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forbidden-sunlight · 1 month

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yandere!Alastor with Violet Evergarden!reader scenario: A Wendigo's Violent Love Part Three

Warning: aged-up!reader [in early to late twenties], violence, OOC, spoilers for the first season of the 2024 show, possessive and obsessive behavior, Alastor is in denial of his feelings, possible angst.

There may be possible triggers in this story.

If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the back button on your phone or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.

You are responsible for your Internet consumption!

Hey guys, welcome back to another installment of A Wendigo's Violent Love. I am honestly overwhelmed with how much people like this series, and I wouldn't have come this far without the support of this community. I'd also like to give a special thanks to @a-witch-of-writing-desk, @illuminaresblog, and @yourdoorisunlocked with this piece.

Without their insight and assistance in writing this chapter, it probably wouldn't have been posted until early or late April because of my workload.

The scene where Rosie and Alastor reminisce about how they first met was inspired by a comic illustrated by the incredibly talented @notherpuppet. I won’t spoil what it is exactly, so I will leave the link here.

On another note, the Hobby Horse mentioned here is a direct reference to the weapon in American McGee’s Alice: Madness Returns video game.

So, with that being said, sit back, relax, and let's see what's going on in tonight's broadcast with Hell's one and only Radio Demon!

Reblog to support content creators! ❤️

Part One

Part Two

Cannibal Town was a place unique in the Pentagram.

Its streets were lined with buildings that possess a vintage charm in which Alastor cannot help but treasure dearly; after all, it closely resembles the era he lived through in New Orleans. Everything in the town fitted like a tailored glove to the charming cannibal; from its automobiles, the residents’ everyday attire, and even how they greeted each other, tipping their hat off or curtseying with a smile. No one is fully dressed without one~! Who could ever think that it isn’t a lovely place to live in, of all the possible places to live in the Pentagram? Just follow Rosie’s rules and you would be fine~!

But the thought of his delightful friend reminded him that he had not come here for an afternoon stroll, nor to enjoy a delicious cup of coffee at a cafe and not even to see if there were any new meat shops open for business. He needed to speak to Rosie, discreetly.

She was a sensible woman whose establishment, a modest two-story building stationed right where the town’s plaza, offered consultation and other goods for all to enjoy; from the latest fashion trends to comestics to glass displays of ringed pinky fingers, there was something for everyone. No one had to venture outside of the Pentagram for anything. Rosie knew exactly what the citizens wanted and how to protect them. That’s why she is the leader, the one to talk to if anyone wants to do any business here. To set up shop without her permission…well, it was free for all.

He strode down Main Street, smiling and politely greeting a charming group of ladies who called out to him in surprise, currently feasting on some hapless soul who had walked through without following the town’s dress code. For a moment, his mind wandered to the impossible notion of you walking beside him, your gloved hand tucked into his arm with a parasol raised over your head so that you did not get a sunburn.

Alastor suddenly stopped. He felt the corners of his mouth twitching uncontrollably, his face burning, his blackened heart thunder against his ribs, and worse off…his eyes. He felt them changing to radio dials, followed by the unpleasant sound of a record scratching. And all because he is thinking about you, and what he-he did to you! He kissed you!

This is preposterous! Ridiculous. Why are these feelings simply getting worse and not better? Blast it all!

He inhaled slowly, deeply, through his nose and out through his mouth, matching it in tandem with his stride. By the time he reached the entrance to Rosie’s Emporium, Alastor felt his quickened pulse steady itself and he was calm again. Pulling the right stained glass open, he went inside and all the way towards the back of the establishment to see his dear friend sitting behind a counter, consulting a distressed young lady. Rosie was calm and cheerful as always, dressed to the nines with a lovely smile as she handed her client a business card.

Cannibal Town was truly lucky to have a delightful overlord reign over them.

When she looked up, ready to help the next person in the long line, their eyes met. He smiled, waving at her. She immediately perked up, rising from her chair and weaving through the crowd. Well, more like they willingly stepped aside so that their leader could walk to him, but same difference~!

Oh, that was a good joke, ha-ha!

“Oh Alastor, it’s so good to see you!” Rosie exclaimed, grabbing his shoulders and spinning him around in a small circle. “I haven’t heard from you in a while, I was starting to worry that you forgot about me, though I could forgive you if you fill me in on all of the details that’s happened~!” She grinned. “I hear our princess’ hotel is finally finished with those renovations, all ready to accept all the sinners she could dream of! Oh, and Alastor, you truly haven’t let me down this time! The angel flesh we’ve managed to bring back? Well, not only is it absolutely divine in terms of flavor, but people are coming from miles around just to sample some~! ‘Course, with our limited stock, we need to increase the price just a wee bit. Business is booming, and it’s all thanks to you, my friend~!” She blinked, tilting her head to the side. “Hm? Is everything all right, old chap? You’re never this quiet unless those little gears in your mind are turning~!”

Alastor felt the corner of his mouth twitch. No, he told himself fiercely. Keep yourself calm, tell Rosie that there is absolutely nothing wrong and you just thought about stopping by to pass the time, not because you need her help. And even if you do, desperately, you cannot say it here for all of the world to hear!

But the only sound that escaped his mouth was the chirping of radio static. Nothing else. Nothing except the memory of his mouth being burnt from his earlier actions. His eyes widened slightly. Fuck. He was thinking about you again! When will this madness stop?!

He did not know how Rosie knew that he was in fact, not all right, but her jubilant smile softened, and before he realized what was happening, she was pushing him into a corner of the emporium. Two fuschia-colored lounge chairs and a coffee table with a tea tray resting on top of the dark wood, adjacent to the shop’s windows. This was the very same spot where she had dragged Charlie to sit down and ask why Hell’s princess had come to visit her.

This was…not a good sign. He thought as he sat down in the chair opposite of Rosie’s, watching his old friend gracefully follow his example. Not at all.

“Now, what’s going on with you? It’s rare for you to be the strong, silent type.” Rosie said, leaning forward. “I heard bits and pieces about what happened between you and that angel in charge of the exterminators, but I’m not gonna pry. You clearly got more on your mind than angels.”

Rosie has known Alastor for a long time. He’s a showman with all the flair and music at his beck and call, someone who isn’t all talk with no actions behind them. If there is something he wants, he’ll use his charm to get it before anyone realizes what happened. That’s how he rose through the ranks so quickly when he arrived, after all. But seeing him in a state of stunned silence like this…well, it worried her a bit. So she stood up, removing the tea tray from the coffee table with a snap of fingers, and gestured to Alastor to follow her.

He did.

Normally her clients were more than happy to discuss their problems within hearing range because it was the usual sort of issues everyone dealt with: a bad-tasting spouse, decoration advice, gossip on the latest trends in the Pentagram and rumors about the other overlords, etc. But Alastor….well, he definitely was not going to open up about his problems just like that. He preferred to keep things private, and there was nothing wrong with that in her opinion. So she led them to the parlor, a cozy little room with vintage furniture and fuschia wallpaper with flowers on them. There were enough enchantments in them to drown out explosions from the outside and keep anyone from hearing their conversation. Of course, no one is that silly to be that disrespectful in her store like that, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

The tea tray popped up on the coffee table, landing with a light clink. Everything was still warm and fresh as she poured the steaming liquid in the cups. One for herself, and one for him. Alastor inclined his head towards her as he accepted the tea. Oh my, the poor dear’s hands were shaking. Now she was starting to get very worried about her friend.

“Alastor, what’s wrong?” She asked, cradling her teacup and saucer with one hand as she stirred in a pinch of sugar. “Nothing will get past the walls, I swear. You know me, darling. But I can’t help you if you can’t tell me what’s going on -”

“I kissed her.”

She blinked. “Come again?” She asked.

“I…kissed someone, Rosie. An associate at the princess’ hotel. We made a deal in my radio tower and I kissed her.” Alastor’s fingers tightened around the handle of his teacup. His ears were pressed flat against his head, his face was flushed bright red and his eyes filtered between red irises and radio dials. Oh, shit. Better take this slowly or he’ll combust. Rosie took a sip of her tea.

“All right, so you kissed an associate who works at the hotel. Do I know her?”

“Yes.”

“Well, who is she?”

“[First Name].”

“Ah, the girl with the metal arms and the giant…hobby horse?” Rosie thought for a moment. “Couple o’ people said that she was wielding that thing like a baton! Smashed some angel’s heads too!” She chuckled, but noticed the deep sigh leaving her friend as he placed the tea down, reclining against his chair with a gloved hand over his face. She smiled apologetically. “Sorry, sorry. Keep going. Start from the beginning.”

“....She came to the hotel after seeing the commercial everyone made. We were not hiring any staff. Charlie wanted more sinners to come and try to redeem themselves. But [First Name] was stubborn. She and Vagatha did an interview and decided that the best thing they could offer to her was being a groundskeeper. Someone who could keep the place nice and neat, gardening and landscaping. The conditions Charlie laid out to her were that she needed to participate in the activities and make actual progress in changing her ways. In exchange, she’d be given food and board. I tell you, from the moment I saw her, I thought she’d be another form of entertainment~! Imagine, someone who can’t crack an egg, someone who struggles with day to day tasks because she has prosthetics from the Great War! She’s killed people, Rosie, she’s had front row seats to the depravity of humanity and she still believes Charlie’s dream will work! What a joke! What an absolute fool!” He laughed. The sound bounced off of the walls, sending a small chill down Rosie’s spine.

Alastor wasn’t laughing like when someone tells a dad joke he finds greatly funny or makes an ass out of themselves. He sounded….hollow. Confused.

“So why is that I feel so terrible for what I had done, Rosie?” He asked. “She had stumbled upon a secret she should have never known and I made a deal with her to keep her quiet. I did what I needed to protect myself. But I can’t get the memory of how she looked at me out of my mind! She was angry, Rosie, and keep in mind that this is a girl who doesn’t show her emotions as easily as others, and she showed me how angry she was towards me! She was disappointed, resentful, and I don’t know what compelled me to kiss her hand but I did because there was some silly notion in the back of my mind, thinking that it would comfort her! How could a kiss do that?! It makes no sense, what I’m feeling makes no sense!” He suddenly straightened himself up in the chair, and he removed his hand from his eyes….just for Rosie to see the frustration and desperation in them.

“What’s wrong with me, Rosie?” He asked. “Tell me there’s something I can do to forget what I’m feeling right now or I fear I won’t be able to escape this madness!”

“I don’t think you’d be able to, my friend.” She said. Rosie knew what he was going through because she had been in the same situation too, far too many times and it was because of these experiences that everyone came to her for advice on romance. “Al, my dear silly man…you’re in love with this girl. And it’s pretty clear that this love runs deep. You wouldn’t feel terrible for what you did if you didn’t care about her, right?”

He looked at her, stunned. “I…beg your pardon, old friend? I….care for her? I love her?”

Rosie nodded. “You do. And you fucked up your chance at building a proper relationship with her because of this deal you made.”

“That was insurance!”

“And it destroyed her trust in you. You said she was a soldier, right?” When Alastor nodded, she continued. “Well, soldiers need comrades they can trust to watch their backs as much as they need accurate information on enemy forces. You were her comrade, someone she could trust and now…she can’t. That’s why she was angry with you.” She tilted her head. “But it’s up to you if you want to rectify the mistake you made…or let it be the reason why she may never see you in the same way as you see her.”

“Then teach me, Rosie.” He seethed, leaning forward as he slammed a fist against the table, causing the tea tray to rattle. “Teach me how to forget these feelings because I do not want nor need to love someone to live a fulfilling afterlife. Love makes a person weak! A smile is a more valuable tool than love! It inspires your friends, keeps your enemies guessing, and ensures what comes your way, you are in control!”

Rosie glared pointedly at him. “Mister, you are most definitely not in control. If you ask me, stifling these feelings towards [First Name] are just going to make things worse.” She sighed. “Do you remember how we first met? You were a fresh face, the newest overlord around the block after you overthrew all the rest. But the big, bad Radio Demon couldn’t even find the meeting room and asked me for directions with that cute little smile of yours. Gotta tell ya, you were a sweetie then, though Carmilla back then…well, she didn’t know what to think of you.” She smiled, leaning forward and placed her hand on top of Alastor’s. “Asking for help and guidance doesn’t make someone weak, old friend. And it isn’t bad to feel love towards someone, even if you are an ace in the hole.” She winked.

His smile twitched. “I really wish you would tell me what that phrase means.”

“Where’s the fun in that? It’s entertaining to see you keep guessing every time I say it!” Rosie laughed. “So…what are you going to do?”

“Words are cheap, but actions speak the truth. If you’re serious about serenading this girl, then you need your actions to reach her. Keep me posted, okay? You’ve got this.” That was what Rosie had told him as she walked him out of the emporium, giving him a brief hug and a warm smile before retreating back inside. Now, here he is, walking back to the hotel and back to you.

He had no idea how he was going to face you after what he had done. He gritted his teeth. As much as he wanted to keep his distance from you and be out of his afterlife for good, Rosie….had been correct. Eliminating what he felt would only make things worse, especially if Husker or that pint-sized fool who calls himself the King of Hell try to steal you away from him before he could do anything.

Shaking his head, Alastor continued his trek through the city and towards the Pentagram’s outer borders, on the hillside where the fluorescents of the hotel glowed in the distance like a lighthouse in a raging storm at sea.

Blessedly the lobby was devoid of any residents or staff when he had returned, so he had assumed that everyone was at dinner or had gone to bed. It wasn’t too late in the afternoon if he recalled correctly, but time was difficult to keep track of in Hell unless one had a pocket watch or one of Vox’s silly little devices, neither of which he had on his person. In an instant he teleported himself to the hotel’s western wing, ready to freshen a bit before cooking up a meal for himself to enjoy in the privacy of his room when he felt a thrum of power vibrate beneath his feet.

He glanced down, raising an eyebrow at the darkness on the floor before the shadow grinned, showing off a void of bright crimson for a mouth. Ah, yes. This little traitor. Of all the ones he has in his possession, this is the culprit responsible for the crime of stalking you without his consent.

“Well, well, where have you been today~?”

The shadow chuckled darkly, rising up from the floor and floated in the air, twisting its smoky body around him like a snake…no. It’s as if this little shit is performing a little dance of his own. But what for exactly? What is the grand occasion? Has someone died? The shadow shook its head, still grinning and conjured a sphere of green flames in its hands. Inside of it, Alastor could see you and Niffty in the kitchen cooking dinner and then the image disappeared, shifting to a scene where the two of you are putting ingredients together for…apple pies? Alastor gritted his teeth.

He’s gone not even for a day and Lucifer Morningstar has the audacity to make the calls on desserts. Blasphemy! This is absurd! UNACCEPTABLE!

The shadow’s flames then evaporated into nothingness…and in its hand was a single hair ribbon. Your hair ribbon. Swallowing the lump lodged in his throat, he carefully took it from the shadow’s hand, cradling it in the center of his palm. To have something of yours to take for himself, and covet and yearn in silence until the time was ripe was the only method he had to satiate his darker hunger.

To think something as silly as your scent could tide something as fickle as his temper over was baffling, but it was comforting nonetheless.

Alastor’s thumb stroked the worn-out fabric, admiring its crimson hue beneath the fluorescent light of the hotel hallways. Before he could stop himself, the Radio Demon pressed his lips against it. The scent of cinnamon and ink made his mouth water, hungry for more than just a hair ribbon to pocket as a trophy. But like all good things and in the art of being a clever serial killer, patience is key. It shouldn’t be too difficult to lure his prey into his arms. After all, he is a true gentleman.

Taglist: @rorusena @alastor-simp @imperfectbloodmoon @anielly-2010 @bones4thecats @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @oucx @ang3lofdivinity @tonightwrites @chewbrry @horrorgirlshell @bladeismine @yourdoorisunlocked @no1sillybilly @mentallyunstablenoodle @solandis-does-stuff @facelessfionna @tired-of-life-86 @yandere-dark-cupid @pinkgoldweebgirl @lovely-nightmares @luthefriendlywitch @asianfrustration13 @lunaramune @lanxianschoenheit @zenix108 @solesurvivorjen @kanroji-san @whenitgrowsbright @aconfusedwonderland @candyladycry @ozzersauce @sleepy-hutao @justamegafan @the-cat-queen-peasants @swallowtail-lotus @circeyoru

#forbidden-sunlight #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #yandere alastor x reader #yandere alastor #radio demon #yandere x reader #yandere male #fem!reader #violet evergarden!reader #ns.fw #yandere #cw obsessive behavior #cw obsessive love #tw obsessive behavior #hazbin hotel alastor #tw obsessive love

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hunny-pp · 1 month

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PENACONY 2.1 SPOILERS /

[basically a more elaborate version of my twt thread on this]

I don't think I'm the first or only person to say this, but I do think Gallagher is v likely a memory zone meme

EDIT: heres pt 1.2 with additional evidence

Sunday deduces that Gallagher is an amalgamation of fifty-one Family members, who he's inherited physical traits from to create the appearance he has now.

Gallagher alludes in his own story that he may not be human

In short, Memory Zone Memes are amalgamations of multiple fragments of the Memory Zone, all have reflections of different memories, cognitions and emotions.

A meme in definition is when something, usually ideas, culture or behaviour is passed to another person through imitation or non-genetic means.

It makes sense for Gallagher, as he mimicked the physical traits of Family members without taking them or that trait away - these NPCs are very much fine and you can interact with them. It's more like a copy-paste onto himself.

Other little details include: -This could change in the future depending on if we get any fire units, but for Gallagher specifically, he takes the Raging Heart materials - which is harvested from a Memory Zone Meme-type enemy. This one's a bit of a stretch but it fits nonetheless

-His signature colour is magenta - shown in his clothing, his marketing materials and in the VFX of his attacks, his claw and his brew. This colour is specifically his and not something he had inherited from someone else.

Memory Zone Memes, especially "Something Upon Death" have stark magenta/purple/pink eyes and cores. When seen from afar or at least in a general sense, the shades are similar enough

-The writing style of Gallagher's stories feel strange, like different aspects of Gallagher's personality and life are on the outside looking in. Akin to a reflective surface giving off different reflections from different angles of the same subject. It adds to the idea that there are multiple aspects and fragments within Gallagher all looking within each other.

Mixology and The Dreamjolt Hostelry:

Gallagher's main interest outside of work is mixology. Like any culinary craft, there's an inherent science behind it, and it takes a lot of work and knowledge to craft well constructed cocktails and drinks. Symbolically, mixology complements Gallagher, as he himself is a combination of a diverse range of people. When you view these inherited traits isolated, you know they come from someone real - but when put together, they form One Complete Gallagher - cohesive and seamless.

While you can say the same for different branches of culinary arts, mixology in particular symbolically represents Gallagher the most. This is just from a layman's perspective but when I view the same with cocktails - from a general inspection it's one cohesive drink even if from taste or watching the process, I know it's all made with different components.

Notably, when Gallagher talks about mixing drinks, he describes it as akin to combining different emotions, experiences and memories into a singular cocktail and it's reflective of both customer and bartender's own current state of being.

His philosophy on mixology links back to the concept of Memory Zone Memes, manifestations of fragmented memories, emotions and cognitions nestled into a vessel.

The reason why I bring up the Dreamjolt Hostelry is because of the Vignettes in a Cup event (spoilers for it). It's not explicit in his stories or voicelines, but going by the Trailblaze quest, it's implied that the Dreamjolt Hostelry is the lounge/bar he regulars for a drink or to hone his craft as he's v friendly and familiar to Siobhan and is seen in the 2.1 trailer to be serving a Dreamjolt Domescreen (whether it's Lady or not doesn't matter).

Dreamjolt Hostelry is in the sealed off dreamscape Reverie, where the corrupted Dreamjolt Troupe monsters and Memory Zone Memes reside. Notably, where you encounter Something Unto Death in key moments of the story.

I'd like to believe Gallagher is very comfortable with the company of monsters, going by the fact that he himself is non-human.

In Vignettes in a Cup, Siobhan explains that the reason why she mixes drinks for the Dreamjolt Troupe monsters is that it helps regulate their emotions - since the dreamscape is falling apart and in turn they have become unstable.

Gallagher himself in one of his idle animations drinks an unknown concoction from his hipflask once his scar starts acting up - in which it settles back down. It's hard to discern in this point in time how long this has been going for, but as a non-human entity (meme or not), the dreamscape's decay is also likely affecting Gallagher and thus he has to regulate himself.

Why Do The Heathen Rage?: In the mission "Why Do The Heathen Rage?" we learn a lot of the Watchmaker's secret history as well as a general run through of Gallagher's own personal story.

First off, a lot of Penacony's trailblaze mission titles are references to songs, literature and media relevant to the themes of Penacony and/or by American classical authors or poets (ie Heaven is a Place on Earth, Cat Among Pigeons, The Tell-Tale Heart).

Why Do The Heathen Rage is both based on Psalm 2.1 Old Testament, but also it's a fragment of an unfinished novel by Flannery O'Connor. Fragment of a novel -> Gallagher is made of fragments of different people -> Memory Zone Memes are fragments of (I'm booed off the stage for being a broken record).

The story tells of a man called Walter Tilman who lives on his family's farm. There he starts to write letters to different people - particularly to Oona Gibbs, a black civil rights activist. However, he writes to her under the guise of a black man, and writes with the intention of testing the commitment and integrity of her beliefs.

Going with what we know in hindsight, Gallagher is masquerading around as a human, likely as a Memory Zone Meme as we've realised hopefully by now that they're the monsters most likely to pull something of Gallagher's calibre off.

This is all I'm gonna talk about from "Why Do The Heathen Rage" mainly because my additional theories are based off leaks and are more speculative.

Bonus section: "Something Unto Death" When it comes to Gallagher's connection to the Memory Zone Meme "Something Unto Death", a lot comes from his many symbols of death. This is just a bit of a bonus since we're talking about Gallagher likely being a Memory Zone Meme, we might as well address the elephant in the room as well.

For brevity, we'll call the little guy "Death Meme". Death Meme is a Memory Zone Meme created from the Dreamscape's fear of death and murder as "death" shouldn't be something that can happen in the dreamscape.

Gallagher has a FUCK ton of symbolism and nods to death. The most striking is that Gallagher's iconic "I'm Thirteen", which is the number for the Major Arcana "Death". (For additional reference I also think Thirteen could be the amount of Amber Eras he's lived in, or that he's at least 1300 years old. Also since he has a lot of dog theming, 13 dog years in human years is around 60-80 depending on the dog's size).

Additionally, thirteen is a common number to represent bad omens and misfortune - namely the well known Friday the 13th superstition, amongst other things.

When Gallagher makes you a drink, no matter what choices you make - the cocktail will have a memento mori/death/morbidly themed name and he will accompany most of them with a sardonic toast.

Gallagher's eidolons are names of different cocktails which fit his mixology theme. However, Corpse Reviver, Last Word, Death in the Afternoon and Blood and Sand are all death centric names, as if he couldn't get edgier enough.

There's also the call into question his playstyle, where he's a much more aggressive battle healer than the likes of Luocha and is the first abundance character to provide debuffs on the enemy, and derives healing through damaging opponents.

Conclusion: If you've read this far then I'm assuming you're as normal about Gallagher as I am. But yeah, there is so much to him I haven't touched on, his connections to the Enigmata, my continuation on this theory based on leaks and his shared past with Mikhail, what I think he'll do in the plot moving forward. This patch and its characters are themed around hiding secrets and that there's more than meets the eye. Gallagher in particular has proved to be the most mysterious of the trio, as while we've gotten a clear enough picture of both Acheron and Aventurine but there's still enough intrigue to keep them going, Gallagher's just given me more questions than answers man.

#honkai star rail #hsr gallagher #gallagher #honkai star rail theory #hsr theory #hsr spoilers #penacony spoilers #im normal about him (smile)

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orchid-n-petals · 8 months

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So I've already shared parts of this on a discord server, but I have to scream about Ketheric Thorm on here as well. Obviously spoilers about the character under the cut! It's a long one.

The entirety of act 2 is about him, right? Jaheira, Shadowheart and numerous other NPCs shit on him for his fickle faith. First Selune, then Shar, then, as we meet him, Myrkul. You hear about his changes of faith on a whim, you hear that he's the person responsible for the shadow curse, he is painted as a villain, plain and simple.

You can figure it out pretty early on that Isobel was resurrected and that she is his daughter; the detail as well that he wants Isobel alive is so on the nose, it gives him away completely but there are still a few questions that remain unanswered, mainly about his faith.

And then you get to the mausoleum and the picture assembles; this entire tragedy, the death of hundreds if not thousands and the complete ruination of a landscape was all, ALL because you had this absolutely wrenched, heartbroken father who had lost everything and nobody answered his grief. He was left woefully alone, the Goddess whose daughter his daughter was involved with did nothing to save Isobel.

Imagine outliving your wife and your daughter. Imagine dedicating your life to fight the Lady of Loss, your Lady of Silver's enemy, and then be left so completely alone and in silence with your grief, with your loss. It's so, so poetic how and why he turned from Selune, and it's so understandable as well; he broke. His spirit completely broke. He couldn't deal with that void of having lost the only two important people in his life, seemingly undeservedly so. He was going mad with this and a lot of his ire was likely targeted at Aylin who, in his eye, represented Selune; she's literally her daughter, after all, and it was implied that even before the deaths of his family, he sort of saw Aylin courting Isobel as Selune taking his daughter from him, despite his service. This relationship was clearly not seen by him as a boon of "giving his daughter to the Moon-maiden".

His ways in the past clearly didn't spare him from tragedy and having to cope with it (which he clearly didn't, he snapped under the weight of his grief). He was clearly angry and unable to do anything, furious and helpless, which is a dangerous combination. A good part of his first change of heart must have been fuelled by a sense of revenge.

But then Shar didn't provide any balm to his aching heart either. If you read his letters in Grymforge and in act 2, he is so focused on enacting the will of Shar because he believes that healing lies in oblivion. Everything would be easier if he could just forget, if the damn world could just forget, if nothing was remembered because without Melodia and Isobel, nothing was worth remembering.

Then came Myrkul. Literally the only god who was not only able, but WILLING to give back his daughter to him. Imagine spending your all, EVERYTHING you have to serve two gods who would not give a single shit about the greatest suffering in your life. You were basically nothing, your loyalty didn't matter for shit, everything that was taken from you amounted to no recognition whatsoever: you should simply cope and seethe. Your grief will not simply go unanswered (which is not inherently antagonising) but ignored.

And then comes this supposedly evil entity who can alleviate your pain just like that, snap of a finger and it's a done deal.

I am so serious when I say that I believe Ketheric's main incentive was to extend Aylin's immortality to Isobel as well. You can read in her diary that she feels a taint after having came back, and there are things not even Selune can cleanse, but at this point, Ketheric doesn't care about Selune, vengeance is secondary if not tertiary, he's done that war during his Shar years and what did it give him? Literally nothing.

He doesn't even care about the fact that Isobel is still her cleric. He cares about the single most important fact: Isobel is back. Life is worth living again, there is something for him, and it was not Selune or Shar who gave it to him but Myrkul, and for this singular gift, he would raze the world for the Lord of Bones. Like people can clown on him for being disloyal but the man has the loyalty of a dog bonded to its owner.

He is powerful and is willing to go to insane lengths for crumbs. What is raising a single life for a god? Nothing. It has happened and it will happen again. But Ketheric will go to the ends of the earth to serve the single god who actually listened to him. The one god who didn't ignore him.

He knows that what he does is not the morally upright thing! He is so insanely self-aware that allying with Orin and Gortash and doing this entire plot with them only to then betray them is morally reprehensible at the best of times, he knows that people hate him, etc-etc. He was a Selunite at one point and he's not stupid. He just doesn't care; it could be literal Asmodeus and he wouldn't care as long as he got what he wanted, no matter the price.

He is probably the only one from the three of the chosen who has complete clarity over his situation, he almost sways (if you pass the check during his confrontation), he is not an inherently evil man blinded by power.

But he is inherently loyal to those deserving, and as of the story's standing, completely broken by his grief. In his eyes, at this point, the only one deserving loyalty is the one who actually listened to him. Isobel lives. It doesn't matter that she hates him, that his entire life has fallen apart, that literally nothing else that is good has come of it, because Isobel lives.

I don't think he regrets a single thing. His consciousness might tear at him at the end, but I believe he would do everything over again, exactly as he did, because in the end, his daughter was brought back. Because what would a grieving, broken parent give to bring back their child? Everything. Absolutely everything. And it's such a simply given answer, no second thoughts, no doubts.

Nobody can tell me that this man is fickle. Nobody. This man was willing to burn the world to the ground, create a Boudica destruction layer all by himself for the one single thing he wanted. For any God that would listen.

I don't know, I just have a lot of thoughts about his character.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #ketheric thorm #and I also have a lot of thoughts of how Aylin foils him #I fully believe that he was in the right in the capacity that he switched around his gods when he was literally ignored despite his life's #work. despite all that he has given. I think it's reasonable to expect in the world of gods who actively meddle in mortal affairs on their #whims and make shit worse that in just one single case they would. idk. NOT expect one of their devotees to remain blindly loyal to them #after their prayers go unanswered. like yes; go and try your luck elsewhere because this devotion of yours is clearly being taken for #granted. you get NOTHING out of your worship. you can't even sleep well because your loved ones are dead and you are expected to just what?#deal with it on your own? and remain loyal? why?#some sense of 'honour'?#I really like this depiction of faith actually. I really like when clerics and paladins are given agency and critical thought that hey!#this is actually giving me nothing despite me dedicating my entire life to it! and I have only one of it so why not take it somewhere where #it's actually valued. you know. as a treat.#I *personally* much more prefer this depiction of a crisis of faith than what we got with Shadowheart or Lae'zel; their stories are very #interesting on their own but I think throwing yourself from one end to the other not because you actually have a goal that it could serve #but because you are desperate for a purpose #is a slightly less potent character narrative than having an actual goal yourself. not by much but by a little.#again #PERSONALLY

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anundyingfidelity · 1 month

Text

I'M A RUIN — Soldier Boy/Ben (Part IV)

Series summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 2.8k.

Warnings for series: set after S3 (spoilers), some OOC!Ben, some depressed!Ben, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-burn, language, PTSD, reader has Compound V (she's no Vought supe tho), Soldier Boy being an usual asshole, reader is a fucking liar.

Warnings on this chapter: Reader's parents are fucking irresponsible and disgusting people, mentions of a dead parent, Homelander!!!! (he's a fucking warning), sexual assault (touching, kissing, etc.) and some after thoughts, you know the usual questionable stuff on TB universe, Ben's point of view and presence=red flag.

Notes: more about reader's past in here! And just want to add that this is how i imagine her suit on this chapter. I'm also using a lot of inspo from Sue Storm of the Fantastic Four because I love her, so yeah. And thanks so much for reading it means a lot to me! ^^

this fic tags: @k-slla @syrma-sensei @mostlymarvelgirl @cheynovak @drasticemotions @blacknoirr @deans-spinster-witch

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

get yourself in the taglist!

GEN MASTERLIST! — SERIES MASTERLIST!

Part IV: Countdown

2009

"Spectrum, turn around, please," the lady on the other side of the camera ordered.

You did as she told, turning slowly and showing a complete view of your suit. Made of unstable molecules, the suit was your best creation at the time. It was all white with black details, and finally you had something covering your whole body that'd turn invisible when you commanded. Your boots were the same, specially built to disappear and blend with your powers when needed.

"Great, show us what you can do," the woman said.

You nodded, your heart beating so hard on your chest. You didn't want to fuck it up. Not for your mother. She was the main reason why you were there in the first place. You took a deep breath, with eyes closed you raised your palms at your chest level and created a force field around your figure. The force fields you learnt to make over the years of self training were like gigantic bubbles that allowed you to float around if you said so, and they protected you or anyone or anything they were covering.

The camera, the couch, the table, and any single thing you found in the room were now surrounded by the fields, lifting them up a couple of feet from the surface. And once you thought it was enough, they landed slowly on their place, the fields vanished just like the one around yourself. Though the lady on the other side didn't seem amused or surprised.

"I also turn invisible," you said for the first time after your personal presentation was over.

"Go on," she plainly answered.

And within seconds, you slowly disappeared from her sight. The fabric of the suit faded away.

"I created this special costume to turn invisible without, you know, being naked," you commented.

Still, there was no clear answer on the face of the woman. She was just busy taking notes and filming your audition with the steady camera on the table. She said nothing, her eyes glued to her writing. Disappointed, you made yourself visible again.

"That's impressive!"

You gasped. It was that voice you heard so many times on TV. His steps came closer and he stopped by your side with a smile on his face.

"Homelander," the woman called with a wide, fake grin. "You weren't supposed to be in here."

"Just passing by, wanted to say hi. I'm really amazed by you, darling."

You tried to smile the best you could. But you were so tense and flustered now that he was in front of you. Your childhood hero, coming to see you at your audition. Even before you got a clear response from Vought. It felt like a dream. Any child had dreamt of it at some point.

You grew up with him and the Seven. He was one of the reasons you forgot every single problem and responsibility your dysfunctional, selfish family put you through from a young age. To them, you were just a doll to play with and show off. The perfect daughter. But seeing the Seven was totally different. You wanted to be like them. Too sad this part was also linked to your mother and her self-centered shit. If only...

"Thank you," you barely answered with a soft voice, looking down on your boots.

"I've been out there, hesitating if I should come in, since you created those force fields. Wow!" he praised, making you chuckle. "You left the door open on purpose, didn't you two?"

All you could do was chuckle again, you felt your cheeks burning at his banter. He smiled along with you before turning his eyes to the lady.

"Hey, Greta. Can you leave us alone for a moment?"

"But I have to-"

Homelander chuckled, cutting her words. "Absolutely no, I can continue for you. Remember?"

Greta, as he called her, swallowed thickly and her eyes switched between you and the supe. "Sure, sir."

She lifted herself up from the chair, took her things and went out. You noticed the camera was still in place, that meant it was still rolling.

Once the door closed. "So..." he began, walking a circle around you. "How'd you create this... costume of yours?"

"Well, I like science," you nervously smiled, playing with your glove-covered hands. He passed by your face this time and paced around one more time. "It took me a while to figure out how but I did something with the molecules, created my own patent of the matter and did this complete costume."

Homelander stopped at your back. He hummed. "Smart. Tell me..."

His pause made you answer what he was looking for. "Spectrum."

"Spectrum, why do you want to be part of the Seven so bad?"

Homelander dragged your alias with a dark voice, one that replaced the long warm and welcoming tone he had with you at first. You licked your lips, anxious and out of words. Once behind your figure, he angled himself so close to one of your ears that you felt his hot breath on your skin.

"So? I know you have something to say, dear."

"I- I just want to help others... Do what you guys do..."

The next thing you felt was the supe's strong body pressing on your ass. You gasped loudly as his hands grabbed the sides of your hips forcing you to fall back against his chest.

"Go on," Homelander whispered.

One of his hands roamed over your stomach slowly, right under your breasts, and you were absolutely caged on his grip. You took deep breaths, closing your eyes as he touched you over the suit.

"I- I know science, I told you. Also I can help the team w-with new inventions of my own... Create technology t-to fight very bad threats," you stuttered.

"Mmmh, yeah, I like the sound of that," Homelander chuckled against your neck, his lips tracing soft and unwanted kisses on your skin.

"Please- ah!"

He harshly pushed you against his groin. Your breath caught in your throat at the feel of his crotch. This wasn't what you thought it was. This was not what your mother signed you up for.

"Tell me, did your father know how much of a fucking slut you are?" Homelander hissed, his hand cupping your covered breast.

Something inside you emerged at his question. His touch was disgusting and it was making you sick and the mention of your father, your dead father, made it even worse.

"What do you know about him?" you asked in a dark whisper, still planning your next move.

Deep inside, you were scared of Homelander, it was a new face he had yet to show to the world.

"Just the basics, honey," he said plainly, forcing you to walk with a grip on your arm. The supe sat on the couch and pushed you to his lap. "He was quite the rich man, Edgar knew you'd be a great deal to the company, well, your money of course."

You let out a gasp. "What?"

"Honey, he was one of our most valuable shareholders," he playfully answered, his hands cupping your cheeks.

And it clicked. Your mother supported your dream just because she'd still be getting profits from Vought. The firm was now under her name, and she needed something more to strengthen the relationship between Vought and your father's inheritance. The fucking witch. And then, your father. He was the one financing this piece of shit sitting between your legs. Were all supes like this behind their masks? If so, fucking crap. Everything you believed in was bullshit. A circus. And they clowned you so well. And above all, the sickening man that had been touching you without your permission the past endless minutes...

"Oh, poor thing, you didn't know," Homelander's intense blue eyes widened when he immediately noticed your confused, blank face.

Your eyes filled with tears and still, you refused to cry in front of the asshole you once admired.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you here with us," he smirked. His fingers on your neck, feeling your pulse. You closed your eyes so hard, your nose wrinkled and you held back a sob when his hand added pressure around your collar. He leaned closer, his lips finding yours in a sloppy kiss as you tried to resist his touch. "So fucking useful," Homelander whispered against your lips. He gave you that mischievous grin of his. You shivered. "I can't wait to ruin you. Every single inch of you."

The same past memory of Homelander haunted you the next day. The way you found out about your father's business with Vought and how the supes showed their real faces was the main reason you were here now.

You remembered you had to hit Homelander as hard as you could to escape from him and use your force field to protect yourself before running away and leaving the tower, fully invisible. Not that it was a great help since Homelander had a lot of abilities with his vision, and he could hear the beating of your heart miles away, but for you, it was worth the try. It was a surprise he didn't follow you that day. Instead, Vought got a new deal with your mother for the budget and you hated that. You cut all communication with what was left of your family after that day, knowing it could've been so much worse.

Homelander and Vought, however, were after you now. And he was a difficult face to forget. Not only because he was faking everything from the public but because Vought was after your father's money. And deciding to step away from all the illegal stuff they did, you left for college. Science was always a part of you and it's what got you here, under Grace Mallory and the CIA, doing different jobs you were not so proud of, but now, you were looking for a cure. It was all that mattered those days, until you found out that your mother had been experimented on during her pregnancy. A fucking lie. That's what your life was. That's why she cheered you to go to that stupid audition and fell into the hands of that monster at twenty-three years old.

The thought of your father supporting the horrid things Vought and the Seven did for decades was unbearable, and since Homelander's visit the night before caused those memories and nightmares to be back. It took a great effort to get out of bed and come to work that day. You'd make sure to compensate yourself for it later. But now, you were in a hurry to your daily session with Soldier Boy. You saved your phone in the pocket of your trousers after checking the time as you walked down the aisle, grabbing tightly the report of your patient with your other hand. Well, thirty minutes late wasn't nothing.

"Doctor!" you heard a female voice running towards you in the halls that made you turn on your heels. It was your young assistant.

"Hey, Bianca. What's wrong?" you asked as you noticed she was a little out of breath.

"We ran another test. The supe survived," she blurted, handing you a tablet that you didn't take. Sometimes the change in the results was minimal.

"That's great. Any significant improvements?"

"Well, just minimal effects. Right now some fever, fatigue, dehydration, and uhm, low pulse."

You sighed after another illusion. "Right. I don't think those are minimal effects, Bianca. Please check our patient and see how the powers are working. Run blood tests, all tests you can and then you can provide me the results. I'm a little busy right now."

She nodded with a shy smile, looking around subtly. "Sure."

You smiled back as best as you could. "Anything else?"

"No, it's just- I see you go this way a lot," Bianca pointed to the direction you were heading with her gaze. "That's Soldier Boy, isn't he?"

Your brows furrowed. "Why you ask?"

"Nothing, well, my grandpa used to talk about him all the time," she giggled. "I was just curious, sorry."

"No problem. I get it. But I really have to go, please make sure those results are on my desk by the end of the day," you ordered kindly.

"I will."

"Thanks, Bianca."

With that, you gave a last smile and began your walk again away from her, slower than before. For some reason something was off since you entered the building. It felt different. Totally weird. For the record, since Homelander threatened to have your head off, you paid twice the attention to your surroundings and the people around. You didn't know if there was something big planning right now in front of your nose. You just walked a couple of feet when you felt someone following behind, that was probably watching over you. In a swift movement, you turned on your heels but no one was there. The aisle was empty.

Bianca was already gone and almost no one would wander on this wing of the building, for obvious reasons. With caution you resumed your steps, telling yourself that you were not going insane.

"Robert Singer and I have been hard at work bridging the divide between the human and Superhuman communities. I've seen that divide firsthand in my three years running the FBSA—"

Ben scoffed, taking the TV controller to turn the screen off. "Bullshit."

He stood in the middle of the room with nothing but a towel hanging down his hips after taking a shower, taking the last smoke of his blunt. He grew tired of waiting for you, so he just took a shower and now, everything on the fucking channels was the stupid campaign by Victoria Neuman being supported by Vought and the fucking brat he was supposed to call his son.

With a deep breath, he finished the weed and threw the remains on the ashtray over the new coffee table. His mind started to wander away, realizing he had been a little calm the last couple of days after he almost blew up the fucking place to the ground. Inside, Ben knew your words and actions were a lot of help for the small sense of serenity that started to grow within his chest after that moment. Absolutely that was something he wouldn't admit, ever. But if he was to say, he was actually relieved.

Taking a look around, his place was not that big of a mess. You were certainly used to his clothes around the floor and the sofas, so it wasn't really important. What he found annoying though was you pushing him to read the stupid books and write down his feelings. He wasn't going to do that. If you were there to medicate him, so be it. He wondered why you took so long to do it. Probably he should be stoned enough to not feel anything. That was fucking better.

Just as he started to go over his mental plan to get the hell out of your prison, the door opened. He smirked at your sight. As always, an useless armed man standing behind your figure. You dispatched the guard and stepped inside Soldier Boy's place, the door closing with a loud sound.

You stopped your tracks just a few steps away from him. He noticed your eyes tracing his half bare body in a quick motion, before turning to his face with an arrogant smirk on your lips.

"See something you like, sweetheart?" Ben teased.

With a light chuckle, you held your head high. "Don't be delusional, it's just basic instinct."

"Believe me, I fucking know that," he snarked, taking over your figure with his green eyes the same way you did before. "Basic instinct."

You rolled your eyes. "So," you sat down in your usual place to start the session, making a pile of three of his shirts in the empty space. "Make yourself decent and then we can continue."

Ben took some sweatpants and a shirt from the floor and started to dress himself in front of you, without much care. He smirked as you turned away your gaze to focus on the report lying on your lap.

"You're late," he remarked, taking his own seat once he was done with his clothes.

"Yeah, I had some things to do," you mumbled going through the pages. "But I see we can start now."

He took a deep breath, staring into the distance. "Don't make it boring."

You grimaced, looking back at him. "Can't promise that."

Ben sensed a playfulness coming from you. Could it be that, after recieving your comforting words, he was seeing another side of you? Like the side that would actually trust him, because you still arrived. You were sitting in front of him. You were with him, in the same fucking room where the sun was far from getting. Yeah, you were there but he was too full of ego to bring his walls down again. He wanted to convince himself he wasn't vulnerable. He knew he was more than that. He was Soldier Boy, the man who had to stop Homelander and his fucking kid.

He smirked. "Well, sugar, I can ask you to try."

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys amazon fanfiction #the boys series #the boys tv #jensen ackles fanfiction #soldier boy/ben

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cryptictongues · 3 months

Text

184 Days

pairing: Clive Rosfield x Flower!Reader Series rating: Mature (angst; tw listed below) word count: 13.6K summary: You have a hard time grieving after Clive's passing, even when you didn't need to grieve at all.

warnings: reader-insert (sorry lol), angst, hurt/comfort, reunions, grief/mourning, slight suicidal ideation, slight self-harm, depression, panic attacks, happy ending (yay!) - this is part of the Flower!Reader series! You don't need to have read the other two but there are references to them if that interests you.

Spoilers: This is post-game stuff. If you haven't played the game, beware.

TW's: This fic contains major themes of grief, so it is heavy. There is minor suicidal ideation and self-harm, not graphic in nature, but it is there. Depression and panic attacks are more common in this fic. If these topics don't sit right with you, please be cautious when reading. You may also reach out if you want to know specifics if you are worried!

Songs: I just want to share that I was constantly listening to When the Sun Hits by Slowdive, Thick Skull by Paramore, and Wicked Games by Chris Isaak.

LASTLY, I am sharing this on my birthday! My birthday gift to you all <3

[AO3 link]

Day 1

The Hideaway is full of people. People from all over Valisthea arrive in droves, coming to grant supplies, donate gil, and help around the Hideaway because today is the day; the day everyone here sends off Dion, Joshua, and Clive for their leave to Origin.

You are working overtime, helping with the final preparations before they take off. The biggest reason, however, for the hard work is the ever creeping anxiety filling your body as the time ticks closer to Clive’s departure; from his friends and family, and from you. This day has been a long time coming, yet now that it’s here you can barely stomach the thought of him leaving. With that thought lingering, every moment together has been even more precious than the next.

Every moment of free time has been spent together. With today being the day of departure, your last moments together were last night. You both made love all night, and in between sessions would talk about what you two will do once he comes back; creating the life of your dreams together. Yet, in the back of your mind, all you could think was those thoughts were just that: dreams. You don’t know what will happen during Clive’s mission. But it’s fun to play pretend, and to envision what life could have in store for the two of you.

The sun was in its golden state before its colors showed, telling you it’s almost time. You see everyone gathering on the main deck, Clive and co included, talking with one another as they say their farewells and safe travels. You start your way there, walking slowly as if it would prevent the inevitable. You know the moment you reach Clive, it would only be a matter of minutes before he is no longer within your grasp.

You see Clive talking to Jill, bringing her in for a tight hug as he continues. You see a shake in her shoulders, telling you she feels the same way you do. Just as hard as it is to wish your lover away, it must be just as hard to watch the man who has become a brother figure leave. They grew up together, after all.

You give a farewell to Prince Dion and Joshua once on the deck, giving Dion a firm handshake and a bow, while Joshua brings you in for a hug. You didn’t know Dion for long, but Joshua is a different story. Getting to know your lover’s brother has brought you closer to the both of them. Seeing how happy Clive was with Joshua around made your heart swell. You wonder if Joshua ever felt the same about you two.

Joshua let’s go of you, a melancholy smile drawn on his face. “Thank you, _____. Thank you for taking care of my brother.”

You shake your head. “No, thank you for finding each other again. I will be praying for the three of you to safely return to us.”

“I appreciate that, my lady.” Joshua thanks, yet his eyes shift, and he nods. “Here he comes.”

You turn to see Clive approaching you, and you already feel your chest growing tight and eyes water. He is standing before you, looking as beautiful as he always has, but with a sorrowful look that says everything you feel. It’s unfair, really. It devastates you that he is the one to stop all the madness, when in a perfect world he would stay. You keep telling yourself this isn’t the end, yet your gut keeps telling you otherwise.

“____.”

“Would it be selfish of me to ask you to stay? To ask to let the world go to hell?”

Clive smiles, solemnly chuckling at your suggestions. “Never.”

You reach for his left hand with both hands, holding it as you rub your thumbs into his palm. “I know it would be futile, all the same.” You utter. “There would be no life worth living for anyone. I just wish things could be different.”

“I am doing this for a better future for everyone. It is what the world deserves.” Clive’s other hand covers your hands in full. “I must do this, so you and I can live the future we’ve always talked about.”

“I wish I could take your place, so I could guarantee your safety.” You choke out, the waterworks starting.

Clive is quick to react, pulling you into him as you sob softly into his chest. “Knowing you will be safe here will be reason enough for me to make it back to you.” Your hands squeeze his sides, his statement making you want to sob harder. Clive pulls back, taking one hand to lift your head to get a good look at you. “I promise I will be back. Wait for me.”

You nod frantically, sniffling as you take deep breaths to calm down. Clive’s forehead leans against yours, his thumb brushing continuous strokes on your cheek, before pressing a gentle kiss against your lips. You accept his kiss, giving it your all knowing the outcome is unknown. Both of your lips linger, not wanting to pull away because once one of you does, he will be on his way.

Clive pulls away slightly, his lips still lingering near your own. “I love you, ____.”

“I love you too.” You whisper, placing one more kiss to his lips before pulling away. “I have something for you.”

You reach into the pouch you keep attached to your corset belt and pull out a lily. You thread the stem in between the crease of his corset and tunic, the tightness of his uniform keeping the flower in place. You brush his chest, stalling him a little longer before you accept it is time. “Lily represents reunion. With this flower, you shall come back to me.”

Clive sucks in a breath, releasing with a shutter as if he was on the verge of tears. “I will, no matter what.”

You feel a hand on your shoulder, and you turn to see Jill still sniffling with watery eyes. She smiles at you before looking at Clive. “We will take care of each other.”

You feel something rub against your thigh and look to see Torgal rubbing his head on you. You smile, rubbing behind his ears. “Torgal will look out for us too.”

Clive hums, appreciating the sight before him. “This is farewell for now. Till then, we have a god to kill.”

Everyone has now formed a semi-circle around the three dominants about to depart, watching as they walk towards the end of the deck. They pick up their pace, all of them running until they are no longer in sight. A bright light goes off and the next thing everyone sees is Bahamut carrying Clive and Joshua towards an event that will shape the world.

You are sitting on the main deck, legs dangling off the side as you continue to stare off into the horizon. You haven’t left since Clive left, the golden hour long gone and twilight having come and gone, dusk now settling in the sky. It feels like it has been hours since his departure, when in reality it has only been a few. You wonder if they have made it to Origin yet, if the battle has started, if Ultima has been defeated… if they have met their maker for good. That thought makes you shiver.

You hear footsteps coming from behind you before a presence sits right beside you. You don’t look, but the aura alone tells you it’s Jill and you smile slightly. She puts an arm around you, pulling you into her as you both continue to look into the distance, like they would be back any second. She twists your hair, which comforts you in a way, and you hum. It is silent for a while, watching the sky continue to grow darker and darker until the sky is black with its pearls.

“Have you prayed to Metia today?” You break the silence with a question. Jill’s fixation that Metia answers prayers is comforting in these moments, especially when every prayer she has spoken through her heart has come true.

She shakes her head. “I haven’t, but only because I wanted you to join me. Our hearts combined will help, no doubt.”

You nod your head, and you both move into a position that faces Metia herself, kneeling before her with hands clasped together. You bow your head, and say your prayer in your head, letting your heart translate it in a way that only Metia understands. You pray for everyone’s safe return with little to no injury. You pray they come back healthy and happy. You pray for the dawn of a new age where you and Clive help build a world you two can grow old in. You pray for everything to be okay. You raise your head as you finish, and you admit that some weight has been lifted off your chest, but an uneasiness still sticks. You turn your head to see Jill finishing her own prayer, and she looks towards you with her hand reaching for yours. You give her your right hand and she grips it with a smile. “Metia has listened to our prayers. Now, we wait.”

“Jill, your faith that everything will be okay is admirable. I wish I had your confidence.” You confess, the sour feeling remaining deep in your body.

“For the longest time, I thought Clive was long dead. I believed that Metia hadn’t listened. And next thing I know, there he is. Granted, it was years later.” She squeezes your hand, and turns so your knees are touching hers. “That’s why I have faith that they will return to us.”

“Maybe your faith will rub off on me, and not the other way around with my worries.” You chuckle, trying to make light of the night.

“No matter what happens,” Jill reassures, “I will be here for you. We will be here for each other.”

You nod, and bring her in for a hug, squeezing her tightly which she returns. “Thank you, Jill. For everything.”

You both stay there for a minute, until next thing you know you hear running on the deck. You pull away to see Gav running towards you two, panic clear on his face. “Ah fuck,” he breathes in and out as he approaches. “Edda is in labor. All hands on deck.”

You and Jill gasp in unison, both jumping up to run to the infirmary to help bring new life into this world. And hopefully, a new one.

Day 2

“Alright, one more push, Edda.”

You are sitting behind Edda, letting her use your hands for her death grip as she continuously pushes and wails out in pain. You, Jill, and Mid are giving her words of encouragement as she continues her labor, and after one final push Tarja fully delivers the baby. A cry echoes throughout the room and the atmosphere is full of happiness and relief.

“Can I come in yet?” You hear Gav yell from the other side of the door.

“She just gave birth, Gav. Give us a minute.” Tarja yells, eyes rolling hard at Gav’s common sense.

“He’s just excited,” Jill chimes in. “As we all are.”

“Congratulations, Edda! It’s a boy!” Tarja finishes cleaning off the baby, kneeling beside Edda as she passes him off to her. You watch Edda admire her baby boy for the first time, her smile brightening up the room as she talks to him.

Seeing them interact stirs you with an emotion you wish to experience directly. You and Clive have talked about having children, making it clear you two wouldn’t have any until the world has been set straight. But you two would talk about what it would be like to have a little you or a little him running around or both. You imagine cradling a little boy in your arms, giggling as you shower him with kisses. You imagine Clive holding a little girl, swaying her around while singing a melody. Two giggly children to call your own with the man you have fallen madly in love with. You feel as if your heart could burst from the thought.

“_____, can you go up to the rear stacks to grab more towels off the lines?” Mid asks, taking you out of your sappy daydreams. You snap out of it, humming in the affirmative before moving away from Edda and heading to the door. You could barely get out the door before almost being trampled by Gav, running in like a mad man. “Let me see! Let me see!”

You chuckle to yourself, exiting the room and heading to the linen lines. Even when things seem dark, you can’t help but keep smiling at everyone’s high spirits tonight. You suppose new life being brought into the world will do that to people because it sure as hell is doing that for you. It’s a good distraction, and you accept it with open arms.

You grab some towels from the line, cradling them in your arms securely as you make your descent to the main deck and up the stairs to the infirmary. You reach the infirmary doors when you are once again almost hit by a body, except this time it was Jill. One quick look at her made it apparent she was crying. She doesn’t spare you a glance as she runs down the stairs, sobs fading as she goes further down. You turn to the open door, shock clear on your face. “What happened?”

Gav and Mid look at you like they don’t know what to say. You look at Gav, tears streaming down his face, and it’s like everything hits you all at once. Towels drop from your arms, your arms no longer working as your body starts to erupt. “No,” you shudder. “No.” You kept repeating yourself, not quite believing what’s happening. No words spoken, and yet everyone is saying your worst nightmare out loud.

You could see Gav wanted to say something, but before a word could break the glass box you were building around yourself, you ran. You ran right out the door, and ran as fast as you could to Clive’s chambers. You slam the door shut, starting to pace back and forth with your fists yanking your hair. You turn to the balcony doors, and run to them, slamming them wide open before looking out into the distance. You see the moon, as bright and big as ever, yet Metia no longer shines in its vibrancy. You hear a howl and see Torgal and Jill, Jill’s head tilted down as her body continues to shake. Jill’s connection with Metia was enough to tell you that something terrible has happened: Clive is dead.

You back away from the door, utter disbelief and pain seeping into your lungs. He promised. He promised he would return to me. Your mind keeps reeling, and next thing you know you find yourself in Clive’s bed, wrapping yourself in his covers tightly to encapsulate his lingering scent. Sobs devastate your body, almost to the point of not being able to breathe. But you embraced it, for you wish you could stop breathing all together in this moment.

You fall asleep with choked up airways and puffy eyes, dreams full of a future that’s no longer possible. You dream of him and him alone. You fall asleep in the dead of night, missing the sun greet Valisthea into a new era.

Day 5

Clive would’ve thought he was dead if it weren’t for the loud thumping in his head. He slowly comes to, the first thing he sees being light. It takes him a few seconds to adjust, his eyes working overtime against the strain. He feels sand, and hears the sound of waves. He goes to move his fingers when he notices he can’t move the ones on his left hand. He brings his left arm to his view and sees his hand is completely petrified. He couldn’t see the rest of his arm, but could feel the lack of blood and flesh ending right above his elbow. He pushes himself up with his good arm, hunching over in his spot as he breathes the salty air deeply.

Origin. He had defeated Ultima. The crystal in the sky was destroyed and now he finds himself here on this beach. Based on his surroundings, he concludes he is on the coast of Storm, even though the dark coast was no longer dark, but bright. It could have easily been mistaken for a coastline off of Valisthea, but behind him were still the dead brush of the continent.

He wonders how long he’s been out for. He vaguely remembers waking up, but not long enough to recollect anything. He reaches up to his face to touch his facial hair, feeling the scruff that has grown out slightly. A few days, he thinks. It was a mere few days ago when he left the Hideaway with Dion and his brother, and now he is the only one left. It burns him up inside knowing he couldn’t save them, and the fact he watched his brother die not once, but twice weighs heavy on his heart. Especially because if Ultima hadn’t chosen him as his vessel, he most likely would have become the Phoenix and Joshua would be alive and safe. He couldn’t be sure, of course, but alas.

Clive knows it does no good to think this way. Just like he would have done anything to save Joshua, he knows just as well Joshua would’ve done everything to save him. He knew Joshua would want him to help bring Valisthea and Storm into a new age. And most importantly, he knew Joshua wanted him to be happy, and deserved as much. I cannot delve into what was, but what can. And what he can focus on is the future, especially one with you.

Clive suddenly remembers the lily you had given him, and scrambles to retrieve it from his pant pouch with some difficulty due to one available hand. He felt its petals, still smooth and soft, and pulled it out to see it still looked brand new. He lets out a stuttered breath, eyes watering slightly. He almost couldn’t believe that after everything it had managed to stay in one piece, but he knew it was because you had blessed him with it. You had grown it, cared for it, and plucked it for him, and it was his turn to care for it. Just as well, it was time to keep his promise: to come back to you. He has been away for too long, and he must make haste now.

Clive sighs and slowly starts to stand up, gathering his bearings so as to not get too dizzy. He stands still for a moment, breathing in deeply once more to ensure he won’t collapse before assessing his situation. He will need a boat. He thinks he could find a port somewhere, and worse comes to worse he travels to Waloed to get one there. He will need to eat something to gain some semblance of energy to do said travel. The biggest obstacle for him will be his arm, a heavy weight on his body that doesn’t help his fatigue. He will have to find something to make it more manageable until he can get back to the Hideaway.

He starts to walk up the beach towards the woods; body heavy from his wet clothes, stone arm, and tired eyes. But he will move forward, for you are waiting back home for him and his safe return. No matter the cost, he will make it home to you.

“Darling, wait for me. I’m coming home.”

Day 14

It has been two weeks since the end of Origin, and to say you haven’t been grieving well is an understatement. You have a hard time getting out of bed these days, and your motivation to do anything is abysmal. You know your numbness is unsettling to other Hideaway members, many not knowing what to say when they see you. It’s like they saw you change overnight; your happy, go lucky self now tainted with expressionless reactions.

Gav has officially transitioned as the new Cid, but has yet to move into what will be his new room. He only comes in to do some paperwork, and read his latest messages. Oftentimes he will come to you, asking if he can get you anything, and he gets the same response from you every time: a subtle shake of your head. You are grateful that he lets you stay here as the smell of Clive’s sheets is the only thing keeping you from breaking all together.

You had forced yourself out of bed today to go to the Backyard. You sat beside the flower bed, staring at the flowers hoping for something to happen. Flowers were your comfort for a long time, and now it is like they have no effect at all. You look at the lilies that are off to the side, and all you can do is scoff. Reunion my foot.

You hear footsteps and paws coming down the stairs. You know it is Torgal and Jill, especially when Torgal has been stuck to Jill’s side for the last two weeks. You can’t blame him. You wouldn’t want to be around you either.

“You came to pay the flowers a visit. They’ve missed you.”

“They aren’t very good at showing it.” You shrug. You have been here for a few hours, and your mood hasn’t changed. You feel empty.

“Hortense is holding a sewing class for some new arrivals. You should come and say hi.” Jill says gently, not wanting to make your mood shift further south.

Deep down, you know you’ve let Jill down. You had promised to be there for her like she had with you, yet your own self pity refuses to acknowledge your lack of empathy. The demon residing in your brain just tells you that no one understands. It doesn’t matter if everyone is grieving about the three’s passing; your happy ending relied on your lover coming back to you. Everyone else can move on, keeping him in their memory. You can’t because a part of you is now dead with him.

You move to stand up, not wanting to bring her down with you. “They won’t want to see me. I’ll just make a fool out of myself.”

You move to head upstairs when Torgal blocks your walking route, and Jill gets in front of you. She grabs your shoulders, looking at you intently. You can see she is trying hard not to break in front of you, making that deep part of you scream to get over yourself. “Please, _____. You are an important asset to the Hideaway; the Jack of all Trades. I know they would love to meet you. The more kind people like you they meet, the more comfortable they will be here.”

Even since the end of Origin, new arrivals have continued to come in, many wanting to help with the cause. Even though bearers no longer have the power of magicks, it has led to more violence against those with the mark. This has led to everyone working more tirelessly to make strides for a future with new hope reinstated. You have yet to meet many of them, the motivation to do so never in your favor.

“Clive would want you to continue his legacy.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to scream how his legacy has taken him away from you. You know your way of thinking is irrational, but the rational part of you is a mountain ready to avalanche. With the last bit you have, you take a deep breath, knowing she is right. He would want you to continue living, even without him.

“Okay,” you nod. “I’ll meet them. I can’t promise I’ll come off as kind. Even if I wanted to, I don’t have the strength.”

Jill smiles, brushing hair from your face. “All I ask is that you try. We miss you.”

You three ascend the stairs, Jill locking arms with you as if you’d run away. You make it to the main deck, seeing Hortense and a few new faces sitting in a circle. Hortense waves, signaling you three to join in. “_____, it is so good for you to join us!”

“It’s, um, great to be here.” You say, trying to come off as happy.

You, Jill, and Torgal join the circle, quick introductions being passed around before Hortense starts her lesson. She is doing a lesson on basic sewing techniques using cross-stitching circles, showing everyone different patterns, styles, and methods for different types of fabrics. One of the new arrivals, Greta you remember her name being, was looking at your stitching constantly. You turn to look at her, and she quickly turns away. You look at her work, and you can tell she is struggling a little bit.

“Hey,” you say slightly above a whisper. “Try this.”

You show her a trick when it comes to tightening the thread, making it so it won’t want to fall apart. “Okay, now you try.”

Greta follows your method to a T, going slowly as she does it from memory. She smiles, seeing how well it worked. “That’s genius! Thank you so much!”

You nod, going back to your own work with a subtle smile on your face. You remember when you first learned how to sew, and how difficult it was for you. You remember when you had to learn on your own, Hortense having too much on her plate. You forgot how good it was to help others, and even if this feeling is for a moment, you feel lighter. You face Jill to see her glancing at you, a grin on her face as she continues messing with her circle of fabric. You know she is punching the air in success in her mind right now.

The session lasts for roughly an hour, and Hortense puts it to a close. “I’ll hold another class next week. Feel free to practice in the meantime.”

‘Yes ma'am’ is said in unison, and everyone departs to get ready for supper. You and Jill stay behind, helping Hortense put stuff away and create small chatter. As you all finish up, you pull Jill aside, feeling the need to say something. “Jill, I want to thank you. But most importantly, I want to apologize for not being there for you as well. I promise to do better by you.”

“Oh, _____,” Jill coos, bringing you in for a hug. “It’s okay. I understand your pain. We will get through this.”

You two continue like this, and all you can think is maybe this is a new start. Maybe you can start grieving in a better way than you have been. You know it won’t happen overnight, but after days of feeling like you’ve been dragged into a hole, you sense you can see the light.

Someone is yelling from afar, and you pull back to see a woman walking quickly to Hortense, a basket of what looks to be freshly clean linens in her hands. You and Jill walk over to see the commotion, only to see another new face. Hortense motions you two over, grinning from ear to ear with the woman beside her. “Ah, _____! I don’t think the two of you have met. This is Willow. She’s been helping me a lot with many of the laundry duties.”

“Oh Lady _____, it is so lovely to meet you.” Willow says, bowing her head slightly. “Also, lovely to see you again Lady Jill.”

You bow slightly, not used to such formalities towards yourself. Jill chimes in, glee in her tone. “You as well. Thank you for helping Hortense during this time. I know she surely appreciates it.”

“Of course!” Willow chirps. “I was coming over here to tell her the linens for the beds are done. Lady ____, I was able to clean your sheets as well so you will have a freshly made bed for tonight.”

You stop breathing, your ears deceiving you. “W-what?”

Willow was still smiling, not catching on to the atmospheric shift. “Your sheets! Hortense got me to get all the bed linens for a wash, but I went ahead and had your bed made as a good gesture.”

Your heart is hammering in your chest, and your vision is starting to blur. She cleaned the sheets. She cleaned Clives sheets. Not yours, but Clives. The one thing you had left of him, the one thing that still smelled like him, the one thing that made it feel like he wasn’t completely gone from the world, vanishing right before your eyes. You are starting to breathe hard, everything around you is no longer real. It is just you being thrown back into your suffocating glass box, and being thrown back into that dreaded hole. You can hear voices, but can’t distinguish what is being said. It’s when you feel a hand on your shoulder that the glass shatters, leaving you bloody in the dark, dank hole.

You collapse, the flood gates opening with shrieks and agonizing sobs. You are hitting the wood, small splinters digging into your fist as you continue. You didn’t care because no pain was more painful than what you are feeling right now. You hear running, and more commotion in the background.

“There is nothing to see here, take your leave.” It’s Gav. It fucking Gav.

“_____, please get up. What happened?”

“This is my fault.” Hortense says mortified. “I didn’t tell Willow that room was off limits.”

Your breathing is now rapid, sucking air and pushing it out because it isn’t enough. Arms wrap around you and you thrash around, yelling and screaming to let you go. “Get the fuck off of me!”

Gav has you upright and the rage you are now feeling bubbles out, turning into hitting his chest. “You are the only other person that goes in there, and you didn’t notice the fucking sheets were gone?! How could you let this happen?!”

“Please, _____. I just got back from Lostwing. I haven’t been there since early this morning.” Gav reasons, getting a grip on you with your arms secure so you wouldn’t do something you regret.

“That was all I had left of him.” You wail. “All I had was his scent and now it’s gone! It’s all fucking gone! He’s gone!”

“I got her from here. You three go have dinner.” Gav picks you up bridal style, walking up the main deck stairs. You are still crying, and your vision is blurry but you can still make out what is behind you. Willow is hugging Hortense, both visibly upset. But then you see Jill, who is standing there looking at the ground, none moving. Torgal is nudging her, but she won’t budge.

I’m sorry, Jill. I broke my promise.

Day 31

One month. It has been one month since Clive’s death, and you are no longer alive; a living corpse that lays in bed for days and days on end. You only get up to use the privy chambers, but other than that you lay there. Nothing is enjoyable anymore. The idea of going to the Backyard, to the Shelves, or even the Ale House is unappealing. Gav usually brings you food, sometimes Jill, but you barely touch it. You eat a little, but your appetite is non-existent; you eat only when your stomach tells you to.

People don’t visit you like they did. Sometimes Jill, Tarja, and even Jote would come in for a short time. They would try talking to you, they would rub your side to bring comfort, they would brush your hair, yet you wouldn’t react. Those visits have slowly dissipated, and you can’t blame them.

You hate what Clive’s passing has turned you into. You never thought grief would transform you so poorly. Grief isn’t new to you, just as it isn’t new for most people in the realm. You grieved when your parents passed, you grieved when Hideaway members didn’t return from missions, you grieved when Titan and his Dhalmekian goons killed so many innocent people in the Old Hideaway. But Clive is your one true love; the one man that was able to intertwine his soul with yours. They say once the soul has been torn into two, it never fully recovers.

You get up from the bed with all the strength you can muster. As you stand, you face the mirror from across the room, and what you see makes you shutter. You walk over slowly, not quite believing that it is you in the reflection. Your fingertips drag along the cool surface, slightly dissociating in the process. What was once full and bright features were now hollowed from lack of sleep, crying, lack of appetite, and the grief that’s swallowing you.

“By the Founder, I look dreadful.”

You want to heal. You want to get better. Your soul is waiting for your shell of a body to hatch, so it may continue to live. But how can you do that in a place where everywhere you look, you see him? Every corner of the Hideaway is covered with Clive’s aspirations, dreams, and ideas. If you want to move on, to grieve healthily, you can’t stay here. You need to be somewhere that takes you back to a time before Clive.

The moon shines brightly in the room, giving you enough light to maneuver around. You pack a small bag of your belongings, only with things that would benefit your travels, and dress yourself in clothes to protect you from the elements. Once situated, you walk over to what was once Clive’s desk and sit down. You grab the quill and a scroll, and look at the blank paper. Your eyes start to water, knowing this decision will ruffle some feathers, and will create a form of worry you won’t be here to satiate. You think about getting back into bed and forgetting about what you are about to do, but you know this is a must. You are holding everyone in the Hideaway back, and you can’t support the cause if you aren’t getting better.

You must do this, so therefore you write.

“What do you mean she left?” Jill raises her voice, the shock clear in her tone.

Gav had come into Clive’s old chambers to send some letters out to town leaders when he saw the bed was empty and made, with a scroll lying on top of the pillow. When Gav opened it, and read the words on the page, he immediately called for an urgent meeting with the main Hideaway members.

“She left this on the bed.” Gav states solemnly, passing it to Otto who is on his right. “Long story short, she doesn’t want to be found. She didn’t give a direct location to where she was heading. All she said is she will send word when she is ready to communicate.”

“She isn’t in the right state of mind to go out by herself!” Tarja says with irritation. “What is she thinking?!”

“How would she have even left? We only have one boat, no?” Tomes questions.

“We have a second boat in case the one Obolus uses is in need of repair.” Otto mutters, looking at the scroll a tad longer before passing it off to the next person.

Jill stands up from her seat, huffing as she turns to take her leave. Gav stands with her, already reading her mind. “Where the bloody fuck you think you’re going?!

“Rather than us wasting our breath, I’m going to go find her!” Jill shouts, frustration built into her face.

Tarja stands up quickly to grab Jill’s arm. “Now wait a damn second. We need a plan before we start going out willy nilly.”

“As you said, she isn’t in the right mindset to be out by herself. She could be dead in a ditch for all we know.” Jill seethes, pissed that nobody seems to be as fearful for her friend as she is.

“She is strong, Jill.”

Everyone turns to Jote, who is never one to chime in unless need be. She is holding the scroll, looking at it as she speaks. “I don’t know her as well as you all may, but from what I do know she is very resilient. She wouldn’t leave unless necessary, and this letter proves as much.”

Everyone is quiet, thinking caps on as they process Jote’s words. The first words spoken after the pregnant silence is Otto, turning to Gav seriously. “Gav, you are the leader of the Hideaway now. It is your call.”

Gav ponders for a moment, a bit torn of what action is best to take. You are family and he wants to know you are safe. He also doesn’t want to get in the way of what you need to do to get better. He fears sending Hideaway members out to find you will make things worse.

“I think,” Gav pauses, sighing in the process. “I will alert town leaders around Valisthea to keep their eyes peeled for her. If she doesn’t want to be bothered, we shouldn’t intrude. Getting a location on her though would be beneficial for us to ensure she is at least safe.”

“Gav is right,” Otto agrees. “She will need to go into towns for essentials and will probably pass through a few.”

“If we don’t hear anything within a month's time, we will start sending out some search parties, but as I said we cannot bother her if we find her. We have to hope she will reach out to us when she is ready.” Gav continues, giving everyone a once over to see if his words are reciprocated.

Agreements are shared, some more hesitant than others, before Gav dismisses everyone to their daily duties. When the last person leaves, Gav collapses into his seat, taking deep breaths as he runs his hands over his face.

“May Greagor be with you, _____.” Gav whispers to himself.

Day 40

You can’t sleep, constantly shifting under the covers with no sense of relief. You feel hot, which is abnormal for this cool night. You start to burn up, skin flaring until it starts to burn. You sit up, panicking as you throw the covers off of you before you freeze, breath caught in your throat. In the moonlight, there is a figure sitting across the room from you, head bowed down with arms in their lap. You panic in silence, not knowing whether to fight or flight.

“You’re awake.” That voice. You know that voice all too well.

“C-Clive?” You stutter, not trusting your voice to break the quiet.

Silence suffocates the room. You wait for a response, but he just sits there. You move off the bed and walk towards him slowly, feeling off about what you are experiencing. He’s dead. Metia’s star went out. This can’t be real.

You are standing in front of him now, your bare toes touching his boots. He still doesn’t move, so you move your hands to his head, messing with the strands of hair from his head. “Clive, is it really you?”

“You left.” You pause, his tone off. Is he not happy to see me?

“Clive, I thought you were dead. We all did.”

“And yet, you still left.” He growls, finally moving his hands to grip your waist tightly, on the verge of pain. “You promised to wait for me. You broke that promise.”

“Clive,” you choke. “I’m sorry I-”

“You broke your promise to Jill.”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“You abandoned the Hideaway, my legacy, like it was nothing!”

“Clive, you’re hurting me.” You are crying now. His fingers are digging into your side hard, and you look to see he is shaking with anger.

“This is nothing in comparison to how you have hurt me!” He yells, and he lifts his head, causing you to gasp. His eyes are orange, glowing bolder and bolder the more worked up he got. You try to pry his grip off of you, but to no avail.

“Please, Clive!” You cry harder. “I love you, I'm sorry for leaving! I should have stayed!”

“You are too late, _____.” He seethes.

“Because I don’t love you anymore.”

You shoot up from your bed, screaming in a cold sweat. You look around the room like a mad woman, trying to gauge your surroundings. A wave of nausea overcomes you and you fall to the floor, vomiting from the absolute madness that occurred in your head. You dry heave on the floor, waiting for the next course of nausea to arrive but it never came. You sat up so your back was against the bed, relieved you weren’t going to be sick again, yet frustrated all the same.

You arrived in Dhalmekia four days ago. Originally, you set out to find your childhood home where you grew up with your parents, but when you arrived at the village off to the left of the Northern Velkroy, it had all but been abandoned. Your home, that was left with memories of your old life, ravaged from what you could assume to be bandits. So you kept going, hitchhiking a few rides before traveling on foot. That is when you found a small, two room cottage down in the Fields of Corava, a place you weren’t aware of, having never been south of Dalimil. There was minimal damage; a broken window and some chipped flooring. It was a better place to stay for the time being.

Ever since arriving, however, your mind has conjured terrible dreams with it being the same every time. It was always you and Clive in this room with him degrading your worth. The first night didn’t feel real, knowing that Clive would never act as such with you. But tonight, after having it for the fourth time in a row, your heart is waning.

You stare at the chair you saw Clive in, an increasing amount of anguish washing over you as you look. He’s gone. Your fingers dig into your thighs, trying to ground yourself. He’s gone. You start to choke on air, not wanting the cries of grief released from your lungs. He’s gone.

He’s gone.

He’s fucking gone!

The shell cracks, the quiet night becomes piercing as you scream. You shoot up to the chair, taking it and bashing it into the floor. You keep screaming, the splinters from the chair and the floor growing with each smack. No matter the ache your body is having, the adrenaline rushing through your it has given your grief new purpose; a cathartic event that is shaping your mentality.

The chair is nothing but wood; the bare bones of it. You get up to open the door, chucking the wood outside the door with rage. The splintered wood digs into your hands, your emotional distress covering any semblance of physical pain. Your screams have turned into wails, angry tears dripping from your face to the floor.

This rage inside of you stirred by grief makes you feel like you're dying. If anyone told you that Clive’s death would make you transform into the living dead, you’d laugh. How could anyone make you feel dead when you were the cheerful jack of the Hideaway?

The wood is now dispersed all across the field before you, bathing in the pure light of the moon. You sink into the cottage where the dark swallows you, slamming the door shut and sliding down it as your body continues its assault. Your bloody hands grip at your hair as you rock back and forth, chanting the same two words over and over.

He’s gone.

Day 70

The atmosphere at the Hideaway was the same like any other day. People were up doing their tasks or simply enjoying the day; it has been the same old, same old.

That is, until the bell on the pier sounded off.

“What is going on?!” Jill yells, everyone looking over the main deck to see the commotion. The bell is only used for emergencies, like if an enemy were to approach the Hideaway. However, Jill sees that people weren’t panicking, but rejoicing.

Gav runs up to Jill alarmed, trying to get a sense of what’s happening. “Oh fuck me! What’s going on?!”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” Jill says, her and Gav picking up the pace as they walk to see the situation at hand; both ready to take action. The two of them push through the crowd, finally reaching the railing that sees over the pier. The first instant Jill looks down, a gasp is let out with her hand covering her mouth and eyes bulging.

“No fucking way,” Gav whispers, not quite believing what he is seeing.

But their eyes do not betray them, for the bell has rang not for an emergency situation, but a message that he is alive. Clive is alive.

“He made it… Great Greagor he fucking made it!” Gav cheers.

“Clive!” Jill yells.

Clive looks up to the main deck to see two of his cherished friends, and right as he makes eye contact with them, he makes a run for the lift. Gav and Jill follow his lead, running in the direction he is to come to officially greet him. The minute Clive steps out from the lift, Gav and Jill are on him, hugging him tightly to make sure he isn’t here to haunt the place.

“You’re alive!” Jill elates.

“I apologize for my late return. I didn’t realize I’d be sorely missed.” Clive jokes, watching as more people gather around them.

“Are you kidding? This place has been falling apart without you!” Gav exaggerates.

It makes Clive chuckle, placing his hand on Gav’s shoulder as he pulls back. “Seeing all the new faces, I doubt that. And that is thanks to you. Thank you for keeping the Hideaway safe.”

Clive feels something rub his leg, and looks to see Torgal rubbing his head against him. He bends down, using his good arm to rub behind Torgal’s ears. “Torgal, have you been a good boy since I’ve been away?”

“Clive,” Jill gasps. “You’re arm.”

During Clive’s travels back home, his arm had become more of a nuisance if anything. He is a strong man; he can wield swords made of the heaviest metals, no problem. But to have an appendage weigh more than the other, well, that is a whole different situation. He had ripped part of his cape and created a sling to keep his arm in place, making travel more bearable.

Clive stands up straight, rubbing his stoned arm. “Yeah… I didn’t get away completely unscathed.” Clive draws out. “But nevertheless, we won.”

“What of Joshua and Dion?” Jill asks, even though the look in her eyes tells him she already knows. All he could do was shake his head.

“I suppose I have a lot of explaining to do.” Clive says, having much to tell.

“You will, but not before we get your arm sorted out.”

“Of course,” Clive chuckles, and turns to see Tarja with her arms crossed and hip out. He is so happy to be back amongst friends and family, ready to truly cherish his time after a battle where he could have easily perished. But most importantly, he is ready to see you.

Truth be told, Clive’s travels back to Valisthea were consumed mostly by you. All he could think about was how he craves for you to be in his warm embrace, giving him kisses and caresses that would heal him for a lifetime. To be away from you for so long is agony, and what has kept him going was knowing the future is now his and yours; one where you both can live lives worth living.

He looks around and sees a bunch of familiar faces approach, his original crew gathering around him as they welcome his return. He scans the crowd, nodding to everyone and granting a smile. However, he doesn’t see you within the sets of familiar faces.

“Where’s _____?” Clive asks, scanning the crowd once more for your face.

Everyone goes silent, glancing at one another trying to communicate. An uneasy feeling settles in Clive’s pit, not liking the reaction he got with his simple question.

Tarja is the first to speak up, diverting the question quickly with urgency. “We can talk about her later, but first we need to do something about your arm straight away. Jill. Gav. Take him to the infirmary. I’ll be up there shortly.” There was a look in Tarja’s eyes that told Clive she wouldn’t be there for a while, which made that uneasy feeling grow bolder.

Gav and Jill suddenly hook arms with Clive on either side, walking fast so he had no choice but to follow. Clive could feel himself getting frustrated, having wanted to see you for days upon days and not being granted that wish immediately upon his return.

He leans down to Jill’s ear, needing an explanation immediately. “Where is she?”

“It is better we explain once we are upstairs.” Jill reasons, although there is a shake in her voice.

The four of them get into the infirmary, Jill and Gav situating Clive on a cot. Gav whispers to Jill, her nodding in response as he jogs out of the room. Clive looks at her, a million thoughts running through his head at their peculiarness.

“Jill, what is happening?”

Jill twiddles her thumbs, taking deep breaths as she prepares herself. She looks down at the floorboards, and Clive can feel the tension in the room. “Some things happened while you were away, Clive.” Her breath trembles. “You aren’t going to be happy with what I’m about to say.”

“You are worrying me, Jill.” Clive says, trying to stay calm. “Please tell me what’s happened.”

Jill looks up, eyes starting to gloss over. She places her hands over Clive’s right hand, squeezing it gently. “The night of Origin. Metia’s star went out, and I couldn’t feel you anymore after that. I thought you were dead.

“Jill,” Clive says in a low tone. “I apologize for causing so much grief.”

“We all thought you died.” Jill laughs solemnly. “Seeing you right now doesn’t feel real.”

Clive squeezes Jill’s hands as a means to comfort her, as well as to urge her to continue. She shakes her head, tears as icy Shiva’s magick slipping down her face. “We all took it very hard. Some held hope, but after weeks of no signs of your return, everyone had accepted it.”

Jill’s breath stutters. “But Greagor, Clive. _____ took it so hard.” The tears started to fall, Jill shaking as she continued. “She wouldn’t get out of bed, wouldn’t eat… oh Greagor she wouldn’t talk to anyone. She would just lay there no matter what we tried to do.”

Clive thinks his heart just tore. The thought of you like that made him ill. And the past tense of Jill’s words make the air all the more suffocating.

“Where is she, Jill? Let me see her, please.” He pleads, needing to show you that he lives and has come back to her.

“I’m sorry,” Jill cries, her head bowing onto their intertwined hands. “I’m so sorry, Clive.”

“Jill talk to me, please!” He begs before hearing the door to the infirmary open, only to see Gav with a small scroll in his hand.

“Gav, you need to tell me what has happened.” Clive says sternly, knowing another second longer with no answer will send him into a frenzy.

Gav shows him the scroll, making Clive gently let go of Jill’s hands to reach for it but before he could grab it Gav backed away. “When you read this, know that we have plans enacted.”

Gav hands it to him, taking another step back to give Clive more space. Clive unravels the scroll quickly, the need for answers strong. And he gets his answer, but that answer makes his skin run cold and go hot at the same time.

Gav,

I apologize for putting this on you. I know your transition as the new Cid has been a lot, and I am sorry for making it much harder for you. This space is yours now. Not Clive’s, nor mine.

You know as well as the others I am not well. A part of me died the day Clive passed, and being here has made any progress of healing not happen. Truth is, I see him everywhere. Everything here reminds me of him, and it’s killing me because one moment I see him and the next I don’t. The grief that has consumed me has become everlasting.

By the time you read this, I will be far gone. Please, I beg of you, do not come find me. Do not send anyone to come find me. I will not come back, at least for now. Any chance of me getting better is for me to go out there, not stay here. I know this will cause worry, and I apologize for being a nuisance, but I have no choice. It’s either I die out there trying or I stay here rotting.

Tell the others I’m sorry, especially Jill, and take care of her. Once I’m ready, I’ll send word of my whereabouts. Until then, please let me grieve in peace.

Much obliged,

_____

Clive is seeing red. His fist starts to squeeze the paper, crackles and the sound of a tear coming from it. “When did she leave?”

“It’s been about a month.” Gav mutters, and everything that happens next is a blur. Clive shoots up from the bed, charging towards Gav before slamming him into the door.

“Clive, please don’t!” Jill cries.

“She’s been gone for a month?! And you have yet to find her?!” Clive yells, his fist gripping tightly onto Gav’s leathers.

“We have notified people on the outside to keep us posted.” Gav tries to reassure. “That is what the Hideaway members have agreed on.” His words do nothing to soothe him. If he still had his magick, he is sure hellfire would rain on the Hideaway.

“She needed time, Clive.” Jill rests her hand on his shoulder. “We chose to respect her wishes.”

He scoffs, backing away from the both of them, disbelief clear on his features. “You agreed to this too?”

“You were not here to witness what we did!” Jill yells agitated. “Clive, I understand your frustration, but if you saw how she was you wouldn’t think twice.”

He wants to stay angry, put the blame on someone selfishly. You’ve done so much for the Hideaway, the cause, everyone involved. How could they let you leave? But all he feels is defeat. He came too late, and now he needs to make up for lost time.

“Excuse me,” Clive mutters, walking towards the door Gav is still leaning against.

Jill shoots herself to grab the upper half of his petrified arm, a grunt forced out at the pulling tension. “Clive, you need to stay right here so Tarja can do something about your arm.”

“No, I am going to go out and look for her! She needs to know I’m alive!” He tries shaking her grip off his arm, but to no avail as she holds on tighter. Panic is starting to set in, not knowing where you are and if you are safe freaking him out. It is almost as if he is experiencing firsthand what you went through.

Gav steps forward, putting his hands on Clive’s shoulders shaking him slightly. “We have cursebreakers looking for her daily now that the month of her leave has passed. We will find her. And now that you are back, we will bring her home.”

“Once you are better, we will go with you to search for her. But for right now, you need to rest. Let the cursebreakers do what they’ve been assigned to do.” Jill reassures. “Let’s get you ready for Tarja. The sooner she can fix you up, the faster you can go out.”

Clive takes a deep breath before nodding, and lets Jill and Gav guide him back to the cot. He sits back down, and all he can do is look down at the floorboards. Anger and defeat have turned into a sadness he cannot fully comprehend; a feeling he hasn’t quite felt before. “Do you two mind giving me some time alone? Please.”

“Of course, Clive. We will be outside if you need anything.” Jill says, before the sound of four feet patter across the floor and the creak of the door opens and closes, leaving Clive completely alone.

He doesn’t know how long he stays like that; unmoving, eyes glued to the floor. All he thinks is he should have found a way to send a message to you so you knew he had survived. Deep down, he knows there was nothing he could have done given his circumstances, but that doesn’t stop the blame game he is putting upon himself. So he sits there, wallowing in his heartache as his shoulders shake and throat lets out faint sobs.

The letter is still held tightly in his grasp.

Day 71

Waking up early in the morning before the sun makes its greeting isn’t abnormal for you, not when you dream constantly. Sometimes your dreams would startle you. Sometimes they would make you wake up crying. Sometimes they would wake you up with a smile on your face. But the time is always the same; the moon is always there to tell you the time of the morning and you fall back into a deep sleep before the sun shows itself. However, this time is different.

In recent days, you’ve had nothing but wonderful dreams. Not ones like when you first came here, or ones about a future no longer possible. They were dreams of the past, deja vu in nature. Fond memories of you and Clive ranging from the first time you laid eyes on him to the last. What’s different about your calling back to the real world is your eyes open to hues of yellow and orange shining through the window. It is not the moon’s beams that greet you, but the sun’s rays.

You get out of bed and go to the door, opening it to step out onto the field. The early morning air hits your skin, the grass licking at your feet as you continue forward. You trek to the spot between the elevated land, a v-shape displaying the rising sun as it continues its ascent. Your hand goes out in front of you, watching your skin transform as the sun’s colors grow brighter. You can’t help but smile at the sight before you because all you feel is peace. For once since Valisthea changed forever, you felt like everything will be okay.

You think about the first time you and Clive watched the sunrise together, holding each other tightly as you both talk about how it is a new day full of hopes and dreams. You remember him telling you how he has never felt more alive than he did in that moment, and you can understand why; you understand because you feel the same.

You know Clive would want you to live to the fullest, for that was what he wanted all along. Even if things didn’t turn out the way they should have, he would have wanted you to live for him, but most importantly for yourself. He would want you to remember your time together fondly, and that it wasn’t for nothing. It was everything.

You inhale deeply, the scents of the morning filling your airways before you exhale. You continue to look out on the horizon, mesmerized by the beauty of a new day; a new start .

“I deserve to be happy, right Clive?” You whisper to yourself. “I will continue to live for you and for me. Starting now.”

This is the start of your new life.

Day 172

“These are absolutely beautiful, my lady. These are so hard to find in Dhalmekia.”

You smile brightly, watching the woman before you admire your handy work. “I’m pleased that you love them. Morgenbeards are native to the swampy waters in Rosaria, but I was able to get my hands on some seeds.”

“You must know your stuff to get them to grow here.” The lady continues.

You shake your head, grinning at her. “I have my ways.”

To say things have gotten better would be the greatest understatement in history because you are thriving. It is as if everything has fallen into place. You fixed up the small cottage you are residing in so it felt more like a home rather than a temporary visit. You did a lot of prep work to ensure you’d live comfortably. The greatest thing, however, is you found a way to make a living for yourself, the one thing you do best: grow flowers.

You noticed how flowers grew in the fields, yet you could tell they needed help; the Dhalmeky dirt too dry to keep them alive for long. You were able to get some books on flower gardening, along with different kinds of seeds, all imported from merchants who graciously accepted the little gil you had. It took some time, but those things helped you open a flower shop out of your home. And thus far, it has been a wonderful success.

You had taken a flower cart to Dalimil to get your name out there, and to let people know where to find your business. You eventually want to move your business within the inn’s market, but when you had come to propose the idea, you found out Lubor had been gone on an expedition. The cart will have to do, you recalled thinking. The people there have been nothing but supportive, offering their business in exchange for theirs: vases, business signs, gardening supplies, etcetera. It was a good system that benefitted you and them. You were grateful.

You are sitting at the kitchen table, having closed shop for the day, sipping on some hot tea as you write down your daily earnings. A hard day’s work is rewarding, and knowing your flowers have made your customers happy makes you happy. To be doing things that feel worthwhile feels good, and the last time you felt this way was when you lived at the Hideaway.

The Hideaway. You stop writing as you reminisce about those times. It really wasn’t that long ago, yet it feels like a lifetime. Have I changed that much?

You miss everyone dearly. You miss Tarja’s tough love. You miss Mid’s inventiveness. You miss Otto’s gruffness. You miss Tome’s stories of his travels. You miss Jote’s coolness. You miss Gav’s banter. You miss Torgal’s way of comforting you. You miss Jill’s faith. You miss everyone. You often wonder if they miss you too.

You are surprised no one has come looking for you, or have found you if they were. You think about what they must have thought when you left that letter. Were they angry? Sad? Worried? All three? Did they listen to you when you said you didn’t want to be found or did they nonstop look day and night for you? You couldn’t tell. Not unless you find out for yourself.

You set the daily earnings paper aside, and lay out a fresh one, your quill hovering over the paper as you think of what to say. There are so many words to say, yet you don’t know where to start. Do you share everything? Do you just tell them you are okay? Do you tell them where you are? So many questions to answer with little paper to write it all out. So you write something simple, hoping it gets the message across.

I hope this finds you well. Come see me if you wish. You all know where to find me.

Day 179

Clive’s search for you has been non-stop, days and nights spent looking for trails only to find dead ends. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get how you could have disappeared without a trace. But that will not deter him. He will not stop looking until he finds you.

Every place that Clive could think of they checked. Areas in Dhalmekia were the first places they looked, knowing you knew the area better than others. The very first place they checked was your childhood home near the Northern Velkroy, but it didn’t look like there were any signs of life there. Different towns within the area were checked but no one had heard or seen you. Hell, they were more surprised to see him alive and well to focus on the whereabouts of a lost woman. He understood, but it grated his nerves.

Every other place in Valisthea had been scouted and marked as they went, but every location and mark was the same. So here he was, writing letters to town leaders of the cause again to be his eyes. You have to show up somewhere eventually, if you haven’t already.

As every day passes, his heart wanes further. It yearns for you, calling out its other half to be complete again. When he does rest, granted not for long periods of time, he imagines you are lying with him. He holds a pillow close in his arms, picturing it to be you to subdue his crazed heart and mind. It was nice to pretend, but then he wakes up and is sorely disappointed to see what lies in his arms is just that: a pillow. It’s a cycle because the same thought crosses his mind each and every time: the day you are back in his arms will be a momentous day. That day has yet to come.

He keeps writing the same words over and over on different sheets of paper when he hears commotion from beyond his doors. The fighting instinct in him shoots up, running to the door to see what was happening when he sees Otto, Jill, and Gav running towards him.

“Has something happened?” Clive asks, alarmed.

Otto reaches Clive first, shoving a piece of paper into his hand. “She has communicated with us.”

Clive couldn’t read the paper fast enough, not quite believing this day had come. He rings out the paper to straighten it before reading her handwriting. “She is staying in a cottage in the Fields of Corava.”

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go get the lass back!” Gav expresses with full excitement, springs basically on the bottom of his feet with how bouncy he is.

Jill pats Gav on the back. “Gav, let’s let Clive go alone.” She then turns to face Clive, an understanding smile greeting him. “They will need some time together.”

“Thank you, Jill.” Clive says softly. “I thank all of you.”

“Well, if that’s the case…” Gav draws out, approaching Clive before slamming his hand on his shoulder, “you better get cleaned up! You have a lady to see.”

Clive laughs at Gav’s antics, and turns to ready himself; ready himself to return to you once and for all.

Day 184

It’s late in the morning as you gather flowers into your basket, trimming and cutting the ones that have bloomed beautifully. The flower gardens in the field were flourishing more and more every day. The more you work in the gardens, the more fulfillment you feel. You felt this when you helped out in the Backyard, but what you built here is from your own doing. You believe it to be a testament to your growth, showing that you made the right decision all those months ago. You’ve created your own little utopia, and to share it with others is a beautiful thing.

As you cut fresh flowers, you start to wonder if people at the Hideaway got your letter. You would love for them to come visit, and see what you have done with the place. You wonder if they will ever come to see you or if they will send a letter back. It could be any day now, and you will be ready.

You have a full basket of flowers ready to be put in vases, and before you can get up to head inside you see a shadow lingering above your form. “I’m sorry, but I won't be open for another couple of hours.”

There is no reply, and the shadow remains as still as a statue. You sigh, standing up to turn and be more clear with your words. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but I still need to se-”

The flower basket falls from your grasp, tumbling out and falling into a heap by your feet. Time has frozen, not feeling real as you look at the person you have longed to see for months. You question if you are hallucinating, having had moments where you would see Clive one second and the next he was gone. This, however, was different.

The man before you was not in uniform; just a simple white tunic that displayed a few of his chest curls at the v-cut and regular black trousers with his leather boots. His face was clean-shaven, the facial hair he had kept for so long absent from his face making him look younger. The biggest difference, however, was his left arm; from his elbow down was gone. How could this be hallucination?

“Am I dreaming or is this real?” You breathe, blinking a few times to see if he’d disappear. He didn’t.

He takes a step forward, grabbing one of your hands to place it over his heart. He is warm, his heart fluttering quickly. He is looking down into your eyes, where you see his baby blues grow glossy. “This is real.” He murmurs. “I’m home, sweetheart.”

Something about his words break you, your hands latching onto his shirt to hold yourself to reality. He’s home. My Clive is home.

You can’t help the sobs that leave your mouth as you bury your face into his chest, making him wrap his arm around you as you both collapse down into the flower beds. You are feeling every emotion under the sun, and you can tell Clive does too as he holds you in his lap. He cries with you, sharing a reunion so pure that it is overwhelming. You lift your head and bring his face to yours, kissing him so deeply that your lungs shake. Exchanges of small words come out between the two of you as you give each other kisses that have been longed for.

“I never thought I’d see this day.” You say with a wobble in your tone, kissing him again and again. “I love you so much.”

“And I love you. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” Clive croaks, and goes back in for your lips.

There you both make up for lost time; holding onto each other in a field of flowers where kisses and touches are continuously exchanged.

You and Clive eventually went inside. You turn the sign on your door to ‘close’, so no one can bother you two. You watch Clive look around the place, taking in your little set up of flowers on the kitchen table.

“I apologize for the mess. I’ve had a lot of requests over the last few days believe it or not.”

Clive looks at you, a soft chuckle leaving his lips. “That doesn’t surprise me in the least. You’ve always had a way with flowers. Speaking of which…”

He reaches into his pocket, only to pull out the lily you had given him all that time ago. You gasp, surprised he has kept hold of it. “You still have it? But how?”

“I protected it with my life.” Clive sets it onto the table. “You gave it to me with the wish that I’d return to you. I wasn’t going to lose it easily.”

“You are so endearing.” You say, but you have so many things you want to know and that alone puts a small frown on your face.

Clives sees the shift immediately, grabbing your hand to console you. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“What happened at Origin, Clive?” You ask, needing to know what he went through for the time he was gone.

Clive exhales, seemingly knowing that question was coming. He pulls your hand towards him as he walks to your bed. “We should sit down. It is a long story.”

The two of you sit down and Clive still has a tight hold on one of your hands. “Forgive me, for this may take me a second. Thinking about certain events there still hurts.”

You bring your free hand to his face, which feels smooth under your touch. His head leans into your palm, turning slightly to kiss the delicate skin. “Take all the time you need. I am here.” You murmur.

And so, he tells the tale of Origin. He tells you about Dion’s sacrifice. He tells you about what he found out about Ultima’s plans. He tells you about Joshua’s passing, something he had a hard time conveying without his voice breaking, but he pushed on. He tells you about Ultima’s demise. He tells you about how he woke up somewhere off the Shadow Coast of Storm. And he tells you how throughout his journey back to Valisthea, all he could think about was how he couldn’t wait to come home to you. All of it was hard to listen to, hearing what he went through from Origin till now.

“So, Metia going out was a sign that magick has been lost…”

“Mmm,” he hums, the both of you lying down now.

“So that’s why you didn’t become wholly petrified? You stopped it in time.”

“Tarja did a great job removing it and ensuring my stub was healed properly, despite my stubbornness.” He jokes, but you don’t laugh. All you can think about is the past.

“If only I waited a little longer,” you start. “I would have saved us so much grief.”

“Don’t you dare blame yourself.” Clive shushes, kissing the top of your head and pulling you closer into his body. “Jill told me you had a very hard time grieving. I will not shame you for doing something you felt was right.

You bury your head into Clive’s neck, breathing in something that is so undeniably him. “You know, when I first got here, I would have these dreams. Nightmares really.”

Clive stays silent, letting you continue. “It would always start and end the same. I would wake up with you in the room, and the next thing I knew you were telling me I had betrayed you… and that you no longer loved me.” You start to sniff, not liking to recall those dreams. “For such a long time, I felt I didn’t deserve to be happy because I had left part of your legacy behind. It felt like your ghost was haunting me day and night.”

“Oh, darling,” Clive pulls you into him so you are on top of him with legs on either side of him. Clive brings your forehead to his, his thumb coming up to swipe the tears building up in your eyes. “I could never not love you.” He looks deeply into you, burning the truth of his heart into you. “I am yours even beyond death.”

His words overwhelm you, and you lean down to kiss him with every passionate fiber in your being. Your hands go to his torso, running your fingers up and down the sides as you continue to show him how much you love him. He grunts into your lips, his arm holding you down to him. Your hands start to slide slowly under his tunic, your fingers slowly ascending until they reach his chest only to go down again. The delicate touch of your fingers makes his hips buck right against your heat, a grunt and a moan echoing together simultaneously. Your hands go back up again, only this time you bring the tunic with you.

“We have a lot of lost time to make up for.” You say against his lips.

Clive smirks at your boldness, only to flip you over on your back so he is hovering over you. “That we do, darling. Forgive me, though. Having one arm gives me less leverage.”

You hum, bringing him back down to you by his hair. “I’m sure we can manage.”

You two make love into the night and into the morning, not getting enough of one another; making up for lost time.

Day 200

Since you and Clive’s reunion, he had decided to stay for a while. He had sent a letter to the Hideaway to let them know you were well and that he would be staying for the time being, making Gav in charge.

“He’ll love that.” You had joked.

“He’s his own man. I have all the faith in him.”

These last few weeks have been sublime. When you wake up, you see Clive snoozing away beside you on your right; always the right so he can wrap his arm around you in his sleep. He has also helped you with the flower shop. You two would go out in the morning before the heat set in to work the ground and water the flowers. You don’t know if the yearning in your body has yet to be satiated, but there have been times when you would come outside to gather more flowers to see Clive with his shirt off, sweat glistening on his burly chest as he works. It takes every bone in your body not to jump his own. Most times, you are unsuccessful.

You also found out Clive is quite the salesman. When you two would go out to Dalimil to sell from your cart, the way he is able to convince people to make a purchase is astounding. Is it the charm? The looks? A combination of both? You could guess, but it didn’t matter. Every time you made a sale, he would turn to give you a quick peck.

“I would kiss you for every individual flower we sell, but we don’t want to scare them away now, do we?”

After a long day out in Dalimil, you two are now inside the cottage finishing up dinner. You are cleaning the dishes when you feel him behind you, wrapping his arm around you pulling your hips to his. You hum in a laughing manner, his friskiness showing as he places kisses on the side of your face. “Clive, let me finish these.”

“They aren’t going anywhere.” He hums, his kisses lingering below your ear.

You sigh but continue cleaning. Clive, on the other hand, was not having it. He pulls you away, soap and water sloshing from your hands as he pulls you to him. He plops down onto the kitchen chair, bringing you into his lap. “Hmmm, I got you.”

“You are such a horn dog. Are you sure Ifrit still doesn’t linger within you?” You laugh, then squeak when he pinches your side.

“In all seriousness,” he murmurs in your ear. “I want to talk about something.”

“About?” You hum.

“About our future.”

“Go on,” you urge. “What about our future?”

“Well,” Clive starts, “living the way we have the last couple weeks, my mind can’t stop wandering to what I want for us.”

Your hand reaches up to his cheek, only for him to nip at the tips of your fingers causing you to giggle. “Such as?”

“To start the life we’ve always talked about.” He places more kisses on your neck. “One where our lives are strictly ours. One where I come home to my beautiful wife.”

“I like the sound of that.” You mewl, his kisses making you squirm in his lap.

“One where I get to see you bearing our child.” His hand goes down to your tummy, rubbing just above your uterus.

“I’ll be surprised if I’m not already with all the love making we have done.” You giggle.

He chuckles along with you, his hand squeezing your flesh. “You’d look beautiful. You always do.” He continues, “one where I get to raise a little me, a little you, or both.”

“It all sounds so wonderful.” You purr, feeling all warm and fuzzy at his remarks.

“Then let’s go ahead with step one.” Clive says, lifting you off of him only to sit you back down. He kneels before you, both of your hands in his one. “I don’t have a ring, but I can’t wait a moment longer. _____, will you do me the utmost honor of marrying me?”

You hum, smiling brightly at his question. “Would you have me in a wedding dress? A big ceremony?”

“Anything your heart desires.”

You shake your head, laughing at his insistence. You look at him, letting yourself get swallowed by his eyes. “I’d marry you with just the clothes on my back.”

Clive grins, bringing your left hand to his lips as he kisses your ring finger. “I cannot wait to marry you, future Lady Rosfield.”

Lady Rosfield. It has a nice ring to it.

#clive rosfield x reader #clive rosfield #ffxvi x reader #ffxvi #clive rosfield angst #clive x reader #final fantasy xvi #my fics

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bri-sonat · 1 year

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Kisses Of Fire

Follow-up to Life Eternal

Pairing: Brienne of Tarth x Fem!Knight!Reader

Warnings: NSFW!! Major GoT spoilers, descriptions of violence & blood, angst, SMUTTY SMUT, oral sex, praise kink, semi-public sex, a tiny bit of angst again, fluff.

A/N: so as i was writing this i realized i totally made up my own timeline, oopsie, so i should clarify. the first two fics (enjoy the silence & life eternal) took place post the long night and pre the end. this fic catches up to that. this is (by my own opinion and admission) not my best work, but i've been working on it for so long and it's been approved for public reading, so, here it is. the finale. the end of our two beloved knights' love story. blah blah blah english is not my first language (obligatory warning). i hope the ending is satisfactory to all, enjoy!

big thanks to my dear bestie aron (@queerofalltrades) for reading through it and giving it the stamp of approval, and for helping me with the idea for this fic, without them, this fic wouldn't exist. and spouse heather (@pastanest) for helping me compact complicated GoT plot and for explaining more GoT customs to me.

It had been five months since that fateful night by the stables when your love had screamed after you with all her might with tears in her eyes.

That had also been the last time she had communicated with you at all.

You had sent her ravens, every Sunday for the past months, concluding your week, talking about your father's passing, and your mother. No message was ever sent back but your own, unopened and unread. Despite this you kept sending them, to keep your oath and to let her know you thought about her, every single day.

In your messages to her, you often mentioned things you saw during your day that reminded you of her. Like the bright blue sky, equally as bright as her eyes and smile. The setting sun, just as beautiful and breathtaking as her. Any time you saw something dark blue, much reminding you of the unique armor she always donned.

These small details were added for her to know that you hadn’t forgotten her and that she was always on your mind; had she read them, she would’ve been made aware of this fact.

You couldn’t blame her for ignoring your messages. She was upset that you left, that you didn’t listen to her cries. That you had made her fall in love, and that you ripped her heart out of her chest.

What you couldn’t understand, however, was her stubbornness, she knew you had no choice. In fact, she would’ve done the same had her father gotten ill, considering she’s his only heir. The only difference was she would’ve let you come with her; she would’ve begged you to.

She would have hired you as her main bodyguard, as her master-at-arms, as Commander of her troops, she would have hired you as anything if it meant always having you at her side. Even as she ruled over Tarth.

That was the difference between her and you, she had obligations and could not join you, even when she desperately wanted to, you, however, could join her. You weren’t sworn to anyone but your family, Brienne, and the Gods, there was work for knights everywhere, you could go wherever you wished.

She went where her loyalties led her, and her loyalties always led her to the daughters of Lady Catelyn Stark. Despite the Lady’s murder at the red wedding years prior, the honorable blonde kept serving the daughters, because death did not release her from her vows. You admired her extreme loyalty and virtue, there weren’t many people like her left in the world you lived in, everyone was either greedy, monsters, liars, or all three.

Your unopened scrolls started to pile up on your desk and you wondered how long she would keep this up. Your patience only lasted for so long and you couldn’t deny the pang of hurt that surged through you and your heart when yet another message was returned, unread. After a while, you started to wonder if she had even received your ravens at all.

About one month after you had arrived at your family’s residence in Lemonwood, your father passed due to his illness, leaving you and your mother as the attendees of the family business.

The four months that passed after that were spent keeping up the trade, meeting shipments at Planky Town as they came in from the Westerosi coast and the Free Cities of Essos, comforting your mother, and sending unrequited ravens to Brienne.

To honor your duties as a knight, you offered your help to the Martell family, having history with them that went all the way back to your grandfather's childhood. The only living one of them called for you every now and then for advice, or just to help patrol around Sunspear.

You were a familiar face for most, having spent a lot of time in the city growing up, and you recognized some people as well, stopping to have a chat with some; and others, you just gave a polite nod to considering where you knew them from.

Brienne was a constant on your mind, even when you received the news one week after your arrival of Kings Landing crumbling, the deaths of Jaime and Cersei Lannister, and Jon Snow assassinating Daenerys Targaryen.

A few weeks after the fall of the capital and the deaths, Prince Martell had to leave for unstated business in Kings Landing. He had asked you to look over things while he was away and you accepted, not inquiring what said business was about.

He had returned about a week later and stated that Bran the Broken had taken the now melted Iron Throne and that The North had been established as an independent kingdom with Sansa as its ruler. The mention of her name brought forth memories of the last time you had spoken to her, recollections of Brienne, and eventually evocations of her by the stables.

You had no news of your knight; you did not even know if she was alive.

You desperately wanted to ask Prince Martell about Brienne. Just a simple, ‘My Lord, was there a tall blonde by Sansa Starks’ side?’ would have been adequate, but you hadn’t dared to verbalize the query in case the answer was no. If the answer was no, it meant that she was no longer alive, because your knight was always by the redhead's side as her sworn sword.

Part of you hoped that if she had met her untimely death, you’d be notified; but had to come to terms with that there would be no reason for anyone to think of doing so.

Around the same time of Prince Martell's return from Kings Landing, your raven returned, however, something was different this time. The bird carried both your scroll and another. You had hoped it was from Brienne, disappointment settled in when you saw that it wasn’t.

The words on the Stark stationary were very few, only there to convey the brief piece of information necessary. Despite the lack of long and many sentences, the small amount was exactly what you needed to hear.

“Brienne no longer resides in Winterfell. She has relocated to the White Sword Tower in Kings Landing. – Sansa Stark.”

She was alive. A flood of relief washed over you but was quickly replaced by sadness and confusion. She was alive but ignored your messages; and she was in the King's Guard, of course.

You read the message again and detected that Brienne's and Sansa’s titles were missing in the message, meaning she had forsaken professionalism. This led you to the conclusion that she somehow knew about you and your knight's infatuation with each other. It gave you a sense of calmness, knowing that you would have been notified had she perished.

It then broke your heart, realizing that the blonde couldn’t let go of her pride for one second to personally let you know of her relocating, she had to have someone else do it for her. You would have expected her to tell you so herself but apparently, that was too highly anticipated of you, so silly of you to think that she could be bothered to tell you personally, how unreasonable, how idiotic.

There were whispers of a new Lord Commander, but no one knew who they were, only that the King's Guard now only consisted of two knights. You knew that Brienne was one of the members, considering her new residency but still had no idea who the Commander could be considering they had no distinguishing marks to tell them apart from the rest of the guard.

So, until it was confirmed who had filled the position, it was unknown information and you made it a habit to spike your ears whenever you heard people mention ‘Lord Commander’ in conversation, hoping to learn what everyone was curious to know.

———

Brienne’s life had been quite non-identical. She had spent the entire week after your departure mourning you. She noticed your absence in everything: her bed, her heart, breakfast, training, dinner, and the void was particularly draining after her patrols when your usual midnight meetings would occur. She had gotten used to your touch, now the only thing she felt was the cold hand of complete loneliness.

During your stay, Brienne's squire, Podrick, had noticed the taller knight's infatuation with you and stayed away, giving you the space to speak uninhibitedly. You had not met him but had heard such wonderful stories of their adventures together. He instead lurked in the background, training with your love when you had split off during the day.

With you gone, he had proven to be a comforting presence for Brienne, but the hole left inside of her was still gaping, a void that only you could seal. She trained him whenever she had free time, which was more often with you not there, and he grew stronger and stronger for each day that passed.

Sometime after the Battle of Kings Landing, Brienne traveled to the Dragonpit to represent Tarth in the trial of Tyrion Lannister. From what she had been told by Sansa whose opinion she valued most amongst those present at the trial, Daenerys had gone against his advice, he had then denounced himself as her Hand, resulting in imprisonment for his defiance.

Jon Snow, who Brienne had come to conclude was a good man after the time spent with him at Sansa's side, had then had a conversation with Tyrion within the cell he was held in, before murdering Daenerys.

During the trial, Brienne sat and listened to Tyrion as he advised the gathered council to elect a new King to decide his fate. Expressing his reasoning, he suggested Brandon Stark. At this, the blonde knight assented, as did everyone else.

Brandon Stark then met Sansa’s demand for the North to once again become its own sovereign kingdom, as it was for thousands of years.

Tyrion’s punishment, as decided by King Bran, was to reclaim his position as Hand to the monarch and amend his previous mistakes in the same position, under previous rulers, for the rest of his life. Though the Lannister strongly opposed this idea, that only made the punishment more just, as, to him, it was not the reward that many would take the position to be.

However, the minute Brienne had assented by saying ‘aye,’ she was ashamed to admit how little of her attention she devoted to the trial due to her mind being occupied by thoughts of you, but alas, that was her fate. She was well aware of the people around her and what decisions were made but she couldn’t have cared less.

She had acknowledged your ravens, she just didn’t have the strength to open them, to read about your life without her. She knew she was being unreasonable, and she chastised herself for it. Despite how well aware she was of her unwarranted and irrational behavior, she ignored them, but you just kept sending them and it got harder and harder for Brienne to just leave the inviting scrolls; however, she knew it would only hurt her more to read about your Dorne adventures.

In hindsight, however, those messages would’ve been something much more joy-inducing to have of yours, compared to the only thing she had in her possession.

After the trial, Bran had approached Brienne, and offered her the position of Lord Commander in his Kings Guard, he was a very blunt man, the King, and she had been a bit surprised with just how candid he was. She had managed to hide her initial reaction and had humbly accepted his offer. Sworn the oath at the Stark’s request and stated that her squire is yet to be knighted and that she would do so with haste.

Podrick was ready and had been for a while, but she was called to Kings Landing for the trial before she had the opportunity to knight him. This worked out in his favor however, considering being knighted by someone from the King's Guard and the Lord Commander of it, was seen as prestigious; and would earn him substantially more respect than if she would’ve knighted him when she was still a knight herself.

The King had nodded at her declaration, “I will ask Sansa to have someone pack up and send your belongings here. Tell your squire to come see me as soon as he is a knight. In the meantime, I believe we have some measurements to get for your new armor.”

“Your Grace, there is no need for that. I have no belongings in Winterfell I’d like to keep. I brought everything important with me.”

“Are you sure, Lord Brienne?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Very well. Now, come with me.”

Podrick, who had followed Brienne from Winterfell to Kings Landing, had been approached by the taller knight the day after the trial.

He had a puzzled expression on his face as he watched her and she knew he had a question to ask, she would have preferred if he had kept his mouth shut about it but had allowed him to ask it anyways; regretting it as soon as he spoke.

“Lord Commander?” Hesitant in his tone, he had looked up apologetically at Brienne with the hope that she wouldn’t scold him for granting his inquisitiveness to take over.

“Yes, Podrick?” She stared down at him and she could almost see the gears that had been turning in his head; looking for the most well-mannered way to phrase the words that followed.

“I apologize for what I am about to ask but I am afraid curiosity has gotten the best of me. Whatever happened with the knight from Dorne?” She released a sigh, there it was.

“I do not wish to speak of them, not because there is anger but because there’s too much pain.” Brienne had remained stoic in her answer and in her facial expressions, but her insides had been bleeding, almost like she had been impaled by a sword and left to die, bathing in a pool of her own blood.

That was the first and only time she and Podrick ever spoke about your departure. The shorter man had opened his mouth to say something else but was quickly interjected by Brienne. “Come along Podrick. There’s something we need to do.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

As they walked through the ruins of Kings Landing, Brienne wondered if she should’ve been the one to send a raven to inform you of her move to another kingdom, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do so.

She had instead asked Sansa if she would send one, to which she agreed. The redhead had seen the affection you held for each other and knew that there was more to your seemingly professional relationship. Brienne hadn’t known the reason for the Stark’s compliance but was grateful for it either way.

All the memories that had been created in Winterfell were painful for Brienne and she found it almost relieving that she didn’t have to return, there was too much sadness there. She did not know when you would return to her, even if it had only been around one month since you had left, so leaving all the woeful memories behind was easier than she had thought.

The happier ones were harder though, the memories in the courtyard, her room, the mess hall, the bathhouse, your room. The room where she had found the letter that changed everything.

She had kept the note. It was now stained with dried tears, the paper damaged by the salty drops; ink smudged in various places. She kept it somewhere safe, out of sight from wandering eyes but close by.

It was read every single night with tears in her eyes before she went to sleep, desperately trying to remember what your voice sounded like, to no avail.

She had brought it with her to Kings Landing for the trial, not wanting to leave without it. Reading through your words had become routine, and it had gotten to the point where she could not sleep if she did not read your letter before bed. It was one of the first personal items to take its home in her new living quarters.

Brienne and Podrick had walked in silence as he took in the crumbled kingdom. The fire had stopped but the damage was still apparent. Blackened remains of destroyed buildings and dried blood on the ground.

The charred corpses had been moved the day before, given a proper burial in unmarked graves, at Tyrion’s request. To have it done within a day, the blue-eyed knight had assisted; her strong arms able to carry double the weight.

It had been a grisly sight, and even Brienne, who had seen plenty of violence in her days, had felt a hint of nausea and sorrow go through her at the sight of the destruction. The smell hadn’t made it any better.

The two had turned a corner and Brienne entered a large building that surprisingly hadn’t been affected by the attack, far enough away from the dragon's path of destruction. The room had been dimmed, rays of sun coming in from the small windows lining the walls; standing along it was Tyrion, his small form lurking in the darkness.

The tall knight stopped abruptly in the middle of the room, Podrick had done the same a couple of feet behind her to avoid crashing into Brienne’s back.

“Tyrion is here to bear witness. I told him that there was no need, but he insisted.” Her voice had been flat, stern. She had turned on her heels, faced him, and pulled out her sword from its sheath, the metal scraping against metal had echoed, the sound bouncing between the bare walls.

“Kneel, Podrick Payne.” He had gotten down on one knee in front of Brienne, gazing up at her, and she had proceeded to lay her sword on his left shoulder, her eyes boring into his. “In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave.”

She had shifted the metal of her blade to his right shoulder, carefully placing it down, mindful of the sharpness of the sword's edge. “In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just.”

She had switched shoulders again, the metal of the sword gliding in the air. “In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent.” She placed her sword back into her scabbard before she had stated her last words, “Arise, Podrick Payne, a knight of the Six Kingdoms.”

One month after your departure, Brienne had knighted Podrick. After this, she and Tyrion took him to see Bran, just as he had requested one day prior. The King had asked him to prove his fighting skills, suggesting he spar against his teacher, “Lord Brienne has trained you and I have no doubts in her skill, I am sure you are more than qualified. It is just a formality. I’m sure you understand, Ser Podrick.”

“Of course, your Grace.”

They had stepped out into a large somewhat empty clearing to give the two knights the space they required, and Podrick had proved his swordsmanship by fighting the blonde, King Bran being more than satisfied after seeing him hold his own against Brienne’s powerful blows.

“That’s quite enough. I can tell Lord Brienne would floor you if we kept going and I need you both in prime health. Approach and kneel.”

Podrick, who had read every book the word ‘knight’ was mentioned in and who had Brienne teach him everything she knew, had gotten down on one knee, and sworn the oath of the King's Guard, just like the tall woman had the day before.

“I swear to ward the King with all my strength, and give my blood for his. I shall take no wife, hold on lands, father no children. I shall guard his secrets, obey his commands, ride at his side, and defend his name and honor.”

“Arise.”

With this, Podrick had been integrated into the King's Guard and Tyrion had taken him away for measurements. Brienne had asked Bran what she was to do until the resources for reparations arrived, and he had in turn told her to assess the damage done to the armory, and see if anything needed to be replaced. And to update the Book of Brothers: to complete Jaime’s entry, and add her own. She had done so with haste.

Two weeks later, the supplies arrived in Kings Landing which was still in ruins. She, together with Tyrion, had met them at the Gate of the Gods, which was a large hole in a wall after the dragon attack, clad in her new shiny gold armor with extensive white enameling and a white cloak draped over her tall form.

She had come to stand by Tyrion’s side to discuss something, but he had asked her to stay when she moved to leave his side, it was mostly so she could act as a waypoint, of sorts, for the convoy. It was also so he could analyze her up close.

The small council had held a meeting and discussed what would come next, the reparations of the kingdom had been a unanimous agreement. They had wanted to rebuild the brothels first, but Brienne had quickly expressed her disapproval at the thought of prioritizing them over the rebuilds of the royal fleet, which clearly took precedence due to the lack of ships following the war.

The four months that followed after the arrival of the supplies were filled with Brienne overlooking some of the construction whenever she didn’t have anything else to do and performing her Lord Commander duties; whatever they ended up being, they varied from larger decisions to smaller ones.

Some days she just spent her hours in the armory, polishing and sharpening every sword; and some she spent in the White Sword Tower, either re-reading previous entries in the Book of Brothers or residing in her quarters.

She was so busy with her new duties that she did not have the time to respond to your ravens, even if she could gather the emotional strength to do so.

Five months after your separation, Bran had requested her attention, sending Tyrion to collect her.

He had found her in the armory taking inventory of the same gear she had checked the day before. When asked, she told everyone it was to ‘make sure no one stole anything’ but it was really to keep her mind occupied with something other than you who plagued her mind day in and day out, even in her slumber.

“The King wishes to speak with you, Lord Brienne.” Tyrion interrupted her almost obsessive counting, arriving when she had finished sharpening the last sword. He stood in the doorway as he watched her get up from the stool she was sitting on, put away the sword she was holding, and walk towards him.

“Of course, Lord Hand. Lead the way.”

The walk was quiet, for the most part. Brienne was content with the silence, Tyrion; not so much.

“Forgive me for being informal, Lord Commander, but; what is the matter with you?” The question staggered Brienne, her entire being stalling for one second, too stunned to move, before she continued her prior movements, resuming her stroll by the shorter man's side.

“Pardon?” She knew exactly what he was referring to. Her behavior had been strange, to say the least. Erratically counting and whetting, staring off into space, and getting lost in her own thoughts. Brienne had always been a bit unusual and turned in towards herself, but it had been even more so these last couple of months.

“Brienne. I can promise you that no one is stealing weapons from the armory during the night in peacetime. The armory which, need I remind you, is locked up with you as the key holder. So, what the hell is your issue?” Tyrion had stopped right outside the building Bran was currently in, glaring up at Brienne with furrowed brows and caring eyes.

“I-” she released an elongated sigh, “I do not wish to talk about it. What does the King need to speak to me about?” Switching the subject to the reason she was standing there with him in the first place, hoping to remove herself from the theme she wasn’t entirely comfortable conversing with Tyrion about.

The shorter man let out a sigh, admitting defeat, knowing he wasn’t getting anything out of her. “I do not know. He did not tell me.”

“Very well.” With this, Brienne pushed past the shorter man who was left standing in place, annoyed at the taller woman’s stubbornness, which seemed to be an ongoing theme nowadays.

Her white cloak flowed behind her as she navigated her way through the corridors, her steps echoing in the empty hallways.

“Lord Brienne!” Bran called her name as she entered the room he was residing in, stopping what he had been doing before she arrived, “I’m glad you’re here. I have something to ask of you.”

The blonde knight quickly kneeled before him and he just as quickly ushered her up to her feet, claiming there was no need for such formalities. Brienne didn’t quite understand why but complied either way. “Sire, what can I do for you?”

“I need you and Ser Podrick to escort a shipment from Planky Town. You will travel there by ship, collect the shipment, and bring it back. I’ve already spoken to Davos, and he has given you temporary command of one of his ships. It’s an incredibly rare material and I need my best men on it. I know it’s different from your usual duties but treat this mission the way you would any other.”

The thought process that went through Brienne's head after Bran had started speaking was: Planky Town – Dorne – you. There was a hurricane of emotions whirling around inside of her that destroyed anything in its path, and as in every hurricane, the eye was quiet, which allowed her to process the whirlwind.

She was ecstatic at the opportunity to finally visit Dorne, and maybe, if the Gods were good, cross paths with you. She was also guilty and terrified at the thought of meeting you again. Running into you after ignoring your messages for months would surely prove to be an unpleasant experience. You’d surely be angry, disappointed, and upset; all at her. But at least she would get to see you, even if it was with you staring daggers her way.

Her mind was racing, running faster than it ever had and Brienne couldn’t keep up. Until a noise ripped her out of her thoughts, permitting her to catch up to her sprinting brain. The door behind her opened and closed, signaling that someone else had entered the room. This was when she realized she had been standing still and in silence for far too long, Bran looking at her with an unreadable expression as he waited for her response.

“Yes. Of course, Your Grace. When do we depart?” Brienne remained as professional and stoic as usual, even when her mind was anything but. She had zoned out again, become lost in her own thoughts like a scared little girl getting lost in the woods with no way out.

“Tomorrow at sunrise. Be at the docks by then.”

“Yes. Anything else?”

“No. You are dismissed, Lord Brienne.” After vocalizing the command, Bran looked away from the Lord Commander and went back to his previous activity. Whatever that was hadn’t been observed by the blue-eyed knight, and she simply couldn’t be bothered to find out.

She bowed before taking her exit, passing Tyrion as she left the room. He looked at her warm-heartedly, giving her the smallest of smiles and a small nod which she didn’t reciprocate, a scowl painted on her lips.

If she wasn’t so focused on keeping the hurricane inside of her in check, and on preventing any tells to leak out of her hardened exterior onto her face, she would have given him the same back. Instead, she just kept her mind set on maintaining a straight face.

The second the heavy door closed behind her, she let the stone face fall, and an intrigued smile replaced her former frown. Her booted footsteps echoed in the barren hallways as she went back the way she came, her long white cloak floating behind her.

“Dorne, huh?”

———

You rolled up what must have been the twentieth message for Brienne, before strapping the scroll to your raven. It was a warm day in Lemonwood, as it was every day in Dorne, the Summer Sea waves hitting against the cliff side breaking the pleasant silence of the early Sunday morning.

Your raven, Bartholomew (actually named Branoc by your parents, but you thought that was a little bit boring), was sent on its way and you sat at your desk, watching the bird as it flapped its coal-black wings, carrying yet another message for your love.

The usual distant bustling noise of Planky Town had yet to begin, it was still too early but you and your mother had a shipment to meet. No rest for the traders.

Your family had since your great-great-great grandfather been a part of a large trading company, landing you as one of the wealthier families in Westeros.

The business had been passed through generations and now it had landed on your mother's lap. You were delighted to assist her for however long she needed you but the longing and yearning for Brienne’s touch was getting to be too much. You needed to get back to her.

Sighing, you put your stationary, ink, and quill away, before rising from your seated position at your desk. The armor you had worn in Winterfell had been swapped out for a more heat friendly one. Specially crafted to allow breathing and protection, the Dornish colors decorate the leather gear.

It rested on the stand in your room, the fur coat and cold-resistant steel armor gathering dust in one of your closets. You hadn’t laid eyes on either of the items since you disregarded them five months ago.

The trip here had been a long one, riding along Kings Road before turning onto Rivers Road; before finally arriving in Lannisport just west of Riverrun. Once there, you were able to hop on one of your family’s trading ships, taking you back to Planky Town.

The only comfortable way to Dorne when traveling from another kingdom, was by ship. The terrain and road through the Red Mountains were unforgiving and extremely hard to traverse and there was no way you were putting yourself through that. The ride through the barren desert after the mountains wasn’t all that inviting either.

The difference in climate had hit you right away, the searing sun of Dorne not quite the same as the biting chill of The North. Your fur coat had been discarded soon after passing The Trident and turning onto the road that led you to your destination. It rained moderately in the Riverlands, therefore, you had to take it off to insure its dryness.

When it started raining, like you had expected it to do, you had to take a break, seeking shelter under the protecting crowns of the trees. The fur coat proved quite useful as an extra blanket during the cool nights, and you pretended that it was the warm embrace of Brienne enveloping you instead of the cloak.

After you had boarded the ship in Lannisport, you were able to take off your armor for the first time in days, letting the cool breeze of the sea wash over you. The familiar salty smell of the ocean reminding you of your childhood.

The sound of knocking on your door pulled you out of your reminiscent state. Quickly pulling yourself to the present, you took large strides toward your door and opened it in a swift and controlled motion.

You were met with the weary and tired eyes of your mother, she hadn’t slept well since the passing of your father, and you couldn’t blame her, neither had you.

The sleeplessness was a combination of the grief from losing your father and the loss of Brienne's warmth. You had slept in her arms only once, but that singular time was enough to have your body aching for more affection from the tall blonde woman.

Most of this you wrote about in your messages. The messages she couldn’t even be bothered to open because if she did, she would realize you missed her so. That you would leave as soon as you weren’t needed, and that you would return to her arms as fast as humanly possible.

“Good morning, Mother.” Your voice was softer than usual, it always was around your mother nowadays, scared that any other tone would disrupt the mourning process she had begun.

Her voice was weak, frail. Throat hoarse from crying, “Good morning. Just wanted to see if you were awake.” She did this every morning. Checking up on you. She did it when you were growing up and continued doing so when you returned. It was an even more comforting action this time around, serving as a reminder that you had each other to lean on.

“I am, have you eaten?” Your mother's eating habits had been on the rocks lately, too busy with the business that she simply forgot to eat, sometimes she didn’t want to, her appetite gone. So, you asked her, every day, if she had eaten. Sometimes she said yes, sometimes she said no.

“Yes. Have you?”

You hummed in response to her question, “I ate when I woke up, I’m ready to go when you are. I’ll just need to gear up.”

Your mother nodded, “I will wait for you in the carriage.” With this, she turned around and left. Making her descent down the carpet-clad stone stairs.

After closing the door, you walked to your armor stand by your window that overlooked the Summer Sea and began removing each piece, attaching them to your form.

As you put on your leather armor, you watched as ships of many different sizes sailed past your window, floating on the sea in the searing hot Dorne sun. The sun's rays invaded your room, casting it a beautiful golden glow, and warming your skin; the pleasant smell of the sea like a comforting blanket over you.

Some of the sailing ships came from the west and some from the east. Some were sailing for trading companies, and some were sailing for travel. Their flags and sails fluttered in the warm air, hulls breaking through the water.

Eventually, all the leather gear had been secured to your form, the last part had been your sword, and with everything in place, you abandoned your room; briskly walked down the same stairs your mother had, and stepped out into the warmth of the morning.

Your mother stood by the carriage, conversing with the coachman. The sight of you approaching interrupted their conversation, the coachman opening the door to the roofed wheelhouse. Allowing your mother to enter and closing it once she had sat down inside.

The carriage did not have any windows except for some small springs, meaning you didn’t have a good view of the scenery and environment around you. So, to make sure you were able to keep a look out for potential dangers, you sat up front with the coachman.

You did not mind doing so however, he was a very interesting man with many stories to tell and you often enjoyed the chats you had with him.

The ride to Planky Town wasn’t long, your ancestors chose to settle in Lemonwood for the short travel distance, taking into account that the port was a regular visit.

On the way there you passed several travelers, and you recognized most of them as inhibitors of the other nearby settlements. You didn’t know any of them particularly well, only having met them a few times during formal events. Still being familiar with them and wanting to show civility; short pleasantries were exchanged before continuing your journey.

It didn’t take long for the lively sound of the now awake port town to reach you, the familiar sight of the Greenblood river opening its mouth in front of you, running out into the vast sea.

As every Sunday, it was reserved for shipment collection, meaning it wouldn’t be as busy as it usually was the rest of the weekdays. Despite this, there was still a large number of people going about their business of resupplying or trading.

The coachman stopped your carriage a distance away from the docks as he usually did to prevent blocking the road. He stepped off to open the door for your mother, who had stayed silent during the ride as she usually did.

You stepped off after him, watching your mother exit the wheelhouse, and walked up to her side, hand on the hilt of your sword and back straight. You were here as a traders’ child, yes, but you were also a knight.

It wasn’t often that you were asked to make your rounds down here, yet on rare occasions you were. Even when you weren’t here on such business you still wanted to keep up appearances, you knew Brienne would.

Shooting your coachman a nod and a smile, you linked your mothers' arm with your own and started trekking toward the docked ships. “Is it the usual today?” Wanting to make conversation, you asked your mother something that would pull her out of the damaging mindset she had surely found herself in.

“Yes. Meet the shipment, and see that everything is as it should, some is unloaded here to be sold, rest is shipped to other port towns to be distributed by our partners.” It was like clockwork by now, and you knew it by heart, your mother knew that you did and found it kind of you to ask. She knew why you did and appreciated the distraction from her thoughts.

A quick hum was all you gave in response, your steps taking you closer to the harbor until you reached the docked trader ship. Letting go of your mother's arm you turned to look at her, “I will stay on land and take a look around. Wait here until I come back.”

She gave a quick nod before she stepped onto the wooden vessel, you saw your mother meet the captain and he in turn gave her the inventory list for her to check off. You began turning on your heel to walk away but before you could, something caught your eye. A ship from the royal fleet.

It hadn’t been the ship in itself that stopped you, it had been the person you saw on board it. You had seen her faster than you cared to admit, almost like your eyes had been searching for her.

She was standing as robust as she had done the first time you saw her when you first arrived in Winterfell. Her hands behind her back, the wind blowing through her short blonde curls; the white fabric that draped down her figure danced in the Summer Sea wind.

She stood on the quarter deck, donned in her gold-white armor that reflected the sunlight, she looked so handsome in it, so at home. She was a White Sword, this you were aware of, but you were still nonplussed to see it, to have it verified.

You were so used to seeing her in her dark armor. The dark armor that she had worn during the duration of your stay, the armor that you had begun to associate with her. Seeing her in anything else but, was an abnormal sight.

As the ship inched closer and closer to the docks, you saw that there was detailing on her chest piece, a raven. Fitting for the three-eyed ravens' Kings Guard.

From what you could percept, Oathkeeper still sat loyally at her side, and you wondered how she had taken the news of Ser Jaime's death. You knew that they had been... relatively close, she had described their relationship as ‘an unexpected companionship,’ which was really her fancy (and courteous) way of saying ‘it was a war, he was an extra sword, we spent time together because we had to.’

Truth was, Brienne didn’t take the announcement of his passing that hard. Still too focused on the loss of you. In her mind, she had tolerated Jaime, not seeing him as a close friend, and therefore did not feel the need to mourn him.

The grief from your departure was still a fresh wound in her heart and even if she did feel the need to shed tears for him, it would be too overwhelming to do so for two people at the same time, and she refused to put you aside to lament Jaime Lannister who meant so little to her. So, it was an easy choice for her. You took precedence over everything else.

You were frozen in place, watching her as she stood tall and proud. Anger bubbled up inside of your chest, along with sadness and betrayal. Yet at the same time, you were so gleeful to see her again after such a long time, and even though you wanted nothing more than to run into her embrace; the fact that she hadn’t responded to your ravens in months stood true.

You didn’t want to see her, and you did not want to speak with her. With the feelings running amuck inside of you, you feared that if put face to face with her you’d say some things that you couldn’t take back. Hurting her even more than you had already done; ruining any chances of ever reconciliating and returning to each other's arms. For now, the best choice was to leave and blend in with the crowd before she could spot you, but it was too late.

The second her ship had docked, and she had stepped onto land, she had seen you. Her intense blue eyes locked on to yours and the moment they did, they flashed with what looked like regret and guilt.

It was too much to handle, the same blue irises that kept you up at night, that haunted your dreams, were now staring at you in such a way that made your heart twist inside of your chest.

Her mouth was hanging open the tiniest bit, eyebrows furrowed. She was surprised to see you. If there weren’t so many thoughts swirling around in your head, you were sure that you would match her expression, shocked to see her down here. Shocked to see her at all.

Your head was a battle arena, your thoughts fighting, trying to bring you back to your senses, to help you make a decision, and fast. The one who ended up coming on top was the one for before, the one telling you to leave; the one telling you to run to her getting left in the mud.

You started to walk towards the crowd, planning to disappear in the swirl of people but Brienne was taller than most people there and was able to periscope over everyone, meaning you and your Dornish leather armor stood out like a beacon on a dark night.

She started to follow you, Podrick trailing behind her trying to keep up with her broad strides. The continuous stream of people helped with keeping a distance between the three of you, but there were only so many traders and merchants, and you eventually reached a clearing, close to where your carriage was parked.

There was no hiding from her now.

The familiar voice of Brienne called your name, shivers running down your spine at hearing it for the first time in five months. You had forgotten what she sounded like, just how beautiful and deep her voice was, how the accent compliments it in the most fantastic way, working in harmony to make everything she said sound like poetry.

“Stop!” you didn’t obey her command, instead, you kept moving forward. Her steps picked up, her long legs faster than yours, and before you could process her closing in on you, her hand grabbed your wrist, pulling at it slightly causing you to abruptly stop, and turn around.

Suddenly, the only thing in your vision was her piercing eyes as they searched your face for any sign of forgiveness, love, or adoration; only finding the same stone-cold expression you had worn when your eyes met minutes ago.

She had hoped that her proximity and touch would bring back the soft expression you used to have for her. It did not. Instead, you rejected her touch. Ripping your wrist away from her grasp, almost aggressively so, almost like her touch was hot coal burning you through your protective leather gear.

She gazed down at you, a silent plea behind them for you to speak to her, to say anything. Just wanting to hear your voice. You in return stared up defiantly at her, displaying your anger by taking a step back, distancing yourself from her. She took this as a confirmation that you had become repulsed by her, just like everyone else; her weakness and pure selfishness had caused you to despise her.

In truth, the moment she had gotten close, the all too addicting scent of her had invaded your senses, making it so much harder to stay focused. The step back was to display anger, yes, but also to step away from the inebriation that was the smell of Brienne.

“Ser Brienne.” You spoke stiffly, your face full of indifference. She remained neutral, but to you, she was an open book. The way you said her name hadn’t gone unnoticed by the blonde, and you saw the flash of hurt in her eyes when you said her name. The usual affection you held for her wasn’t there anymore, and she completely understood why.

She opened her mouth to say something, getting interrupted by Podrick before she could, “It’s actually Lord Commander-” Brienne held up a hand, successfully interrupting him back, but not before you heard her new title. Lord Commander, huh?

“Ser Podrick! Do you not recognize them?” So, this was the Podrick you had heard so much about. He was shorter than you expected him to be, but maybe that was because he stood next to one of the tallest people in Westeros; she made anyone look short.

She had broken your eye contact to stare at the younger knight with her usual glare. He looked at you once again, observing you. The second it clicked; his mouth fell open in a silent ‘oh.’ He cleared his throat before mumbling a silent apology to both you and Brienne.

“Go and wait for the shipment. Leave us.” The Lord Commanders' voice was harsh, leaving no room for objections.

“Yes, My Lord.” He rushed off, leaving you and Brienne alone. She turned her head back to yours the instant Podrick disappeared out of sight into the flow of people.

“Lord Commander?” The voice that exited your mouth was incredulous. You couldn’t believe your ears. She had been appointed the highest position in the King's Guard and secured a spot on the King's Council, and you hadn’t been informed. The love of your life hadn’t told you of a major update in her life.

“Yes.”

“You were appointed Lord Commander of the King's Guard and I find out today. How long?” You almost did not want to ask. Not wanting to know how long she had been keeping this from you.

You hoped she would say 'a couple of weeks’ or ‘about a month’ because then you would understand the lack of communication. You were understanding of the task of taking on a new title and the job that came with it. If she was in the beginning phases, you would have understood. Instead, you were greeted with the opposite.

“About four months...”

“Four months-! You are unbelievable, Lord Commander.” You spat her title back at her, there was such wretchedness in your voice, such wrath. What you had feared was just a couple words ahead, the fear that you would say something that would be irreversible. There was no closing the gates of Hell now.

“Please just call me Brienne, like you used to.” Her voice had shifted into a gentler one, attempting to diffuse the situation. You scoffed at her. Was she really trying to ‘go back to the way it used to be’ after making no effort in communicating with you at all?

“I don’t know if I want to refer to you as anything anymore.” There it was. The gates had been opened, and anything coming out after this was meant to hurt. Meant to drive a knife into her stomach and twist it. Disbelief spread through your being, so irritated at her for just assuming you’d forget everything that had happened. Both of which were perceivable in your tone.

“Please, if you would just let me explain-” Desperation was evident in her voice, her entire face softening, her eyes imploring for you to please listen, to please forgive her. But you didn’t want to hear it. You didn’t want to hear her excuses; not before you had said your piece.

“Explain what, huh? Explain how you couldn’t let go of your pride to send me something back? A simple ‘hello, it is I, Brienne of Tarth,’” you tried your best to copy her speaking voice, it falling short, “once a month would have sufficed because then I would have known that you were alive!”

You took a breath before continuing, keeping your voice steady, tears threatening to well up.

“Instead, I had to get that sign of life from Sansa! Do you understand how much that pained me? That you could not let go of your stubbornness for two seconds to let me know of your damn relocation to Kings Landing by yourself! Why?” Glaring up at her, you panted, eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

“I couldn’t bring myself to read about your life without me…” Her voice was quiet, almost like she was ashamed to admit her reasons for not responding. At her admission, your wrath eased up. You weren’t furious at her anymore, but there was still the agonizing pain of being ignored by someone who you love so much, and whom you care for so. “I know, it was unreasonable, irrational, intolerant of me. I am aware.”

She continued her explanation, “I really wanted to, read your messages, that is. Because I missed you terribly, and love you so, but it would have hurt too much. Then after I was appointed my new position and title I had so much to do, and I was so stressed, and I didn’t have the time to reply.” She was trying her best to stay strong, or at least for it to look like she was but she was moments away from a breakdown.

You kept eye contact the entire time, seeing when tears were starting to form in her eyes, and you were suddenly extremely aware of how exposed you two were. “I’m sorry.” Her last words were a whisper, barely audible, voice breaking.

She then broke eye contact, tilting her head down, fixing her gaze on the sandy ground. You glanced around you, seeing that your carriage was only a couple of feet away. It gave you the perfect escape plan.

You took her by the hand, dragging her towards your carriage with a quick ‘come with me.’ The sudden, unexpected contact made Brienne’s head snap up, meeting the back of your head with her blurry vision. She needed privacy, you couldn’t let everyone see the Lord Commander break down in public, so you had to shelter her. It also provided you with a quieter place to speak.

You asked the coachman to go make himself busy before ushering Brienne into the wheelhouse, you following suit, closing and locking the door behind you. Quickly covering all the springs in your immediate vision with its individual curtain.

The second you sat down across from her, the dam broke. She buried her face in her hands as loud sobs wrecked through her, much like the ones you had heard by the stables as you rode away.

Your anger and pain had quickly subsided when you had heard her entire reasoning, and when you saw how guilty she felt. There was no need to be mad at her, you didn’t think you could be anymore.

Relieving yourself from your sword sheathe, you pondered, unsure if you should remain seated across from her, or if you should move to sit by her side. You couldn’t comfort her all those months ago, but you’d be damned if you didn’t do it now.

Quickly maneuvering across the carriage, you took a seat next to Brienne, taking off her scabbard before throwing an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close to you, her becoming flush against your side. She hadn’t expected the abrupt intimacy, it was a welcome one, especially after feeling nothing for so many days.

Her arms flew around your waist, her face burying itself into your leather-covered chest. Your free hand came up to Brienne’s head, softly stroking her hair as the other gently caressed her upper arm. Her armor made it a little lumpy, but you did not care. Having her back in your arms after so long was an incredible feeling, and you couldn’t believe how you had made it this long without her warmth.

Her sobbing was relentless, tears flowing down her face and dropping onto your legs. Your leather tasset had gradually shifted down the side of your upper thighs in your seated position, revealing your tunic trousers underneath.

Brienne repeated the same phrase, over and over again through wails. Saying how sorry she was, how she hoped you could forgive her. You in turn answered with reassurance. Telling her that you accepted her apology, that she was forgiven.

You didn’t know how much time had passed when Brienne’s cries eventually died down, rendering the small space silent except for the occasional sniffles coming from the blonde beside you. Her head had been removed from your chest and she now sat upright. You still had your arm around her, hand resting on her armored bicep.

The hand that had been stroking her hair was now holding hers, entwined hands resting in between yours and Brienne’s thighs. Your thumb lazily drawing lines on the scarred skin.

“Are you alright?” The softness had returned to your voice, the love and tenderness had as well, and the Commander noticed. She was soothed by your question because it meant you still cared enough to check in on her. That lit a light in Brienne’s tunnel of misery; there was still something left to save, to rebuild.

“Yes. Especially now that I’m back in your arms.” She turned her head to look at you, you doing the same and offering her a soft smile which she returned. As you took in her tear-stained face and red puffy eyes, you were smacked with the remembrance of your earlier words, words that shouldn’t have been uttered.

“I’m really sorry for what I said back there. I was filled with fury, and I didn’t mean it. I always want to refer to you, dear Brienne.” Voice low to avoid disrupting the peace, your voice was gentler. A strong contrast to the cutting tone you had used outside. You brought her held hand up to your face to place a peck on the back of it, relishing in the feeling of her skin against your lips once again.

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it. I forgive you either way.” You dropped yours and Brienne’s hands into your lap and released a sigh of relief hearing her words. Silence settled in again as you gazed into each other's eyes. The blonde's sapphire blues darted down to your lips and back up to your eyes, just like they had that night in the courtyard almost one year ago. She wanted to kiss you, and you needed her to. “You know, I really did miss you. A lot.” It was nothing more than a whisper, a breath of desire.

“Yeah, yeah. I missed you, too. Now shut up and kiss me, please.” Brienne giggled at your eagerness and avidity and was quick to oblige to your wish. She turned her body towards you, legs shifting to be able to face you as comfortably as possible, hand coming up to cup your cheek, head diving in fast to capture your lips, eyes falling shut before colliding.

The second her lips connected with yours, a contented and allayed moan escaped Brienne’s throat. She had longed for, craved, and missed you for so many months, all the tension and sorrow built up inside of her melting away the moment your lips touched. It was even more heavenly than she had recalled. One of your hands flew up to the side of her neck, your body shifting to copy the way she sat.

It was like you never left, lips moving together in familiarity. Brienne’s tongue swiped over your bottom lip, begging for entrance, and you granted it. Her wet, strong muscle started exploring your mouth the second you parted your lips. The feeling of her tongue wrestling with yours along with the familiar taste of her, made you release a low moan; she tasted even better than you had remembered.

The taste of you, the feeling of your tongue sliding against hers, your soft whimpers as she expertly moved her lips with yours like a dance, elegant and controlled like a waltz, but passionate and heated like a tango. A dance of the love and yearning you contained for the other. All of it took over her senses, her brain going into overdrive, her mewling against your lips.

The hand that was holding on to Brienne’s broke away from the grasp, moving to find purchase in the blonde's hair. It was already disheveled from the salty ocean wind, hair slightly curled from the humidity in the air; your hand running through it wouldn’t make it worse. It wouldn’t be odd for her hair to be out of place considering the strong coast gust.

Your fingers started at the nape of her neck, slowly moving upwards until they stopped at the back, curling them in her tresses, gathering a fistful of her hair in your hand. Brienne hummed against your mouth at the feeling of your digits in her hair once again, and the hand that had been abandoned by yours grabbed onto your waist, palm gently resting on your side.

Your lips pulled apart, but you still kept the contact, foreheads leaning against the others, eyes shut as you regained your breath. “I really did miss you. I was hoping to show you just how much...” Brienne spoke between heavy breaths.

You did not miss the glint of seduction in her voice or the innuendo. During the make-out session the all too familiar heat grew between your legs and your body craved her touch, as it had for months. But right here, in a carriage in a port town when you both had responsibilities?

“Brienne...” Breathing out her name and meaning to remind her of your current area; you weren’t able to complete the rest of your sentence before she interrupted you.

“Look at me,” you removed your head from hers and opened your eyes, meeting Brienne’s that were already staring back at you, her blue irises as deep and breathtaking as the galaxy, filled with stars and planets of her own. They were truly remarkable and gorgeous; fitting for someone like her. “I have craved you for so long. I don’t know how long it will be until we meet again. Let me make it up to you. Let me erase the past five months of misery. Let me do this so we can have something to last us until we can guarantee proximity to each other. Please.”

The hand in her blonde curls transferred to her cheek, gently holding and stroking her flushed skin with your thumb. Her eyes were pleading as was her voice, wanting to remove the memories of pain and replace them with ones of pleasure; and you wanted that too.

You placed a soft kiss on her lips before nodding, “that sounds perfect. I’d love nothing more.” At your confirmation, Brienne’s lips turned up into the biggest grin much like the one she wore after your first kiss, and she was on her knees on the wooden floor shortly after; her hands resting on your legs.

“I’ve never done this before. All I know is that I want to make you feel good.” She gazed up at you as she spoke. She was insecure, as was obvious in her voice and her eyes, but also determined, not letting uncertainty scare her away. “Tell me if it feels good and what I can do to bring you maximum pleasure.”

“I will.”

The woman on her knees before you started undressing you. Starting with your boots, before wedging her hands under your leather chest cover to unstrap your tasset that was hindering access to the buckle of your trousers.

Throwing a look at the door to the carriage to make sure it was locked, you noticed that one of the springs hadn’t been covered by the sheer curtain. As you stood up to close it, Brienne’s fingers undid the metal of your pants, pulling them down at the same time as you pulled the curtain down.

You were now completely out of sight; the problem was, so was the outside world, and if your mother decided to forego your escort to make the trek back herself; she’d find you in one hell of a position.

You prayed to the old Gods and the new that your mother would stay put, or that inventory would take longer than usual so that she didn’t hear you reconnecting with your love. Sure, she knew about Brienne and the relationship you had, it was one of the first things you had talked about when you got home, but you didn’t want your mothers' first impression of the much taller knight to be her in between your legs.

Brienne’s hands grabbed onto your hips and pulled down, causing you to meet the seat with an unexpected speed, she was impatient, and you understood why. She had already spent too much time away from her mission and Podrick, and sooner or later, he would come looking for her, and would no doubt find her considering her last known position and your family’s carriage being mere feet away. Time was of the essence, and you couldn’t afford to waste any of it.

Heavy breathing came from the woman in front of you as she placed her hands back onto your knees and gently spread them, being faced with your soaked underwear. She had never seen your sex before, felt it, sure, but never seen. She hadn’t tasted you either and she was practically drooling at the thought of finally doing so.

Tentative and curious hands slowly traveled up your legs, stopping at the hem of your undergarments. Hooking her fingers inside and motions for you to elevate your hips slightly. Lifting your hips for easy discarding, she pulled them down in one motion, revealing your needy cunt to her hungry, dilated eyes.

She was if in a trance, watching with such intensity you feared her eyes would pop out of her skull. You nudged her shoulder with your knee, causing her to snap her gaze to yours. Her pupils were blown-out, darkened from lust and desire. The air was thick inside of the small space and you could practically sense her ferocity as it emanated from her person.

She looked so pretty like this on her knees for you, looking up at you with virtuous eyes. So ready and willing to serve; to satisfy your needs. Reaching out a hand, you took hold of her chin, guiding her face closer to your core, she needed a little helping hand. “You look so good right now, pretty girl. On your knees for me. So ready to do whatever I wish, hmm.”

Brienne could only offer a nod in response, your words and low, vibrating voice combined with your dominating tone. If she were standing, she was sure her knees would give out and she’d fall to the floor. But since she already was kneeling on the wooden boards, she gave out a tiny whine instead, forgetting just how much power your words had over her.

The scent of your arousal was overwhelming, your pussy radiating such heat, Brienne being able to sense it all when you had brought her face close enough to the apex of your inner thighs, and she wanted nothing more than to taste you, something she had wanted for such a long time; completely missing out on her chance before you left. She thought she had all the time in the world with you, how was she supposed to know you were leaving the same night she had intended to feast on you.

So, the fact remained: you had tasted her; she hadn’t tasted you and she was so desperate to finally know how your wet flesh would feel against her tongue. Desperate to gain familiarity with the sensation she thought she would have experienced months ago when she had planned it.

After you had eaten her out and gotten into bed together, her mind had started wondering what you’d taste like and that she’d propose to perform oral on you the next day during your midnight meeting, but then you left, and she never did find out what you tasted like.

Finally, five months later. She would finally know just how wonderful you’d taste.

“Use your tongue, my sweet girl. Don’t be afraid to use your instincts.” You stroked Brienne’s skin softly before sliding your hand to the back of her head, leg coming up to lay on her shoulder, foot resting on her back. Your other hand was placed beside you, using the seat as support.

She licked her lips, mumbling ‘what a pretty little pussy’ before finally diving in, shutting her eyes, and allowing her intuition to take over. She licked a careful stripe up from your entrance to your clit, circling it slowly before closing her mouth around it, lightly sucking. Her tongue was a godsend, so strong and oh was she good at using it.

You released a soft whimper, mindful to keep quiet considering your whereabouts but still wanting to let her know just how good she was making you feel. Your head leaned against the wall behind you, but your eyes were locked on Brienne’s between your legs, moving slightly as she used her skillful mouth on you.

Your fingers grabbed at her hair, wanting to hold her in place as her tongue flicked over your clit and you refrained from pushing her closer; wanting her to do it on her own terms. You were sure that if she made you come with minimal help from you, her confidence would boost and that would exponentially heighten the chances of her giving head more often in the future, maybe even initiate it.

Even though you wanted her to learn by doing, she had requested you to tell her how to make you feel good, and that was what you intended to do.

Her arms were snaked around your thighs, hands resting where hip and leg met. She switched between sucking and licking, sometimes doing both, drawing out all kinds of noises from you. “Yeah. Just like that, baby. Just like that. You’re doing so good.” Even when she was pleasuring you, she was still submissive and in need of praise and assurance, and you were more than happy to provide all of those things for her. “Try- Try adding more pressure with your tongue.”

A vibrating sensation exited Brienne’s mouth as she moaned against your clit at hearing your praise, causing your body to jerk and you to hold back a loud groan. She wanted to be validated, to be told she was doing a good job. This only applied to the sex part of her life, however, as she couldn’t care less about what other people thought of her, well, not anymore at least; her childhood self would disagree.

The only person’s opinion she cared about besides maybe the professional opinions of her King, were yours. She wanted you to think highly and goodly of her, in all aspects of her life, be it professional, personal, or intimate, and you did. This she knew, it still felt good to hear you say it though.

Brienne’s eyes which had been screwed shut the entire time suddenly opened, looking up at you with curious eyes. She wanted to see how you’d react to all of her following ministrations, fascination, and wonder glinting in her beautiful eyes.

She took your advice and adjusted accordingly, placing her tongue flat on your clit with the pressure to go with and dragged her tongue up, making you drawl out a throaty moan. “Oh, Gods! Feels so fucking good, so fucking good.” Your words were slurred, your voice low to avoid it being heard by anyone else than Brienne, your heavy breaths and hums only growing more and more ragged as the woman betwixt your legs worked her wet muscle against you.

You’d had your share of love affairs before but that was nothing compared to this. The feeling of getting eaten out by the love of your life was like nothing you’d ever experienced before. Not even the meetings you used to have as a young adult in the local bathhouses felt as good as this did.

Brienne was a beginner but a very quick learner, and she knew exactly how to pleasure you because she knew you and your body, playing it masterfully, playing it like an instrument; like she hadn’t done anything else.

She was devoted to your pleasure, devoted to worshipping you and your pussy with her tongue. Nothing else mattered in this specific moment, only the feeling of your legs shuttering, your moany whimpers, and your fingers twisting in her hair did.

The sounds inside the wheelhouse were right out of a brothel, moans mixed with the wet noises coming from Brienne as she used her mouth on you. She murmured against your clit, a whisper mostly to herself, but you had heard it too, “You taste so fucking good...” Her words combined with the intense eye contact made your head spin, your insides turning in the most pleasant way.

Every stroke, lick, kiss, and suck from the blonde brought you closer to the edge of climax, the familiar warmth pooling in your stomach, legs twitching and hips bucking with every ripple of pure bliss that went through your body. The release was barreling towards you like a wild buck and you were so ready for the collision, ready to get sent into an endless vortex of pleasure.

During the five months that you and Brienne had been apart, more and more tension began to build up inside of you, a knot forming in your stomach. You often found yourself thinking of that morning in the baths or the night before, and it never failed to make you a throbbing mess. You never found the time to rid yourself of it, so it just continued to grow, the knot only getting tighter.

Months' worth of pent-up tension releasing would equal in an orgasm the size of a tsunami washing over you and you were made aware of this fact as the band inside of you tightened, and tightened, until it eventually snapped, untying the knot at the same time.

Waves upon waves of ecstasy poured over you as your body convulsed with pleasure. Your back was arching, hips thrashing as you rode Brienne’s face to drag out your orgasm. Her hands that had been resting in the space between thigh and hip pushed down to keep you steadier, but still allowing you to grind against her mouth.

The hand in the blonde hair loosened as you came down from your peak, stroking her messy curls instead, hoping to smooth down the mess you had surely made of her locks. Brienne had removed her head from your sex, drawing languid circles with her fingers on your skin. Gorgeous blue eyes gazing up at you with awe as they watched your breathing grow steady.

The Lord Commander leaned back on her heels, your hand sliding off her head as she moved out of your reach, removing herself from your legs, sloping to grab your clothes. Her chin was covered in your juices, and you made a mental note to get that cleaned up before you left the carriage.

She grabbed your ruined undergarments and reached out a hand to give them to you where you sat, the hand that had been placed flat on the wood beside you the entire session was brought up to push her hand away, “they’re already soaked, you might as well use them to wipe your chin.” A breathless chuckle passed your lips as you spoke, Brienne looking at you comically.

She muttered a quick ‘sorry’ before using a dry part of the cloth to dry her chin, removing any trace of your activities. She reached out a hand with them again and this time you accepted them, putting them on and wincing at the uncomfortable feeling of your wet and cold underwear, luckily you were heading home as soon as your mother was finished, and you could change.

Your trousers were handed to you shortly after to be put on and buckled, as well as your tasset, and finally your boots.

“Come here.” Brienne did as she was told and shuffled close to you, kneeling down at your side so you were at eye level. “My beautiful girl,” bringing a hand up to her cheek, you traced her skin with your fingers, inching closer to her face to give her a kiss.

It was a gentle one, soft and tender, and you could sense the taste of you on her lips. “I love you.” It was a whisper against her lips, a promise for now and the future until you could tell her every day.

“I love you, too. I do not like the idea that we must leave each other once again,” Brienne let out a sad sigh and turned her head away from you to stare at the carriage door. You were not entirely happy with the situation either but there was nothing to be done until you were no longer needed. “Come with me.”

Your eyes widened at her words. Had you heard her correctly? “W- What?” Shock was painted across your features, your voice trying to remain steady, but you were too taken aback to bother with that, slightly shaking with perplexity seeping through.

She turned her head to look at you once again, her expression deadly serious. She wasn’t jesting or posing any what-ifs. “Come with me to Kings Landing. I will ask for King Bran’s attention and request for him to recruit you into the King's Guard. We need more knights, and I know you would be the perfect fit.” This was wishful thinking. The Kings Guard?

Quickly exhaling and inhaling, your face furrowed together in empathy, you too shared her want to travel to Kings Landing and spend all eternity by her side until death released you from your vows, but your mother needed you. “Brienne, I-”

“Yes. I know. Your mother. But, please, just. Just consider it.” Her eyes and words were begging, her eyebrows raised in hope, wishing that you’d say yes; that you’d consider it.

“I will consider it.” The smile that spread on your Commander's lips was infectious, causing you to do the same. Her eyes lit up like stars in the night sky, twinkling just the same. They really were as deep and vast as the galaxy, holding just as many uncharted and unexplored areas.

A knocking on the door caused you and Brienne to snap out of your staring competition, instinctively putting distance between each other, you shooting over to the other side and retrieving your scabbard, the woman across from you doing the same with hers.

The muffled voice of the coachman came from the outside, signaling that you had been in there for far too long, “Ser! I think your mother is all finished and ready to leave. Is everything alright in there?” You took a quick look at Brienne, her curls strewn across her forehead, and you motioned for her to comb her fingers through her locks to tidy it up a little.

“Yes, everything is quite alright. We are finished and are coming out. Thank you!” You and Brienne snorted at you using ‘finished’ considering you did just that, you were acting a little immature, laughing at such a thing; but you felt like young adults sneaking around and that earned a tiny bit of immaturity.

The woman sharing your space looked at you questionably, a silent query asking ‘does my hair look okay?’ you nodding as an answer.

Quickly pulling aside all the curtains inside the wheelhouse to let the light in, you gave Brienne one last long kiss before opening the door and stepping out into the hot Dorne sun. Your coachman stood outside, eyeing you both, obviously wondering what had taken so long but decided not to ask.

“Walk with me?” Turning your head to look up at her, Brienne only nodded, letting you take the first step and her following you with steps to match your stride. She often did this when you walked together, coordinating her pace with yours so she wouldn’t race ahead and you not being able to keep up. It was a slight adjustment, but a very thoughtful one.

When you approached the water-bound vessel your mother was on, she wore the biggest grin as she looked from you to Brienne, her expression a drastic change from the melancholic mood she had adopted as her default since your father passed.

It was unnerving seeing such a display of teeth after only seeing a frown for so long, but you assumed she recognized the taller woman beside you based on your very detailed explanations of her appearance.

Your mother stepped off the ship, the captain she had spoken to earlier barking orders to his men to ready the ship so they could transport the rest of the wares as she reached land.

Brienne had stopped her walk, the same as you, still by your side a couple of feet away from your mother. Close enough that you could hear each other over the cacophony of people, but far enough that your mother wouldn’t be able to tell what you had been doing.

“Brienne, this is my mother. Mother, this is Lord Commander Brienne.” Your mother had her head slightly cocked to the side, a caring and loving look on her face as you introduced them to each other.

The situation in which you had told your parents about Brienne had been completely unplanned. It had been on a hot night shortly after your arrival by your father's bedside as he asked you about Winterfell.

It had only really been a simple question of what your obligations had been, however, the second you had mentioned Brienne’s name, your mother grew intrigued, wanting to probe and prod after hearing the tone and manner of words you used when speaking about the then Ser.

Her clever questions and your oblivious answers caused you to reveal more than you had intended to, and suddenly your parents knew all about the nature of your relationship.

“M’Lady.” Your knightly blonde stayed as formal as always to leave a good first impression. Giving your mother a more drawn-out nod, she left her head tilted down longer than she usually did, deciding to be more casual in her greeting considering the fact that it was your parent.

“So, you’re Lord Commander Brienne of Tarth. I’ve heard so much about you.” Brienne took a panicked glance at you, hoping you hadn’t spoken about the five months of errors on her end that would surely not be appreciated by your mother. You only gave her a reassuring smile back.

“Just Brienne is fine, and only good things, I hope.” The worry in her voice was obvious to you, it goes unnoticed by your mother. Brienne was good at hiding her true reactions to things when the situation called for it, and this was definitively one of those situations.

“Brienne it is. Positive things only, my dear. The joy you have brought my child is unmeasurable, and I am so grateful.” A goofy smile spread on the blonde woman's lips, a combination of relief and glee at learning that you had abstained from telling your mother about her shortcomings, if she did know; Brienne was sure your mother wouldn’t be as friendly as she currently was towards her.

“They have brought me the same amount, M’Lady. Your child is truly exceptional, never met anyone quite like them.” Brienne’s smile changed into a sincere one as she spoke, her voice filled with warmth. Seeing them interact so effortlessly made you all giddy, staring at the tall Commander beside you with a lovestruck expression.

“Why don’t you come back to Lemonwood with us, Brienne. Have supper with us, maybe spend a few nights at our residence, we’d love to host you.” This was really an excuse for your mother to spend time with your knight, to get to know the person her child had fallen madly in love with.

If your father were still alive, you were sure he would sit right beside your mother as they asked Brienne question after question. The image in your mind made you smile fondly. Your father really would have loved to meet her, they would find that their opinions matched on many different matters.

“That sounds very pleasant, and I would love to accept but I am afraid I am unable to. I need to get back to Kings Landing.” The twinge of sadness in her words did not stay hidden from either you or your mother. The reminder that time was not on your side bared itself once again, and no number of prayers could change the fact that you and Brienne had to part.

“Yes, of course. How unfortunate. Perhaps another time?” Your mother did not back down, she laid out a long-standing offer, meaning that sooner or later, Brienne would sit at her dinner table, and she’d be able to learn all about the mysterious woman before her.

“I’d love to take you up on that offer. Perhaps if I am dispatched to Dorne for a longer period of time.” You could tell that Brienne was being polite, yet she seemed genuine in her words. The moment she’d set foot inside the walls of your home, you were sure she would come to regret taking your mother up on the offer. She liked her privacy, and your mother liked prodding. Them together was not a feasible pairing.

“Of course, just send a raven ahead of time so we can prepare, other than that you are always welcome to our home. It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Brienne.” She liked the pretty knight, you could tell. You could also tell that she was itching to get on the road, ready to talk your ear off and tease you about your behavior around the blonde.

It was all with good intentions, something she did when you were young and had an infatuation with someone.

“You too, M’Lady.”

“Safe travels.” She spoke her final words to Brienne before shifting her attention to you, “I will give you two a moment, come find me when you’re done.” With this, she walked back to the still-docked ship she had previously been on, spectating as the crewmen scattered around on deck to get everything ready for departure.

You turned to look at Brienne, her doing the same, a crestfallen expression gracing her features. Your face matching hers, “I sent Bartholomew off with another message this morning. Reply this time, please.”

“Bartholomew?” Even though she was incredibly disheartened, an amused and quizzical look took over her face.

“Yes. One of our message ravens. His real name is Branoc, but I named him Bartholomew the Raven the First. It was whimsical to me.” You lovingly smiled at Brienne, and she reciprocated, smiling with just as much adoration back.

She chuckled slightly, “I see. I will read yours and send one back with Bartholomew the Raven the First. I swear, no more miscommunication.” Her words were true, no more silence from her end, no more misery.

“Good. Well, off you go.” Tears were starting to well up in your eyes, you didn’t want to let her go, did not want to watch her leave but you were afraid there was no other choice. You could see Podrick in the distance behind Brienne, waiting for her to board the ship so they could return back.

“I will be looking forward to hearing your decision when you have given thought to my offer. I love you. Please come back to me soon.” She was dragging this out, wanting your goodbye to last as long as possible so your time wouldn’t be cut short so soon.

“I will try. I love you.” Gazing up into her eyes, you took her hands in yours, an action overlooked by the mass amount of people around you. “Now go. Ser Podrick is waiting for you.”

“Farewell, for now, Ser.” Squeezing your hands, Brienne let go of them and straightened her back, hand resting on its usual place on the hilt of her sword; looking down at you with an over-enthusiastically assertive face, making you giggle a tiny bit.

“Farewell for now, Lord Commander.” One long glance was exchanged before Brienne turned on her heels and started marching over to where Podrick was standing. The last you saw of her tall figure was her boarding the ship and her disappearing below deck.

Walking up to your mother, you grabbed her attention by tapping her gently on the shoulder, her turning around to face you. “I will allow two questions on the ride back, and that is it.” Setting these boundaries with your mother rarely worked, but this time you were serious, dead set on maintaining some seclusion.

“Two questions are all I’ll need.”

———

Two weeks had passed since the events in Planky Town, and you had let it slip to your mother that Brienne had proposed to speak to the King on your behalf. A couple days after she had learned this, she miraculously didn’t need your services anymore, leaving you free to do whatever you wished.

The first thing you did was send a raven to Brienne, telling her that you reflected on her proposal, that you accept, and to expect you the following week.

Directly after this, you had traveled to Sunspear. Letting Prince Martell know that you would no longer be able to assist in whatever he needed. Considering you never swore your services to him and that it was purely a means to keep the ‘protect the innocents’ part of your knightly oath going; the only thing he could do was to thank you for your help and to let you leave.

Packing whatever you needed for your trip, you said your goodbyes to your mother and later that day, you were on a ship heading for Kings Landing. It was another one of your family’s ones, and considering they were already heading up north, they allowed you to ride along in exchange for your assistance in carrying the goods, which you gladly assisted with.

That all led to you standing at the dock of Kings Landing where the tall woman stood and awaited you. Walking up to her, you took a glance around before looking up at her with feigned confusion. “Excuse me, I’m supposed to meet Lord Commander Brienne of Tarth. Do you know where I could find her?”

Brienne smiled playfully, lightly shoving your shoulder, causing you to grin up at her. “You’re not funny, you know?”

“That smile on your face would suggest otherwise.” You were teasing her; she knew you were. You wanted to engage in small banter before diving right into serious King’s Guard business, but Brienne was eager for you to get integrated and fitted so she could take you to her private quarters and cuddle you.

“We can continue this later. Let’s go see the King. He’s looking forward to meeting you.” Brienne began leisurely trekking, you following after her. The sun reflected so perfectly in her gold plates as she journeyed towards the large gate, eventually traveling under it.

You found yourself in shadows for a brief period of time before the light hit your face as you emerged from the dark, stepping out into Fishmonger’s Square.

From there you walked straight until you took a right, walking down The Hook and you couldn’t do much but gape at the Red Keep where it stood, large and marvelous, fit for a King of the Six Kingdoms. As you passed through the curved street, you and Brienne kept up a mindless conversation, not talking about anything important, really, just chatting, enjoying each other’s company.

After finally, reaching the end of The Hook, you were greeted with a set of stairs, going up Aegon’s High Hill. You looked to Brienne with annoyed exhaustion, and she laughed, stating that ‘the leg muscles you get from this makes it worth it, I promise.’ She was being goofy, trying to change your expression into one less irritated, and it worked; she always knew how to make you smile like a fool.

She motioned for you to go first, and you did, knowing that if you lost balance or fell, Brienne would be there to catch you. She, on the other hand, wanted you to go first so she could be bestowed the privilege of having your ass as her view; she would never admit that though.

About halfway up, the knight behind you asked if you wanted to take a break, but you declined, knowing that you were almost there. Give or take a few dozen steps. Brienne shrugged, staying close to your back in case your legs gave out. Even her thighs were burning.

Even though you walked a few steps above her, you still only reached Brienne’s forehead and she found it amusing that someone so short could have so much love, well, you were short to her; everyone was short to her.

You ascended the very last stairstep, the Red Keep towering and looming above you. It was even more intimidating and glorious up close, and you had to crane your neck to even get remotely close to the peak of it. You had to stop yourself from releasing a ‘whoa’ but settled with subtle gawking instead; subtle being eyes and mouth wide open.

Brienne passed your still-standing person, giggling at your amazement, “come on, you silly girl. You can revel in the spectacularism later.” You shook yourself out of your current state when hearing her fond tone, coming to join your blonde Commander by the large doors.

Brienne entered the large building, making sure you were behind her, allowing you to step up to her side. The insides of the building were equally as grand as the outside, a home fit for a King, you thought. You refrained from commenting on the vision that was the Red Keep, but you were fairly certain your knight already knew what you were thinking by the awestruck countenance you had.

When you entered the Throne Room, your former face had been switched to a solemn one, showing that you were a very serious knight who hadn’t been staring at the building you were currently in open-mouthed.

There were two other people in the large space besides you and Brienne. A much shorter man with curly hair, and the King, who sat on his throne which had been moved down from its previous placement so that Bran could lift himself into it.

Brienne leaned down to your ear, talking to you in a hushed tone, “That’s King Brandon Stark, which I assume you know. And the bloke next to him is Lord Hand Tyrion Lannister.” You only hummed in response as she rose to her full height once again.

Tyrion had noticed the blonde's change in mood the second she had returned from Dorne. No longer staring off into nothingness and getting lost in her thoughts. No longer hiding away and sharpening every sword known to man or obsessively counting in the armory.

He had been wondering what the cause for this sudden change in her behavior was, but now that he saw the way she looked at you, the way her eyes lit up as she spoke, and how you acted the same towards her; he drew his own conclusions. He was sure to tease her about this at a later date.

Brienne and you stopped before the King, kneeling in front of him. He called you both up to stand straight, the Lord Commander marching up to stand by her King's side, you standing firmly in place.

“Your Grace.” You kept your eyes fixated on Bran, very aware of Brienne’s eyes on you. You could see her in the corner of your eye, she looked so exalted and heroic standing next to the King in her gold armor and white cloak.

“Lord Brienne speaks very highly of you. She has stated very clearly that she would fight by your side and that she trusts you with her life.” You had to hold back a grin at his words, she spoke just as highly of you as you did of her, “I have heard of your accomplishments on the battlefield, and I must say that I am impressed.”

“Thank you, Sire.”

You had spent the journey here memorizing the oath you had to swear. It was a mighty long one, but it had eventually stuck, and you were sure it would never unstick. You didn’t quite know when you were supposed to swear it, hoping Brienne would give you some sort of signal for when it was time.

Luckily, there was no need for that, King Bran gave you his own very clear instructions with his words, “I would be a fool to not have you in my Kings Guard, especially when my own Lord Commander was essentially bragging about your skills.” At this, Brienne’s head slumped down to hide a smile that crept up on her lush lips, she was a little bit embarrassed at him exposing her. Yet at the same time she was grateful for it because now you knew just how much she wanted you here with her unless any of her other words hadn’t been enough. “Kneel.”

Brienne looked at you with enthusiasm, her pride for you shining brightly in the dimly lit room. She observed as you got down onto your knee once again, barely able to contain her large grin. The corners of her lips twitched, and she was sure that if either of the men beside her were to see it; they would question the reason why she actually wanted you here. She could want you here for two reasons, no? One selfish, one for the good of the kingdom.

Your sword skills matched hers, and to have you next to her would put her so much more at ease. She was well aware that she was an exceptional sword fighter, but to have two with the same skill was calming, knowing that you would both go through hell and high water to get back to the other alive.

Having such a drive force can be lifesaving in dire and lethal situations, especially when your job is to protect the King; riots hadn’t been uncommon in the past, but hopefully, there would be none now that there was new and better leadership.

“I swear to ward the King with all my strength, and to give my blood for his. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, mother no children. I shall guard his secrets, obey his commands, ride at his side, and defend his name and honor.”

What you didn’t seem to notice even though you kept your eyes fixed on Bran, was his slight eyebrow quirk at the fact that you chose to replace father with mother, but wife remained, just as it had with Brienne’s oath.

“Arise.”

Brienne practically beamed at you as you got up from your knee, almost overzealously volunteering to take you to your fitting when Bran and Tyrion started discussing it. The shorter one of the two stared at her with an astute look, mouthing ‘real smooth, Lord Brienne,’ a teasing smile on his face.

The tall blonde shot him one of her signature glares in return, staring at him pointedly and he knew he was going to have fun messing with her about this. Maybe he’ll ask her if she’s still a virgin, maybe her answer had changed since the last time he asked. He was sure it had, but he wanted to hear her say it.

“Your Grace. I will take our newest recruit for measurements, then show them their quarters. Leave it to me.” Bran didn’t think much of Brienne’s willingness, he thought her to be a strange character sometimes and this was one of those times. He just simply nodded to show that she was sanctioned to do just that.

“Lord Commander. Ser. You are both dismissed.” Brienne trotted over to your side, ready to lead you away from the large room.

“Yes. Your Grace.” Speaking unanimously, you and the tall blonde bowed before taking your exit. Side by side, you roamed the regal halls of the Red Keep, and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring in wonderment again, nearing the exit of said building.

Brienne found your extreme fascination and wonder endearing, her heart fluttering at your childlike enthusiasm and admiration, her insides all warm, her stomach filling with butterflies as she watched your wonderstruck face.

The descent of the stairs was much more forgiving than the ascent and you had found yourself walking down The Kings Road that winded through Kings Landing, and as you walked, Brienne explained to you that you had two stops to make, one at the armorer for measurements for your new plates and gambeson, and a second at the tailor, for new tunics and trousers, but also for your long white cloak.

She spoke to you the entire time about what she had been up to the five months you were apart, stating that it was too much to be written on paper, as you navigated the streets of Kings Landing to make your errands.

It all went smoothly and eventually, Brienne had taken you to the White Sword Tower, where your chambers were located. “I managed to get your room next to mine, so we can easily sneak in between if we wish.” Her voice was hushed and her tone mischievous as she showed you her quarters, and then yours. You smiled at her words; she hadn’t changed one bit.

“Come into mine. I wish to show you something.” Suddenly her voice and face turned candid, opening the door to her room and allowing you to walk in before her, closing it after entering the quarters herself.

She immediately walked up to her hearth, starting a warming and crackling fire, and then moved to the armor stand in her room, beginning the removal process of each piece of her golden plates.

You couldn’t help but look at the back of her head with a puzzled expression. It was getting close to sunset, but not close enough to warrant Brienne unstrapping her armor. She usually kept it on until bedtime, and it was still light outside.

Continuing her process, she spoke to you, voice soft and tender, “Go look in that book over there.” She twitched her head quickly, motioning you in the direction she wanted you to go.

Walking over to her bed table, your eyes landed on a book. Brienne didn’t seem like the type of person who would be interested in dramatic literature. “The book isn’t of importance; I just picked a random one. Look inside.”

You looked back at Brienne, only having her gambeson left to remove, but had stopped for a second to turn her head to look at you, offering an encouraging smile. Shifting your gaze back to the book, you picked it up and opened the worn-out leather cover. The paper inside seemed to stare back at you with accusing eyes.

It was tear-stained, obvious marks on the spots the Lord Commander’s tears had landed. You were almost certain about what the parchment was, your speculations were only confirmed when you removed it from the pages and unfolded it; your handwriting from five months ago glaring at you.

“You kept it?” This was surely a painful memory for Brienne, why she opted to keep it you did not know. The evidence of her evening cries was clear on the slightly ripped note; she must’ve read this every single day.

“Yes.” She was finally finished with her armor and gambeson and moved to join you by her bed. “I needed to have something of yours, and this was all I had.” She stopped in front of you, gently taking the book and letter from your hands, placing them back on the bed table before grabbing hold of your hands. “I read it every single night, desperately trying to remember your voice. But I- I couldn’t.”

Her gaze shifted from yours to the floor, and you were hit with a surge of woe seeing her evade your eyes. You did not know why she felt the need to do so. Was she ashamed that she had forgotten your voice? Or maybe embarrassed admitting that she read your letter every night even if it reminded her of the dark winter evening by the stables? You did not know, and you didn’t want to ask, not now at least.

“Darling,” one of your hands tangled itself out of Brienne’s to softly lift her chin up, so you could look into her magnificent irises. “I forgot your voice too. No matter, though. We’ll be able to hear each other's voice every day from now on.” She smiled down at you with sad eyes, an unasked question in the air that you both wanted to ask, the taller woman being the actual one to ask it.

“Will you let me hold you, please? I wish to hold you.” It was almost like she was shy, acting like it was the beginning stage of your relationship once again, and in a way it kind of was. You were in need of her warmth, her closeness, and the strong enveloping of her large and long arms. For her to hold you tight and never let go, desperate to be back in her embrace once again.

You responded by kissing her tenderly on her lips, removing your hand from her chin, and using the one still in her hand to drag her down onto the bed with you. Both you and Brienne were still fully clothed, an error that needed to be resolved; you wanted to feel her hot skin against yours once again like you had done so many moons ago. “I want to feel your bare flesh against mine, please.”

Brienne watched you lovingly and fondly, nodded, and started to remove her clothing, stripping down to her undergarments. It was nothing sexual, just the need to feel the entirety of her against you; an animalistic urge to feel a sense of security. You followed suit, undressing with haste, folding up your clothes, and placing them next to hers at the foot of the bed.

Your blonde knight in shining armor crawled under the covers and laid down on her side, holding the fur up for you so you could do the same. Lifting up the same arm that had been holding the cover as you did.

She wasted no time in slinging the same limb around you when you had laid down next to her, pulling you close to her, your back against her front. Her face nuzzling into your neck, breathing in your scent.

Her strong musk and arms encompassed you, the faint and familiar smell of fresh grass and light sweat overwhelming your senses once again. You were completely intoxicated by her proximity, you couldn’t think, your mind was scrambled, heart racing.

She started pressing soft kisses to your skin, supple lips ghosting over your neck and shoulder, making you release a sigh. Brienne whispered against your skin, her breath slightly tickling you. “Tell me what you did in Dorne during the five months we were apart. Catch me up, please.” You were more than happy to.

As you started to recount the events that had occurred over the past five months, Brienne’s hold around you tightened, attempting to have you even closer to her which at this point was impossible. There was barely any space left between you, not even a small air pocket.

Your legs were tangled with her incredibly long ones, fingers drawing mindless circles on her arm as you told her about your journey to Dorne, your father’s passing, and your family’s trader business.

Brienne hummed every once in a while, to let you know that she was listening, her arm around you strong like cement. As she pressed a barely felt but burning kiss to the skin behind your ear, you realized that you were finally back where you were always meant to be.

In Brienne’s arms.

–––

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jo-harrington · 6 months

Text

Genesis (An As Above, So Below Story)

**This can be read in tandem with As Above, So Below as it contains spoilers. The scene with Eddie at the end is a direct lead in to Heaven.**

Summary: In the beginning, there was darkness...

Word Count: 4.5k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!OC (The Knight)

Warnings/Themes: Angst, Fluff, Meet Cute, Origin Story, Minor Gore, Not Great Parents, Religious Elements, Supernatural Elements, Fate vs Free Will

OC is of European/Italian-American descent on her father's side and her mother's side can be left up to interpretation. She is loosely Roman Catholic. I will not be giving her a name, or any major physical descriptors if I can help it but her cultural identity is integral to the larger story.

Note: Damn, so I was just doing an outline for the final chapter of AASB (we are quite a ways away) and this came to me...almost 5k later here we are. If you are reading the series, you might notice some of this popping up again at some point. Thanks to @deathbecomesthem for another set of eyes and enabling me to write something that made my heart ache.

This series is not for the faint of heart, nor is it something that was written with a general audience in mind. Please check the above warnings and ask yourself if you are in the correct headspace to proceed. I am happy to answer any questions via PM or Ask.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

"'What is life for?' he asks himself. 'What is my life for?'" ― Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life

March 1983

It was a good day.

It made you nervous by lunch.

Well, nervous wasn't the right word for it.

Guilty.

Rightfully so; Nonna would ask how your day was once you were home and if you had anything to say other than something bad or something guilt-ridden, you'd get an earful. And you didn’t mind it so much coming from her, it’s when Mom started butting in that made things complicated.

You couldn’t stand them fighting anymore.

So you prayed for something bad. Well…just something not good.

One of the nuns being in a nasty mood and giving you a pop quiz, one of the boys from Holy Cross making fun of you when you got on the bus home, a nasty customer during your shift at Food Town, even skinning your knees on the walk home after work.

But no. It was a perfect day. Even old Fortunata on 23rd noticed you walking home and brought out a plate of scaliddi because your birthday had just passed and she knew they were your favorite.

She even asked you if you wanted to come in for espresso and you declined around the hand that pinched your cheek.

It might have been strange to anyone else but to you it was normal. You had a handful of friends at school, sure, but your main entourage consisted of all the little Italian ladies who’d worked at the factory and went to bingo with your Nonna.

Which meant Nonna was talking about you during Bingo again.

You invited her over for coffee and pastries after mass on Sunday instead, so she would let you go, and silently apologized to Nonna that you’d have company instead of getting to watch reruns of Dark Shadows together.

Her secret, shameful indulgence. And yours.

By the time you made it home, it was dark. Streetlights flickered on but you paid them no mind. You'd made this walk a thousand times before safely, and you'd do it again.

Even the shadowy figure sitting on the porch steps didn't make you pause.

"It's been a while," you greeted awkwardly, Mary Janes scuffing the sidewalk as you climbed the steps. You held out the plate to him as you passed. "Scaliddi?"

"I don't eat," he shook his head.

"There's always a first time," you joked.

"Your father is home."

That caused you to freeze.

"Oh?"

"He's hurt."

"Oh."

"You don't seem upset."

"Am I supposed to be?" you shrugged. "He always comes back with cuts and bruises...and then he heals. And then he leaves again. Off to save the world."

"Not this time," Gabriel shook his head. You frowned; that didn't sound right. You shoved your key in the lock, ready to go inside and see just what he meant. You turned to look at him as you shut the door, uncaring of the words he said next. "Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.”

"Shut up," you rolled your eyes and closed the door on him. Locking the deadbolt although you knew that wouldn't do much if he really wanted to come in.

You let yourself into Nonna's flat and heard distant voices at the back. They stopped as you shut the door; Nonna softly called your name and then shuffled down the hall.

You'd never seen her look so weary in your entire life, and it only got worse the closer she got to you.

Deep lines of worry carved into her face, eyes sorrowful, hands wringing over each other. Hands that had a rosary wound around them.

She immediately reached out and grabbed your backpack and Fortunata's plate and set them down on the plastic-covered French Provincial couch that was the centerpiece of her front room. And then she turned back to you and cupped your face. Her lips pursed and she took a breath as though she had something to say...but she exhaled shakily and shook her head, denying herself the chance.

"You ok Nonnie?" you whispered.

There were tears in her eyes and she forced a smile.

"Of course I'm ok, you're home safe," she told you softly. Her hands shook as she squeezed your cheeks and then took one of yours. She tugged you along down the hall behind her, like she had a million other times growing up. "But we have company. Vieni."

It's tense in the kitchen.

You're slumped in your usual seat, Nonna's seat beside you intermittently empty as she bounces between the table and the stove--stirring and slicing, scooping and serving--and across from you is your father looking...dead. Truly. He looks like he's barely clinging to life, covered in cuts and bruises, one eye so bloodshot you can't see any white, with his right arm in a sling, hand bandaged, missing two fingers.

You're struggling between staring at him and avoiding him altogether.

Beside him, in the chair your mother usually sits in when she's home--you're sure she fled once she saw you had a visitor--sits a stern man in a black cassock. Father Alexander Jinette, one of the Order's contacts within the Clergy. He's calm and charismatic and acts like he knows everything.

He doesn't, you already asked a few curious questions to test his faith and got some bullshit answers in response. But you figured he'd also be testing yours so it was only fair.

Jinette spent the last hour eating homemade bread and telling you how the next few decades of your life will go.

"We'll get you to Rome immediately," he explained. "The Knights have already been called. You'll take your oath and then...let fate take you. You'll probably start where your father left off in Lisbon."

"What about what I want to do?" you asked. "What about school?"

"What about it?" he shrugged distastefully. "What you want doesn't matter; school doesn't matter. You've already learned everything you need to know. Already reading about...Monstrumology and demonology...the Bible? No? You don't need...math. Your studies will be a little more practical from now on. On-the-job training, if you would."

He was the only one in the room that laughed; like he wasn't joking about your life...or your inevitable death.

On and on he went. Explaining how missions work. How often you'd get to come home to rest. How long your father's recovery would take and when he would be back in the fray.

"You, of course, won't see each other," he explained as Nonna handed him a plate. "The temptation to...prioritize one another over innocents...you understand."

"She does," your father answered for you. "She was born for this."

Your eyes darted back to him, feeling a burning sense of...confusion, betrayal...you couldn't pinpoint it exactly. You felt everything and nothing, all at the same time. You were numb.

Nonna slid plates in front of the two of you then sat down with one herself. You snatched a fork off the table and then began to dig into the heap of pasta and chicken when Jinette cleared his throat.

Your eyes slid to him again and he raised a brow in question, then folded his hands in front of him in prayer. Nonna followed suit and your father did the best he could...considering...and you...

"I need a minute," you muttered and pushed yourself to your feet. You darted out of the kitchen, ignoring your father calling after you, and went out to the back yard.

You could hear the distant sounds of the Metra a few blocks away, kids playing further down the alley, and thunderous footsteps down the back stairs following you.

"I just needed air," you defend yourself as your father joins you outside. "I think I'm allow--"

"That was embarrassing," he scolded you immediately. "Don't you realize that?" You round on him and stare incredulously; for a man who looked like he was about to keel over just moments ago, he certainly got his second wind fast when you didn't obey your new master.

"It hasn't even been 5 minutes!" You scoffed. “What if I just needed to smoke. Or had to take a shit?”

“This is not how I raised you—”

“You’re right, because you didn’t raise me.”

You watch the words strike him as hard as if you’d just walked up to him and slapped him.

It felt good.

And all at once, the overwhelming numbness disappeared and you were filled with acute clarity. All the feelings...over a decade of confusion, anger, sorrow, loneliness, and resentment...overcame you.

It was an out of body experience and in hindsight, you should have gone easy on him given his injuries...but when had he ever thought of going easy on you? For as long as you could remember, as soon as he'd made this...legacy...known to you, he'd beaten the devil into you one wicked word, dismissive glance, and denial of "normalcy" at a time.

And now he would have to face its resurgence.

I don't understand why you think you have a right to tell me--expect me--to just nod my head and accept any of this shit. How dare you bring that guy into our home and let him boss me around?

His jaw clenched and he rolled his eyes and scoffed intermittently between your words.

You got to live your life before Papa died. Now you're sending me out there to die before I've even gotten a chance to live. That's what this is...you know that right? It's a death sentence.

He tried to talk over you, tried to say you were being childish, that you didn't know what you were talking about. That this was precisely why you had to go. To grow up.

It'll kill Nonnie if I go. Kill her if she has to stay here alone with mom. They hate each other; don't you know that? Hate each other because of you. Mom hates me...because of you.

Of course it was your mother's perfect timing to pull into the driveway as those words echoed down the block.

Your shoulders heaved as you caught your breath and she stared at you and your father with tired eyes as she slid out of the drivers seat and slammed the door shut behind her.

“Thought you’d be gone by now,” she muttered.

“Nonna made dinner,” you explained.

“Of course she did.”

“Tell your daughter,” your father hissed at her, coming up behind you and landing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “That she’s acting childishly.”

“She’s a child. What do you expect?”

"Well," he spun you to face him now, knowing that he wasn't going to get anywhere with her. "It's time for you to grow up. No more tantrums. No time for teenage rebellion. This is it; it's up to you now. The fate of the entirety of our family rests in your hands.

"You need to make a sacrifice, for all of us. In the end...you'll get your reward. We all will."

"Hasn't my entire life been sacrifice?" You bat his hand away from you. "A sacrifice that I never chose. This was never my choice, dad. I shouldn't be...I shouldn't have been born to be a means to an end. To be your free ticket to heaven."

You watch the emotions morph on his face and you swear you feel the ground beneath you shake just the slightest bit, as though he debated letting it split open to swallow you whole. You might have preferred that. Instead he took his anger out the human way.

"Free? You want to talk about free?" He lunged and grabbed your face, forcing you to look at his wounded arm. "You want to talk about sacrifice? Let's see what happens when the darkness takes its pound of flesh from you. Let's see what you do when you're staring down the jaws of a monster that only means to kill you. I'll be laughing when you come to regret your words. When you face your own mortality."

"Some father," you spit at him. "Laughing. Guess when that time comes I'll just die."

It was strange, deciding what pieces of your life were a necessity and what could stay behind.

Everything seemed necessary.

Clothes, books, tapes, the abundance of protective tchotchkes that your father had sent you over the years, the little stuffed bunny that you and Nonna had won playing the quarter game at the carnival a few years ago.

Your mother had sent you in to pack.

She'd gotten between you and your father, snapping about "what the neighbors would think." She made sure to emphasize that there would be no dinner until you were ready to go.

Then she slapped the keys to the car in your hand and sent you inside. Alone. So she and your father could talk.

"Probably asking if she could leave now," you sniffed. "No obligation to stay anymore."

But Nonna needed help. As much as they were always at each others throats, you knew they couldn't do it alone. Either of them.

"It's not like you're never coming back," you rationalized. "Mom can just...take one for the team...again...until you're back."

But what if...what if you never made it back?

Your father had been doing this for 16 years and this was the first time you'd seen with injuries like this. He could heal himself, for God's sake. If Jinette and the Order wanted to send you to face...whatever had caused his injuries...with no experience outside of a book and some fucking around in the garage with a knife and a crucifix...

You could play the tough, angry, annoyed act all you wanted but...you were afraid. This shouldn't have been your fight.

It was entirely unfair.

But this was your punishment. To fit whatever you needed for the foreseeable future into a duffel bag so you could go and...be a hero?

"Be a pawn," you collapsed on your bed and hugged a pillow to your chest. "Be a sword."

You didn't want to. You didn't want to. Didn't WANT TO. DIDN'T WANT TO. YOU DIDN'T WANT--

"So what do I want then?" You rolled over and stared at the ceiling.

Who were you? What would your life look like if this wasn't waiting for you?

No one had ever given you the chance to find that out.

No career aptitude tests, no sessions with a guidance counselor, no college applications. You'd floated the idea of taking classes at the community college by your dad last time he'd been in town and he said he'd think about it; did he know that this was waiting just months in the future?

You were doubtful he even knew you had a job at the grocery store or a drivers license. Your mother had caved after months of you begging both times. Nonna just turned a blind eye; whatever made you happy, after all.

Mom...

You glanced over at the keys on your nightstand. You may have had a bit of a temper tantrum and just stormed into your room when you came inside, so the keys had...come with you.

The car was just in the driveway. Papa's dirt brown Mercury Marquis that he'd gotten because he would rather drive than take trains or planes for missions close to home. After he died...well, Nonna certainly didn't drive and your parents had their own cars, so it just sat...rotting in the garage unless your mother wanted a joyride that was a little more rough and tumble than her Sierra could handle.

You'd heard her talking on the phone once, about street racing on Lower Wacker. And how the Marquis could actually go pretty fast when it wanted to.

You wondered what that was like. Your experience driving had only been within the stop-and-go streets of your neighborhood. You'd never even driven on the highway before.

You'd never...lived before.

No concerts, no parties, no field trips, no dates, no first kiss. What did it feel like to go to Disneyland? Or...or see the Statue of Liberty? Or even a drive in movie? You'd never even been outside of the greater Chicago area before. Not even a drive up to Wisconsin for the Renaissance Fair.

You acted before you had the chance to rationalize it, before you had the chance to come up with a plan. Suddenly the things that were a necessity were clear as day and you threw them one after another into your duffel bag.

Clothes and this book but not that one and that shoe box full of cassettes at the bottom of your closet. Your wallet and the little rubber-banded wad of cash in your underwear drawer that you saved from your paychecks instead of putting it in the bank. And, after everything else, the little black cord from Nonna's old mourning robes that now hung from the headboard of your bed.

So she would always be with you.

You snatched the keys from your nightstand and rushed over to the window. You opened it as silently as you could and threw the bag out, then followed it. The slight drop wasn't bad; you maybe pulled a muscle on landing. It wasn't like the movies made it seem.

But that also might have just been what you got for skipping gym one too many times.

You were sure you'd see the light on the back porch turn on when you stuck the key in the ignition and the Marquis ROARED to life.

Or when you forgot to open the gate before you backed out of the driveway and it CLANGED as the bumper smashed into it.

But as soon as your foot hit the gas, it didn't matter.

You looked in the rearview mirror once as you made it to the end of the alley. No one was running after you, no lights turning on spontaneously. No shouting.

Only a familar-shaped shadowy figure that stood unassumingly in front of the still-swinging gate.

March 1984

You were tired.

It was glorious.

It was tedious.

A year on the run, a year of everything you never thought you’d be able to have. And you’d taken it for yourself, greedily. Contentedly.

Driving and dancing and camping and talking and becoming. Becoming the you that you’d otherwise never get to be if you had followed the path fate had set for you.

Any adventure that you could only have imagined a year ago…suddenly became your reality. You didn’t need permission to be happy, if that’s what you wanted.

Just because you didn’t need permission though, didn’t mean you just got to have happiness.

Any time you decided you could settle, take a break from constantly pressing down on the gas pedal of life, someone would pop up. Gabriel, mostly. Your father, once. And the jobs you’d just taken or the apartments you’d just paid for would get left in the dust so you could avoid their confrontation.

Which is why you were in Indiana. You’d honestly tried to avoid the tri-state area once you left Chicago. It was too close to home, too easy to find. Too easy to be tempted to go back. But you needed to get through Indiana to get to your next destination.

Wherever that might be.

It was a torrential downpour when you exited the highway and soared down dark, suburban streets to your next pit stop. A roadside motel off Route 69 according to your probably-outdated road map. Maybe there’d be a diner or something nearby. Otherwise you could sleep in the car and find breakfast come morning; wouldn’t be the first time.

It was getting tiresome.

You were tired of being anybody; you wanted to be somebody again.

You thought that you’d find out who you were taking on this adventure but in truth…you already knew.

You had been your father’s safety net. Nonna’s best friend, her treasure. Your mother’s burden. You were so incredibly resilient and strong. A whisper with the capability to become a scream. Misunderstood by the simple lack of an attempt to understand. You were brave and adventurous. Crafty and cunning.

Not beautiful but…purposeful.

You had a purpose here on earth and you knew deep down it wasn’t what fate expected of you. What everyone expected of you. You knew because of the way your soul sung when you first backed out of your driveway.

But you were alone. Alone and tired, which brought desperation.

It was a dark cloud that filled you. Consumed your being. You wondered, more than once, if that cloud had been there all along. Desperation led you to running away in the first place and had kept you going ever since.

Only now the dark cloud of desperation made you want to go home to find some light again.

And you knew you couldn’t do that.

The flickering motel sign was a beacon of hope in the dark, and you let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding.

The manager, an old man rivaling Methuselah, didn't cease his newspaper reading as you ran into the office from the rain to ask for a room. You questioned whether he had heard you when he blindly reached behind him for a key.

"Number 4," he announced and then held his hand out for his payment. You fumbled with your wallet for a second as he explained the check-out time, the free coffee at 6am, and that the vending machine and coin washer were both unapologetically broken.

"Do you need a wake up call?" he said as he stuffed your cash in the register.

"No."

"Hmm, good," he dismissed you with a wave of his hand. An unspoken fuck off then.

You were about to turn and head to your room when you paused and asked, "can I have the want ads?"

He sighed heavily but peeled the pages apart and handed you the requested pages blindly.

"Don't stay in Hawkins too long," he said sagely. "Or you're liable to get stuck here." Then he waved you off once again.

You stepped back out into the rain and fumbled with the room key and the newspaper, only for a flash of lightning to bring your attention to a structure across the street.

A dirt parking lot with all of 5 cars in it and a one story house-turned-bar with a few faint neon signs in the windows.

Better than nothing.

You shoved your key and wallet back in your pocket and then used the newspaper page as a cover as you darted across the street.

The Hideout was nothing to write home about. A handful of mismatched tables and chairs with a few sleepy drunks sipping on beers and throwing back handfuls of peanuts from bowls on the tables. The bar itself was small and sticky, and the bartender was too.

"Can you make a cherry coke?" you asked. He sniffed judgmentally but nevertheless dug out a dusty bottle of grenadine from behind the bar. He grunted something about no cherries, and you didn't know if you were just that thirsty or grateful for a place to sit that wasn't your car, but it was still the best cherry coke you'd ever had.

Thank God for your ability to heal; it was probably going to shut your body down otherwise.

There's a commotion and in the dark corner of what probably used to be the living room, a group of boys start making some noise. There's a "stage" made up of two-by-fours that creaks as they get a drum kit set up and they'd unplugged a Coors neon sign to get power to their amps.

There was no countdown; they just got to playing.

A loud and unrelenting sound that even had you bobbing your head a little. They weren't great but it wasn't the beloved mess of tapes you'd been cycling through for the past year; it was new and it made you feel something. The four of them shot smiles at each other between bouts of concentration signified by closed eyes and tongues caught between teeth.

Your eyes met with one of them; the lead singer...or...guitar player? Or so you thought; hard to tell since they'd eliminated one of their only sources of light. Long hair and long noodley limbs, and ripped jeans and too much...just too much.

But he was cute and he noticed you.

It made your chest hurt a little.

That was enough to get you to turn around and try to ignore him.

You'd met your share of cute road boys who kissed too hard and fumbled too much and didn't ask for a phone number you couldn't give them anyway. You didn't need a wink and small talk and all of that. You needed...

...you needed a place to stay.

You turned around on the shaky stool and tested your luck by asking the bartender for a pen. He passed one over along with another cherry coke and you got to searching the damp classifieds to the cacophonous background.

You let one sigh after another as you read each ad in depth and found each one not to be good enough. A house for sale? No. A babysitting job for triplets? No. You hated little kids. There was an apartment over the deli that might be promising. And a job stocking shelves at the grocery store. You had plenty of experience with that.

You did another cursory search of the paper before looking back to the bartender.

"Hey," you asked tentatively. "What's this town again?"

"Hawkins," came a voice behind you. "You're in Hawkins."

You spun on the seat to face the source.

Noodle boy.

He fidgeted where he stood, fingers flitting at his sides nervously. When he was up on the "stage" he had the unwarranted confidence of a rockstar but here he was...

"Do you like cheese fries?" he blurted out, then wrenched his eyes shut.

You let out a blasting honk of a laugh, and then clapped your hands over your mouth to snicker at him.

He was adorable.

You made to apologize for your laughter, but you were hit with...feelings. His feelings. And yours.

Weariness and hope and adrenaline and attraction and amusement and embarrassment and comfort and discomfort and safety and hunger...

And. And. And.

"S-sorry," you sobered yourself and tried to ignore the feelings. "I didn't mean to laugh, that was just..."

"Out of left field?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah I kind of just blurt out the first thing to come to mind sometimes. Usually bullshit."

It was endless.

The mix of feelings danced with each other in the space between you.

It felt warm, and after a jaunt in the rain...the warmth felt good.

"Bullshit is good sometimes," you told him with a smile.

"Great, because I'm full of it." You laughed again and so did he. "I'm Eddie."

The feelings were light.

Eddie was light.

And in that moment, you let him shine into the dark parts of you.

“I told you. You don't love someone because of their looks or their clothes or their car. You love them because they sing a song only your heart can understand.” ― L.J. Smith

#eddie munson x reader #aasb #as above so below #Eddie munson x oc #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson fic

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myfandomprompts · 1 year

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𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐞 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟔

Summary: In the middle of the civil war, you and Aemond manage to spend some time together.

Warning: Definitely smut, and definitely fluff. Maybe in that order, maybe not. But most importantly, angst. Fire & Blood spoilers (still not canon partly)

Masterlist (Part 25 - Part 27)

Aemond was unseen and unheard of for three whole days, as was your father. You knew it to be a very little amount of time of war like these, but it felt like months for you and your daughter.

You had been miserable about the way you had parted, him reaching out to you and you being stubborn because you were scared for him. For what he was set to accomplish despite the risk on his own life.

So when you heard the familiar flap of wings that each time made your heart leap in excitement out of your window, you rushed for the gates in order to greet him, Naerys in your arms.

He was surprised as he advanced on the bridge, as was the court who was for the first time seeing you outside and in better health, but you had eyes only for Aemond as he closed in on you with a proud smile on his face.

You then chose to take his good mood as a good sign that nothing bad had happened in the Crownlands and not ask him about it, instead taking him for a long due tour of Deep Den, tour he had avoided because of the cold look the court were giving him whenever he was there.

He had politely agreed, following you as you showed him the grounds, the main hall, the stony towers and the gardens, delighted by the way you glowed with happiness each time you explained something to him with passion. It makes him wonder if you have ever looked this beautiful before, here with his daughter in your arms. You had both just exited the stateroom when you were met with your mother and her ladies-in-waiting, clearly on a stroll of her own.

“Prince Aemond. Back so soon!” she said as she approached. “How is my lord husband?”

Aemond, caught off guard by her agreeable behaviour towards him for the first time, chose to indulge her for your sake.

“He is doing very well. He has made himself indispensable to the council, and is living up to the Lydden name,” he replied, glancing briefly at you. “I would have brought him back to you, my Lady, but I’m afraid that he is not very fond of dragon rides.”

“Well, this was to be expected. Only Targaryens are bold enough to ride such beasts.”

You exchanged a knowing look with Aemond as Lady Melara’s gaze landed on the babe in your arms where silver hair was already covering its tiny head, leaving no room for doubt about her very dragon-related heritage. She glanced back at you.

“Daughter, I am glad to see that you have recovered almost completely. I presume you will be able to present yourself at my side for the delegation?”

You frowned, confused.

“What delegation?”

Your mother’s eyes darted to Aemond for just a second, annoyance found in her expression before answering you.

“Lord Tarbeck, of course. He will be arriving within the week along with his army. They are travelling to the Crownlands for…” she inhaled, glancing at Aemond again. “Bring support to the royal family. Thus House Lydden has been requested to host them in their crossing of the hills.”

You understood the resentment your mother, a secretly Black inclined, felt toward Aemond as she was forced to host the Lannister bannermen in her own home. But you had no time to assess it or the way Aemond straightened beside you.

“Does father know about it?”

“I presume he does, since we were given no choice.”

She smiled, but it was insincere, as she was now avoiding the Prince’s eye and waiting for your reaction. However, he was the one to talk next.

“They should not come, this is not a good idea.”

You both looked at him, surprised that him of all people would disagree.

“This is to enlarge your own army, is it not? Why would you be against it, your Grace?” your mother asked, an inquisitive brow arched high over her right eye.

Aemond took his time to reply, wishing to be both clear and remain civil at the same time.

“I was under the impression that Lord Lydden had taken precaution to keep word of your daughter’s presence here to a minimum. I fear that having a whole army stationed here defeats this purpose as well as endangering both my wife and my child. You should have refused.”

Lady Melara seemed to be momentarily taken aback to hear you referred to as Aemond's wife, but she quickly recovered.

“Ser Adrian Tarbeck’s and Lord Lannister’s missives were very clear. I cannot refuse such guests without staining my honour and my House’s.”

“I will write a clearer missive then. They can very well camp in the mountains. No need to come here. I will see it done,” Aemond concluded as you were amazed by his calm demeanour. He was definitely in a good mood.

Your mother remained speechless, not expecting such a gesture from the Prince that she did not always see eye to eye with and simply made a satisfied and dignified sound before glancing down at Naerys once more, trying to hide her embarrassed smile and changing the subject.

“May I take her?”

Understanding that the topic of the Tarbeck visit had oddly come to an end without even the need for you to intervene, you gladly indulged her, your mother not wasting an instant to pull her granddaughter into a warm embrace and speak to her softly, her face now full of adoration.

“She surely is freezing, out in the cold like that. I will take her to the nursery,” she announced, turning on her heels without even waiting for your approval. “Won’t we, darling?” you heard her say to Naerys in a motherly voice.

Aemond’s gaze was fixed on them as they departed, and you could only take his arm reassuringly, smiling at his never-failing protectiveness as his daughter was pulled away from him.

“Come. There is one room I haven’t shown you yet.”

He reluctantly detached his eye from the older woman disappearing in an adjacent corridor before following you to a room much more bright than any others in the mountain-carved castle and looked around.

“You wanted to show me the library?” he pointed out as two scholars that were previously sitting in silence raised from their chairs to leave, abandoning their reading to escape the presence of Aemond. Good, you had counted on that.

“I wanted to show you the finest reading material of the Westerlands,” you said in a sarcastic manner as you waved to the not so many humid books resting on the poor-looking shelves. “So you would finally understand why I spend that much time in the company of books in the Red Keep, as you often inquired why.”

“It sure is… more deprived,” he observed, taking in the many scrolls messily stacked on a nearby table and some gruesome covers further back in the room. Compared to this, the library in King’s Landing looked like paradise, and you have yet to set foot in Oldtown, where the Citadel had the most renowned amount of books.

“Not much to enjoy, wouldn’t you agree?” you kept on, taking advantage of the fact that you were alone to rummage through the scrolls without care and grab a book about mountain wilderness.

Aemond’s gaze was not on the books, however, only on you.

“And here I was thinking that you spend your time there solely to be in my company,” he teased, thinking back of his studies as a young boy, and you reading next to him, eyes focused on the page as your hair fell around your face, alone in your own world. How he had loved those moments of tranquillity.

“Nothing could distract me from a good book, not even you,” you said with confidence as you advanced further in the room, toward the study area, Aemond hot on your heels.

“Mhh... Is this a challenge, my Lady?”

You turned to give him a disapproving look but he was already right behind you, your face almost bumping into his chest, glancing at you with a grin.

“A challenge you would surely lose,” you said daringly, feeling his hands take hold of your waist and make home there.

“I do not like to lose,” he whispered huskily before kissing you, taking your breath away in the process. You flattened your hands on his chest by instinct as he leaned more into you, demanding entrance into your mouth with his tongue. You gladly obliged as you felt consumed by his warmth again, a feeling you would never grow used to.

“You sure are in a good mood, my prince,” you managed as you parted for air, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt.

“Mh.” He brushed his lips along your jaw, a soft caress making you shiver. “I could make you much happier than I am if you let me.”

His hands dangerously slid downwards as he took your mouth again, but your hands went for his, grabbing his wrists to prevent him from moving further down.

“An appealing idea, my prince, but I’m afraid that it would have to wait,” you breath out apologetically, making him frown.

“What do you mean, my love?”

You hesitated.

“My health might be better but bringing a new life into the world does not come without consequences. I only require a little more time.”

Your labour had been difficult, and you had studied with a maester wearing a silver chain enough to know that the woman's body needed time after such a strain. Although saying those words pained you, as you could feel the burning lust that spread in your belly at his touch.

“I see,” he acknowledged as he took hold of your head to kiss your forehead, but you could clearly sense how much he tried to steel himself from your previous heated exchange. “Then I shall be patient,” he told you in a reassuring tone.

But you could not, and you would not let that opportunity pass by.

“You don’t have to be,” you stated, hands sliding down to his shoulders gently.

He frowned again but you silenced him with a kiss, nipping gently at his lower lip as you backed him toward a chair near the wall.

“Please sit,” you demanded, making him give you a puzzled look before lowering him down with a pressure on his shoulder.

“Are you punishing me in some way, my Lady?” he asked looking up at you above him, still confused as you could only give him a sly smile in amusement.

When you lowered yourself onto your knees between his thighs, his face lighted up in understanding, what you were doing finally dawning on him as you slid your hand passed his groin and reached for the belt at his waist.

“Ah…” he exhaled, his eye darkening as you unfastened his buckle slowly to uncover the lower part of his abdomen, his pale skin glowing where his muscles were already tensing in anticipation.

“Is my Lady not afraid that someone will enter and find us in this compromising position?”

“You seemed unbothered enough by it a minute ago if I recall correctly my prince,” you retorted, grazing your nails from his lower belly to the growing bulge under his pants. He hissed, you licked your lips.

“You had just challenged me. You know how competitive I can be.”

“It does not matter,” you replied, your hands now pulling down the fabric that covered him. “No one will dare enter if they know Aemond Targaryen is in the room.”

His reply was prevented by the biting of his lips at the feeling of your fingers wrapping around his finally freed member, making his chest heaved in a sharp breath. You kept on.

“So tell me, what has you in such a good mood?”

He groaned, his gaze fixed on your agonisingly slow fingers on him.

“You really wish to discuss of this matter now?” he growled, mouth slightly parted, tone almost scolding.

“Why not? It is a good time as any, none of us has any other use for our tongues than for talking. For now at least.”

You had said that in a fake innocence manner, and the implication of your words for what would come made him take a sharp breath and you slowed your motion, waiting for him to yield to your demand. He growled again in frustration, lulling his head back before reporting his gaze on you with a sigh.

“You strike a hard bargain, but very well. The Blacks are conflicted, Daemon wants to put forward his first-born son Aegon as heir while... while the Sea Snake wants his…” he was having a hard time in keeping his breath even as you squeezed a bit more along his length, “...his bastard grandson on the Throne.”

“He wants to trumps Jacaerys heritage? This goes against Rhaenyra and the Velaryon’s will,” you thought out loud as you put more pressure on Aemond with your palm.

“Yes,” He hissed again, growing harder by the second. “Even Stark is lost at what to do about it.”

You were a little stunned by Daemon’s disregard for his late wife’s son, not even willing to rescue him from the Greens as he rotted in a cell. But the Rogue Prince has always been unpredictable.

“This certainly explains your high spirits,” you concluded as you reported your focus on your ministrations, your hot breath against his sensitive skin.

His grip on the armrests of the chair tightened by his want for more friction, making his knuckles turn white.

“Is my Lady satisfied with my answer?” he panted. “Because I would very much appreciate it if we could come back to the matter at hand.”

You smiled at the pun, satisfied on how his breath was becoming heavier by the minute as you slid your hand up and down.

“I’m sure you can grant me another subject on which to discuss, my prince, you have managed fine until now,” you teased again.

“Y/N…” he painfully exhaled, his dark eye fixed on your mouth, and you wondered how wild his imagination was growing at the moment. You repressed a laugh at his despair, your knees weak at the sight of him left so wanting, his lips parted and hands itching to touch you, but it was the sound of your name on his tongue and spoken so desperately that made you yield. You licked your lips before fulfilling his desire.

You were slow at the beginning, wanting to taste him, working your tongue over him, and the low growl he emitted had you believe that it was the sweetest sound you have ever heard.

“Ondoso se vīlībāzmi -!”

It wasn't the first time you heard him speak in High Valyrian but you could not ignore the way it made his praise far more enticing to you. You raised your eyes at him through your eyelashes, meeting his dilated pupils fixed on you as he bit his lips in frustration, desiring more friction.

The long groan that escaped him next as you took him in your mouth without warning had you satisfied, he arched his head back in pleasure, overwhelmed by the sudden heat.

“F-fuck. Why have I not thought of it earlier? I would have you on your knees in each room of this damn castle if I had.”

From there he was a groaning mess, praising your beauty, swaying your hair away from your face when he could, struggling not to thrust his hips upwards as he felt your cheeks clench around his length at times, making him swear some more.

You could feel him grow more desperate as you continue your task, his tip bumping into the back of your throat, doing your best not to disappoint, led by his whimpers and by the way his breath fastened in his chest.

“Yes, that is good. That is so good Y/N I-” he slightly bucked his hips upwards when your hands tightened around the base of his shaft, another low growl emanating from deep inside his throat. “Fuck-, you were made for this surely,” he huffs, but you are too busy going faster, encouraged by his praises.

His voice cracked, his breath got stuck in his throat, his body tense and the next moment, he came undone, moaning lowly, eye closed in pure pleasure, his hardness jolting at the continual friction.

His dazed mind forced him to take a moment in order to regain control of him again. Then he leans into you, wiping your mixed liquid at your mouth with his thumb lovingly before kissing you.

“Come on, get up.”

He sat you on his thigh, taking care in putting his now limp member away before massaging your knees with his fingers, and you wished he had not put them this close to the heat between your legs.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said pensively as he caressed your hair, hand brushing the side of your throat.

You give him a disagreeing look.

“Oh, hush up, you.”

And then you leaned into him, kissing the side of his face before resting your head against his shoulder.

You were awoken by a gentle tug on your shoulder, and you opened your eyes wide, trying to make out your surroundings in the dark.

“It’s alright, calm yourself.”

The soft voice of Aemond had that very effect and you felt the palm of his hands press against the side of your head to keep you still, your breath rattled.

“You were having a nightmare, I woke you up. It is fine now.”

By flashes, the recurrent dream you had since you learned that Aemond had been made prisoner all these months ago came back into your mind, like a bad memory. You realised that it was the first time you had this dream again since your reunion with Aemond.

“I’m sorry I woke you up…” you breathed out, voice breaking as you realised how late it was.

“Mhh,” came his low tone. “Naerys would have anyway.”

You could decipher the glowing of his sapphire by the moonlight that filtered through the windows, his other living eye invisible to you as he looked straight at you, and you were certain he could see the anguish in your eyes.

“What is it that plagues you so much Y/N?” he asked, flattening your hair on your head soothingly.

“I do not want to talk about it,” you weakly replied, averting your gaze from him and lowering your head, gathering up the sheets that had fallen off from you anxiously. He let a moment pass in which you could feel him tense a bit.

“It is about me, isn’t it?” he guessed, noticing the way you fled his gaze and your body shivered.

You shook your head to chase the ill images on your mind, eager to forget them.

“Tell me,” he demanded calmly.

“It’s… I don’t remember.”

“I know when you are lying to me Y/N. You were calling me in your sleep. Tell me.”

You looked up at him at that, realising that you had not only screamed in your head during your sleep.

“It is just… a bad dream I had since my time in Bitterbridge.”

You could not see it because of the dark but you sensed his jaw clench. You had never talked about your time with Ulf more than necessary, not wishing to bring back bad memories or angering Aemond if you ever told him of what had transpired. “I thought it would be gone by now, with you at my side again but…” you felt your throat burn, unable to continue.

“It is only a nightmare, you will soon get rid of it, you will see,” he assured you, his thumb now grazing your neck.

“I see you die Aemond," you finally admit, now wanting for him to understand that your turmoil does not come from anywhere. “I see you on your knees, Black Sister over you, ready to strike, and then I see your blood be spilled on the throne,” you had said the last piece as loud as a whisper. “It is always the same, and I don't think that I can bear it any more.”

You had reached for his arm at that, and in return you were hardly flushed against him while you refrained a sob from escaping your throat, his arms now wrapping around you.

“None of this will ever happen. I will never be on my knees and certainly not for the Rogue Prince. I will kill him for you. You’ll see.”

“I do not want that Aemond,” you said against his chest. “I do not want that for you, don’t you understand?”

He fell silent, not letting you go as he buried his nose into your hair and stroked your back, his breath the only indication that he was neither angry nor calm, but something mysteriously in between. You had no idea what he was thinking, his silence making you uneasy, but you would have given anything to never leave this position. For him to never leave you.

“Go back to sleep,” he said after a while, voice a little more firm than before. “I am right here.”

Your tired state made you compliant, and you fell into his chest as you laid on the bed, your body strongly secured against his. You had not been certain that you would be able to fall asleep again but you were later awoken by Naerys’ cries, confirming that sleep had not completely eluded you. The next morning you remembered foggily Aemond’s voice telling you to stay still as he left your side, and moments later your daughter’s cries had stopped and you had fallen asleep again.

High Valyrian: "By the Warrio-"

A/N: Short but efficient. Tell me if you liked it.

-0- Part 27

@let-love-bleeds-red @crazylokonugget@jeyramarie@ephemeralninon@mrswhitethornbelikov@dudfahsn@missusnora@queenofterrasen418@honeytrapsblogp-graham@heathclifftragedyy @discowizard88@ivartheblessed@xceafh@bubbletae7@omgkatherine01@tzipora-art@signyvenetia @ml0103 @nsainmoonchild @lonadane @skythighs@bietchz@samnblack@mariaelizabeth21-blog1@projectcampbell @ripdragonbeans @caribbeangal@polireader@zillahvathek@moni-cah @literishdegree99 @a-beaverhausen @thekinslayer @maniccrystalhippie @princessofdarkwinter @isaxbella749@claudie-080102@ebaylee422@hydrationqueensworld@crumblychunksofheaven@officiallyunofficialperson@grungegrrrl@stargaryenx @dark-night-sky-99

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cirilla-fiona-riannon · 1 year

Text

Kicho's Main Story Ch. 11 Part 2 Dramatic

These translations are not intended as a replacement for the game. Please support cybird by buying their stories. SPOILERS under the cut. Expect mistakes.

Thanks to Ranmaru’s directions, we arrived safely at the camp.

Despite being surrounded by soldiers, Nobunaga consented to a meeting to discuss the situation.

Nobunaga: “Is everyone here?”

Kicho & Kennyo: “...........”

Mitsuhide & Ranmaru: “..........”

Masamune & Ieyasu: “..........”

(The air is so heavy that I feel like I’m suffocating.)

(But the fact that we had a chance to talk like this is truly a miracle.)

Seven people were gathered in the tent.

Hideyoshi, Mitsunari, and Keiji were staying behind in Azuchi.

As I looked around to see how everyone was doing, my gaze collided with Ieyasu, who happened to be looking at me.

Ieyasu: “What?”

Mai: “Um, long time no see. How have you been?”

Ieyasu: “You should be worrying about yourself, not me.”

Ieyasu: “Do you realize that you’re now a hostage?”

Mai: “Right.”

Masamune: “Well, you did well for a first-time spy. You made it back alive.”

Masamune: “So, what is it that you want to talk about by taking her hostage?”

Masamune: “You’re not suggesting you’re gonna lend us a hand now, are you?”

Kicho: “That’s right.”

Ieyasu: “Ha?”

Ieyasu: “What’s the traitor suddenly saying? If you're joking, it's not funny.”

Kicho: "I'm not joking."

Kicho: "I'm here to help you end this rebellion."

Kicho: "Taking Mai hostage was just to create this situation."

Nobunaga: "Oh? You too, Kennyo?"

Kennyo: "Yes. Unprecedented rebellions are spreading across the country, so if we don't stop this, Japan will turn into a land of chaos.”

Kennyo: "But I'm not going to become one of you. This is just a one-time thing."

Kicho: "We're going to need more men to deal with this."

Kicho: "I came here to bring about a more certain outcome."

Masamune: "Wait. You're the one who brought this on in the first place."

Masamune: "Are you going to destroy your work just like that?"

Kicho: "That's right. I have to fix it because I caused it myself."

Ieyasu: "Heh. You suddenly had a change of heart."

Ieyasu coldly stared at Kicho.

(If your enemy suddenly starts talking like that, anyone would be suspicious.)

(But I want them to know it's not a lie.)

As I frustratingly watched, Mitsuhide broke the tense atmosphere.

Mitsuhide: "Lord Nobunaga. I have a suggestion."

Nobunaga: "What is it?"

Mitsuhide: "Why don't we first let her report about the infiltration?”

(Me!?)

Ranmaru: "I agree. Lady Mai knows best what really went on here."

Ranmaru: "It's not yet too late to decide whether these people meant what they said after hearing her out."

Nobunaga: "Oh?"

Nobunaga: "Then Mai. You speak."

Mai: “Okay.”

(It's a big responsibility. But I gotta get my act together.)

Mai: "Just as Mitsuhide had told you, I didn't get much information."

Mai: "That's why, for now, I'll tell you what I saw and felt."

I took a deep breath, and in that instant, many things came flooding back into my mind.

Facing this era for the first time, having trouble, and thinking about questions with no answers, I finally arrived at...

Mai: "I'd like you to trust these people."

Mai: "I can say that because I voluntarily became a hostage."

Ieyasu & Masamune: "----!"

Mai: "And I want both Kicho and Kennyo to believe in you guys, too, just for this moment."

Mai: "I know that none of you here are enemies."

Mai: "If crossing paths makes us enemies, then sharing the same goal at least makes us allies, right?"

Kicho & Kennyo: "..........."

Nobunaga: "We’re not enemies, huh? Is that your conclusion?"

Mai: "Yes."

Nobunaga: "All right. Then the three armies will now make a temporary agreement."

Nobunaga: "A truce and a joint effort to quell this rebellion."

At Nobunaga's words, the tent became as silent as the night, all eyes blazing like the sky burning in the morning sun, nodding as they looked at the single path that had appeared.

(With this...!)

Nobunaga: "It's almost dawn. Let's move on to the war council immediately."

(Hmm. I hope they received it.)

Fidgeting, I walked around near the tent.

Before the military meeting began, Kicho entrusted the Oda soldiers with the whereabouts of his men and a message for them.

(The enemy's strength decreases as our strength increases.)

(I hope they can somehow make it in time.)

Mai: "Ah!"

In the distance, some small black shadows appeared.

(Thank God. They're here!)

Kicho's subordinate 1: "Lady Mai! You're safe."

Mai: "Yes. Kicho is now in the tent at the military meeting."

Kicho's subordinate 2: "See, I told you. I knew it was from Lord Kicho."

Kicho's subordinate 1: "Well..."

Kicho's subordinate 3: "It's only natural to be suspicious when someone from the Oda army suddenly gives us a letter."

Kicho's subordinate 2: "But those are special characters, taught only to us in case of emergency."

Mai: "Special characters?"

Kicho's subordinate 2: "It's understandable that you don't know since you just came recently. Here."

Mai: "Are you sure? Thank you."

(I'm so proud of Kicho for preparing that kind of thing in case of an emergency.)

(I'm sure I won't be able to read it, but let's look at it just in case.)

I gently unfolded the small piece of paper and一

Mai: "T-This...!"

Kicho's subordinate 1: "Can you read it?"

Mai: "Y-Yes. Somehow."

(It's Gyaru-moji.)

[Gyaru-moji is a style of obfuscated Japanese writing popular amongst urban Japanese youth. As the name gyaru-moji suggests (gyaru meaning "gal"), this writing system was created by and remained primarily employed by young women. Like the English phenomenon of the SMS language, it's most often used for sending text messages.]

(So he learned this stuff in the future!?)

I try imagining it, but I can't picture Kicho using it.

(Oh, but it might be the best cipher for a large number of people because you don't have to learn a new language from its grammar. And the people of this era would never understand it.)

Kicho's subordinate 2: "How? Did you learn some of it?"

Kicho's subordinate 3: "Come to think of it, aren't you learning about something before?"

Kicho's subordinate 2: "Oh, right."

Mai: "Yes."

(It's actually kuzushi-ji, but that’s not important now.)

I folded the letter back, then the tent's entrance swung open.

Kicho: “You’re here.”

Subordinate 1: “Lord Kicho!”

Kicho: “Where are the others?”

Subordinate 3: “They’re already on their way to their respective destinations.”

Subordinate 3: “I think we can get more than half of them by dawn.”

Kicho: “I see. Even if some couldn’t come, it doesn’t matter as long as we conveyed our intention.”

Subordinate 2: “Yes, sir.”

Mai: “Um, Kicho. What happened to the war council?”

Kicho: “We’ve reached a consensus.”

Kicho: “We’ll gather the generals of each platoon and further discuss the plan.”

Subordinate 2: “Is this the joint operation with Nobunaga and Kennyo you mentioned in the letter?”

Kicho: “Yes.”

As soon as he nodded, his subordinates’ expressions became tense.

Subordinate 2: “But why all of a sudden?”

Kicho: “It’s a result of facing myself. Everyone makes mistakes, and I was one of them.”

Kicho: “That’s why I think you should have the opportunity to correct your ways.”

Subordinate 2: “Huh?”

Kicho: “This is a war-torn world, and anyone who gets in the way must be dealt with, but for this moment, I’ll let you choose.”

Kicho: “Where would you go? Are you going to leave and return to your hometown? You can do whatever you want.”

His men: "-----!"

(Kicho...)

In the silence, their shadows cast by the moonlight swayed with confusion, but they never left.

Subordinate 1: "Of course, I'll follow you."

Subordinate 1: "I came here hoping for the world you want."

Subordinate 2: "Me too. The Japan you are looking at is the world we seek."

Subordinate 3: "Likewise. I have no objection."

All the subordinates vigorously nodded as they spoke.

Kicho: "I understand."

Kicho: "Then, first of all, let me explain our plan. Our team is in the tent over there."

Kicho’s men: "Understood."

(Thank God they didn't fall apart or anything.)

Looking at everyone's back, I patted my chest in relief, but my stomach suddenly grumbled.

Kicho: "Hmm?"

Mai: “S-Sorry!”

(I can't believe I'm feeling hungry when we're just getting started!)

Embarrassed, I shuffled out of Kicho's gaze and heard him chuckling.

Kicho: "Pfft."

Kicho: "Come to think of it, you haven't eaten or even had water."

Kicho: "Why don't you grab something to eat and take a break."

Mai: "Eh, but..."

Kicho: "Don't worry about us. Then, see you later."

He patted my head and walked away.

(Even if he tells me not to worry, I do because I care about them.)

(Oh, right!)

Mai: "Excuse me for interrupting."

Holding large trays, I peeked inside the open tent, and everyone turned to look at me.

(Mitsuhide is here too.)

(I guess that means they're working on the same plan.)

Kicho: "Is something wrong?"

Mai: "Yes, I made you guys some food, if you don't mind."

Mai: "It's just a simple miso soup, though."

Mitsuhide: "Oh? This is something of a treat in this situation."

Kicho: "Yeah, let's eat."

Kicho’s men: "Yes, sir."

As Kicho and Mitsuhide urged them, everyone's faces grew calm as they looked and fetched the still-steaming bowls.

(It's times like this that food is important.)

(Besides, there is a saying that we should eat from the same pot.)

Kicho: "Mai. Sorry for the trouble, even though I told you to take a break."

Mai: "It's fine. I hate sitting still. Also, you guys really need this since you're moving around."

Kicho: "I see. Then, let's eat."

Mitsuhide: "It's been a while since I've eaten a hot meal on the battlefield."

Mai: "Don't they make soup in places like this?"

Kicho: "No, it's not like that. This guy just doesn't care about food. He'll eat anything as long as it fits in his stomach."

Kicho: "Other soldiers cook meals like this."

Mai: "I see. You know a lot."

Mitsuhide: "He was originally from the Oda army."

Mai: "Right. It's been a few years, yet you're getting along pretty well."

Kicho: "You think so?"

Mai: "Yes. You two are similar in some ways."

Mai: "Not necessarily in terms of appearance, but, for example, in terms of being a spartan."

Mitsuhide: "Spartan?"

Kicho: "It's a term that refers to harsh and strict teaching."

Kicho: "I see. I made you do something harsh, huh?"

Mitsuhide: "Weird. I don't also remember doing something like that."

Mai: "You're unaware of it!?"

(Maybe I was just being naive.)

(I guess it's normal in this era, or maybe calling them spartan was rude, especially since they did it out of good intentions.)

Mai: "Um, I take it back. You two are..."

Mitsuhide: "Mai."

Mai: ".........."

Mitsuhide suddenly moved closer to me and smiled like a fox.

Mitsuhide: "Let me ask for future reference."

Mitsuhide: "What other aspects of me do you feel are similar to Kicho's?"

Mai: "Um..."

I compared their faces, moving my eyes frantically.

(Oh!)

Mai: "You both take good care of me and are kind."

Kicho: "What?"

Mitsuhide: "Are you sure you're not talking about Hideyoshi or Mitsunari?"

Mai: "Nope, those two certainly are like that, but in a slightly different way."

Mai: "I was going to retract my earlier comment about you guys being spartan because you guys weren't just being strict. You were also being considerate."

(Thanks to that, I was able to do more.)

Mai: "So, thank you for sticking with me till the end."

Kicho: "I never thought you'd thank me."

Kicho: "For me, I think it was your own effort that made it possible."

Mai: "But nothing starts without a good teacher."

Mitsuhide: "Oh? You were a pretty good student yourself."

Mitsuhide: "You almost get knocked off by a spirited horse, and you eagerly admire the scenery that you can't hear a thing."

Mai: "That doesn't sound like a compliment."

Mitsuhide: "What are you saying? It's my highest compliment."

Mitsuhide: "The more of a handful a kid is, the cuter they are."

Mai: "-----!"

Mitsuhide chuckled and patted my head with his other hand.

Mai: "Um..."

Kicho: "Wait."

Mai: "Whoa!"

Kicho intervened and swatted Mitsuhide's hand away.

Kicho: "That's enough. I'm telling you, Mai and I are already lovers."

Kicho: "Even if we have some similarities, we're still different people."

Kicho: "More importantly, I don't have the same taste as you to mess with other people's stuff."

Mitsuhide: "That's outrageous. I was just praising my beloved student."

Kicho: "I didn't see it that way. That's why I stopped you."

Mitsuhide: "I see."

Mai: "W-Wait! Let's get along, okay?"

(They were just getting along fine earlier, but now they're suddenly arguing.)

Kicho: "Don't worry. I'm just removing the pest before it gets on you."

Mai: "Pest? It's just a misunderstanding."

Mai: "Mitsuhide intentionally says things with these kinds of implications."

Realizing what Kicho was about to say, I hurriedly shook my head and looked at Mitsuhide to ask for his agreement.

Mai: "Right?"

Mitsuhide: "Well, I don't know. I'll let you be the judge of my true feelings."

Mai: "See, I told you."

Kicho: "..........."

Kicho sighed and turned to me.

Kicho: "Fine. If you say so, then here's what we'll do."

Something to keep in mind.

You're too optimistic in some areas, but I now see that as your strength.

Therefore, you don't have to fix it. However, you should still handle it reasonably.

You don't have to think too hard. I will be there for you from now on.

If there's a bug or pest (guy) lingering around you, I'll get rid of it.

I'll get rid of it asap, but some pest approach cleverly, so be on your guard.

At any rate, you can be who you are. Leave everything to me, and remember, I'm fascinated by you.

I'm grateful for the feelings you've given me. I love you.

-- Kicho

Previous Part╏Masterlist╏Next Part

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen kicho #ikesen kichou #ikesen jp #ikesen #ikesen spoilers #ikesen ieyasu #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen translations #cybird

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monkiebois · 1 year

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Consequences Possessed Bai He/Lady Bone Demon

Alright here we go

So the thing about about the lady bone demon in this Au is that her story is different here than in cannon. Consequences Au uses the canon story as an outline in a way. the episodic conflicts still happen but their result is different,

So in Consequences the lady bone demon has a lot of my personal HC's implemented.

She wasn't always a demon, she was just a mere spirit determined to make the world a better place. She consistently disguised herself as a human to help guide the world to become and kinder and safer place. But no matter what she did or how many people she helped for 100's of hundreds, nothing truly changed. Pain and suffering still flourished in the mortal realm.

But she didn't want to give up. She would never give up. She knows there is a way to truly end all the pain and suffering of the world and she will find it. She just has to be patient.

Then one day she died.

She did not die as a martyr.

She did not die doing some great deed.

She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

perhaps a battlefield, or an evil demon, (idk yet) but she died without ever being able to be the change she wanted to see in this world.

Thrown into Diyu to continue the cycle of reincarnation.

Except she was not going to allow it to end this way

She was meant to make a difference.

She would bring forth a new and greater world.

It is her birthright.

Her fate

Her DESTINY

So with nothing but the burns on her hands and a cold spiteful heart she dragged herself out of Diyu and by doing this transformed into something new. The power of Diyu along with her cold heart merged and turned her into a demon of Ice and Death.

By earning a portion of DIyu, hidden away from even the great kings eyes, a place she can control. Where her court lies. A court of consumed souls of countless beings across the realm. The more souls she collects and drags into her portion of Diyu the more powerful she becomes.

She can even summon blue chains that were once dark red and use them to confine and trap beings within her void. all she needs to do is land a fatal blow with her crystals. One that would heal with her magic but once that fatal blow is done she can easily drag them into Diyu where she can keep them in an empty void and manipulate them or just keep them there.

her mist is the court of souls she's collected.

Mayor is a whole 'nother story. Her Demon chief. Ill get to him later.

I still have stuff to develop about her but in Consequences Au sh comes in ALOT sooner than in cannon.

Like she's not trapped away for a whole season soon.

There's more to her but that's spoilers ;)

BAI HE

There's not much I can say about her without giving spoilers

She is possessed a lot sooner than in cannon

She is also aware of every little thing the lady bone demon does

...well somewhat

Bai he is trapped within her own mind, she cant do anything other then sleep or watch

when she is released that blue on her arms and the white markings on her hand stays. A couple of white streaks in her hair too.

She has been possessed for a VERY long time

the lady bone demon has been using her magic to keep her body and mind in the same state that it is what when she found the child

out of every host she found Bai He was the first to ever be able to fully withstand her power

With so much exposure to the lady bone demons magic for so long Bai he is no longer a human girl

When she is released her body transforms to accommodate what it has lost with the lady bone demon gone.

so now she is also an Ice and bone demon (ill design that later)

she's 15 during the main story.

shes pale af bc of the ice magic shit just macking her VERY pale

Ofc there's more to it all but HEY that's spoilers

despite the fact that there's a lot I have planned or facts that I have not mentioned for spoiler's sake feel free to ask me questions and ill see how best I can answer them without spoiling anything

#consequencesau💫#Bai he #The lady bone demon #lbd #lmk lbd #monkie kid lbd #bai he lmk #bai he #lmk #monkie kid #monkie kid au #lego monkie kid au #Infodump

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laxmiree · 7 months

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[CN] MLQC Lucien’s Warm Fragrance Date translation

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

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

Arriving As Promised Free SR Event | Prologue+Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6-9 | Warm Fragrance Date (You're here!)

"I think, rather than a good little assistant, it's more accurate to say that MC is a very talented gardener lady."

"Huh? Why do you say that?"

Lucien doesn't directly answer my question, instead, he pulls my hand and places it on the location of his heart.

I immediately understood the words he didn't say.

"This beautiful flower continues to grow, connecting all the veins that are linked to you."

[T/N: VERY RECOMMENDED to read the event story first because some convo on this date will make more sense if you read the event stories first]

[Date – Video ver]

youtube

(T/N: As always, I always recommend watching the video for a more comprehensive experience.

If the direct video doesn’t work - [Use this link]

(Besides, tumblr doesn’t allow us to use an old text editor anymore so I can’t add up more than 30 pics in this post. Tumblr post alone won’t capture the change in background and sprite as usual(for reference I always have like 60+ pic in one post LOL)

[Date – Transcript ver]

[Part 1]

The gentle morning sunlight pours down, passing through the vines on the wall, casting specks of light and shadow.

I look around, and as far as my eyes can see, various types of plants occupy my surroundings. However, I don't catch sight of Lucien's figure amidst the lushness.

MC: …Is Lucien not here?

I double-check his text message, then I put down the jasmine flower pot I've planted and the "OPEN" wooden sign. Afterward, I turn around and walk deeper into the greenhouse.

Today is the official opening day of the "Flower Shop." Perhaps 'Shop Manager' Lucien is currently preparing in some corner.

Following the path through the greenhouse, I continue forward. The comfortable temperature in the air makes me feel as if I'm in an oasis.

Under the towering green plants in front of me, dozens of calla lilies are cozily undergoing photosynthesis.

Next to the one blooming the most vibrantly, there's a label that reads "Reserved." My fingertips brush against that familiar handwriting, and I mutter softly.

MC: Miss X?

MC: ...I can't believe there's a reservation already.

[A throwback to Dance SP MQ and main story Dr. X :"]

I can't help but sigh, and I bend down to carefully observe these well-taken-care-of plants and flowers.

The snow-white petals of the calla lilies bloom brilliantly, and the leaves stretch energetically. The red and yellow tulips nestle against each other as if even the falling patches of light have become gentle.

??: Have you been here for a while? Why didn't you call out to me?

A familiar voice sounds behind me, and I quickly turn around.

The sunlight filters through the glass roof and falls upon Lucien, outlining a faint halo of light around his figure.

His white shirt appears exceptionally bright amidst the lush surroundings. His collar is unbuttoned, and he casually rolls up his sleeves, revealing his slender forearms.

The blue work apron he's wearing is loosely tied, and he doesn't seem to have noticed. A warm smile graces the corner of his lips.

With the jasmine pot I had just set down in his arms, he slightly bends forward and reaches out to hang the wooden sign on a nail above the railing.

This version of Lucien catches me off guard, and I find myself laughing with a belated realization.

MC: Pfft.

Lucien: (laughs, then playfully says) It seems my outfit is indeed a bit funny, isn't it?

MC: Of course not, "Shop Manager Lucien" is much more handsome than I imagined!

Lucien: Oh? Is that so?

Lucien slowly approaches me, and as his familiar scent envelops me, my heart rate instinctively quickens a little faster.

Lucien: (chuckles) So, can you tell me, what did you imagine 'Manager Lucien' to be like before?

MC: Manager Lucien's appearance right now has completely erased any other imagined images I had in my mind.

I hook my arm around Lucien's neck, a smile playing on my lips.

MC: Right now, my heart and eyes are filled with just the one before me.

I retie the loosely knotted apron behind him smoothly. But as I start to pull my hand back, he captures it in his grasp.

The next second, a gentle kiss carrying the scent of grass lands softly on my lips. Before my eyes could fully close, all that was left in my vision were those eyes brimming with joy.

Lucien removed his glasses at some point, and the gentleness in his eyes reflected my gradually reddening cheeks clearly.

Lucien: (whispers) Everyone else is busy in other greenhouses. Today, there are only the two of us here.

He slightly increases the distance between us, his brows and eyes curved.

Lucien: I remember that a lady once said that on the day she visits my "garden," she would buy the most beautiful flower from me.

MC: I remember that. I won't easily back down from my promise.

Lucien: Then, how about becoming my assistant? Consider it as payment for the flowers you intend to buy.

I tiptoe and peck his cheek on the side.

MC: Of course I'm willing to.

[Part 2]

As we walk through the corridor built with flowering vines from the entrance hall, the floral fragrance becomes even more rich and fragrant.

Lucien leads me through the corridor, and a lounge surrounded by flower walls comes into view. A row of bookshelves and an innovative instrument sit quietly in the corner.

Lucien: This is a newly introduced instrument from the Bioscience research center. It can measure various values of the brain's nervous system to detect the brain health of residents.

Curiously, I approach the instrument, looking around with keen interest.

MC: Can brain health really be determined using these two lines on top?

Lucien: If you're curious, you can put it on and give it a try.

Lucien noticed my eagerness and took the instrument's wires, guiding me to position my head correctly.

Lucien: Bring this wire over here, and place this device on here…

Following Lucien's guidance, I carefully placed the device from the instrument's wire onto my head.

Lucien: Now, let's take a look at Visitor MC's brain health, shall we?

MC: …Um!

I stare at the screen intently, and after a while, a green curve with a centered slope appears on the display.

MC: How is it?

Lucien: Hmm…

MC: I-Is it very bad?

Lucien: (chuckle) Very healthy.

MC: Phew…

MC: Back then, you were worried I might not adapt well, but the truth is, my "vitality" is quite resilient as well.

Lucien: How come I remember that it was a certain lady who was more concerned about me at the time?

Lucien: You prepared all sorts of emergency medicines for me, yet you only brought a small amount for yourself.

MC: Well, that might be because I've been eating well, sleeping well, and thinking about you a lot…

Lucien: From a medical perspective, perhaps "thinking about me a lot" played the most significant role.

MC: Although you're right, 'Professor Lucien' shouldn't go against medical principles just to prove the importance of "thinking about you".

Lucien places his hand on the top of my head and proceeds to explain seriously.

Lucien: Medical studies have confirmed that positive emotions, or good moods, are beneficial for brain neurons.

Lucien: I believe this 'Professor Lucien' hasn't gone against medical principles.

Lucien: People, scenery, animals, objects... all can serve as triggers for positive emotions.

Lucien: Including the plants we are cultivating now, it's all for studying the effects of different species on brain neurons.

MC: Does that mean that even for the same species, the experience could be different for different people?

Lucien: Exactly. The factors underlying the generation of positive emotions vary from person to person, and the feelings evoked by the same external factors can be completely different.

MC: Hmm... just like how I feel happy when I drink sweet milk tea, and Professor Lucien feels happy when savoring a cup of tea?

Seemingly amused by the interesting analogy, Lucien chuckles softly.

Lucien: (chuckles softly) Yes and no.

Lucien: If we slightly modify the reference in the comparison to "savoring tea alone and drinking milk tea with MC," for me, the latter naturally brings more happiness.

MC: Oh~ So the Great Professor's sweet words must also vary from person to person, right?

Lucien: Hmm... Not exactly.

Lucien: To be precise, I'm only like this with you.

I can't help but raise my lips; a kind of subtle tenderness seems to be quietly emerging from the depths of my heart, making me feel light and I can't help but indulge in it.

MC: I'm only like this with you too.

The conversation is interrupted by the hum of the instrument, and the fluctuation in the green curve produces new monitoring data for the device.

MC: Huh? Is there a new change?

Lucien: Mm, it seems that at this very moment, this little lady is happier than before.

The rising curve on the screen dances exuberantly as if it wants to reveal my thoughts in full detail.

Feeling somewhat embarrassed, I remove the device, afraid that the next moment it might detect those beautiful feelings in my heart once again.

MC: Alright, alright, I admit that indeed "thinking about you" played a significant role.

MC: So... Professor Lucien, do you think about me a lot too?

Lucien: Yes. Because I miss you so much, it feels as if the flowering period is endless.

Lucien's gaze softens, and the corners of his eyes curve like a gentle spring, causing the humidity in the greenhouse to quietly evaporate, filling the room with a sweet fragrance.

[Part 3]

After becoming familiar with the structure of the greenhouse, Lucien guided me through the final preparations before the official opening.

Since he has already completed most of it, my next task is to transplant the calla lilies into the flower bed.

Lucien: Here are these new gloves for you, and take this too.

Lucien hands over a brand new pair of gloves and then takes out a beige headscarf, naturally tucking my hair behind as he ties it on me.

His slightly warm fingertips inadvertently graze the back of my neck, creating a subtle and ticklish sensation.

Lucien: Hmm, you indeed look very cute with it on.

Lucien places a small red trowel in front of me and begins to demonstrate personally.

Lucien: Calla lilies thrive in a humid environment but are sensitive to waterlogging. They have high water requirements, so the root seedlings are crucial.

MC: I remember you mentioned in the email that Calla lilies, being plants adapted to humid regions, are much more challenging to grow in the desert compared to other plants.

Lucien: That's correct. Therefore, during the transplanting process, be careful not to damage the root seedlings with the trowel.

I nod and carefully take the calla lilies that Lucien has prepared, ready to transplant them into the flower bed.

The delicate and fragile root tendrils seem as if they could snap at the slightest inadvertent touch, and I take a deep breath subconsciously.

Lucien: (gently) Take it easy.

Lucien gently squeezes my hand, and the familiar reassurance gradually soothes my emotions.

I nod and readjust my breathing.

First, plant the flower seedlings into the small holes that have been prepared in the flower bed. Then, rearrange the positions of their roots, and finally, cover the soil from the side onto the flower seedlings…

I'm mentally rehearsing the steps Lucien taught me, carefully following the instructions as needed.

MC: Wow! It's a success…

Before I could even finish cheering, the next moment, the flower seedling drooped in front of me.

MC: ...Oops, did I just waste a flower seedling?

Thinking that each of these flower seedlings was personally nurtured by Lucien in such an environment, I can't help but feel a sense of guilt and regret.

Lucien: You didn't, it's just not fully acclimated yet.

Lucien: Don't worry, let's try it again.

Lucien said as he leaned closer to me, his palm gently cradling my hand. He carefully adjusts the position of the flower seedling and then presses the soil down slightly.

As if by some kind of magical spell, the delicate flower seedling trembles and sways, but it never topples over.

MC: Is it... a success?

Lucien: Yes, you did great.

With the experience of this successful attempt and Lucien's hands-on teaching, I learned some small techniques, and the subsequent transplanting process is going much smoother than I had imagined.

MC: Phew, just one more pot to go until we're done!

As I said this, I raised my hand to wipe the sweat from my face. I was about to dig out the seedling from the pot when Lucien suddenly chuckled.

MC: ...What's wrong?

He raises his hand with a smile and the clean back of his finger brushes against the tip of my nose.

Lucien: You've turned into a spotty bunny.

MC: …!

Thinking about the "fertilizer elements" in the soil, I hastily raise my hand and start randomly wiping my face.

Lucien can't help but laugh, then he grabs my hand.

Lucien: (laughs softly) If you keep rubbing like that, our spotty bunny might turn into a black bunny.

Lucien: Let me help you instead.

He uses the clean part of his palm to gently wipe across my face, bit by bit.

The delicate touch of his fingertips and the warmth from his palm gradually amplifies.

His breath, accompanied by a warm breeze, audibly falls on my ear, and my earlobe subtly starts to feel ticklish.

At some point, his gaze has shifted from my face to my eyes, and his finger lightly taps on my cheek.

Lucien: Now it's clean.

I can't seem to take my eyes off his face for a moment.

Lucien: (smiles) Do I also have something that needs wiping on my face?

MC: Ah? Well, right here on the chin…

I lift up my sleeve and gently wipe away the almost invisible speck of dirt on his chin.

The scent of flowers blending with the earthy aroma lingers in the air, and a gentle kiss softly grazes my cheek near my lips.

Lucien: Thank you, Miss Gardener.

[Part 4]

After a day of busyness, the flower shop's business is doing quite well.

People keep coming to buy flowers and admire them, and Lucien can smoothly carry out his experiment. He has printed a thick stack of monitoring data alone.

Until the sun sets in the west, everything except for that reserved calla lilies has been sold out.

MC: Looks like it's time to flip the signboard and announce the closing time~

Lucien's gaze falls on the back of the wooden signboard, his fingers tracing the patterns on it.

Lucien: Unexpectedly, there is a "gardener fox" on the other side?

MC: You noticed it!

I said as I leaned closer, my fingertips lightly tracing the slightly crooked wood-carved design.

[So it's her 'artwork' that she mentioned in the event :"]

MC: I carved it based on the desert fox's appearance and added a little touch of my own creativity.

Lucien: It's a nice touch. A little fox wearing glasses, an apron, and holding a pot of flowers.

Lucien: Hmm... Is it like this?

Lucien speaks as he raises the sign next to his face, mimicking the posture of the little fox on the wooden sign.

MC: Hahaha, it seems I carved it quite lifelike!

MC: By the way, after closing the store, let's go see the desert fox together~ I saw it last time near the sand dunes near the guest house.

MC: This time, I have Mr. Fox with me. So who knows, we might just have a smooth encounter with it.

Lucien: Of course, that's great, but I'd rather have a chance encounter with a desert rabbit.

Lucien: This little fox seems a bit lonely. I think this wooden sign leaves me some room for creativity.

[He also wants to carve a dessert bunny to accompany the dessert fox so it won't be lonely🥺]

Lucien carefully puts away the wooden sign and retrieves cleaning tools from the greenhouse.

Lucien: You've been busy all day, take a break. I'll handle the cleaning.

MC: There's no way the little assistant can take a break and let the big professor be busy.

MC: Besides, I've been resting well these past few days, but you've been in the experimental greenhouse all this time. I think you should be the one taking a break.

I say this while playfully pushing his back, half-forcing him to go rest on the sofa next to the flower hall.

Lucien accommodates and sits down but takes the opportunity to hold my hand.

Lucien: Well, there's no reason for the little assistant not to listen to the professor.

I can't resist this demeanor and tone at all, so I have to compromise and sit down next to him, nuzzling up against his side.

MC: The little assistant is now obediently resting. Professor Lucien, do you have any more requests?

Lucien: I think an obedient little assistant like you should receive her well-deserved reward.

Lucien promptly gets up and when he returns, he's holding the only remaining pot containing the calla lily with "reserved" written on it.

Seeing me blink in confusion, Lucien smiles and speaks.

Lucien: From the moment it miraculously survived, I selfishly reserved it in your name.

MC: My name? Does that mean…

At this moment, I finally realized belatedly why this unique pot of calla lily had been reserved early on and kept until now.

That Miss X is actually myself.

MC: So this calla lily…. is the first one that survived as you mentioned in your email?

Lucien: Mm. You mentioned wanting to see it with your own eyes, and now it's yours.

A gentle voice brushed against my heart, and I quickly took a few steps in his direction.

He cradles that pot of calla lily in his hands so dearly, and I feel as if I can hear something blooming in my heart.

MC: It's really beautiful... From this angle, the outer edges of the flower look like the shape of a heart.

Lucien: Perhaps that's why the calla lily's flower language is "the veins of our hearts are connected together".

The pure white petals sway gently in the soft breeze of the flower hall, the sunset's light casting a golden shimmer on Lucien's eyelashes. The picturesque beauty momentarily left me a bit entranced.

It's only when he bends down to place the flower in my hand that I realize our distance has somehow become so close.

Lucien: I think, rather than a good little assistant, it's more accurate to say that MC is a very talented gardener lady.

MC: …Huh? Why do you say that?

Lucien doesn't directly answer my question; instead, he pulls my hand and places it on the location of his heart.

I immediately understood the words he didn't say.

Lucien: This beautiful flower continues to grow, connecting all the veins that are linked to you.

A soft feeling wells up in my heart, his warmth in my hand, and before me is his most familiar expression.

The accumulation of longing and his gentle words make me unable to resist leaning my head against his shoulder and nuzzling it.

MC: I'm the same.

MC: Every move you make, it's all connecting with me.

MC: Sowing, nurturing the soil, watering, fertilizing, and then the flowers bloom…

MC: Every time you share these with me, it's like I can feel your emotions in that moment.

MC: You sharing your happiness with me makes me feel even happier.

Lucien: Mm, I like sharing with you.

Lucien: (softly) It's like we're taking care of them together, and you're right here by my side.

MC: If that's the case, then I'm just like you.

MC: When I see the photos of the seedlings you post, I imagine how you planted them.

MC: When I'm planting jasmine flowers, I also feel like we're nurturing them together.

MC: I get incredibly happy when I receive emails from you, and I imagine the world you see through the things you share.

MC: I feel like I have something to look forward to every day because of the promise I'm about to fulfill, it’s as if... all the waiting and longing is sweet.

Lucien reaches out and pulls me into his arms, affectionately nuzzling the tip of my nose.

Lucien: (tenderly) Endless is just a broad concept of time, it doesn't even begin to capture a fraction of my longing to see you again.

Lucien: MC, I miss you so much.

Lucien: Even though you are right in front of me.

The gentle breeze, carrying the fragrance of flowers, rustles the branches and leaves inside the flower hall. In my ears, there is the gentle rustling of leaves and Lucien's slightly sinking voice.

In a moment of reverie, the hues of the sunset have a scent, and the fragrance of flowers has a sound.

I submerged myself in the veins of his longing, where love flourishes abundantly, lush and verdant.

#i'll never get over the 'love is like flower' concept with them sob sob #10/10 very cute fluff piece before main story angst #mlqc lucien #mr love queen's choice #mlqc cn #mlqc spoiler #mlqc #mlqc translation #mr. love queen's choice #mr love lucien #mlqc xu mo #mlqc spoilers #Youtube

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