you always come back to him.
after those calls, when you cry into the phone and beg him to take you away; when he can't refuse you because god knows what can happen to you when you're drunk.
you were always like that when you were drunk: reckless and so, so straightforward, ready to say anything that came into your head.
and when he does find the strength to look in the bar and see you standing there like you've been waiting for him.
it hurts in a way; seeing you so drunk and defenseless makes his insides clench and his arms go up in anticipation of a hug. because he knows you get overly tactile when you drink.
you smile when you see a familiar male figure, and the whole world disappears when you say his name with such tenderness and longing.
“hi,” he whispers softly into your shoulder somewhere as you practically hang onto him, ”have you had a lot to drink?”
“just a little,” you smile, lifting your head and looking into his eyes, ”just to get in the mood. i didn't want to get drunk…”
he knows you've had more than a little, but your soft gaze and flushed cheeks are worth it, so he stayed silent.
he knows he needs to take you home; needs to help you into the apartment, air out your bedroom, help you undress and get into bed…
“a little bit, huh?” he sighs, helping you out of the bar while you still smile contentedly and mumble something back, ”let's get you home.”
“wanna go to your place,” you parry, pushing him away from you slightly to reach out; you almost fall and he catches you just in time. you just smile, whispering a soft 'thank you' and he wants to scream at how familiar it feels, “i missed the view from your bedroom window… it's so beautiful there.”
“that's why i bought this apartment,” he gently places his hand on your waist, ”you always loved the view.”
“why did we break up?” you ask quietly, sitting in the hallway and looking down at the way he slowly removes your shoes from your feet, ”i wish we never broke up.”
those words make him wince; he knew you would ask that question again. he knew you'd call him over and over again when you were drunk and he still hadn't blocked your number. he knew you would ask him why you broke up, and he realizes he doesn't know the reason at all.
or rather he knows it's a combination of many things, from work stress to feelings that started to fade.
and yet that knowledge doesn't make it any easier. he knows he still loves you to death. he just doesn't love you as much anymore.
and he can't move on.
“you're drunk,” he forces himself to say, averting his gaze, ”let's talk about this tomorrow.”
he knows full well that you won't talk about it tomorrow. tomorrow you'll dress up and leave before he wakes up; you never stay with him too long and he doesn't know why.
but he can't blame you.
so he lets you use him as your personal airbag that will always answer your call at three in the morning.
kazuha ◞ thoma ◞ ifa ◞ dick ◞ gepard ◞ dang heng ◞ dick ◞ xavier ◞ cloud & ur favs !!
art creds. mucithy on twt 〆 contains. allusions to injury/death, a big ole amount of comfort
gia's notes. going 2 for 2 with this new theme + my essay is now due in 4 hours teehee 🧘🏻♀️ i drank a STRONG coffee and my guts are gonna blow up i fear
╰┄➤ ❝ request. anon 〆 hello! could i request gepard comforting his gf who had a nightmare, please? thank you! ❞
IT'S THE SOUND OF YOUR VOICE CALLING HIS NAME THAT ROUSES GEPARD, a melodic siren's song that pulls him from his depths of unconsciousness in the dead of night. he's groggy, sure, his brow furrowing and a complacent whine leaving his lips as he curls into you even further than he was before, but he's still responsive to your every beck and call.
"mm, what is it baby?" he mumbles into your skin, sleep-addled brain trailing soft kisses after his words. he doesn't hear any response from you, which was odd, odd enough to make him lift his head up from the crook of your neck to properly look at you. well, as best as he could in your dark bedroom.
your own eyes are shut, a slight sheen to your forehead, and for a lack of better words you looked troubled.
despite being unconscious, you seemed fairly lucid, twitching and frowning as you slept before stuttering out another call of your boyfriend's name.
and it's now that he blinks himself awake, realising a little too late for his liking that your sweet voice calling his name had a fearful edge to it, one that was shown in all of your actuons as you shook your head vehemently.
and gepard's torn now, distressed and wide awake at the sight of your discomfort, but not sure if you would want him to shake you awake- but with another pained cry of his name his heart tugs at him and his rough fingers are brushing against the skin of your shoulder as gently as he can as he begs you to wake up just above a trembling whisper.
it takes him a few times to get you to come to your senses, but when your eyes finally open to see the concern in his crystalline ones and his concerned face hovering over you, you can only let out a strangled sob and throw yourself into his chest.
he immediately wraps his arms around you, strong and warm and solid against you as your tears run hot against your face, dripping into his shirt that you'll have to apologise for later. you vaguely recognise his hands stroking over your hair, his hushed reassurances that everything's okay and that it was just a dream.
you don't know how long it takes for you to calm down, but when your muffled sobs finally become a staccato sniffle, only then does gepard ask you "do you want to talk about it?" there's a brief recount in your head of all the awful things your subconscious had presented you with, of gepard, your lover, the captain of the silvermane guards, having to fight a most fearsome foe in front of you and become overpowered before he-
you shake your head to rid yourself of the gruesome thought, burrowing impossibly closer into your boyfriend's chest. he reciprocates your actions, curling himself around you further, letting your legs slip between his. he presses kisses to your hairline, cooing again about how much he loves you and that he's here and you're safe.
"it just all felt so real," you finally manage to croak out. "i could see you and- it all happened so fast and i couldn't do anything and it-" a hiccupy sob interrupted you, and gepard didn't speak, merely clutching you to his body even tighter than possible, almost protectively.
"hey, i'm right here darling. and i promise that i don't die so easily. have some faith in me, i'm not exactly weak." you smile despite yourself, nodding against him slowly, feeling a puff of air escape him at your ginger acceptance of hos attempt to lighten the mood.
"i just... i don't know what i would do without you." gepard pauses his hand's careful trail against your hair, the heartfelt sentiment stopping him dead in his tracks.
"... then that's just another reason for me to make it back home every day, no?" your eyes are still leaking the occasional tear, though you suspect that they are no longer caused by the remnants of your nightmare as you laugh, before pressing a deep kiss to gepard's lips.
"i love you."
"and i love you too. always."
➤ IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ... bound 2 fall in love!
Interlude: A "Hero's" Dream - (Gepard x florist!reader)
Summary: Gepard is tired. Years of fighting have finally dampened his spirit—to make matters worse, he keeps having dreams about you. Belobog's Iron Wall feels as he's about to crumble. What will he do without you in this broken world?
Genre(s): angst
WC: 5k
Tags: Gepard x reader
Warnings: Major character death(s), GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK
A/N: This is NOT canon. Please don’t worry, reader and Gepard are both alive and well :>
Mossball Masterlist: (more Gepard here)
Captain… my darling captain, wherever could you be?
Your voice rang as clear as the bells that tolled to announce the passing hours in the plaza. Gepard tried in vain to smother the idiotic grin that spread across his face—but to no avail. His partner, a lovely florist from downtown, flung their arms over his shoulders.
You smirked as you spotted the light blush that rose from his neck to his cheeks.
“Serval said you’ve been working hard lately, so I figured you could use a break from cooking,” you smiled, motioning to the oven. “I made you a nice meat pie. Should clear your gut right out,” you winked.
His gaze flickered from you to the table, set lovingly with a checkerboard blue tablecloth and a few tea candles. It smelled delicious—nice and filling and homey.
“That’s… awfully generous of you, (Y/N),” he’d said, awestruck. “You really did all this?” The young noble had reached up gingerly to place his hand on your cheek. He already knew the answer.
“Sure did,” you said gleefully. His blue eyes shone with something he couldn’t quite name.
“Had I known you were planning something so special, I would have brought some flowers or—,”
“Nonsense!” You shook your head. “You already do so much just by taking time off of work to spend time with me, ya hear? Just sit back and relax, okay?”
You’d pulled out the chair by his place at the table dramatically, a silly grin on your face. He’d sat down and dug in as you kissed him on his cheek— typically, this sort of affection was only reserved for certain occasions in his family.
He felt his heart swell. It was then when he’d realized that this was where his soul would lie.
Protecting you and Belobog— that would be his life’s goal. Now and forever.
•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•
That dream again…
Gepard rubbed his tired eyes. That dream would show up with every scrap of sleep he managed to get. But the sleep he did get never offered him any respite.
Oh, how he wished it were that easy—to slip away, deep into his dreams. Where the city walls were still intact—where there was enough warmth to go around for everyone—and where the citizens would nurse cups of tea while watching children play with glee in the plaza.
But as it stood, there was no room for wishful thinking.
The young noble awoke on the frigid stone streets, surrounded by nothing but wreckage from ruined buildings and barricades ensnared in wire.
He shook off the fog of drowsiness that weighed heavy on his mind, hoisting himself to his feet. His joints were stiff—they always were. From somewhere to his left, he could hear the hacking cough of a soldier in the medical tents.
Pneumonia was all too common nowadays—due to the smoke and dust kicked up by the explosives they used. Frostbite too. With the critical shortage of Geomarrow, the citizens had only the small campfires that dotted the refugee camps to keep warm. He rubbed the unkempt stubble that dotted his chin as he yawned, his jaw creaking painfully. He hadn’t looked at himself in a mirror for months— though he was almost certain he looked like a wreck.
The captain strolled quietly by a group of soldiers, who were scraping the blood off the streets with rusty shovels, leaving the piles of crimson-stained frost pushed up against the walls and out of the way. Though for some strange reason, no matter how far he went, the smell of iron never seemed to leave Gepard’s nose.
Each day, soldiers and citizens alike battled the encroaching cold with what few shreds of hope they had left, though the walls did little to deter the howling winds that seemed to cut through their very bones.
The city that had once been the pride of the Architects had fallen. At first it was a catastrophe—the massive Fragmentum attack that had left you as one of the many bodies with a cloth draped over their face—and then it slowly dulled to a whimper as it was buried quietly under ice and snow.
Gepard was more than aware that Belobog had been treading this line for a while—for seven hundred years, in fact—but the end seemed to have come so abruptly. And now, Jarilo-VI was taking its last breath.
And so, here he stood: in line with his fellow soldiers, their faces sunken and devoid of life, waiting to get their rations for the day. Golden light began to seep over the horizon. It was a rare sight—the blizzard rarely let up enough for them to see the sun. He couldn't help but think, did the other soldiers watch the sunrise thinking that it may be their last?
Gepard couldn't afford to have such thoughts—no matter what, he had to keep going. Though some part of him whispered, that perhaps it wouldn't be for long.
“Cap’n Gepard—,” the food distributor said as he finally made it to the front of the line. He was a gruff-looking man with a scraggly brown beard, but his eyes were kind. “ —we happened to have some extra wheat biscuits— you want ‘em?”
The captain shook his head. “...I’m afraid I will have to decline your offer— though that does not mean your generosity will go unnoticed,” he replied, holding out his battered tin can for the man to ladle some stew into, but the man was insistent.
“Please, sir,” the bearded man said. “With all due respect, we won’t let you leave without them. You… I think that you of all people, sir, would deserve them most,”
Gepard felt his chest twist painfully. For what? For giving his men false hope and leading them to their deaths?
He felt sick. He was no better than anyone else struggling against the cold.
The captain was quickly snapped back to reality by the expectant looks of the cooks. He felt a pang in his heart—what right did he have to be having these thoughts? He was supposed to be a leader, for Qlipoth’s sake. He quickly stamped the doubts out of his head and forced himself to nod, a large lump forming in his throat.
“...alright,”
Gepard took the extra baggie with a barely repressed sigh, clasping the can of stew in his other hand. The warmth pricked slightly at his fingertips.
He quickly made his way to a spot on the outskirts of the closest tent city, where a small green tent stood. The glow of lamplight was just barely visible through the flaps as he pushed them aside. A small figure was huddled in the corner, wrapped head to toe in blankets next to a tattered children’s book.
“Little Beck?” Gepard called. “I brought you something,” he said, fastening the clasps of the fabric door behind him.
The figure hardly stirred—only a small shift in the blankets suggested that the boy was alive.
“...have you eaten yet?” The captain inquired, kneeling so that he could get a better look at him. The boy’s eyes were dull and grey like marble.
The blonde-haired man gingerly set down the bag of wheat biscuits beside the boy, who simply stared straight ahead towards the shadows cast by the flickering lamplight. With one last glance, Gepard turned to leave.
He still remembered the day he’d rescued Little Beck, who was crouching over the bodies of his parents that were so frozen solid that they couldn't be pried apart. He could still hear the gut-wrenching screams of a boy who’d lost his family too soon—still feel his tiny fists banging on his breastplate as Gepard had slung him over his shoulder and carried him far, far away.
As he left, he heard the boy say something—so quiet it was nearly a whisper.
“...I want my mommy and daddy…”
His back still turned, Gepard didn’t respond. He didn’t quite have the words to.
As he made his way past the trenches and makeshift forts, he would meet the gazes of each and every soldier. Some were reverent. Others, disappointed. Gepard was more than used to this by now. It didn’t matter anymore what they thought of him—he was required to see his duty through to the end either way.
But as he walked, guilt tugged at his heartstrings. He’d wanted to say something to the boy. Truly, he did. But it felt wrong to give him any hope at all—lest he be let down again by this cruel world.
“How are the cannons?” Gepard said, resting his metal gauntlet on one of the barrels. A row of cannons was lined up by the rampart, ready to fire at a moment's notice. They stood poised, aiming at the battleground—the wasteland that used to be the plaza where the annual festivals were held. “Not too clogged with soot, I hope?”
“We’re running low on ammo again, but that’s no surprise to anyone,” one soldier muttered from behind his visor. His companion quickly silenced him with a jab of her elbow.
Gepard sighed, holding a hand up to pacify them. “I understand—I’ll make sure to report it back to the commander. Is there anything else I should be aware of?”
The soldiers shook their heads, exchanging nervous glances as they folded their hands behind their backs. “No, sir,”
“Alright. Continue as you were,” said Gepard, giving them a curt nod as they resumed their duties. He stopped by a few other areas before making his way over to the commander’s tent. A few minutes passed before a soldier peeped their head out of the tent and motioned at him to enter.
“Commander Bronya is ready to see you,” the man said timidly. The silver-haired woman stood with her back towards him, her brow furrowed. Gepard could clearly see the dark circles under her eyes in the candlelight.
“Captain. I’m glad you could make it,” Bronya’s voice rang as she turned. “Any status reports?”
She swept towards him with the grace and poise of a snow leopard—even in these trying times, strength and determination still shone in her eyes.
“Likewise, commander,” he said, before replying, “And no. Nothing out of the ordinary, thankfully,”
“No updates on the situation at the western border?” She said, tilting her head at him.
“Unfortunately, no. The stakes are still… dire,” he murmured. “But we mustn't lose hope just yet. There’s still work to be done and battles to be fought,” he replied steadfastly.
The young noble paused for a moment before asking, “Has Cocoli—I mean, the Supreme Guardian issued any new orders?”
Bronya shook her head, her ringlets of hair bouncing. “I’m afraid not. I… I can’t seem to get through to her right now,” she admitted.
It was true—Gepard couldn’t remember the last time the commander’s mother had made a public appearance.
The silver-haired girl pressed her index finger to her temple as if something were bothering her. "I think it would be best if we stop disturbing her from now on,” she swallowed thickly.
He couldn’t imagine the pain she must be feeling—her own mother no longer responded to her pleas for help.
Lady Bronya let out a heavy sigh before continuing— her expression looked as if she had swallowed a lime as she began: “Gepard…” she started. “Truth be told, reconnaissance wasn’t exactly why I called you here today. I—I called you here because everyone is worried about you,”
Gepard blinked in surprise. "I—I beg your pardon?" He asked.”Worried about me?”
“Pela, Lynx, Serval—even I've noticed. Your head… it doesn’t quite seem to be quite in it lately,” she paused, her voice strained. “Perhaps there’s something we can do to ease your burden?”
“No, no,” he shook his head. The last thing he wanted was some poor officer to be saddled with more work—the work he was supposed to be doing. “I assure you that won’t be necessary—but I'll be sure to step up my performance from now on,” Gepard reassured her, feeling rather embarrassed that his performance was so poor that she had noticed it.
“I swear—these Landaus…” He heard Bronya mutter quietly under her breath. “Unfortunately, that’s exactly the problem. You’ve been working yourself far too hard. I hear reports about how every night, you refuse to sleep and insist on poring over maps for hours until sunrise,”
She paused. “I understand that you care deeply about the success and well-being of your soldiers, but going every night without sleep? That simply isn’t sustainable,” she said firmly.
The commander eyed him intently. There was something in his expression she couldn’t quite decipher.
“Gepard?”
“Hm?” He looked up.
“Something’s been bothering you, hasn’t it?” She took a step from behind the makeshift crates that served as her desk. “Besides not getting enough sleep, I mean,”
The captain was silent for a moment. “Perhaps. I haven’t been able to put my finger on it, unfortunately,” he sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. It had lost all the shine it had once had.
“Recently, I’ve been having this dream. (Y/N) is there, and every time I wake up, I just—,”
He swallowed. Bronya nodded. No wonder he didn’t want to sleep.
“It must be hard,” she started. “Seeing someone you were so close to every time you sleep, only to realize that they aren’t there in the morning. I’m truly sorry for your loss,” she said softly. Gepard lowered his head slightly.
“It’s not just the fatigue,” he admitted. “It’s the guilt, too—,”
The guilt over not being able to protect them. The shame he felt—it should have been him instead. But, was he even allowed to feel such things? He should have felt grateful for being alive—the realization made him feel even more guilty. He sighed.
Bronya nodded again. She knew exactly how he felt. “I understand. I apologize—I must have brought back some unpleasant feelings,” she blurted. She’d lost her fair share of loved ones as well, but the captain just shook his head.
“Just please know this, Gepard,” she pleaded. “We’re here to support you. The people—the citizens of Belobog— they need you. For their sake, we must remain strong,” she said, her voice contorting painfully. She felt like a monster for even suggesting such a thing. This time was hard for everyone—he should be allowed to grieve, too.
“Please, for the sake of everyone you love—please let us know if there is anything we can do to help,” she felt her chest tightening as she stared deep into his eyes, filled with sorrow. He looks so… tired. So… fragile.
“(Y/N)... (Y/N) wouldn’t have wanted this for you,” she said, her eyes brimming with worry.
For you to be so sad, she whispered internally as she looked at his downcast fac. For you to feel so… guilty.
Oh, how she wished you were here.
The young noble flinched. The fact that it was true made him feel even worse. He turned away from her, defeated.
“...I know,” he admitted, before opening the doors to face the howling wind outside.
•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•
Gepard was rudely awoken once more by a lump of snow—blown by the wind—slamming into the back of his neck.
He glanced around worriedly—had he fallen asleep standing up? He immediately felt an avalanche of shame crash over him.
He was still holding Earthwork (his barrier device) with a grip so firm it turned his knuckles white, as if it could be ripped from him at any moment. He looked upwards at the top of the wall where the snow had come from, only to spot soldiers running about with panicked voices. His skin pricked with alarm as he heard his title.
“—the captain. Where is the captain?” One person said.
“—a monster by the north tower—,”
“—not enough time—we’re screwed!” Another blurted.
The captain sprang to his feet, slinging the device over his back before taking off in a feverish sprint toward the camps. What were they talking about?? He whirled around a corner—nearly knocking over a soldier that had come to fetch him.
“Captain!” the soldier huffed. “There’s been a breach of the western barrier—!”
Gepard’s eyes widened in horror. The western barrier—that’s where the refugee camps were.
A soft hiss escaped his lips. Aeons, this was bad. “Send for squads four and six—tell them to meet me by the gate,” he commanded, briskly pointing a finger in the air. His heart raced. They hadn’t ordered an evacuation yet—how could he have forgotten such a simple detail?? His brain must have been addled with sleep.
“—and call for an evacuation to the north block!” He called to the soldier, who was already running for the ramparts. They nearly fell head over heels trying to make it there in time.
In less than a minute, the captain made it to the western wall, frost spraying in his wake as soldiers began to fall in-step behind him. He immediately motioned to the grenadiers to fire at the most imminent threat—a line of automaton spiders geared straight toward the tent blocks.
Thundering explosions shook the ground as the enemy spiders exploded, each robot causing the next one to blow up in rapid succession. A wall of smoke and fire rose from their remains as sparks showered the soldiers from all directions. Gepard winced, shielding his face from the blasts.
From the smoke clouds came the Fragmentum monsters, their wretched screeches filling the air. He heard a scream to his right—a foot soldier had been swept off his feet and slammed into a wall, his torso twisted at a horrific angle. There was a good chance he was still alive—at least for now.
The sight made him sick to his stomach—but he charged forward nonetheless, shouting orders over the sounds of clashing metal and the explosions that made his ears ring—when, over the curtain walls of the west block, he spotted something that shook him to his very core.
Grizzlies. A horde of them.
Covered from head to toe in Fragmentum constructs that resembled gnarled roots, their swiveling spotlights landed right on the soldiers, temporarily blinding them. Each automaton let out a low rumble as its gears turned. The one at the front of the pack turned on its axles and let out a groan that made Gepard’s blood run cold—shedding bits of what looked like rust onto the ground.
As some of the debris was swept up by the wind and landed on the soldiers’ skin, it became apparent that it was not rust—as rust didn’t melt and trickle down your face and taste like blood.
Gepard’s stomach churned. His mind flashed back to the frosted blood scraped into piles by the encampment.
“Captain—we’ve got a problem!” A soldier shouted in front of him, their voice tinged with desperation. From this distance, the captain could clearly witness the fact that their knees were shaking.
“Automaton Grizzlies at 3 o’clock! Get moving!” The young noble bellowed toward his fellow soldiers—ifyou could even call those things Grizzlies. The machines marched forward mechanically, swinging at the platoon of soldiers. Their limbs were blunt—meant for excavation and bulldozing—meaning anyone unlucky enough would have their organs pulverized and be left to bleed from the inside out.
More and more automatons began to flood past their borders as the guards did their best to evacuate citizens,, all while holding off the monsters. The odds were starting to look rather grim. Gepard had to act, and quickly.
“We have to regroup—Dunn! Mind your left!” Gepard shouted to his underclassman as a fire-type fragmentum creature brought down the axe on his fellow subordinate.
The soldiers hurriedly coalesced into something akin to a semicircle as they fended off the oncoming hordes. The sounds of battle were everywhere—men fell like timber, one after another amidst the screeches of monsters and the clanging of metal. First it was Michel—then Sven—just who else would be slaughtered amongst this chaos? He wondered.
Had Qlipoth truly forsaken them?
As Gepard gazed out across the desperate battlefield, he had a flash of ingenuity—a decisive act that would end the battle for good. Turning to the few remaining soldiers, he issued an order with a grim expression on his face. It was their last hope to avoid total annihilation.
The soldiers nodded to each other as they listened closely to his words. The captain couldn’t see their faces beneath their visors—he could only imagine the kinds of expressions they were making as their gazes were fixed on him.
Then suddenly, they nodded and turned in the other direction. Dunn, the lieutenant, stayed a moment longer, his arms falling limply to his sides before gingerly placing one hand over his heart.
And with that, Gepard took off running straight into the horde of monsters.
The captain’s boots thudded on stone as he ran, his navy cape tattered from countless battles fluttering behind him. His shielding device left thin valleys of frost from where it scraped along the street. The wind stung his eyes and nose as he dove headfirst into the fray, dodging and feinting and evading the attacks of the monsters. He was nothing but a white and blue streak as he darted across the battlefield.
Just like old times, he thought to himself. He couldn’t help but remember scraps of his glory days, when he’d first been promoted to captain. He’d ripped the blade clean off of a Direwolf as the other cadets had watched in awe—but there was no honor to be earned in battle anymore.
He gripped the limb of the automaton before twisting it brutally as wires snapped loose and sent sparks flying everywhere. Wasting no time at all, he dismounted from the machine to slam his barrier device into another one. The captain could feel the blood rushing in his ears and the frost stinging his skin as he fought tooth and nail to buy more time.
Gepard peered up at the ramparts for a moment where the cannons were lined up. They were ready.
With a final burst of effort, he kicked his barrier device as far away from him as he could before racing to the spot—a clearing just below an unstable building that was missing a few of its main supports. The machines swiveled towards him, their engines rumbling menacingly.
The anxious soldiers manning the cannons were nearly scared out of their wits by Bronya, who was parting the crowd of guards with great ferocity. She’d come rushing from her tent as soon as she heard the commotion.
“Just what in the—what on Jarilo-VI is going on??” She demanded, her eyes flickering around wildly. “Does he have a death wish??” The tiny yellow dot that was the captain seemed to be holding his own out there, so why were the cannons pointed—
She froze, bile rising in her throat, remembering his expression during their earlier conversation.
The commander watched in horror as he picked up a halberd from a nearby weapons rack and hurled it at the closest automaton before waving his arms to draw its attention.
Bronya’s eyes widened—the unsteady building—the fact that he wasn’t retreating—she knew exactly what he was trying to do. She could see his gaze darting around each of the monsters, ensuring that they were focused on him and at an appropriate distance. And he kept dodging and weaving—making sure they were just two steps behind him as he led them right where he wanted.
She gripped the wall tightly as each breath made her chest shudder. Tears that she hadn’t even noticed froze as they rolled down her cheeks—
Why? Just, why?
How could he just leave them like this? He would surely be a hero—but his sisters—was it really the best course of action?
But she’d seen it in his eyes, just hours prior. The captain of the Silvermane Guards no longer had any will left in him.
She hardened her gaze as she lifted her chin. If… if this was what he truly wanted… then so be it. She circled behind the artillery unit, her head held high.
And then, she saw it. A flick of the cape. The smallest signal.
With tears in her eyes and a heart as heavy as lead, she raised her hand and gave the order.
“Fire,” she said, dropping her hand like the blade of a guillotine.
She saw him dive one last time, luring the monster right where he wanted it and standing his ground—his tired eyes glimmered with something she couldn't quite understand, and likely never would.
The monster raised its limb, ready to crush the captain—who seemed so fragile and weak at that moment. The young noble felt his knees give out from under him as he fell, letting out a sigh filled with years of pain and longing that could finally escape his body.
He looked the creature dead in the “eyes” before shutting one final time.
The last thing Bronya saw was a flash of blonde hair—and then he was gone. Debris from the building cascaded over him as dust shot up in large plumes. The monsters stood no chance—they were smothered almost immediately. The air was filled with a thundering roar, and then—silence.
No words were spoken as the soldiers gazed upon the final resting place of their beloved captain. Then, one by one, they each pressed their hand to their temple in a final salute.
For all he had done for them throughout the years. For protecting their families with such dedication. It was only fit he got the end he desired.
Farewell, captain.
•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•
“...have you searched the eastern wall yet?” Franz asked.
The sky was dull and grey, but at least the blizzard had let up for a moment, so they could search for Captain Gepard’s remains.
“Yep. I’m just finishing up here,” Karl replied, trying his best to ignore the group of women standing by in long winter coats—one was tall with long blonde hair, another short with a knitted hat. The third one had glasses and neat purple hair.
Their scrutinizing gazes made it nearly impossible to ignore them. He turned in their direction, gathering the courage to look the tallest one in the eye—but he couldn’t help the lump that formed in his stomach as her piercing blue eyes searched him.
“Miss Serval…” he started. “U-um… if we—if we do find him, are you sure you want to be present? It might be a bit hard to stomach, after all,”
He swallowed heavily as the eldest Landau sibling nodded. “I’m certain. Please pay us no mind—I’m simply doing my filial duty,” she said, her expression betraying nothing.
Karl could tell that there was more to it than that, but he kept his mouth shut.
“Ah—,” Franz stopped abruptly, rising to his feet.
“Find something?” Karl trotted over toward him. His heart was pounding with something he couldn’t name.
“I did… I’m not sure what it is yet, though,” the other soldier said. Karl leaned in and saw what Franz had witnessed—it was a glint of polished silver (albeit its shine had been dulled by a thick coating of dust) underneath the rubble.
The soldiers froze, and Franz let out a strangled gasp before dropping to his knees, pushing away the debris frantically. Karl gritted his teeth. If they really had found the captain, it might be too much for them to handle.
They pushed aside the rocks to find nothing more than Gepard’s arm armor—its owner was nowhere to be seen.
Karl breathed a sigh of relief. He was grateful that they didn’t have to face his broken body—though at this point, it was simply a fact of life. Thankfully, this memento would be sufficient enough to give him a proper send-off without having to pull a mutilated corpse from the rubble.
The soldiers rose to their feet, Karl cradling the crumpled gauntlet in his arms.
“Let’s take this back to the camp,” Franz said. “The rubble is too unstable. Besides… I think the captain deserves some rest,”
Karl nodded before gathering the attention of the women. “Do you want to do the honors, or would you rather we do it?” He inquired.
“I’ll—we’ll do it,” Serval choked out, taking the gauntlet from his hands. They followed silently behind them as they carried what was left of their brother to the designated graveyard, a clearing with man-made stone formations that served as graves. Most of them were unmarked.
The eldest Landau gingerly kneeled by a rock formation that Lynx had made earlier, the gauntlet in hand. Pela and Lynx gathered around her. She reached out with trembling fingers, tracing a hand over the makeshift grave they had made for him.
The two soldiers exchanged looks. Even after all he’d done for them, they couldn’t even give him a proper burial.
Serval stared at the gauntlet for a moment, gazing at her reflection, warped and distorted by the crushed metal. She couldn’t help the wave of emotions that flooded through her as she gripped it tightly to her chest.
“Geppie,” she said softly. “My little baby brother…”
Lynx placed a gloved hand on her shoulder.
“—Why’d you have to go and do this to your big sis?” she whispered.
Serval began to cry, pressing her cheek against the cold metal. The tears that fell from her eyes didn’t make it to the ground before they froze solid. She looked at Lynx, her blue eyes wet with grief, before Lynx broke down too, crumpling into her sister’s embrace like a wounded baby bear. Their shoulders heaved in unison as they held each other, anguished sobs escaping from their lips.
Pela watched from afar, occasionally reaching out to rub their backs—but she couldn’t hide her own tears that fell.
After some time, their cries slowed to a halt. Serval and Lynx placed the gauntlet by the rest of the unmarked graves, rising to their feet and brushing off their coats. Their eyes were red with exhaustion.
As they walked back to camp, Serval stopped in her tracks for a moment to look at the lifeless sky. As she gazed up at it, her cheeks red and her hair unkempt, she whispered one last goodbye:
Goodnight, my foolish little brother.
Sleep well.
2025 - Dreaming-of-Mossballs - Do not repost/translate without my permission - NO AI
there’s a strange kind of tautness that pulls at GEPARD’s shoulders. it’s heavy, almost like a ton of bricks pressing down against his skin, suffocating him, but not quite—it’s more subtle, more dull. somehow that only makes him feel more uneasy. he swallows all of it down, tries his best to get rid of the feeling. it’s the only thing he knows how to do. he reaches out to knock at your door. his movements are stiff. the thud of the wood is hollow. the weight on his shoulders only grows stronger as he waits for something and everything at the same time. finally he hears a faint sound.
his first instinct is self-preservation. his hand thoughtlessly moves to grip his weapon, before loosening its grip. perhaps his paranoia is entirely unjustified, irrational even. especially when the door opens to reveal you. the smile you give him is bright, and genuine, and gepard almost thinks it’s misplaced. kindness was dangerous in such an unpredictable world.
still he wonders why his heart feels just a little bit warmer, why he tries his best to return your smile even though every part of him argues against it. it was such a meager, trivial action, and yet deep down he’s not dense enough to overlook its significance. he can’t help but allow his hopes to soar just for a fleeting moment, glancing at the rosy version of reality those hopes offered. but then something seems to change. your smile disappears, and your brows furrow with palpable concern, and you’re opening your mouth—
“do you mind if i come in?”
the words spill from gepard’s lips instead. they’re messily strung together, accentuated with a slight tremble in his voice, and he hopes that he doesn’t come across as desperate. the sound of the wind drifting by suddenly seems all too loud. he has to stop himself from drumming his fingers against his thigh like an anxious child.
finally, you give him another smile. but this one’s different—it’s delicate, tender, yet almost perceptive, as if you know just how overwhelmed he’s felt recently. there was just so much to worry about, so much to do, all in so little time. that and the fact that sometimes, on the darkest and coldest of nights, after he’s finished cleaning up his wounds, he had to question whether each day would be the last. gepard watches, almost in slow motion, as you reach out, your fingers ever so gently intertwining with his. and, truly, he can’t remember a time when he was treated like this—like he was delicate. normally he likely would have taken offense, would have reprimanded you in the unforgiving tone he uses with everyone else. it was blasphemy to treat the captain of the silvermane guards with such tenderness. or at least, it should have been.
but gepard doesn’t care. he lets his fingers wrap around yours, lets himself be pulled into the warmth of your home. outside, through the crack in your window, he can still hear the sound of the wind passing by. it’s like a quiet song, humming softly, offering solace as the night sky surrounds the city of belobog.
author’s note: this was written out of sheer impulse but i’m proud of it. title is based off the song “where we go” by p!nk. hope u guys liked this <3
The snow outside painted the tiled roof of your home a familiar white— or more accurately, it was his home but you've taken to looking after his abode that seldom welcomed his presence. Snowstorms were common inside and outside the walled city but through the grace of the Preservation, the snowstorms inside the walls were less volatile; calm enough for the citizens to persist through manageable damages the day after. Tonight, however, the storm rages on making the persistent chill in the air even more uncomfortable. Even the Geomarrow heaters in the living room did very little to bring feeling back to your fingers.
Perhaps you've been chastising the wrong thing after all. Your eyes meet his striking blue ones, the signature of the storied Landaus, and find that not even the snowstorm could compare to the chill that runs cruelly down your spine. You could drown in them, you think, but you'd much rather die a quick death if it meant being kept away from him.
"Well?" You sputter after a harsh swallow. Icicles stab through your throat and you bleed—one cough to hide the hiccup. One cough to hide the vulnerability and weakness that showed through each subdued whimper. "Tell me I'm wrong, Captain."
The hostility in your tone made him wince, threatening to trigger his fight or flight. It was too reminiscent of the unfeeling gaze of the Fragmentum monsters from beyond the borders. Gepard, although unyielding in front of the greatest adversaries, had to remind himself that he is in his home; that he is safe and that the pearl of sweat that trickled down his cold skin was drawn not out of his innate instinct of survivability but out of the foreign stillness of your face.
"You can't, can you?" You smile weakly before turning away from him, shoulders slumped in defeat and demeanor barely pieced together. Gepard finds his hand trembling as he tried to reach out to you. To hold you. To pin you in place. Nothing, nothing, he thinks, can compare to the way his heart freezes over, eyes cloudy with a desperate sheen as his lips trembled out of fear that if you took one more step away from him, he'd be too far and a little too late to catch you and keep you still in his embrace. Gepard pales at the thought and he does the one thing he can do—he drops his hand to his sides, afraid he'd offend you if he dared crave your touch now, and instead, he calls your name—weak and too out of character that it only made you huff a taunting laugh.
"I am nothing but an after thought. One you'd betray without a second thought and one you'd wait to grieve until no one else can remember me."
His brows furrow and he wants desperately to deny your claims yet he knows that dishonesty is the last thing you want from him. His eyes ripple with hurt and you think you could almost see your own's reflection on them. You quickly abandon the thought with a shaky sigh. Thank Qlipoth he would never understand. What has been preserved, after all, is not your warm love or his blind loyalty but your heart's foolishness.
"Who in this godforsaken world knows, Gepard!? You might even kill me if one of those Architects demand it of you!"
His sudden outburst made you flinch and the cold fury that burned under the syllables of your name mocked the rapidly growing cracks of your facade. Only you, it screamed. Only you still pursues. Only you still perseveres. Only you preserves.
"What now? You're mad? Did I strike a chord? Did I hurt your ego? Or are you absolutely seething because I badmouthed your oh-so-beloved people?"
His silence makes your blood freeze and you can only laugh incredulously as the storm seemed to rage with more vitality outside. You feel it pressing against your lungs, in your heart too until the frost leaves even more of you numb.
"I do love you." He mumbles as a last resort yet in the silence, "but" echoes loudly in the cavern of what has become.
You press your lips into a tight line before glaring at him with all the animosity you can muster. "I tried to understand. To love despite it all but you know what, Gepard? What use is that if I can't even expect to be chosen? What is there to protect?"
The snowstorm finally halts and all is eerily silent in Belobog.
ཐི♡ཋྀ contains -> mentions of depression/low mood, more blade bias teehee
ཐི♡ཋྀ gia's notes -> i kinda based these off of my own experiences with depression, so hopefully it's at least a little relatable. i tried not to romanticise it too much. also disclaimer i am fully aware that the stuff i talk about in here isn't a cure-all for depression, but i did focus on a less severe characterisation of it in this. hope that's ok anon
ཐི♡ཋྀ request -> anon: hi!!! really loved your roommate thing for har, literally makes me smile may i request blade or/and gerard with reader who got depression? even if you don’t like the idea it’s fine, hope you have great time <3
☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ BLADE
-hm ok to be honest blade seems rather emotionally repressed
-so it may take a while for him to pick up on signs of you starting to get into a depressive episode
-he’s busy with being a stellaron hunter, and he isn’t exactly the most frequent texter, but he’ll still notice a change in your texting style as the time between your replies increases while the length of them keeps getting shorter
-maybe you were busy? even though it may sting a little to see his last message still unanswered as he’s holed up somewhere on another planet, he still can’t help but worry for you, though he may not outwardly admit it
-and that spurs him on to finish elio’s mission for him even quicker so he can get back home to you
-when he returns, he may be a bit confused due to your seeming apathy
-he had missed you, and he didn’t want to be the one to cave and say it out loud
-but at your mustered smile and hollow sounding greeting, that’s when things start to click and blade may realise what’s going on
-personally i feel like blade’s love language is acts of service/physical touch
-and man’s just come back from a mission
-he’s dirty, he’s hungry, and he’s tired
-so he decides to deal with those issues with you in that exact order
-cue him running a bath and then convincing you to get in with him on the ground of him “getting lonely” without anyone there, making you crack a little smile at his antics
-the warmth of the water and his solid chest against your back is a soothing sensation, and neither of you voice how tender his touches are as he lathers your hair, fingers carefully detangling any knots as he rests his weight against you
-it’s a peaceful affair, and you can feel yourself begin to warm, with the weight that you previously weren’t even aware of beginning to lift off of your chest as you filled the silence of the bathroom with some hushed conversation with blade
-he asks you how your day was, listening to your hesitant recollection with his chin is tucked over your shoulder, his arms encircling you as he listens to your voice and hums occasionally, basking in your presence
-when the water begins to run cold, blade’s offering you his clothes to change into, leading you by the hand to your shared bedroom, and it’s touching to see just how much care he puts into your wellbeing when it’s him who’s just come back from a dangerous mission
-up next is finding something to eat
-the uncharacteristically soft behaviour of blade is continued as he rummages around the fridge, cursing under his breath when he realises that he'll have to make a shopping list
-he still manages to find enough ingredients to make some sort of meal, and though he's not a cook by any means, it's definitely edible and the distant growl of your stomach suggests that maybe you were feeling hungry after all
-you're leaning against one of the counters, watching your boyfriend's back in quiet awe as he continues to cook, the simple black cotton of his shirt stretching across his broad shoulders practically inviting you to wrap your arms around him
-you've never been one to resist such an offer, and you find yourself shyly walking up to him, letting the side of your face rest against his spine
-blade almost immediately relaxes into your embrace, continuing his ministrations while you mumble a muffled "thank you" into the fabric covering his back
-you don't need to clarify what you're thankful for, and blade has always been one to speak more through his actuons than words
-he pauses for a second, turning to flick your forehead gently
-"don't get all soft on me now"
-you feel your eyes well up with appreciation for your boyfriend, squeezing him a little tighter to yourself as he turns back around, feeling his hand do the same to yours where it rests on his stomach
-"yeah, yeah. now let's eat, hmm?"
☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ GEPARD
-another emotionally repressed king 😍
-i feel like in terms of noticing that something's up with you he would be worse than blade
-mr landau is a bit of a workaholic, and he's guilty of using it as a coping mechanism when he can feel himself start to slip
-he will run off of denial and caffeine and just force himself to keep working, resulting in a general lack of awareness in spotting when he or others are struggling
-so really, the dots that he should connect with how you've been acting recently take a little longer than they should be
-he's mentioning to serval how you seem to be the polar opposite of him recently, acting a lot more withdrawn and apathetic in general
-and serval is just blinking at him and wondering how dense her younger brother can be
-reprimands him and tells him that this is a conversation he should be having with you, and not her
-and with a little guidance, gepard is sat in front of you and asking if anything's wrong and if so what he can do to help
-and initially, you're not really sure yourself
-you know that you don't feel the same as usual, but you tend to just go with the motions and wait it out
-and gepard furrows his brows when he hears this
-poor guy has no idea how to handle this without direction
-so he does some research and makes some notes on ways he can help you because he loves you
-and next thing you know his late working hours and overtime have turned into getting home before the sun goes down
-resulting in him having enough energy to do something with you and spend some quality time together, whether that be a date night in or just cooking a meal together
-and funnily enough, gepard notices not only a slight improvement in your overall mood, but in his as well
-with all those tips and tricks of maintaining a routine, he was glad to see your shared efforts come into fruition
-he almost felt his heart combust when you told him that being around him makes you feel better
-man is whipped he will walk the ends of the earth just to see you happy
