black-dhalias

[black-dhalias]

Inheritance

Aemond Targaryen X Velaryon!Mixed!Reader

You were starved of both ocean and sky, born a Velaryon who could not reside at Driftmark and a Targaryen whose dragon egg did not hatch. By some miracle you had found sanity within Kings Landing—the whispers were loud, but your name eased off their lips once you came into yourself. The eyes and beauty of your mother, but the skin and curls of your father.

Similar to your cousins, Rhaena and Baela—you were clearly the only of your siblings to be true born.

“Aemond…” You note how when you say his name, his jaw tightens. “Do not make me say it…” He doesn’t speak, he simply looks further than you could see. You’re losing him to his own mind.

“Aemond! You are every bit as sweet as you are bitter, I do not—” The words get all caught up in your throat, “No. I will not let you believe otherwise.” Something in that moment left Aemond still, but his gaze seems closer. As if he could still see you.

“I may be of my mother, but even more than that, I am yours. What can they say of that desire? That need?”

“You are meant to marry Lord Stark…” Every word is forced, like it had been locked up in a box and your closeness had set them free.

“To the seven hells with marriage. I speak only of my heart, which has been taken with you for many moons.” You had gotten so close to him that he wasn’t sure he knew how to breathe properly. Your hands ran up to his neck, fingers resting upon his shoulders. “Let me hold you. On the eve of this wedding, let me feel you beneath my touch.”

If it were anyone else, Aemond would have taken them there—innocent or not, but this was you.

Y/N Velaryon. 

“If I am to have you, it will only be as my wife.”

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.

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You were young and naive then, to marry Aemond was one of the worst mistakes you could make. He was as much intoxicating as a glass of wine, a bitter taste upon your tongue. He was the one thing you should not have, and yet you did exactly as you should not.

Deep in your womb, you carried his child but the sorrow of your loss burns deeper. Lucerys was gone. You had no explanation as to how it happened, only that he fell in Shipbreaker Bay. The same place that Aemond just so happened to be—a coincidence you could not blindly ignore.

“Y/N.” You turn your eyes to his voice, knowing that your next words would be the last you’d share with him. “My love.”

You were a prisoner of war, with child and no dragon to carry you to dragonstone.

“Do not flatter me with kindness, I fear that I know what you have done…” You purse your lips, a tightness existing with your chest you could not fathom. “I wish I did not, but I do…” Meeting his eye did not seem possible—a marriage you hoped would mend the broken pieces between your family and his, it shattered. So quickly, slipping right through your hands.

The swell of your belly was clearer as you stood, finally finding the courage to look at him which made you more certain. “I stood aside as Aegon took my mother’s birthright. I thought, perhaps peace is still possible.” You were not idle in your words, you spoke against usurping when you could. No one listened to the 2nd born daughter, but you did as you could.

“But to kill my brother, Aemond, that’s an unforgivable act.”

He does not defend himself, knowing it would only push you further from him. You already exist so far. “He is hardly your brother.”

You leave the shared room without as much as another word, making a slow trek through the halls.

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Ser Erryk Cargyll came to your room in the quiet of the night obscured by a cloak of black. Shrouding your face and silvery hair beneath the shadow it casts, and until you are through the gates—you are unable to breath, it felt as though every step left you a second away from collapsing.

You were afraid.

“We’ll make it to dragonstone before daybreak.” The boat rocked with the waves, it seemed to rest and roll in the gentlest of ways—the trip was kind to you.

“Why did you come back?” You seem him adjust, the way he seems uncomfortable under your gaze.

“Her majesty was distraught knowing you were stuck in Kings Landing.”

“Thank you, Ser Erryk.” He kept quiet, knowing you recalled the last meeting you shared. The quiet silence after you confessed your fear to him, when Viserys death was certain. Those words rested upon his shoulders for many moons, you were kind to him and he felt guilt knowing he left you.

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Dragonstone was quiet, it seemed no one was within its walls—the unrest ran deeper than you expected. Even here. “Your highness.” Set Erryk bows and leaves you to your rooms, tucked away from prying eyes. Where you inhale deeply, even as the tears begin to fall—like a weight both relieved itself and landed back upon your shoulders.

“Your highness, the council is meeting.” You nod, unable to recall how much time has passed since arrived.

“Has my mother returned?” The lady shakes her head, to which you nod and rise from your chair. Adorned in your house colors, you make your way to the council room.

. . .

“Lady Y/N of house Velaryon.” You did not wait for them to finish announcing to enter the room, your presence seeming to shock the men within the room.

“Your highness, we did not expect you to make the trip to dragonstone in your condition.” You did not crack a smile, but instead take your place at the table.

“My condition is of no concern to you, but I ask, what is the state of this council that you would meet without the presence of the Queen, or the Prince royal?”

“Our forces require direction, and even with their unplanned absence, direction must still be taken.”

“If you’re not careful, one might think you see yourself above your Queen.”

None said a word, as you overlooked them even this close to labor—you encouraged a deep respect from the Lords, you knew why. You were true born—a sea of fire and stone.

Labor came quick in the night, dragon stone echoes your cries as you bare down with hands tight on the bedframe. You sent away your ladies and the nurses, their hands left unease as you recall your aunts passing. Your grandmother. Your mother.

The women who passed too quick as they took up the battle of baring a babe.

No husband. You think back to when he would smile at you, the way it sent a shockwave from head to toe. He used to love you more than power.

No mother. She mourned Lucerys still, absent from court and no way to tell her.

You feel another wave of pain run through your body, pressure building in your core as grit your teeth.

“Nurse!” Your voice quakes, it seems shattered by the pain. “Please! I think it’s time!” They seemed to manifest, figures appearing at your side as one of the older ladies lays hands upon your shoulders. Her eyes meeting yours.

“Milady, this is going to hurt, you will bleed and cry, and scream. And that is fine.” You nod, another wave of pain running through your muscles as they contract. “But I won’t leave your side, I will carry you through, so for now—just breathe.” She wipes away the sweat, “Prepare to push.” You nod again, inhaling deeply and note the way your breath feels as it leaves your lips.

Finding comfort in a stranger. “Her highness is ready.” No husband. No mother. Just you, a bed, and nurses. The nurse guides your hands to the frame, and you trust her—feeling her hand rest just beneath your belly button. The other on your back, as another nurse rests a cold cloth against your face.

“Now, when I say push. I need you to give it everything.” You exhale, putting your weight into the bed—centering your feet. Saying a word a quick prayer. You feel it start in your abdomen and spread, that wave of pain. “Now.” You release a guttural scream, one that comes from the deepest parts of your soul.

“Very good.” You lean forward, head against the wooden pillar—“Prepare.” Your face contorts as you feel the relief fade into pain once more, “Now.”

Aemond takes your hand quietly as the party fades off in the distance, the affair had become very real as he spins you into his arms.

“Perhaps as your husband, I would dance with you until dawn?” It was playful as he begins to sway, the music seeming to be hushed by the walls.

“Perhaps as your wife, I would never leave your side?” He smiles down at you, as you were the only person who always saw him.

“Perhaps as your husband, I would shower you in all the love you deserve?” You return the smile.

“As your wife, I’ll kiss you like this.” You lean up to meet his lips, one that grows deeper as his shock wears off. Neither ended the gesture for a minute, and neither said a word as Aemond left quickly. Your eyes widening as you realized you were alone.

It wasn’t until that night, in the darkest time, when a knock came from the door. It echoed as the palace slept.

“Aemond?” You look at the man beside him, “What?”

“Marry me?” Your eyes widen, a priest and a ring—one that shines in the warm light of candles. “If I am to have only one—” he takes your hand and slides the ring onto your finger. “Then I shall have you before I cannot.”

You brush the outside of your finger along the small and supple cheek of your babe, their sweet eyes still shut as the lull of their breath calms your soul. Something so small, and precious—“Laenor.”

A boy. An heir. You hum a soft song, as you take on the name of your son. His silvery tendrils of his hair giving away his heritage—another Targaryen prince.

“Sweet girl.” Your eyes shift upwards, smiling at your grandmother who enters the room with a steadfast gentleness. “Why did you not call on me?”

You glance down: “He came so quick.” The bed dips as she eases beside you, looking at him. “How perfect is he?”

“That he is.” She holds out her hands, and you pass the sweet child to her without fear. “What is his name?” You watch as she cuddles him into her, with the knowledge that this is her blood before her.

You smile: “Laenor.” Her eyes widen before settling back on the babe, your son.

“A strong name. Just as his grandsire.”

•

•

•

“To claim a dragon requires more than blood.” You hear the echo of your mother’s voice, “It requires sheer will.”

You imagined the day you faced a dragon, you would be claiming Seasmoke, but face to face with Vahaemion—the ancient beast of caverns. She hid deep in the mountains many years ago, and recently was spotted nearby.

You never thought you would take the leap, but you did, staring down the beast—you keep yourself upright.

“Lykiri…” She was once ridden, A Targaryen war dragon— “Lykiri Vahaemion.” She growls, but bends to the will of words. Lowering her head but never quite relaxing.

You do not hesitate, “Dohaeras.” You hold out your hand, “Lykiri.”

Sir Criston Cole sees a dragon breech the sky—l sporting a rider of silver hair. The dragon is large as well, with scales the color of soot. His eyes widen, one notable trait being the silvery purple scales that shimmer across the dragons chest—Vehaemion.

A bell rings out as you circle Kings Landing, your eyes set upon the balcony of your shared room. Knowing he would rise to see the commotion, called upon as a protector.

He sees you, instantly drawn as he makes contact and for a moment, you think he smiles. Upon neutral soil, you wait upon the cliffs edge for his arrival. Knowing it is time to face your sin.

“I always knew you’d claim a dragon.” His voice is as you remember, although it used to sound sweeter. “You and I are alike in that way.”

“I had hoped you’d ask of our son.” Your face remains stone, Aemond has trouble reading your expression.

His face brightens in a way that you do not appreciate, “A son?”

“He’s healthy. A beautiful boy.” You add quietly, knowing just as well that he would not care if it were a girl. “The Aemond I loved would have asked.”

“Laenor.” But he knows that, know you enough to know that is his name. He did shy from the idea, did not seem phased. For a moment you saw, Aemond. “Come home, Y/N?”

You shake your head, “Aemond I can’t. You’ve spilled too much blood. My blood.” Your grandmother. Your brother. There is too much.

“Y/N.” And for a moment, you let yourself enjoy the way he says your name. “It’s war.” Even now he admits it, he’d be on his knees if you asked. You are strong, look strong—dragon rider suits you. For a minute, you kiss him and let yourself have a moment with your husband. With the first and only love you’ve had. Just this moment.

You pull away, “you’re right. It is war.” You mount your dragon, leaving a part of you to die in that mountain. Knowing the next time you saw Aemond, you would be on opposite sides of the field.

[black-dhalias]

My Brother's Wife

Mary Stuart X F!Valois!Reader Warnings: mild violence, mentions of death/dying, murder, marital affairs

SMUT includes sexual depictions, nudity.

You duck out of the way of the wine glass that was thrown in your direction, as your brother reacts to your quip regarding his endeavors. Your laugh soars through the room, as he desperately tries to gather his clothes from the bedroom floor—the girl's eyes widen with shock at your exploits. If he wasn't smiling, she might have actually thought he was upset at you.

"Francis! We're supposed to be in the courtyard, greeting Queen Mary!" You toss the girl her dress, which she readily grasps and begins dressing quickly as your eyes turn back to Francis. He may be your twin, the perfect heir, but he seemed to be actively working against this marriage.

"What if I don't want to get married, Y/N?" You shrug, dumping the leftover wine from the second glass and pouring yourself a glass. You look up, downing the glass in one fell swoop—rolling your eyes in the process.

"Well, let's see—you get to marry a Queen. You get her nation. Her armies. Her resources" You count off on your fingers. "I'm sure she's beautiful." You pause, looking at your last finger, tutting a little. "Oh, and get this, you get a say in who you marry." Your mouth forms into a 'o', before you continue in your fun and pour yourself another glass. Francis sighs, pulling on the vest that goes over the white undershirt as finally smiles at the sister.

He holds out his arms, and your smile drops for a second before you take a final sip and set the wine glass onto the table and walk into his embrace. He holds you tight, kissing the top of your head.

"I surprisingly missed this." You pull away, straightening his collar so that it's not nearly as lopsided. "I missed you, Y/N."

"Trust me, I'm sure you're the only one." You tut a little, popping your lips and you head towards the door. Then look back, your smile is not as goofy as before, more sincere. "I missed you too."

Your father had sent you away to 'woo' Russia, hoping to close the deal with the great tsar's, but there was some tiny plot holes in that endeavor. Russia was in a state of terror, the tsar had instituted complete military control over the nobles and suddenly leaving was the only option. It was stupid of Henry to send you there, Catherine nearly had his head when she found out—but your mission almost succeeded. Had potential.

Leaving Francis's chambers, you head in the direction of the courtyard—a sense of bewilderment at how different everything seems now, it just doesn't seem like home anymore. You missed your family, well correction—you missed Francis and mother—you missed Bash and Claude, although you hadn't seen either since your return.

In fact, as your steps echo off the stone floors, you think about how Henry will probably send you off to another palace soon enough. He wants you married, desperate to capture control across Europe—if England's perverse Henry the Eighth was still alive, your so called father would probably sell you off as one of his many wives.

Henry wanted power and his many daughters would supply that to him through marriages, royal marriages that built alliances across the continent. You coming back was an unfortunate and unplanned detriment to his need for power. You spot mother moving in the direction of the courtyard—“mother!” You shout, her smile brightening as she spots you moving towards her. She embraces you warmly which contrasts her usually cold exterior, but you’re her daughter—in all your faults, you were still good like Francis.

Catherine’s hands rest on either side of your face, “I missed you sweet girl.” You are her dearest, her sweet Y/N. Not arrogant like Lisa, or reckless like Claude—her perfect angel. You smile brightly, cheeks squished between her hands before she lets you go.

You almost wished that you were here the entire time, instead of a world away—in an unfamiliar country, with unfamiliar people. However, in many ways, you respect yourself for managing so well in Russia. You were spoken of highly there, respected for the rooms you commanded and the time you spent with high ranked nobles. Not just anyone could do that, and you pride yourself on that ability—to command attention, it made for interesting fun.

Catherine's expression falls as she hears the bells, the sound of the arrival— "Now we must go greet the Queen of Scots." Her tone is exactly as you imagined it, distaste—in all honesty, mother never was good about hiding her feelings. She seemed easy to read to those who know her, and maybe that's where you get it from—your mother. Like you, she commanded rooms and respect.

"If we must..." You see the beam of pride as she turns, heading out of the main door where Henry is already there. At his side, his mistress Diane—you tighten your shoulders at the image of his whore, god you can hardly believe she's kept his attention after all these years. And while you love Bash, you absolutely hate his wretched mother.

However, as you watch the Queen of Scots leave the carriage, you are not greeted with the same girl as before. She is much taller, and older, and more beautiful than you would expect of a Scot.

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You watch Mary from the other side of the grand room, your eyes following every movement as she catches your eye briefly. Your heartbeat picks up as you realize she is stunning in that black dress—absolutely the most beautiful thing in this room. Everytime she spins, her eyes would meet your intent gaze and the world would spin out of focus for her. And for a second, she would forget how to breathe.

Yet the poor fool stumbles through the steps and you smirk a little, and unexpectedly watch as the Queen excuses herself. Yet the smirk wears off the moment she turns her attention towards you, and your stomach does a little flip.

The world could disappear for all you care, no amount of suitors could compare to the woman walking towards you. There is urgency as she brushes past you, eye contact not breaking until you get a flash of her raven hair.

Gods I'm done for, you think to yourself as you turn on your heel and follow after her—watching as the skirt of her dress ripples. You speed up, closing the distance—feeling every breath you inhale. Palms sweating as you see her turn the corner.

You barely reach out your hand, and what were you supposed to do? What was supposed to happen then?

You were always going to grab her wrist, pulling her into your arms before pinning her to the wall. Your lips on hers, urgency in her touch as she grabs the base of your corset to pull you close.

Her lips taste of raspberries and vanilla, the sweet taste becoming an addiction as you pour all your affections into your touch. One hand resting on the base of her neck, thumb running along the lower part of her jaw. The skin is just as soft as you imagined, absolutely flawless. While your other hand is firmly holding onto her hip.

You half expected her to push you away, but for her, your lips are just as addictive—they taste of wine, and the way your eyes closed. She had your face memorized, every curve and feature. Your eyelashes, how they brush the top of your cheeks... Mary can feel your hand reaching for the handle, to push it in and let you into one of the unused chambers. You separate yourself for a second, shutting the door, which gives you a second to examine Mary's expression.

Her big round brown eyes, the way she seems to be reaching out to you as you approach—her hands melding into your own as you turn her, so that her back is pressing into your chest. One arm encircling her waist, while your other hand brushes the hair away from her shoulder to kiss the flesh there right where shoulder turns into the neck.

The urgency returns as her arm reaches behind to tangle in your hair, but also pull you much closer than before. She deepens the sensation, tilting her head to expose more skin—the little sounds she makes, every inhale and exhale. You bite down, not hard, and the gasp she makes is like music to your ears—a smile dances your lips; may candle light be the only way you ever see Mary.

Your fingers work the laces of her corset, cheek resting against her hair—lips resting just above her ear, as you whisper. "Tell me how much you want this?" Was she expecting you to turn the other cheek when she tried to kiss your cheek earlier today, but instead kissed the corner of your lip? Did she think you would not notice the way she seemed to always try to catch your eye?

Did she think you would not notice the way Francis looked at her, but she, in all her jealousy, could only ever look at you?

Your fingers drag the strings, taking your time—enjoying the sensation of her corset loosening and her body falling into you. The ribbons loop around your fingers as you feel the hunger returning, apexing just as the corset drops—completely forgotten. Unneeded.

When you drop her onto the mattress, you stand completely upright and recall one truth. A single, and perfect thought—Mary is the most radiant woman you ever seen, and as she beacons you close.

“I’ve never wanted anyone like this.” Her words do not echo, they are a breathless whisper shared and it sends a wave of pleasure to your core.

Her beauty is proof that angels must exist, and as you kiss the supple curve of her breast—her body becomes your place of worship. Fingers dragging along her arms and then torso, as your lips find a home pressing kisses to her thighs. Bathing in her warmth, body curving beneath, but it only draws you closer.

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Should you have stopped it there? Ended this runaway affair long before anyone caught on—probably, but you were never good at cards. You always raised the stakes, and dared yourself closer to the sun.

No one caught onto the glances, or the rendezvous—because who would think twice of the princess and her brothers wife? It was easy to imagine a much more kosher meeting, than to think it was even a thought.

Even as tensions rose between Catholics and Protestants, as the world of French Court became ever more complicated—you never hesitated to be at her side. The doting sister in law, mother hated it.

“Y/N?” You perk at mother’s tone, hmming as you shut the book in front of you. Your morning routine of breakfast had become tedious, but she insisted you come today. “You need to end your affair with Mary.”

“Affair?”

“Don’t bother denying. I’ve known of your preferences since you were six, but others are beginning to question your marriage prospects.” You take a bite, rolling your eyes at that matter—you had hoped with fathers untimely death, that your marriage requirement died with him.

“I’d wager everyone is none the wiser. That you simply hate that it’s Mary.”

“So you won’t even deny it?”

“You said yourself, don’t bother denying—so I’m not.”

“Mary is dangerous.”

“Mother, they say the same for you.”

“She will be the death of your brother and the undoing of France?!” You push away your plate roughly, “I will not let her have you too!”

“It is much too early to be dealing with your mood swings.” You give a smile, pushing away from the table and beginning to walk towards the door. “I tolerate your outbursts, but blind accusations, I refuse to acknowledge them any more.”

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“I have no intention of marrying a daughter, let alone the twin sister to the King of France—to a Bourbon prince.”

This had once been a quiet conversation shared between yourself and Mary in the dark of a corridor, although your thoughts lingered on her warmth rather than words. It was a good thought, a lot of pretty words that could help the country.

“It’s more of a prospect, one that could bring Catholics and Protestants closer than before.” Mary asserted, you see your mother’s eyes shift around the room, guaranteeing that no one else could hear.

“It’s a way to keep your urges at bay.”

“Mother—it was my idea. A good prospect and a good match for France.” She glares at you, and for the first time, you truly feel she might mean it.

“Oh sweet girl, if only you understood… All Mary wants is for you to be whisked away.” And in the same breath, you mean it too—glaring at her.

“Actually it would keep me close as Conde plans to remain in French Court.” Every time you glanced at Mary, you’d note the way the necklace compliments her neck—then you’d note the frown your mother wore. The crease in her brow.

“Would it make a difference if I said I loved him?” Her hands embrace your face, running her fingers along your cheeks—her lips seemed to smile but you saw through it. Could hear it as she began to speak.

“My dear—if I believed you capable of loving him, let alone a man—” She leans forward to whisper in your ear. Her tone biting. “I’d have married you off the minute you chose to bed her.”

[black-dhalias]

To the Horizon

Haldir X F!Reader — Lord of the Rings

There is a moment when the sun is not visible, where light brushes the heavens horizon and mountains crest dark shadows over mist. A moment easily unseen, and rarely enjoyed. In that hour, a daughter is born. Conceived in the Lonely Mountain— carried across Middle Earth, born in the Woodland Palace to Elondiel. Wife of Thorin Oakensheild, daughter of Lord Thranduil, and mother to last heir of Erebor. Lady Y/N, of wood and stone.

Elondiel loved only one, waiting for Y/N to come of age so that she may finally sail to the undying lands. Thranduil had long sailed, Y/N the heir to two realms—carrying the fate of many as they awaited. That day came and went, and Y/N began to follow in their uncle’s footsteps—crossing lands and meeting strangers. They wanted to understand all of Middle Earth, but time was not on their side, and soon the throne of elves and dwarves called for their rightful Queen. A call Y/N answered swiftly.

Legolas returned with you, if only for a few years, to ease the transition and advise his niece. He felt responsible, had he wanted the throne—then you never would have to rule over both realms. But he didn’t. So heavy is the crown atop your head.

Soon it was only you, a quiet and hefty silence as you sat within the woodland realm. No one to listen. A lonely soul, plagued with only stories of your families lineage and triumphs—and no one to share the burden.

“I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!” Echoes of shouts vibrate the walls of Rivendell, your cloak resting easy on your shoulders as you and your party make their way to the council. Legolas had written to say he would attend on behalf of elves, but you worried— you needed to see the ring for yourself. To know exactly what kind of world you inherited. “NEVER TRUST AN ELF!” How original? You think quietly to yourself as the shouts grow closer, echoing less, but instead becoming much louder.

But chaos dies as another pipes up, one smaller and unfamiliar— young, that would be the word you would use. You walk in silently, not needing grandeur, but watching as all eyes turned to the small hobbit. As your uncle joins the party, he spots you amongst soldiers. Curious, and curiouser.

You smile at the hobbit— “Master Frodo Baggins. I don’t believe we’ve met.” Elrond raises his brow, leaning into his podium at the head of the council. “I’m Y/N, my parents and your uncle lead a great quest together. It would be an honor to uphold that alliance, and join your company.” There’s a whisper amongst the guards that harsh with a glance, you had decided long before arrival.

It is time to live up to your bloodline.

“Y/N, you can’t just join a quest.” You ignore Aragorn as the rest of the fellowship rest together.

“And yet, I did.” You deadpan, sorting your arrows into your quiver—preparing new feathers to go at the end of the shafts.

“Because who’s going to tell the Queen of Erebor AND the woodland.. NO!” His voice raises at the end as you rest the quiver on your thigh and look up at him with a bitter edge.

“Obviously the should be King of Gondor is trying!” You spot Legolas rolling his eyes, he’d already had this same argument and lost just Aragorn is going to lose now.

“That’s low.” You glare at Gimili who chooses now to speak up, as he gives a throaty chuckle. But he silenced himself, knowing full well you still had not forgiven him for his earlier comment about elves. You were half elf yourself, and were a testament of love between elves and dwarves.

“Shut it, Gimili.” You look back at Aragorn, “If I am to have a realm to look after, then I must help. At least for the better half of the journey.” You pause, “do something other than wait in those halls of stone.” So many hid away from Sauron, but your world needs some willing to stand and you are one of those. Have been for a long time.

The world has grown much harsher than the stories your mother told you, and much darker than she probably could have imagined. “Believe me Aragorn. If they were going to budge, I’d have convinced them myself.” Legolas smirks from his small perch, “But remember who their parents and grandparents are, probably the most stubborn people to ever walk middle earth.” To which you roll your eyes.

“Says the ellon who is related to two of those stubborn people.” His cheeks rise as you sling your quiver over your back, having finished another small batch of arrows.

He tsks, “Aaaa but see that’s only half, of what makes up a whole you.” Legolas does, however, finally look at Aragorn with a shrug. “Might as well keep moving, not like they’re turning back now.” Aragorn sighs with defeat, it makes sense that you and Legolas are cut from the same cloth— stubborn is apart of their threading. In their DNA.

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The image of Gandalf falling to his death burns into your memory, you hoped for a moment that the Wizard would live. But you did not see him rise from the shadow. That is when the fear set in, when you could not look away from Uncle without worrying he would be gone the second you did so. Worried that the last of your family would die before the end of this journey, but for now, as Lothlorien grows closer. You ache for sweet peace, to sleep without that fear. Maybe this was a mistake, but you must continue onward because the fellowship will continue.

“Haldir…” You whisper, watching as he corners the poor dwarf and hobbit—you met him twice before, once in Lothlorien with Legolas and once when he escorted Celebron to your coronation.

“Y/N.” You silence his taunts to Gimili, because with you in his sight he could not think of anything witty. You make it impossible to think at all if he were completely honest with himself. There is something that is both enchanting and discouraging about your aura, it is one that is both gentle and regal. You carry a name that weighs heavily on his mind when the tightness in his chest arises. He may be the Marchwarden, but he is not anything close to exemplary—nothing special that deserves such kindness from the likes of you.

For you, Haldir represents something very different than how he perceives himself. While he bowed his head in respect, unlike most ellons who ran out of fear. He seemed to draw closer the more he knew about you.

“Tonight is quite special, as we welcome my niece to the throne.” You smile up at your uncle as you stand to the side, eyes shift to you, but you ignore them. “She rises as a new dawn for elves and dwarves alike, a united rule—a great queen.” Words, that’s all they are, but they are kind at least. Unlike the words some spit in your direction, but the weight of the woodland crown reminds you of the truth— that you are above such words. You must be.

But the truth is, rumors slipped away the closer the throne got because you were meant to be above it all. You told yourself their lies did not matter until that was exactly what happened, their lies began to mean nothing. Legolas raises his glass, "To our queen, may the company you keep be sweet, but the wine sweeter." This was the uncle many did not see, the one who lifted his glass high and downed the wine quickly. No longer burdened with the future on his shoulders, you hear he seems lighter than he was before.

You bring the wine to your lips, but never let them part—before setting the glass on the table, still filled, but your lips tinted red.

"Malady Y/N..." Haldir leans in to kiss the top of your knuckles, his warm palm still wrapped around your fingertips as he smiles at you. "Congratulations."

"Haldir, no need for formalities. We are friends." As you speak though, he adjusts your hand to rest it on his arm. Pulling you close as he guides you through the party.

"The greatest of friends, but tonight, you are Queen alone." His eyes dance, glittering in the starlight—The Woodland Realm never seemed so bright. To him, or to you. "Although despite the never ending wine, your glass never empties?" It's not so much a question, because you know he noticed your like of appetite.

"I haven't eaten all day." Your breath falters, "A sip would probably send me to the floor." An exaggeration, but not by much— you really aren't sure why your stomach seemed to be in knots. You've wanted this your whole life, you loved adventure, but you loved this world too.

"A sip?" He grabs a tray of pastries, fluffy breads with soft jams and cheeses— arms still intertwined, you leave the main room quickly. Laughing as he speaks, "Well can't have that." Only you. He was the collected and cold marchwarden, but you made him giddy. You caused butterflies in his chest and hope to take root in his thoughts, for once he is able to imagine a future beyond Lothlorien. While he made you calm, he took every anxiety and turned it to mush before your eyes. He fixed problems that you didn't know there was an answer to. He made life simple.

You bite down on a raspberry tart, enjoying the sour and sweet bursts. The crust flaky and melting on your tongue—and Haldir simply smiles. "Why are you so kind to me?"

"Because you were kind first." Even before he was marchwarden, you treated him as an equal—someone with value. Not every royal saw them as the same, but you did. You did not care about the color of his cloak or the tone of his hair, his rank or his wealth. You didn't care about status at all. That was what made you so good, and so intriguing. His smile almost falters, but instead it just softens: "You were kind when I was nothing."

You lift his chin, keeping his icy orbs on you—trying to imagine a deeper shade to fall into, but you can't. You'd drown in those eyes if that was possible. "You were never nothing."

You stay to the back of the party, waiting until everyone has passed to smile at Haldir. Happy to see someone you are so familiar with. If you're honest, it's been a long journey. "Dearest Y/N." He whispers, embraces you close to his body, chin resting on top of your head. You shut your eyes, pushing the air out of your lungs, but intake sharply as your hand grabs at your wound harder. You weren't expecting it to hurt so bad.

His brow creases as he scans over your form, trying to find the source of your pain and even when he does. His expression remains even, and controlled. It's like every amount of history melted away and left the marchwarden in front of you. Your eyes grow heavy, but you force yourself to stay upright—just trying to get a read on him, but it's pointless because he's already tucking his arm under your armpits. Taking on most of your weight as you breathe deeply, he moves without words—this is the coldest he's ever been with you.

But he's not wrong to rush you to the medical wing, because by the time you're there—you're struggling to see the world clear. Everything blurring together as you lean into him, his words getting lost in the haze. It's like a slow fade that speeds up, colors blend until only the blue of his eyes are clear. How are they so clear?

You hear bits though, shards of conversation. "High priority..." "slash..." "Lost a lot of blood..." But it all goes dark eventually, and you let your body slip into the mattress. The thing is, it's a cold table you lay on—you were never on a mattress. There was never anything soft beneath you besides the palms of Haldir's hand when he lifted you onto the wood.

You had half expected for the darkness to pass quickly, and it did, but you did not wake. Instead, you remain still on the table with only memories to keep you company.

Legolas glances down at you as the Realm of Light comes into view, the way your eyes light up as the adventure draws to a close. You hadn't been this far from the Woodland realm before, the furthest you've ever been being the Lonely Mountain. Your mother had just set sail, her heart too broken to remain in MiddleEarth so it was just you and your uncle Legolas. With them gone, he had taken it upon himself to prepare you for your future, the next thousand years you would spend ruling the elves and dwarves. Before that, he wanted you to see the beauty of the world that is kissed by sunrises and sunsets.

Then it begins to shift, not just watching, but it feels as though you are reliving the past. Is it the past? Maybe you had been dreaming up until now, maybe none of it happened yet? Maybe you imagined the future? You glance down at your hands, wiggling your fingers to see them move as you command. You feel your heart pound in your chest— the overlay of purple flowers in full bloom, spread across the bottom branches of the trees. You don't remember ever leaving the Fellowship, but you also clearly remember living this memory before. But it washes over you, embracing every limb and facet of your being as you smile.

At first, Legolas is the one leading you into the hall of light, guards surrounding on both sides. Upon reaching the hall, all of them part off to leave you at the forefront—you are the one that matters right now. Lady Galadriel smiles, you've seen many portraits of her, but none of them could ever compare to her beauty. You bow your head: "Milady."

In return, as you life your head, she bows to you, as does Lord Celeborn. "Lady Y/N of the Greenwood and The Lonely Mountain." Your title has changed, but you shake off the pinch and continue to live out the past. No the present.... This, you just want to feel like you used to feel. How you felt when you first met him. 

Lady Galadriel tilts her head, watching you curiously—but words never leave her lips. Instead, she gestures to the ellon to her right with a smile. "I'm sure you are tired from you journey." You nod, but never dare look away from him—it's a wonder to re-live falling in love. To feel as you felt then. "Haldir will show you the way, he will also be your guard for your time here." Hmmmm, but you do not fight—too curious and too, well you don't know the word. Just that you want to know more.

Oddly enough, he doesn't say a word as he walks in front of you--hands tucked behind his back and posture much stiffer than you would like. You had spent far too long wondering if people would treat you differently, and the truth is, they do. You will always be treated differently, and you'll just have to come to terms with that. The silence drags almost as long as the halls, your throat goes dry until the words just spill off of your tongue. 

"You could say something... Anything... Honestly, I'm neither mute or too tired, and a little conversation would be nice." He doesn't say anything, but you see his fingers flex into his palm and you sigh loudly. It's the same story, even here—and your uncle Legolas hadn't even had time to say a word. People just naturally care too much about the title and think it means more than it does, that it changes a person, but it's all very isolating. 

You remember then very clearly, the way he seemed to hide the smile with a cough. But his eyes find yours, and your return the smile.

When you awoke, your body could not move—stuck, but you could feel the soft grasp of a hand wrapped around your own. The sensation was innocent, and you drifted off under the protection of Haldir because it couldn’t have been anyone else.

.

.

.

No one said a word as darkness descended upon Helm's Deep, in that silence, you feel Haldir's fingers wrap around your own. You had not counted on him arriving, thought that he would be safe in the Realm of Light, but you were thankful for the comfort.

The Marchwarden of Lothlorien had gained many things in the last few years, your comforting touch was by far the most valuable. You made every day worth existing, and every moment more enticing. You were as steady as the woodland realm and as mighty as the lonely mountain—you were neither entirely dwarf nor elf, but you were perfect.

“If tonight is my last, I am grateful to have spent it with you.”

“If tonight’s my last, then—” You pull him into you, he’s much taller but it doesn’t take much to bring him close. “Then I want you to know I choose you. Under every moon and star, no one in middle earth compares Haldir.”

Something in the way his eyes shift, you note the shimmer of light as the stars burn above. All of the fear, the desperation and love—above all else, you love Haldir.

Your other hand finds itself embracing his cheek as you bring him to your lips, letting all of the love pour through you. Desperate to keep him there—knowing you love him so. He speaks through the kiss, foreheads together as he pulls you close.

“If tonight is my last, know a day with you is more than a hundred centuries without. Your name on my last breath.”

“If tonight is my last, know it’s always been you.”

I’ll let you decide what happens next, if they live or die—this is where this ends.

•Much love, Ellie•

[black-dhalias]

Undead Bridal Humor

Elijah Mikaelson X Ex!Reader Warnings: mentions of blood, semi-dying (turned vampire)

The universe must despise you... Absolutely loathe, because how else could you explain this? There really wasn't a warning, a 'hey, by the way my family and I are vampires, and my sadistic brother is pissed that I like you', but you sure wish you knew. Wish you would have walked into that ballroom--then you would have saved yourself from such a fate... You look back, and all you remember of your time with the Mikaelson's was the destruction that followed in their path.

Elijah admittedly, was drawn to you from the moment he saw you--his family had travelled to France, settling in with unknowing nobility. At first, he only ever knew you as the brightest of stars and suns, unbeknownst to him--your older brother had already declared himself the Sun King. It makes sense, to think that you would align with such a familial term.

You were undoubtedly, a sun and star in the bleak world of French Court, and Elijah was completely taken by every aspect of you. No matter how he spun the story, or tried to ignore your obvious charms--you worked your way into his life with ease. Barely batting an eye, and how could he object? What more was he supposed to do? Send you away? Say no to your quest to know him, to grow close to him?

In many ways, you were sought after my global suitors—to have the hand of the elusive French Princess is an aim of many. And yet, you were enamored by the charms of Elijah Mikaelson and his mysterious family. They showed up, and unlike everyone here, who held status and name—they somehow got it all, with only their arrival. Currying favor with your brother, and in many ways, intriguing your interest.

Your brother wastes no time taking your hand, Versailles was meant to be the new palace and as you glance around the ballroom. An expansive room that has never been seen like this—you were awe of your brothers vision. With a smile, you follow his lead to the center of the room—per your brothers promise, you were to have the first dance with him, when this room was complete.

Louis always made good on his promises to you. Only to you.

However, with the final flourish of violins, you lower your head into a bow and then smile up at your brother. He returns your smile, but his eyes travel to a figure behind you to which you turn around. Only to be greeted by the enticing gaze of Elijah Mikaelson; curiously, he does not seem to create any measurable distance as he smiles at you. However, he does turn his eyes to your brother and all you can do is watch how his lips seem to move.

"Your majesty, with your permission, I'd be honored to ask the princess for a dance?" You practically swoon as he speaks, and when your brother doesn't answer right away--you turn your head slightly to catch his eye, giving him a tight smile and eyeing him as if to say 'don't you ruin this'. How could you not be interested in him? He asked your brother for permission to ask you, many would skip over the asking you part and just believe that you are simply your brother's property.

"If it is alright with her, then you have my blessing." Energy pulses into your feet, and for a second, you are jittery with excitement. Barely able to sit still as Elijah holds out his hand, and you take it without hesitation. Allowing yourself the freedom to dance, to not feel as though you are waiting in the wings. Waiting for a marriage. Waiting for your brother's decide your partner. Waiting for your love life to be for the good of France. Even when Louis assured you he would never do that, how could you believe him when anyone else would? Any other king would marry you off to the highest bidder without a second thought.

Now you focus only at the tantalizing expression of Elijah, loving the way his hair curls and the brown hues of his eyes. Then the energy shifts, it is not as lively or jumpy, it is slow--it is quiet. And you would stay in this moment forever, basking in the way his eyes look at you with the upmost care. He seems to hold tenderness in his palms, to the point that they warm your bitter heart.

You had given up the notion of falling in love, until that moment. So much so, that you remember it vividly and painfully. If you knew then, what you know now--maybe you wouldn't be living through another century in bitterness.

You bring the wine glass to your lips, glaring at the Salvatore brothers' who just happened to walk into Mystic Falls and ruin a good thing with their presence. You were here for a couple years before they got here, chasing down another lead on the Mikaelson's, but once you got here—you decided maybe it was time to get over it. Maybe you needed to move forward with your life.

"Hey Princess..." If blood pressure affected you, the sound of Damon's voice would send you into a heart attack. From the day you met, he absolutely drove you insane with his incessant talking and flirting, and him. You reopen your eyes and give him a tight smile, recalling how Stefan and Damon were idiots and it was Caroline who figured out you were vampire. Apparently she researched Versaille for a project, and recognized you in several of the portraits. Since then, Damon has not walked, but run with the nickname and it drives you insane.

"Yes, Damon?" He gives you that signature smile that drives the girls wild, but call you cruel, it does nothing to break away the stone.

"You know your my favorite French Princess?"

"I'm the only one willing to tolerate your presence, but please continue-" He wants something, you know that with absolute certainty, but now you want to know what. Call you curious, but these Salvatore's know how to get around and have some fun.

"We have a bit of a-vampire problem, they kidnapped Elena and we could use a third hand?" He quirks a brow, you find the proposal intriguing and you know they're just using you for your age. You have a hundred years on them, and that might make a difference depending on what vampire kidnapped the poor human, Katherine doppelgänger.

You shrug your shoulders, down the rest of your wine and stand up from the bar stool. "Why not? Might as well do something, I was bored anyways." Damon's smile widens and you pop your lips, as he gestures to the door—bowing mockingly, although it doesn't bother you as much as it used to.

"This way, milady." Dying the first time around, on that alter, was enough to send anyone over the edge. Your brothers' thought you dead, you were brought to your chambers and when you woke—you were alone, with only a dainty ring on your finger as a reminder of your old life.

At first, you thought the ring was a final gift from Louis, you never took it off, but one day you did and connected the dots between the sun and the ring. Which means it was from Elijah, a token and reminder of the betrayal. You twist the ring around, you wished you could wear it on any other finger, but it was perfectly fit to your ring finger alone. It was simple, but intricate—how you often would describe Elijah. It was cruel.

A final parting gift for his now wife… The same one he hasn’t seen since that moment, and left an unending bitter vengeance within you. So much so, that you would do anything to bring him just as much misery. You lost you brothers. Your home. Your status and wealth, and you lost him—in one fell swoop.

The manor in of itself is nothing short of disappointing, you half expected the Americas to be filled with palaces and chateaus. The grandeur of the American dream was sought after, but instead, these buildings are rickety and decayed. They are no Versailles.

Chasing palaces in a country of manors did nothing to sate the ambitions of settlers—you remember the move clearly, recalling the mortality of ship dwellers. Remember their vigor and will, they were survivors never meant to survive; again, your immortality became evident. It became impossible. To know you had the cure to all diseases, and yet unable to share knowing that this is your curse to bare alone.

Elijah made that clear.

“I’ll go around the back.” You whisper, having long forgotten of your thoughts and memories—given the Salvatore brother reputation, you hardly doubt they’ll manage to sneak up on the vampires.

Honestly, it’s better to have a plan C in case their plan A and B fail miserably. Which they usually do, because they’re the Salvatore brothers.

.

.

.

Pinned to the wall by the wood, you lean into your chair—rolling the stake in your palm. Your ghosts seem to have risen to the surface once more, a veil of white linen reminds you his betrayal. Elijah Mikaelson… You were certain you had seen the last of him all those years ago, recall the very moment when that became certain.

“Dearest husband…” You him seeing his eyes reopen and dart wildly, before settling on you completely. “I think it’s about time we talk.” Your lip quirks a little, the wood scratching at the inside of your hand.

There is a heavy silence as he sits across from you, watching you with a curious glance.

“Y/N.”

“You used to call me Princess…” You hmm, “However, your brother stole that from me. Just as you stole my future.”

“Y/N. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Oh no, you simply lied. So much so, that when your brother turned me. You left, like a coward.”

“What was I supposed to do? Hope you forgave me? For lying? For watching?”

“Yes?!” You shout incredulously, finally raising your voice for the first time since the conversation began. Your cheeks flushed with frustration and blinded by the emotions. “It would have been nice to not wake up alone, and scared.” You shrug, raising your eyebrows as you do so. “My brothers never even got to bury me, as a catholic? Do you know how difficult a pill that was to swallow?”

“You were my greatest love.”

“Was… That’s probably the most honest thing you’ve ever said.”

“That’s not what I meant.” You shake your head, just watching him—just wishing you understood what was happening in his head because nothing made much sense.

“But it is. You knew he turned me and instead of staying, you left me to figure it all out on my own.” You gesture your hands wide: “Do you know how many servants I tore through before I even understood what happened?”

“I’m sorry Y/N. If I could go back, I would do anything to change what happened. I never would have asked you to dance.” You fly off your chair, jaw clenched and eyes daggered on him.

“There it is! See, still just a coward. Meeting you, loving you—it was the single greatest feeling of that time. And once again, instead of facing the truth, that you ran away and apologizing.” You shrug, “You admit you would just erase it all.”

Something about that makes it hurt even more for you, the fact that Elijah didn’t see you as you saw him. He refused to see you as the great love you saw him as. He just simply couldn’t.

“I should have looked for you.” You let him loose, putting on your jacket that you had taken off earlier. A feeling of distaste having grown in the pit of your stomach as he makes his assertion.

“I wish I hadn’t looked for you at all. Then I wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t have had to see you.” Sure, you’d been here longer than the Salvatore brothers and longer than Elena Gilbert, but truthfully, you never would have crossed the sea if you weren’t seeking him out. Never would have made it this far.

“Cmon Y/N… What did you expect me to do?”

“Stay. I expected ‘till death do us part’ to mean something.” You say it simply, walking out of the house and hoping that if you kept walking. Eventually you would run out of land, and just disappear.

Only Elijah didn’t let you have a moment of peace, and from then on, he was everywhere you were. So long as no one else could see him.

“Damon. Have a drink with me.”

“Whatever you say your highness.” You roll your eyes, but pour him a drink—knowing that the Original wouldn’t dare come to bother you while the Salvatore was near.

It was also nice change of pace, knowing that your amicable relationship with Damon irritated him so.

“Ya know why I help you Salvatore’s? It’s because love got us into this mess in the first place.” Damon takes a long drink, raising his eyebrow as you give a dry chuckle. Knowing that Elijah is listening, you continue. “I was changed on my wedding day, right after the ‘I do’s’. By my husbands maniac brother no less.”

You spot him, his reflection in a glass bottle on the wall—so close you can see the memories you see going through his mind. See the regret.

“Sounds like a great wedding gift.”

“Sometimes. Other times, not so great. Ya know what he said, long live the happy couple… His jealousy and insecurity is why he turned me, but the worst part, my so called husband left.” Damon makes a face, and you smile—taking a drink yourself.

“Honestly good riddance. You look better single anyways, Princess.” There it is, the spark of jealousy in Elijah’s eye. The resolve breaking as Damon gives that smirk that sends all the girls over the edge.

“Who knew Damon had a thing?”

“I have lots of things.”

“I know. It’s just more fun pretending I don’t.”

By the time you look back up at the glass, Elijah is gone and you are left with a little more satisfaction than intended. Smiling a little as you feel Damon move closer, and for a moment, you are just two people at a bar.

.

.

.

“Y/N. Is this how we’re going to act? Like children poking each other with sticks?” You laugh as Elijah enters your room without warning, and without care. He’s been doing that a lot lately.

“No I poked you with a stick. You stabbed me in the back with a knife, when I was on an alter in a white dress.”

“I get you are angry, but there’s no reason—”

“Oh there’s plenty of reason, is the undead bridal humor just not your cup of tea?” You purse your lips and give a shrug, “I mean that’s too bad, because it’s all I’ve got to say to you.”

“You had plenty to say to the Salvatore.”

“No shit. It’s called mutual benefit, something you don’t understand since the only one who ever seems to benefit is Klaus.”

“Enough! Klaus has nothing to do with this.” You feel your whole body course with anger, practically seething as you shove Elijah away.

“He has everything to do with this—” You gesture between the two of you, sneering. “Because you would have chosen me. And that’s why he did it, because you can’t live with yourself. Forcing me into this, was his way of guilting you into leaving. Benefiting him, and him alone.” You shrug, “And you let him.”

“I couldn’t…” You raise your eyebrow, staring him down and wondering what he could say. What excuse can he make up to rationalize everything that happened all those years ago. “I couldn’t stand knowing I put you into such a vulnerable position. Klaus never would have— I never wanted to take anything from you.”

“You took so much more by leaving.”

“I won’t deny I regret that, but—”

“But I still wish we never met.”

Silence.

“That’s why it doesn’t matter what I do with Damon. Or anyone. And for the first time in a hundred years, I feel content with that.” You feel more free, getting to say your piece to the Original. You had thought you’d take him back, or fall back under that spell. “So I think it’s best if you go.”

[black-dhalias]

Hello? Are you willing to write about Jasper Hale x human female reader where they keep having inappropriate thoughts about each other and Edward cannot stand it any longer? It is completely okay if you are not interested in writing such a thing. Have a nice day :)

Lacks Control

Jasper Hale X Human!F!Reader Warnings: contains/mentions sexual content, light swearing

In most ways, you thought similarly to most humans and thought you understood how the world worked. You knew that there were balances in place, checks that keep the universe from overreaching a little too far. You believed in energies, and how people interact with each other often impacts what they receive unto themselves. You were absolutely sure that you understood yourself, but that was a year ago--before the Cullens arrived in Juneau, Alaska. Your home.

It was before Jasper arrived.

Now, a year later, you could hardly believe how different things have become; in many ways, you don't see the world in the same way. You see the world as brighter, and intense, and more mysterious than its made out to be. You glance at the alarm clock, shocked to see only minutes left--the night got away from you faster than you expected. It felt like you had just laid down, and now slanted morning light is streaming in from the partially open window—unbelievable.

You hardly understood what you heard that night, and if they wouldn't have reacted so brashly—you probably would have written it off, and left without another thought.

However, upon hearing Rosalie, Emmett, and Bella talking about Jasper's control—you almost left right there, but no—they kept talking. They said too much to just write off, and when they turned that corner to see you pale white pressed against the wall. They realized just how much you had heard, and its not like they could just make you forget—so there. That's how you found out the newest members of Juneau community were vampires, and that humans knowing their secret is not exactly accepted.

Despite Jasper being the topic of conversation that night, his control specifically, you almost forgot it entirely every time you saw him. Admittedly, Jasper was terrifying and in the right lighting, his scars were very visible even to a human. His eyes were often dark, and his expression stoic and tight. Most of the time, you tried to avoid him entirely, but being near him was exhilarating. It felt like gravity pressing against you, everything impossible, felt possible.

Now that left you in a precarious position, with an undeniable attraction to probably the most lethal Cullen.

Maybe that's a bit of an understatement, half the time you were in the same room with him—all you could think about was the possibility of undressing him. Images of your fingers dragging down his body, and it wasn't like you had to use your imagination—you had caught him changing once and that was it. All the fuel your mind needed to keep you interested, practically drooling at the thought.

"Darling?" You hmm, sitting up straight in your seat, you mentally curse yourself for letting your mind wander so far. Remember that whole thing about how you thought you were normal before, now you know you think differently because who else loses time like this? Who else could go from their home, all the way to their University; just thinking, just itching to think about him.

Once more, his eyes were in that in-between shade—not exactly amber, but not bright either like his unofficial siblings. You were shocked at the beginning of the semester when he walked into this class, because what was a vampire doing at the University of Southeast Alaska? No reason, but Jasper must had his because it takes a real psychopath to spend their time in an Animal Physiology class. Yet Jasper fit right in, and you have to admit the company is much nicer than others might think.

However, it was also incredibly distracting and in some distasteful ways, you spent the better half of class time enamored by him. His thick southern drawl, the way his blonde curls moved when he spoke, but especially with his hands. God, what else can those hands do? Per usual though, you feel warmth spread to your cheeks and look at your hands, you really need to get a handle on yourself if you plan on passing this class.

"Yes?" You ask, practically cursing the very ground you walk as you pretend to scribble down some notes on the cellular makeup of artic mammals—only it wasn't information the professor was saying, but rather verbatim notes of the last line you wrote. In fact, it is the same thing you've written at least ten times on the paper, but you just couldn't help your wandering mind.

"Class ended five minutes ago..." You perk, eyes widening as you look around the room and see that no one else is here. Just you... slowly, your eyes turn to Jasper. And him. Just you and him.

Perhaps his words shouldn’t have affected your demeanor, or maybe it had more to do with being alone with him, but something inside you snapped. Not only did you clearly feel an urge to take his face in between your palms and kiss him—you also had the inherent urge to bury your face into your arms and hope you got sucked away.

“Fantastic…” You kind of murmur into your skin, before sitting up with a sharp inhale and glancing over at the smirking Texan. His accent always seemed so out of place in Alaska, his honey like drawl always stood out when he spoke. It’s what got your attention in the first place, you couldn’t help yourself when you heard it.

You shut your notebook, sliding it into your bag with your laptop and pens—zipping it before Jasper tossed it over his shoulder. This was the routine, he showed up and you spent more than half of class imagining a million different ways you could take him on the desk.

Was that wrong? You hardly think it’s a good thing, but when you glance over at him. The way he held open your doors, and always close enough to catch you if your feet bumped each other. How could you not have those kinds of thoughts?

“Carlisle and Esme are still asking when you’re coming over again?” You hmm, before looking forward again—processing what he said, it just always takes a second.

“Oh yeah, we can head there now. I don’t have anything to do today.” If you weren’t too busy trying to ignore the throb of your chest, you would have seen the smile. The one that Jasper only reserved for you.

“Well then, after you…” Jasper holds open the door, letting you pass before leading you towards his car.

The Cullens were happy when you came around, Alice had told Jasper that he’d find someone eventually. She knew you were coming, but no one knew the effect it would have on him. The way he seemed to control himself, he didn’t feel like a runaway train anymore. The way Jasper seemed to smile more often, especially when he spoke of you.

“Y/N!” Esme exclaims as you enter the Cullen home, embracing you close as she smiles brightly. She always seemed so excited to see you, more than the others—what you didn’t know, was she had wished more than anything for Jasper to have someone. They all had their person, and well, finding you just fit into the puzzle so well. “Oh it’s so good to see you.”

You follow after her, Jasper watching as you go before heading into the living room. While he knew you’d be preoccupied for the time being, he couldn’t help, but sit in a spot where he could see you.

Today you seemed extra beautiful, not just beautiful—ravishing. You weren’t doing anything different, but something about the way you were looking at him earlier. If he were human, his heart would have been racing and his breath caught up.

What did you look like naked? The thought caught him off guard, it piqued his interest as he admired you from afar. Jasper did his best to not rush into things, to let you take the lead when it came to your relationship.

Did you have any birthmarks? He wondered how long it would take to count every freckle and mark upon your skin, if he could kiss each and every one. He’d even been in the room with you before, when you decided to stay over and you changed into some of his clothes. But still, he couldn’t bring himself to look.

You could feel his eyes on you, even from across the room. Even as Esme spoke to you so earnestly about something, you glanced over.

Jasper seemed to be looking at you, but also into you—you could feel the intensity. The sensation of him, again thoughts from class came to mind.

What would it feel like to be between a wall and his body? You purse your lips, trying not to linger on the thought—but they seem to always come in twos. And if you were, what would he do? God you wanted to know so bad… To feel what it felt like to be under him, pleading with him to take you right there.

“That’s it!” Jasper moves quickly as Edward appears at the bottom of the stairs, “You two need to go!” It wasn’t angry, but Jasper was at your side.

“Edward?! What’s wrong?”

“These two! They need to go, I can’t take another minute of them having mind sex.”

Your eyes widen, looking over at Jasper who seems to be looking everywhere except at you.

“You could just—not read our minds?” Edward shakes his head at your assertion, pushing you both towards the door.

“Nope. Your thoughts are too loud to just ignore.”

“I-” Edward gives a final shove out the door, as you bump into Jasper. Feeling his hand brace against your waist, steadying you as the mind reader gives a smile.

“Go to their house. And, think whatever thoughts you want. Just not here.” The door shuts and you look over at Jasper, then away as quickly as possible. Cheeks flushed warm.

Perhaps you should have saw that coming, Edward practically avoided you like a plague when you were over.

“So mind sex, huh?” You groan, glancing up at Jasper—the playfulness of his tone suppressing the obvious curiosity you note in his eyes.

“It takes two…” His smile broadens as he unlocks the car door, “Two people.”

.

.

.

“Whatever you say, darlin’…”

[black-dhalias]

Hiii I really appreciate ur writing and I would like to make a request for a reader and bash from reign smut where u use the quote “ are u a virgin? But how?” And “ are u scared?”

Little Bird

Bash De Poitiers X F!Reader

Warning: SMUT, language, mentions of arranged marriages

History is not written by the forgotten because history is only written by the heroes, the survivors, the victors. In a world full of royals, kings and queens and countries-- only the strongest will be remembered. All others will fall.

You are far from the young girl who visited the French Court those years ago; now, you are a queen and while country thrives under your rule, you are known as ruthless. You move with purpose, your own guards not far behind you as you walk towards the throne room-- ignoring the whispers of the familiar walls. The memories that cling to every crevice of this palace. When you left, you left suddenly in the night, having received a letter from your mother-- dead. Your father was dead and so was your brother, and you were now queen and immediately required back in Genovia. 

You slip between the halls, your hand tugging Bash along with you, as you look back and smile. Perhaps too much of your time centers around your time with the bastard son of King Henry, but something about him is too interesting to ignore. While Mary Queen of Scots is constantly surrounded by her ladies, the princess of Genovia is often feels ignored by her French allies. Not even first in line to your throne, it seems as though King Henry views you as dead weight, but not Bash.

With him at your side, you felt as though you had a friend in this court of lies and deception, and villains. "Sebastian-- c'mon." You whisper shout, urging him to move faster and keep up with you as you slip into one of the secret passages. Once the door slips closed behind you, Bash holds your hand a little tighter as if to keep you from slipping away into the dark tunnels. Outside of Nostradamus, you are most familiar with the French palaces secret tunnels and Bash knew if you disappeared, you'd get away from him. But the his slight pull was a shock, one you were unprepared for and moved backwards into him.

You try not to show the fear that bubbles inside of your chest, being back here seems to bring back every thought. Every struggle. The pain and the happiness, and it makes it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand. However, when the throne room doors open and you see him immediately. No amount of preempted focus could have brought you back because he is exactly how you remember. Only now, he is married and you are queen, which change everything, but looking at him... You feel as though nothing has changed, not him, not you, and not your feelings for him.

There is a shocking hmph as you bump into his chest, but you do not move and neither does he; instead, you feel his hand slip down to rest on your waist while the other rests on your neck. Through the darkness you see his eyes shut, the warmth of his hands and then there is his lips. Soft and sweet, and just as warm as you had imagined; although you know this is far from okay, so what? It feels right enough.

However, you bring yourself back to reality as quickly as you can manage and smile at the newly crowned King Francis. "Sorry I couldn't make it to the coronation-- long may you reign." He nods and gives a little smile, coming down from the throne and you see your guards tense up at the sudden movement. "Oh please, I don't think he wants one of his first acts as King to be starting a war." Neither of them relax despite your whisper to them, but you accept the embrace of Francis and pull away smiling.

"Well you made it now." You nod, giving a little shrug.

"I felt as though us both being relatively new to our thrones, we should talk about continuing the French and Genovian alliance." Scanning your eyes across the throne room, you see Mary—you see Catherine and others you recognize, but it's all a cover so you have an excuse to look at him again. He stands at the right hand side of the King's throne, the King's deputy, which makes sense. You make a note of the woman to his right though. Pretty little thing.

Where you were, Bash always seemed to find his way to your side—whether riding, walking through the grounds, or dancing as you are now. Being a princess means suitors, which pleases your mother, but displeases you: "So Princess, what do you think about French weather being from such a cold land?" You raise an eyebrow as he spins you, and with as much grace as you can muster, you come back to him and give a rather forced smile.

Perhaps petty, you begin to lead, which gives him a little shock-- his footing begins to slip up and he stumbles to keep up with you: "Well, for your information, Genovia is south of France, so I'd say your weather is quite cold, you..." Maybe for the best, Bash is tapping on the counts shoulder and he happily hands you off to Bash. You puff out a breath, irritation still bubbling in your stomach and begging to be released.

"Ignore them..." You bite the inside of your cheek as Bash twirls you around the floor, completely at ease and you follow his steps effortlessly. Familiar with how he moves, how he dances; you'd say you were pretty familiar with everything about him.

"How do they expect to court me, if they don't even know where my country is? Honestly, it's just disgraceful." He gives a little laugh, twirling you quickly before bringing you back in, but this time much closer.

"Well the longer I have you here, the better." His comment, rather than comfort, strikes a little nerve.

"You know, I've had a thought. Why don't you marry me?" You two haven't really spoken about the idea, having mutually decided it just would not work out, but now... now you think otherwise.

Francis nods approvingly, "I think that is a fitting thought." He holds out his arm to you, "Shall we?" You finally find clarity in the fact that Bash is now married and nod, taking Francis's arm. As he guides, you pass by Bash and you pause slightly, biting your lip before smiling at him.

"Congratulations on your marriage, Sebastian." Unlike everyone else, you called him by his name to irritate him and at some point, he began to find it endearing. You see the familiarity in those eyes, but it is only a second as he gives a tight smile and Francis continues to lead you towards one of the studies. You always thought that when you returned, he'd still be there waiting and maybe, just maybe—you could finally have that wedding.

Some part of you is angry at yourself for saying anything at all, and Francis must have noticed because he speaks up. "Don't be too hard on him, or yourself, I'll explain in more detail later, but he didn't have a choice in marrying Kenna." So that's her name, Kenna... That's one of Queen Mary's ladies, although she has grown quite a bit. So have you...

"Well when is a marriage ever a choice in French court." You try to make light of it, your own suffering, joking although there is a bitter truth to the comment. When you get inside of the small room, Francis and you spend quite a while discussing the politics of trade and possibility, but then conversation shifts to your marriage.

"A little bird told me you have a marriage alliance of your own blooming, with my distant Italian relatives.” Your smile tightens and Francis’ brow furrows, your reaction seeming to confuse the new King. “Not a marriage I assume.”

“A necessary one.” You pinch the top of the figures that represent a horse, and glance down at the map. Before placing the horse just east of Genovia, on the Italian border. “There’s an Italian stronghold near this border, there’s been attacks on farms from Italian peasants. If I marry an Italian, specifically a member of this family—then I stand a chance at protecting them.” You swallow, “Just another reason to bolster a French alliance, you’ll learn quickly that only displays of power can protect your country.”

Francis nods, smiling sadly at his old friend—someone he cared for deeply all those years ago. “Well, do not worry—France is not an enemy of Genovia, and under my rule, you have no need to question our honesty.” Gratefulness fills the pit of your stomach, the one that had only seemed to grow as you stayed in French Court. Every hour chipped away at your inner self.

Negotiations with Francis went quick, the grimey politics melted away as you simply spoke with your friend. It made it better, and much simpler meeting than these tended to be amongst royal agreements. He asked for very few things, but mainly that despite you being a protestant nation—you remain loyal to France and Scotland, rather than England.

It was easy to agree to such a simple request.

However, the walk to your rooms is not as long as it once was—Kings and Queens are housed exuberantly, but you used to live so far from it all. You miss those days sometimes. These walls hold so many stories. You were almost unaware of the steps following you, or how his hand felt on your waist as it pulled you in. Or how familiar his sterling eyes were as you looked up at him. While you think of pulling away completely, you are not able to bring yourself to do so.

"You are more beautiful than I remember." Only the walls do not speak, and neither do you. Not even as he runs his hand along your cheek. You are frozen, recalling every memory and knowing that the familiarity is built into his touch. "I did not believe God chose Kings and Queens until I saw you in the throne room." Even standing next to his wife, his next words are bittersweet. "Y/N, you are an angel amongst mortals." Something snaps back into place as you push him away, shaking your head.

"No. Absolutely not. Sebastian, you are married and I do not have time for petty affairs." You reconcile your dignity and stiffen your lip, you are Queen. By your own birthright, and loss.

"Admit it, you feel it too." He steps towards you, and you go back, never breaking eye contact. Knowing that the way he seemed to flinch, your movement to get away hurt him. It hurt you too. "You're more than a petty affair to me, Y/N. You've never been anything less."

You fold your arms over themselves, shaking your head. "I am a reigning Queen... Chosen by God, and revered by my people. You said so yourself." The last bit is more pointed. "I am not an affair, or a passing moment." You pause. "Not even for you."

With that, you leave him alone in the hall and retreat to your room. To wonder what would have been, what could still be, and how it's a terrible idea to linger on the past.

The next days are long, you can hardly wait to go home. You missed the grandeur of French Court a long time ago, but now it does not feel like home. It is too much.

You bid farewell to Francis and Mary, "I believe next year, we'll be travelling to see you." You smile, knowing all eyes are on the future. A wedding.

"Perhaps sooner." Just as you step into the carriage, you glance up at the balcony to see Sebastian. To see him watching you. Your soft smile sends his heart into a flurry of confusion and certainty. Even when the carriage leaves his view, he knows one thing: he would do anything to be your husband.

A warm summer breeze touches your cheeks, it dusts your nose and your smile grows. To be married, it seems so much more distant than it should. You should be giddy, but your future King Consort is nowhere near the one you imagine.

"One more night..." You wonder if you could run now, turn your back on the wedding and just leave. Find another way to protect your country against all odds.

You breathe out deeply, grasp the handles of the balcony doors and shut them tight. Ignoring the arrival of the French convoy, knowing that it would not just be the King and Queen of France in attendance.

Francis had tried to convince Bash to not come, to not torture himself further with the image of you marrying another. To not let him torture you. But the bastard was insistent, so much so that Francis knew it was going to come to something.

"I object..." He murmurs under his breath, it seemed to repeat over—"Wait!" He hardly remembers shouting, just that he did and all eyes turned to him. Yours wide as he moves closer. "Y/N..." He swallows. "You can't marry him." What was supposed to be your husband curses, eyes narrow and harsh. Only they do not scare Sebastian in the slightest. "You know as well as I do. We were as good as promised to each other before your brother died." There is much truth in those words, your parents had come around to the idea and so had your brother. It seemed simple, a way to keep France close and to give you this last thing.

"Silence!" The Italian is seething, chest rounding and cheeks turned a flustered and bright red.

You turn your eyes to him, "Do not command him, as that is as certain as commanding me. I am neither soldier, nor Italian. And neither is he." You pause. "This is my palace." You look at Bash, exhaling and he continues.

"I had not told you, but our fathers had contracts prepared and signed... Two kings... It took a while, but I found the original." His eyes turn to the Italian. Your eyes wide, as you hold out your hand for the parchment. "If this document is verified, then it means you can't marry him. Because you have to marry me."

.

.

.

It was enough to stop the ceremony, no one could condone a marriage without verifying if the will of two kings would be defied. Even dead kings have power.

You pace the hall outside of Sebastian’s chambers, every step echoes, but you do not care. An inner turmoil having found itself rooted in the pit of your stomach, to love Sebastian had been as easy as breathing. You knew him as well as you knew yourself.

“Y/N?” You jump, grasping your shaking palms together as you tuck them behind your back. Trying to seem unassuming, as if you hadn’t been at his door for some time. Only as he takes in your nerves, the way your eyes flit about—Sebastian is very aware, and smirks. The kind of smirk that used to tell you that he knew. “I was just about to go find you.”

Honestly, you believe that to be true, he seemed determined when he opened his chambers door. The way he closed the distance in two long strides, his arm snaked around your waist and pressing himself as close as possible.

So close you forgot how to breathe, wondering if you needed breath at all. Without air, your words were strained—the warmth of his hand trailing up your arm was distracting. “You could have warned me.”

“I planned to, only you never gave me a chance.” You recall sending your younger sister greeting the French carriage, shutting your door tight to keep all temptation locked away.

“I guess—” The words trail off your tongue as he begins pulling you into his chambers, and this time you do not resist. Temptation or not, Sebastian has always been just out of reach. Suddenly, he’s as close skin to skin can allow.

Breathless, you kiss him—not soft or tenderly, but desperate to know what it’s like to taste him again. To feel his lips on yours. Sharing kisses used to be frequent, but it had been so long and you had wondered if they’d taste the same.

They did. His lips were as familiar as his touch. The caress of his fingers against your body had all, but left you breathless—there was no space for air between you, nothing more than clothes.

Even those were falling away, you don’t remember his shirt disappearing or when your robe hit the floor. You don’t recall anything other than his lips, his determination to kiss every bit of skin that became visible.

“Perfection…” He hums the word as he braces you on the bed, admiring you—your bare chest and soft eyes, the way your gaze seemed to draw him in. “Absolute…” Sebastian comes closer, leaning over you, warmth surrounding. His face framed by the fire’s light. “Perfection.”

As his hands begin to run along your waist, your back arches and he lingers there—holding you close, his head bent over as he begins to kiss your neck. Letting his lips travel down as you bend into his grip, a soft moan escapes your lips.

“Don’t—” You pant, a shiver going down your body as he kisses the spot above your breast. “Don’t stop.” If your eyes were not shut, head tilted back, you wonder if you could see the ghost of his smile just as well as you feel it against you.

Sebastian pauses, “Are you—”, his lips seeming to stop as he spoke. “Are you still a virgin?” You sit up, his question taking you aback; however, comfortable you are with him. You didn’t expect him to ask so boldly.

You want this, you know that for certain—you’ve wanted him ever since you were young. Those eyes haunted your dreams, knew your own just as well as the sky knows the stars.

“Would you stop if I said yes?”

“Only if you asked… But how?” You bring yourself close, leaning forward to wrap your arms around his neck. Lips hovering above his own.

“Then it doesn’t matter if I am. Just don’t stop.” That was enough for Bash as he regained his vigor, kissing your earnestly and desperately.

You could hardly imagine anything more perfect than the way he held you. The way he embraced you. The way, you moan his name—leaning back as he lowers you onto him.

His movements slow, careful and steady, most of your weight being held in his arms as he begins to move.

“Just don’t stop.” You whisper, leaning against his body—your lips resting beside his ear, you felt his grasp tighten as he began to move more rhythmically.

AN: I definitely don’t do smut typically, don’t get me wrong. I do read it, but I am not skilled at writing it. So it’s more sensual than sexual, maybe I’ll get better in the future. But I hope you like this.

[black-dhalias]

Hi!! I absolutely love your writing✨✨

I was wondering if you’d write a Ethari x Reader (pronouns are she/her) x Runaan where it takes place in the time of the assassination of King Harrow.

Ethari and reader witnesses the assassins flowers sink one by one leading down to Rayla and Runaan.

Days later, it depends on how many days Runaan was in the dungeon before he got trapped in a coin. They witness Runaan’s flower sink and are of course struck by grief.

If it’s not a bother could you write days later after Runaan’s "death" the time where Callum and Rayla goes to their house.

Reader is reading a book while Ethari is crafting weapons and he witnesses Rayla from the reflection and you know what happens next.

If you don’t want to write this it’s completely fine! Once again, I love your writing!!✨🤍🌙

Floating Flowers

Poly!Runaan X Reader X Poly!Ethari

Warnings: angst, kinda sad ngl, mentions of death and some descriptions of violence

One does not love without sacrifice, and one does not truly want to take the risk unless they know it's worth it. With all that at stake, it does not make sense to ever really let someone in. To love, is to let your heart beat in time with another—with many, and in so few words, all of it can disappear.

In a blink.

In an instant.

Within a single breath.

All love causes is pain. You thought you knew the worst of it, felt the bitter edge of loss, but you were so wrong. You had it all figured out only a year ago. You had Runaan... A voice of reason and rock. You had Raela... In all her stubbornness and sweet personality. You have Ethari... As your warmth, and your light. You loved all three extensively, dove head first into the chasm of love—hopeful and invested. They gave you purpose and warmth, and that's all you ever wanted.

You thought the price of love was worth all the pain, but now as you fold your arms over your knotted up stomach. You could barely tear your eyes away from Runaan and Rayla prepare for the mission. The one to avenge all of Xadia, but it was not worth it to you. Nothing in all of the realms was worth the price of watching them walk out of this village.

Soon it would be just you and Ethari—you begged for a minute longer as Runaan's palm embraces your cheek, "Goodbye my love." The words taste acidic, another minute of him would never be enough. You'd plead for hour after hour, for every second was worth a thousand pleas.

While Runaan notes your rigid form, the distant look in your eyes—he knows that he cannot stay. "It is not good bye..." He whispers quietly, "I will always return to you both." Your lips press into that all too familiar line, shaking your head as you part from him completely.

Hating the distance, but knowing you must let him go.

"Do not make us promises you cannot keep." Your words are dark, striking cold fear into Ethari—the sensation of pain mirrors into him.

Hesitantly, Ethari embraces Runaan and Rayla throws herself into your arms. You told Runaan she was not ready, that you were not ready to let her go into a battle she may not return from.

She's the closest you ever came to a child, you are certain that she'll be the only child you ever have. All her life was spent under your careful gaze, and embraced tightly in your arms. Your cheek rests atop her hair, and even when your eyes mist over—you do not let yourself cry.

"I love you Rayla... All the way to the moon." You insisted she was more like you, more like Ethari, but Runaan was certain. And when he was certain, there was no reason to try to talk sense into him.

When you finally gather enough strength to look up at Runaan, Rayla at his side and Ethari's palm on the small of your back. Runaan gives a tight smile, one he only gives when he is not sure.

"I love you..." You don't know if you'd forgive yourself if he didn't hear it at least once more, you see the softness of his eyes. "Both of you, and we expect you home before 30 nights have passed."

Soon enough, they disappear and leave only floating flowers in their wake. No one moved from the fountain, too many souls rest upon the surface—hardly a ripple as the air catches deep in your throat.

When the day came to pass, the crowd was thick with anxiety without a word of comfort to be shared. No one could say anything at all. Ethari held you close, unable to stop the tightening of his grip as each flower sunk to rest on the bottom. The ripples were jarring, the water stirred with grief.

The cries were haunting, even when no one knew who would come next... The tears remained locked up. And with each sunken flower, you felt a wave of guilt and relief because you wished it to be anyone else. Until it was only them.

All you had was the hope that they had succeeded, and were already halfway home right now. It is all that you have left.

"Come to bed starlight." Ethari's sweet nickname sounded so soft, you could hardly enjoy the comfort, but it was there nonetheless. "I miss your warmth..." You tear your eyes rom the water, and stare into his. You wonder if he knows how much you adore him, how safe and welcoming his arms had become since they found you. "I miss sharing a bed..." You hardly slept since they left, leaving Ethari to an empty home most days. Ethari and Runaan had saved you all those years ago, brought you back from the edge of the universe—a startouch elf who could hardly bring themselves to love. To care.

"Just tonight..." You take his outstretched hand, his hope brought you optimism. Gave you hope. That meant something to you.

"I miss you too."

In the quiet and dark, you lay entangled in your husband—embraced tightly in the linens and his arms. The shadows crest through the window, a moonlit night, but you struggle to see through the light. Almost certain that there is—not evil, but nothing good coming your way.

Ethari's arms tighten around and bring you closer than before, chin nuzzled into your neck. His hair is soft against your arm, there is so much on your mind and sleep seems distant.

The way his eyes are shut so lightly, lashes brushing his cheeks and while not a smile—his face is not contorted with nightmares. To be honest, this is the first time since Runaan left that you've seen Ethari sleep so peacefully. While you could not bring yourself to sleep, you were never too far away as to not soothe away the nightmares when they came to him. He truly is the last testament of your sanity. As light as you can manage, you brush your thumb along the highest point of his cheek.

"If you wanted me awake, you should have just asked." Sleep clouds his visit, but he sees you so clearly against the sharp contrast of night. A vision of pure, unscathed—starlight.

He tilts his head up so that he is looking at you, a look of pure admiration. "Have I told you how beautiful you are, starlight?" You find it in yourself to smile.

"More often with every passing day." He returns your smile, Ethari always was the one who stood in awe of you even when you doubted yourself. Your good nature seemed to move in step with his own, but something about the stars that danced in your eyes—you often seemed otherworldly to him.

"Good, I will never allow you to forget." And you know that he's telling the truth, you believe every word. "They'll come home to us. I know they will." Yet you are not as sure, humans are too unforgivable. Too dangerous and unpredictable. You hate them, and fear what else they are capable of taking away from you.

Neither of you say another word, finding comfort in each other. Letting the comfort exist in this singular moment, tomorrow you will face more fear and anxiety. Tonight, you find peace in Ethari's arms.

"Hope for the both of us, my love. I can only hope it's enough."

Only when you watched Runaan's flower sink so suddenly, when the ripples began to shatter the surface of the water. Your entire world seemed to shatter with your reflection. It felt like the world was on fire, and completely still; all at once, you had little left. Stones burn your knees in scrapes as you cry out for him, even the slam of the door is not enough to rouse you from your torture.

The way Ethari saw you and then saw the flower in the bottom of the pool. The heave as he sees the sunken hope. It was always a fool's mission, but the sensation of your crying form within his own arms is enough to send him into tears. The way your hands grip him without remorse—screaming at the universe that they can't have them.

Runaan is gone.

It hits Ethari like the whole of Xadia was put directly on his shoulders, their husband is dead.

He's gone, and he isn't coming back.

Ethari attempted to focus on the task at hand, the tools and weapons atop his desk never seemed so far from him. It felt as though he was staring at a puzzle he was no longer capable of understanding, but he did his best to keep himself occupied when the silence of the house threatened to consume.

Is this grief? Or is this the new normal?

Where you used to find comfort in Ethari, he could only ever reach you when the books were far from your grasp. A cycle of three titles, meticulously memorizing each page because it reminded you of Runaan. The nights when you would stay up with Runaan when the nightmares were too much, and you would read to him until he lulled off to sleep.

Neither really said a word, silent and long days until the time came to crawl into bed. Only then, arms around each other and duvets tightly enveloping both forms—did the tears freely flow. Did the pain finally mount and the length of the universe seemed to weigh heavy on you both.

However, by the time morning breaks, the silence returns and the image of a sunken flower haunts your vision. Ethari closes his eyes, adjusting himself and returns his gaze to his work. Only something catches his eye, a glimpse—nothing short of a miracle, one that causes his expression to falter.

Rayla...

Unable to turn for a moment, he pauses before walking out the door. Knowing that she would follow, unable to break your heart anymore than it has been already.

"Rayla. Before you left, I told Runaan that you were to goodhearted for the work of an assassin. Y/N told him too." He pauses, glancing into the reflection once more. "So I know you did not betray them out of malice. But that doesn't matter. They're gone. He's gone. Because you abandoned them." His words are harsh, not loud, but there is a sharpness as he recalls your cries from the night before.

Even when she disappeared from the reflection, Ethari was already back inside of the home. You had not moved from your position, and for a moment, Ethari wishes you could have seen her. Known she was alright, even if she cannot come home.

He exhales deeply, gathering what he needs before leaving once more to find her. "This will only break the spell for a moment, but I couldn't bear to let you leave without seeing you one last time." Ethari had to know, to hear her out, and find some comfort in her words. "But I don't understand, Rayla. How could you abandon them?"

She looked the same, different and more worn in others, but he saw her as she was. "I failed them. it was my fault we were discovered, btu I didn't run away." She pauses. "Ethari, we found something. Callum, show him."

"Oh uh..." Ethari turns his attention to the human, smiling a little. "I'm Rayla's earthblood elf friend. Trees to meet you."

"Trees to meet you, too."

"Don't humor him. We found the dragon prince."

"The egg wasn't destroyed."

"And I knew that if we could get him home to his mother, there could be peace."

"It's a miracle. I can't believe it." Ethari's eyes darken, recalling the letter he received from Ibis not too long ago. "But, Rayla, you need to know. The Dragon Queen is dying. Since the death of her mate, she's fallen very ill."

"We have to get to her. It's the only way." Ethari pauses, as he watches Rayla's eyes trail to the home. "Where is Y/N? Can I see them?" Looking through the window to spot you, to catch your gaze.

Rayla is struck by confusion at your still form—you were never that still. Never so quiet. Her eyes wander the way you seem awake, locked in on the book and every so often she’d catch Ethari glance over with concern.

Ethari watches Rayla, as she looks at you—“When we met Y/N, they were deeply wounded by abandonment. Alone and on the cusp of giving up.” His eyes are sad, she notes how he casts you loving glances in between the concern. “Runaan is dead. You exiled. Something in them finally snapped.”

“Will they ever be the same?”

“No Rayla. I don’t think that they will, they might recover, but Y/N has faced great losses…More than most, it’s why they loved you so dear. Because you’ve lost a lot too.”

Ethari whistles: "You can ride faster than you can walk. I'll see a message to the Dragon Queen. If she knows her little one still lives, perhaps she'll hold on."

"Ethari, can I ever come home again?"

"I don't know." His eyes are sad, he knows the devastation you felt when the rumors spread. When the word shifted to call Rayla a betrayer and to ghost her. You fought against it, but soon even you could not fight the thought. Consider the possibility that there might have been some truth to the village's words. "It's a real moon opal..." He holds it out to her. "When I gave its match to Runaan, I told him, "My love will be with you even when the moon is not."

Rayla looks through the window once more and then back at Ethari: "Good bye, Rayla."

Ethari came into the home with a purpose as he gathered another arrow, preparing it to be fired and for the first time since, you looked up at him. Eyes wandering to the message, to the way he seemed certain.

Something in the way he moved, it reminded you of who he once was. "What are you doing?" He meets your eyes, seeing the whole universe fall together in a dance as you rise to your feet.

"I have found us hope." Still, even now, he is holding onto the hope that he can somehow fix this. Change the way things are and you trust him.

"Runaan, the last time I made you one of these, it carried a message of death. but this arrow will carry a message of life. Regina Draconis!" While you do not understand completely, you understand enough to know that Ethari is still fighting for you. Still fighting for your future, the one you will share together. And you trust him.

Long before you loved Ethari and Runaan, before the turn of the century—eons before written history began. There was you and your brother, Aarravos. It was all you knew, and it was all you thought you needed. Masters of the primal energies—the epitome of Star Touch Elf perfection. There was no beauty like yours, and no power that tasted as sweet as the power you possessed.

However, it was never enough for Aarravos and soon enough, you had lost him completely. Your entire existence seemed to erase itself with his loss, the universe seemed so much smaller. It seemed so much more void. No longer did stars shine for you, and soon enough, you saw only the darkness. A never ending abyss of despair, and confusion. You no longer knew what your purpose was beyond the world you were building with your brother. It meant nothing without someone to share the success with.

You lean into the darkness, you found comfort in the silence—perhaps comfort is the wrong word. You found silence in the darkness, your bottomless pit of despair was less violent and loud. Your wandering felt less aimless when you accepted the loneliness. You were not at peace, but the numbness felt bitterly better than the pain of loss.

The greatest of your sins was never looking for him, for you assumed he had simply left you to your misery. Had finally had enough, and so you left him to his adventures—you imagined he must have left you willingly, no one could against the power you wielded.

Seven centuries, long and painful blistering years, in that time you only heard whispers of your brothers antics. Until you heard nothing at all.

Soon enough the sadness no longer touched you, or perhaps you wore it proudly—you rarely missed the brother that had left you alone. If he cared, he would have taken you with him.

A crest of moonlight breaks over the treetops and reflects off the waterfalls, the crisp blue hue brings a soft smile to your lip. Knelt before the basin, you submerge your palms into the clear water and bring it to your lips. The water is not bitter or heavy with minerals, you finish what is in your palm and remove the canteen from your hip. Using one hand, you pinch the lid and the other you submerge the object and wait for the bubbles to stop.

Crack!, you stiffen—eyes flickering to the left side, someone or something is near. The forest has gone quiet, and it leaves you to think that it is a someone. You hum, shifting your leg out from under you and leaning onto it—knife on your hip, another on your chest and ankle. You cap the canteen and tie it off to your belt, swallowing as you place the final knot. Only to hear the rustling once more.

Trying your best not to move, to hush your body and heighten your senses—your fingers curl tightly around the blade, clutching onto it just as the pair of elves break the clearing. You turn quickly, drawing your weapon and posing it high—“If you’re here to start something, it’s probably best you leave.” Before, with Aarravos, you were the voice of reason—diplomatic and poise, but now it is different. It is just you. Their eyes widen significantly, as startled by you as you are by them.

One is smaller physically, but his hair is much longer—he seems more muscular, less lean. While the other seems to be just as imposing, but not physically—there is knowledge behind those eyes. He is the first one to speak, “You’re a Startouch elf.” You nod, posing your weapon higher. “Fascinating.”

However, when your weapon does not drop it is the other who steps protectively in front of the scholar—his expression less than kind. “Startouch or not, please drop your knife. We never meant you any harm.

.

.

.

“We never looked back. It was just the three of us against all of Xadia.”

[black-dhalias]

Only In Silence

Raine Whispers X EmperorsCoven!Reader

Mentions of dying, some violence

There is a distinct difference for Raine when it comes to their love interests—Eda was the old friend that gave Raine consistency. You were the kind of interest that took over every sense and enamored them, you made them too stunned to speak on more than one occasion. And all you had to do was walk into the same room as them, and boom!—Raine would begin to stumble over their words until you either left, or they finally gave up on talking at all. The fact you even existed was enough to send them into a panic, because who let you exist at all? Something so perfect?

The Bard sits on the picnic table, violin in hand as they begin to play a soft tune—it is only for them, or at least they thought they were alone. Instead they find themselves in your presence without knowing, you adore music. Especially from the Bards, sticking close, but there's one thing that keeps you from ever joining their coven. One reason. You aren’t good at music based magic, because your hands eternally shake from nerve damage. The memories of then seem so far away, you don't even remember how it happened--the blurriness is something you've just accepted.

Instead, you became adept at illusion magic—specifically shadow magic, dark illusions that dance from your finger tips and shape the world around you. Beautiful illusions that both haunt and entrance. Raine leans into the music, unaware of your approach and your intent gaze. The way you seem to study their movements, seeing the way they bring the world to life—the way music embraces the universe in a hug right before your eyes. They are perfect.

You see the way the music crests over their cheeks, their eyes shut behind their round glasses and you bring yourself closer. Just wanting to know more about Raine, to see the music from their perspective. They were a bard, and you were a wild witch, one that had yet to choose a coven yet--nervous to make such a decision.

You brush your thumb against your middle finger and watch the shadows extend towards Raine--their embrace is gentle as you begin to make them dance. The darkness twirls and dances with the notes of their violin, a song of shadowed whispers. You smile, melting into the music and resting on the bench beside them. However, as you join them, they realize that they are no longer alone and their eyes open. And there you are... At first, their bright green eyes are wide and remind you of an animal caught in a net, but the creases smooth as they realize what you are doing.

From the corner of their eye, they see the dancing shadows and let the music shift from neutral tones into something different. One that sings as you smile, and they smile back—your shadows are not terrifying to them, but a welcomed beauty. Just as you are. When the world seemed to grow dark, you did not shrink away from the shadows and instead chose to embrace the dark. Nothing on the great wide plains of the Boiling Isles scared you, and Raine found that amazing because the idea of being near you—terrified them.

You were the kind of witch that embraced the world, understanding that when you enjoy the sunshine—you must also embrace the shadows that come from that light. Raine feels the build of the music as your shadows are puppetted from the palm of your hand, and they remember every moment spent with you.

They reminisce about your time together often, because it is easy to miss someone who is no longer familiar. Raine lives in the moments when they were close to you, before you disappeared into the oblivion of your shadows—that's what they tell themselves happened. Too scared to admit any alternatives. Raine climbed through the ranks of the Bard Coven, and life happened so quickly that they had less time to remember.

That was until they were forced to see you once more, and face the truth—that they had driven you into the darkness.

Raine lets the music come to a gentle halt, the notes carry until they dissipate into the air as if they were never there at all. However, you are a very real reminder that you had listened to them play, and you danced in your own way to their music. You even seemed to enjoy it. They always seemed to like the way your eyes lit up, as if there was a song hidden behind the eyes that enchanted them.

Little by little, Raine gathers some confidence and uses the fact that you hadn't run off as the final push to remain courageous. They set aside the violin and fold their hands into their lap, playing with their fingers before they begin to speak.

"I forget how much you love music." Their voice alternates pitches as they gather some more courage and continue. "At least, I figured you enjoyed it since you are here." You smile, and that did it, their cheeks blistered a vibrant red.

"Mostly because it's you. But I do love music." You are confidence incarnate, you speak with such assurance and your words are always steady. That kind of energy is not something that can be faked, or taken, especially when your aura is so bright. No one would expect it, but it is there and Raine has seen firsthand just how powerful it can be.

"Me?" You nod, your lips pressing together as you tilt your hand, trying to will them to understand what you mean without a word. And they do, but they don't believe it for one second. A witch like you, now that just really cannot be true in the slightest. "I don't think—" Yet your eyes tell a different story and Raine finds themselves looking at their hands rather than you.

However, you do not let that last long because you reach out and lift their chin so their eyes are level with yours. "Don't sell yourself short, Raine." How could they not? You were the exact opposite of them, almost entirely contradictory to their very core, and you were all consuming. You see it though, the shaking confidence under their soft exterior. "You do such amazing things." With kindness, every word is laced with golden honey and it is not painfully sweet. It is simply kind.

"Says you." They whisper, and you watch a conflict form as they scoot closer to you. Your lips pull upwards into a soft smile, scooting closer to them. Enough that the gap between you two is nonexistent, and the outer parts of your legs are pressed together.

"Says me." Voices echo across the green, and a group of witches shout your name as they spot you with the bard. "Meet me later, at the cafe near the markets?" You request quietly, not wanting to part, but you see them edging closer and don't want to bring unnecessary anxiety to Raine. Or have the two worlds meet, the clash could obliterate you—it could change everything.

Raine nods, and as soon as your smile brightens, they lose sight because you've lent in to press a kiss to their cheek. You don't say anything else as you walk away to the group, but Raine feels warmth spread from the spot you kissed. They reach up to brush their fingertips against the spot, feeling a flutter in their chest as the memory surges back over and over.

When your friends asked who that was, you hushed them and just smiled because sometimes you enjoyed your little secret crush. You liked having those feelings all to yourself, and you couldn't wait to see them later tonight. You imagined you'd finally have the courage to admit the long standing feelings, explain the reason you were so captivated by their music and brought to near tears at the notion of joining any other coven. You know that doesn't make sense, but it does to you—because Raine doesn't expect perfection from you, they just expect you to exist and that was enough.

With a smile, you speak quietly as they talk about their plan to join the Emperor's Coven and that wonders that will be bestowed upon them. They imagine great wealth and privilege, but you do not imagine yourself in the throws of gold and prodigies. You imagine yourself beside Raine, but you suck at Bard magic—you clench your hands into fists as the tremors increase. But given a second, they fall away and you swallow, just focusing on your smile.

"So Y/N..." You look up and see all of their eyes on you, with the knowledge that you are only hours away from a very different reality. Maybe you don't have to care about Bard magic at all, so long as you just get the sigil.

"Soooooo?" You repeat, your lips forming a thin line as you walk side by side with them. Wondering what they even asked?

"When we try out tomorrow? Are you coming with us?" You hesitant and see the disappointment in their eyes, and it hurts, but you don't know.

"Maybe... I have a couple things to think about..." They sigh and you shrug your shoulders, holding your hands up in defense.

"Oh my titannnnnn, you really are the worst." Their words are defeating as they walk off ahead of you, to the point that you just slow down and then stop entirely. You hate to disappoint people, especially your friends, but when are you ever going to put yourself first?

Raine walks through the streets as they empty, almost everyone having cleared from the markets entirely—the Boiling Isles are consistent in their people. Some are scared to be out after sunset, and others only ever come out when the shadows are at their longest point and stretch through the alleys. Your image keeps Raine moving forward, a pep in their step as they of all the great things you represent. They were almost certain they were going to tell you how they feel, it was the only thing that made sense. And to an extent, they were certain you felt similarly. Just the thought makes their heart pound furiously in their chest.

The feeling does not last long as a group of hooded witches move towards Raine, their hands clench into a fist as the group does not seem to be moving quickly. And instead, it felt like they were waiting for Raine to pass through. That instinct was correct, as Raine feels hands grasp their biceps and pin them in place.

"You can't go see Y/N." Its haunting, the way the voice echoes off the stone and buildings. And even as other's pass by, no one says a word in the Bard's defense. Instead, they just pass by and continue on their way.

"I don't think that concerns you." They have no idea where the confidence comes from, but the audacity of anyone to say otherwise.

However, the grip on their arms tighten and Raine hunches over when the first hit collides with their stomach. Titan, that is a miserable feeling. They groan, forced back into standing up straight position and looks their attackers on. Raine doesn't recognize them though, seems they are intent on them not meeting you.

"I don't think you understand." Another hit, Raine doubles over and for a second, they see stars. "You will go home, and you will not tell Y/N a word of this." Another hit. "You'll be the reason they screw up their life." The hands on their biceps drop, and Raine folds in on themselves and hits the pathway. Feeling the kicks, before they disappear and the hooded figures become just that.

Had Raine been smarter, they would have went straight home, it might have saved them a little heartbreak. However, instead they head in the direction of the cafe—but when they see you, sitting at the table alone. A rush of guilt overwhelms the witch, as they realize they might be taking something away from you. Not that they didn't care. Not that they were unsure of their feelings, or that you didn't enamor them completely. You were perfect, and powerful... And while Raine was good, they don't know if they are powerful? If they match the energy that you give off day to day, and they never want to hold you back... Raine watches you for another minute, they can see the rush of emotion as a thought hits you—they wonder if you've realized that they're not coming? Your eyes get sad and dazed, and then your expression hardens and its like they see the shadows bend to your emotions. Raine digs their fingernails into their palm, and breathes out a shaking breath—they care too much, to take anything away. You don’t sit there for a moment longer, Raine forces themself to watch you walk away and when they no longer can see you—Raine pulls the white cloak over their head and walks in the opposite direction. You were everything Raine wished they could be and so letting you go was the only logical option, it made sense. No matter how twisted it might sound.

You, however, did not fair well after being stood up by the famed Raine Whispers. You were so certain of your feelings, trusting in your heart entirely, and you were wrong. That was the worst part, to feel betrayed by your own heart. In that moment, you felt the shadows become less rigid in your palms and they writhed with the pain you felt. You do not shed a tear, do not allow yourself to stoop to that level.

When you stood on the edge of the stadium, where you'll officially audition for the Emperor's Coven—you hesitate, seeing those vibrant eyes stare back at you. Only they are not there, and you do not care what they think anymore. A witch's duel decides whether you make the final cut, or not— And you have no idea who is going to be on the other side of the arena. Only that you're going to do whatever it takes to win, your hearts not going to rule you this time.

Raine sits in the stands, the ones who try out for the Emperor's Coven are the best of the best—beyond powerful. They don't like them very much, but they at least respect the power that these witches hold. Matches went by quickly, until it came down to the last one. Their breath hitches in their throat as they see you stride to the ring, not daring to step beyond the line just yet. Then across from you, is the witch that attacked them; however, in the way you hesitate that tells them that you know your opponent. The witch parallel to you does not hesitate in the same way, instead they smirk and Raine is able to see the way your eyes darken.

They watch you step into the ring, fingers poised, they can see the twitch in your index finger—familiar with the way your illusions conjure without incantation. They wouldn't be surprised if you won long before really showing off, titan really tortures them with your memory.

You almost thought about walking out of the duel when you realized the witch you'd be fighting was one of your childhood friends, someone you admired—now it is you or them. And after losing Raine, you weren't losing this duel.

At first, you do not move even as your opponent conjures a ring of abomination goop—you pop your lips, watching the goop mold into abominations. "Useless." You taunt, popping your lips as you raise your hand. "My turn though." With a flex of your fingers, the shadow of your opponent comes to life and twists around them. And where Raine expected the illusion to break with the contact, they see the other witch struggle against the bonds.

They lean forward in anticipation, in only a matter of days—you managed to weaponize your illusions. Although Raine isn't even sure how that's possible. However, the shadow does break eventually as you relax your hand—your opponent dusts off their shirt, sneering. Yet you do not seem affected by their ill will, you seemed above it all. An unwavering force of nature, the only reason why Raine even came to these stupid tryouts.

"Is that all you've got!?" The other witches voice is staggering, if it had form—Raine imagines that it would be stumbling across the ring, barely even able to reach your ears.

Both your hands twitch, waiting—you are patient and your opponent is not, they seem impulsive which explains why they attacked Raine last night. They rush and Raine knows, that is the moment when they decided they were going to lose. If they had just waited you out, or hesitated just a little, then they stood a chance. Rushing up on the attack, it opened them up to whatever hell you had planned.

Your hands fly into the air, drawing shadows from the crowd—bleeding the arena of all darkness and watching it snake quickly to your opponent. It wraps around them, engulfing the witch completely and yet despite obviously winning—you do not let up. Your gaze is downcast, eyes resembling the very darkness you control so expertly.

In that moment, Raine no longer recognizes you anymore.

In most cases, Raine would be comfortable leaving their past in the past. Happy to not have to worry about any of it anymore, but you are someone that Raine has yet to move past. A rigid thought and cruel reminder of what it means to sacrifice everything, for someone else. They let you go, and now they imagine that the lines have been drawn too deep and too long to ever be crossed again. They imagine that you are long gone, just a memory.

You had won your duel and took your place in the Emperor’s Coven—you were the fear factor, the one they sent when witches needed to be controlled. You were an all-powerful, silencing shadow and void that consumed free will when you arrived. You became terror incarnate.

When Raine catches themselves thinking of you, they revert to the hate they have for what the Coven has turned you into and in part, the blame shifts to them. Had they chosen differently, been braver—maybe you never would have become this.

Yet now, you walk into rooms and where you used to be the friendly face to most—witches scurried away after curt hello’s, and you had no smiles to give them in return. A glare here. A tense nod there. Sometimes when you were giving a thinly veiled threat, some could see the remnants of a smirk. The ghost of excitement and enjoyment, but it never lasted more than a second.

The Boiling Isles had become the center of your isolation—a burning urge to be alone because no wants you nearby. Where you went, fear simply followed in your wake. Others in the Emperor's Coven were jealous of Belos' trust in you. So in the end, that's what it came down to—did they fear or hate you?

In some ways, that's the way you liked it.

The lonely nights were a comfort, and when others cried for their losses. You simply enjoyed the solace in your lack of the things that other people treasured. Too many years of disappointments had left you callous and cruel, like a true shadow.

You lean heavily on the rails of the stairway, cloaked in your shadowy minions—watching below as guards pass by. Eyes judging the expressions of strangers, most of their names were simply unknown.

'Y/N... Come to me...' You do not respond, simply adjust your posture and head to the throne room. For actions speak louder than words when it comes to the emperor.

"Sir." You assert, hands tucked behind your back and head bowed in reverence. If one saw you now, they would be certain that the shadows had cut your face in half.

'I am sending you on a special mission.' You nod, the code is simple—it is your job to make someone go away. 'Lillith...' Before, you qualified her as one of your only friends, but betrayal remains once loyalty is broken.

You nod.

Only for the first time, as you leave the throne room and listen to the thud of the doors closing behind you—there is a semblance of doubt.

What is Belos up to?

The answers did not come and as you watch your prey—hidden in the shadows that have never left the bitter taste of betrayal. You hesitate. Lillith was never jealous, a bit of a kiss up, but you liked her. And when she had to make the choice, she chose the one that protected the greatest bond she had—her sister. You couldn't blame her for that. Couldn't fault her.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek and turn away. The Isles had one thing wrong. You were not a monster.

'Why does Lillith still live?' You bow your head in respect.

"I trust your vision for the Isles... But I fear we must contain ourselves; Lillith knows many and for Unity Day to work—we must placate." He believed it, for you had given him no reason to doubt. However, the seed of your own doubt had been planted.

As your pen hovers above the parchment, the letters seem to wrap themselves in thread and tie themselves all up in knots. You can hardly seem to come up with the right words. 'Unity Day will be the end of the Boiling Isles.' Tremors apparent, you fold it into a neat little square and pass it along to the shadowy bird. With hope, it'll find its way to the leader of the Bard Coven.

The minty haired bard had little give left at the council—few were forward thinking and the other half had some of the worst personalities. They were hardly representative of the people, but after a long day of deliberation, no decisions had been made. Raine had reached a bit of a limit, and the quiet of his rooms after such a long council meeting—it was reassuring.

Raine could hear the slight tap before they saw the bird, the small sound echoes in the silence. Only in silence did noises echo like that. And as soon as the window is open, the bird had dropped the paper into their palm and disappeared in a puff. Gone.

While not the message they hoped for, the cryptic note reassured them of one thing: you were still very much in there. That was all they needed to know to get them moving and planning, because Raine trusted you. Even if no one else would.

How much time had passed? More than enough for Raine to have begun planning, but no whispers had come your way. It was quiet. That same quiet was filled with orders to force witches into covens, and kill if they did not comply. I her did you go wrong?

You knew it was coming, that the bad was beginning to bleed into the Boiling Isles, but it should not have gotten this far. You let it get this far.

You approach their rooms with care, sheltered the nighttime darkness and the long shadows of the halls. Lights few and far between the further you were from the center. Raine was the only good one you knew of, despite it all—even you know that much.

“Y/N?” Raine had not said your name out loud in a decade, the gentle hum of their voice made your name sound like a song. You glance around, no one is near—so when they prop open their door enough for you to slip inside, you do so quickly.

Heart racing, it pounds heavy in your chest—stomach tucked right up there with it, all twisted up in a knot. Even with your expression so calm, they could see the conflict existing within your eyes—it baffles Raine.

How dark you seemed, but you were beginning to seem warmer and now this visit, has them certain that you are still good. "We need to talk." Raine nods, a twinge of fear or maybe nerves in the way they keep their distance. You weren't sure what it was.

Because the truth is, this is the first time you have spoken to them since that day. Sometimes they still wonder if things would be different if they would have showed up? Could have prevented the way your eyes lost a lot of what used to make them so bright.

"I figured." You nod, just watching them, they seem the same, limber and full of life. That same energy in their steps, like music constantly existed beneath their feet. The ghost of a smile, and red warmth to their cheeks.

"Yes, well Unity Day is a trap; our sigils bind us to our coven, to the magic shared between us—it's like a lock and a transmitter all at once. When the Unity spell is active, our magic isn't going to get stronger—Belos plans to absorb all the magic through the Coven heads." You speak quick and hushed, even in privacy, you fear the prying ears of strangers. Never lingering on any one syllable for too long. "Raine, I could be executed for even sduggesting any of this to you. Let alone telling you it all." Their green eyes widen exponentially more than before, you see the way they adjust—shifting theier weight.

You used to know them so well, knew every movement and reaction. You don't know them anymore.

"No one will know. I would never do that to you." You believe them, and in that moment of trust, Raine sees more of you. The old you and the new you aren't so different at all. The way your eyes soften for them, the way the corner of your lips twitches and then shift your gaze to the floor.

"Belos is counting us not being able to band together." While the covens aren't exactly at war, or in poor connection—animosity always exists when there is a divide amongst witches. "He put his money on me not saying anything." His good little soldier. A bubble of shame, because as you avert your eyes the thought of this all being Raine's fault crosses your mind.

But now you know, the choice was yours to make alone.

You were the one who joined the Emperor's Coven to prove a point to yourself, and only partially was that about Raine.

"I could have told him that he bet wrong." You were their crush, this force of nature. You were not the first to notice Raine but were the first to choose them. The way they say it, the sweet words that roll of their tongue like honey so smooth. They would bet on you making the right choice.

"Yeah..." You know the memories are right there in the back of your mind. Close enough to touch. To see.

"So, what's the plan?" There is a pep in their step, Raine seems so full of hope, and you question if you made the right choice putting them in danger once again.

You felt the potent taste of fear, strong and undoubtedly nothing you expected to pain you so much. It's been a long time since you had Raine at your side, but this is first time you're afraid to lose them. The feeling from before are more loud than quiet, more colorful, and more tender. You feel their thumb brush over your coven sigil, "I don't like that you're going up their alone." You smile, your sweet Bard...

Perhaps forgiveness was easier to attain than you thought possible. To hold it against them, it would be a crime to turn your cheek to their kindness. To their devotion. Their love. Especially when meeting their eyes is inherently what brings you peace.

"Not alone. Eda will be up there, and Darius... And you won't be far." Even you know that does little to comfort them. "I'll be okay." You smile once again and let yourself drift close, letting them guide you into their arms.

[black-dhalias]

What are the fandoms you’re most motivated to write for at the moment?

Tiger and Bunny — any character tbh

TVD, and the Originals— any character tbh

Bonded by Thorns — tbh don’t know if there’s a base, but I’d do it

Harry Potter — marauders mostly

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Just in a bit of a slump at the moment, this last year has been extremely difficult for me when it comes to writing. I have so many things that are written on paper, but I can’t seem to find the motivation to type it out.

[black-dhalias]

Promise Me

Johanna Mason X F!Reader

Warnings: Death, cursing, normal hunger games warnings, and brief mention of suicide.

Nothing about Y/N ever screamed ordinary to Johanna—you were every bit exciting and amazing from the day she met you until the day Snow stole you away. You were the kind of summer sunshine that brightened everyone you met in Seven, and Johanna was far from that. She was rigid and harsh, like salt into a wound. And for some reason, you were glued to her side.

“Joooooooooooo—” You drag out the nickname, throwing yourself across the lounge in the living room. You were going crazy watching her get ready for the tour, bored out of your mind—but you were here. Hardly left this house since Johanna came home.

She hmmms, turning in your direction and smiling as she spots your smile—you were the only reason she had left to smile. The Games had taken just about everything from her, but as you pout and reach out for her. Johanna is a fool for you, an absolute idiot. The cameras would be here shortly, but you did more than preoccupy her—you kept her sane.

“Yes Y/N?” You continue to reach out, gesturing her close and watch as she finally lets her resolve call and gives in. Something about how your palm melts around her fingers as she lets you pull her close, warmly smiling throughout the entire motion. That feeling just gives her a sense of belonging, of importance—that she wouldn’t trade for anything else.

“Is there something you need?” You feel the hum of her breath as she lays spooned against your chest. You know she’s smiling, even if you can’t see it.

“Nothing more than this.”

.

.

.

Johanna had walked into Victor’s Village like it was any other day, the Games had ended—her tributes dead, and the idea of holding you was just about the only thing on her mind.

First, she imagined herself walking in and you’re there to greet her. You don’t even wait for her to toss away her things before you have embraced her close. Your face buried in her shoulder, everything would slip through her fingers until they were free enough to hold you back.

Second, by the time you let go—Johanna would be relieved, the hate would melt away and that would be enough. You would smile at her, not happy or sad—but that soft and warm smile because you knew what she felt. Knew what she had seen.

Third, you would lead her to the living room where fresh tea and bread would be waiting. A soft spreadable cheese still cool, because you wanted everything to be perfect.

Fourth, she’d sit there all night with you in her arms. Trying to imagine anyone else, and unable—knowing that you were the one made for her. A perfect incarnation of sunshine, and even when she burdened you with her Games. You were always there when she woke up in the morning.

Five, every year was the same thing… Johanna liked that she knew what to expect from you at every turn. The simplicity of knowing where your head is at. It made up for the unpredictability of the Games themselves. Took her far away from those thoughts.

Si-, the door is ajar—Johanna hesitates on the porch, something about the rush of blood to her head makes the world sit sideways. On edge. Like she’s trying to walk through the portal.

You never leave the door open.

Seven, she finds the courage to place her hand against the rough edge of the door. One slip and her fingers would be splintered, it was as if someone had forced their way in. Breaking the trim. There is no rush of fresh bread, or sweet candles you burned so often. There was no you at all. Just a long empty hall. One that is too quiet.

Ei-eight, Johanna knows what’s coming before she even turns the corner… something about the thick metallic smell had a mist already formed in her eyes. She couldn’t even feel her hands that guided her through the home, but there you were.

Nine. She stares at the note as if it could burst into flames, willing it to—Snow. It was easy to decipher the meaning. She got nine years with Y/N. Her perfect match. And Snow gave her nine chances to accept his offer, and she refused them all. Too loyal to her Y/N…

Johanna saw her fair share of dead bodies in the arena, but when the note slips out of her fingers. Her body had gone into autopilot, rushing your form that is hidden by the coffee table.

“Y/N!” Her knees ache as they hit hardwood, the heavy pound of her heart is all she hears as she tries to find a pulse. To will your heart into a steady beat, but it is already gone. And all Johanna could do was sit there and know. “Please don’t-” The words broke off, because they didn’t matter.

You were already gone.

Johanna sat there for the rest of the night, wishing for any sign of life. She could barely stand it when the peacekeepers finally came for your body.

The rumors said you did it to yourself, downed a bottle of pills, but Johanna knew better than that. Knew the edge to her voice was warranted as she tried to silence ever lie, because you wouldn’t.

You didn’t.

Snow just made it seem like you did. That Johanna had finally told you one too many stories, put one too many burdens on you.

She had nine chances, and chose you all nine times… and inadvertently, ended it all.

.

.

.

In District Thirteen, Johanna still found herself seeing you as she did in the Capitol. You were smiling again, the morphine induced visions seemed more joyous than those made by torture. You laid with her, and smiled—made the worst of the dreams disappear.

Even when the morphine wore off, you were still there and Johanna appreciated the memories. Sometimes, if she let herself forget about your death—she would almost believe you were still alive. That it was really you watching over her. Just like you promised you would.

Watching the wedding, something in Johanna felt emptier wondering if she would have married you? She would have asked eventually, no one got her the way you did. You knew when she was upset, or sad, or happy by the smallest twitch in her expression.

Would you wear a dress? Would it be white? Would you kiss her in front of no one, with no family or would your friends be there? Would you have lived through the games? The revolution?

Katniss is next to her, but Johanna’s mind is far off—wondering where you are. How you are? Did you finally figure out what’s after death? Will you still be waiting for her?

“Her name was Y/N…” It was unprovoked, but it was the first time Johanna had managed to speak your name out loud. She couldn’t bare to say a syllable after you died, it was like sending shockwaves through her whole body. Every. Single. Time.

“What?”

“The girl I love. Her name is Y/N.” Johanna briefly sees a flash of your eyes from memory, the brightness shining through even though it is only a thought.

Katniss could hear the echo of what Johanna had said during the Quell: “There’s no one left I love.”

“Snow killed her a year after I won. She was just about the only person I cared about, someone ought to know that much.” She pauses, the words caught in her throat as she looks over at Katniss.

“He has to pay for what he’s done.”

[black-dhalias]

To Belong

Leah Clearwater X Vampire!Reader

It wasn’t supposed to be like this—you were a lover of the arts and prospective ballerina. You were an artist. A performer and perfectionist. A lover, not really a fighter at all. You were graceful and kind, and you were good. You had a million and one dreams, and a future with so many hopes.

And in a flash, you had none of it.

When you felt the venom pound through your veins, you had hoped for death. The flurry of red hair was all you could remember of those last moments, that, and that you were going to be late for your audition.

“Smell this.” You do and pass the short along, the humans scent clings to it and now to you—without a doubt, all you knew these last months was orders. Do as your told and make it to the next day. You only knew bloodlust, no more dreams to keep your sanity together.

Everything was different, even the temporary sun of Seattle seemed to sing a different song. You had no dance left in you at all. Yet despite the subtle knowledge that you’re going to die before the end of this, you continue to follow the rules.

You just can’t bring yourself to care at all, you already lost everything—Riley made sure you knew that much. In the end, there’s nothing left of your life to return to. You move with the others—you don’t belong here though. You never belonged with them. You stop, the moment Riley separates from the group—the moment you heard the onslaught of growls. You stop completely in your tracks.

You don’t want to die.

You back into the rocks and drop down, knowing only one thing—that this is not your fight. “My name is Y/N.” You close your eyes. “I’m 18 years old.” Knees brace against your chest. “I was a ballet dancer. I died.” The sound of shattering bodies makes you squint harder, every sound sends a ricochet through you.

Make it go away.

“My name is Y/N. I died, and I just want to go home.” It has to go away, you don’t want this. You wish they would have just killed you.

“Hi Y/N.” You look up at the man with golden blonde hair and striking gold eyes. You would be crying, you want to cry. You don’t move, preparing yourself to die.

“I’m sorry—I-I don’t—” You shake your head, “I can’t—I don’t want to do this.” You are pleading with the gods more than him, wishing they’ll have mercy on you when it’s all done. You used to believe in god.

“Shhhh….” He soothes, “it’s okay… We won’t hurt you…” you follow him hesitantly, anxious to even be walking… You are their enemy, but they do not attack—they watch you with feverish pity, you hat their pity even more.

You did not expect the wolves, but in spite of your fear—you cannot look away from one of the smaller gray wolves. And if you weren’t on edge. You would almost say that they were watching you.

It all came down to a trade, Bree died and you lived—the insistence of the Cullens had saved you. Even though you came here to kill their human, they defended you. One of them even argued it had to be you. They were convincing enough.

Days turned to weeks and then weeks into months—the diet came easier than it sounded. Your eyes had begun to shift to a deep shade of gold. You almost hated yourself a little less. You put on a smile and walk in the direction of the stairs before stopping at the sight of—well you’ve never met her. Yet those eyes are familiar. Hair cropped short and dark, lips full and god those eyes.

“Sorry, I had to meet you.” Her apology is confusing, you tilt your head as you stop yourself from moving. You want to be close, but something in the way she is away—it makes you think that she doesn’t want you close.

“I know you.”

“Yeah we met once.” You nod, finally taking. A step forward and she steps back to match.

“The battle…” She nods, arms around her torso. “You were the little wolf.” This time she hesitates and does not move as you take another step down.

“Like I said, I had to meet you just once.” She swallows, studying how you move and every facet of your appearance. It’s a little like seeing the sun after years of being in the dark. Leah did not know what it meant to long for something, not in this way, until she had spent months battling every instinct. While a part of her is drawn to you, the other half is furious at the universe.

If she would have gone to Seattle a day before you were turned, bumped into you just once. Leah would have been there, but now you are a vampire. You were everything she was supposed to hate. And despite you being a stranger and a bloodsucker—she hates you less than most.

“I’m Y/N—” Leah knew your name, she had obsessed over you for months—hours googling you. Your missing persons report and family posts, they were shocking and painful. They were full of blistered memories from people who knew you better, but they pained Leah.

“Leah.” You smile and Leah loses herself for a moment, had tried to tell herself that she would feel nothing because you weren’t human. But she feels every second of your presence. In another universe. But Leah was certain the moment you smiled, that even in this universe—she chooses you.

“Well Leah, we have officially met now.” Yeah and now she doesn’t know what to say, and she rocks onto the balls of her feet. You can hear how hard her heart pounds, racing. “I do have to go right now, but I can give you my number?” Leah nods, takes it down and follows you out of the house. You don’t seem like a vampire at all, you seem oddly human.

“Bye Leah.” Then you are gone and Leah is on the porch, in quiet and calm.

“Bye.”

How long are you supposed to wait? When is it appropriate for Leah to hit send on a message? She had rewrote it a hundred times already. An hour. Leah hits send… Oh, god it was too quick. She begins to panic, rolling over in bed.

‘Hey! I was just about to text you!’

Her lips form into a smile, all of these good things and at the same time, the worry mounts once more. What is she supposed to say?

‘Yeah. I didn’t want to bother you since you rushed out.’

Read, god she really hopes you feel anxious too, terrified that she is reading too much into this. Terrified of even thinking about the one thing that she knows for certain—that she is already caught up in you.

You smile at your phone, leaning into the couch.

‘You don’t bother me at all.’

You type it all so fast and hit send. You almost don’t hate yourself as you go back and forth with her.

‘Good lol. So what’re you up to?’

That was the beginning of one long conversation—no one ever said good night or good morning, everything just continued. Over and over, on the daily. Leah had wrecked her sleep schedule just to see your name grace her screen.

It made everyday worth while.

It was late, your voice echoes over speaker… Leah was hushed, her voice groggy as she tells you about her day.

“Leah?” She hmmms and you continue. “Get some rest. We-”

Leah interjects: “Just talk—I just—”

“Okay.” You rummage through the shelves as quickly as possible, and return to the. All before she even knows you are gone.

“Mr and Mrs Dursley of Number 4 Privot drive, we’re proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.” You hear her laugh on the other end of the call, sleep intertwined with the sound.

“Harry Potter, really?” You kind of chuckle, pausing as you listen.

“I never read it.” You were so odd with how you said it, like it was the simplest thing in the world. She never questioned it further and as your voice lulled her to sleep—you can help your smile.

Seth tosses a cream colored envelope in her direction as they sit at the table, his other hand holding the muffin he’s devouring. While the letter itself is unexpected, the scent on it is familiar and known. She tears into the envelope quickly, watching an invitation fall out with messy writing in the corner.

Her eyes draw to the signature first— Y/N.

Leah wonders if you know what you do to her head, the mess you have caused and the inhibitions you have broken. Nothing about you was simple, and it drove her wild. She had only been talking to you actively for a month, but it was like she had known you for years.

Hey Leah!

Not sure if you’ll come, but I really could use some company at this wedding. And I’d rather it be you.

Love Y/N

It was that easy. Leah suddenly was invited to a wedding for people she barely tolerates and she’ll be there with a smile. She hadn’t seen you since you gave her your phone number, and since then—you had consumed her every waking thought.

“So you’re going?” Leah glances up at Seth, shrugging her shoulders—trying to seem nonchalant.

“Yeah, I guess.” Seth rolls his eyes, taking another bite of his muffin.

“Ya know, you imprinted on her. It’s okay to, ya know—be excited about getting to go with her.” Leah again shrugs, really looking at the way your writing jumps out. Your name. “You’re impossible, Leah.”

.

.

Leah tucks her hair behind her ears, trying her best to not to look as giddy as she feels. She had ruined her sleep to talk to you, and spent half her day waiting for your name to brighten up her phone.

‘I’m here’—Leah hits send, almost instantly the message is read and she smiles. Watching those three little dots…. Anticipation…. They disappear, and her heart drops.

“Leah!” She looks up and spots you at the top of the stairs—stunning. This definitely beats phone calls and text messages, because you just exist and Leah is absolutely enamored. “Oh I’m glad you made it!” You were halfway down the stairs before Leah could bring herself to even notice how beautiful you looked. Your hair done up, and eyes glittering the brightest shade of gold—like rich caramel, or amber. Or how you were wearing slacks with a vibrant maroon button down, and somehow was both feminine and masculine. Lips shaded a brilliant red.

“I see now why you had me wear maroon—” The way your expression seems to lift, eyes brightening… Leah is certain that you would be blushing.

“I thought the color would suit you.”

“Or you just wanted us to match?” You again, get that look as she points out exactly what you were thinking. You liked Leah, a lot more than anticipated and enjoyed the closeness.

“The color does look nice on you. I wouldn’t peg you as someone to like dresses.” She kind of half shrugs, again trying to seem as nonchalant as she can be. However, unconsciously—as she rocks on her heels, you note the way the dress moves just a little. You wonder if she’d make your heart race? Would she? Could she?

You don’t know where the confidence comes from—where you found the nerve to grab her hand as you lead her into the wedding. You knew next to no one here, besides her and the Cullens; everyone else was a stranger. Sure you knew Seth’s voice from the times he’d interrupt Leah on the phone. Sure you knew of people, but you didn’t know any of them.

Which made it that much easier, because she was pretty much the only person you needed nowadays. At first, Leah is hesitant to accept the way your hand felt—it was cold, but it was not uncomfortable. It was firm, but again, not uncomfortable. Nothing about you made her uncomfortable at all.

Being near you was as easy as breathing for Leah.

The Cullens took you in, and protected you when the Volturi wanted nothing more than to kill you. They gave you a home when you were certain you had nothing left to have.

“We’re outnumbered.” You tense up, you aren’t a newborn anymore, but you are close enough and you draw in on that strength.

“By a lot.” For family right? That’s what this is all about, and even as you stand adjacent to Alice—you wonder where you would be without them? Dead. That’s the only answer.

“I won’t let them hurt my family.” You tighten your stance, preparing yourself all at once for the oncoming assault.

“Neither will I.” It’s the four of you versus everyone else, just you against the wolves and it seems like every time you are certain you can breathe. Another wolf takes their place.

Even when the others arrive, you are left pinned—hands barred on either side of a wolves jaw. Screaming for help. You turn your head to the side, saving yourself from the teeth—hair tangling with the dirt. You hear a growl, eyes opening to see Leah moving quickly. For a moment, you are back at the battle field. The moment that changed everything, and gave you a second chance.

Once Leah is in front of you, the wolves redirect their attacks—avoiding you at every turn.

Leah’s body is wrapped almost entirely around you, spooning you close as her arms lazily hang over your shoulders. Her cheek pressing against the side of your head. Something about the way her heart beats, it soothes your soul.

“Why’d they stop attacking me?” Every muscle in her body seems to tense, just slightly, but enough for you to notice the change.

“Because I’d kick all their butts before they got to you.” You smile lightly, enjoying the sound of her voice as she smiles back—laughing just a little. But the way the sound catches in her throat, it tells you that there’s more to it.

“Cute, but really? Why? It made no sense, one second I was a prime rib and the next—it was like they were avoiding me.”

“Are you really questioning why they didn’t want to kill you anymore?” You kind of shifts your body so that you are facing her, still leaning into her—her fingers ghosting over your face to brush the hair out of your face.

“Yeah because I think there’s something you’re not telling me.” Leah purses her lips, you can see the thoughts physically forming in her head—like she’s trying to come up with a good story. You see her kind of give in, face relaxing as she sighs—tightening her grasp on you.

Nervous, you try to soothe her worries—laying across her chest, head tucked into the spot between her neck and shoulder. Arms wound around her as you listen to the lull of her heart. Even with the way the air catches in her throat, the sudden shift in her demeanor.

“I imprinted.” Your brow contorts, only hearing of imprinting one time before—sacred. That’s how Edward described it. “And if they hurt you, they would have broken everything we believe in.” Leah’s throat tightens, she had wondered many times of things would be different? What would have happened if you were human? Would she care more? Would she know you?

“Do you love me?” It was that simple, you didn’t ask the big questions or the complicated ones. Your eyes were wide and for a moment she just studied your expression, it was a half as second.

“Imprint or not, I’d love you either way.” Maybe it would have taken longer, but it didn’t matter because she has you now. Your sweet smile, it’s all Leah needs to know that much. She would have found you eventually.

“Good.” You hum out the word, smiling as you lean in to place a soft kiss on her lips.

[black-dhalias]

can you please do a I Will Never Die part three? I’m begging please lol 🙏

I Will Never Die III

Carlisle Cullen X Reader

After then, he never asked again, because how was he supposed to react? Carlisle really couldn’t be mad at you because everyone has a reason for not being able to continue. To make choices. Despite centuries, the weight of your human life weighs on your very core. Carlisle glances at you over his book, you leaning on the couch—looking up at the screen. Some random conspiracy documentary playing—every once and while, you’d make an audible correction. Because you lived most of history, empires and civilization—lifetimes of experiences. Carlisle admires that, and it brings him joy.

Immense joy.

All things end though, no more documentaries… No more rest… When Bella came back with news of pregnancy, you threw yourself into research. You didn’t think it was an immortal child, you’ve seen the destruction of them first hand—this feels very different. But the worry is still there.

Only now, do you wish you still had access to the extensive collection of Volturi resources. Books, scrolls—some dating back to the time of your birth. Some first editions from the Library of Alexandria. Many you chronicalized yourself. But as Bella depletes, as hope drains and as Carlisle could barely drag you from the computer. You began to distrust your first instinct that this is not an immortal child, because she is drifting away.

That’s the thing about immortality, the cruel reality of being untouched by time—you see the odds, understand the perspective of existence in ways others do not. Right now, Bella is losing time—her string used to extend far into the future, but now it is within arms reach. Just past your fingertips.

Carlisle places a hand on your shoulder and then the other, “Love?” You don’t even look up, a document pulled up talking about a legend of succubus.

“What if its an immortal child?”

“We have to hope otherwise.” He leans down to kiss the top of your head, but it does nothing to silence the thought. The one that has not left your mind—the one you hide from Edward every time you look at Bella.

“Its killing her slowly…” There’s only one thing to do, her body frail and belly bruised blue. Something you never thought was not possible.

“I know.” You’ll kill it yourself, you could take the Cullens— and you don’t want to, but you see yourself as a protector. Someone who has been around from the beginning. You won’t risk your family, or your friends for such a risk.

You like Bella, you used to find her brave, but now you find her idiotic and selfish. Making a choice based purely on what she believes is best, and you understand, but can she blame you for making the same choice? To some extent, bravery is stupidity—just praised recklessness.

“Do you- Come with me?” You want to leave, but if you leave this spot, you will do it. Or you will run away, find an answer somewhere else. You just can’t trust yourself not to eliminate the problem completely.

You had thought about saying yes to his request, wondering if that would heal the pain—change the fates design. Actually, you take that back. You don’t believe in fate, just choices that tie and break, long lines of decisions.

“I can’t.” You can’t bring yourself to think about anything else, except researching. Also it would be selfish to divert Carlisle’s attention, you look up at him—he needs to perfect, on top of his game. You would only prove a distraction… You sigh looking down,that’s not something you want to think, but even if you don’t want it. It is very true.

You can’t leave, and you can’t stay close—knowing that you wouldn’t hesitate, because you agree with the wolves. This is the safest distance… It has to be.

GIF by reignonmary

When dancing with Carlisle that night, something in you had reimagined your entire lifetime of lifetimes. All around him. Completely and utterly invested in a world where you can be close to him. Near him. Yet you were devastated when you realized, a dance was all you would ever share beyond quiet rendezvous. The only moment where you publicly seemed happier than you were.

No one could know you had a heart beneath the stone walls you had developed. No one could know that the famed elder vampire could love another.

Those dances became your solace in a room of strangers, the way his hand landed on your waist and he did not fear you. The way his eyes did not move from your gaze and only when you broke the eye contact, did he spin you in circles. He made every part of you spin in circles. Is that love? Or the possibility of love?

It had to be, because you had never felt anything as potent as you did when he brought you in close. You couldn't even make out what he was saying as your dress wrapped around his legs, the dance coming to a sudden end. But he was still close. So close you could feel an unneeded breath brush against your cheek. So close that his lips are inches from your own.

Then there was another dance, and another to follow--and still no one said a word. No one came to whisk you away for a moment, because he did not let them. He was cool and collected, confident as he smiled down at you. In a way that left you speechless.

How could someone so young? So full of life and possibility, take someone like you and spin you like this? He knew what to say and do, and made every piece of your puzzle fall into place.

Every party began and ended with you two dancing, just the music and the movement of your bodies. Completely in sync, as you recall the gentle kiss you had pressed to his lips. You had waited eons for someone to make you feel anything other than bitterness, to wipe away the petty vendetta you had listed off.

Any other day, another year--a decade or century ago, you knew of no one who could quell your rage. You smile up at him, the warmth of the smile he returns. It says all that words cannot.

“Y/N will have to stay here…” You nod, the plan is good—Carlisle, Emmett, and Jasper will hunt so that Carlisle is at his strongest.

“What about-?” Carlisle looks over at you with a smile, cutting off Edward mid sentence.

“Y/N knows more than me. She’s probably more equipped than I ever will be.” He has so much faith in you, but this is an issue of control. You do know more than he does, but the transfer from human to animal has set you back a century. You think you’re ready, but what if you’re not? What if you slip? The question is, can you walk away when Bella begins to bleed? You really do not have an answer to that question.

You don’t believe in pointless death, in turning people if they have a choice, but it has to happen sometimes. It has to happen now because Bella chose to intertwine her life with immortals. You don’t share more than a hug with Carlisle, you have to do this for him. Be strong for him.

“Its our best shot.” It has to be.

You lean into the hope that Carlisle is okay… You know he got past the wolves, but that is not the only enemy. Not the only threat that you guys are facing at this point. Some out to get you for things you did yourself, and some for things you let the Volturi get away with. Its easy to blame you, and you were okay with that until Carlisle came into the picture. Until word spread that you had a mate. That’s why most of the Old Ones went into hiding, or died—and you are that middle ground.

None of you have an explanation, but still you are blamed for things far out of your control. Why? You don’t know, but its not just a vampire thing. People others assume have power, are held responsible for things that are completely out of their control.

You sit on the furthest couch, trying your best to not stare at Bella, but sometimes you catch yourself glancing over with worry. At one point, she notices and forces herself to smile, which sends a pang of grief through you. She hasn’t even died yet, but you’re already mourning her loss and hate the fact that she’s letting it happen. The fact that you are letting this happen when you could just rip the thing out and change her—save her and everyone a whole lot of worry.

"Renesmee..." Just a name, and then you are engulfed by the smell of blood hitting the floor. Not a second passes, but in that second, it is completely quiet and still. Your stomach twists at the sickening snap, and that's when everything began to move faster than you had anticipated.

Hh

You were unprepared, watching the scalpel with a terrifying and utmost sensitivity—completely enraptured by the red glare set off by the medical lights. If you needed breath, it would be in this moment it is knocked out of you. Sucked out of your lungs.

“I can’t—.” Imagine being an addict, having spent centuries using one drug over and over. So normalized you did it with casual reverence. And then, imagine dropping it one day and saying enough is enough. It seems impossible. Unreal.hh That is the reality you are stuck in, the one where a small incision is enough to send you over the edge. You back away until your back is against the bookcase, fingers tightly grasping the shelves.

A sweet and bitter heat beats down from above, Egypt is both familiar and unfamiliar—a world like many others, but different nonetheless. You could only ever know this world as just another civilization that would inevitably fall, and like the tide does the sand—wash everything away.

A wispy wind pushes thick woven fabric wraps lightly around your hair and head, shielding your face away from the oncoming sun. Adorned head to toe in soft linen, the only, barely visible color being your ruby irises through the veil like curtain. The linen is thin, shaded darkly, but even then the red is noticeable and shining if one dares to look close. You walk with a purpose and give him a smile, recognizing Amun as you pass him in the market.

Amun urged you to worry about the raids, to stay inside as he pushes you along. You were a friend to him, helped him when you could and often complimented his families craftsmanship.

Only the night comes quick and your layers lessen, and as you pass through the market much faster than before. The scent of death hangs heavy on the air, in the distance you still hear the echo of swords. Of shouting. Of raids.

You also could hear the sound of a sputtering heart, coming from the market stall home to Amun and his family. Your head tilts to the side, too much blood for one person, but as you move closer. There is Amun, you do not count the wounds, as the spear sticking out of his chest tells the story well. Some jewels and gold scattered across, wood beams broken and crashed into the ground. Chest heaving—blood.

You kneel down at his side: “Do you want to live?” He stutters, eyes widening as you remove the head wrap completely—revealing glittering red eyes, the candlelight casting a harsh shadow down your cheeks.

“I can take away all the pain… Give you another chance—true immortality.” You’ve never considered turning someone before, many of those changed by the Original do, but you never could bring yourself to. “You’re running out of time, Amun.” His hand presses on the wound harder, wrapping around the spear. He is afraid, you can see that.

“I don’t want to die.” You never wanted to do this, but you kneel close and bend over him, the scent thick on the air. To take someone’s humanity, to give them forever—you still aren’t sure if the trade is worthwhile.

And you fear for the day you learn.

“This is going to hurt.” You pull out the spear, with one hand—he gasps, crying out as you press your lips to his neck. You try to imagine all the good Amun will do. “I’m sorry.” You whisper just before biting down.

“Then tell me what to do.” You look up, eyes wide and he nods—it was trust, in this moment you knew he believed you could do this. To them it was simple, to resist, but you knew no resistance before Carlisle. None. So much so that you felt the immediate shift of your intentions during the first moment, but now—resistance seems impossible. It shouldn’t be, and isn’t, but it certainly feels like it is.

“The scalpel won’t cut through, you’ll have to use your teeth.” It makes sense, at least you think, if ultrasounds couldn’t get through then it’s probably similar to a vampires skin. Like granite. Vampire teeth tears through vampire, seems logical that would be the best option.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek as the smell of her blood grows stronger, every drop that hits the floor—the smell hangs on the air. Gods you hate yourself for feeling like this, for struggling like you are some newbie.

One layer. You grimace. Two. He’s reaching inside, your stomach twists and then there’s a cry—it echoes off the shelf you lean on and the walls. It is almost entirely silencing, and in that silence—Bella’s heart stops.

A pointless sacrifice. One that sends a shockwave through you, because despite it all—she still died.

If you needed air, you are certain this would be the moment it would become impossible to breathe.

You cannot cry, incapable of tears, but stand protectively in front of the house. Everything hurts, and no one is there.

That night with Amun was the moment you learned what it means to resist, to have something worth loving. It took everything in you to not drain him dry. Bella is dead. “I’m not going to let them hurt my family.” Edward. You wonder what’s happening in his mind, Amun had told you of the other side. A world where he had something worth protecting. Something that he loved. The night you turned him, the reason you did it—was to end your loneliness and it did for a while. You were friends and even lovers briefly, but friends were all eternity had in store. He always said you would know the day you met them.

And you waited a thousand years for them to break through the forever—immortality had become tedious and difficult.

“Neither am I.” One of the wolves pounces first, and you kick them in the jaw—sending them flying into a tree. You barely have time to think. One comes from the left, another on your right—they learned from the fight not to take you one on one. Then you’re pinned with teeth snapping, hands braces on their jaw.

Death whispers your name for the first time in centuries, and you shut your eyes—is this the other side?

“Don’t you dare!” Edward shouts, tend feet between you and him. He wouldn’t make it even if he tried, you brace yourself. Exhale. The whisper is a shout, and the weight is gone. Emmett plows through the wolf, throwing them off and you are pulled upright. Carlisle’s hand wrapped around yours, his eyes full of concern.

“You okay?” There’s concern, but there is also a level of certainty because Amun is right—you do know.

“Always.”

But there is always more wolves, replacing every one you toss to the side. Slowly, you and your newfound family are backed into a corner. Against the house, you try to rationalize with yourself. Tightening your grasp on Carlisle’s hand, “I’m sorry.”

You whisper to him—too weak to save Bella and too weak to take on the wolves. Had your diet changed so much? Turned you into this, you side glance at Carlisle—or had he? Was it his doing? Is this why Amun was so easily defeated by the Volturi, because he had let love make him weak?

You were meant to be strong.

You glance up at Amun as he finds out the extent of his newfound speed, the arris desert winds pushing against him. You smile, to finally not be alone. The way his eyes shift and he pauses at the top, casting a glance at the pyramids.

“Amun look at your hand.” He glances at you and then his hand, the gems that now make up his skin coming to life. His smile brightens and he laughs, Amun almost seems baffled.

You rush up to him, your lips never flatten or lose the curve—he never seemed this alive before. Even as he speaks, you feel empowered by his words.

“It’s unbelievable.”

Things changed then, became as they were—even now as you sit across from Carlisle, in silence with the rest of the Cullens. It’s a waiting game, to wait for the transformation to conclude. It was three days and two nights of screaming before Amun awoke, those screams still plague your thoughts. Three nights for Catherine to completely turn, and one night for Roland. Everyone turns differently, but the screaming was always the same.

Only Bella does not move. She is silent.

“Check.” You whisper, moving your room into place. Carlisle blocks you with a knight, which is predictable, but acceptable to your next move.

“It wasn’t your fault.” You shrug, ignoring his comfort and take his knight as your own.

“Check.”

“You are still new this lifestyle. It will have its affects on your abilities.” You sigh watching him take your rook with a pawn—you overlooked that. “Honestly it’s amazing how you’re doing so far.” Moving your knight, you begin the painstaking process of backing him into a corner.

“Carlisle—you are infuriating right now. You have only ever known this lifestyle, and I’ve lived as the other side of our species for a thousand years.” You counter every move he makes, when he takes a pawn—you take a bishop. And soon enough, you take his queen. “Right now, I am at my weakest. And right now, I hardly think it’s worth it.”

Carlisle shakes his head, trying to reach out, but you pull away. Angry. Frustrated. “You don’t have to do anything.” You do, you know that you have to even if it means losing most of you strength for the coming months. “You can always go back.” You can’t—not now that you’ve tasted what it means to love. He moved again.

“I can’t—” You know that you cannot leave, barely able to stand the thought of ever being apart again. “I won’t.” You hesitate, pinching a chess piece in your fingers. “I play chess everyday I live, it’s how I’ve made it this far—” You pause, looking up at him—studying how sad he seems. He is the sun, but you… You are nothing close, as far away from the sun as the stars. “Despite everything, I stay alive by never being weaker than my opponent.”

You carry a burden heavier than you thought, as you knock over his king. “Checkmate.”

There will be one more part of this imagine, and I am so excited to show you the final bit of this. It is not perfect, but this is a story I’ve been wanting to tell for a while.

[black-dhalias]

To Grieve with Another

Marauders Era Remus Lupin X Potter!Reader

In your mind, hogwarts was the end all for bringing honor to your family. It was always your intent to go to Hogwarts, get sorted into Gryffindor, and become an auror--you had this whole life planned out from start to finish. You lived this perfect Potter life, walking in the carefully laid out footsteps of your parents and older brother; ultimately, you knew your purpose before you could even walk. He had started school last year, was on his way to being a great wizard, but imagine your surprise when you realized the hat had shouted Hufflepuff.

All that talk of honor and destiny, and it got chopped up into a million different pieces that you hated thinking about. You could barely hear anything because all you can see is the disappointment in James' eyes as he dips his head into his hands. Maybe a part of you hoped he would be happy for you either way, but his reaction said it all and that disappointment seemed to shape the rest of your night.

Of course he's disappointed, all you used to talk about was what you do when you got to Gryffindor tower. All the crazy schemes you two would get up to once you were partners in crime again. You just kept asking the same question: 'How could you do this to him?' To your family?

Except for when you reopen your eyes, pushing down the tears you realize that James is not dipping his head. In fact, he is cheering and shouting, standing on the benches as he hoots; his friends from his first year matching his excitement. "That's my little sister!" He doesn't seem bothered at all, he wasn't the one disappointed about being sorted into Hufflepuff: you were.

To you, it was the end of the world. Until you were in your dorm and you weren't just little Potter as Sirius had dubbed you. You were just Y/N, who had found solace in Hufflepuff and friends that you loved, and were loved by. Hufflepuff became your second home in that first month, you were still disappointed, but you were better now than you were.

Walking into the Great Hall, the boys surround you long before you ever reach the Hufflepuff table. All of them smiling like the madmen they are. "So what's going on lil sis?" You smile back at them as he tosses his arm over your shoulder, reminding yourself briefly that James doesn't hate you. Those thoughts still had not drifted away.

"Nothing much, just vibing." Sirius bumps into your shoulder, his smile much more mischievous than the others.

"Cmon, its time for your Marauders initiation."

"What about breakfast?"

"That's not important little Potter. What's important is getting your hands a little dirty before you go all nicey nice in Hufflepuff." Well what reason do you have to argue with that, you trust James and by proxy, you trust his friends. You practically lived with Sirius all summer, he refused to leave said family dinners with the Potters were much more civil.

You know what they get up to most days, you listened to every detail of their first with reverence. You wondered what it would be like to be at Hogwarts, with all the wonder and excitement. Be a part of the magic... You hope it'll be as amazing as you dreamed it would be.

Too hopeful, that is how you would describe yourself throughout the pivotal first year at Hogwarts. Defined only by its joys and rises in serotonin, you were beyond excited for your second year--but it just never lived up to the innocence of first year. You thought of nothing but greatness, but here's your life three years later. Fourth year, and your cheeks are tear stained because a boy told you that you weren't good enough.

It wasn't just any boy. It was one that you thought was good and kind, and not as self centered to do that to you. He had held your hand as you waited for the Quidditch results, and cheered when you made Chaser. He kissed your cheek on New years because your parents threw a huge party, and all of you and James' friends were invited. He tutored you in charms because you were always much better at potions than stupid charms. You taught him how to sneak into the kitchens, the Hufflepuff way. Or how you showed him how to set up the craziest chain reactions with only household objects. You two were James and Sirius, Y/N and Remus; and all he did when you finally told him how you felt, all he could say was: "bug off, can't you see I'm busy."

That was a week ago and in two days, you would go home for the summer with the certainty that you would not be coming back to Hogwarts. You had wanted him to say something to you at first, to give you a reason why he did what he did, but he did no such thing. Not a single peep, and now you didn't want him to say anything at all. So as you stuff everything in your dorm into a chest, you prepare yourself to say goodbye to Hogwarts because nothing seemed good here anymore. Maybe you were running away, but it was more like saving yourself from dealing with any amount of pain.

You had tried to forget how bad the bullying had gotten in the last couple months, second rate potter was their favorite taunt. It bothered you excessively. You tried to forget the curses and the way they would shove you when you blocked those same curses. You pushed it all away because you had one good and honest friend to get you through it, and you had your brother too, but you never could tell him. You could withstand their attacks so long as you had your best friend to lean onto, but without it, you just couldn't stomach it.

James hardly understood why your parents had come to get you two days early, their spacey responses had him suspicious from the beginning. The way you didn't say goodbye to anyone, not even him. However, he almost lost it when Remus finally fessed up: "You bloody idiot?!" He yelled before leaving to pack his things for the end of the year, furious with his friend for even daring to do that. To be honest, James didn't understand why Remus did it all.

The truth is, Remus couldn't even defend himself or say anything at all to redeem what he had done. You didn't see, but he had looked back when he heard your breath hitch; you turned around so quick, he only caught a glimpse before you were gone. Remus was smiling at first during your confession, trying to hide his face so you couldn't see the warmth flood his cheeks. You were the one who gave him possibilities, dreams of a home. However, that dreams twists up in a flash of lightning and all he can see is amber eyes flaring at him over your remains. All he could see is the monster that did not love you as he did.

Remus refused to do that to you. Or take the risk to begin with.

James had said he would fight him for you--while he understood his friends reasons, he also hated that it meant hurting you. You insisted otherwise and all your brother could do was hug his sweet hearted sister. You care too much.

Yet you wondered what you had done to mess it up with Remus so obscenely, wondering if things could have turned out differently.

"He didn't mean it like that." You shake your head, leaning onto the dining room table as Sirius and James try to reason with you some months later when you told them about not going back to Hogwarts.

"What about everyone else? They all meant it, and so did he." But neither of them could tell you the reason why, so they simply nodded and just sat with you. Not really talking about anything in particular, but definitely avoiding the Remus subject altogether.

So you left at the end of summer to Durmstrang; one of your uncles had gone there and put in a good word for you. You were gone just like that, living in an entirely new world and a country that you grew to understand.

Remus missed you dearly though, missed the way your smile could brighten the entirety of the Great Hall. It radiated the sun and all the warmth with it, he used to believe that smile could cure any ill will or foul mood. You leaving was for the best. It had to be.

At Durmstrang, you excelled with proficiency in DADA and Potions, you were a standout student. You put everything you had into school and left everything on the table without any fear. Letters from James never thinned and they kept you motivated. He wrote about Lily and how much he loved her. How tense Hogwarts was becoming. How Sirius practically took over your room during the breaks and used your hair dryer more than you ever did. And how sorry he is that you're not here, despite knowing that this is what you chose.

Then the war began and Durmstrang became a fortress of stone, and still, in the thick of it, the letters never stopped arriving. They were beginning to become coded.

How he and Lily got married as soon as they could, and Sirius was the witness and bestman.

Mom and dad died... How there wouldn't be a funeral yet, and you should stay at Durmstrang where you were safe.

Lily is expected a boy, and that they are going to name him Harry, you loved that name.

How there's a prophecy... And they need a secret keeper, they are going to choose Sirius.

Lily had the baby, he's perfect.

Then the letter's stop and your heart hits the floor, days turned into weeks and while the rest of the world celebrated the destruction of Voldemort. You grieved the loss of letters--wondering what your brother had thought of right before the end?

You were strangling yourself with grief.

Your eyes are much heavier now, tinted with sadness as you look in the mirror--combing out the knots in your hair. You've never even met your nephew, spent the better half of two years in Durmstrang--just playing the part you can from the safety. James wanted you far away from the war. But the boys parents are now gone.

You put on the black jacket, shrouded in the darkness of the fabric and hoping it brings some sense of peace to your grief. Everyone is celebrating, yet all you see is your nightmare made real.

You are alone.

Harry... You cannot stop thinking about him as you prepare yourself in your parent's home, your home. Everyone is gone, and it is just you and this poor boy. You stand in front of the two stones, buried six feet under only a few yards away from your parent's graves. Two sets of two. Here lies your parents, your brother, and his wife--victims of a war when all they wanted was to live. A costly war for people who had just graduated.

You were tucked away in Romania, while your family made the ultimate sacrifice. "Dumbledore... I do not have time for your games Give me my nephew, so we can go." You want to take him far away from England, and away from Hogwarts and Dumbledore--who willingly sacrificed children. Far from the damage. The crowds are thin, most of the order with dead or institutionalized.

"Ms. Potter I hardly think a funeral is the place for such conversations."

"I decide that. I'm the only family he's got left." His next words get to you in a way you do not expect, they manifest a deep rooted pain you can only describe as anguish.

"I've already placed him with his aunt." You pivot, sneering as you glare the old man down with such ferocity, you consider pulling your wand.

"You place him with muggles, his mother's wretched sister... My nephew--" Your body is shaking, "Go get him. I can do it. He needs someone who understand! Dumbledore you did this! Go get him!" You're crying the kind of angry tears that burn your cheeks.

"You are unstable... Unpredictable... And from Durmstrang, I wouldn't trust you with a child."

"I'm like this because you killed him! You killed James!" You go for your wand, but feel arms wrap around you and your wand is slipped out from your jacket pocket.

"Don't do it Y/N. Don't prove him right." Remus... You haven't seen him in years, but his voice is the same. An earthy tone, but it sounds like he's been crying. That is where you break, his arms becoming your only support as Dumbledore leaves. Gone.

You cry in the cold night, feeling Remus kneel you both onto the ground. With him holding you upright. You beg for the pain to stop, plead with your heart to ache a little less--for the anguish to pass into the night. You almost want to die right then and there.

So he stays. Chin against the top of your head, two people tied together in grief and pain. You lost everyone. Parents. Brother. Sister. Nephew. Adopted brother. All gone.

And only when you are silent and numb, too numb to care what happens next. Remus apparates you both away to your home in Romania. There's a mess of papers and rubbish, but you didn't really care what Remus thought about our mess.

It really used to be so different; your life, both at Hogwarts and Durmstrang. But the kind of screams you felt like screaming--they hurt. It burned every fiber of your being.

"Do you need anything before I leave?" You had thought about climbing onto the couch, but ended up sitting on the floor--surrounded by your mess. Nothing felt right anymore. "Y/N?" It was all fuzzy, numb... You felt out of touch. Maybe you could try, but it continues to hit you all at once.

No parents. No brothers. Most of your friends were dead. Your nephew in the hands of muggles. But there is Remus. He is there. "Y/N I can't sit here and try to guess what you need." You wonder if he is hurting too, if it is hitting him as it is you. One after another. Like a battering ram into your chest.

"Remus..." You thought you could look at him, but the minute you meet his big brown eyes-- you break and he's at your side, scooping you into his arms as if no time had passed at all. "I lost everyone..." It is not a question, but a truth as you lean into him--feeling how his chest heaves, feeling his tears on the top of your head. "I don't--I hate this--" You begin to plead, words blending. "I can't do this."

Remus had imagined your reunion and his well rehearsed apology, but it all seems pointless. Because no matter what he says, the pain is still going to be there. He isn't any part of your pain anymore, because it is so much greater than anything from before. Now you have lost everything, you and him were all too similar in that way.

He hums as he holds you, "What am I supposed to do now?" What comes next when your life has been turned to rubble and ash? All you have left is an empty house and a nephew you'll never see again.

.

.

.

It happened slowly... Remus made breakfast and leaves before you wake up. Day after day, morning after morning--he makes sure you eat something right at the beginning. He doesn't begin staying until you ask him to, your loneliness had become too loud and the house was far too quiet.

You had thought you would appreciate the silence, you didn't--you could hear them in the dark, whispering about how you had failed them. It got easier when he stayed.

And while no one expected you to move on, you did. Remus became your safety, and in the quiet, he was the beacon of light that kept the voices at bay. He made them dim.

You remember the night you found out about his other half, the part of him that very easily could kill you. It almost did, but Remus had gotten one part wrong because when he threw you over the edge of lake--when the monster had the upper hand, the monster was not a monster at all. It was Remus, it scooped an unconscious you up from the side and left you to the night. You were petrified at first, terrified and glued to the bank of the lake. Soaking wet and shaking, but soon you found enough courage to walk back to the cabin you called home.

Remus came home bloody and bruised, completely bare and where he expected you to curse him. Send him away. You wrapped him in a warmed towel and hug him close, knowing that this was still Remus. And he fell into your arms, crying.

It felt like you had found a new song with Remus at your side, and he found solace in knowing that you knew. That you still let him remain at your side. Just two people tied together by a shared experience, the expansive trauma of grief.

You knew his secrets, and you stayed.

When Harry started Hogwarts, you applied immediately--against Remus' wishes, he explained he thought it was stupid. You did it thought and he was right to worry, but you had to see him.

Harry was a perfect replica of James save for Lily's striking eyes, and he was as much an idiot as his father. But he was kind. You smile as Remus sits next to you in the Great Hall, you never thought you would come back here. But to be here with the person who drove you away, you can only smile at him.

Remus had found a way to make you smile.

"Are you going to tell him?" Remus whispers into your hair as you lay in the bed, his body on top of the blanket while you are buried beneath the duvets.

"He'll want me to take him home, but I can't." That was the condition of Dumbledore hiring you... Harry must stay with the Dursley's.

"And you can't say no."

"He looks like him Remus..." You can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he sighs, just two people in a terrible situation. "Remus?" He hums next to you, his eyes on his book, his voice lulling you to sleep as he reads another novel.

That's what he began to do many years ago to pass the time, when sleep was difficult, but it was too late for a walk. "I love you." It isn't hard, or difficult--it is calm. Your voice does not break and for the first time, your feelings for him do not choke you up and the memories of before do not come to mind.

You feel at peace beside him as you have for the last decade. You were so afraid of him breaking your heart if you said the words, as if they were the catalyst to that pain. However, you couldn't do anything or live this life, without him. Without Remus. He kept you alive when no one else did.

"I love you too." No fear because you were his rock, his acceptance, and his match. No matter what, he would face anything so long as you were together.

Just two people shaped by grief, given a second chance at a love broken once before.

[black-dhalias]

With All Due Respect…

Darius Deamonne X GN!Reader

Spoilers: The Owl House Season 2 Finale

Insolent idiots. Bumbling fools. Those were only two of the thoughts that plagued Darius as he reached the secret hideaway.

How could they be so stupid? Darius hardly even understood why he was so upset, its not like anyone went out of their way to throw things off. But getting the Owl Lady was supposed to be under wraps, a secret affair that never reached a scouts ear. Yet, noooo instead the Owl Lady and the human have to make a big deal out of everything.

Only things did not get better as he opens the door, because he is instantly under the hardened gaze of Y/N Y/L/N. Groaning he glances back at the group who is making their way up their stairs, eyeing Raine specifically.

“Ya know, the point of being against Belos is to not invite his lovely toys to secret meetings.” Darius glances over to see you raising an eyebrow, having forgotten about the book you were reading. “No offense.” You don’t take any, and instead shrug your shoulders and resume your book.

“What do you mean?” Raine questions before reaching the doorframe themselves and seeing you at the round table. It is terrifying. “Nevermind, I see.”

It is a butterfly effect, all of them stopping at the door as they see you. You don’t have to imagine their surprise, their stuttering tongues and inability to move prove all you need to know.

“Oh Titan…” You sigh deeply, looking up at Lilith, someone who used to be one of your only friends.

“Well since we’re all here—” There’s a rush of wind with a flick of your wrist, and the doors slam shut so everyone is shrouded away. “We have a lot to talk about.”

You kick back on your chair and smile up at them, only they do not find your gesture as endearing as you mean it to be. Instead, they are stiff as boards. "Three coven heads...A couple traitors...The human..." You click your tongue, "Honestly I'd hoped the revolution would be a moving force, but instead—" Your smile slips away as your expression falls, not into any particular emotion, just neutral. "My life and every life in the Boiling Isles falls in the hands of this—" You scrunch your nose as you stand, moving your hands. "This mismatched group."

You pause in front of Darius, "How pathetic." Who is probably the only one who is not trying to think of way to escape. You sigh loudly, rolling your eyes. "I'm not going to tattleeeeee..." You smile wickedly, "I want to help."

Darius watches you from across the room as you catch up with Lilith, you smile more than he would expect. You do not seem as dark and forbidding when you aren't surrounded by coven guards, you were always surrounded by coven guards though. That never made sense to him, because while you were high ranked and that often meant more powerful—you were never unaccompanied. It was as if— Darius stands up straight, no longer leaning on the shelves and walks over to you. His eyes flashing a neon green, to which you smirk and wave off Lilith, who looks between the pair before walking away.

"Belos is scared of you. Why?" You tut, quirking your brow as you gesture to the now open seat in front of you.

"Now why would you say that?" Darius swallows, now that he is close, he is reminded as to why you are so terrifying. It has a lot to do with your aura, it just radiates something more ancient than what you would expect of a normal witch from Bonesborough.

"Because..." He takes the seat, eyeing you suspiciously—you just seem so at ease right now, despite being the least trustworthy one in the room. You don't seem phased at all. "Because you were always heavily guarded, but you can take care of yourself. So being constantly underguard, was Belos' way of keeping track of you." He watches you roll the thought, and yeah it does make a lot of sense to you.

"I mean, that's a theory." You purse your lips in a thin line and nod. "Actually makes a lot of sense."

"Wait? Did you not know why????"

"I could care less if I was under guard or not—as you can see..." You gesture to the room that is coven guard free. "I can lose those cretins with my eyes closed." The way you speak sometimes, it just doesn't make sense to Darius, who had spent the better half of the hour in silence from that point on. Just trying to figure you out. Figure out your motives. And at some point, as he was just about to give up completely, he spoke again.

"So why are you here?"

"Because I'm a witch. Like you, and everyone else here. I'm not buying the whole living like royalty lies, and as an immortal being, I'd like to keep my magic. It makes this whole, living forever thing, kind of fun." You didn’t expect it, but he laughs, leaning back into his chair and smiling at you. Oddly entertained by your answer, and you laugh with him—which draws attention just briefly.

“Such an honest answer is not something I would expect from you.” You smile, shrugging.

“Well, with all due respect, Darius—you don’t know me much at all.”

[black-dhalias]

Questionable Decisions

Love Triangle!Caius X Reader X Mate!Alec

This was requested by: @princessofthornsandroses

WARNING: Implied SMUT/Nudity, mentions of plague and illness, mentions of violence. AN: I know this has taken a lot longer than anticipated, but I really hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

~•~•~•~• ALEC •~•~•~•~

Your initial arrival at Volterra sparked quite the controversy amongst the Guards, they could not understand how you earned immortality. Could not fathom what good you brought to the Guard, but Lord Caius found you fascinating. Even as a human.

Before here, you knew nothing more than poverty and loss—stricken with grief and a need for vengeance. You were barely staying afloat, family ravaged by the sickness and death.

Now, you are a long standing member—not a necessary component, but you kept Lord Caius less cruel. Busy. That was necessary enough. He practically doted on you from the get go—and it drove Alec crazy.

Comparatively, Alec didn’t want to keep his distance from you—didn’t want to be away from you at all, but Lord Caius held the stronger hand. Cards on the table, Alec didn’t stand a chance and that infuriated him.

So the distance remained, it only served to push you closer to Caius; unbeknownst to you, deep down you knew you shouldn’t remain at his side. But he saved you. Turned you. Protected you. And you won’t lie, you enjoy the affection he gives. He would burn the world down if it meant you were happy. Kill anyone if you asked, without a single question.

That kind of devotion—it’s addictive.

In the same way, you were adamantly and unshakably loyal to him. Betrayal was unthinkable, and that sensation is what drove you two together. Absolute devotion. Even his wife, his trophy that sits in the tower, could not fathom it.

The grand doors open to reveal you to the throne room, burning the room with a cataclysmic grin. One that sends shockwaves through Alec, sets him on fire without a single touch. Painfully aware of you, struck with pique interest. Both healed and hurt by your presence.

“Y/N…” Your name rolls off Caius tongue, even sung by the worst of men—it sounds like a choir of angels. Alec cannot help, but wonder how you would say his name; would it wash over him? Would he be able to fight the urge to take you into his arms, leave this castle with you tucked away from Caius. Where Alec does not have to wonder what happens when the palace turns dark.

Alec would never worry again.

Faster than a blink, you are beside Caius without another word—smiling at him with perfect contentment. The eldest twin averts his eyes, the tiles had become a sanctuary away from the image of you.

If this is love, then Alec surrenders himself to the ache and burn. The Volturi has many rules, but one is absolute—what belongs to the Kings, is theirs alone.

Do you even realize you belong to Lord Caius? Do you care? Alec is sure you do, because that’s just how it is.

Alec pines after you in the silence that follows your departure with Lord Caius—if he knew physical pain, he imagines it would feel like this. Knee buckling and raw, like the universe has given him a burden too heavy for him to carry.

At the same time, he would carry that same burden from today until the end of time—so long as you are there. Maybe that’s too much to ask of forever, but it’s the only way eternity sounds nice. Alec couldn’t imagine a world without you, or a Volterra empty of your presence.

So the ache shall remain. A cruel, and heavy reminder that you have chosen Caius at every crossroad. So why would today, or tomorrow, be any different?

“Dearest Alexander…” His eyes rise to meet Aro’s, trying to push down the invading thoughts of you. Particularly his wild imagination and hope, wishes for you to choose him. The King flicks his hand out, flexing his fingers and while Alec fully knows Aro will know.

Somehow the eldest twin wishes that he could silence the thoughts, as he places his palm into Aro’s. Subverting his gaze to elsewhere as the King picks through his mind— “How very curious?” Alec looks up at him, lips tightly together as he shoulders his burden more pressing. “Have you always felt like this?”

However, Alec doesn’t need to respond—in fact, he unconsciously recalls how he completely froze the first time. How he saw you, and that was it… The feared Volturi guard had become a servant to your complexities—and you didn’t even know.

“Fascinating.” Aro drops his hand and Alec tucks it protectively behind his back, folding it into his other hand. “Not very many can withhold their affections, especially our kind.” Aro would have been whispering, like a hushed venomous tongue—which makes Alec’s stomach twist.

“I handle myself just fine.”

The Volturi king hmmms, almost as if he knows something that Alec does not--which is more frustrating than the king just ripping off the bandaid. Leaving the guard to his own struggles, the ache that he is certain will last forever.

That is the burden of knowing that you can not have what you want, and you are not willing to take the step. That is how Alec feels, and he will never be able to change that. To play this game, it has always been a losing game--one that he is going to continue regardless of what is to come.

Bowing his hand, he keeps that hand protectively tucked behind him and sets aside his own desires to take his leave.

In the same breath that he exhales, your scent--allusive and alluring, it is hanging on the air and clings to Alec in a manner that he did not expect.

You were addictive. An ever dangling desire, and it just happens that you leave right here--and he'll never be rid of you. Not so long as you belong to Caius.

"Alec-" He pauses, heading adjusting and glancing back just enough to show that he is listening to Aro. "Remember your place." He did not need a reminder of his place, and so he leaves. Well into Volterra, far away from everyone who could hurt him. Honestly, the list is short, with only one name at the top.

~•~•~•~• CAIUS •~•~•~•~

Once the throne room is out of range, Caius pulls you into his arm with a smile only you can match. To be with you is surreal, like water meeting the coast—you tore through each other similarly as well. A dangerous and catastrophic insanity, one that gave him just enough of a challenge to sate his desire.

To be fair, you were not his mate, but you were something more desirable to him. More challenging and unknown—you were the one that set the room on fire rather than calm the flames, then you would dance as the smoke embraced the stone. That is what made Caius so devote, you were the religion he could not shake. The hymn that he sang, your name dancing off his tongue as his hands grab at your hungrily.

The way your lips curl into a smirk beneath the kiss, he could only describe them as a scripture.

Is that not a religion? Something or someone so divine, that the fact that the grace you with their presence is enough to send you over the edge. Confuse the mind, and the intuition, change the way the brain processes information. In fairness, he held the same chokehold over you, but you were much younger. Much newer to this life, sired to him through blood and venom.

That is why he seemed so much more enamored than you, because no one believed he was capable of that kind of feelings. When it is all said and done, he was completely and irrevocably wrapped up in you. In everything you are.

No one would ever say anything less than ideal, never whisper anything Caius might here—feared you, just as they feared Caius. When your bodies fell through the doors and limbs tangled up, hair falling in whisps together. A blend of shades that meld on the sheets as he embraces your form as close to the mattress as he can.

You lean into the touch, cupping the back of his neck with the sensation of the soft blonde strands wrapping up at the base of your fingers. Vampires did not need air, but you were the breath that Caius needed to survive and that was enough.

Clothes had become nothing more than a barrier between bodies, that's the thought that crosses Caius' mind as he finally begins ripping through the barriers. He can hardly contain the urgency—the needy touch of your fingers enough assurance as you tear through his shirt. Another to the pile of ruins clothes.

While Caius tended to take his time, stripping away every layer and admiring how your body seemed to exist—you cared far less, and needing him as a human needs water. Buried in the sensation of Caius, of the certainty that comes with being in this bed. Nothing made more sense to Caius than the scripture of moans you release at every touch, the tickle of breath against your ear.

You are intoxicating to him. Not a drug or drink, but a fix nonetheless—something that he could not go without.

"To have you like this, I know no greater treasure." His words taste of that same certainty, you like the idea of knowing you are safe at his side. He is protection, a shield from the horrors you once knew. He would burn the world to see you bare beneath him as you are now.

The way your back curves up as you tug yourself forward, his hand at the small of your back—just still as he sees your lips move to form a word. "So long as you swear to take me as I am."

His lips twist into a smile, just briefly Caius is reminded that you are his match in every way. You were just as brutal and cruel, just as vengeful—filled with ugly scars and he loved every piece. He would admire the sharp and angled edges of your soul, knowing only how much he needed you day to day.

"Whether sun or moon—" He intertwined his fingers into yours, lowering your body, but never separating from you entirely. Lips inches apart until your back is against the mattress, and you feel him nearing you. So close. "I would take you regardless, steal you away from all the jealousies of the world." Caius seemed to recite poetry, the words rolling off his tongue every time you were near. Was that infatuation? Love? Devotion? Whatever your influence is, it is is stronger than any other desire—he would choose you before anything else.

Under the careful protection of these walls, with only the stone to hear your confessions—here in these rooms. You fear nothing, and know only pleasure and satisfaction.

~•~•~•~• YOU •~•~•~•~

In due time, you find yourself leaving the King’s room—door clicking back into place roughly as you turn around. In your distraction, the halls had become expansive and barren. While the Volterra was never quite quiet, it is during the early hours of the evening that the palace is the most empty. The Kings having retired to their sanctuary’s, and the guard to either their posts or rooms.

You had thought you would do the same, go to your rooms and wait for time to take its toll on the night. Not much to do beyond that. Some of the guard could leave into the city when the moon was high and the sky dark, but you—it was out of the question.

However, listening to the steps ringing off the stone floors—you find a rhythm in the steps. The sound seems to echo off the walls, and create a symphony of music... But then it is quiet and you are still. Reminded of a life you lost, and a world that you are no longer a part of—could you grieve any longer?

The way the air catches despite not being needed, its like your ache manifested physically. How could you be sure? While the certainty is nice, the rest is less than desired—you are a prisoner of circumstance. Your devotion seemed to make it more complicated, Caius is simply that—you rationalize you do not know love. You have never felt that, only know the poisonous poetry Caius sang every night. He held that power over you just as any king does his subject, maybe he believes he needs you the same way you feel you need him.

A hum of song, the hymns of piano notes dance through the air and you hesitate. You have to go this way regardless, to your rooms—so you continue along.

Its like heaven is touching earth, the music coming to an epic crescendo just as you pass the ajar door. You bite down on the inside of your cheek and glance towards your door, your room is only three doors down. It is close. You could just ignore the music and walk away without ever wondering, but you peek inside. You satisfy your curiosity and become even more intrigued—Alec.

You watch how his fingers glide across the keys, he does not hesitate or even seem to need music sheet. It is as effortless as you walking into the room, the way your feet carry you before you ever form a coherent thought. It was that easy.

If someone asked for the moment you knew, it was then—the way you couldn't tear your eyes away. Only interrupted as he abruptly stops, fingers hovering over the keys as you sit beside him. Wordlessly and ask nothing, except to be near him. Just for a second.

"Please keep playing..." Your words are like an electric current running through him, you note how his chest moves—inhaling and exhaling, eyes glancing at you only briefly. If you were not watching him with such care, you never would have noticed.

"Okay." The way his voice tremors on the second syllable, it is not broken, but woven in the same grief. It is familiar to you. When you want something, but have been denied it for far too long.

So he continues to play and you listen, only knowing the way your lungs fill with air. How your eyes close and feel the sensation of freedom, imagining yourself far away from Volterra. Once you wanted safety, but that safety has become a prison of gold. A royal palace of bars.

Could you live with yourself if you stayed another day? Yes, because you would be alive. However, a piece of you dies with every breath you take within this walls.

The notes carry you away and you fear nothing for a second, you see a tavern filled with laughter. Perhaps a symphony, or opera. Perhaps you see France, or the Americas... You always wanted to see the city. You've lived centuries and never seen a skyscraper.

Alec shifts on the long bench, eyes shift to see you with your eyes closed—admiring you, losing track of the notes until he embraces the confusion. Embracing you close and tucking his hand behind your head, just watching you with a very new certainty. One that is not made of stone, but seems to radiate the certainty of the sun. Your eyes widen, but settle almost in the same half second.

"What are you doing Alec?"

"Asking if I can kiss you—just this once, so I can know what it is I let slip through my fingers." Is that the difference? Of being a treasure versus being everything. Caius has everything and you are another treasure in his trove, but as Alec eyes you—it is as if you are everything to him.

"Only once..." You lean in, whispering the words.

"Just once." He whispers breathlessly, his touch is not urgent, but it is deliberate as if he aims to remember every sensation. Your arms wrap around his neck, and fall into him—he does not come up for air, but separates your lips from his. You feel the warmth of breath against your lips, "I would pay any price to do that again."

.

.

.

Devotion. That is what got you into this mess so long ago, and in the same strain, it is what binds you to promises. Leaves you sitting in the dark of your rooms for a day and night, burying the thought of Alec deep in your chest. Yet his eyes, although the same ruby shade manifest and stir something deep within you.

For those seconds, after he hushed himself and just held you. You could see forever in the ruby irises, imagined a greater eon than sitting idly as a treasure. You see a home, tucked away in the mountains, the green of trees hiding you away and the song of the birds to comfort you through the doubt. Through the fear.

You rarely felt fear since being turned, but Alec stirred that feeling up and intertwined it with every hope. Every dream and thought, seemed to be veiled by the fear that someone can take that away. As swiftly as you found it.

You tuck your knees up to your chest, sitting in the window seat—thick curtains of red behind you as you glance around the courtyard. You are not a guard, but a servant. That word seemed to hang onto your memory of Caius, of how you were there—hopelessly devoted to him.

No one touches what belongs to the kings, but Alec did—and it reminded you of your first day in the Volterra.

You tremor beneath the heavy duvets of your clothes, breath caught up in your throat and tied into a knot. You had watched your entire family die of plague, one by one and someone seemed to skirt by without ever tasting the bitter taste of the disease. You were left unscathed and that burned you even deeper than before.

"Stay here." The thing hisses, the haunting eyes of red seem to glue you into place as your heart beats ferociously in your chest. You have become a slave to your fear and terror, practically certain that you are going to die here. Even as the monster disappears behind a door, you are greeted with another.

You stumble back, but their cool hands grasp you and hold you upright with the softest of smiles. "Its okay." And you believe him—how could you believe him? You weren't stupid, but somehow you trusted him more than the others.

"Are you sure?" He nods, your lips purse together and you wrap your arms around you as a shield. Just wishing that you understood what was happening, but you just don't. You are stuck. Completely locked in place. You see the hesitation as he reaches out, but he does and places a hand on your forearm and rubs a soft round of circles in your skin. He does not hurt. He does not move too fast. He just watches, before speaking.

"You're safe here." There is a human veil of gray hanging over the memories, but you are certain—the first to show you kindness and comfort, had dark hair that curls close to the head.

You had twisted the memory, made Caius into your comfort for saving you, but it was Alec you made you feel safe. He was the last sense of human safety you ever felt, and it bonded you tightly to that misguided protection. How did you forget?

When the day turns to night, you rise from your position and feel the burning sensation of urgency. Different than you ever remember it feeling, and for the first time in a century, it is for more than Caius. It is for yourself, what you want... That is enough to send you running through the halls, certain of only one thing.

One person.

Of the love you know you can learn from Alec.

"I'm leaving." You announce rather abruptly, entering the throne room with a presence that is unfamiliar to most of them. You seem to dominate the space with your voice, standing taller than ever before.

"What?" The blonde king snarls, rising from his throne and while anyone else would cower—you stand a little taller.

"I. Am. Leaving." The words break through the walls of his affection and suddenly he is in front of you, practically nose to nose.

"You will do no such thing. You sound ridiculous."

"What's ridiculous is you thinking that's going to make me stay." You do not think there is a thing he could say to keep you here for another day.

"I can make you do whatever I want." He roughly grabs your arm, and while it does not shake you—Alec moves to your side, pushing Caius off. His eyes widening as he realizes exactly what he just did, and tries to stand as tall as you. Caius seems to grow crueler.

"Do it. Command me to stay and I'll hate you forever." That seems to cause something in Caius to falter, even in front of the other kings and the guard. He couldn't imagine you hating him. Hated the idea. You were so much more than anything Caius has ever been.

"Why now?"

"Because I have something, found the one thing I needed." Your eyes glance over at Alec, he follows your lead. He would follow you anywhere, but he doesn't have a clue what you are going to do next. You look back at Caius. "And I need to figure out what it means."

Everyone expects Caius to kill you both where you stand, Jane's fist clenched as she watches and tries to ground herself away from here. A stupid thing.

"Then go." He does not go back to throne, but walks out of the throne room, door slamming behind him. He is gone just like that, and you swallow. Suddenly not as afraid, but just as certain. Your eyes flicker up to Alec, edging closer until you take his hand. Without a word, you leave with him and walk until you are out of Volterra and deep in the countryside. Just you, him, and the stars.

You were still strangers in many ways.

"What now?" There is no waiver in his voice as there was at the piano, he does not seem as unsure. His grasp on your hand tightening as if it is a lifeline.

"We'll go anywhere." When you look into his eyes, a soulmate you almost lost—one that you almost let go. "But we do it together."

[black-dhalias]

Bigger than the Whole Sky

Ibis X F!Reader

SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4 AHEAD!

Warnings: big angst, death, mentions of blood/violence

Each day, every person is given the chance to serve out their purpose. A destiny prewritten in some manner of speaking, whether determined by genetics or choices or deities, but prewritten to exist. Designed to occur, and implied to be fate.

Your awareness of these choices, these destinies is profound and unexplainable—however, incredibly useful to the Xadian Royal Family. The Dragon King chose you many years ago for your gift of knowing, he claimed it was prophecy and asked you to join them at Storm Spire. As a Moon Shadow elf, you were isolated and exiled—your brother and his husband fought for you. He pleaded, but they feared what did not make sense. They feared the unknown, because when you were near—it was not unknown in the slightest.

So you couldn’t bring yourself to say no to the Dragon King, but Ibis made your new life tolerable. In some ways, Ethari felt better knowing that you were somewhere that wanted you, but it terrified him nonetheless. You are right in the middle of the unrest, his little sister. His sweet Y/N, who never asked for any of it. Yet again, Ibis smoothed the worry with his assurances—you would see no harm for as long as Ibis breathed.

That is how it was. You felt like there was shelter from the war, through all of the terrors—through the loss, and it was all because of your love. Ibis made the whole sky so much bigger than you imagined it could be, he filled the world with joy. He painted clouds with color and brightened every room he entered, your bitter edges became soft and hopeful.

A sense of dread overwhelms you as the air goes completely cold. Your entire mind had gone dark and all you could see was his face—the image of mist seems haunting and ominous. Unfamiliar.

Something is wrong.

You arise from the bed and followed your instincts, a painful and consuming ache has formed. The pit in your chest has grown deeper with every step—Xadian lore say it is the connection that comes from loving someone so deeply. You already know.

A sob escapes your lips, every part of your being is preparing for the worst, but the tiny heart in your womb hopes for better. “Ibis?”

Only you could not breathe, his name has clawed it’s way out of your throat. It does not offer any comfort. Your stomach twists into a knot; a scuffle occurring on the garden. Just as you turn the corner. You attempt to stifle your cries, watching your husband become… You lean into yourself, but manage to stumble down the stairs…

“Ibis?” And as your hands cup his cheeks, his eyes have already lost their life. “My love?” All you can head is his killers pleas and apologies… And when you meet his eye, murderer, all he can see is your swollen stomach.

Blindly, one of your hands attempt to stifle the blood loss, but it is not flowing. It is pooled. Even as your fingers go slick with blood, you wish you could find the urge to scream, but all you manage is the feeling of a choking sensation leaving your throat. Words barely legible, but you say them: “You stole him…”

You wish you could hush your cries and aches, “My sweetest sky, please return to me. To our son.” When the killers are gone, you see him coming to—his voice is choked by his own blood with a rise and fall going to fast.

“To the top.”

“No, you need to rest. Please?” You are pleading but his hands runs along your cheek, you can barely see where the red of your dress and the red of his life force.

“Trust- m-Me.” And you do, just as you have for as long as you can remember.

“I do.”

Ibis holds onto you for dear life, climbing the stairs to the top of the spire. Every stumbling, painful step burns you deeper because you are crying out for him.

“What—” He inhales sharply. “Tell me the name of our son.” Your lip trembles at the top of the spire becomes so much more clear than before. Reality is becoming more apparent.

“I thought Cellion.” While it is painful, you glance over at him with your will and see him smile. You see him see your sons entire future in that single, very real moment.

“Tell me what our Cellion will become?” You almost choke on the words, but know Ibis well enough to know this will bring him peace. To leave this world with one thought.

“Cellion is both a warrior and a mage, a combination of us both. A wise leader. He has my eyes, but your Sky born smile. He is both compassionate and good— knowledgeable in the great arts…” Your lip trembles and feel him leaning heavier on you, falling onto your limited strength. “I tell him about you every night, raise him on stories of our adventures…”

So many adventures and it’s all coming to an end. Because of the selfishness of humans, you feel his life faltering—hanging in the balance. Ibis stops, kissing your cheek as gently as he can as his hand rests on your swollen stomach.

“You’re going to make a wonderful mother.” You place your hand over his, flexing your fingers.

“I wish you would be there.” He nods, glancing at the final ascent—two steps.

“Me too.” You falter now. “And I will.” He drops his hand, beginning to pull away, a veil preparing to separate you almost entirely.

“I’ll be the summer breeze that kisses your cheeks.” And then, he is stumbling up the steps and you are stuck. Unable to move. Just watching him. Then you turn away and lean onto the stairs, turning your eyes to the sky.

You see his last breath, and your eyes close: “We will see you in the next life and sunset skies, Ibis.” Swallowing, “My great love.”

Rising to your feet, body swaying with every step—lost in the bitterest sensation of loss. Cheeks burning, to some extent there is no pain at all anymore. Just sensations.

You hear the rustle of the breeze, but when the wind hits your cheeks—your lip trembles.

“I’ll find them. For you. For me. And our son.” You pause, “I don’t know what I’ll do.” You might kill them, it’s not your husbands way, but you were a warrior. Raised with warriors blood, and with his blood on your hands—the blood boils.

“But I’ll find them.”

[black-dhalias]

This might be a long shot but have you watched Rob Zombies Halloween’s? If not that’s totally ok! I just thought to ask

No I apologize I haven’t😅🫠

But if you have any other requests, you are more than welcome to ask!