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cherriecove · 2 months ago

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Fine Line Between Duty and Oaths (Part 8)

Gwayne Hightower x Targ!Reader

Summary: The second born daughter of King Viserys I Targaryen and Queen Aemma is just as brave, beautiful and stubborn as her older sister but cannot deny her growing love for a certain red haired knight who just so happens to be a dear friend's brother. Cherrie's Note: Hi everyone hope you enjoy, please feel free to give any feedback! Masterlist | Previous Part | Next Part

The days after your mother and brother’s funeral were a blur of overwhelming grief, sorrow, and anger. The hollowness left by your mother’s absence weighed down every moment, and the thought of your baby brother, gone so soon after his first breath, only deepened the ache. Yet, alongside the sorrow burned a fierce anger, one you couldn’t contain. It wasn’t directed at the innocent babe, but at your father, King Viserys. His relentless desire for a male heir had cost your mother her life.

The Red Keep, once filled with warmth, now felt cold and oppressive. Every hallway, every room, was haunted by the memory of your mother, her laughter and presence woven into its very walls. But the pain of remembering was laced with bitterness. You couldn't help but think how it was all for nothing. Your father’s obsession had pushed your mother to her limits, and now she was gone. For what? A son, who lived for a mere day?

You found solace in your sister Rhaenyra, the bond between you strengthened by shared grief and a silent understanding. You spent hours together in the godswood, sitting beneath the weirwood tree, its blood-red leaves casting shadows over your faces. Neither of you spoke much at first, the weight of your emotions too heavy for words. But the silence between you was comforting, a reminder that you were not alone in your pain.

"It was all for him," Rhaenyra finally whispered one afternoon, her voice tight with unshed tears. "All because he wanted a son. And now she’s gone."

Your jaw tightened, the anger flaring up again. "She wasn’t just... a vessel," you muttered bitterly. "She was more than that. She deserved better."

A soft rustle of fabric behind you made both of you turn. Alicent Hightower approached cautiously, her face pale but filled with sympathy. She had been your closest friend, and she never neglected your needs. Alicent knelt beside you, her brown eyes soft with compassion as she reached out, taking both your hand and Rhaenyra’s.

"I am so sorry," Alicent whispered, her voice breaking slightly. "I cannot imagine what you must feel, but please, know that I am here. I will always be here."

Rhaenyra’s lips tightened, her anger still too fresh to fully accept the comfort, but she squeezed Alicent’s hand in gratitude nonetheless. You leaned into Alicent’s embrace, allowing yourself a moment of vulnerability as tears welled up in your eyes.

"I just... I can’t understand it," you said quietly, your voice trembling. "Why did it have to come to this? Why wasn’t I enough? Why wasn’t Rhaenyra?"

Alicent’s grip tightened slightly, her voice soft but firm. "You were more than enough. Both of you are more than enough. Your mother knew that. She loved you both so much."

Rhaenyra scoffed, though it was more in pain than dismissal. "Father didn’t. Not until now. All this... all for a son who only lived a day."

Alicent didn’t respond to that. There was nothing to say. The truth of it hung in the air like a sword, sharp and cutting.

Gwayne’s recovery was slow, but steady. You spent countless hours by his bedside, watching as he healed from the injuries inflicted by your uncle Daemon during the tourney. The wound had been deep, and there had been days when you feared he might not recover. But bit by bit, his strength returned. His pale complexion slowly regained colour, and his humour, though weak, began to surface once again.

One evening, as you sat beside him, Gwayne gave you a tired but genuine smile. "You look worse than I do," he teased softly, his voice hoarse but laced with affection.

You managed a small smile in return, though it didn’t reach your eyes. The grief still clung to you, a shadow that refused to lift. "I doubt that," you replied, brushing a hand through his hair. "You’ve looked better."

"Ah, my lady, your words wound me deeper than Daemon’s lance ever could," Gwayne said with a playful groan, wincing as he shifted.

You laughed, a short, dry sound, but the tears quickly followed. Gwayne’s expression softened, and he reached for your hand. "It’s not your fault," he whispered. "None of this is your fault."

His words were a balm to your fractured heart, but they did little to quell the anger that still gnawed at you. "I just... I can’t stop thinking about her. About what she went through. For him."

Gwayne gently pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you as you rested your head on his chest. "She loved you. Both of you. She wouldn’t want you to carry this weight alone."

You nodded, though the guilt and anger still lingered. But in Gwayne’s arms, you found a moment of peace, however fleeting. It was enough, for now.

In the days that followed, the court shifted around you, and so did your father’s focus. The loss of your mother and the infant prince had shaken him deeply, and though the kingdom still mourned, there was a question that had to be addressed—who would be his heir? With no surviving sons, all eyes turned to Rhaenyra.

The announcement that she would be named heir to the Iron Throne came with both triumph and bittersweet irony. Everything your mother had endured, all the sacrifices made in pursuit of a male heir, only for the throne to go to Rhaenyra—the daughter who had been there all along.

The ceremony was grand, filled with the pageantry expected of such a historic moment. You stood beside Rhaenyra as she knelt before your father, who placed the heavy gold chain and crown upon her head, naming her Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the Seven Kingdoms. The lords and ladies of the realm gathered to swear their fealty to her, though you knew some did so begrudgingly, the age-old preference for a male ruler still lingering in their minds.

Alicent stood nearby, her expression filled with quiet pride as she watched her closest friend take her rightful place. Yet, you couldn’t ignore the tension that still hung in the air. The crown that now sat on Rhaenyra’s head was one your father had long wanted for a son. But the gods had willed it otherwise.

After the oaths were sworn, Rhaenyra caught your gaze, her expression solemn. Despite the pride she undoubtedly felt, the sadness was still there, just beneath the surface. The two of you had been thrust into roles neither of you had expected so soon—heir to the Iron Throne, and the one left to carry the weight of a motherless legacy.

As the court dispersed, Rhaenyra took your hand in hers, squeezing it tightly. "We’ll make her proud," she whispered, her voice steady, though her eyes shone with unshed tears. "No matter what."

You nodded, the grief still heavy in your chest. But you both knew, no matter what the future held, you would face it together. You had Alicent by your side, and Gwayne slowly recovering, but above all, you had each other. Sisters, bound by love, loss, and now—destiny.

#hotd x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #gwayne hightower #gwayne hightower x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #targeryan reader

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unsoundedcomic · 5 days ago

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Whumptober 2024 - 23 - “Forced Choice”

((First part here))

When first the Lady whispered to me of a cache of forgotten wisdom hidden in the heart of Mmatont Anchert, the image of a library had blossomed in my mind's eye: dusty parchments, fat worm-eaten tomes, crumbling scrolls crowding each other for space on warped and collapsing shelves.

What I had not envisioned was what Rahm and I found when our gruff guide opened the Living Wood door.

A breeze colder than ice assailed us from a chamber of unbroken blackness. I could see no ceiling and see no walls; only a rectangle of floor smeared golden before our feet by the light of the Soud's torch. I stepped into it. My boots crunched over the fragile granules of ancient insect carapaces and layers and layers of… bird droppings?

The door closed behind us suddenly - very theatrical, pissmop! - and Rahm and I were in the dark.

"A moment, a moment," he muttered. I imagined him smacking his lighter against the heel of his hand and yes, it cracked suddenly to life with a muted blue burst. Despite the chill, Rahm's face was shiny with sweat, eyes wide, nostrils flared. I imagine my expression was similar, though more handsome of course.

"It stinks like Juste," I whispered.

"Birds."

Aye. Birds. I hooked his elbow with my own and we moved deeper into the room. Rahm thrust the wee pymaric light before us, but it made few inroads through the ink: no walls, no structural planes to catch the glow and reveal themselves; only an empty void where we had expected so much.

"I hope that boy is all right," Rahm said suddenly. I yelped a nervous laugh - I could not help it! - and he tensed against my arm.

"You know they have killed him. Let it go. He was nothing to us. Perhaps he touched children or worse! Licked his fingers at the supper table! Put your mind on why we've come."

My arm was colder and the room a bit blacker when he pulled away from me. "You're an asshole, Bastion. I know where your mind is."

"My mind is fixed firmly upon obtaining the algorhythms needed to chase the pieces of the scattered human soul, I have never hidden this-"

"In order to bring your sister back!" Rahm sounded triumphant, as though he was exposing to the light some long hidden and grimy secret. I always did love my self-righteous friend. And so I hated to scoff at him, but I cannot control my ego when it is in control. Which is often. Daily. Hourly.

"I had to pick SOME deceased subject, Rahm. She is as good as any other. I knew her well, I can identify whatever mind that reconstitutes as either belonging to her, or evidencing too aberrently. Should I have chosen that lovely young soprano who threw herself off the Spire last year, bashing her pretty brains out all over Rue Jonovan? I didn't even know her favourite colour."

Rahm's lips worried over his teeth with unvoiced emotion. I frankly did not give a whore's fart whether he believed me or not. I continued: "You? Your mind? You are after the resurrection of your dead son. And not for the good of us all, not to overcome the gods' crime, not to raise us from the muck that mortality condems us to; you wish it to apologise to your wife and to mend your cracked heart. Well, I think that is a WASTE - a disgraceful WASTE of a spellwright's intellect and a great man's mind!"

A strange expression passed over Rahm's face. For a moment I was fearful he would weep. But that was not quite right. It was sorrow yes, but… why, if I hadn't known better, I would have thought it was sorrow for ME.

What a fool that Rahm Ripa.

"What is here!" he suddenly challenged the emptiness, and wheeled away. He spun about, blue light feebly punching at the black, dust motes wildly bobbing. I saw a single small feather catch, then vanish again. "We were told of this place by Lady Ilganyag, Eldest of the Old! Who heard the First Words spoken and saw the Arbiter Khert take hold!"

No response.

"Try it in Tainish," I suggested. Rahm glowered deeper. Understandble. Dreadful bother to translate and localize verse, you always lose something. One really must learn Continental to enjoy the written works of Gari Fiat at all.

"Look onto the khert," he bade me sharply.

"Ach, very well, but you watch my back while I am vulnerable." I felt the Lady stir in my thoughts but say nothing as I complied. With a steady inhalation, I imagined my breath sweeping the flesh and blood and baggage from my bones; my bones themselves crumbling like ash behind me as I stepped forward through myself, and opened my eyes to the khert-lines.

I stumbled. Rahm caught my arm. A fool, but a friend.

Cutting golden through the blackness, the khert-lines here were thick as hawsers, knotted and twisted around themselves, Aspects and ghosts both sluggishly pulsing through them as though as cold as we were. Phantoms fitfully fluttered in the far, far corners of the room, and still more spiraled against the ceiling far above, skittering blind ghost fingers for some khert-line to follow towards freedom. Feeling Rahm watching me, I dropped my gaze and squinted through the gilded slashes, leading him deeper in.

There. An undefined void against the golden glow of the khert, I saw a Shape. It was a well-known shape to any son of Juste and follower of the Lady. The lines skittered around it, unable to intersect, and the ghosts themselves seemed repulsed. I heard Rahm gasp. A familiar belch of panic gripped my midsection when I tried to return to my fleshly eyes and found them sluggish. Then I steeled myself and with a moment's concerted effort the khert was blinked away, the blackness was returned - burning with no after images, no scintillation of pupils dilating - and I was immediately able to see the blacker black that loomed before us.

Every filament of Silver throughout my body burned hot. The torc at my throat clenched enough to leave me breathless.

In crackling old Tainish, the great Agib asked: "What do these Humans desire."

Oh, what a creature! Imagine a great avian raptor as tall as two men, of ebon plumage and silver razor talons. Now stretch its neck out to thrice the length of its body, give it the beak of a crow, golden human sclera, and irises red as fresh blood.

Rahm gibbered a moment and grabbed his own collar. Then our torcs relaxed, leaving us panting in tandem. Distantly sexy. The bird cocked its head to the side, then level again, then back. It was looking at Rahm's wee lighter. It occurred to me that a creature such as this must not often see such devices. In fact this was a newer design out of the Fluirstadt workshops, using starfly lymph and mirrors, and likely completely revolutionary to such a Mmatont shut-in.

"Give that to Agib," croaked the bird.

Rahm moved to comply and I snatched at his arm. I swear to the dead gods these Crescians do not know how to negotiate.

"We are come for knowledge," I interjected, making the lighter my own. I crushed the shiny bargaining chip to my chest, afraid he'd snatch it. "Lady Ilganyag sent us. She-"

The agib exploded into movement! It drew up on its claws, extended its legs, and shook open its dusty wings! They reached to the ceiling, embers of red burning deep at the roots of the primary quills. "Not the Lady of this Agib!" I think it said. The words were so garbled, the vocabulary so archaic. "Not the Lady of this Agib!"

Inside my head, my own bird was still.

"She wants not a thing from you!" I called, "My compeer and I wish only discourse with a brother scholar, one that I recognise has a savvy appreciation for pymary and pymarics! We have more than this lighter; we have an entire collection with us - in our luggage - of the most modern devices in use today. More than I can say of these savages keeping you prisoner."

"Agib is no prisoner," said the bird. Indeed, I realised suddenly there were no chains on this creature. But what a black, sad room it had been crushed inside. How was this more than a cage of stone, the floor a morass of shit and feathery down-

Oh, shit. SHIT. It had been shitting. Eating. Senet beasts only eat to repair wounds.

"Great injury," the bird lamented, folding its wings. Looking closer, I saw gaps in its primaries, and grievous half-healed fissures in its breast and legs.

"You fought with something," Rahm guessed politely. The monster shifted. All its plumage puffed suddenly, throwing off dust and muck in a choking cloud. It shook, then settled, its down sinking and skirting over its fearsome First Silver talons. Red eyes swung between my face and Rahm's.

"What do these Humans desire?" it asked again, "Humans of Ilganyag. Agib will give you single thing. You will all your precious creations give. Give to Agib all your precious creations. Single thing will Agib give."

Doubt nibbled at me. I knew that these creatures had for all time been the keepers of pymary, for they were the keepers of Old Tainish, the first language of the world. They alone fluently spoke the first words, and had taught them to men when they had thought them ready. If there were secrets, these testy great squawkers would have them. Having had one nesting inside of me since I was a boy, few know them as well.

But this monster did not seem as… put together, as my Lady Ilganyag.

Rahm must have had similar thoughts for he asked: "Who are you, my Lord? How can Humans know what it is Agib… Agib has to give?" It was charming to hear the Crescian try to modulate his Tainish into the old cadence, and use the older words.

"Agib knows," it replied simply.

"Agib knows words," Rahm agreed, "And Agib… knows that words can be spoken to… mirror reality, or to conjure a reality that is not real."

The beast twitched and threw its head, frustrated with the pair of us. I think it had grown accustomed to its solitude. "Humans," it said, "Humans invented the thing that is lying. Ilganyag lines her nest with it! Agib do not lie. Agib love the garden, admire the garden, protect the garden; never is there cause to speak untrue words about the garden!"

"But how can we KNOW?"

The beast puffed its breast and throat again, weaving its long, long neck in a serpent pattern. Rahm extended mollifying hands, his rings flashing in the soft blue light. The sight of them captured the bird's wandering eye. I chuckled. Apparently it loved shinies just as much as my mistress.

Without looking away from the glinting jewellery, in hisses and croaks it recited: "The garden is the garden, paths and stones fixed. Motive and movements determined. The world is in this garden grown and for this garden meant. To change the garden is to KILL the world. Agib alone know how to plant, to prune; the tools are of the Agib and the Agib alone have the tools. To lie is a tool to shape humans; a lie cannot shape the garden. Human tongues never can twist the heart of the garden; only the hearts of humans."

"That was true once," I said, not caring for its arrogance, "But there is a reason Agib have become passing rare, isn't there? Humans have surpassed you and taken your tools-"

The Agib's terrible eyes flared. "AGIB COULD PRUNE YOU NOW, ILGANYAG HUMAN."

Incomprehensible pain opened my insides like a knife. The sun itself burst out of my entrails, up through stomach and esophagus, into my mouth and devoured my eyes, my sinuses, my brain in fire. I have no memory of how I came to be on the ground but then I was, all of reality shrinking away from me - I was in the dark, screaming.

When sensible again, I saw Rahm crouched protectively over me, shielding me, and the wee lighter was in the Agib's beak. All of my friend's rings were gone. Rahm's lips moved but I couldn't hear his words through my groaning, through the echoing pain.

How was I alive? Briefly, I did not wish to be.

Small red hands come from the beast's silver maw. They drew the lighter in, greedily in, clinking against the other jewellery already in its mouth. Then its bill shut, and we were all of us left in the dark. I sobbed like a child in Rahm's arms.

"He did not speak!" I wailed, "He did not speak!"

"What do these humans desire," asked the Agib a final time.

I desired nothing more in that moment than to flee from this room, from this structure, from this island, and away from this monster. It was nothing like Ilganyag. My Lady leads me on a merry dance, but I know the steps. I can sense her moods like a hound turning its snout to the wind. She hates me, but she loves me too. She feels the same about every one of us.

No similar ambivalence from this bird in the black. I knew it cursed us all, and would peck the eyes from a newborn's skull. It had, too. Somehow I knew that it had, countless times. It had been the God of the Soud Vaghal; one of the things on the mountain beneath whose shadow the primitive Tains had cowered and sacrificed.

"I want nothing," I whispered. I'd never said that before. I'd never meant it. I've not meant it since.

Rahm held me tightly as I shuddered, but he was not so defeated. I wonder now what thoughts were behind his eyes as he cast them through the lightless room and towards the unfathomable power of the Agib in the Dark. Did he think of Iori sobbing over their dead boy? The boy himself, dissolving into the khert like sands captured by the surf and pulled into the sea... I wanted to tell him that no answer this creature gave would be answer enough for any of it.

Rahm shifted softly against me and drew his shoulders back to speak. "I wish for us to fly," he said, "Humans cannot shape the garden, but to look down upon it as the Agib does, and behold its splendour, might inspire our tongues towards the same reverence as yours."

A long moment passed. Very faintly I could hear the muffled clinking of metal inside the bird's body, as its tiny hands turned its new treasures over and over. Then:

"A good trade."

---------

A few days later, Rahm and I were back in Tain. Our boat had landed in a little fishing town called Orniers, similar to Lurick and quite as dull. Still, our inn served a fine side of pork and I had ordered a bottle of Omid Red, stewed apples, and a wedge of that soft cheese they make in the west. Rahm swirled his pour in his slim brown fingers, naked now of their pymaric finery but no less elegant.

I'd felt sour and cross since returning. I had left the monster's room to be ill, but Rahm had stayed behind, conferring with the bird and watching it produce formulae of incredible complexity. Now he had a stack of notes and numbers written with impossible precision - they nearly looked pressed with type.

"Did it use its wee mouth hands?" I asked, piling cheese and pork on a slice of good rye, "Did his human moiety ever emerge?"

"I don't know," Rahm answered, expression distant, "It never rose the lights again and I was afraid it would change its mind if I reached for my second lighter. Sitting in the dark for hours, the great monster writing away, my best friend abandoned me for the toilet-- by the Lady, I've only been that afraid for that long a few times. He may have given me new direction for the flying machine, but he may have taken a fucking year off my life."

"Same," I admitted. Rahm narrowed his eyes at me.

"You have many more to spare."

"That is true and it is not my fault. I say if I do not begin taking Ilganyag's suggestions with more caution going forward, it may not matter. Sometimes I cannot tell if she is trying to get me killed, or merely to humble me. Try these apples, there is some rum in them."

My friend moved a few to his plate. He picked at them with little interest. "What does she say about all this?"

"She is amused," I sighed, "But largely silent. I think she and the Agib in the Dark have some history. She wishes me to instruct you to keep its existence a secret."

"I already promised it the same. Senets and their mysteries."

"Aye."

Night was falling. The fishermen had already docked and I could hear the shout and clamour of the lads unloading their catch. We'd stay one more night there, then hire a vliegeng to take us over the mountain in the morning. I thought again about that mountain; the sacred mountain from the top of which, it was said, all pymary had sprung. What had the Tains given the Agib for it? Surely more than light; more than rings.

"I thought you were after the same thing I was," I baited, pouring my friend a second glass.

"So did I."

"Lose your nerve? I say, men accosting senets for information on how to raise their loved ones must be the most tedious trope to them."

Rahm shook his head. "Didn't you listen to it? We can't shape the garden, Bastion. To attempt to… it would kill the world. Death is a part of it. There is no undoing it. But if I finish the flying machine, then… then there was a point to what happened. There was a reason."

He put the wine to his lips. He never said if he cared for the apples.

I'll be honest with you, my dear and patient readers: my friend's answer stuck in my throat like a stone. It sits there still, and galls me when I visit them; when Iori is fingering her gaudy ugly necklace sadly, and Rahm has red eyes after a late night in his workshop. To look for a reason is to look for your own madness. There is no purpose and no reason. We pattern-seeking rodents exhaust ourselves in pursuit of melody within this maelstrom, but there's only noise, and our ringing ears. There is no purpose and no reason, Rahm.

Yet I know he must live each day acting as if there is. That is the thin membrane of sanity we all tread upon so heavily but so carefully, trying not to snap through.

I love my friend Rahm Ripa.

But I will not be put off by the arrogance and tyranny of created things; things that have seen firsthand what the determination of the grown thing can accomplish. Do you remember it tucked away hiding in its own shit? Do you remember? Something brought to great ruin, that Agib in the Dark. Something rent its breast and broke its wings. Was it another senet? Or was it someone wielding our clever pymarics, and our constructed weaponry, and our determination to obtain the tools we need to shape the garden for ourselves?

I don't know for certain, reader; but I ask you to believe with me, sincerely and with your whole heart, that it was one of us.

#whumptober #unsounded

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thestarsmakemedream-art · 29 days ago

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ART MASTERPOST: LETTERS FROM ETERNITY by Blackhorsedances

What would happen if you read a book about soulmates across time and space after it literally zapped you and acts weird in your proximity? Could be a connection between all these stories and does it have anything to do with you? And what happens if you are Dean Winchester who in the meantime doesn't even want a soulmate? To find all these out and to read a beautiful story about soulmates life after life, you should definitely check out Letters from Eternity by @blackhorsedances on AO3.

When I first read the summary I knew I want to draw sleeping Dean with a looming shadow of Cas. After multiple colour palettes this is the final version. I recommend the book titles, because I had so much fun with them. The second art came to me after reading the whole story, crying tears of joy and sorrow and it was an interesting challenge to "feminizing" the boys. (Plus I could have a couple of hours deep dive in greek hairstyles and researching 13th century scottish garments, let me tell you, it's not very well documented. Always awesome to go down the historical rabbit hole). The thing is that this fic was such a beautiful read, it deserves all the love and I hope you will love it too.

@blackhorsedances

@destielsoulmatebang

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saganssorcery · 1 month ago

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It's the final day of Navaratri, a 10 day, or 9 night, Hindu festival celebrating the 9 forms of the Goddess Durga. ✨Jai Durga Maa✨

Today though I figured I would post each of these forms here in one big post that celebrates each of her forms and victories over the past 10 days. I hope you enjoy.

Keep in mind there are many different traditions and versions of these myths, and I am not a Hindu, so your own research is always advised.

✨Shailputri✨

✨Om Devi Shailaputryai Namah✨

The first day of Navaratri celebrates Durga as Shailaputri, considered the absolute form of mother nature.

The colour of the day is yellow and she connects us to the root chakra, the foundation of Shakti.

She teaches patience, strength and grounding, keeping us firm in our beliefs. Meditating on her here represents the beginning stage of the journey to awakening, the first chakra activated when working with Kundalini. It is also said that the worship of Shailaputri on this day will ward off ill effects of the moon.

Her story goes as follows: Sati, also known as the daughter of the mountain, against her father's wishes becomes the wife of Lord Shiva. Not agreeing with Satis choice of partner, her father arranges a great party in which he invites all the gods, goddesses and holy men, everyone except Shiva and Sati. Upset and angry at this insult Sati crashes the party then throws herself into a fire, killing herself, later incarning as Parvati.

✨Brahmacharini✨

✨Om Braam Breem Broom Brahmcharinyai Namah✨

The second day of Navaratri celebrates Durga as Brahmacharini.

The colour of the day is green and she connects us to the Sacral Chakra.

She teaches perseverance, devotion, peace of mind, love and harmony. Meditating on her this day is said to bring the devotee victory in all their endeavors and the ability to persevere and stay balanced mentally in order to tackle any obstacles or duties that one faces.

Her story goes as follows: After Sati's death, Shiva goes into deep meditation that lasts for many many years, abstaining from all desires. Shiva, so deep in meditation, doesn't realise that Sati has reincarnated as Parvati. Parvati, wanting to marry Shiva once again in this life, is told that the only way she can marry him is if she undergoes a severe penance. Parvati then spends thousands of years in meditation, eventually eating, drinking and breathing nothing in devotion to Lord Shiva, in the hopes that he notices her and recognises her once more.

✨Chandraghanta✨

✨Om Hreem Kleem Shreem Chandraghantayai Namah✨

The third day of Navaratri celebrates Durga as Chandraghanta.

The colour of the day is grey and she connects us to the Solar Plexus.

She teaches justice, discipline, strength and power. Worship of her on this day is said to remove all evil spirits and obstacles, dispel sorrow and negativity and bring peace, grace and serenity to her devotees. She will also bless her devotees with a warrior spirit imbued with courage and might, so, like Chandraghanta, we are always confident and ready to fight for our own and others well-being.

Her story goes as follows: When Shiva is finally brought out of meditation and notices Parvati, he is happy with her devotion to him and agrees to marry her again. On the day of the wedding Shiva appears in his terrifying form, shocking and scaring the wedding guests. In response, and to ease the minds of the wedding guests, Parvati also changes herself into her terrifying form, Chandraghanta, and the two are wed.

✨Kushmanda✨

✨Om Hreem Kushmandayai Jagatprasootyai Namah✨

The fourth day of Navaratri celebrates Durga as Kushmanda, considered the creator of the universe.

The colour of the day is orange and she connects us to the Heart Chakra.

She teaches purification, clarity and creative energy. Worship of her on this day is said to remove planetary flaws and imbalances, purifies the darkness from bad actions or karmas, removes evil or negative energy, brings in good energy and a positive aura, sheds light on our path, promotes business which brings about success and opportunities, boosts creativity and concentration, builds harmonious relationships with others, and promotes good physical, mental and spiritual health.

Her story goes as follows: When the universe didn't yet exist and all was darkness, Kushmanda created the universe with her smile, filling the universe with light. She is believed to reside in the centre of the sun and embodies the source of all life. She created all the other gods, who go on to create other universes, beings and life forms.

✨Skandamata✨

✨Om Hreem Saha Skandmatryai Namah✨

The fifth day of Navaratri celebrates Durga as Skandamata, the mother of Skanda (also commonly known as Kartikeya), the commander-in-chief of the gods.

The colour of the day is white and she connects us to the Throat Chakra.

When we connect to Skandamata by proxy we also connect to Skanda, receiving both of their blessings.

Skandamata teaches us to nurture and protect children, have purity of intent and find ways to grow our knowledge. Worship of her on this day is said to promote fertility, prosperity, courage and wisdom. She blesses her devotees with a clear mind and a feeling of tranquility, she can pacify the heart and bring a life filled with contentment, prosperity and achievement for those with pure and selfless intentions, bringing many rewards. She will protect her devotees with a mothers love, giving them strength and power. It's also said that she can lead her devotees down the path of salvation, liberating them from the cycles of birth and death.

Her story goes as follows: When Shiva detached himself from all worldly affairs and went into deep meditation after the death of Sati, the demon Tarakasura was given a boon which only allowed the son of Shiva to kill him, and as such was free to wreak havoc. Parvati, after her severe penance was able to marry Shiva, and together they created an incredibly hot and fiery seed. Agni, the god of fire, was tasked with delivering the seed but the seed was far to hot. So Durga takes the form of water and carries the seed to a lake where Skanda is born. Skanda then goes on to become the commander-in-chief of the gods and fulfils his destiny, killing the demon Tarakasura.

✨Katyayani✨

✨Om Hreem Shreem Katyayanyai Namah✨

The sixth day of Navaratri celebrates Durga as Katyayani.

The colour of the day is red and she connects us to the Third Eye.

She teaches strength, protection and solutions to issues of love and marriage. Worship of Katyayani on this day is said to bring protection, remove evil spirits, triumph over obstacles, promote success and fame, bring love to those seeking, lead the way to a happy marriage, resolve problems in marriages and protect families. It is also said she will remove the negative powers of aspects in her devotees natal charts, as well as protect from malific planetary transits, remove sins and struggles that one faces, facilitating all round happiness and fulfilment.

Her story goes as follows: The trinity of the gods, Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva, among other gods, were so angry that the demon Mahishasura was wreaking havoc that their anger combined created Katyayani. They each gave her weapons and powers and tasked Katyayani to kill the demon. On her way to do this, Mahishasura was so captivated by her beauty he asked her to marry him, but Katyayani told him that she can only be won in a fight. Mahishasura, determined to win Katyayani's hand in marriage, changed into his bull form ready to fight, Katyayani on the other hand, jumped from her mount with such force she knocked him to the ground, killing him.

✨Kaalratri✨

✨Om Aim Hreem Shreem Kaalratryai Namah✨

The seventh day of Navaratri celebrates Durga as Kaalratri, also known as Kali.

The colour of the day is royal blue and she connects us to the Crown Chakra.

Kaalratri is commonly known as the fiercest form of Durga, her mere image invokes fear in all those who do evil, she displays no mercy for the wicked. She teaches how to be bold, powerful and destroy ignorance and replace it with knowledge. Worship of her on this day is said to remove black magick and malevolent spirits of all kinds, they flee in terror when she is present. She removes fears, negativity and obstacles giving us the power to be bold, courageous and successful. She destroys ignorance and blesses her devotees with knowledge, wealth, power and good health. It is also said she will remove negative aspects in her devotees natal charts that relate to career, troubles with success or aspects that indicate health issues.

Her story goes as follows: The demon Raktabeej had a doon where every drop of blood would spawn yet another version of him, infuriating Parvati. As a result of her anger, Parvati changed into her Kaalratri form, turning her as dark as the night. Filled with rage she slaughters each of the forms of Raktabeej, collecting his blood in a bowl, and drinking it to stop him from multiplying. She did this until only the real Raktabeej was left, whereupon she chopped off his head and drank his blood until he was no more.

✨Mahagauri✨

✨Om Hreem Shreem Glaum Gam Gauri Geem Namah✨

The eighth day of Navaratri celebrates Durga as Mahagauri.

The colour of the day is pink and she connects us to the Soul Star chakra, located just above the Crown Chakra.

Mahagauri teaches compassion, morality, and emotional stability. Worship of her on this day is said to remove impurities, dispel confusion, bring peace, facilitate compassion, lead the way to enlightenment, expand spiritual growth and fulfill desires. She blesses her devotees with a peaceful life, home and family, bringing a good partner to those who are seeking and bless marriages. She will also remove obstacles, negativity and the sins of her devotees, lead to self realisation and promote virtue and emotional stability.

Her story goes as follows: Parvati, after her battles as Kaalratri, was stuck looking as dark as the night, to regain her original form she was told to bathe in the river Ganges. Doing as recommended, she re-emerges from the river more beautiful than ever, as the glowing form of Mahagauri.

✨Siddhidatri✨

✨Om Hreem Shri Siddhidatri Durgaaye Namaha✨

The ninth day of Navaratri celebrates Durga as Siddhidatri, the supreme goddess.

The colour of the day is purple and she connects us to the Universal Chakra, located above the Soul Star Chakra above the Crown.

She teaches divine knowledge, spiritual attainment and bestows all manner of siddhis (powers) to her devotees. Worship of her on this day is said to help one focus on higher attainment in all pursuits, whether those pursuits are physical or spiritual. She grants boons to mortals and spirits alike fulfilling the desires of her devotees. She promotes a mediative mindset, brings peace and helps one with devotional practices that take perseverance. She will even remove obstacles and fears, facilitate balance and perfection in all things, and bring success.

Her story goes as follows: When the universe was void and there was nothing at all to behold, a celestial light spread amongst the universe filling every part of the void. This light started to take shape into the form of Mahashakti. She brought into existence the trinity of gods; Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva. The Trinity of gods were then assigned their roles and obligations by the goddess. They then sat in meditation for a very long time performing many atonements, pleased with this the goddess appeared to them in her most divine form, Siddhidatri. She granted each of the Trinity all manner of siddhis, also gifting the trinity with their three wives, who all represent divine aspects of herself; Brahma with Saraswati, Vishnu with Lakshmi, and Shiva with Parvati, who are to help them with their tasks. She then goes on to create other deities, demons, universes, galaxies, worlds and life, and grants all manner of siddhis to anyone who dedicates their devotion to her.

✨Durga✨

✨Om Dum Durgayei Namaha✨

The tenth day of Navaratri celebrates all of Durga's victories over the past nine nights. Jai Durga Maa!

It is a tradition in some parts to commemorate the weapons and tools that brought Durga victory and triumph over all she faced, and too, pay homage to our own weapons, magickal or otherwise, and tools of trade that bring us victory in our own lives.

©️Sagans Sorcery 🔥🖋️

---

I have been posting each of her forms for each day during the festival on my Facebook page: facebook.com/SaganOakes

When I don't post on here I'm always posting there if you want to check it out 💙☄️

Thank you so much for reading ✨🙏✨ Much love.

While this article and the very last image I have used is written and created by myself @saganssorcery, the rest of the images I have found on the web. If you are the original creator(s) and wish for me to remove an image please send me a DM and I will remove it as soon as I see the message. Thank you 💙☄️

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claymoresword · 1 month ago

Text

Come Out And Haunt Me

Cersei Lannister x Catelyn Tully Stark

Summary: When her raven goes unanswered, queen Cersei Lannister decides to pay the Starks a visit herself.

Wordcount: 2.4k

Disclaimers: omegaverse, alpha!cersei, omega!catelyn, cheating, angst & fluff, robert baratheon does not exist

Note: hi! so i initially only planned to post this on Ao3 but I've decided to share it here as well

honestly not sure what this is i just had a random burst of energy one night and decided to write it lol

to all 2 of you who clicked on this, welcome! hope you enjoy <3

The parchment clutched tightly in her hands, Catelyn skims the letter once more. As though dwelling would make a difference to the words already etched into the page.

An egregious insult.

Nine years; Catelyn had been forced to wallow in the harsh and cold North. Nine years and she had just managed to find a sort of peace amidst her sorrow.

Ned no longer insists on sharing her bed and her children, aside for Rickon, have all outgrown her attention.

She is finally comfortable.

Perhaps even happy.

Now the queen intends to summon her to King's Landing– like a dog.

The alpha is as bold as she is cruel.

I am not meant to be Hand any more than Cersei is fit to be queen.

Catelyn traces the crimson seal with the pad of her thumb, a war raging within her.

It is a cruel jape, even after everything, she still yearns to be in the alpha's presence once more.

To thread her fingers through golden curls, look upon delicate features in which time has certainly only made more beautiful.

Catelyn scoffs at her own feebleness, she harshly wipes the tears that have already began drying upon her cheeks.

This is all folly.

The omega allows her eyes flutter shut for a moment; she banishes Cersei from her mind.

Wringing the letter in her hands as she rises from her seat, Catelyn storms towards the hearth, eventually feeding the crumpled parchment to the fire.

Cersei Lannister; ever delicate and enchanting. The worst person Catelyn has ever met, once the love of her life.

This is what it has come to; for all of her sins, the Gods see fit to mock her.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

A month has come and gone since the queen sent a raven, and Catelyn is content with the knowledge that Cersei has taken her silence for an answer.

She will not go to King's Landing. She cannot set eyes on the queen once more– for the omega is certain she will not survive it.

"Brandon Stark! How many times must I tell you? No climbing." Catelyn exclaims, she watches her son descend clumsily from the roof.

Bran appears unfazed by his mother's warnings, as always. A genial expression covers his features; the careless joy of a young boy.

"I just saw hundreds of people riding down our road." The boy exclaims amidst a grunt, hoisting himself off the parapet before finally landing on his feet in front of his mother. "I saw a large wheelhouse, with horses.. and men in armor."

"It must be your uncle Benjen and his men who have come to visit your father again." Catelyn decides, but her son pays her no mind as he continues.

"They were carrying crimson banners, with a lion–” Catelyn's expression falls at his son's words. Suddenly she senses a gnawing in her belly, as though she might wretch.

"What did you say– about the banner?" The omega asks as she grabs her son by the shoulder, urging him to look up at her.

"It was crimson, with a yellow lion." Bran repeats as he stares at his mother.

"–Lannisters." Maester Luwin emerges, overhearing their exchange. "Is it possible the queen has come to Winterfell?"

The man asks as he searches Catelyn's expression; she has gone quiet, all colour drained from her face.

"My Lady.." Maester Luwin then attempts to coax a response, with a light hand on Catelyn's forearm.

It restores Cat to her senses just enough to muster a single sentence. "Please, inform my Lord husband. Tell him, the queen is on her way."

═══════════════════════════════════════════

Catelyn smooths out her gown for the dozenth time, not having been given much option or time, she was forced to don a dark blue gown, one that her Lord husband often insists match her eyes.

Although the dye on the fabric has now faded, and the sleeves wrinkled– but it matters not. Most of her dress remains covered by her sheepskin cloak.

Nearly all of her dresses always are. The weather in the North does not warrant beauty, only practicality.

Catelyn breath catches in her throat as she observes the queen's approach. Cersei leads the assembly on a gold and white palfrey, she halts infront of the gates before dismounting her horse with grace.

It is no secret that the years have since done its work on them both. The queen is no longer the young woman she had served at court, the same way Catelyn is no longer a girl of ten and five.

Cersei wears a few wrinkles around her eyes, yet, her beauty remains as ethereal as Catelyn remembers it to be. More than anything, the sight of the alpha makes her ache; she has no choice but to focus her gaze elsewhere.

“Winterfell is yours, Your Grace.” Ned declares after placing a chaste kiss on the back of the queen's hand.

He remains kneeling on the ground as Cersei studies him. She regards him with a piercing emerald stare before instructing him to rise.

“I hope you can forgive my sudden attendance, I have rather urgent business with your wife.” The queen avows, not appearing to be sorry at all.

Whilst Ned is visibly taken aback by Cersei's declaration, any doubt or query he may have on the matter– he keeps to himself.

The Lord of Winterfell steps aside as the queen swiftly turns her attention towards his wife.

“My queen.” Catelyn greets the golden haired woman with a curtsey. The omega only manages to hold Cersei's gaze for a heartbeat before once again, willing herself to look elsewhere.

The alpha moves to reach for Catelyn's hand, but as though just only recalling the importance of propriety, she stops herself.

Cersei is not given a chance to do much else before her wife falls in next to her.

Taena smiles brightly as she envelopes Catelyn within her embrace, without much warning. “Cat, it's been far too long!” The Myrish woman exclaims.

Catelyn feigns a smile of her own, out of courtesy, she embraces the queen consort in return.

“You are just glowing.” Taena states as she breaks away to look at her. Catelyn soon feels a hand upon her cheek.

The omega wears a bashful expression; one that is just as contrived as the other woman's attempt at a compliment.

She gently pries Taena's hand away from her face. “You are far too gracious.. you look well yourself, Your Grace.”

Taena sighs, as though she wishes for Catelyn's words to be true. “Oh, please, I look a fright.”

“We have been travelling for weeks.” She adds, and the glare Taena throws at her wife calls attention to the barely concealed asperity within her tone.

Yet, Cersei only smiles in return, no doubt her way of retaliating to Taena's grievance is to simply ignore it entirely.

She addresses Ned instead. “My Lady wife and I hope to lay in a proper bed tonight.”

“Of course, Your Grace. We have rooms enough to accommodate you both.. and your children, if it please you.” Ned states curtly as he ushers the queen through the gates.

“Good, I look forward to seeing your castle.”

═══════════════════════════════════════════

After a busy morning, Catelyn had decided to lock herself away in her solar for the remainder of the day. In truth, aside for a desperate solution to escaping the queen and her lady wife– solitude was also the only way Catelyn could avoid Ned's incessant questioning.

Of course his confusion is warranted, and her husband means well, to be sure, Ned always does– but Catelyn cannot stand to lie to him anymore.

As the lady of Winterfell sits by her window, she manages to get a view of Bran and Arya, currently playing in the yard; their direwolf pups by their feet.

The queen’s children have since joined them. Tommen and Myrcella are no doubt every bit like their mothers, both with emerald green eyes of the Lannisters and olive skinned like their Myrish mother.

The sight of their children playing together strikes Catelyn as something that was painfully ironic. In fact, it was nearly amusing, in a rather bleak way.

Lost in her thoughts, the omega fails to hear the latch on the door behind her.

The oak doors open, and soon shuts. It is only when Catelyn notices shuffling behind her that she turns around to inspect the cause.

“Are you hiding from me?” Cersei asks. with her question, she tilts her head slightly. The same way she used to when they were mere children together.

The sight unsettles Catelyn in a way she does not care to acknowledge. She scrambles to her feet, hugging her robe around her slender frame.

"Your Grace. I- no, I'm just not well." She tells a half-truth and she prays for a miracle.

Catelyn hopes, stupidly, that the other woman will decide to leave her alone, without much interrogation.

"Are you ill?" Cersei asks, as expected, approaching her.

The alpha's tone of genuine concern only makes Catelyn want to weep, but she shakes her head, forcibly suppressing the urge. "It must be something I ate." She lies.

"Oh, then you must rest.” Cersei suggests in response, a smirk tugging on the corners of her mouth.

The omega's brows furrow at the sight. She mocks me. Catelyn observes.

The lady of Winterfell decides she no longer possesses the will for feigned courtesies. All she has the strength to do now is stare at the other woman, unamused.

This works to unnerve the queen slightly, as though thrown off balance, Cersei clears her throat.

The alpha averts her gaze before resting her hand on the hilt of her longsword, assuming a confident stance once more.

“Have you given any thought to my proposal?” Cersei finally states it plainly, and Catelyn scoffs in response.

The alpha possesses just enough audacity to appear confused by the other woman's reaction. “What?”

“Stop that. Don't pretend as though you have given me a choice.” Catelyn hisses, and she watches as Cersei opens her mouth to retaliate, but she swiftly cuts off the attempt.

“If that was true, you would not be here.” Cat challenges and Cersei merely shrugs, unconcerned yet dignified.

The queen always does so in a way that managed to make others seem small, inconsequential.

It was infuriating.

“Come to King's Landing, serve as my Hand.” “and you should take Sansa, our daughter will do well in the capital.” Cersei renders aloud as she advances forward.

Now standing close enough that Catelyn can smell the lavender oil in her hair.

“Such beauty shouldn't stay hidden up here.” Cersei continues, reaching up to caress the omega's cheek.

Catelyn stiffens and then sighs involuntarily against her touch. Once again she feels the urge to weep, to scream. The omega wants to lean in and kiss the other woman, to feel her warm embrace.

Instead, she slaps her hand away, bristling. “Don't. do not do that.”

“and don't call her your daughter.. as if you have ever been a sire to her.” She mutters, a scowl covers Catelyn's features as she tries to slip past the alpha.

Although Cersei quickly catches her by the arm before she can go far at all, forcing a proximity between them once more.

"You know that I regret– I regret how it all ended between us.” The queen utters, her voice low, only for Catelyn to hear.

The sincerity in which Cersei speaks her sweet words does nothing to douse the rage within her.

Years of longing and wanting for a woman that has no regard for her honor, no respect for her feelings. Cersei has been nothing if not careless with her; with her heart.

Catelyn does not believe a word the alpha says– she cannot allow herself to.

“Do you?” She challenges, her jaw clenched in anger.

“Nine years without a word from you.. not so much as a raven.” She adds with a raised voice, though Cersei appears entirely unfazed by it, this time her arm slips around Catelyn's waist.

“Don't touch me.” She tries, attempting to wriggle out of the alpha's hold, but it is no use.

"I missed you.. I wanted to write to you, I truly did.” Cersei reveals, cupping the other woman's cheek once more.

“I just thought–”

“What?” Catelyn provokes, unsatisfied.

“You thought what?” Despite herself, she feels her eyes begin to well with tears.

“You told me you loved me... I gave myself to you, and then you chose her.”

Cersei own expression shifts at the other woman's declaration. She wipes away the omega's tears with the pads of her thumbs tenderly.

“I had no choice.” The queen insists, her tone gentle and sincere– almost vulnerable.

“I assume you are happier.. with your husband.” Cersei alleges, and Catelyn feels the urge to laugh in her face.

“How could you possibly think that?” She questions, and Cersei acknowledges the mistake she had made, at long last.

“Forgive me.. I never meant to hurt you.” The queen articulates, threading her fingers through auburn locks.

Catelyn allows herself to lean into the other woman's touch, her brows still furrowed as she speaks. “Well, you did. You broke my heart.”

The omega attempts to shove Cersei away once more, but still, she refuses to budge.

The alpha is stronger, and far more determined.

“I know, I am sorry.” The queen says again, this time she boldly kisses the shell of Catelyn's ear.

As the omega continues to try and fight out of her hold, Cersei kisses her again, this time further down, her tender lips meeting her jaw.

Catelyn shivers at the sensation, just as instinctively, she rests her hand on the nape of Cersei's neck.

“I'm sorry.” The alpha mutters once more as she kisses the corner of Catelyn's mouth.

This time, she does not fight the urge. Catelyn turns her head, capturing the other woman's lips with her own for a real kiss.

As their mouths moved against each other with aching familiarity, Cersei's hand shifts to the small of the omega's back, causing the other woman to lean further into her.

They kiss for what feels like an eternity; only breaking apart when both their lungs clamour for air.

Catelyn's face burns from the intensity of the moment, she soon wraps both her arms around the other woman properly, concealing her face in the crook of Cersei's neck.

“I despise you.” The omega mutters, almost petulantly.

Cersei merely lets out a light chuckle at that. A kind of acceptance and forbearance; a quality she truly only finds less of a challenge to display around Catelyn.

“I know.”

#cersei lannister x reader #cersei lannister #cersei lannister smut #catelyn tully #catelyn x cersei #ned x catelyn #house stark

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padfootagain · 1 year ago

Text

Just Fine

Hi everyone! Here I come with a new request for my Comeback Event! This is actually the last request!! I've completed the whole list! Thank you to all of you who participated in the event, and I hope you enjoyed the fics I wrote!

This was sent in by an anon: “hi!! I hope you are doing great 💕 can i request Sirius Black, soulmates au, wounded character leads to confession xx”

Thank you so much for your request, anon! I hope you enjoy what I’ve written for you!

****

Pairing: Sirius Black x reader

Warnings: Violence, graphic depiction of torture, main character being severely wounded

Summary: You knew you should have never accepted this mission Dumbledore gave you. But someone had to go, and if risks were to be taken, you might as well be the one taking them. But when you are badly wounded, Sirius can’t help but confess one of his most precious secrets…

Word Count: 6270 ( a little long… oops?)

You never looked at the compass that adorned the skin of your left forearm.

A circle and an arrow engraved into your skin in black ink. Or well, what looked like black ink, but marks like these coloured the arms of babies since their birth. A compass to point every individual on the planet in the right direction. A compass to make sure that everyone on Earth would have a chance to find their other half, the person who would spend their entire life loving them, their soulmate…

True love. Follow the arrow on your skin. Follow it to the end of the world, if necessary. Find your soulmate. Find this other piece of your soul, this individual the Universe has appointed to you. Love them. Marry them. Be happy. Build your life around them, and if you’re lucky, you’ll leave this world with them too. Holding each other for your last shared breath. Eyes closing together for the last time.

Find them. Follow the arrow on our skin and be happy forever.

You looked at the bandage you cautiously wrapped on your forearm every day.

Bullshit. All of it.

Find your soulmate, be happy… no one was happy, these days. Finding your soulmate, that didn’t mean being happy these days, it meant being weak. A weakness… you couldn’t afford that king of things. You had a war to fight. A battle to win. Another risk to take…

You gathered some cold water into your palms and rinsed your face with it. Cold, invigorating…

As you looked up and caught your reflection in the mirror, you noticed the dark bags under your eyes. You still had a bruise colouring your jawline and a scratch across your cheekbone. Signs left by your latest mission…

And around your left forearm, a white bandage that you placed there every morning, making sure to not look at the compass engraved on the inside of your arm. You didn’t want to know. You didn’t want to know where your soulmate was, you didn’t want to know if they were close or not, you didn’t want to find them. What was the point? In a world at war, it would only bring you sorrow and fear. No… no, better not know about it. Ignorance was better than sadness.

Because, if you were to be honest with yourself, you were lying when you pretended that you didn’t want to find your soulmate to avoid worrying about them all the time. Actually, you worried about them already.

If your soulmate died, the arrow on your skin would disappear. If they were dying, the inky mark would slowly fade, till it would be gone for good. And you didn’t want to know. If they were gone already, if this crazy war had killed them before it could kill you, you didn’t want to know. You reckoned that you weren’t strong enough… You already had to take in the violence, the risks, the fears… you couldn’t carry on your shoulder the weight of losing all hopes of finding the person you would love most on this Earth too. It would be too painful. After all, if you took so many risks, if you accepted the most dangerous missions, if you were ready to die out there, it was mostly because of this stranger you loved already.

You had never met them. You didn’t know their name, their identity, their favourite colour or even if they were a wizard or a muggle. You didn’t care. You loved them already. And if you wanted to have a chance to taste this happy life this compass promised you, then you needed to make the world a better place first. To have a chance at a happy ending, you needed the world you lived in to allow such a thing.

You heaved a sigh, put on your shirt and walked out of the bathroom to grab a quick breakfast.

One day, you would take off this bandage and look for happiness. For now, you had a war to fight.

Sirius knew you were walking in the room before he turned towards the door and saw you. He knew it, because he always did. Whenever you were near, it was like a sixth sense… his heart skipped a beat.

He pulled on his sleeve to make sure the compass on his forearm was hidden. He knew you didn’t want to know who your soulmate was, so you couldn’t see that the arrow on his arm was pointing at you.

It took a while for Sirius to figure it all out. When he finally discovered the truth, once he was absolutely certain that it was you, that you were his soulmate, that the two of you were meant to be together… it was already too late. You were in your sixth year, and he was in his seventh, and you had already planned to join the fight against Voldemort. You had already decided that you didn’t want to know about your soulmate. You had already started to cover the mark on your skin with a bandage.

You didn’t want to know, and he understood why. Had he known what it would be like to fight in this war, Sirius would have probably taken the same decision. It was painful, really, to worry about you all the time.

So, he didn’t say anything. He kept his mouth shut and his compass hidden, and he fought every day, hoping you were safe, hoping you would both survive this crazy war, hoping he would have a chance to finally tell you that he loved you with all his heart already…

But for now, all he could do was to smile as you walked into the backroom of the Leaky Cauldron, barely a few minutes before the meeting of the Order would begin. You walked towards him with a matching smile on your lips.

You looked beautiful, even though it was obvious that you were exhausted. He wished he could hold you close, let you rest your head against his shoulder, cradle you until you would fall asleep…

“You look terrible,” was his only welcome.

“Thanks. Fighting three Death Eaters at once will do that to you.”

Your smile was amused now, it was reaching your eyes.

“You look pretty exhausted yourself, Black,” you added, your smile widening even more.

“Yeah well… What can I say? James’s snores are worse than Death Eaters at times.”

You chuckled, and butterflies flew across his stomach in response.

He wished he could kiss you…

“Do you know why Dumbledore made us all come here so quickly? Did something happen?”

Sirius shrugged.

“I have no idea. All I know is that he called for a meeting on short notice. But then again, I reckon that if he did so, it is because he must have learnt some bad news, indeed.”

You nodded, finally taking a seat next to him. The room was full, with chairs lined up in five rows, facing an empty seat that had been saved for Dumbledore. The air trembled under hurried whispers between the different members of the Order of the Phoenix.

You brushed your arm against his without noticing as you took a seat, and it sent shivers running down his spine…

He wondered sometimes if you felt the same, even if you didn’t know that you were destined for each other. Did you still feel bound to him? Did you feel attracted to him, even if you didn’t know that it was meant to last for a lifetime? He had found out about the two of you pretty quickly after you started being friendly towards one another, so it all came quite naturally to him. He wasn’t sure if he was already in love with you by the time he was certain that you were his soulmate. He didn’t really care though… you didn’t want to be in a relationship, not even a casual one. No strings attached. Wise decision, without a doubt.

“So, you’re still staying with the Potters for now?” you asked him, checking your watch.

The meeting was about to begin, but Dumbledore was still nowhere to be seen.

“Yep. It’s safest that way. James and Lily will soon have to go into hiding, and so will I. But for now, it’s better if we remain together. We can take turns at night to keep an eye on the door, you know?”

You nodded.

“Yeah… I’ll soon have to go into hiding too, I reckon.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… my last mission was rough. I know some Death Eaters have been looking for me. Actually… this might be one of my last missions out there, in the open.”

Sirius tried to hide how relieved he was by the news.

“If you’re chosen for this mission, that is,” he replied.

“Of course. But… you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know. Well, I hope we both have a chance to actually go into hiding,” he added with a grim look painted all over his face.

You looked at him for a moment. You looked for a few seconds at his long dark hair that he had tied in a low bun. You looked at his stormy eyes, the dark bags that coloured the skin right under them, the stubble that coloured his jaw and cheeks. You had noticed already that he had been losing some weight over the past few months, his cheeks were a bit more hollowed than they used to be. Your eyes lingered on the beauty spot under his right eye…

You hoped he would go into hiding. You hoped he would be safe. Somehow, you knew that it would break your entire life if anything happened to him…

“Let’s hope so,” were the only words you had the strength to speak out loud.

Finally, Dumbledore entered the room. He looked exhausted as well. In the tiny room filled with dust and ashes from the large hearth sitting against the left wall, there were about twenty people gathered. All looked tired, most were wounded already. You were all in a pretty bad shape these days…

“My friends, thank you all for coming so quickly,” Dumbledore welcomed his soldiers. “I am terribly sorry to force you to come here tonight, but there is a matter we must discuss that cannot be delayed.”

He settled in the empty chair, facing the group. In the dim light of the room, turned golden and red as it came mostly from the fire burning in the hearth, his little glasses were shining bright, even more so than his blue eyes.

“I have gathered some information about a weapon that could be used by Voldemort against us. It is a very ancient artefact, that is safely kept at the Ministry of Magic. Or at least, for now it is kept there. One of our spies has warned me that Voldemort intends to steal it. This artefact would give him an immense power. We cannot let him have it.”

“How do you propose we do that, then?” someone asked, and you recognized Arthur Weasley, sitting a couple of rows before you. “It will be hard to place people to protect the artefact 24/7.”

“We will not protect the artefact while it is inside the Ministry. We must steal it. Or to be more precise, we must steal it before Voldemort has a chance to do so himself.”

A heavy silence settled inside the room.

Stealing something from the Ministry… it sounded like madness.

Dumbledore turned to you, and you already knew what he was about to ask. You worked at the Ministry. You knew the place like the back of your hand, you had learned all of its secret passages and hidden corridors in case something like this would happen.

You were Dumbledore’s way in and out of the Ministry.

“Y/N Y/L/N works at the Ministry and has been memorizing all the details needed to enter or exit each room of the building. We have a way in and a way out thanks to her. And if you agree to take such a risky mission, I reckon that we don’t have much of a choice this time. We need your help.”

You gave him a reassuring smile, and you didn’t notice the way Sirius’s fists clenched beside you as the old wizard spoke.

This was madness… this was too dangerous… If you were caught by Voldemort’s spies in the Ministry, you would be killed. If you were caught by any other member of the Ministry, you would be arrested, and sent to Azkaban, without a doubt. No matter what this artefact was, it seemed powerful enough to be a threat. If you were caught trying to steal it, it would be a one-way ticket for you towards the wizarding prison…

“You can count on me,” you nodded, and Sirius was impressed by how well you could hide your fear. You seemed peaceful, confident, as you answered.

“Good. I would also like to ask Arthur Weasley to go for this mission. You work at the Ministry as well, Arthur. I reckon that Y/N could use your help.”

“Of course, I’ll go,” he nodded, and his wife held his hand in hers, a sad but resigned expression painted on her features.

“We need one more person for this mission. I am now asking for a volunteer. It is dangerous, desperately so. I know that I am asking a lot from all of you; and I completely understand if you refuse to volunteer. But we must take the risk, or we might lose the war this time.”

Dumbledore was about to speak again when Sirius stood up.

“I’ll go with them.”

His voice was determined, firm. When you looked up at him, he didn’t seem afraid.

Your heart shattered at the thought of Sirius taking such risks.

But then… what choice did he have? The woman he loved, his soulmate was about to head right into a suicidal mission. He didn’t have a choice. He needed to go with you.

You would either both get out of this alive, or you would both lose your lives. But he intended to protect you, no matter the cost…

You don’t know where Sirius is. Nor do you know anything about Arthur. At this point, all you are aware of are the sparks and flames and the debris flying across the corridor as curses crash into the wall next to your head.

You feel something on your cheek. It’s wet and warm, it rolls down the side of your face all the way to your jawline. When you pass a finger across your temple, it’s painful. You look at your fingertips and recognize the dark liquid staining your skin now. You’re bleeding.

“She’s over there!”

You start running again. This hiding spot of yours, at the corner of a corridor, it couldn’t last for long, anyway. It was temporary. Just enough to catch your breath again before running as fast as you can once more. You need to reach the second floor, but you don’t know how. The more you run, the more certain you become that you’re not going to make it. No way. There are too many of them…

Arthur has the artefact, Sirius is with him. Your job now is to buy them some time. They need to get out of the Ministry, to ensure that Voldemort doesn’t get his hands on this magical object. To ensure that Sirius lives, too…

You run faster than you’ve ever run. You can see the end of the corridor now. You pass a series of closed doors on your right, empty offices left unattended for the night. Because it is night, indeed. You can’t see them now, but outside, constellations are lighting up the heavens with their cold and distant brightness.

You’ve almost reached the door to the stairs when sparks and flashes come flying around you.

Green. Red. Red. White. Green…

A red spell hits you on the leg, and you fall as a jolt of pain springs through your right knee. Your hands are not enough to break your fall, and as you nose collides with the floor, you hear the loud crack of your bone breaking. Blood floods from your nostrils. It hurts like hell…

You reach for your wand, but it’s too late. The three cloaked figures have closed up on you already, and your wand flies across the corridor, landing several meters away. As you roll to lay on your back, one of them kicks you hard in the stomach, and all of a sudden you have no air left in your lungs and you’re choking, unable to breathe at all for long seconds.

“How many of your lot are here?”

You recognize the voice. It’s easy to do so. She has a madness in her tone that matches no other.

You glare up at the skull hiding Bellatrix’s face.

“No one,” you reply.

“I know it’s a lie. There are at least two of you. I saw my cousin running away, like the coward he is.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just working late tonight…”

“Don’t try to play dumb.”

“Just matching your own IQ, really…”

Another kick in your stomach prevents you from answering, as you struggle for breath again.

The tall figure standing next to Bellatrix tilts their head, as if weighing their options.

“Should we kill her now?” asks a voice you can’t recognize, although it belongs clearly to a man. “Or do we have time to have a little fun with her first?”

Bellatrix and the stranger turn to the third Death Eater. He’s clearly the leader of this operation.

“Do as you please. But if you hurt her first, try to find out about her accomplices. We need the artefact.”

You recognize that voice though. Cold, slow, unbearably detached…

“Fuck you, Snivellus.”

You guess a smile in the sound of his voice when he replies to your insult.

“Looks like you’re not the one laughing anymore, are you Y/N?”

He turns to the others, giving orders in the same impersonal tone he always wears.

“I’ll go look for Black. You two try to make her talk. You have ten minutes. Then, whether or not she’s told you anything, kill her. Aurors will soon be here, we must leave before they arrive.”

He walks down the corridor again, leaving you alone with Bellatrix and her deadly friend.

She lets out a mad laugh, clapping her hands together in excitement.

“Finally! Finally, we can have some fun!” she cries in excitement.

“Tell us where your friends are,” the man asks, already pointing his wand towards you. “How many of you came here tonight?”

You try to move your legs again, but fail miserably. Your wand is too far for you to have any chance to reach it.

So… that’s how you’re going to die, huh?

You merely hope that Sirius makes it… At this moment, you can’t find a way to care about your mission, about the artefact, not even about Arthur, even though you genuinely like the guy. No, all you can think of is Sirius. You pray for him to be safe. You can’t say that you’ve ever really believed in God. How could you with all that you’ve seen of the cruelty of this world? Still, if there’s a God, any God, you beg Them now. You beg Them to save him…

If you could have had a soulmate, you wished they could have been Sirius…

But you don’t have any time left. It’s okay, as long as Sirius lives…

“Go fuck yourselves, you psychopathic piece of shit,” is your only answer, you spit the words with all the hatred your heart is physically able to create.

You don’t need to see their faces to know that they’re both grinning. They’re enjoying this. They’re enjoying the fact that your silence is synonym of an excuse for them to torture you as much as they want for the next ten minutes.

So be it then.

Red sparks form at the tip of the man’s wand before he even speaks the curse. You know what he’s going to say. You close your eyes, bracing yourself…

“Crucio!”

He doesn’t know where you are. That is the scariest part. He has no clue.

Arthur is gone, safely escaping with the artefact. He’s going to call for reinforcement. And Sirius was supposed to follow him as he Apparated, he was supposed to run away as well.

He can’t. How could he leave you behind?

He’s running. Running as fast as he can. He has never run so fast in his entire life. He pulls up his sleeve, staring at the arrow inked in his skin.

Right. He must turn on his right next.

He’s coming. He’s coming for you he simply hopes he’s not too late. Lungs burning, throat dry, panting. Everything hurts. He’s never been one to believe in God or a superior power, after all, he’s seen too much of the world for that. Still, now he’s begging. He’s begging, if there is a God out there, They must protect you. They must because… because he’s fucked in the head, and a real mess, and beyond saving, beyond repair, but he loves you so much it aches there in his heart, that feeling that gnaws at him at night. He loves you so much he can’t live without you. He can’t do it. He understands it now, how most soulmates simply die together, in their sleep, as if they had agreed on their body giving up together. He understands now all these widows and widowers dying right after their partners has passed away.

Because the mere thought of you leaving is unbearable. He can’t take it.

He reaches the end of the corridor, collides quite violently into the wall as he’s been running too fast to turn the corner. He glances down at his arm again.

Straight ahead.

Straight ahead, Sirius is running once more. He’s coming, you just have to hold on… just a little longer…

He hears it before he sees you.

He hears the ear-piercing shout you let out. His heart is already pounding because of this crazy race of his but it breaks now. It shatters, like crystal falling on the floor. He can’t go faster, he physically can’t and it’s killing him…

At last, he’s come close enough to see the red sparks leaving the Death Eater’s wand, red in the almost-complete darkness that covers every inch of the corridor. A flash of red, you’re screaming again…

They’re torturing you. The realization strikes him, and when he hurries towards you and the two Death Eaters, it is with the intention of killing them both that he forces his feet forward.

His steps echo through the corridor, and your tormentors hear him coming. No advantage bound to surprise. He doesn’t care. When Sirius throws a Reducto curse at the Death Eater on the left, and that the man flies across the corridor to crash into the wall, Sirius hopes he’s dead. He wants him to be. He’ll deal later with his guilt, with morality, with good and evil, for now you’re lying there, on the ground, he can hear you crying in the stillness of the dark corridor, and he doesn’t care about anything but you. He can lose his soul for all he cares. He can be sent to hell, he can be arrested, he can lose his humanity, he doesn’t give a damn. All he cares about is your form lying there, huddled up on yourself, softly crying, in pain… you must be in so much pain…

For how long have they been hurting you like this?

He dodges a murdering curse, the green flash missing his shoulder by only a few inches. The duel begins. He’s certain to know this voice.

It’s Bellatrix. He knows it’s her…

She’s mad, but she’s strong, and he struggles against her. After a couple of minutes, both of the fighters have to take a short break. Only a moment spent staring at each other, although all Sirius can see in the dim light is the vague appearance of a dead face…

He notices then that you’re silent. There is no noise left in the building but his breathing and Bellatrix’s. You’re not crying anymore.

Bellatrix lets out one of her mad laughs.

“Ha, there she goes. I reckon your little friend here has passed out. Or perhaps she’s dead? Possible, we had a lot of fun with her, after all…”

It’s back. The complete, pure hatred in his heart. He’s tired after duelling, perhaps that’s why his wrath had partly faded. Now it’s back.

Before she can add another word, Sirius summons all his strength, all the magic boiling inside of him to curse his opponent. Despite the shield she summons, Bellatrix is sent flying towards the wall as well, and lies there unconscious.

It leaves Sirius empty, exhausted…

He doesn’t care though. He summons some more light at the tip of his wand in a silent spell, and hurries to you. He falls on his knees by your side more than he consciously kneels down.

“Y/N…”

His voice is a mere whisper, barely audible, barely there at all. He bends down to rest his ear against your mouth, but he can hear you breathing and he feels the air brushing his skin. He heaves a relieved sigh, even if he notices how irregular and weak your breathing is.

He calls for you several times, gently shakes your shoulder, before you finally blink your eyes open.

“Sirius…” you call, only half-conscious.

Everything hurts. Everything hurts like never before. You can barely breathe at all, you notice how hard it is to force every intake of air into your lungs.

It hurts… you want it all to stop…

Sirius carefully brushes his knuckles across your cheek in a soothing gesture. You love the feeling of his skin against yours and you do find the tender touch reassuring.

“Y/N, you have to stay with me, okay? Arthur is gone to look for help. They’re on their way. You just have to hold on now, okay? Can you do that for me?”

“Snape… he was here too…” you breath, your voice hoarse and shaky but this is important and you force the words out even if it hurts your chest and ribs and face to do so…

“Snape?”

“Yes… he went looking for you. They saw you when we separated.”

“Don’t worry about this git, he’s not important right now.”

“You could stop him…”

“Who cares about stopping this prick? I’m not leaving your side.”

You start coughing, it hurts too much to breathe, it’s too much effort…

When blood comes out of your mouth, Sirius’s eyes grow round.

He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t have a clue. He’s shaking by now.

You don’t seem able to calm down this coughing fit, so Sirius slowly, carefully, takes you in his arms and cradles you. It’s tender, the way he holds you against him. It’s loving, actually.

He strokes gently your hair to calm you down, and it works somehow.

He smiles.

“Calm down, it’s okay. I’m here, help is on its way. You’re going to be just fine.”

But you know he’s lying. You know it because you can read it in his grey eyes. Stormy. The colour of a rainy afternoon.

You know you’re dying, you’re not stupid enough to believe in miracles. You’re happy these eyes are the last thing you’re going to see though.

A tear rolls down your cheek, and Sirius gently brushes it away before putting down his wand next to him, so he can caress your cheek properly.

You have one last regret though. Now that it’s time… you might as well admit it out loud.

“Sirius…”

“I’m here. Don’t speak, keep your strength. It’s okay…”

“I wish…”

You have a bitter smile as you glance down at the bandage that never leaves your forearm.

“Can you… can you take it off?”

Sirius frowns hard.

“I thought you didn’t want to know about your soulmate.”

“Yeah… that was… pretty stupid. I wish I knew them… I wish… I wish I could see them, at least once…”

Your eyes flutter shut, but Sirius sounds so distraught as he calls your name again that you have to force your eyelids to lift up again.

You give him a smile.

“You know… I wish… it’s gonna sound silly but… I wish it were you.”

Sirius lets out a chuckle, and you don’t understand why. Maybe it’s because it really is crazy… but then again, you’re dying. You’re not fully aware of what you’re saying.

“You idiot!” he lets out between gritted teeth. “You moron!”

You frown a little, the movement too painful for you to do it properly.

Sirius shakes his head at you, before pulling on your bandage to reveal the compass painted on your skin.

He lifts up your arm a little so you can see the arrow pointing towards him.

“It is me, you moron,” he breathes, and you notice then that he’s crying too. “I’m your soulmate, you bloody imbecile!”

He hears you gasping, but the sound is hoarse because of your wounds. He cups your face in his large, calloused hand, forcing you to look up at him. And as you lose yourself in his grey eyes, drowning in salty tears, you reckon you could never look away again… you don’t have that kind of strength…

“I’m your soulmate,” he repeats, cradling you closer in his arms. “You’re my soulmate, Y/N. I love you… so much. You have to stay alive, do you hear? Because if you die… I can’t take it. I can’t lose you. So please… I’m begging you, Y/N… hold on. Just a little longer, please. They’re coming to help you, but you need to hold on. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave…”

You’re going to speak, when Sirius looks up. He’s heard footsteps hurrying towards the two of you, down the corridor. He reaches for his wand, points it at the approaching sounds… he can hear that several people are approaching.

When he finally recognizes Arthur, along with James and Marlene and Moody, he heaves a relieved sigh, and lowers his wand again, a hopeful smile curving up his lips.

But then he looks at you once more, to find your eyes closed, your lips slightly parted.

And no matter how many times he calls for you, you don’t wake up.

When he looks at his compass again, the lines are fading. Slowly, they are disappearing, the dark lines becoming paler and paler… He stares with horrified eyes.

His compass is vanishing.

You’re dying…

You were lying on a bed. When you woke up, you were alone in a hospital room of St Mungo’s. Your body was aching but the pain had mostly subsided, it was bearable now. You could breathe easily once more. You were exhausted though.

You stared at the white ceiling for a while. It was stained with tiny cracks and defects in the paint. It felt cold, impersonal. Like everything in a hospital.

The first thought that came back to you was the Ministry. This corridor, Snape, Bellatrix and the unknown Death Eater. The pain, so much of it…

And then, Sirius.

You remembered Sirius holding you against him, you remembered his grey gaze drowning in his tears. You remembered the shakiness of his begging voice, you remembered the arrow on your arm pointing at him, you remembered his confession.

Sirius was your soulmate…

You were glad to be alone in this hospital room. Because it meant that you could play the scene over and over again in your head.

Your heart was pounding.

Sirius was your soulmate…

As realization finally formed in your mind, a smile appeared on your lips.

You wanted it to be him. You wanted Sirius for soulmate, and suddenly it was very clear why you longed for him this way. He was your soulmate. That was why you wanted him. Why you had always craved for him, hoped it would be him that the Universe had sent for you.

You lifted your arm, noticed it was still bandaged. You made a movement to take the clothe off, but the door of your room opened, and you were distracted, looking up at the newcomer.

Sirius gave you a crooked smile.

“So… how is our hero of the day doing?”

You grinned at him as he sat on the edge of your bed. He smelled of cigarettes and was holding a warm cup of coffee in his hand. You guessed he was coming back after a smoke.

Had he stayed with you while you were asleep?

“Have been better,” you admitted. “It’s a tough job to be heroic.”

“I can see that. You look terrible.”

“You look exhausted yourself.”

“Just trying to match your energy, really. Wouldn’t want you to feel too bad by looking my usual gorgeous self.”

You couldn’t refrain a chuckle, and the sound of it made him grin.

“Thank you for your sacrifice.”

“You’re welcome.”

Silence settled in the room for a moment, as you stared at each other, until Sirius would take a sip of his coffee, looking down as he reached for your hand.

“Do you remember what happened at the Ministry?”

You nodded.

“What happened to the Death Eaters?” you asked, not quite ready yet to talk about what Sirius meant to discuss.

“They ran away. I was too busy taking care of you, I didn’t notice anything. I let them get away.”

“Well, you did save my life, so… I reckon you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself.”

His thumb drew tiny patterns across the back of your hand, it made your heart jump and skips beats.

It felt soothing, reassuring… A simple gesture that meant the world to you.

“I wasn’t talking about the Death Eaters when I asked you if you remembered what happened, though,” insisted Sirius, his voice low, deep, warm and yet deadly serious.

You nodded again.

“I remember. Until I blacked out, I remember everything.”

You smiled.

“I reckon I won’t need to hide that compass anymore.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Mad? Why?”

“You didn’t want to know who your soulmate was, and I told you.”

“I wanted to know. I wanted to know before dying. I’m not mad at all.”

You noticed that he was clenching his jaw, and he suddenly fled your stare, looking at your entwined hands instead of your eyes; enlaced fingers that were meant to hold onto each other this way...

“You must be disappointed,” he breathed, so quietly you could barely hear him.

You frowned hard.

“Disappointed? In what?”

“In me,” he answered simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

He shrugged, a bitter smile adorning his lips now.

“I’m a mess,” he went on. “I’m… lost and… my childhood and everything… it’s still hard for me to deal with it all. I’m not… You could have much better than me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry your soulmate had to be someone like me.”

When you remained silent, he ended up looking at you again, because he couldn’t take the stillness that had settled around the two of you. It was too oppressive, too scary.

But when he met your eyes once more, you were smiling.

“You really are dumb sometimes, Sirius Black.”

He quirked an eyebrow. You gave his hand a tender squeeze before speaking again.

“I’m very happy it’s you, Sirius. I told you in this corridor that you were the one I wanted, and I was being honest. I’m so happy it’s you. I wanted it to be you.”

“Why?” he shook his head, frowning hard by now. “I’m… I’m a mess…”

“True. But then, I’m a mess too. And besides… you’re a kind, smart, reckless, loyal mess and… that’s all I want really. Doesn’t matter if you’re a mess, the world is a mess. I’m just happy you’re the one for me. Cause I love you… tremendously so.”

Finally, he grinned. You let him unfasten your bandage, unwrap the clothe to reveal the compass on your skin. He rested his forearm next to yours to show the two arrows pointing at each other.

“You gave me a hell of fright tonight, don’t do that again, please…” he whispered.

“What if we went into hiding together? Keep each other safe?”

He grinned again.

“Sounds like a good idea. Very responsible.”

“One of us has to be. And you’re reckless, it can’t be you.”

“You’re as reckless as I am!”

“Maybe… but I’m still smarter.”

You laughed together, but Sirius had to give it to you.

“Maybe. Or well… wiser, at the very least.”

“I’ll take it.”

You raised your hand to his cheek, fingers shaking slightly. He leaned into your soft touch, closing his eyes to bathe in the warmth of your palm.

“I’m terrified about this. About us,” you admitted. “Because now… I depend on you. I depend on you so much…”

“I know. I feel the same.”

“Sirius… are we going to be okay?”

But as he smiled, you couldn’t see any lies in his grey eyes. He seemed to speak the truth. And despite the war raging outside, despite the risks you had to take, despite what had happened during the night, despite your wounds, despite all logical thinking… when he answered you, you believed him.

“Of course, love. We’ll be okay. You’ll see. We’ll be just fine.”

****************

Taglist : @reg-arcturus-black @hells-escapees

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warrior-cats-rewritten · 7 months ago

Note

firestar and leafpools father daughter relationship isnt talked about nearly enough on that note

I think about it so often! They make so many remarks about legacy but refuse to hold onto the FAMILY that a legacy should entail! Bad writers! Smack smack!

Leafpool and Firestar - Familial Relationship

In WCR, they have a much more fleshed out relationship.

First thing Fire notices about his newly born daughter when he and Sandstorm (and Smudge and Scourge) get back to Thunderclan is that she looks a hell of a lot like his sister, Princess! Firestar almost came up with a name in inspiration of her, but decided to stick with Leafstar, as while he could not inform his cats of Skyclan, he could at least hope that some of Leafstar's nobility and grace would invoke into his daughter.

Well, he got the noble part right, at first. Little Leafkit was clumsy and a bit uncoordinated. She would rather learn about herbs than practicing pouncing and bounding through the forest like Squirrelkit could.

Firestar has learned from his past attitude and encouraged his daughter to follow her heart. Though... Please talk to me or your mom or aunty Cinderpelt before you taste-test plants you find. Please.

Leafkit grew into Leafpaw, and finally developed that grace! Firestar was so proud of her, to the point of embarrassing her by accident. Yowling across camp "BE SAFE! BE GOOD! I LOVE YOU LEAFPAW!" When she would go for Medicine Cat meetings. She got over it quickly when she heard Cinderpelt speak about her own father, Cricketfang, and how she missed him.

"I LOVE YOU TOO DAD!"

Things begin to get... Difficult, once the destruction of White Hart Woods begins. In WCR, Leafpaw is the cat who gets the message to go on the Road Trip, and Squirrelpaw, ever at her side, joins too. (Along with Shrewpaw) The 2 sisters leave together under the cover of night alongside Crowpaw and Cranberrypaw of Windclan, Tawnypelt and Smokepaw of Shadowclan, and Feathertail and Stormfur of Riverclan.

It is, hands down, one of the worst times in Firestar's life. The forest is being destroyed and BOTH his kids are missing. All he can think is that the Clans are going to go through what Old Skyclan went through, and his daughters are missing.

When they came back, he was terrified and filled with sorrow. The destruction was in full-swing, and his children had come back speaking about a lake, leaving, going through a mountain... He believed them, but it was so strange, following his daughters into territory unknown... They were so grown-up.

While Squirrelpaw was reckless and a troublemaker, Leafpaw was a the good one, the quieter one, the one you didn't need to worry too much about. He didn't entirely like how Brambleclaw acted towards his daughter, but he never suspected that Leafpaw and Crowpaw's funny little friendship was anything more than that.

When she left again, with Crowfeather, he was... Sad. But not upset with her. The kind of sad you feel when you know your child has grown up enough to not need you the way they used to. It seemed like such a short while ago Leafkit was calling put for her daddy to sleep in the nursery with them tonight because the gentle rain outside was too scary...

But also sad because she'd never told him. He would have accepted it in a heartbeat, moreso than Brambleclaw and Squirrelflight.

He was overjoyed when she came back, but confused when Crowfeather was not with her. During Leafpool's Wish, he tries to give her some comfort. It's okay, honey, sometimes things don't work out.

She's so distracted with her pregnancy that she just nods along. She feels like she doesn't want to burden her father with anything more, what with Thunderclan still recovering from The Boar Attack, including Cinderpelt's death.

She never told him the truth about The Three. But Firestar wasn't stupid. The shape of Jaykit's ears and the stripes on his pelt, Lionkit's eye colour, and Hollykit's voice... He knew they were hers, and putting the 2 puzzle pieces together for their father was not hard. He's come a long way as an orange cat.

Like Shrewfeather though, he assumed it was out of a kindness. Maybe Squirrelflight couldn't have kits of her own, and sweet Leafpool had acted as a surrogate with Crowfeather to provide kits for them. He felt that he shouldn't pry.

Leafpool felt so guilty at not telling her mother and father about things, especially with how close they were to The Three. When the secret came out, she quietly walked into Firestar and Sandstorm's den afterwards and cried to them. They understood and weren't mad in the slightest.

When the secret came out, Firestar was hesitant to punish Leafpool, she'd been through enough... He didn't want to punish his own daughter but when whispers of blood clotting were beginning to start, he had to do something. He wasn't going Onestar's route, when Onestar denamed him into Crowpaw.

He still demotes her, but it's more a formality. She broke a vow about her Starclan connection but let's not prevent cats from getting medical treatment if they need it, okay? He has her go through some Hunter training with her aunt, Lightflower (Princess) but talks in Thunderclan have begun regarding an alternate permanent position for cats that aren't Medicine cats but cannot hunt. In the mean time, she takes up odd jobs all around Thunderclan and hangs around her parents.

Firestar dies protecting Leafpool and Squirrelflight, whom Tigerstar calls "abominations" and attacks during The Great Battle. Firestar dies, but the sisters escape, botb in shock and grief, only getting worse when Tjgerstar drags Firestar's seemingly lifeless body out into a clearing to show off. Leafpool will never forget her father's flaming, holy spirit rising out of his own limp body when Tigerstar least expects it, destroying him, before finally taking his rightful place in Starclan.

And the trial? Ooh, that'll be a doozy. I am going to leave this bit vague, but let's just say there's a reason Firestar still has his title of "Leader of Lionclan".

Moon Flight had better watch herself.

#warrior cats #warrior cats rewrite #warriors #wcr #asks #relationship page #leafpool #firestar #fireheart #leafpaw #sandstorm #firesand #squirrelpaw #squirrelflight

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theheirofthesharingan · 6 months ago

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Hello,

As someone who’s recently delved into the anime community, I’ve noticed a profound connection many fans have with characters like Itachi and Sasuke. Their stories are undeniably tragic, and it’s clear they hold a special place in the hearts of many.

I’m curious about the depth of affection and empathy for these characters, considering they are fictional. What is it about their journeys that resonates so deeply with you? Is it not challenging to experience heartache over their struggles and sacrifices on a daily basis?

From my perspective, anime is a source of enjoyment and escapism. While I understand the impact of these characters, I wonder if focusing on their sorrow might overshadow the joy and adventure that new anime series can bring.

Itachi’s tale has concluded, and Sasuke’s safety is assured within the narrative. Wouldn’t exploring new stories potentially enrich our lives with diverse experiences and emotions?

I hope this question comes across as sincere and not dismissive of your feelings. I’m genuinely interested in understanding the emotional bonds fans create with these characters.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts.

Any piece of media that explores emotions and emotional bonds between characters is likely to click with a lot of people and leave profound impact on them. I'm not into anime or TV in general either, so I haven't seen many shows except for a handful few I can count on the fingers of my one hand.

To me, personally, while both Itachi and Sasuke are special because they're well written, there's also a kind of relatablity factor.

Sasuke grew up being compared to Itachi, no matter how hard he tried he didn't get the acknowledgement he deserved, because his brother was considered better than him. Maybe Itachi was better than him in skills and knowledge, but Sasuke was a different person with a different personality who shouldn't have been compared with Itachi at all. I've been through the same. Being compared with my classmates, friends repeatedly no matter how hard I worked. It just wasn't enough for some reason. It poisons you from inside and leaves you feeling insecure with a lot of sell-esteem issues. We know Sasuke went through them.

It's the same with Itachi. Kids experience different versions of parents. Older kids meet more immature and flawed versions of their moms and dads. The mistakes parents made with them aren't repeated with the second and third-borns. That doesn't mean it doesn't damage the older children who didn't ask to be born and bear the brunt of their parents' traumas. They're older so no they're expected to take the burdens and the responsibility. They kind of become mother and father to their younger siblings but more tender ones.

That's how Itachi and Sasuke's relationship before the massacre was as well as Itachi's relationship with his parents. I find this very relatable. The way he's not allowed to voice his opinions yet he cares about his brother. His ideals aren't really considered relevant, and his feelings don't matter to any adult in his life. That is so, so, so relatable to me. I learned a lot about my relationship with my parents when I watched and analyzed Itachi's with his parents. I learned to forgive my own parents after that. This is getting a little personal, but yeah, it happened. I don't feel as angry and bitter with them as I did before I watched Naruto last year.

Other than that, there are people who watched Naruto and also other anime, and they love these two along with the characters from other anime. I'm just not all that interested in it even though, yes, more stories would mean more entertainment. But I'm not someone who moves on easily from things and people.

Plus, I like the 'flavour' of angst some characters provide. It's hard to explain in the words, but it's like seeing colours. And it doesn't happen with every character I read about or watch. With Itachi, I 'see' red colour, and yes, it's the colour of his susano'o as well, but I'd had this feeling about him before it was introduced. It's like his aura that has some kind of purity to it. It doesn't have anything to do with his morals or how I perceive them, but something else. With Sasuke, it was bluish-purple. Again similar to his susano'o, but I'd had this 'vision' about his aura from the beginning. A character from a show in my country made me think of transparent snowflakes - pure and unblemished, and when his character was ruined, I started to see the 'muddied static' and I lost the connect with him. It never happened with Itachi or Sasuke. I love them both so much.

And I don't think I'm missing out on anything by not watching other anime. They might have other well-written characters that I might fall in love with too, but I love what Sasuke and Itachi make me feel. They're my comfort characters and they're therapeutic to me too, and they both feel very personal to me. Their pain made me feel less lonely. I don't really have friends irl (not the ones I can talk to when I feel alone), okay, this is getting even more personal but yeah so I spend my time either reading or writing. And it's also probably because if you've been depressed for too long, this kind of pain becomes addictive. So I need something to latch on to because I don't want to go to therapy.

This whole answer probably hasn't made any sense, because I don't know.. I tried my best, I swear.

#itachi #sasuke #uchiha brothers #ask #anon #again i tried to make some sense of this answer so i hope it makes some sense

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myfavouritelunatic · 1 year ago

Text

Covered in Colours

Here's my offering for day one of Hellbrand and Ghouladriel Week aka Hellghoul Week!

I chose the day one prompt, 'Leaves'.

I hope you enjoy the following 900 words of domestic Halloween/Autumn/Fall fluff! With a tiny sprinkling of angst of course!

❤️🎃🍁🍂🍁🎃❤️

They were the colours she always loved, autumn leaves covering the earth, a neverending sunset. She watched content from the second story window as the life she made worked and played happily beneath her. Two pairs of feet, of man and child, disturbing the leaves as they walked over them.

Halbrand in his flannel, sleeves rolled up, raking up the brittle streams of gold, red, and brown. Celebrían doing everything in her power to make sure her father’s work lasted all afternoon. Galadriel sipped her hot chocolate, soothed by its warmth as well as the warmth from below.

Her daughter loved playing hide and seek. She wasn’t sure why. Celebrían wasn’t old enough yet to understand what it meant to be lost and found. But there was something that twinkled in her eye, her smile and how it lit up her face, every time Halbrand discovered her. It brought Galadriel back to that same feeling of wonder that encompassed her when Halbrand came into her life. Rescuing her as if she was drowning in a sea of sorrow, pulling her onto a raft, his raft, the safety of his embrace.

Celebrían wasn’t old enough yet to know Halbrand wasn’t her real father.

She would, in time, and Galadriel suspected it wouldn’t change much. It wouldn’t change the way her little girl looked at him, as if he hung the moon and stars. However, It would change the way she looked at her mother.

Casting aside thoughts of the past and of a future that had not yet come to pass, Galadriel laughed as she saw Celebrían jump into Halbrand’s very large pile of fallen leaves. He went along with it of course, playing his role to perfection, pretending like he hadn’t heard the very loud whoosh and crunch sounds of a little girl covering herself with autumn. That neverending sunset. Celebrían playing a game to ensure this afternoon with her father would go on and on.

Halbrand caught Galadriel watching them from above, that smile of his flying straight into her heart. Along with the kiss he sent into the air, before her husband went back to trying to find the ‘missing’ girl. Galadriel opened the window wanting to hear the whole thing fully.

“That’s odd… I swear I saw Celebrían not a minute ago…” Halbrand was so good at this, acting confused, feigning a distraught state. She knew he was good, because she could see the leaves of the pile moving, like shoulders shaking from laughter. Halbrand was good at this but Celebrían… not so much.

“Where could she have gone? Not behind the bushes? Not behind the shed? In the shed?” He checked. He didn’t have to check, but he checked. “Hey Mummy? You see a tiny silver haired girl? About–” Halbrand gestured her size, “This big?” Galadriel couldn’t help but laugh as she saw her five year old daughter pop her head out of the pile, a tiny digit pressed to her lips asking Mummy to be quiet. “No Daddy, sorry! My eyes see all! And they do not see her.” Galadriel bellowed down, before taking another sip from her mug, nearly spitting it everywhere as she watched Celebrían desperately try to hide beneath the leaves again.

“Oh no…” Halbrand began, sounding ‘scared’, “If Daddy can’t find her… and Mummy can’t see her… I guess that means we’ll be going trick or treating all alone…” “No!” The little girl cried out, bursting out of the pile, sending flashes of orange and brown everywhere. “Got you!” Halbrand yelled, making Celebrían squeal in delight. Then she couldn’t help but to toss some leaves in his direction. Her throw wasn’t strong enough, but the wind helped her out.

Halbrand copped a face full of nature.

Galadriel burst into laughter, the wind helping her out, carrying it right to his ears. “Oi!” He chuckled. “That’s not very nice! Let’s see how you like this then!” He picked up some leaves of his own and poured them over Celebrían’s head. “No, Daddy!” She protested, poorly, her giggles telling him how much she was enjoying this.

Then Galadriel watched from her window, as her husband threw himself into the pile and tackled their daughter, rolling them around in a fit of laughter and screams, spreading the leaves back across the lawn. All of Halbrand’s work undone in less than ten seconds. But she knew he wouldn’t mind.

He would also happily see this afternoon go on and on.

When finally they got to their feet, Galadriel had her phone out, snapping pictures of her two favourite people, wanting to remember this day she knew would eventually end. Like the sunset. Like autumn. Like all things.

Halbrand picked Celebrían off the ground and pointed up to where Galadriel was perched. The tiny silver haired child couldn’t help but wave. The two of them were covered in leaves, twigs, and dirt. “How about we go pay Mummy a visit, hmm?” “No!” Came Galadriel’s cry, genuinely protesting. “You know she likes autumn leaves as much as you do, Celly.” “No, you clean up first!” “You don’t want her to miss out, do you now?”

Celebrían shook her head with a cheeky grin. A grin that matched Halbrand’s. Blood didn’t matter. She really was his daughter. And they both howled up at her as they ran indoors, Galadriel hearing their thumping footfalls and their giggles coming up the stairs.

She resigned herself to her messy fate. It was a good thing she loved leaves.

❤️🎃🍁🍂🍁🎃❤️

Tagging: @hellghoulweek @pursuitseternal @heronamedhawks @gil-galadhwen @theriverwild @scriberated @thrillofhope @youwearfinethingswellwriter @klynnvakarian @tmwillson3 @coraleethroughthelookingglass @somebirdortheother @ichabodjane @hazelmaines @rebelrebelwrites @hikarielizabethbloom @marimosalad @jhalya

#hellghoul week #hellghoul week 2023 #haladriel #halbrand #galadriel #celebrian #the rings of power #trop #trop fanfic #halloween #autumn

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alloftheimagines · 1 year ago

Text

mason kane | you are a memory

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

words: 3000+

warnings: set during citadel ep3, angst, pain, blood, nothing more than what's in the show

prompt: Reader/oc is a spy for citadel too but she known she was a citadel spy she was safe when the fall happened and when the train event happened and reader thought that they would let mason live a life without the spy life and them so she would continue help out with rebuilding citadel back up etc. maybe building some assets etc then when Nadia and he goes to the safe house they meet back up there some way or another if that makes sense to like Nadia some how got in contact with reader?? tag: @thefictionalgemini

It feels like you’ve waited centuries for that sound: the door opening. For years, you’ve lived in the safe house alone, never stopping your search for other Citadel members and doing what you can to aid them when needed. But few of them survived, and even less had reason to come to you.

But you knew, somehow — or at least hoped — that he would come home. That you’d see him again.

It feels like a dream, then, when Nadia steps through the threshold, offering you a crooked, familiar smirk before shifting aside so he’s in full view behind. There’s a sorrow in her eyes you don’t dare unpack, not yet. For now, your gaze crawls across his frame. He’s barely changed. Hair still short and brushed back, eyes still that unbearably bright blue. Laughter lines bracket his cheeks along with rough, red-tinted stubble, and it feels like no time has passed at all now. An eternity shrinks between you in a second, and your heart restarts, your world turning to colour.

“Mason,” you whisper, voice cracking, tears brimming. You want to run to him, fall into him and never let go, but Nadia is watching and… he is, too, with furrowed brows. Confused.

A cold wave crashes through you as you look at Nadia again, and her nod confirms your fear. He doesn’t know you.

Mason clears his throat, dropping the case to the ground and rubbing his hands together as though trying to warn him. “We know each other, then. You’re the one Nadia told me about. Y/N?” Your name twists across his tongue like a stumbling dancer in their first lesson. Unsure of the steps. Unsure of how it should sound.

Something inside you cracks, but in all your solitary years here, you’ve never allowed yourself to succumb to all the pain and grief dwelling inside you. You’ve never let yourself give up, not on him or on Citadel. So you tip your chin and hope it doesn’t wobble.

“I guess you could say that. I was usually in your ear.” You tap an imaginary earpiece, feeling awkward and stiff and lost. More lost, more alone, than you have in this empty house for years. “I worked on communications in Citadel. Never usually in the field.”

“I can’t believe you’re here after all these years,” Nadia said, voice soft as always. It’s clear that while Mason has lost his memories, she has found hers just fine, and you wonder how that’s fair. How it came to be. “How did you know we were coming?”

“I didn’t. I’ve been here since we went dark ten years ago.”

“Are there more?” Mason glanced around, rubbing the back of his neck. “More people waiting for us?”

You shake your head, a pang of well-hidden grief shooting through you. “No. Just me.”

His gaze snaps to you without warning, piercing and all-consuming and utterly surprised. “You’ve been hiding here alone for the last decade?”

“Yep. So if I start talking to myself, don’t be too worried. I’m not used to company.” You smirk and turn away from him, rubbing your aching sternum. “It was Carter who told me to head here. Said he’d be in contact. We were back and forth for years until he went dark, too. The only connection with Citadel I had left. I tried to track him down, but… I don’t have the field experience. Not like you. Think he’s alive, though.”

“You know where he could be?” Nadia asked.

“I have my theories.”

“As much as I’d love to hear them, I need a shower first. That okay?”

“Knock yourself out.”

She traipses up the stairs with a final, pointed glance as though to say “You’re welcome" for leaving you alone with him. But you’re the opposite of thankful. In front of Nadia, you might be able to act professionally. Unaffected. But it’s just the two of you now, and the man you love doesn’t even know you, and he’d always had a knack for completely unravelling you.

The silence is stifling. You motion to the living room, to the couch. “You should sit. You look like you’ve had a rough time of it.”

His smile is wry. “That’s one word for it.”

You follow him in, and he sighs as he plonks himself down. He pulls a lighter from his pocket and begins flicking it, and for a moment you’re certain that you were wrong; that he knows himself, knows you. It’s such an old, familiar habit. So many times you listened to that metallic click, let it soothe you as you figured out a plan today.

He catches you watching, then, and hope is washed away as quickly as it came. There’s none of that old fondness in his eyes, even if natural confidence still oozes from him like blood from a wound.

He’s Mason, but he isn’t your Mason.

The man you’ve been waiting for, the man for whom you prayed over and over to be alive, is not here anymore.

“Didn’t Bernard ever contact you?” he asks finally.

“No.” You narrow your eyes, wishing you were comfortable enough to sit beside him. Wishing you could reach out, touch him. Ask him where he’s been. You’re not sure you want to know. A lot can happen in ten years, especially to a man who doesn’t know his own name. “Should he have?”

“He’s the one who came to me. Told me who I was. He needed my help.”

That bastard. He’d left you in the dark. Disposed of you. You want to believe that he walked away too, that he needed it to be this way to keep any agents still living safe, but… He could have contacted you. Could have found you here. This safe house is one of the few Citadel-owned places left untouched, unknown by your enemies. Perhaps the silence had protected you, but it also drove you crazy. You’d felt like a prisoner most days, always waiting for your computer to ping or an agent to show up and liberate you.

You’d wasted your life waiting. For Bernard. For Mason. For Citadel.

Your fists clench at your sides, and you can no longer look at Mason. “I didn’t think you’d made it out,” you admitted, voice thickening just slightly. “I thought you were dead.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “I don’t understand,” he said quietly. “They just left you here, no contact with any of us? Why?”

“Maybe they didn’t want anybody finding out about this place. It’s the only sanctuary we have left. They wouldn’t compromise that by communicating with me, and honestly, I didn’t know what else to do. Citadel was my life. I had to keep trying, keep hoping…”

It’s a lie, of course. Mason was your life. Citadel was a close second. Bernard had known that; perhaps that’s why he hadn’t bothered to find a way through to you. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted you to know that Mason was still alive, because you’d never been discrete about your feelings for him. You wouldn’t have let him go without a fight, and they’d needed their entire operations to become invisible.

They needed him to forget while you stayed here, a ghost in a house much too big for one person. They’d known that you’d wait for eternity if it meant the chance to see him again.

You finally sit in the armchair across from him, folding your hands on your lap as anger glows like embers in your gut. “I thought you were dead,” you admit. “Carter told me about the train, the explosion… He told me you were probably dead. Both of you.”

Mason looks down at his hands. “I can’t get my memories back. They were destroyed. Gone. I know that I should know you, but I don’t.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I guessed as much.”

“There’s no other way, right?”

You shake your head solemnly. “Not that I know of. Then again, nobody tells me anything, clearly.” You can’t help the bitterness seeping into your words.

He rubs a thumb across his chin. “It’s weird. I feel like…” He trails off, and you lean forward curiously.

“What?”

A shrug. “I’ve seen your face before. I got flashes sometimes — memories, I guess. You were in them.”

Your heart lifts just a little.

“And your voice.” His volume lowers. “I heard it. I never knew whose it was. Thought I was going crazy. But it’s yours. It was you.”

Your fingers begin to tremble. You don’t know what to say. It feels cruel, somehow, him telling you this. Dangling hope in front of your face. He can’t know how much it hurts, of course, but it makes you grit your teeth all the same.

“So where did you end up all these years?” you ask, hoping the answer might give you some closure. Some truth.

“I went by Kyle. Got married. Had a daughter.” His mouth upturns at the corners, and it makes you want to die.

He got a new life. You were here, rotting, waiting, and he was making a family.

“Where are they now?”

“Back home,” he says. “With Bernard’s wife. Safe.”

You nod. It’s an effort to keep your features smooth as your gaze snags on a bloodied tear in his jacket. “You’re hurt.”

In an instant, you’re up, heading into the kitchen to grab a first aid kit. When you get back, you motion to his jacket and he takes it off obediently, wincing. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”

A deep one, clearly made by a bullet. You sigh and perch beside him, forgetting that you should probably ask before getting this close to him. Forgetting that you’re not the one who should be tending to his wounds anymore.

He hisses when you dab the saline-soaked cloth to the graze.

“You used to be tougher,” you tease.

He smirks at that, crooked and warm if not steel-edged as a knife. Electricity buzzes through you, because you’ve missed the way he tries not to laugh at your shitty jabs. The way he tries to hide his humour, but it comes out through his cracks all the same. “I wouldn’t know.” And then: “Will you come with us to find Carter?”

The question throws you off-guard, and you look around. This prison is also your shelter, and you’re not sure you know how to jump back into the real world, a world of crime and violence and him. He’s married. He isn’t yours. And why should you aid them, when Bernard cut you away from the rest of the group so cleanly?

“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I’ve been hiding for a long time. I think I’m more useful here.”

“We could use all the help we can get.”

The cloth comes away red, but the bleeding has stopped. You get the bandages ready and hum, pretending to deliberate.

He stops you with a hand across yours. “I mean it. I don’t remember how to do this.”

“It’ll come to you.” You snatch your hand away; keep unrolling the bandage. Maybe it’s weak, maybe it’s cowardly, but you need a moment to breathe after this. Need a moment to adjust to a world where Mason isn’t dead, but still isn’t Mason. You need to figure out if keeping this house safe, keeping Citadel and its missing members safe, is worth it after the way they’ve pushed you aside.

“We need you.”

“You did okay without me for the last ten years,” you snap, wishing immediately you could take it back.

Overwhelmed, you abandon the bandages and the wound, averting your gaze because even now it feels too heavy, too dangerous. Like he could strip your skin and bones away if he wanted. Like he could leave you raw.

You used to like that about him. Now you hate it. More so because he doesn’t even realise he’s capable of it.

“I was living a lie.” His voice is firmer now. Raspier. “I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t choose it!”

“Neither did I!” you erupt. “I thought you were dead, Mason! I was here, alone, always wondering if you were. Wondering whether anything would ever change! And now you’re here and you don’t know me, but you’re asking me to be somebody I haven’t been in a very long time. What am I supposed to do with that? How the hell am I supposed to be okay with it?”

A wrinkle burrows between his brows. For moments, he remains unreadable until he finally looks up at you. “We weren’t just working together, were we?”

You can’t answer him. You don’t want to have to tell him that you were in love, that everything that made life worth living had been snatched away the day he went missing.

“Tell me,” he demands, standing up. “Tell me, Y/N. Were we together?”

Your chin wobbles, and you can’t keep pretending. You can’t keep ignoring the hole in your chest. “Yes.”

It’s clear he doesn’t know what to say, and you know that there is nothing he could. Nothing that would make it easier, at least. You are cursed, the one who will remember. The only one who longs for endless nights tangled between the sheets and stupid back-and-forths through his earpiece. You’re the only one who remembers the rush you felt when you worked together, him in the field and you safe by your computer.

You’re the only one who remembers the night he told you he loved you, and the morning you said it back. He gets to move on, gets to feel nothing but indifference, while you carry a decades’ worth of grief and yearning and pain on your back. And you could deal with that before, when your days were made of aimlessly checking for messages or signs of Citadel activity and scrambling your eggs and staying in your pyjamas because nobody saw you anyway, but now he is inescapable and you find yourself wanting to shut the door in his face just so you don’t have to look at it and see the man you used to know buried under the haze and amnesia and this new life you have not been apart of.

Eventually, he steps forward — and somehow looks apologetic. “I wish I remembered,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. But do you honestly want to stay here, alone? There must have been a reason you stayed. It wasn’t just for the view, right?”

For you, you want to say. I was waiting for you.

But he’s right. Your memories might remain intact, but you were once much more than this. You were quick, determined, unrelenting. It had taken years before you stopped searching for sign of Mason every day. But you had. You’d dwindled. Perhaps you’d given up without realising it.

The person you used to be would never have grown this despondent. You would have stitched your own broken heart back together and yanked back your power, proving to Citadel you’re a worthy asset. The only one skilled enough to perform what they needed. To fight terrorism and organised crime from behind a screen.

You miss that fire in your belly. Now, it's no more than ash.

Finally, you turn your hardened stare back to him. “No. It wasn’t just for the view.”

He nods as though he knows your mind has changed, determination sharpening his own face. “Then you’ll help us.”

“I’ll help you,” you decide. Even if it hurts. Even if you’re not sure you want to anymore.

The back of his hand brushes yours, and your skin tingles. You look down and know it was no accident; his fingers twitch from the impact like a bird stunned after hitting the window. When you lock eyes, you see a flicker of him. Your Mason. Arrogance and softness all at once. A lion ready to pounce because he’s never known how to stay still. How did he manage it, being a family man?

What did he think when he saw glimpses of you?

It doesn’t matter. Your Mason might be gone, but so is Kyle. He’s someone new now, and you’ll just have to get to know this new version of him.

Just as he’ll have to get to know this new version of you. You’re not sure who you’ll be yet, still scarred and unsure, but you think that if he can walk through your door and find you against all odds,, maybe you can find him, too.

He keeps his eyes on the view behind the window, eyes turning the same forest green as the trees outside. Still, his arm is warm against yours, his broad shoulders squared and ready.

“Good,” he mutters, sending you a half-smile. “Because I’m going to need somebody to tell me who I really am. Who Mason Kane is.”

That, you might just be able to do. “An asshole,” you quip dryly. “Mason Kane was an asshole.” And god, did he love it when you said so.

As though it’s ingrained in his muscle memory, Mason lets out a chuckle — half-joy and half-disbelief. He raises his brow, flirtatious though you’re not sure he knows it yet. “That right?”

“Yep.” You cross your arms over your chest and try to stifle your hope, but it’s no use. It comes anyway. “With a capital A.”

This man might not be Mason, but he’s a hell of a lot like him. For now, that has to be enough.