see the look of hurt flash across her face and then it was gone.

She refused to let him see her hurt. She pushed back her shoulders and looked him dead in the eye.

"I am not a child Professor Snape." She hissed. Her voice was not sweet and inviting like it had been earlier. "I am highly qualified for this job. I know for a fact that I am more qualified than you were when you started this position. I mastered the arts of Potions when I was just 14 years old. I've been brewing potions since I could read. I've had pretty much every potion memorized since I was 11. I learned how to brew Wolfsbane when I was 9 for a couple of my parent's friends. I can make Veritaserum so powerful you won't be able to lie for months. I can make a vial of Felix Felisis so that you would never run out of luck. I refuse to let anyone talk down on me just because I'm young. I graduated with the highest marks in Potions that anyone at Beauxbatons has ever received. So I will see you tomorrow at breakfast. Good night." She quickly walked around him to her sleeping chambers leaving all her belongings behind.

Over the next couple of weeks, (y/n) did her very best to avoid Professor Snape. She made sure to get to meals early to make sure she didn't have to sit beside him. She even changed her route when walking to her classroom to ensure that she wouldn't bump into him in the hallways.

The students had grown to love Professor (l/n). She was very hands on in the classroom and rarely took points away from the student.

They were all extremely respectful to her, which she was worried about at first, but since she was only a couple of years older than them, they found her rather easy to talk to.

Snape couldn't help but overhear how amazing of a professor she was from students in the hallway. He was starting to feel ashamed for the way he had talked to her those weeks ago.

"Professor (l/n)?" (y/n) looked up from the potion she was currently brewing and smiled when she saw Hermione standing at the door. Hermione had become a personal favorite of hers. She reminded her so much of herself when she was younger. Always eager to please and happy to learn.

"Please come in Miss Granger. "She grinned sitting down the clippings of unicorn hoofs and wiped her hands off on a spare towel. "What can I help you with?" She walked over to her desk and then gestured for Hermione to sit down in front of her.

"I was wondering if you could talk to me about Amortentia." Hermione looked down fiddling with her hands clearly embarrassed about the whole situation. "I've read all of your books and I think it's absolutely brilliant all the things you've managed to accomplish at such a young age. It's a potion that I've been wondering about for a couple of years, but Professor Snape is not the easiest person to talk to."

"Well you're happen to be in luck. Amortentia happens to be one of my specialties."

"Are there any potions that aren't your specialty?" Hermione questioned looking at her with wide eyes.

"Well as long as we can keep this between us, I'm not very good at Polyjuice Potions." (y/n) shrugged. "I still struggle with them to this day."

"I've made a Polyjuice Potion before." Hermione admitted not sure if it would get her in trouble or not. She honestly didn't think that Professor would say anything about it. "During my second year."

"Wow." (y/n) said clearly impressed. "And how did that go?"

"It went well for Ron and Harry, but I accidentally turned myself into a cat."

"A cat? I didn't know it worked with animals. I've always been too scared to try."

"I would not recommend it." Hermine giggled thinking back 4 years ago. To this day she still couldn't believe that they didn't get caught for the amount of rules they had broken for that.

"But you didn't come in here to talk about a Polyjuice Potion. You wanted to talk about Amortenia." (y/n) got up from her desk and walked over to a cupboard. She returned with a tiny vial holding a liquid with a pinkish tint. She uncorked it and held it for Hermione to smell. "What does it smell like to you?"

"Parchment paper...freshly mown grass...and Ron's hair." She wouldn't have been able to admit the smell of Ron's hair to anyone, but she found that talking to Professor (l/n) was very easy.

"Ah," she sat back down at her desk sighing, "Mr. Weasley. Amortenia is the most powerful love potion in the world. It causes a powerful obsession or infatuation with the person who brews it. Nobody has been able to create a potion strong enough that can last forever. But it smells different to everyone."

"So that won't make him love me?" Hermione questioned her eyes fixated on the bottle in front of her.

"No Miss. Granger. I'm afraid not. But I wouldn't give up on him just yet. Boys can be so stupid."

"Yeah." Hermione nodded standing up. "They really can be. Thank you for talking to me. Good night."

"Of course. I'll see you tomorrow. Good night." (y/n) said giving the younger prodigy a small smile as she scampered out of her room.

"Boys really can be stupid." There came a low voice from the door. (y/n) looked up to see Professor Snape standing there with an ashamed look on his face.

"Hello Professor Snape." (y/n) coldly said still upset with the comment he made at the beginning of the term.

"You've been avoiding me." He said slowly walking into the room. "Why is that?"

"You hurt my feelings." (y/n) admitted. "I know that I'm young, but that doesn't mean I can't do my job well."

"You're right and I apologize. I've heard the students and other professors talking and it's evident that you are very good at what you do. I made a mistake for what I said to you earlier and I'm here to say I'm sorry (y/n). And I mean it."

"It's okay Professor Snape." (y/n) was grinning. Her whole face light up the classroom. It had been a while since Snape had seen such beauty. He knew that there was no way that she would be interested in him. A girl that beautiful had to have lots of suitors.

"Please call me Severus. I would like to think that we're on first name bases now." He chuckled. They talked for an hour or so not realizing how late it had become. "(y/n)?" He had finally built up the courage to ask him something that had been bothering him the second he laid eyes on her.

"Hmm?" She replied as she was picking up her things letting him that she was listening.

"Are you married?" He asked. That caused her to drop her books and look up at him shocked. That was one of the last things she expected to come from his mouth. "You don't wear a wedding band, but I wasn't sure if it was because of the potions and you didn't want to mess it up. I apologize if that question was too personal."

"It's not too personal at all Severus. Like you said, we're on the way to becoming friends. But no, I am not." She shook her head regaining her composure. "I went to an all girl's school for most of my life so I didn't have a lot of experience with the opposite sex. But I did have a boyfriend for about 4 years or so. We broke up though."

"May I ask what happened?" Snape questioned.

"He didn't like the idea that I was smarter than him." She shrugged.

"Well he was stupid to let you go." Snape said before quickly leaving (y/n) in the room alone with her thoughts.

Over the next couple of months, Snape and (y/n) had become very close. In between classes they could be found chatting in the hallways.

Neither the professors nor students had seen the old Potions Master behave this way. They had even started placing bets on if the Professors would end up dating.

Whenever a class would bring up the idea (y/n) would quickly change the top letting the students know that her love life was not up for discussion. And they knew better than to bring up the subject around Professor Snape.

(y/n) was working on yet another article when there came a knock at the door.

"Come in." She called out expecting to see another professor, but it was Hermione.

"Hello dear." She smiled softly. "What can I help you with?"

"I've done something terribly stupid."

"It can't be that stupid." (y/n) chucked as Hermione sat down in the chair across from her desk.

"I made a love potion."

"You know those are banned Miss. Granger." (y/n) raised her eyebrows in surprise. She wasn't going to tell on Hermione or anything. She was still a child and sometimes children do silly things. Especially when it's for someone that they love.

"I know." There were now tears welling up in her warm brown eyes. "I didn't know what else to do so I came here." She held out her hand holding the little vial. "Please take it before I do something rash." (y/n) took it from Hermione and placed it on her desk. "Can I ask you something?" Hermione questioned.

"Sure."

"What does it smell like to you?"

"(favorite fruit), (another favorite smell), and my ex's cologne."

"Thank you." Hermione quickly gathered herself and scampered out the room. (y/n) didn't want to lie to the poor girl but she couldn't admit to her that it smelled like Snape. Speaking of, here he was for their nightly conversations.

"I think I'm going to have to take a rain check." (y/n) got up rubbing her temples. "I have a terrible headache."

"Would you like me to brew you something?" Snape asked clearly concerned. "It would only take a couple of moments."

"No." She shook her head. "Thank you Severus, but I think I'm just going to sleep this one off."

"Amortenia." He grumbled holding up the vial on her desk. "Who was this for?"

"No one." She shook her head. "Miss. Granger made it for Mr. Weasley, but she brought it to me before she could use it."

"Granger and Weasley? That's a very unlikely couple."

"I think it's cute." (y/n) sighed. "I've always believed that opposites attract."

"Like us?"

"Yes. Like us." She wasn't really sure where this conversation was going now. She watched as Snape uncorked the vial and took a whiff. She was curious now. "What does it smell like to you?"

"A perfectly brewed Draught of Living Dead...my grandmother's kitchen...and you." He finally said looking up her. Snape wasn't planning on saying that but it just happened to slip out. There was no taking it back now. It was all out in the open.

"So what does that mean?" (y/n) stammered clearly flustered. This is not how she imagined the night going.

"Are you that daft (y/n)?" Snape chucked. "I fancy you."

#harry potter preferences #harry potter imagine #harry potter masterlist #harry potter x reader #severus snape #severus x reader #severus snape x reader #severus snape imagine #severus snape one shot #severus snape x female reader #severus snape x oc

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grace-writes-shit · 1 year

Text

I Found You (Bucky Barnes X Rogers!Reader)

Words: 4.1k

Warnings/Themes: Angst! Character death, abduction, torture, human experimentation, allusions to PTSD, depression, thoughts of wanting to be unalived

Characters/Pairings: 40s!Bucky Barnes x Rogers!Reader, Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter (Mentioned), Howling Commandos (Mentioned)

misspygmypie asked:

Hello 🥰 I saw your request post and figured I'd send something in. I've had this idea for years, and it would be fun to read it!

You know when Steve finds and rescues Bucky at Hydra in the first movie? What if it's reader who they're rescuing and Hydra did some experiments on. Maybe she's Steves sister and they wanted to get to him through her and obviously Bucky has a thing for her lol 🥰

A/N: Sincerest apologies for taking so long to get this up. I've been taking on extra duties at work since my partner got fired and things have been super crazy since it's end of quarter. it also hasn't been the best for my mental health, so writing had been a struggle. probably why this ended up being so dang angsty. Sorry. Adulting seriously sucks. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Rain pattered gently on the canvas walls of the medical tent, while boots splashed noisily in the mud it created. Outside of the tent, she could hear the daily drills going on, soldiers training, and officers shouting commands. Her own fellow nurses milled about the tent, tending to wounded soldiers or doing other daily chores. It was a quiet day for the 107th Infantry Regiment.

“Alright, Private Richards, try not to go sticking your hand into random holes again. I doubt the next rabbit will be so kind.” Nimble fingers began tidying up the bloodied cotton balls and gauze used to clean and wrap the boy’s hand. 18 years old, you would think he’d know better than to stick his hand in holes in the ground.

“Yes, First Lieutenant, ma’am…” The boy grabbed his jacket and sulked out of the med tent. She laughed to herself as she watched him go. Knowing him, he’d be back soon enough. Not unlike his Sergeant, who wandered in a few moments later, a lazy smirk on his lips.

James Buchanan Barnes. Or as she’s known for most of her life, Bucky. The charming Sergeant was her older brother’s best friend, having been around since she was small. They were all thick as thieves, hardly seen without one of the others.

It may or may not have been a blessing to constantly have Bucky around. He was kind, funny, and took good care of her and her brother. However, other boys and men didn’t seem too eager to get to know her with him hanging at her shoulder. It’s even worse now with Steve being triple the size he was a year ago.

Occasionally, a brave soul will strike up the nerve to enter the medical tent and ask her out to the nearest town for a drink and a dance. But Bucky had uncanny timing. He always popped up just as she was about to answer.

“Now, a pretty face like that shouldn’t look so angry.” A voice sounded in her ear. A startled gasp escaped her and her hands fumbled the tools she had been organizing. Bucky caught a pair of forceps before they could hit the floor.

“James! You nearly gave me a heart attack!” She admonished him with a firm smack on the shoulder. He chuckled and rubbed the sore spot.

“Ow, careful there, doll. Gonna take my arm off with that strength.”

“Oh please, it’ll take a lot more than that to get rid of you.” She spun out of his reach when he tried to grab her arm. A small smile graced her lips as she made a final spin to face him. “Did you need something, Bucky?”

“What, I can’t come see my best girl just because I want to?

“I know your troop is supposed to be running the course right now, so no you can’t just come see me because you want to,” she said while gesturing for him to sit on the cot in the corner or her station. “Now, what mess did you get yourself into to be sent here?”

“You know me so well, Darlin’,” he whispered wistfully, smiling up at her with those big blues. He wore a dopey smile as he presented his cut left hand. She pursed her lips and tried to fight the blush rising to her cheeks. Damn him.

Stepping closer, she took his calloused hand into her softer one and observed the cut. It wasn’t too deep but still needed to be cleaned and dressed.

“What happened?” She remained in between his legs as she prepped some alcohol and gauze. His right hand toyed with the fabric of her skirt. With a narrowed look, she smacked the back of it.

“Just a climbing exercise; a nail was sticking out of the wall and caught my hand.” His voice was hushed as she worked. She hummed and began cleaning the wound. He hissed and jerked his hand back. With eyes rolling, the nurse grabbed his hand more firmly.

“You big baby.”

“Your big baby.” She smacked his arm again.

<><>

Gunshots fired all around her, men shouting and screaming. Some in pain, some as a battle cry. But all she could think about was how gentle Bucky’s hands had been in hers. And how much she wished it was his hands on her right now.

But larger, rougher hands now tore at her. Pushing and pulling. She screamed from behind her gag and her hands strained against the restraints. Black boots kicked out at her captors as she fought like a feral cat. She twisted this way and that, anything to loosen their grip on her. But against four burly men, she didn’t stand a chance.

She guessed they had gotten tired of her struggling because a blunt weapon struck the back of her head and she fell limp to the ground.

It was cold. Colder than she had ever been. The air was damp, making the ache in her lungs worse. Blurry eyes peeled open. The room she sat in was dark, only a green-tinted light on the other side of the room illuminated the space. Its murky light cast deep shadows around the room that seemed to move. Her head lolled to the side as one shadow moved closer.

Ah, not shadows. Men. Hydra.

“Good evening, Miss Rogers.” His voice was heavily accented and polite. Nothing like what you’d imagine a torturer or murderer to sound like. “I am honored to have Captain America’s sister as my guest.”

She groaned. The gag was no longer wrapped around her mouth, but her tongue felt like lead. Thoughts struggled to focus and grasp what this man was saying.

“Such a shame, a First Lieutenant, Chief Nurse, so much promise in your future. But because of your brother, you’ll never get to meet that future. We have another one much better suited for you.”

His words floated through her mind but didn’t stick. She was a nurse… She helps people. Why was she here? There were soldiers at camp that needed her. Bucky needed her…

“..ucky…” She slurred, drool dribbling from the corner of her mouth. Her bones felt heavier than lead and her muscles were like the slop served at breakfast. The shadows at the edge of her vision danced ever closer.

“Don’t worry, my dear, you’ll forget the pain soon.”

<><>

Bucky tore through the camp, Steve hot on his heels. His blue eyes roved over the multitude of bodies and injured, searching for that familiar head of hair. Always done up so prettily. Like last week when she was bandaging up his hand. Her nails were painted red, and her hair was twisted up into a flawless bun. Her red-painted lips smiled warmly at him. Fear gripped his heart at the idea that he would never see that smile again.

“Bucky, stop!” Steve clamped a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, forcing the Sergeant to a stop. It wouldn’t do his sister any good if they lost their heads. As much as he wanted to tear the whole world apart until his sister was safe, he knew that reckless actions could get her killed. If she wasn’t dead already…

“She’s – she’s gone, Steve. Where is she!?” Bucky spun to face Steve, his eyes wide and slightly crazed. He can’t lose her. He never got to take her on a date. Never got to hold her close and confess how deeply and fervently he love her. Bucky bit down on his lip to stop its wobble. He can’t cry, not yet. Not while there’s still a possibility she’s out there.

“I know. I know, Buck. We’ll get her back. No matter what.”

Footsteps rushed up to the pair. A soldier stopped in front of them, slightly out of breath. “A-a letter for you, sir. It-it has the hydra insignia.”

Upon reading the contents, Steve and Bucky took off to Colonel Phillips' tent. The older man sat at a desk, signing letters to the families of the deceased and missing. Steve hardly gave the man time to put his pen down before requesting a team to rescue the captured. He decided to leave out the fact that he was only doing this to get his sister back.

“I understand the heroic need to save the day, but those who have been taken prisoner are far behind enemy lines and we don’t have the manpower or resources to conduct a rescue mission.” Phillips’ response was expected, but it didn’t stop Bucky’s jaw from clenching or his hands from balling into fists.

The Colonel looked at the two young men standing in front of him. He knew exactly why they wanted to go. Only a fool would think that Captain America wouldn’t move heaven and earth for the younger Rogers. An even bigger fool wouldn’t see the lovesick look every time James Barnes was near her, or the way his gaze follows her as she walks across the base.

Phillips sighed heavily, digging through a stack of letters yet to be signed. First Lieutenant Y/N Rogers. MIA.

Steve took the letter with shaking hands. Bucky felt a tear roll down his cheek.

They were dismissed and the two trudged away. A silent look was exchanged and they agreed. They would go after her with or without permission.

<><>

“…name… Rogers…” Chapped lips mumbled her name over and over again. A tired mind determined to hold on to herself. Don’t forget. Don’t forget. “…Y/N… Rogers…”

“Y/N?” A voice hissed.

“Y/N/N?” A different voice, closer this time.

“Steve! She’s here!” The buckles around her wrists and ankles fell off one by one. Warm, calloused hands that she dreamed about cupped her face. She groaned and willed the fog from her brain. These hands. Bucky’s hands.

“Buck…” She croaked, red lipstick smudged, and once pristine hair hanging limply around her face. His smile brightened the shadows in her vision. Steve had joined them and helped her sit up.

“Hey, doll. What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?” Giving her a watery smile, he pushed the hair from her face. The cheap line earned him a weak chuckle.

“Oh, what any girl does in a place like this,” she responded. Together, the two men helped her to her feet. The room pitched suddenly, her legs giving out under her. Whatever they had given her made her legs weak.

“Guess you make me a little weak in the knees,” she joked as Bucky swept her into his arms. She tucked her head into his neck, leaning heavily into him. Steve carefully led the way out, checking around corners and taking out any enemy soldiers that they crossed paths with.

Eventually, the trio made it out of the now-burning building. A mass of freed soldiers met them and together the company fought their way back to their camp. Bucky cradled her close to his chest the entire time. He stuck close to Steve, letting him take the punches. Steve didn’t mind.

For almost two weeks she was laid up in a cot in the medical tent. It was strange, in the years that she had been an army nurse, she had been the one giving care. She had never been the patient. And the patient of her subordinates, no less.

Her closer friends teased her that she was a horrible patient. Their teasing helped ease the residual anxiety and adrenaline from her ordeal. But what had really helped, was Bucky’s constant presence. During meal time and recreation time, he would come to visit her in the medical tent. Steve would drop by as well, but it was mostly Bucky.

As the days passed, Bucky seemed more and more nervous, however. Like he had something to say, just on the tip of his tongue. Sometimes, when he maybe thought she wasn’t looking, she caught him looking guilty. She hoped beyond hope that he didn’t blame himself for what had happened.

“You’re cleared to return to light duty, First Lieutenant,” Second Lieutenant Fredricks said with a smile.

The first few days of light duty were spent organizing and assisting. Then after a week, she was cleared to begin training again. Nurses didn’t necessarily need to do the drills the men did, but it didn’t mean they couldn’t. She also preferred to stay in shape and to keep her skills from going rusty.

Growing up with her brother being bullied, Y/N learned how to defend not only herself but Steve, as well. The elder Rogers sibling didn’t care for her fighting but he did appreciate that in a pinch, she could defend herself.

In the early morning, dressed in a pair of trousers and a simple shirt, Y/N makes her way to the track. A run should be light enough.

She could make out the tall frames of Steve and Bucky amongst the other men getting ready for their morning run. Bucky smiled as she approached.

“Hey, how’s it going? You sure you’re okay to be running?” Bucky brushed his hand over hers when she stopped in front of him. The touch made her stomach flutter but she smiled confidently at him.

“Actually, I’ve never felt better. I’m tired of being cooped up in the med tent for so long.” She bent to tighten her boots’ laces. Bucky shrugged and patted her shoulder, teasingly telling her to not fall behind. She scoffed and took off after the troops in a light jog.

Steve and Bucky kept pace with her, both worrying she might become too tired and collapse. Their hovering and not-so-subtle glances did not go unnoticed by her. Irritation settled quickly in her bones. She wasn’t some fragile flower. Just because something bad happened to her doesn’t mean she going to break at any moment.

Spurred by anger, her legs moved faster on their own accord. Steve glanced at his best friend as they sped up to match. Soon, the three of them were overtaking the other troops. Bucky was breathing heavily as they passed the frontman, now in a full sprint.

“W-wait!” He panted as the two Rogers siblings were now racing down the path. How was she running that fast!? How wasn’t she tired? Her smaller frame broke past Steve, who was now struggling to keep up.

The younger Rogers didn’t even notice the concerned and shocked looks she was receiving. The wind rushing in her ears and the trees blurring in her vision was all she could focus on. She felt like she was flying; her feet barely touching the ground. She felt free.

She burst into the clearing at the end of their running trail, the morning sun warming her wind-chilled skin. The grass kicked up as she skidded to a halt. A laugh erupted from her, her head light with adrenaline and awe. Then reality sunk in.

Bucky and Steve broke through the tree line a few minutes later.

“Y/N!”

She turned to look at them, her brows scrunched together and lips forming a thin line.

“They did this to me…” She murmured, gazing turning down at her clenched fists. She had thought she was feeling so good because she survived Hydra’s torment. How quickly this revelation brought her down. They poked and prodded, injected, and dissected. They had changed her.

“Doll?” Bucky approached her slowly, hands out in front of him. Seeing her lip wobble had his heart shattering in him. Throwing caution to the wind, he wrapped his arms around her. She buried her face in his chest, drowning her sobs in the rough fabric of his shirt. Her brother stood beside them, rubbing his hand over her shoulders.

“I’ve got ya, sweets. I got ya,” Bucky muttered into her hair. “We’re gonna figure this out. It’ll be okay.”

Lord, he hoped he was telling the truth.

<><>

Months went by as she adjusted to her new abilities. After she discovered her inhuman speed, she quickly learned she was inhumanly strong. Not as strong as her brother, but definitely stronger than any other man in the camp.

She began training with the men, easily laying anyone flat during sparring. Even Steve struggled against her. While he surpassed her in strength, she made it up in speed and agility. She had been given the moniker of Lady Liberty once the higher-ups found out.

But despite the usefulness of these abilities. She couldn’t help but feel violated. Every night she woke up in a cold sweat, dreaming of their cold instruments and icy laughter. More than once she ended up in the clearing from months before.

Each time she made it out there, Bucky wasn’t far behind. He held her as he had back then, whispering comforting words and stroking her hair. This night began no differently than the others. They sat in the middle of the clearing, the half-moon illuminated above their heads.

“I’m sorry, Bucky… You don’t have to come out here with me every night.” She sniffled, wiping her tears from her cheeks. She was settled in between his stretched-out legs, her own draped over one of his thighs. He shook his head and sighed.

“I don’t mind, Doll. Really.” Soft lips pressed against her temple. “Unless you tell me to go, I won’t leave your side. I can’t.”

Shining eyes looked up into his baby blues. She had never felt so safe and protected as she did in Bucky’s arms. Even though she could easily kick his butt in a fight, she knew he would fight tooth and nail for her. And she would burn down the world for him.

There was no doubt in her mind as she pressed her lips to his. He sighed against her as he deepened the kiss, pulling her closer by the waist. Everything clicked into place with this kiss. They had been dancing around this thing between them for years, neither willing to take the leap and possibly lose what they already had.

But the feeling of her lips on his, the taste of her on his tongue had him bitterly regretting not doing this sooner. How many kisses could they have had? How many dates and late nights have they missed? He sure had a lot of time to make up.

“I love you, Y/N.” His breath fanned across the skin of her neck as his kiss-swollen lips brushed along it.

“I love you, James.”

<><>

Over the next two years, the Howling Commandos slowly but surely made their way through the Hydra bases. First Lieutenant Rogers led alongside her brother, Captain Rogers. Not only as extra muscle, but as a nurse, and occasionally, spy. Bucky didn’t like the idea of his girl being ogled by slimy nazi men, but she convinced him that no one would expect a woman to be a super soldier.

She would infiltrate their meetings as a piece of eye candy, acquiring information as needed and then arresting the men as she saw fit.

But this particular mission didn’t require revealing dresses or sultry makeup. Rather, she wore a winter coat and combat boot with reinforced soles. The speed that she ran quickly ate through nearly all of her shoes.

The Commandos were all situated on a cliff overlooking another with a set of train tracks. They were waiting on the train carrying Doctor Zola. Glove-covered hands clenched at her side. Doctor Zola. One of the men who had turned her into this. Turned her into a weapon.

Bucky’s heavy hand wrapped around her waist and pulled her to his side. His soft lips brushed against her temple.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he reassured. “We go in, kick some ass, and then get out. Easy.”

She chuckled and pressed a kiss to his waiting lips. The other men had the decency to look away from the couple.

“Alright, lovebirds, let’s get a move on.” Steve’s voice called out from the edge of the cliff.

She scoffed at her brother and kissed her sergeant once more. “See you on the other side, tiger.”

<><>

Things were going south very quickly. Hydra had more gun power than she had thought. A huge man with bigger guns than himself stood in the doorway to their car. His guns glowed blue as they powered up.

Steve shoved both his sister and Bucky behind him, holding up his shield. The blast had her teeth rattling in her skull, her body flying back further than the boys. The impact of her head hitting the metal floor caused stars to dance in her vision.

She could barely comprehend the cold rush of air from the massive hole in the side of the train. And before she could gather herself, the man was priming another shot, pointed directly at her. Shaking legs tried to bare her weight as she scrambled for her gun.

Bucky had gathered himself faster than her or her brother, so she could only watch as he picked up Steve’s shield and fired a few shots at the enemy. A scream ripped from her throat when blue light shot out at her sergeant.

Bucky went flying, the shield in the other direction. Both the Rogers siblings jumped into action. Steve went for the shield, quickly taking out the other man. She leaped for the hole in the wall of the train that Bucky had flown out of.

Her eyes widened with horror as she gazed upon the man she loved, hanging on for dear life to the crumbling handrails.

“Bucky! Hold on!” She reached out to him, trying to find her footing to get to him and pull him to safety. The look in his eyes was one she had never seen on him before. Blue eyes wide with fear, his mouth poised in a silent scream. And as his fingers brushed against hers, tips barely able to curl around each other, he was gone.

His scream was joined by hers. The image of him falling to his death will forever be ingrained in her mind. It’ll be the last thing on her mind as she goes to sleep and the first one when she wakes up. It’ll be there when she fights her way through Hydra soldiers, and as she sends her fist straight into Johann Schmidt’s ugly, red face.

Steve worried about his sister’s mental health since that day. She had retreated into herself. Long gone was the witty and strong woman he knew. His sister, who had always been so bright, had been replaced by someone who only knew how to fight.

She only spoke to give orders or to communicate during battle. Her words were always clipped and to the point; no room for banter or sarcasm. The icy wall she had built around herself was all to conceal the torment her mind tortured her with.

If only she had been stronger, maybe she wouldn’t have been down for so long. If she had been faster, she could have reached him before he fell. If she had been better, maybe he wouldn’t have died. Every moment was filled with these thoughts. Awake or not. It was all she could think about.

Eventually, she became too tired. She fought with everything she had; Bucky at least deserved that. She wouldn’t give up simply because it would mean he died in vain. However, with each new opponent, she could help but wish that this one would be stronger than her.

No opponent was ever stronger than her. Until now.

It wasn’t a person that she now faced her death with. But a plane filled with explosives. Schmidt was gone, as was the Tesseract. Now, she and her brother faced the cracked windows of the plane. She tried to keep her lip from trembling as Steve spoke with Peggy.

Even if she hadn’t gotten her happy ending, she had wished her big brother would have gotten his. Tear-filled eyes opened when she felt a hand come to rest on hers. Steve’s face was solemn as he spoke.

“I’ve gotta put it in the water.” He was half telling Peggy and half asking for permission from his sister. It wasn’t just his life going down for millions of others, but his little sister’s, too. The siblings shared a weighty look before she nodded.

Lady Liberty listened quietly as Captain America spoke with Agent Carter. No.

Y/N listened brokenheartedly as her big brother said his goodbyes to the woman he loved and who loved him in return.

And as Steve redirected the plane to the icy terrain below, she closed her eyes and imagined the warm hands of her love. His blue fire eyes and easy grin. The feel of his lips against hers. The sound of her name on his tongue.

I’m coming, Bucky.

#my writing #grace writes shit #reader insert #request #angst #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #avenger x reader #tw: mental health #tw: self loathing #tw: depression #tw: ptsd

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