#Cloud structure Security

[learnandbuild]

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[ghoulsbounty]

From a Previous Life

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bound and fearful, you seek answers from a mysterious stranger about the fate of those you love.

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, mentions of death, pregnancy, non-detailed talk about experimentations, angst, grief, swearing, judgement, flirting (if you squint)

Word Count: 2.9K

A/N: My first Cooper fic! I've had this idea going around my head for a hot while and I really could go on, and on with more (yearning, smut, etc) but I just wanted to get out an initial one-shot that could potentially turn into more if any one likes it (or I end up adding to it anyway!) I'd love to hear your thoughts 💌

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Silently, you moved through the desolate wastelands, each step stirring clouds of dust and veiling the once lively towns now reduced to rubble. Somewhere in California, though the exact whereabouts blurred, you were leagues away from the sanctuary you once called home, apparently almost two centuries ago. Time, to you, was an elusive concept, for the stiffness in your joints and the lingering ache betrayed the recent thaw from cryo-sleep. Your mind remained ensnared by fog, a residue of the drugs coursing through your veins during preservation.

Yet, your senses, dulled by centuries of slumber, detected his presence long before he materialized. Heavy footfalls pierced the barren silence, prompting a cautious glance over your shoulder. There he stood, solitary amidst the wasteland, a gun slung lazily across his back and a weathered ten-gallon hat shadowing his features. Perhaps he had spotted you, perhaps not; regardless, neither of you quickened your pace, silently agreeing to maintain a wary distance.

Ever cautious, you abruptly veered into the next structurally sound building, bracing for a potential standoff. Praying it wouldn't come to that, for the meagre supply of bullets salvaged from a fallen vault security guard, coupled with his erratic pistol, offered scant reassurance. The art of marksmanship was foreign to you, a skill unbefitting a woman of virtue in the world before its descent into chaos. Your pride lay in nurturing the home, not in extinguishing life.

"What would your husband make of this sight?" you thought. Clad in the worn remnants of the blue and yellow jumpsuit issued upon vault entry, now stained with blood and grime from your desperate flight. Would he mock your dishevelled appearance, your unadorned face and frayed nerves? Would he marvel at the pistol clenched tightly in your grasp, its weight unfamiliar and your trembling fingers poised on the trigger? Could he shoulder this burden, like you wish he was here to do so? Such musings left you unsettled, your husband's whereabouts a lingering question mark, conspicuously absent from your side.

Peering cautiously from beneath the window sill, your gaze swept the scorched landscape beyond. The lone figure should have drawn near by now, should have approached the building where you lay in wait, yet his silhouette remained absent from the horizon. Instead, the frigid touch of a gun barrel against the back of your skull sent a shiver down your spine, your body tensing instinctively under the ominous threat. You suppressed the cry that clawed at your parched throat, swallowing hard as you slowly lowered your pistol to the ground beside you.

"That's it, nice and slow," he instructed, his voice gruff with a hint of amusement. "You might be my easiest catch yet."

Realization dawned upon you—he had been tracking you. You inwardly chided yourself for your naivety before complying, raising your arms slowly with palms outstretched. Encountering no one in these barren lands, you were uncertain of the customs among people so removed from your time. You were one of them now, but survival demanded adaptation.

"Please, I don't have any money," you offered, hearing his scoff. "I mean it. Take my gun, you can have it."

His movement rustled the air, his presence brushing against you as he leaned to retrieve your pistol. A low hum of amusement escaped him, and you felt the cold barrel of his gun pressing against your skull before it vanished altogether.

"I don't want your hunk of junk, sweetheart," he drawled, tossing it back to the ground beside you. "Doubt it can punch through a tin can. No, what I seek is your cooperation."

"O-okay, yes," you agreed, the words tumbling from your lips almost too hastily, embarrassment flushing your cheeks.

A nudge at the side of your heel prompted you to turn and face him. You complied, shifting on your knees, arms growing weary as they remained raised above your head while you awkwardly pivoted to meet his gaze.

The scream tore from your throat as you beheld him, sending shivers down your spine. He loomed above you, his visage warped by decomposing, discoloured flesh that swathes his form. Cracked lips parted to reveal yellowed teeth in a perpetual grimace, his once vibrant eyes now a haunting shade of blue-green, still clinging to a trace of humanity amidst the decay. You recoiled at the absence of his nose, now a dark cavity amidst cartilage and bone.

"That's not polite," he admonished, his narrowed eyes betraying annoyance. Trembling under his scrutinizing gaze, you stammered out an apology, extending a trembling hand to ward him off as he took a step forward.

"Please, leave me alone. I-I don't have anything," you pleaded, but he showed no sign of relenting. Your fingers curled around the pistol on the ground, raising it shakily in his direction.

"Well now, what are you going to do with that?" His smirk deepened as you aimed the weapon at him.

His amusement infuriated and terrified you in equal measure. You were aware of your body shaking, aware that he saw it too. You hadn't formulated a plan, hadn't considered the consequences. But you'd never faced a situation like this, especially not with someone so grotesque yet strangely human. He spoke like a man but resembled a monster, reminiscent of the creatures from the old sci-fi holo tapes your husband used to rent on Friday nights, leaving you cowering behind embroidered cushions until the credits rolled. You weren't built for this, but just like only hours before, you must fight.

With a tight grip and clenched eyes, you pulled the trigger. The recoil sent you crashing against the wall, the impact jarring your head as the bullet ricocheted through the room, narrowly missing the man and striking a nearby doorway with a sharp ping.

"Well, that was disappointing," he remarked, his head cocked and lips drawn into a condescending smirk. "You finished, sweetheart?"

With a mixture of annoyance at your failure and frustration at his dismissive demeanour, you tossed the pistol at his feet. Your head throbbed, and as you tentatively touched the back of your skull with trembling fingers, you were unsurprised to find them stained with blood.

"Are you going to kill me?" you panted, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

He shook his head, kicking at the dirt with his pointed boot before crouching in front of you. "Not much use to me dead, not much use to me at all if you don't cooperate," he emphasized, his tone dripping with implication.

"Fine," you huffed. "What do you want?"

A triumphant hum escaped him as he straightened up, retrieving a long rope from his hip and tossing it into your lap. "Tie your hands together," he commanded.

You hesitated, eyeing the rope and then him with uncertainty. His tone shifted, imbued with a hint of authority as he spoke again. "The rope goes around your wrists or around your neck. Either way, you don't want me to be the one to do it."

With deft fingers, you hastily wound the rope around your wrists, striving to fashion a knot that would hold without chafing your skin too severely. He bent down, giving the tether a firm tug to test its security before nodding in approval. Seizing the other end lying in the dirt, he yanked it harshly, nearly causing you to stumble forward onto the unforgiving ground.

"Get up," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

You complied, awkwardly pushing yourself to your feet without the use of your bound hands. There was a pregnant pause as you gazed at him expectantly, awaiting further instruction. However, he simply tugged on the rope, turning to lead you out of the dilapidated building and back into the sprawling wasteland.

You followed him into the desert expanse, both of you shrouded in silence save for your intermittent attempts to coax answers from him. Questions about where he was taking you, what he planned to do with you, hung in the air, but he offered no response. Instead, he whistled a tune, leaving your inquiries to dissipate into the wind.

As frustration reached its boiling point, you dug your heels into the sand, exerting force against your restraints as the rope cut into your skin. A hidden thrill coursed through you as you witnessed his hulking frame falter against the resistance, a fleeting moment of satisfaction before he regained his footing. His narrowed gaze met yours from beneath the shadow of his hat.

"I'm cooperating," you asserted, your voice strained. "You can—should at least tell me where we are going. Why you're doing this to me."

A heavy sigh escaped him, his shoulders slumping as he gazed skyward before meeting your eyes once more. "You're sure dumb for a pretty thing," he muttered, retrieving a flask from the recesses of his torn duster and taking a long swig. "I guess that's how they like to keep you down there."

As he turned to face you fully, his eyes rolled at your bewilderment before he elaborated. "Not much up here untouched nowadays, so when you see a little rabbit wandering the lands fresh from her cage, a smart man doesn't think twice before he acts."

Anger surged through you at his mocking words. Barely escaping your 'cage' with your life, barely comprehending the aftermath of the bombs, and now captive again—this time by a man, no, a monster, likely more sinister than those who had ensnared you initially.

"You already said you're not going to kill me, so you're going to fuck me or sell me," you asserted, mustering more confidence than you truly felt, chin lifted defiantly as he scrutinized you, tucking his flask away.

"Now you're catching on," he replied cryptically, offering no further explanation as he tugged at the rope and resumed walking. Your mind whirled with apprehension at his ominous response. Which fate awaited you? Both? The thought churned your stomach, imagining the touch of his weathered, calloused hands, pondering the atrocities he may have committed before and the ones he might be willing to commit now. You resolved not to make it easy for him, determined to fight tooth and nail if necessary.

"I can hear you thinking from over here, vaultie," he called back. "I ain't gonna fuck you," he added with a smirk, glancing briefly over his shoulder at you before continuing. "Ain't my type."

You scoffed, your brows furrowed in disbelief at his audacity. Doubt crept in, questioning if someone like him truly had preferences, more inclined to prey on anything within reach rather than adhere to any type. He resembled a monster more than a man, and you suspected his instincts remained consistent regardless of his words. Out here, where the population had dwindled to ashen, skeletal remnants of unfortunate souls caught in the blast, it seemed unlikely anyone could afford to be picky.

"What happened to you?" you demanded, your voice tinged with genuine curiosity.

He visibly stiffened at your question, briefly halting his movements before resuming with a dismissive gesture. He heard you, yet chose not to respond.

"I said, what happened to—"

"I heard you," he snapped, cutting you off. "Doesn't mean I owe you an answer."

You huffed, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "I'm just trying to understand what's going on! Yesterday, I was in my kitchen baking a key lime pie and dancing to the radio, and then—"

"Miss your cage, vaultie?" he interjected, a cruel chuckle escaping his lips. "If you miss it so much, why are you out here?"

Straining against your restraints, you heard him sigh in annoyance as he came to a halt. Turning to face you, irritation etched on his ghoulish features, he regarded you with a jutted hip and clenched gloved fingers tightening around the rope. "I'm not talking about the vault," you said earnestly. "I was in my home yesterday, just a normal day. Then the sirens blared, so loud I couldn't think. My neighbour, she came to my door, told me we had to leave, find safety. I didn't want to go without Glenn, but everyone was running, scared. I was too."

"When we reached the vault, it was chaos," you continued, his attention now fully captured, eyes glazed. "So many people, struggling to get in. But we made it, and... my neighbour, Patti—she's my friend. She had just given birth to her first child, a beautiful baby boy." You swallowed hard, suppressing the bile that threatened to rise in your throat. "They were supposed to let us in, we were pre-selected. But when we arrived, they turned Patti away. Shot her husband when he fought back," you recounted, the horror of the memory still fresh. "Then chaos erupted. The first nuke fell, and I was pushed through to the vault door. I lost Patti."

He regarded you with a sombre understanding, silently urging you to continue.

"When I entered, it wasn't like the commercials," you spat bitterly, recalling the false promises of safety. He cleared his throat. "That actor, going on about how great the vaults were—'a vast and wonderful place,'" you mocked with disdain. "Mine wasn't like that. It was... They did unspeakable things to us, to unborn children, and there was no recourse. It wasn't right. I knew what they wanted, deep down, but my head told me not to be so naïve. Vault-Tec was supposed to be saving us."

Tears welled in your eyes as the memories flooded back, as vivid as if they had happened yesterday, because to you they did. "They threw us into pods, froze us until they needed us. Took us out for testing and... I was the last one. Everyone else had... died, from the testing," you choked out, the pain of loss still raw. "I fought to survive, because I couldn't let what happened to those women and their babies happen to me or mine."

He listened intently, his eyes widening as he took in your story. His gaze flicked to the small swell of your stomach below your tied wrists, realization dawning.

"So I need to know," you implored, your voice trembling with fear. "Is what happened to you also what happened to Patti and her baby? Will it happen to mine?"

He studied you, and you felt yourself shrink under his penetrating gaze. You hadn't intended to divulge so much, to reveal your condition that you had desperately tried to conceal until it could no longer be hidden, to relive the trauma that still haunted you, though in reality centuries had passed since its occurrence. Yet, you needed answers. You needed to know what lay ahead in this desolate wasteland, and if you possessed the strength to face it.

"Yes," he answered quietly, his voice laden with a heavy solemnity. "It will, in time."

Fresh tears traced their path down your cheeks, and you nodded in understanding, raising your bound hands to wipe at your wet nose. "Okay," you whispered, then smiled sadly in resignation as you rubbed your wrists gently over your stomach. "At least up here, we had a little freedom for a time."

You felt the rope that he had been keeping such a tight hold on slacken before being dropped to the ground. Stepping towards you, he gingerly took your wrists and began working on the knot, untying it with ease before meeting your gaze from beneath his lashes. "You just gained a little more."

"You're letting me go?" you asked, doubtful.

"I'm letting you choose," he corrected, his voice carrying a peculiar weight as he rubbed the tender, burned skin of your wrist where the rope had left its mark. His thick thumb felt rough against your flesh as it traced over you in a gentle, swiping motion. "There are things worse than me out here, sweetheart. Are you going to take your chances?"

His words hung heavy in the air, and you met his gaze defiantly. "I don't need your pity."

"Good, because I ain't giving you none," he replied, his tone firm.

You held his gaze, neither of you willing to be the first to look away. Moments ago, he had been intent on taking you to an undisclosed location to sell you for whatever passed as currency in this wasteland, but now he presented you with a choice—a grim ultimatum. Stay with him or fend for yourself in the harsh wastelands. Neither option was ideal, but you hadn't lasted a single day on your own before being apprehended by him. Perhaps it was better to stick with the devil you knew, especially if there truly were worse threats out there as he claimed.

"I'm going to get bigger, you know. I'll slow you down," you warned him. "And I can't fight."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he gathered the discarded rope and secured it at his hip. "I've seen you shoot, but I've yet to see you fight. I think a few vault security guards could probably vouch for you, though," he teased, a hint of admiration in his voice. "You can't stay with me forever, nor would you want to. I'll take you to a safe haven for women in your condition. It's a few months' journey north from here. Until then, try to keep up."

You pondered his words, feeling a sense of relief at the prospect of a safe haven and the promise of being escorted there, despite the long journey. "Why the change of heart? What's in this for you?" you asked, curious about his sudden shift in demeanour.

His expression tightened, his gaze drifting to the small swell of your stomach that you now cradled protectively. "Righting some wrongs from a previous life," he answered solemnly, not waiting for your response before turning and beginning to walk away. He paused momentarily, waiting for you to follow.

"I don't know your name. What do I call you?" you called out after him.

He pondered for a moment, gazing out into the vast desert before turning back to you, tipping his hat in acknowledgment.

"Ghoul, for now."

[mehiwilldoitlater]

Black Cloud, Red Fire (Part 1)

(part 2) (part 3)

Black Wind Mountain.

Once a temple in the forest, full of prayers, life, and worshippers. Now, a lair for Yougais and their master.

Everything was silent, except for the song of nature that made that place almost harmless. Untill the sound of panting, foot on the Rocky pavement, and broken leaves emerged.

"Ugh...I should have done cardio...UFF!"

The Destined One, the monkey that had convinced you to follow him, stopped on his tracks to look at his surroundings and gave you the time to catch up. He snickered a little, looking how disappointed you were after the climb on the side of the mountain. He offered you his hand, allowing you to avoid a few more steps before reaching him.

"Not a very outdoor one, uh?"

"I'm more...sitting on the couch person."

"What's a couch?"

"Something BEAUTYFULL....wow..."

You would never get used to the view here: from where our eyes could reach, there was just forest. The mountains were covered in it, and so were the few hills that appeared, giving you almost the idea that you were walking on the backs of thousands of sleeping giants. Here and there, you were able to spot the roof and the spires of small pagodes and temples.

Some prove that once these places were abitated or at least visited by humans and mortals. 

Now, the old structures were black and decaying, a sign that a fire had started so many years ago and what couldn't be saved was left to the wilderness. You both avoided those structures, finding them quite crumbling and dangerous, but nothing stopped you from admiring them.

The air was rarefied, giving you some trouble breathing and forcing you to make more deep inhales. Your companion, used to the high place of birth, had no issues at all, but he gave you the chance to rest and get used to the altitude.

"It feels so unreal... it's like a painting."

"You don't have places like these in your world?"

"Well yeah, but... not so beautiful like this one."

It was even funny to believe that such a beautiful place like this one could hold such dangers as the Yaoguais or whatever was holding the relic of the Great Sage. After another few minutes of adjusting, the two of you continue your way inside the woods, leaving behind the security of the open space.

The light was dim despite the sun high in the sky; the thick of the branches was mostly the cause of it. Walking near your companion, you started to notice how hard it would become trying to look in front of you or even notice the presence of whatever could attack you both.

"Su-sure, this place is...dark."

"Umm.. stay close, okay?"

You pick up the peace, holding tight to your snack on your back, regretting that you didn't ask for a weapon before leaving Mount Huaguo.

"Hely, listen..." You finally spoke up after a few minutes. "Are you sure that the relic is in this...very lovely and absolutely not filled with dangers?"

"Ummm...i guess?"

"YOU GUESS?!" Your voice echoed in one second through the forest; a few birds flied away, afraid of the sudden change. The monkey instantly shushed you.

"We're in enemy territory!"

"...You guess?! You don't know if it's here?!"

You were FURIOUS. Not only they started to blabber about you being some kind of being that were supposed to help them bring back an old legend, almost forcing you to participate, and now the same one that convinced you to give a try to this damn plan that could maybe bring you back home is unsire if that damn thing is in that damn forgotten place?! After that long road?! You really wanted to take that staff of his and smash it on his head! He shushed you again, trying to calm you down to avoid calling too much attention to you two.

"Okay, I know, this sounds crazy, but I can assure you that we have ideas! Firstly, there's a dangerous amount of Yaoguais in this area, and second, did you remember that funny little game that we did back at our mountain?"

"You mean me pointing my finger to a random place on a map just because I felt a tingle in my stomach?"

"Yup." Your eyes widened so much that you could feel your eyelash touch your forehead. You wanted to scream so hard that even whatever gods lived up there could hear you, but before you could, the monkey putted his hand on your mouth.

"There, there, let it all out," he said, while you were just muffling your scream on his hand. When you finally were finished and your breath was out, he removed his hand from your face, allowing you to mumble some curses under your breath.

"So we could be somewhere and find nothing?"

"Or we could be in the right place!"

You grumbled again, now more worried than before about your return to your original world. He sighed. Of course this was absurd to you; everything was, but you needed to trust him a little.

"I know it's hard, but... I believe in you. I know we're on the right path!"

"At least one of the two does..." You mumbled, kicking a rock near you, scratching your arm a little. You really wanted to believe him and in you, but to you, it was just so difficult to do it, especially since you were a complete no one...They all tell you you were some kind of powerful thing, this Bián huá, and yet you couldn't believe a single thing like this.

Looking at you, he guessed that you were still having doubts. He opened his mouth to say something when-

"On the go, bent the toe,

Life of a human, all for gold."

A voice, not far from you both, could be heard from your position. Someone was coming! The monkey looked at you, and a mischievous grin appeared on his face.

"Go and hide in the bush! I'll show you what I can do!"

You fastly follow his instructions, hiding behind some bushes on your right, while the voices get closer and closer. The monkey suddenly vanished under a cloud, only to be replaced with a ripe peach! What's he doing now? On the clearing, just when the smoke disappeared, appeared two... wolves?

They were walking on their two back legs, and like humans, they were wearing some clothes and holding their furr on their heads like some human hairstyles. The both of them were holding a sword; maybe they were scouting the area for some food? You didn't know, but you were sure worried for your monkey! 

"Nowhere better than our home,

We cheat death and ever grow."

One of the two, the one that had his sword already drawn, noticed the fake peach on the ground, emitting a sound of surprise and showing a huge grin on his maw, and immediately went to take it in his paw.

"Here, you see? What bliss my fate shows!" How the hell that big dog was talking?!

"Well well! Luck's around the corner. Seems like it just fell from a fruit tree here." Said the other wolf, looking around in the search for the tree. You really hoped he didn't see you or smell you!

"Perfect timing! This peach knew I needed a snack!" And, after having cleaned it a little from the dust and played with it in his hand, the wolf took a huge bite on the fruit without a second guessing. In that moment, a cry of pain escaped from him, and he threw away the peach, alongside a few of his own teeth and some fur that the monkey must have pulled with it. Once on the ground, after a few jumps, the same smoke from before reappeared, and the fruit turned back to his simian original form.

"You sneaky rascal!" said the wounded wolf. "Dare to fool me?! I'll make sure you'll regret it!"

Before the two wolves could launch their attacks on the monkey, he had already drawn his own weapon from his ear and charged towards the two. You had seen him fight before, and it was always a show that left you in a haze. Violence wasn't a nice view, but his moves, his precision, his strength—it was surely something!

In a few minutes, the two wolves were already defeated and turned to dust, and you reemerged from your hiding spot.

"Wow...that's what you could only say.

"See? told you I could protect you."

"Well, you surely could... but the transformation was really necessary?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by someone.

"No matter how many times you come around. You are still as mischievous as ever, eh?"

An old voice suddenly started to be heard. It was an old one, cranky, and somehow friendly. The both of you started to look around, only to find only trees, rocks, and falling leaves. The monkey immediately came closer to you, looking around and sniffing, but beside the smell of the two wolves, there was nothing—just nature.

"Did...you hear that?" 

"Yer," he said, guarding you.

"Good! I'm not crazy then!"

"And there's the Bián huá! All of you, always doubting your own security!"

You gulped loudly; he could hear you?! But that means he's near?! Then why even the monkey couldn't spot this mysterious old man?!

"Looks... looks like someone is watching us..."

"Um..." he looked at you, noticing your now frightening look, your eyes searching for the source of the voice. He held your hand in his own, gently giving you a small pull. "Came one. I'm sure that we'll find who's talking up ahead."

And so, the two of you started to take the road from where the two wolves had come from, realizing then that, if there was something, it was supposed to be there for sure. The more you started to clumb the path of the mountain, more enemies started to come. They were all wolves, and all of them were supposed to be the front guard of this mysterious place that, for some reason, started to make you feel... uneasy. 

You couldn't put your hands on it, but it reminded you of the strange feeling in your stomach, yeah, the map one. Only that, this time, became stronger and stronger the more you two explored the mountain.

After another turn, the smell of incense reached both of you, and a small smoke caught your attention. Two fires were located at the sides of a small structure, a house in miniature. The closer you get, the more it becomes clear that it was a small shrine, far more detailed and more decorated than the one that you saw on Mount Huaguo. Suddenly, just like before, the same old voice started to ring again around you two.

"Aaah! Wha-what are you waiting for?! Pluck your hair and make an offer!"

You looked at the monkey, raising an eyebrow.

"...Uh...my hair?"

"There." He showed you that, after taking a few hairs from his head, their form changed into a thin and long incense stick that he lit with a few movements of his hand.

"See?"

"I can't do that. Mine is normal hair."

"Ooo, stop making silly excuses! Try it on!"

"Okay okay okay! Geez, I can't believe that I'm listening to a mysterious voice."

You imitated the same motion of the monkey, and, after a small glow, in your hand there was the same incense stick!

"But... did I do that?!"

"See? Always questioning! Now hurry up! Both of you!"

You both put the incense stick inside the small pot full of sand, and, as one surprise wasn't enough, another magic happened in front of you: the decoration of the shrine started to grow like branches, and, in a swirl of petals, pink peach flowers started to bloom under your eyes.

"It's...normal?"

"In some places, yes..."

"...So,...what now?" The monkey shrugged off at your question and made a few steps ahead. Before you could follow, the voice called upon you two once again.

"Hey! Wait!"

A smoke, just like the one that has been summoned by your monkey companion when he transformed, appeared again, but this time in front of you there was what reminded you of an old potato.

He was what you could imagine to be the personification of the concept of old. His legs and arms were so thin that it was strange that he could even move; his bald head, covered in some strange bumps similar to some roots, was covered in wrinkles and some spots here and there; and the white hairs that happened to be his eyebrows and beard covered his facial features that made it hard to see his eyes and mouth.

His robes, tinted in a deep blue, seemed quite elegant, despite their age. His weight was supported by an old wooden staff, curved to the end, and in his other hand a small stick. Does it remind you of a back scratcher?

"I, the keeper of Black Wind Mountain," he said while coughing, cleaning his clothes from the dust. "I have long been waiting for your arrival."

That old voice—he was the one that spoke to you before in the clearing! That old, small thing was the keeper of this mountain?! 

"Let's see... the new Bián huá, eh? Well, you seem in good health," he said while pointing your side with his scratchback. "It will compensate for the lack of faith."

"Hey!" you ward off the wooden object while his continuous touch started to bother you.

"And she has some character on her, a good starting point..and you..." His eyes fell on the monkey, the destiny one. For a moment you feared that he could fall on his old and be ready to crash back, but he regained his stability in a few steps.

"Oh! His spitting image...I'd say."

Of who? You looked at the monkey, and he seemed almost proud? Was the keeper talking about... Sun Wukong? Well, all monkeys looked the same to you, so maybe it was the old age that talked...

"You were waiting for...him?" You pointed at the monkey; the old man just laughed a little at your naiveté.

"Child, I was waiting for both of you! For the Destined one and the Bián huá!" He walked over you two, pointing at the passage that extended ahead of you, between the rocks and the trees.

"Up ahead is Guanyin Temple. Once, it was bustling with worshippers before it was ruined by that fire."

His tone, before proud of the past of the place, became grave when he pointed at the proof of the tragedy that had happened there: skulls, human skulls. Come to think of it, those weren't the first you saw in the area... How many people had died there?

"What...fire?"

"You said you heard of the story, right?" The monkey said, recognizing what the old man was talking about, "You remember about the Elder Jinchi and the Kasaya?"

You pondered a little. You weren't that costumed about it, but you know that, perhaps, that was the cause of the fire.

"Yes, children..." said the keeper, pointing up ahead. "Then the temple was rebuilt." He suddenly turned to you, expressing a questioned and angry tone, "But what good is it to rebuild a temple if the good will of men has been burned to ashes?"

You kneeled near one of the skulls. It was so...small...the fear of the age of the one that once was in front of you struck you.

"But...it was rebuilt...then why the Yaoguais are here?" The monkey spoke, looking at the old man, still curious about the whereabouts of the temple.

"Monks came, men too, and they tried to rebuild life here! But that bear...he led his minions here!....Who couldn't escape had faced a bitter end."

"But...you're the keeper of this place...the deity of the mountain..." you finally spoke, following the step of the monkey. "You could take care of them, right? There as to be some way to fix this place!"

"I would! But that damn bear...he had brought something so powerful that even I couldn't match!"

Something that he couldn't match?... The eyes of the monkey gleamed, looking up at the mountain.

"The relic...it must be the relic!" He turned to you, ejoyed by this news: "You were right! You foudn it!"

"I...found it?" You repeated, "I... did! I did! ...oh...."

You soon realized what that meant, and suddenly, another sound emerged from the dark. A long, strong, and eerie howl of something that scared even the keeper and manmy birds that had already flied away from their previous location.

"You forgot this place," said the keeper, retreating away from the passage, "but they haven't forgotten you!"

You stod in your position, scavared by the sudden change of atmosphere, while the monkey observed the passage with caution, expecting everything to appear from it at any given moment. The old man, like he had appeared, disappeared in the cloud of smoke.

"That's a tough one. Good luck to you!"

And these were his last words, before you and your companion were left alone again. More than before, you felt an amount of emotion that you couldn't describe, but when you looked at the road where you came from, some doubts arose in you. The monkey noticed your fear, and he waited for your reaction.

Despite the desire to run, you simply couldn't. You stayed there, eyeing the entrance and your only way out. When you finally turned to the entrance, where you sure didn't want to go, you gulped.

"There's no turning back from there...right?" The monkey sighed; he wanted to tell you that you could just turn back and that he could handle it, but he couldn't say that; he knew that it was a lie.

This was supposed to be made in two.

"If you don't trust in yourself... then trust in me... trust in my ability."

He lends his hand towards you... and, with fear, doubt, and so many regrets, you take it, slowly entering the passage alongside him.

///

From that moment on, the forest became full of wolves. It was hard to advance without encountering a new enemy, and every time your companion never showed a moment of stress or panic, he only charged, attacking those enemies without trace of fear. Your only option, by your side, was to stand back, hide, or just... watch. You couldn't do more...even if, isnide, it made you quite nervous.

"Don't you get tired?"

"No, I've been doing this since I was a cup!"

"I wish I could help more." You scratched your arm again; it must have been a sign that showed your stress he had noticed. He just packed your back, swinging his tail.

"If you like, I can teach you a few tricks! Once we're back home with the relic, we'll have plenty of time!"

"You...would?" It felt nice. He didn't show off your anxiety about your role in that mission; instead, he just wanted to help you get confidence by taking some steps ahead. It was a nice gesture, even if you were quite unsure about if it could really help you.

"Of course!" he laughed. "We're both in this!"

You nodded. It was true; you were both in that.

The sound of the water became of a falling one, a sign that the river nearby became a waterfall. You were walking by it, searching for a few herbs, when you both became interested in taking and collecting when you heard something else. Another voice; it wasn't from the keeper, of course, but it wasn't like the ones from the wolves either. To be fair, there were no wolves now that your companion had cleaned the area.

When the sound of the waterfall became stronger, that's when you noticed.

"Monkey! Look over there!" You finger pointed towards a figure. Curved on her back, her white, messy hair spiked the most on het dark attire. The clothes were old and raggy, and by the jiggle he was wearing some wooden jewels. The long and thin hair and his colorful muse give away immediately her species. Your companion suddenly came closer, looking where your finger was pointing, noticing the creature.

"A Mandrill! There near the edge of the waterfall!" You kept saying. You didn't know what she was doing; it seemed like she was searching for something or trying to collect it from a stone, quite big, that rested in the center of the stream. The low level of the water allowed the rock to be accessible to the mandrill, but she seemed like whatever she was trying to rescue was stuck or simply unavaible.

The baboon must have heard your voice, and suddenly she stopped his doing with the rock, spinning away from it. You gasped when you saw her launch herself to the cliff, moving forward. But when you reached the same edge, you saw nothing there.

"She should be at least around..."

"I don't think that was a simple Mandrill, Y/N." The monkey that had reached your side was in time to take you and pull you back from the edge, fearing a fall.

"Was she your friend? Do you know her?"

"I never saw her in my entire life. Hey, hold on!" He looked at you, his hand on his hips. "It's not like we monkey know each and every one of us!"

"Well," you keep it up, mimicking his gesture, "you called each other brother and sister! And meeting a familiar face wouldn't be so bad here!"

He chuckled, giving you a small push. Then, both of your eyes landed on the rock that the baboon was inspecting, and curiosity took over.

"What do you think she was doing?"

"Well, let's take a look!" He went closer to the rock, and there you both realized that it wasn't completely a rock. It was a head—a big rocky head—maybe one of a statue that once must have been a decoration of the long-lost temple. The expression of the man that was depicted was calm and relaxed, his earlobe long; maybe a Buddha? The monkey started to clean the area and noticed some scratching at the base of one of the closed eyes of the statue. It seemed like he was trying to make a hole in it...

"Maybe there's a switch or-" And just when your hand touched the statue, suddenly its eyes wide opened. One of the two cavities of pure stone, but the one where the Mandrill was scratching was hollow and contained something. A sphere, pure white, the only color a red must at the center, discolored by the time. It wasn't smooth at all, but at the touch it was perceptible—some spirals, decotrating the orb.

"...What is it?" You asked curious, tapping the orb with your finger.

"I don't know... but it seems important; let's keep it!" And so, the orb soon vanished inside his own sack.

"You surely are one that loves to collect staff around, eh?"

"Well, if something is useful..."

You chukled a little, leaving the stream at your back. Keep it up with your ascension on the mountain. It didn't take long that now you would face another obstacle, and oooh boy, what an obstacle!

Guarding the gate, a huge Yaoguais was holding a huge Helberd, moving back and forward, ready to strike whoever crossed his path, or it was unlucky enough to meet it. It reminded you of some kind of bull, but he was pretty messed up to be one... The thing that really concerned you was the fact that he was practically in front of the gate; it was impossible to miss without a fight. Hiding behind a tree, you looked at your companion, who, without if or but, just took his own staff, ready to get in action.

"Stay here; be careful not to be spotted and to run."

"Run?"

"Just in case, wish me luck!" and so he marched towards the bull that, as soon as he had spotted him, he followed his example.

The two started to clash their weapons immediately, and you could clearly see that the monkey had the advantage of his small stature and his agility. He avoided all of his attacks in a few steps, which made the bull upset and more aggressive. And the guai had one more thing in his arsenal: he was scarily strong. Despite his massive stricture, the guai was able to make some huge jumps, creating such waves in his impact that the monkey needed to be careful around to avoid falling down and became an easy prey.

Unfortunely, the monkey made a misstep: in the attempt of blocking the helberd, the bull struck with full force, catching the opponent like a rag doll, and, after a good spin to get velocity, slammed him on the ground. He rose his helberd, ready to stride.

"NO!"

You screamed, leaving the tree where you were hiding, but before something could happen, a golden aura wrapped around the bull and, just before his last strike over the monkey could be delivered, his entire body stopped. It wasn't just stopped because he had stopped the attack, but because his entire body was like frozen!

You immediately went to the monkey side, checking the damage from the last strike. He was incredibly untouched; the helbard must have struck him in the side where there was no blade and just acting as a hammer. His body may be fine, but he had felt that.

"Oh God, oh God, are you okay?!"

"Ugh...It...hurt!"

Maybe not lethal but a bruise really was surely ready to appear there. You grasped his gourd, helping take a sip of that strange magic juice that the old monkey entrusted you both to take in case of these kinds of damages. After a gulp, the monkey lamented the savor of the concuun, but he was fine at least!

"The bull?!" He looked at you, ready to defend you.

"Ehm ..."

You pointed at his opponent, Frozen in One Place. Then you heard some ruffles, some paint of fatigue, and...the keeper?!

Somehow, he had started to climb the bull back and, once reached its shoulder, he took a jump from it, falling on his two sticked legs. 

"It's been a while, but the Immobilize Spell still works like a charm!" He laiughed, clearly satisfied and somehow proud to show you both some of his own ability. You, on the other hand, were more interested in helping the monkey get back on his feet, preoccupied with finding more damages from the foe. Lucky for you, the juice was able to cure all of his wounds, even if the hurt of the strike still lingered.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes...huff, he almost got me..." He looked at the now immobilized bull, still ready to send his last strike on him. "A trick like this could be very useful around here."

"Well, since you hail from Mount Huaguo, it won't hurt to teach you a handy trick."

The monkey looked at him, still recovering from the fall, when the old man started to move his wooden hand around. It started to emit a soft light and some sparkle.

"Now, here we go; give me your hand!" And, without wait or but, the same small wand emitted a light that struck towards the monkey. You companion, fearing for another attack, immediately covered his face with his hand, but instead of pain, he felt... nothing?

Not nothing; he felt the same sensation when you pour warm water on your arm—harmless and somehow nice. He felt the sensation rise to his arm, to his shoulder, and then disappear, leaving only a sigyl on the palm of the same hand. You both noticed that it was the same symbol above the bull head.

"There you go, "continued the old man, while the two of you were observing the sign, in a mix of surprise and curiosity. "Should you come across any miscreants, just point your finger at them and release this spell. You'll be able to hold them in place while giving yourself a breather."

The monkey studied more his hand, carefully seeing the sign slowly disappearing on his skin, while you looked at the old man with a gleam of hope.

"It's going to come in handy around here!" said the monkey, his confident smirk coming back on his face.

"It would be so helpful if I could learn something like this too." 

"My child," said the old man, chukling at your naivety. "In this world, muscles and brute force are not the only weapons that you can possess!" And, knowing who you are, a spell like this is a joke for you!"

"I...can learn it too?" You looked at the bull, and, in a rush of courage, you took some steps in front of it.

You waved your hand in front of it and, noticing that it was pretty much impossible for it to move, you laughed, running back to your companion, who instintly put you behind him, like ready to defend you if that thing was ready to move again.

"It's amazing!" you said in joy. "With this trick, we can avoid so many fights!"

"Y/n," the monkey said to you, disconsolate," we can't just avoid every fight we have in front of us."

"He's not right, child," the old man sighed. "Sadly, mine is but an humble trick. Its power will wear off within a few short moments."

"Moments?!" you gulped, jumping back. "And when were you expecting to tell us that?!"

"I told you that it's not that simple!" Monkey came back to his fighting stance, while you took a step back, taking more distance from the upcoming fight.

"Ah ah, yes, yes, I know, not a great spell; thought it's good enough against boneheads like this one!" He pointed again to the bull with a teasing tone. "Anyway, just consider it an ace up your sleeve."

As soon as he finished his speech, the blow that was stopped suddenly crashed to the ground; the golden aura had dissipated from the bull, and it was angry.

The keeper was able to retreat from the scene, clearly shaken by the sudden release of the bull that now pointed to the monkey and you furious.

"The Yaoguais these days know no manners!"

"Y/n! Stand back!" His immediate thought came to your own safety; now the bull had seen you, and every chance could be good for it to attack you!

"FEAR NOT! "screamed the keeper to you and the monkey, "Teach him a lesson with your new spell!"

As soon as the old man had disappeared, the bull went on the offensive, more aggressive than he was before. You had to retreat as best as you could to avoid the fight and to be spotted by the giant creature. He needed more minutes to adjust to this new technique, but just when the bull tried to play the same trick from before, the monkey was ready and used the spell against it. 

It stopped! It was completely immobile! You gasped for the excitement, and, after the monkey had gifted you a small wink like to tell you to watch, he suddenly launched himself to his counterattack.

The bull was free after a few moves, but it was more shaken than before and pretty much hurt. He needed another good strike, but after that the monkey was able to put down his opponent and, just like the others, disappeared in a cloud of dust.

"You did it!" YOU DID IT! YOU USED THE SPELL!"

You jumped to him in joy; he freed the passage! And now he learned a new trick! He was just amazing!

He patted your shoulder, laughing a little like you, with a soft shade of red on his cheeks. "Yes, yes, I did it! But it's not over yet!"

He pointed to the now-opened passage—the road ahead of you.

///

"If it wasn't for the wolves ready to kill us, I would love to take a picnic here."

"Pic nic?"

"When you bring lunch outside and eat in the wild. I used to do it a lot when I went on the mountain to my grandparents during the summer."

Monkey seemed always interested in knowing your past; it seemed like, despite all, you had an almost normal childhood...noyt like its own...always training, always giving his best...well, he loved to make some pranks here and there, but the others had always considered him the responsible one of the bunch.

While walking, your attention was taken by an unusual sight: it must have been a balcony in the past; now what was left was only the old decoration of the door, the structure to the outside, and the wood that composed the floor. Two small pillars, decorated with two figures of what presumebly was Guanyin, were on the sides of a cushion and, in front of it, an incense holder.

"Someone use this place..."

"It must be a meditation point, to meditate...a great spot, even..."

You looked to the monkey; why so? It was in the middle of nowhere. By his looks, lost in the horizon, you followed his example. It was quite beautiful and calming. He then decided to take a place in the cuschion and ask you to follow him.

"Came on! It helps the mind!"

"I'll just watch. I'm not good alone with my thought."

"As you wish..."

His eyes closed, his face relaxed, like every muscle of his body. He seemed like a statue in that pose, and by how quickly he was able to communicate, or he needed a lot, or he just was used to that practice. You, instead, decide to sit at the edge of the structure, sighing and admiring the view.

He was right; it wasn't just beautiful; it was calming. You closed your eyes, letting the mountain breeze caress your cheeks and air, allowing it to enter your nostrils and your lungs.

You could hear so many things like that—the creaking of the wood, the howling of a few wolves in the distance, the leaves that moved in the branch—since when these sounds were so hard to listen to in your world?

In the distance, mountains could be seen, and, not far from your spot, structures that maybe once were habitated by humans and monks. Knowing that such a desolation happened in that place, yet nature decided to reclaim that portion of the world, taking back what had been taken away.

You sighed again, more air in your lungs...then a hand shaken you.

"Don't do this on the edge, at least! You can take a place near me!"

"You gave me a heart attack!"

"And how was I supposed to feel when I saw you there, ready to fall?!"

"Okay, I'm sorry! I'll do it with you next time!"

He seemed pleased; at least he wasn't obligated to catch you from a dead fall on a cliff!

"You were right. It's beautiful... Yaoguais aside."

"Yes, I don't know what's going to happen after we take the relic back from the Black Bear, but maybe things are going to get better."

"I just..." you scratched your arm. "I just hope the monks that died here can find a piece."

The image of that skull was still fresh in your mind. It scared you, yes, but it was most definitely sad. They must have been so scared alone. He looked at you with fondness; your thoughts decided to go to the ones that had suffered. You must have had quite a big heart. He took your hand, smiling.

"They'll be glad to know that we're taking care of this...now..." he pointed at two fires, both of the at the sides of a passage, an opening on the rocky walls of the mountain. "We must go. There's still a long road for us."

You nodded, and so you went back to your journey.

///

"We had to pass..."

"There are like...a LOT of wolves there, and I have a really bad feeling!"

"But we can't just stop here!"

"Well, we can't surely move forward like this?!"

Since he had made it clear that there was more enemy ahead, the two of you started to discuss what to do, but it seems like it was harder than you both thought. He sensed a lot of enemies ahead, and if he had to make a safe road, protecting you wasn't easy. You wanted to search a safe path, but there wasn't something like this right there, and he wanted to march in and take care of the problems right there.

"Listen, I'm going in."

"Monkey, please let's just-"

"Hey! Wait! You don't think you can just parade in, do you?! It's not that simple!"

As again, the old man had decided to appear and gave some help to the two of you. You gave a sigh of relief. Finally, that could actually listen to you!

"Finally! I was trying to tell him! We must take another path!"

"Dear one, there's no other path here!"

"Ah, ah!" the monkey smuggled on your face. "See? No path! ...So, any other suggestion, old keeper?"

"But of course I do! Let me transform you into a golden cicada, so you may follow the fires ahead and scout this mountain unnoticed."

He pointed to a series of fires that started to streech across the forest, a way to move across the darkness of the trees, especially during cloudy days or the night. With the same movements of his wand, the old man created the same light from the last time and, once again, struck the poor monkey.

"Wait wait! I can do it by my"

"FLY!"

"SELF!"

Like before, the poor monkey was completely helpless against the magic of the so helpful keeper, and instead of the young, bold monkey, now there was a small insect, with golden shades, flying around. The old man laughed, looking how confused the small cicada was trying to recall his surroundings. Now, there was this little inconvenience...

"But..." you pointed to your still humanoid body. "What about me?"

"Umm...a cicada is hard. You need a lot of control to move so many little arms and legs. Let's see. Let's see. Something simple, something helpless, something...ah!"

"Wait! Let me at least prepare my-"

Without a warning, you were the second victim of the Keeper magic, but you weren't what you were expecting. You looked at your now fluffy paw, a small cottontail, and very long ears.

"A rabbit?! Why can't I fly too?!"

"It's harder than it looks, child! Now, it might be humble, but my shrine is very versatile. You'll get it soon enough."

And, with these words, the Keeper disappeared in another cloud of smoke, leaving the cicada and the bunny alone.

"It's not fair. I wanted to fly too!"

"If it makes you feel better," said the cicada in a very pinch-high voice, "you look fluffiest than ever."

You two laughed a little before hearing for the last time the old Keeper.

"In the depths of Black Winf Mounain, there are secrets galore. These transformations may help you explore, but be wary; this form does not last forever."

"What do we do if we get lost?"

"Should you find yourself lost, just follow my voice. Now, off you go!"

You two looked at each other and, uncertain, started to move.

He had it easier; he could just fly around without getting spotted! You needed to act as natural as possible! Somehow, the wolves seemed more interested in cooking the ones that they already had than huunting you, so you were able to move around, alongside other bunnies and racoons, without fear of being taken.

When the two of you had the impossibilities to avoid the wolves, you were able to listen to them talk. It seemed that your presence in the mountain has been spotted, but they weren't sure of where you were or what your real intention was. As much as they knew, they only knew about a shapeshifter and a mortal alongside him. They also talked about a certain lord... maybe an affiliate of the bear?

Well, at least like that, you could avoid so many troubles... Somehow, you felt a little more safe in the shape of such a helpless animal. You both kept on going, following the fire as instructed, finding the way easier that you expected to find.

"Look! I can see the end of the trail of fire, Y/N!" The small voice of the monkey called you out from the bushes, pointing with his antennea at what was supposed to be the less populated area.

"Finally, being a bunny is... not... so."

You felt something inside you. You felt...a calling. 

You turned around; there was another of those old porches, one that the fire had only ruined but not destroyed. You looked in that direction, and you were sure it came from there.

"We just need to cross; we're so...Y/N?"

You weren't anymore near the bushes, so he got closer and started to roam the small area.

"Y/n? Y/N?!" He called, louder this time and much more worried. He couldn't see you. Where did you go?! Why did you leave all of a sudden?!

You couldn't hear his call; there was something else that held your attention. It was the same pull in your chest that called you towards the relic, but it was...different. It felt like stagnant water, a mix of smells that you couldn't quite get. 

It was a large clearing; the wall of the mountain and a cliff, secured with a parapet, gave them a natural circular shape. Besides trees and plants, fog covered the area, hiding a wooden structure in the same area. You couldn't put your hand on it, but something was there—something big and round. You jumped closer, not noticing the aura of fiery eyes looking at your every movement. Before you could get closer, a large pressure came to your delicate neck; a hand with a sharp claw had you now in his clutches. 

"Well, well... and what do we have here?

Avoiding screaming helped you to keep your bunny form, but you couldn't hold a gasp when you saw the wolverine creature that was holding you by your neck. Now you were in big trouble!

The wolf was different from the other; he seemed older and calmer. His robe reminded you of one of a monk, but it was so old and lacerated. His old mansion was so ruined, almost burnt here and there. Despite his strength, his claw gently held you and took you in his arm, holding you in place. You felt his rough fingers scratching your head, confusing you more than before.

"It's not a safe place for a small one like you. Humans and wolves love eating your flesh. I used to eat your kind when I was younger; now I can only remember the hunt."

Oh, so he didn't eat bunnies? He could have eaten humans, though.

Besides him, a long staff was stuck into the ground, a double blade to each end. You noticed now that the blade was strange in certain places; it seemed like it had burned. Now, in his arms, you could see clearly what was holding the structure: a bell, a giant bell made of iron.

It was simple, besides the decorations, like many other bells around... then why you seemed to be pulled by it.

You jumped from the wolf arms, sniffing and getting closer to the giant metal object.

"I never saw bunnies interested in bell... I suppose to guard it...but you don't look like a treat."

Well, not now at least.

You made another jump, much closer; now your small paw was able to reach the bell when, in your head, his sound started to echo so hard that it was painful.

Your body couldn't handle it, so you scream, holding your small rodent head in those paws, scaring the wolf, and, with any chance to control it, the pain forced you to release your true form.

You were still holding your head when you noticed the wolf, now holding his weapon.

"You... you tried to trick me, human?!" You gulped and tried to get back, finding yourself stuck between the wolf and the bell.

"I-i didn't-" Then, a sound or rustling and footstep caught your and the wolf's attention.

"Who goes there?! How dare you interrupt my meditation?"

And so, the face of a very worried monkey appeared from the fog and the shadow, looking at you with apprehension by your vicinity with the Yaoguai. The wolf looked at him, and a small smile came to his face, far more sinister than the one that he had shown you before.

"Hmmm...another monkey I see?" He asked, almost happy to see him. The blade in his hand started to change; it became red like it was on fire. Hold on, IT WAS ON FIRE!

"Why don't you lay down your weapon and join me in Buddha's mercy?" His weapon had made a few swifts on the ground; the dead leaves, the herbs, and whatever that thing was touching suddenly started a small fire, separing you from your companion.

"What say you?!"

He needed to connect; the wolf was already on his tail when he marched on! He needed to get you out of there before the fire could reach you; luckyly, you took cover behind the giant bell! Maybe he had time; he just needed to calm him down before it was too late!

That wolf was old, but he was a formidable foe! His swing was like he had never seen anyone do it, and every strike was precise and destructive. It was just like a fire; you couldn't control it; you could just watch and hope it doesn't destroy more.

But he needed to fight that fire!

He used the spell that the keeper had taught him and started again to attack his opponent. Sometimes, out of the blue, the wolf was able to persome formidabvòe aerial attacks, where even the monkey found trouble defending himself. Sometimes he was even able to rush like he could fly, and the fire just made him stronger.

Fighting him wasn't easy, but with the help of the spell and the fact that his own technique didn't need too much energy to be imposed, the monkey was soon the victorious one of the duels.

The wolf fell on the ground, covered in bruises and blood; his fur was now more burned than before. His eyes cast between you, now free to move while the monkey was killing the fire, and his opponent.

"You..." His voice was in pain, the last stray of strength only to talk, "Master spoke of you."

And while he started to disappear, three last words came from his mouth.

"The Destined...one..."

Peace came back in the clearing. 

You looked at where the wolf had disappeared, asking yourself how much his master knew about you two, about what happened there, and..the hand of the monkey slapped your head.

"Don't run off like that again!"

"Ouch! It wasn't my fault!"

"Yeah! Some strange magic led you here?!"

"..."

"...Seriously?"

You sighed; of course it was crazy, but it was true! Something called you here to do...something!

"I'm sorry...it just...something is strange... I don't know what's happening in me."

The monkey looked at your face. You were so concentrated, your hand caressing the carving of the metal face of the giant object. He wasn't used to bell like this; his own hand caressed the wooden trunk made to play the instrument.

"...Monkey?" He looked at you and said, "We should play it."

"No way! They'll spot us!"

"We're already on everyone's agenda! Please! I... I need it." You please.

He sighed, ready to regret every moment of this. He needed just a swing of the trunk when the sound of the bell started to resonate on the entire aura—on the mountain itself.

Then something else happened. Everything got dark; it was a forest, like the one you and your companion were planting—a child—he was alone. Many people were dying there; something had to hunt them down!

No! You must run! The bear! The bear is... giving him... jewels?

The sun rises, the monastery...

When you woke up from the trance, the monkey had to catch you before falling from the scaffold of the bell.

"Y/n! What's happening?! Are you okay?!"

You just moved your head, confused, scared...was that a vision? It was an old memory? The stagnant water now was moving; a rotting smell came to you.

"You just had to make some noise, did you?!" The voice of the Keeper came back again. He seemed stressed; the sound had scared some birds too. "Now everyone knows you're here! When a chime so grand echoes in the forest, Yaoguais will surely be alarmed!"

He was right; the monkey was able to sense the hair change now. The road was getting just more difficult...

"I'm sorry. I asked him to do it."

"Child, why asking for such a thing?!"

"....I....i'm sorry..."

The monkey couldn't stay angry with such a hurt expression in front of him...but why do you need it? And what did you see? Holding you in his arms, he started to head back to the road.

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[starshipsofstarlord]

not yet corpses. still, we rot.

summary. you were surviving after the prison fell, whilst you felt lost deep inside of yourself. without daryl, and the others that you had lost and yet to find, everything only seemed to get worse. and all was proven when the claimers interrupted your futile attempts of avoiding nightmares

warnings. death, gore, violence, angst, fluff, smut, unprotected sex, swearing, mentions of s.a, mentions of death

notes. i changed the specification of the timeline a tiny bit, i moved the timeline of the smut into a flash back as in my head y/n and daryl would be too on guard to fuck after all that trauma. i hope you enjoy my attempt at writing your request, i’d love to know your thoughts 🖤

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

The crickets sung as aspiring performers in the midst of the fire’s crackling, you were cold, tired and hungry, and all that you wanted to hear was the epiphany of silence. Each limb in your body ached sourly from the endless trekking that you had participated within, the chance to close your eyes and rest sounded spectacular.

But you refrained from succumbing to a fuelling slumber, for you would only be haunted by the reality of the situation that you had no home, and members of your found family were lost to the land that crawled with ravenous walkers… or dead.

The warmth provided from the flames was greatly appreciated by your bumpy flesh, and you stared distantly into the licking of sunset coloured mirage of the makeshift campfire. It dried the whites of your eyes to an irritating texture, however it was better than facing the truth behind the pitiful glances that the three survivors that you had structured the prison alongside donated in your direction.

You weren’t looking for sorrowful attention, you just wanted to find as many of your group as you could, selfishly Daryl more than others. The plain silver band on your finger glinted from the source of radiating and manmade light, flickering your memory back to you and Daryl tying the knot in a place that you had hoped would remain secure.

If it wasn’t for the Governor and his manipulated army, then it would have. You were glad they had their fates, or at least you assumed they all had considering the destruction that had been waged in the graveyard like grounds. There were countless lives that you had ensured were ended as you did your best to ensure that they would regret their life ruining choices.

The clouds grew agitatedly darker within the midnight sky above you, and to the dismay of your body’s survivalist needs, your shoulders shrunk from the bitter air as Rick extinguished the source of warmth. As you idly sat by, remaining in your shroud of speechless presence, Rick escorted Carl to the immobile vehicle, allowing him to sleep on the backseats for extra protection from the horrors that could possibly creep up on you in the night.

Michonne moved closer to you, placing her hand which rarely not held her executing samurai on your jacket clothed bicep, the moment was tender considering that she was doing her utmost to comfort you. “He’s out there,” she spoke with confidence, believing each word that left her mouth. “He’s a survivor, and he knows what he’s doing out there.”

“We were all survivors.” It was a statement, one that caused you great misery to say. “But in the end nobody survives, we’re all going to die one day, and some of the people out there are worse than the walkers. There’s no saying what has happened to the others… to Daryl…” You shook your head, trailing off into a weight of what one would describe as tranquility.

For you however, it was a reminder that in your future everything would be mute. The outbreak would demolish the remaining population of every single species, tainting them with transformative virus until the new and ‘improved’, infinite flock of homo sapiens lay ruin and feast to anything that breathed. The world now belonged to the dead, they were suitably adapted to the unforgiving nature of the world.

Their past minds had been erased, the concepts of a once modern life vanquished as society was. There was nought memories of waiting in endless queues in supermarkets, or eating a buttered bucket of popcorn in a movie theatre. All that corrupted the simple minds of the corpses was necessity to devour anything that they envisioned as food - your mindsets were now of similar values in that slim respect.

Just thinking of your mouth being bitterly tainted with a murderous wash of irony blood revolted you; it was something that you would never swallow, literally. Ripping into human flesh with your very teeth was a repulsive reminder that one bite, or a death without a deadly pressure to the brain, would turn you into one of those monsters. You had to remain alert, despite your body’s almost hypnotic drowsiness to fall asleep.

At least Rick and Michonne had each other, even if they did not acknowledge the true depth of their reciprocated support. You could tell that through their reunion something had changed within their dynamic, and you missed the deep likeness of companionship that you had shared with Daryl. Often times than not, you and the southern blooded archer would be among the seemingly endless forestation that surrounded the safe homestead of the prison, tracking and hunting critters that could surpass as an edible hors d'oeuvres.

There would be bashful conversations drifting between the two of you, whether that be a suave competition of whom could catch the most lustre of nut harbouring squirrels, or- well, in simpler terms, a concoction of unholy words that would prevail when he was erratically buried inside of your cunt. You’d go at it like rabbits in prosperous heat whilst present in the woods; the prison had no privilege of privacy since the residents of Woodbury had adjoined with the residing numbers.

And that was the thing you missed the absolute most, having your man close, in any which way. That cramped bunk within your sheet concealed cell was something you’d die for currently, you adored being pressed up against Daryl’s chest, listening to his tame heart beat, as you fell tentatively asleep.

Watch was more exhausting than it appeared, with a traipse dignifying each of your steps, you rubbed your heavy eyelids, hoping to excuse the tiredness that was overwhelming your body. In your dominant hand you used your shotgun as a walking cane, forcing yourself to return to your cell that you missed dearly. It was better than falling into a shrouding slumber in the middle of the hall; that almost sounded tempting, considering you wouldn’t have to move any further through the large prison, but you had more reason than a cot to sleep on calling your name.

And you saw it as you achingly slid past the hanging drape of a sheet that allowed some privacy in the individual cell that you always returned to and housed your random array of nicknacks that you had picked up on runs into permanently closed stores. Daryl’s body was strewn across the thin mattress, his hand laid across his face covering his depth-full eyes, as his chest rose and fell in an irregular accordance - he was still conscious, unable to doze off into plentiful rest.

Your lips tugged in an endearing smile that he couldn’t see, and you couldn’t resist from creeping closer. That was all you required, to be close to him. There were only a handful of steps remaining until you got to your desired destination, and without so much of a thought, you persevered. “Hey.” The tone that radiated from you was weak, throughout the daytime, your schedule had been filled with condemning tasks which were necessary to keep the smooth run of the prison a constant. Whilst you were doing your maintenance, there had been a not so big, yet not so small, hoard of walkers appear from over the horizon.

Michonne had joined you with handling their swift executions, but your shoulders ached from the striking violence, and the dragging of water caskets; the council, of which you were a part of, had decided to move them out of the sun so their contents would be of a hydrating temperature.

“Ya okay sunshine?” Daryl rolled around so that he was on his side, and sat up on the edge of the bed with a crouching back so that he could view your approach of him. You came to stand between his legs, enjoying the sensation of his hands running around your hips, their warmth filling you with comfort. To lull into the atmosphere which was turning sensual, your fingers coiled in his hair, running through the locks that had grown over the months.

His nose ran softly up your stomach, as he buried his face into your form, having reciprocated your yearning for his company. With a smooth drag from his strong arms, you fell delightedly into his lap, your faces meeting in a staring match as he brushed the side of your face with his hand. “Love ya, so fuckin’ much, my stunnin’ girl.” He mumbled, leading your lips to his in a slow and meaningful collision. The moment was tender, doused in every word that you were too exhausted to say aloud. You were communicating via your actions, discarding the apparel that concealed your bottom halves, giving you the opportunity to slide your cunt down on his erect cock.

You felt blissfully full, the qualms that had bent you to their will through the day slipping instantaneously away. The cupping of your palms positioned themselves on his exposed shoulders, and you ground your hips together, feeling his tip prod deep within you. Daryl shuffled back, kicking his legs out as he wrapped his arms around your frame, treating you so delicately as he fucked you from below. His lips cascaded along every inch of skin that your tank left bare, expressing his adoration for you with his lips and the little circles he drew along your hips. He could never get enough of being close to you, since the first time the two of you had shared together, he had gained more confidence with his role in the sexual situations you shared.

The breaths that huffed past your lips in attempts of being quiet were addictive to his ears, he was desperate to get an audible sound to fester out of you, but the pleasured expression that was imposed on your face was enough; he knew that he was making you feel amazing, and in these lovemaking events, that was all that mattered to him. He groaned at the thought of being somewhere private, where you could make a sound without disturbing anybody, or risking walkers stumbling upon you.

You were close, Daryl could feel it, your walls clenched uncontrollably around his length, which drove him wild, and cautiously he bucked his hips upwards a little faster, careful not to cause the bed to squeak to badly as there were people sleeping in both cells either side your own. He sat further up, his back straighter so that he could brush his teeth gently along your jaw, driving you wild as your hands drove beneath the sleeveless sides of his shirt, caressing his scarred flesh with tentativeness.

You were snapped out of your daydream in the omnipotent dark as you felt the scuffing of crinkling leaves, and before you could adjust into defensive action, there was a cold metal muzzle pressed into your muzzle, by a man with silver locks and a denim vest suited to his greedy physique. Without a doubt, these were the same men that had traipsed upon the house that you and Rick had been inhabiting whilst Michonne and Carl were strolling the streets.

They were claimers to objects they valued as things that their greed thirsted for, and you shuddered a breath as the man threatening your life steadied his grotesque arm upon your shoulder all the whilst he opened his mouth to converse impolitely. “Maybe we’ll keep this one alive, she’s a looker.” It felt as though he was bragging about the possibility to his hungry followers that you could be his property.

He recognised Rick that was for sure. You’d been a witness to the man that had taken it upon himself to cozy his fat ass on the toilet, and the way in which his throat was denied oxygen to passage through it. You and Rick had been huddled under the bed that dipped from their pocket heavy weights as you had ran to awaken him as you were certain you’d heard something before they bustled into the once home to a stranger that was no doubt long dead. And in your escape, you had put a deadly pressure on the invader’s throat… until he permanently passed out.

To exasperate your distaste for his misogynistic idea, you spat upon the ground, your nostrils flaring as you dared to spin your head back so that his gun was resting upon your forehead. If he was going to shoot, he might as well make it quick, considering you didn’t intend to be alive if they had the intentions of taking sick advantage of your body.

As you prepared to retort an insult that foully would cause further trouble for you and your friends, they momentarily became distracted but still alert as a figure slunk onto the clearing. You had to allow your vision to focus, and when it did, you were shocked in the best possible way. It was Daryl, and he was certainly alive. He seemed to be acquainted with this pack of scavengers, and you realised that the ordeal in which he had went through was the only way in which he could have survived.

He didn’t liken association with low lives that threatened those he cared about, however he hadn’t seen their full nature until now. Daryl felt at a crossroads as he took complete acknowledgment of the weapon that was frozen against your skull; he couldn’t be rash, they were a lousy, impulsive group, and he was lit with elation in every cell of his body to see that you were still breathing.

“Jus’ hold up.” His gentle footsteps were slowly approaching in a careful regard as his voice strained with caution. He couldn’t help but eye Joe up - he had a gun to your damn head! If he pulled that trigger… he wouldn’t allow that bullet to be released. You were far too great a risk to have on the line, he had to settle this, like a man. Rick was squinting up at him, determining the reason for the unsurprising reaction the claimers had given his presence.

“One of these two is the one that killed Lou so we got nothing to talk about.” The rugged, richly certain statement fled from one of the thieving men, as he had his long barrel raised, Rick being the focus on the end of his gun that had most likely been stolen in the crossfires of their apocalyptic journey. Anything was loot to them, even with their rules, they were scoundrels no doubt before the end of the world had began, and they would leave it no different. But Daryl wasn’t willingly going to allow them to either kill or claim you, your worth was insanely precious, and he wouldn’t allow all you had been through to be for nothing.

“The thing about nowadays is we got nothin’ but time.” Joe said from behind you, realising that finally, Daryl had proven himself despite the cautionary warnings and delivered punishments that the archer had bore witness to, but he was just to be a loss to them if he didn’t get behind the way, then he would just be an obstacle in the way. “Say your piece Daryl.” This was his final chance, but he had been given an opportunity. Joe liked to think of himself as an understanding man, there was always a reason as to why a swine didn’t want to roll in the mud; his gaze noticed that your eyes didn’t deter away from the redneck that was new to his ranks. There was an expression that he didn’t recognise upon upon your face, but he was willing to use it for his own purposes if it came to such a crossroads.

“These people…” Daryl cast his eyes momentarily at you again, as though he was pleading for you to remain still and allow him to be the peacemaker. And you subtly nodded, brows drawing together as you concentrated on the group members who had taken up space in your surroundings. “You gon let em go. These are good people.” He was attempting to find some humanity in this man who was leaning like a shadow over you, if there was any. It was the same careful traipse of dialogue that he would use with Merle when he was being inconsiderate before the outbreak, it hardly worked, his brother would laugh and call him a pussy, but Daryl had learned how to use his heart.

It was there to love, and whilst it still felt new, to be loved. These were his people, you were his person, and it was his responsibility to save you. He had tried to protect Beth, and whilst she had gotten out of that mortuary house with her life in tact despite the wave of walkers that had invaded through the front door, she still had to be alive. And so did the others, wherever in the country they were, no one was weak, each of you had your own strengths and that would get you somewhere. It had to.

“Now I-I-I think Lou would disagree with yer on that.” The grey haired man stuttered, and you weren’t sure whether it was due to the lack of respect he felt from Daryl whom he had taken in as one of his own - a stray, or if he felt inferior. You supposed it was the latter, there was a continual pattern with each man that fought for power that you had noticed after your encounters. They feared any soul opposing them, it made them appear frail and insecure, just like the Governor had been with the instances involving Andrea and Michonne. “I’ll of course have to speak for him an’ all because your friends here strangled him in a bathroom.”

Guilt overflowed like a faucet in your throat; you didn’t regret killing ‘Lou’. Rick had been your supporting witness, but there were no longer court trials condemned to determine the punishments for living, instead those that thought they were in control of the passers-by that they encountered - and to them, what fit every crime was death. There was now nought reason for you to brood in your squalor, you could see Daryl’s face, and if that was the last image that you had earned before the end of your life, you were glad. Though you were stubborn to go out fighting, otherwise your entire life after the prison; the tears, the passiveness, and the little amount of blood that had spilt from you would all have been for nothing.

“You want blood, I get it.” Daryl read them, Joe had already killed one of his own men, he wouldn’t hesitate when it came to a found family of strangers. They weren’t good people, they were miscreants that had given him the choice to either join them on their sin induced travelling, or die. And he had been broken, lost and alone, there had been no other choice if he had the intent of surviving in order to drains you. With disregard, he threw his arms in a stance, disarming himself as his crossbow flew out of his hands, falling on the ground, showcasing that he had an offer that Joe would not justify with a refusal “Take it from me man. Come on.”

Your heart swelled, Daryl was putting his own life on the line so that he could save you and your friends. A glaze of emotion was cast over your eyes, as you tried to slow your heartbeat, if you panicked, none of you would get out of this. “This man and woman killed our friend. You say their good people.” It was ironic, if you weren’t so shocked you would have stifled a laugh. These people weren’t friends, there weren’t any tears for their dear Lou, no, they craved any excuse to take and take and take. The revenge they were stubborn with pursuing was only a reason to get their hands bloody, and feel powerful as they got further away from the concept of being a human. “Now that right there i-i-is a lie. It’s a lie!”

Daryl couldn’t bargain through this, they were set in stone when it came to their perception of inflicting both emotional and physical pain. With disappointed defeat, his arms flopped haplessly at his sides, as he continued to stand straight. He had to get through to them! They could budge just a little, he just had to encourage them, make them believe that letting you live was the wrong thing to do. “C’mo-” Before he could continue his pleads to be the centre of violent attention, one of the lowlife claimers wretched their foot into his stomach, causing him to wheeze uncontrollably from the harsh impact.

At the sight alone of him getting hurt, it was on instinct that you prepared to swerve into action. You had to stop this, you had to save him. Your hands scratched against the golden leaves that were all over the ground as you tried to scramble up on your feet, attempting to prevent further bruising or blood withdrawal from Daryl’s body, however a sharp pain flew through your scalp. Joe had grabbed you, maintaining you as his hostage as his fingers weaved aggressively through your hair, forcing you to jut your chin out from the painful discomfort.

“Teach him fellas.” His tone was strong as he beckoned his orders, his deep, soulless eyes twitching from the agitation that had pent up within him. “Teach him all the way.” He ensured that they were aware of what he wanted, and the rest of the claimers were gratified to comply with his protocol of brutality, shoving Daryl up against the frozen vehicle, the clash of his body against it being audible from where you knelt. They threw punch after hateful punch, and Daryl struggled to maintain his stance against them; it was two against one.

“C’mere boy.” The words were growled out through the open car door, as Carl was dragged away from the hiding space. He couldn’t escape, and the claimers were getting the best of your group, and they were in afraid to draw blood. A knife was held firmly against the boy’s throat, and your eyes bulged from the petrifying suspense. Tears slipped from Carl’s blue eyes that had witnessed far too much for his age, and Rick began to panic. Lori had lost her life when she was birthing Judith, who now was also somewhere in the unknown, probably dead. He wouldn’t fail as a father a second time and allow his remaining child to die. “You leave him be!” Rick bellowed, which only made the sick men chuckle at his despair as they held him down from writhing towards an escape to rescue his son.

“Listen it was me! It was just me!” The words shrieked from your lips, as you felt a pool of despair puddle in your eyes. This was all because of you, perhaps if you hadn’t panicked within the moment of entrapment, and you hadn’t forlorn Lou to whichever afterlife lay after the present, then the claimers would have spared you, envisioning you as stragglers that had done no harm. There was a debt to be paid; a score that Joe felt he had to settle, and it was all because of your pathological actions. If anyone had to own up and pay the cost of taking the life of their adjoined associate, it should be you.

They wanted a permanent justice of a life, and you were happy enough to allow them to take it, as long as you were deemed the victim. That said however, if there was a route away from a pledged sentence, you would take it so that your entire family, including you would be spared. You just had to wait for the opportunity to present itself, and then there would be no hesitation on your part. “See now that’s right.” Joe’s words saturated your spine with a discerning flavour of fright, as he pushed the threatening metal harsher against the shell of your brain.

Rick’s eyes drifted in a frantic debauch between his sobbing son, who was thrashing under the weight of the gruesome man who conveyed him as nothing more than an activity; he’d enjoy watching him die; and you, whom was rigid from head to toe. His mind tried its damndest to calculate a way to save you both, you’d become like a sister to him despite the arrogance that you’d greeted him with back at the Atlanta camp, blaming him dreadfully for Merle’s captivity on that rooftop, rather than Merle and his big, loud and agonising mouth that tended to land him in a swarm of trouble. You had always been on Daryl’s side, but now you shared a connection after the fleeting experiences that had doubtlessly backed you against a wall.

“That’s not some damn lie. Look we can settle this, we’re reasonable men.” Joe reasoned with self interest and vengeance, his stone irises scouring languidly down your tense body from above, a little impressed that a woman had managed to withdraw the life of one of his boisterous comrades. His breath heaved down on you, making your skin crawl with distaste. And so he continued, making you all the more seasoned with spite. “First we’re gonna beat Daryl to death. Then your friend next to you. Then the other girl. Then the boy. And then we shoot you and then we’ll be square.” His maniacal laugh retorted in an echo, as his words truly sunk in. There had been enough devastation, and you viewed each of those you cared for with compassion.

Carl was writhing across the golden leaves that appeared gray beneath the silver moon, leaking from his tear ducts with agonising fear. Rick was stern with his demanding pleas that did nothing but resort humour into the audience that had you at gun point. Michonne was wide eyes and prepared for any intrusion that could occur, silently realising that you would be the culprit to begin a ravenous fight. And Daryl, god Daryl was swinging his arm back as much as he was able, losing against the two men that had the delight of using him as a punching bag. You couldn’t wait any longer, no one was on their way to save you, there was no other choice but try again, planning on a physical tactic this time.

“Let them go.” You hissed dangerously thro the your teeth, flickering your eyes around one last time, managing to make eye contact with Michonne, the gun against her braided head remind you that it was now or never. Joe felt hilarity from your demand, and you repeated it in an increased volume, distracting him with the sound of your voice before you threw your head back, whacking the man behind you with a mind numbing force. The bang of a bullet stirred a hazy cast across your field of vision, spiring a high pitched scream of white noise in your ears, but it was worth it. Joe had stumbled aback, the impact having arose a newfound course of adrenaline to fluster through your pumping veins.

With the rush that jolted you into a spiralling spree of sudden action, you span around, standing upon your two feet as you threw a heavy punch to your enemy’s tired face, a concerned look transpiring upon Rick’s face, as Daryl failed with unfortunate consequences to prevail in his hand to hand combat hustle. In return, you had earned a blow to the face, the force of Joe’s fist causing you to be upon the floor once again. “Oh it’s gonna be so much worse now.” To support his promise, his foot met with your ribs, causing a holler and a pained gasp to escape you; there would no doubt be a bruise left if you survived this assault.

Another slap brandished your face with a stinging hue, as you stumbled up, staggering slightly as you did your best to focus on winning this physical battle. “Come on, get up! Come on, let’s see whatcha got.” He was teasing you, drowning you with anger from the mockery he betrothed you with, as a red line ran pleasantly from his nose. “C’mere!” He growled, prompting you for more, and to see his blood spill was a divine gift, even as he breathed disgustedly against you as he grabbed you by the waist, holding you in front of his body. “What the hell you gonna do now slut?”

There was no possibility of escaping his grip with your form alone, he was a sturdy man, albeit an evil one, but he had you in his monstrous clutch. Your brain racked with a free flow of a matching immoral high ground, and thus you thought of the walkers, and how they took life. Your noggin tossed back in a flurry of monstrosity, your teeth gnashing until they pried formlessly upon his throat, the flesh running between each porcelain tooth as you found purchase in the skin, tugging with animosity, until the torn fragment of his body was pulled away, blood spattering in a revolted spray from your mouth.

The claimer gradually fell, pausing his team from their desolate nature of commanding death as their leader met his end, laying in a lifeless pile on the ground. Michonne and Rick pursued their captor’s, sweeping their lives away in a more sophisticated fashion than you had, and Daryl gained the upper hand from your repulsive distraction. As Rick fled from where he had knelt, he sprinted to pursue Carl’s release, as you remained still, shocked with your own tactile second nature. Your face was half covered in blood, like you were a young child whom had gotten into their mother’s makeup bag, but that wasn’t the reality. You shook, astounded with trauma.

Arms coiled around you, as Daryl held your crimson chin in his hand, looking lovingly at you despite the circumstances that had lead to your freedom. “Sunshine.” The term was distinctly ironic, but the cigarette husk that adorned his throat remained full of love. Since the outbreak you had all had to complete extensive steps to remain breathing, and your breath stuttered as you wanted nothing more than to bury your face in your archer’s chest, but he held your head up, as he dragged the red rag from his pocket, swiping across the stain that made the rag even redder. As you looked around yourself, you saw past the massacre and felt relief.

This was home; these people, especially the one right in front of you. His hand stroked roughly against your cheek as a long, heartfelt peck was planted upon your forehead. He had found you, in this sick world that had all of you lost. You smiled at him, resting your forehead against his as you shared a harmonious breath. “I’m just happy your alive Dixie.” You tried to uplift the mood, as did Rick and Michonne, as they fussed with care over Carl. Daryl couldn’t care less for the state that you were displayed in, he pulled you closer, unable to resist your lips. You shared a kiss, it was passionate and filled with circumstantial desperation, your hands pulled at his neck as you tried to get his face closer.

You could only move on from this happening, there was no dwelling. There was no guilt bore in your chest, those that tried ripping you apart deserved a worse fate, and you had only been fair since considering the consequences they had imposed on forcing you to experience. The Governor was the same, and so would the next foolish soul that failed the lengths that you would all go through to protect each other. You felt sick from the vehemence that had concurred from your body, but you had found more pieces of your familial puzzle, and you had every intention of finding the rest.

[maskedbyghost]

Shadows of Obsession (part 10)

part 1 tw: kidnapping, violence, injuries, emotional distress

Simon's breathing was steady, but his heart was a raging storm in his chest as his boots slammed against the pavement. Hours, long, painful hours, had passed since she had disappeared, and each moment was like a knife cutting through his calm.

He had retraced every step, scoured the café, interrogated the staff. Nothing. It was as if she had been swallowed by the city.

How could I have let this happen?

The words repeated in his mind like a relentless mantra, each repetition hammering his guilt deeper. He should have been faster. Sharper. He never should have let her out of his sight.

His comm crackled to life, jolting him out of his thoughts. “Ghost,” Price’s voice came through. “Where are you?”

“Still looking,” Simon growled, his voice tight. He’d called Price as soon as he realized she was gone. The team had mobilized immediately, spreading out across the city to search for any sign of her.

“You’re no good to her if you’re running blind,” Price said firmly. “Get back here. We’ve got something.”

Simon froze mid-step. “What is it?”

“Intel. Soap and Gaz heard about a woman taken near your location. They’re holding her in an old industrial complex on the edge of town. We’re moving in now.”

The air left Simon’s lungs in a sharp exhale, equal parts relief and dread crashing over him. “I’m on my way.”

The industrial complex loomed in the distance, its structure casting eerie shadows against the dim light of dawn. The team regrouped just outside the perimeter, their faces grim.

“She’s here,” Soap said, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “Surveillance confirms movement inside. Multiple hostiles.”

“Then we go in,” Simon snapped, already moving toward the entrance.

Price grabbed his arm, halting him. “We go in smart, Ghost. If you charge in blind, you’ll get her and yourself killed.”

Simon’s jaw clenched, his fists curling at his sides, but he forced himself to nod. Price was right. As much as the burning urgency in his chest demanded he act now, he couldn’t afford to let emotion cloud his judgment.

“Gaz, Soap, take the east entrance,” Price ordered. “Ghost and I will go west. Quiet and clean.”

The team moved, slipping into the shadows and picking off guards with precision. Simon’s grip on his weapon was tight, his movements efficient and ruthless. Every takedown brought him closer to her, but the fear gnawing at his gut only grew.

Finally, they reached a locked door deep within the complex. Price signaled for silence as Simon knelt, pressing his ear to the cold metal. Faint sounds filtered through—voices, laughter, the unmistakable ring of sadistic amusement.

Simon’s blood boiled. They’re enjoying this.

Price placed a hand on Simon’s shoulder, a silent reminder to stay calm, before motioning for Soap to breach. The door exploded inward with a deafening crack, and chaos erupted.

Simon moved like a force of nature, his focus sharp as he cut down the men in his path. His mind registered every detail—the shouts, the gunfire, the bodies dropping—but his sole objective was finding her.

When he finally did, his heart nearly stopped.

She was slumped in a chair in the center of the room, her head lolled forward and her body limp. Blood stained her clothes, her skin marred with bruises and cuts.

Simon was at her side in an instant, dropping his weapon to kneel before her. “Hey,” he said urgently, his gloved hands trembling as he cupped her face. “It’s me. I’m here.”

Her eyelids fluttered weakly, her gaze unfocused. “S-Simon...” she rasped, her voice barely audible.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You’re safe now. I promise.”

Behind him, the team secured the room, neutralizing the remaining hostiles and radioing for medevac. But Simon barely registered their movements, his entire world narrowing to the fragile figure before him.

-

Hours later, Simon sat in the hospital’s sterile waiting room, his head in his hands. The doctors had rushed her into surgery the moment they arrived. She was alive, but only just.

He replayed every moment in his mind, every decision he had made, every sign he had missed. This was his fault. He had let her out of his sight, let her be taken.

“Ghost,” Price’s voice broke through his thoughts. He looked up to see the captain standing before him.

“She’s stable,” Price said after a moment. “The doctors say she’ll pull through.”

Relief hit Simon like a tidal wave, but it was short-lived. The weight of his failure still pressed down on him, heavy and unforgiving.

“This shouldn’t have happened,” Simon said quietly, his voice raw. “I should’ve protected her.”

Price sighed, taking a seat beside him. “You can’t blame yourself for this.”

“The hell I can’t,” Simon snapped, his eyes flashing. “She trusted me, and I let her down.”

“You did everything you could,” Price said firmly. “And because of you, she’s alive.”

Simon didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the floor. Price didn’t push him, knowing the younger man would carry this weight whether it was deserved or not.

All Simon could think about was the promise he had made to her in that dark room, the desperation in her eyes as she clung to him. He had gotten her back, but the cost was etched into her skin and burned into his soul.

-

The first thing she felt was pain—a dull, thudding ache that pulsed through her entire body. Her eyelids felt impossibly heavy, and when she tried to shift, it sent waves of discomfort radiating through her battered frame. Slowly, she became aware of her surroundings: the steady beeping of a heart monitor, the faint antiseptic scent of a hospital room, the warmth of soft blankets.

Her breath hitched. Fragments of memory assaulted her—darkness, rough hands, cruel laughter. Then the explosion, the shouts, Simon's voice.

Simon.

Her heart clenched. Even in the fog of pain and confusion, his image surfaced—his desperate eyes, the tremor in his voice when he promised she was safe. She turned her head slightly, her eyelids fluttering open. The room was dimly lit, and for a moment, the overwhelming stillness made her doubt any of it had been real.

But then she saw him. Simon sat in the far corner of the room, his massive frame hunched over, head bowed with his hands clasped together. Even in the muted light, the tension in his posture was clear, his every muscle coiled tightly as if prepared for a blow.

She wanted to say his name, to tell him she was awake, but her throat was dry and raw, her voice barely a whisper. Her attempt to speak must have caught his attention because his head snapped up. The look in his eyes nearly broke her.

"You're awake," Simon murmured, his voice rougher than usual. He shot out of the chair, hesitating only a second before moving to her side. His gloved hand hovered near her arm. "You... you’re okay."

She gave a weak nod, her lips cracking into a faint, tired smile. The relief that flooded his face was enough to ease some of the weight in her chest.

"Don’t try to speak," he said quickly, pulling a glass of water from the nearby table and carefully helping her take a sip. "The doctors said your throat’s still raw."

She obeyed, her eyes locked on his. There was something in his expression—guilt so profound that it made her heart ache more than her bruised body. Before she could find the strength to speak, the sound of a door opening drew both their attention.

“She’s awake,” Price’s deep voice cut through the quiet.

Simon immediately stiffened, pulling back. The momentary softness on his face hardened into the cold, detached mask she knew was his shield. Price entered, his expression lighter than Simon's.

“How are you feeling?” Price asked, taking the chair Simon had vacated.

She swallowed and managed a hoarse, “Better.”

Price nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “That’s good to hear. You gave us quite the scare.”

Her gaze flicked to Simon, who stood silently near the wall, a dark shadow lingering just out of reach. His eyes didn’t meet hers, as if the mere act would shatter him.

“Disappearing with Simon was the right call,” Price continued. “I know you didn’t have all the details about the danger back then. But going dark bought us critical time. Time to mount a response, to keep them off your trail. It was the smartest move you could have made. I'm sorry we couldn't catch them before everything happened.”

Her chest tightened, and she glanced down at the hospital blanket. Price’s assumption burned in her mind. He didn’t know the truth—that Simon had taken her without her consent, about his obsession that was fueled by his overprotective desperation.

Yet even now, as the memories resurfaced, she felt no anger toward him. Simon had acted out of misplaced love and fear. She couldn’t bring herself to condemn him, not when she could see the torment eating away at him.

“It was… my idea,” she lied, her voice raspy and fragile but resolute. She couldn’t risk Simon losing everything. Not after what they’d been through. “I wanted to… stay safe. Thought it was best.”

Price’s brows furrowed briefly, then relaxed. “Smart thinking. Simon said you were worried the threat might escalate.”

She nodded weakly, her throat tightening for a different reason now. It hurt to deceive Price, but it wasn’t his trust she was trying to protect. It was Simon’s.

Price’s gaze softened further. “You rest now. Let us handle the rest of it, yeah?”

She forced a small smile and agreed. Price rose, patting Simon’s shoulder as he left the room. Simon didn’t react, his entire being focused on the floor.

When the door clicked shut, she reached for him. Her fingers barely brushed his sleeve, but it was enough to snap him out of his haze. He turned to her, his expression filled with pain.

“Why did you do that?” Simon’s voice was a low rasp, his blue eyes searching hers. “Why lie for me?”

She inhaled shakily, wincing as the movement pulled at sore muscles. “Because I understand, Simon. You were trying to protect me. And…” her voice faltered, her gaze meeting his. “Because I care about you.”

Her words should have brought him comfort, but instead, they deepened the ache inside him. He looked away, as though ashamed to meet her gaze.

“You shouldn’t,” he whispered, the words trembling on his lips. “Not after what I’ve done to you.”

Her hand found his again, her grip weak but firm. “You did everything you could,” she said softly. “You brought me back. That’s what matters.”

But Simon shook his head. “It’s not enough,” he said hoarsely, pulling his hand away despite the pain in his eyes. “I’ve only brought you more danger. You’re safer without me.”

“No,” she started, her voice straining, but he interrupted, his tone firmer this time.

“This isn’t a choice,” he said, his words steady though his heart was breaking. “You deserve better. A life where you’re free. Without someone like me in it. I don't know why I thought I had a right to someone like you.”

She felt the tears sting her eyes, a lump forming in her throat. “Simon—”

“I can’t stay,” he said, his voice quieter now. His eyes met hers for the briefest second. “I’ll never forgive myself for what I’ve done to you. But this… letting you go… it’s the only thing I can do to make things right.”

Her hand reached for him again, but he stepped back, out of her reach. Without another word, he turned and walked to the door. His movements were slow, as though every step cost him more than he could bear. At the door, he hesitated, his hand resting on the frame.

“Stay safe,” he murmured, the words barely audible, before he disappeared through the doorway.

The door clicked shut, leaving her alone in the room. She stared at the empty space he left behind, her chest tight with ache. Somewhere along the way, between the fear and the desperation, she had started to fall for the broken man who had risked everything for her. And now he was gone.

A single tear slid down her cheek as the heart monitor beeping filled the silence. She didn’t try to stop it. The man who had taken her, who had fought for her, and who had let her go—he had broken something inside her that she wasn’t sure could ever be mended.

PART 11

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@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic @identity2212 @tessakate @lem-hhn @bimboghostface @kylies-love-letter @ghost-haunts-me @lostmypopsicle @tired-writers-world

[rottenpumpkin13]

Genesis decides to take Sephiroth and Angeal to see The Nutcracker. Zack and Cloud decide to come along because Zack actually thought that it was an action or comedy play considering the name.

Some highlights of the comments made at the theater during The Nutcracker include:

Zack: "Man, this is gonna be awesome! A play about someone who cracks nuts? Bet he's like a martial arts master who crushes his enemies like walnuts."

Sephiroth, deeply concerned: "Why are there giant mutant rats? Who orchestrated their mutation?"

Cloud: "Aw, man, that child is being attacked by furniture. That happened back in Nibelheim once."

Sephiroth: "The toy is now a man. This inspires discomfort."

Genesis: "Isn't it beautiful? Fun fact, this ballet perfectly captures the essence of Loveless Act II. Angeal: …..Genesis, this is about a little girl and her Christmas present.

Sephiroth: "The strategic deployment of the toy soldiers is inefficient. Their formation leaves multiple vulnerabilities."

Zack, sobbing: "THE RAT HAS SEVEN HEADS!"

Cloud: "Wow, the dancing snowflakes are exactly like that curse the village elder used to warn us about if we stayed out too late playing in the snow!"

Sephiroth: "This kingdom's security measures are severely lacking. One child breached their defenses entirely."

Genesis, enraptured: "The grace, the poetry in motion! Just like the goddess descending— Angeal: If you reference Loveless one more time, I'm going to commit a violent act.

Zack: "THAT WOMAN'S DRESS IS FULL OF CHILDREN. HOW IS THAT LEGAL?"

Cloud: "Hey, did you guys know that in Nibelheim, if your toys came alive at night, you had to burn your house down to avoid attracting more entities?"

Sephiroth: "The realm appears to be governed entirely by confectionery-based nobility. A fascinating, albeit delicious political structure."

Genesis, standing up and clapping: Bravo! This is just like in Act III when— Angeal, yanking Genesis back down: Sit DOWN. Genesis: >:(

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

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

Author's Note: Hello everyone! I'm so happy to be back writing this story. I did have a little vacation over Thanksgiving week and spent time with my family, so this chapter is later than I wanted it to be, the same with my other story. This is where some more HOTD cannon divergence happens. I've always wondered what would have happened if Aegon-- oop, I was just about to spoil the chapter! Thank y'all again for your patience and support, and Merry-Happy-Early-Christmas! 

Chapter Warnings: angst, depression, mentions of miscarriage, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt, PTSD, baby girl has TRAUMA.

The cold winds howled over the cliffs of Dragonstone, carrying the scent of the sea and the acrid tang of sulfur. Inside the towering stone walls of the ancient castle, the air was thick with silence, as if the structure was holding its breath in solemn grief. The Hall of the Painted Table was empty, the fires cold, casting long shadows that crept along the black stone floors. And there, you wandered in the solitude of those looming corridors, a solitary figure lost within your dark fortress.

You had once been a woman of unparalleled spirit, a warrior, a strategist, and a force as unbreakable as the dragon you commanded. Your presence alone had once commanded respect, fear, and admiration. You rallied allies within the treacherous red stone walls of the Red Keep and avenged those you loved with a fury that burned as bright as dragon fire, yet now, that fire was nothing but dying embers flickering faintly within your hollowed soul.

You moved like a shadow, drifting through the halls without purpose or direction. Your once-proud gait reduced to listless steps, and your eyes were clouded and distant as if fixed on some vision that haunted you beyond the walls of Dragonstone. You became a ghost of yourself, trapped between a relentless past and an uncertain future.

Concerns from your family continued to mount when reports of Cannibal, who once patrolled the island with an iron fury, were spotted, allowing another wild dragon to steal his food. The Keepers said he did not bear his teeth nor protect his kill of a white billy goat when the brown body of Sheepstealer soared over his head. He stared at the fellow beast, flattening his coal-black body and curling into himself with an exhaustive sigh as the grey-eyed animal was snatched into the large maw of Sheepstealer.

Cannibal would have ripped the dragon's throat for daring to come so close.

Daemon watched you from afar, his heart breaking with every step you took. He remembered the fierce woman you were, the woman who once looked at him with eyes blazing with determination and a spirit as wild as the dragons. Now, you were a shell, lost in despair and guilt, crushed by the weight of a purpose you believed you failed. You were so close to securing the throne that your mother would be robbed of, only to see it slip away.

The Rogue Prince was not known for his comfort and empathy skills, finding himself unable to help you. Such tender qualities were better fit for that of a mother, and he implored Rhaenyra to assist him in the matter.

She would offer soft words of hope and love into your ears, attempting to share your grief at the loss of a child. While she had never experienced it herself, she watched her mother for her entire life struggle in the birthing bed and understood the pain and fear surrounding it. Yet no words or activities spent in the presence of your adoptive mother could heal that ache, and you refused to be the cause of any heedless stress regarding the impending usurpation of her throne. Knowing what it could do to the pregnant body, you continued to keep yourself at a distance from Rhaenyra and your father.

Desperate to rekindle your spark, Luke tried to draw you back to the things that once brought you joy. He laid out your favorite books in the library as he led you to it, hoping that the stories and history you once devoured with passion would call to you again. But you merely walked past the shelves, running a trembling hand over the leather-bound spines without pulling a single one down. Your fingers lingered over the titles, and Luke watched the briefest flicker of interest cross your eyes, only to fade as quickly as it had come.

Then, with Daemon's help, Luke brought you a sword, one of the finely crafted Valyrian blades you cherished. He placed it in your hands, encouraging you to spar with your father, hoping to remind you of your strength and the thrill you once felt when training, yet you merely held the sword in silence, your grip weak and unsteady, gaze vacant as though the weight of the blade was more than you could bear. You let it slip from your hands, the metal clattering against the stone floor, a hollow echo that seemed to reverberate through the very bones of the castle.

Even the presence of family brought no solace. Luke gathered those closest to you, hoping their laughter, warmth, and love would stir something within you, but you sat among them, a distant figure, barely speaking, your mind elsewhere. Your siblings looked at you with worry. Luke even had Jace bring you your favorite desserts, knowing they were your weakness, trying to reach you, but you were adrift in a sea of despair beyond their touch.

They did not know what happened to the full extent, only that someone in the Keep wanted you gone so far as to attempt murder. You did not want their judgments that would surely follow with the revelation, that you succumbed to the sins of the flesh with Aegon of all people.

You wandered the castle from dawn to dusk, restless and unmoving as if searching for something you could never find. Sometimes, you would stop by the grand windows overlooking the storm-tossed seas, your gaze fixed on the churning waves as if they held the answers you sought. Other times, you would stand on the battlements, the wind whipping your hair around your face, stroking your stomach, but even the fierce gusts could not shake you from your reverie.

Why could you not remember who poisoned you?

You could see his body, the dark outline of his silhouette in the candlelight, and feel his hands on your feet, legs, and hips as they reached higher to reveal your small clothes. Yet, that's where the image of man stopped and morphed into that of a beast, cloaked in a black void of any light and the warmth that a human possessed. Then you remembered the pain, the agony as these unseen hands ripped at your womb until all you saw was raw blood and organs leaking from your stomach.

In quiet moments, where you managed to put the memories within the recesses of your mind, you felt the weight of your mother's legacy pressing down on you, a burden you no longer felt strong enough to carry. Your hands trembled as you thought of the throne she would be unable to claim, the people you would be unable to protect, and the family honor you had failed. Your fingers would clench, nails digging into your palms, but a hollow ache now replaced the hope you once felt at yours and Aegon's future.

You knew that with the Iron Throne's intoxicating power, he would stop at nothing to have you by his side once more. He would have a single goal inside his obsessive mind and pursue it even at the cost of your happiness.

Sometimes, you thought it best to end it now, to save your kin and the realm from the destruction of Aegon's wrath and the Greens, but your body would not allow you. No matter how often you stood at the edge of your balcony, overlooking the gray sea and green mountainous terrain, your limbs refused to follow your will. Not even Cannibal would obey your commands of self-destruction as you screamed "dracarys" at his obsidian head. His emerald eyes would squint at you, pupils dilating and shrinking as his reptilian mind whirred.

Only a few, besides those blessed with Valyrian blood, could understand the bond between rider and dragon until they saw the depths of it unobscured. Cannibal understood your heart before you did.

Daemon, unwilling to give up when Luke was, found you one evening as you stood alone in the training yard's dim light, gaze fixed on a bow and a quiver in your hand. You did not want those to see you as weak, a pathetic, shameful husk of the woman you were. Daemon approached slowly, his heart heavy as he saw the daughter he loved, broken and defeated. He gently touched your shoulder, feeling the subtle tremor in your body. You did not pull away, but neither did you acknowledge his touch.

"Do you remember," he softly asked as you lowered the bowstring, "the girl who once walked these halls with fire in her eyes? The girl who would have laughed in the face of defeat, who would have fought to the last breath for what she believed in?"

Closing your eyes, the pain in his words cut through you like a blade. You did remember. You remembered the woman you were, the warrior, the leader, the daughter who would stop at nothing to secure your mother's throne. That woman felt like a stranger now, a memory from another life where you had your fair-haired boy in your arms, and your soul was whole.

"Tell me, what happened to her?" he whispered, his voice breaking.

You opened your peculiar eyes and met his gaze for the first time in days. Your voice was barely a whisper, frail and broken. "She failed, father. I doomed them all."

He shook his head, taking your face in his hands and forcing you to hold his stare. "No, she has not failed. She's still here, somewhere, waiting to rise again."

A tear slipped down your cheek, but you did not pull away, avoiding his gaze and looking to the torches lighting the area in a dim yellow. Somewhere deep within you, a spark flickered, a faint reminder of the fire you once held. You were still lost, wandering the halls of Dragonstone, a ghost of the fierce woman you once were, waiting for the strength to rise again from the ashes of despair.

As the pale fingers of dawn unfurled across the slate rooftops of King's Landing, they painted the city in soft orange and gold hues. The delicate light spilled into the labyrinthine alleys, illuminating the cobblestones and revealing shadows that danced in the corners. The brisk morning air carried the sharp, salty scent of the nearby Blackwater Bay, intertwining with the fetid odor of refuse that littered the streets and the lingering uncleanliness of bodies that had not known a wash in days. It was a complex tapestry of sensations, stirring both the serenity of the early hour and the harsh realities of life in the bustling city.

A figure emerged in the shadows of a narrow passage. A young woman with red hair tucked under a plain hood carried a piece of parchment. Her freckled face was ordinary, forgettable by design, but her eyes darted with precision, catching every movement, every whisper in the predawn stillness. Fiora was one of Madame's spies, a former brothel worker, but she proved worth more than her body. She was a ghost among the throng, sent with tasks Madame only trusted with her.

The faint but distinct metal clinking echoed through the dimly lit corridor, prompting her to stop abruptly. Before her stood three Gold Cloaks, their polished armor reflecting the flickering light of their torches, which sputtered uncertainly in the cool night air. The soldiers moved with an air of authority, barking orders as the shadows danced around them, creating an atmosphere thick with tension and unease.

"Get to your homes!" one shouted, his voice gruff. "Every beggar, every rat-catcher, ensure they stay sound in their beds. If they resist, remind them who runs this city!"

Fiora pressed herself against the damp wall of the alley, her breath shallow. She could feel the tension in the city—fear rippled through the streets like an unseen tide. Whispers of Rhaenyra's fall had already begun to fester, carried by merchants and drunks alike.

There were no secrets in King's Landing.

When the Gold Cloaks moved on, Fiora slipped deeper into the maze of alleys, her hand clutching the folded letter concealed in her sleeve. She needn't open it to know its importance. Madame's orders had been clear: get the message to Dragonstone before it was too late.

The docks were alive with activity despite the early hour. Fishmongers shouted their wares, sailors bickered over cargo, and the tang of brine filled the air. Moving through the crowd, the spy spotted her contact, an older man with grey hair and a salt-stained coat seated on a crate and chewing a piece of dried meat. Without a word, she approached him, slipping the letter into his palm as if handing over a simple copper.

"Dragonstone?" he muttered, not looking at her. He knew without asking.

She nodded. "Tonight, if possible."

The man stuffed the letter into his coat and stood. "Madame's got her fingers in every pie, doesn't she?"

"She ensures we all eat," Fiora replied softly with a brief smirk, her voice tinged with loyalty and fear, but she soon swallowed it, thinking only of her last moments spent with you.

He gave her a curt nod and disappeared into the crowd, heading for one of the many trading boats tied to the end of the dock. She lingered long enough to see him climb aboard and order his men to push off into the bay, his silhouette growing minor against the vast expanse of water.

As the spy pivoted on her heel to depart, the sharp echo of boots reverberated in the dimly lit corridor behind her. She spun around abruptly, her heart racing, only to find herself locked in a tense gaze with a Gold Cloak. The flickering light of his torch cast dramatic shadows across her fair skin, highlighting the tension in her expression and the quickness of her breath as she assessed the danger that loomed before her.

"You there," the armored man announced, his eyes narrowing. "What's your business skulking about so early?"

She summoned her best mask of innocence, tilting her head slightly. "Looking for work, ser. The mornings are kindest to those of us who beg."

The guard studied her, suspicion flickering in his gaze. "Be off with you, then. Or you'll find yourself bleeding with the rest."

She offered a tentative nod, averting as she turned to leave, her heart racing like a wild drum. When she was out of sight, adrenaline surged through her veins, propelling Fiora to quicken her pace. She slipped into the enveloping shadows, the cool darkness wrapping around her like a comforting shroud as she dashed away.

The sun rose higher, painting King's Landing in golden hues, but for the nameless spy, the city remained steeped in danger. Somewhere in Dragonstone, Rhaenyra would soon learn of the betrayal brewing in her absence.

The heavy scent of sweat, smoke, and stale wine lingered in the air, suffocating Aegon's every breath. The candlelight flickered, casting long, distorted shadows on the brothel's walls. The sounds of drunken laughter, the clink of coins, and the soft moans of pleasure were the only music in his ears as he sat slumped on a velvet chair, a goblet of wine trembling in his hand. His mind, however, was somewhere far away. Somewhere across Blackwater Bay was a woman with hair the color of ebony, a streak of stark white, and eyes that hid his own inside them.

It had been days since you left, days that felt like weeks, and he had drunk himself into a stupor every single night since. He knew you would be disappointed. You would look at him with a gaze full of scolding, dark brows furrowed together, creating those scrunched wrinkles that etched your forehead. The memories of your voice, your touch, and the promise of a future together were drowned in a sea of alcohol, the sting of his loss too great for him to bear sober. The transformation you coaxed out of him after many long moons, the happiness you instilled in his heart, felt like a distant, fleeting dream now, one that he could not reach no matter how hard he tried.

He barely registered the company around him, the women leaning in to whisper sweet nothings, their fingers trailing along his arm, offering distractions he once craved. But tonight, like every night since you left, they felt empty, like the rest of his life. He drank more as though drowning himself in wine could somehow erase the weight in his chest, the gnawing emptiness that replaced the warmth of your love. He downed the glass in one go, and the room spun, the edges of his vision blurring until the walls felt like they were closing in.

He cursed softly to himself, slamming the goblet down with a clink that startled a nearby woman. "You don't understand," he mumbled under his breath to no one, his voice hoarse. "No one understands except for her. My love..."

The woman nodded politely but saw the same look in his eyes that they all had, the same lost, broken look, the countenance of a man who had too much power but never enough purpose. She stepped back, a practiced grace in her movements as she retreated to attend to the next guest, her sheer lavender dress shimmering in the dim lighting.

Aegon didn't care. He didn't care about the women. He didn't care about the gamblers. He didn't care about the city he was trapped in or the castle he would return to, with its cold halls and colder courtiers. All he cared about now was the gnawing ache that hollowed out his chest. The realization that you were gone.

That night, he found himself stumbling through the streets of King's Landing, his steps unsteady, his heart heavy with the same emptiness that seemed to follow him like a shadow as he attempted to return home. Despite the icy air, his wrinkled and unkempt tunic clung to his frame with cold sweat. His cropped blonde hair hung limp around his face, and his eyes were bloodshot, the purple hue dull and sunken from too much wine and too little sleep. His mind was lost in the haze of alcohol, but deep inside, a part of him still longed for you.

He heard whispers from his mother earlier in the day about his father's worsening condition, but he pushed them aside. After all, what could a dying old man matter when he was already dead inside?

What did any of it matter?

With a shaky hand, Aegon tried to steady himself as he leaned against the cold sandstone of a building. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, trying to clear the fog from his mind. The weight, the throne, the family, and the expectations were too much. His chest tightened as he stumbled forward, the dim lights of the Red Keep finally in sight.

Home. Or at least what was left of it.

The streets were deserted at this hour, save for the occasional street urchin or drunken sailor stumbling home from a night of revelry. His breath came in heavy gasps, and the world seemed to tilt with each step. Aegon's head spun, his vision blurring more with each passing second.

The pain of it all, of you, was unbearable. Why had he not tried harder and done more to make you stay? He had been a fool, a coward, running back to the same old habits the moment you were injured. How could he redeem himself when he had lost the only thing that truly mattered? His thoughts tumbled over one another, chaotic and cluttered, as he neared the mud gate of the Red Keep. He was so drunk, so completely lost in his stupor, that he did not see the lip in the flagstone, tumbling to the ground, unable to catch himself as he succame to the dark.

When he awoke, the world was still spinning. He groaned, feeling the rough stone beneath his cheek. His mind was hazy. A thick fog clung to him as if trying to pull him back into unconsciousness. The pain in his skull, a sharp, burning throb, was enough to keep him from slipping away entirely.

Aegon groaned again, his eyes flickering open. The world around him was dark, the cold air of the night biting at his skin. His arms were stiff, his legs numb. He tried to sit up, but his body felt like lead. There was a moment of disorientation. Where was he? His head pulsated, and his thoughts finally began to sharpen. The past few minutes, or hours, began to piece together. He remembered walking. He remembered the drunken haze. He remembered stumbling toward the Red Keep, and then suddenly, the ground was not so far away.

A shadow loomed over him.

Someone stood above him, cloaked in the night, their presence ominous. Aegon blinked, trying to focus, but the blow had left him too dizzy, and the area was too dim.

"Your Highness."

The voice was unfamiliar, smooth, and with an accent his mind couldn't place. Perhaps a servant or one of the guards was coming to his aide. Aegon's breath hitched, a tinge of unease creeping into his heart. "What... what happened?" he croaked, his voice thick with disorientation.

The figure didn't respond immediately. Instead, they crouched down beside him. "The king is dead, your grace, and the Greens search for their new ruler."

Aegon blinked again, the words slicing through the murk in his mind like a blade. His father, the king, had died. He knew it was coming, but the finality of it hit him like a physical blow.

Aegon's heart twisted painfully. The realization settled over him like a shroud. His father's barely beating heart kept the realm from plunging into chaos, though Aegon knew that this would be the outcome. The Crown had no head. It was meant for his sister, but he knew what his mother and grandfather planned.  He was so lost in his grief and self-doubt that he hadn't been within his home to hear of his father's passing. And now, as the weight of it all came crashing down on him, Aegon couldn't help but feel the sting of the cruelest irony. He was too drunk to feel the death of his father.

"I am unfit to rule."

The figure helped him to his feet, but Aegon's legs were still unsteady. His head spun, and he felt the world shifting beneath him.

"The Red Keep will be in turmoil soon, your grace," the figure warned, their voice laced with urgency. "We must hurry to Madame's."

For a moment, Aegon did not care. He didn't care about the throne or the chaos. His father was dead, and he had been too far gone to even process it in time. His heart ached with the realization, but in his soul, there was something darker—a deep, gnawing emptiness that was now replaced by something far colder. He could feel the stirrings of unrest and future instability, but they all felt meaningless without you.

The figure led him forward, but Aegon's mind was far away. The only thing that truly mattered at that moment, the only thing that weighed on his broken heart, was that you were not here.

The pale moonlight filtered through the narrow gaps between buildings, casting long shadows on the damp cobblestones of King's Landing. Aegon's humid clothes stuck to his pale chest and back as he stumbled behind the shadowy figure leading him through the twisting alleyways. He could barely make out the shape of the figure in front of him, her footsteps brisk and silent, as if they had walked these streets a thousand times before. The air smelled of salt from the distant sea, mixed with the faint stench of refuse, human sweat, and the city's ever-present odor of decay.

"Where are you taking me?" Aegon asked, his voice low but edged with suspicion.

The figure didn't answer immediately, glancing back in annoyance. Aegon had already forgotten the prior conversations.

The Prince learned long ago not to trust anyone in the capital, especially in these parts. The back promenades were teeming with danger, thieves, mercenaries, and worse. Still, something about the mysterious figure seemed to promise safety, though Aegon could not quite place why. They were not in a hurry, though Aegon's feet felt like they were being dragged along, his heart racing with a blend of excitement and dread.

They turned a corner, and suddenly, the roads opened up, revealing the Streets of Silk. It was an eerie, quiet place between night and dawn where the moonlight seemed to dance off the curtains hanging from every window and door. The air here was different. It was thick with the scent of exotic perfumes and incense but also something darker and more dangerous. Had they already heard of his father's demise?

The figure stopped before a narrow, unmarked door in one of the buildings. They turned to Aegon and spoke barely louder than a whisper. "Stay close," she commanded from underneath her cloak.

Before Aegon could utter a word, a sudden sound sliced through the stillness, the faint yet distinct clink of metal meeting stone. He immediately froze, his heart racing. Shadows flickered around him as figures materialized from the darkness, sliding stealthily into view from all directions. Their eyes glimmered like tiny stars, piercing through the obscurity, while their faces remained shrouded in hoods.

Like a ripple through water, the alley seemed to shift. A heavy thud rang out, and a figure lunged at Aegon's guide, a glinting dagger in hand. Aegon saw the shimmer of steel and stepped forward instinctively, but before he could react, another figure appeared behind Madame's spy, striking the girl with a vicious blow. She stumbled but didn't fall, readying a weapon of her own in retaliation.

From the darkness, a woman's voice cut through the chaos. It was soft, accented yet edged with an unmistakable authority. "Enough," she said, her words carrying over the din like a heavy curtain being drawn.

The attackers paused, their movements faltering as they turned toward the woman who now stepped into the dim light. She was tall, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders like a veil of night, and her skin was a tan that glowed in the pale light. She wore robes of fine silk, richly dyed in shades of deep purple and midnight blue, but the fabric seemed to swallow her slender frame as though they were borrowed from another life entirely. She moved with the grace of a panther, each step purposeful.

"The White Worm," the figure beside Aegon muttered under their breath, their voice laced with fear and respect.

Aegon's eyes widened. He had heard the name whispered among the courtesans in the brothels and the low-born in the taverns. She was a shadow in the city, feared, respected, and above all, elusive. To cross her was to sign your death warrant.

She took a step forward, her gaze flicking over the attackers, who now seemed to hesitate, unwilling to provoke her further.

"He's valuable," Lady Misery said, her voice like honey and venom. "Aegon Targaryen," she continued, eyes flashing with something dark, something calculating. "A good bargaining chip, best to be stored up one's sleeve, wouldn't you say?"

The world seemed to tilt, and Aegon's stomach dropped. She knew who he was. The thought sent a chill down his spine. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat. The attackers backed off, leaving Aegon no room to escape, and Mysaria's gaze flicked back to him, a smile playing at the corner of her lips.

"Aegon, my dear," she cooed, her accent thick with foreign vowels, "you'll be most useful to me." Her eyes gleamed with something terrible, more dangerous than any knife or dagger.

Before Aegon could react, her men moved swiftly, surrounding him, one of them roughly grabbing his arm. His body was yanked forward, the grip painful and unyielding. He struggled, but there was no use. His mind raced with escape plans, but they all seemed hopeless in the face of Lady Misery's power.

He was dragged, stumbling, through the labyrinth of dark streets until they arrived at the Sept of Balor. The massive structure loomed in the darkness, silent and foreboding, its stone walls seeming to absorb the light. The grand doors creaked open with a horrible sound, and Aegon was forced inside. The air within the Sept was cold, the shadows stretching unnaturally long.

Lady Mysaria followed, her steps soft but deliberate as she surveyed the space. The ancient stone of the Sept was cracked, aged with the weight of centuries. But it was the altar that drew Aegon's eyes. It loomed ahead, dark and imposing.

"You'll be safe here," Lady Misery said, her voice almost kind, but its cruelty made Aegon's blood run cold. She gestured to her men, and they shoved him toward the altar.

"No!" Aegon cried out, struggling, but his efforts were useless. They forced him down onto the cold stone floor, pushing him under the altar, where the shadows seemed to close in like a suffocating shroud.

The small iron door clanged shut behind him, and Aegon was left in total darkness, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. He could hear the sound of footsteps fading away. The echoes grew fainter and fainter until there was nothing but the silence of the ancient stone.

Locked away, beneath the altar, in the belly of the Sept. Alone.

Aegon's heart pounded in his chest. This was no longer a game of political maneuvering. His life, his freedom, was now in the hands of a woman who didn't care about Targaryen blood, only power.

***

The clang of steel echoed softly in the dim corridors of the Red Keep as Ser Erryk Cargyll sat on a wooden bench, carefully polishing his sword. The pristine blade gleamed under the flickering torchlight, a reflection of the oaths he had sworn as a sworn brother of the Kingsguard. Yet his expression was far from serene; a furrow creased his brow as he prepared for his upcoming shift. The weight of duty always hung heavy, but with Aegon as his charge, it was more like a millstone around his neck.

Footsteps approached, slow and deliberate. Erryk glanced up to see Otto Hightower, clad in his green austere robes, his face a mask of authority and impatience. The Hand of the King wasted no time with pleasantries.

"Ser Erryk," Otto began, his voice low but sharp. "Where is the Prince?"

Erryk set the blade aside, straightening his posture. "Forgive me, Lord Hand. I do not know."

Otto's jaw tightened, his piercing eyes studying Erryk for any sign of deceit. "But you're sworn to protect him," he replied with exasperation. He had to deal with the stress of secrecy and hold the realm together in such a precarious time, and he did not need childish antics.

"He exploits his authority to order me away, and then he evades me, my lord. He may have left the Keep secretly and gone into the city." The knight's tone was calm, which Otto would typically scold for, but now such matters of manners seemed pointless.

"Find him. The realm teeters on the edge of chaos, and the Prince must be present. Search the city if you must, but bring him to me."

Erryk gave a stiff nod, though unease churned within him. "As you command, my lord."

As Ser Erryk turned, sheathing his polished sword, the hand spoke, his voice regal yet pragmatic. "My sincerest apologies about your brother. I shall see that he's returned to his quarters once I have my grandson."

The Kingsguard bowed but said nothing and left the Red Keep.

The Silk Streets were already active, even in the early hours. Ser Erryk moved through the narrow, winding alleys, keeping a firm grip on the pommel of his sword. The city's infamous district reeked of cheap perfume and spilled ale, the air thick with the laughter of courtesans and the hushed whispers of clandestine dealings.

Erryk grimaced as he passed a pleasure house whose painted façade was garish even in the dim light. His thoughts churned with resentment. Always Aegon. The name sat heavy on his mind like a stone in his gut. How many mornings has he scoured the city to retrieve the Prince from some depraved hole?

Erryk's memories were a blur of drunken brawls, soiled bedsheets, and shameful confessions. He clenched his jaw. Aegon's appetites were boundless, and his respect for his station, if it existed, was invisible to those who served him.

Erryk's search brought him to the fighting pits, a grim and lawless place tucked away from the bustling streets. The muffled roar of a crowd reached his ears, mingled with the feral snarls of dogs and the cries of wounded children, one with the familiar color of pale white hair.

He slipped inside, weaving through the crowd. The stench of sweat and blood hung heavy in the air. In the center of the pit, two boys no older than ten squared off, their faces twisted in fear and determination as the crowd jeered and wagered coins. Erryk's stomach turned, but he did not stop to intervene. His mission was clear, even if his conscience screamed against it.

"Seen the Prince?" he asked one of the pit organizers, a burly man with a broken nose.

The man snorted. "Not tonight. Ain't his usual time. Check the brothels."

Erryk nodded curtly, stepping back into the alley. He wiped his brow, though the morning air was still cool. His frustration bubbled beneath the surface.

This man is to be king? Erryk thought bitterly. The realm deserves better. Rhaenyra would rule with strength and purpose, yet he served this spoiled wretch.

As he turned to leave, a voice called out softly from the shadows. "A moment of your time, my lord."

He spun, his hand instinctively falling to his sword. From the crowd emerged a young woman, her complexion dark, her curly hair tucked beneath a tan cloak. Her presence was unassuming, yet her bearing spoke of quiet confidence.

"Who are you?" Erryk asked, his tone cautious.

"A friend," she replied, her voice light and melodic, like a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves. "I can take you to Prince Aegon. Rather, I am sent by one who knows where he is. Who'll tell you for a price."

Erryk felt utterly drained as if every ounce of energy had been siphoned from his body. The weight of his exhaustion settled heavily on his shoulders, suffocating any flicker of motivation to continue fighting for someone he now deemed unworthy. Each futile effort felt like a battle against an unyielding tide, leaving him hollow and weary. "Deliver him to me, and I will consider your price.

The woman smiled faintly. "My mistress will not treat with the servants of the Keep, exalted though they may be. She'll trust this to the Hand of the King only."

Erryk's lips thinned into a line. He hated the game of it all, the constant dealings with spies and schemers. But what choice did he have? Without Aegon, the Hightowers' grip on power would falter, and the city would erupt into chaos. The outcome seemed all the more appealing.

"I will take your message to the Hand," he said finally. "But if this is a ploy..."

"It is not," she interrupted firmly. "I think he will wish to hear what the White Worm can tell him."

With that, the woman disappeared into the maze of people, leaving Erryk with his mounting frustration. He turned back toward the Red Keep, his boots striking the cobblestones with purpose.

As he strolled through the dimly lit corridors, his mind wandered to Aegon, consumed by his insatiable desires and the turmoil they unleashed upon the realm. A bitter truth weighed heavily on his heart. Aegon was unworthy of the Crown, yet the kingdom yearned for stability. It struck him as a poignant tragedy that these two notions, Rhaenyra's rightful place and the peace the realm craved, seemed destined to be at odds with each other.

The weight of his sword suddenly felt heavier at his side, but Erryk marched on. Duty demanded it, even if every fiber of his being recoiled at what that required.

The room was suffocatingly quiet, save for the faint creak of the wooden shutters as a soft breeze nudged them against the window frame. Pale sunlight streamed through the gaps, but its warmth failed to reach the cold that had taken residence in your bones. You lay in bed, the threadbare covers tangled around your legs, staring at the ceiling as though it held the answer to a question you were too weary to ask.

Your body betrayed you in cruel ways. The tremors in your hands, faint but persistent, reminded you of the hemlock that had nearly stolen your life. Each shiver was a whisper of death's near embrace, and though the poison had left you alive, it had not spared you its aftermath. A fresh stain of blood on the sheets confirmed what you already knew: your body was fighting in more ways than one. The child you had unknowingly carried was gone.

The pain was sharp, a dagger that twisted in your chest with every breath, but it was the ache in your heart that, indeed, left you paralyzed. You closed your eyes, desperate for solace, but instead, the dream returned. It always did.

You stood in a sunlit garden, chrysanthemums and fresh grass filling the air. Aegon was there, his silver hair catching the light as he knelt to tie a ribbon around a little girl's wrist. She had your smile but his hair, her violet eyes sparkling as she laughed. Nearby, a boy with your dark hair and his father's sullen demeanor clutched a wooden sword, mimicking Aegon's every movement with a determination that made your heart swell.

"You're doing well, little prince," Aegon said to the boy, his voice warm with pride. You had never heard him so happy. "But keep your stance firm. Like this."

You watched them, your hand resting on your rounded belly, another child stirring within you. A grin stretched your lips as Aegon glanced back at you, his eyes soft with affection, and your heart soared.

"Come here, my love," he said, reaching for your hand. "Look at them."

But as you stepped forward, the image dissolved. The laughter faded, replaced by a chilling silence. You reached for Aegon, but he was gone, the garden with him, leaving you alone in the void.

Your eyes flew open, the dream's cruel clarity a weight pressing against your chest. Aegon wasn't here. He was never coming back, and the future you had seen, the family, the love, the life, was nothing but a lie spun by your desperate mind.

Tears slid down your cheeks, unbidden and unstoppable. You didn't bother wiping them away. What was the point? You couldn't summon the energy to rise, eat, or even drink the goblet of water left on the bedside table. The tremor in your hand grew worse as you brought it to your abdomen, resting it on the place where life had once grown. The loss was yet another cruel theft. Another dream ripped away before it could even begin.

Your thoughts spiraled, dark and unrelenting. What future awaited you now? A lifetime of mourning for what could have been? The realm's impending chaos only mirrored the storm within you, and you couldn't imagine a path forward through either.

But then, unbidden, his voice echoed in your mind.

"Look at them."

The memory of those words, spoken in the dream, clung to you like a threadbare cloak against the chill. You hated yourself for longing for Aegon, hoping that somehow, against all odds, his family might allow him to escape, but the truth was undeniable. Aegon was a part of you, as ingrained as your heartbeat and as unforgettable as your pain.

The thought of him gave you pause. He was reckless and flawed beyond measure, but he was also the man who once held you in the dead of night and whispered promises of a better tomorrow. You wanted to believe in those vows, even if they now felt like ashes in your hands.

Your body screamed for rest, for nourishment, but your soul was louder, its cries reverberating through the empty chamber.

Would he even recognize you now, this shadow of yourself? Or would he look upon you with pity, perhaps even disdain? The thought was unbearable, yet it ignited something faint and flickering within you, a tiny, stubborn ember of defiance.

You remained motionless, wrapped in grief and longing. The dream had been beautiful, cruelly so, and it left you haunted. You closed your eyes again, yearning not for sleep but for the impossible. A world where that dream had been absolute, Aegon was here, and hope was not stolen from your grasp.

All you could do for the moment was lie still and let the ache consume you.

The din of the bustling market hummed around the cloaked figure seated at a weathered wooden table. The smell of roasted meat mingled with the sharp tang of spices and the salty sea breeze wafting from Blackwater Bay. Merchants hawked their wares, their voices rising above the crowd's chatter, while children darted through the maze of stalls, their laughter carrying on the air.

Otto Hightower shifted uneasily in his seat, his fingers tapping against the small leather pouch at his belt. The Hand of the King was accustomed to commanding attention, yet here he sat in the heart of King's Landing, shrouded in anonymity, the shadow of a commoner. His hood obscured his stern features, and his robes, though of fine make, had been chosen to avoid drawing undue notice.

Across the table, a figure slid into the empty seat. The woman moved with the grace of a predator, her dark cloak brushing the ground as she settled herself. Her face, painted with a natural tan, was framed by a cascade of tightly curled hair. Lady Misery, the White Worm, fixed Otto with a look equal to amusement and calculation.

"You are the mysterious White Worm, I take it. Or are you simply a further peel in this stinking onion?" Otto chided, but Mysaria took it in stride. She was accustomed to men like him. She bedded one, after all.

"My condolences on the passing of your king," she started, her voice smooth as silk, accented with the lilting tones of Lysene. She leaned forward slightly, her hands folding atop the table. Otto's expression remained impassive, but his fingers stilled as he motioned for Erryk to give her the substantial sack of coins.

His jaw tightened, but he maintained his composure. "Where is Prince Aegon?"

She continued, her voice soft but cutting through the noise like a blade as Lady Misery smiled faintly, leaning back on her bench. "I thought the Prince was in Flea Bottom, where no one was to be trusted. I'd best secrete him somewhere safe if they come looking for him."

Otto leaned closer, his brow furrowing as he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. The daylight caught the intensity in his eyes as he repeated. "Where is the Prince?"

A smirk tugged at her lips, but her eyes remained cold. "He is safely tucked away," she finally answered as her gaze shifted to something more serious. "I want an end to the savage use of children in Flea Bottom." She let the weight of her words linger before continuing. "They are forced to fight; worse, your gold cloaks take bribes to make them look away. An obscenity either tolerated or ignored by the Crown."

Otto exhaled sharply, considering her terms. The market seemed to grow louder around them, as though the noise pressed against the fragile boundary of their secret conversation. Finally, he inclined his head slightly. "I'll look into it. You have my word."

"When your plots ripen, and you install your grandson on the throne, remember I put him there. I could have killed him as easily as a wasp on fruit." Misery's smile returned, a slow, triumphant curl of her lips. "There is no power but what the people allow you to take."

She rose gracefully, the movement drawing his eyes to the faint shadow of her silhouette beneath the cloak. "Pleasure doing business with you, my lord," she quipped, her voice laced with irony. "Do try to keep your end of the bargain. If not, secrets can slip through cracks, don't they?"

"I will remember," Otto replied curtly, done with this feeling of inferiority. He found himself in unfamiliar territory, feeling palpably uncomfortable not being in control of the situation. This situation starkly contrasted with the confident authority he was used to wielding, leaving him restless and uncertain.

With that, she melted into the market crowd, leaving Otto alone at the table, his mind already turning to the next step. Lady Misery played her hand well, but the game was far from over. For now, though, he had what he needed. And with that knowledge, the Hightowers' plans would press forward at any cost as he signaled Erryk to go after his grandson.

The bells of King's Landing tolled softly in the distance as Ser Erryk Cargyll ascended the marble steps of the Sept of Baelor, the daylight casting a yellow sheen on the grand structure. The towering statues of the Seven loomed above, their solemn faces shadowed by the flickering light of countless candles within. The air was thick with the cloying scent of incense and melting wax, a sharp contrast to the tension tightening Erryk's chest.

He pushed open the heavy doors, the groan of iron hinges echoing in the vast, silent chamber. The dim light revealed rows of pews, the smooth black stone floor reflecting the warm, golden glow of the candles that adorned the grand altar. But what caught Erryk's attention was not the serene beauty of the Sept. The faint coughing sound was a wet, muffled noise from somewhere near the altar.

Erryk's hand instinctively went to his sword hilt as he stepped forward. "Prince Aegon?" he called, his voice low and cautious. He received no answer, only the echo of his voice. His boots clicked softly against the marble as he approached the altar, the massive carved effigies of the Seven staring down at him.

There it was again, a cough followed by a quiet sniffle. Erryk knelt and peered under the altar. In the shadowed space, he saw a figure huddled tightly, and his cloak pulled around him as if it could shield him from the world. Silver hair glinted faintly in the candlelight.

"By the Seven..." Erryk muttered, his voice edged with disbelief. He grabbed the Prince by the arm, pulling him from his hiding place.

The young Prince squirmed in his grip, his bloodshot eyes wide and wild. "Let me go!" Aegon hissed, his voice hoarse. He yanked his arm, but Erryk held firm.

"You think you can hide here forever?" Erryk snapped. "The realm is teetering on the brink of war, and you're cowering under an altar like a child. Do you have any idea what is at stake?"

Aegon glared at him, his cheeks flushed with anger. "I never asked for this! Let Aemond have the bloody Crown. He wants it more than I ever will." He struggled harder, white hair sticking to his forehead, his desperation evident. "I won't be a pawn in their game, Erryk. I refuse!"

Erryk's grip tightened, but the Prince's words gnawed at him. Aegon was no king. He was reckless, self-indulgent, and utterly unsuited to rule. The realm needed strength and decisiveness, qualities that Aegon sorely lacked. Yet duty bound Erryk to him, to the line of a male-dominated succession, to the precarious stability that Aegon's coronation might bring.

"Let me go," Aegon pleaded again, his voice cracking. "You know I am not fit for this. You know it, Erryk."

Erryk hesitated, torn between his sworn duty and the undeniable truth in the Prince's words. But before he could decide, the sound of boots echoed in the chamber, and Erryk turned to see Prince Aemond and Ser Criston Cole approaching, their figures sharp and menacing in the candlelight.

"Aegon," Aemond called, his tone cold and commanding. His single violet eye glinted as he stepped closer, his hand resting on the hilt of his longsword. "Come with us. Mother wishes to see you. Now."

Erryk positioned himself between Aegon and the newcomers, his hand on his blade. "He is not going anywhere. On my honor, on my oath sworn to the King, Prince Aegon will not ascend the Iron Throne."

Aegon stood on trembling legs, remnants of Arbor Red still flowing through his veins as he looked from Ser Erryk to his brother. He would always long for the tender grace of his mother he never had, and a part of him briefly wondered if Aegon allowed himself to succumb to that instinctual desire, to go with Aemond to usurp his half-sister's throne, would his mother finally show him the maternal love he longed for? The Prince saw your smile flash in his mind's eye, memories of your warm flesh against his own, and soon realized he no longer craved his mother's attention.

Criston frowned his expression a mix of frustration and betrayal. "Ser Erryk, this is madness. You know your duty."

Ser Erryk stood firm for a moment, but his inner conflict surged. Aemond was ambitious and ruthless, yet he was more fit to rule than his older brother in many ways. Could he, in good conscience, deliver Aegon to them, knowing it would only hasten the bloodshed to come?

He turned to Aegon, his voice soft but firm. "Go."

Aegon's eyes widened in surprise, looking from his younger brother's cloaked form to his sworn protector. "What?"

"Go to her!" Ser Erryk barked, stepping aside to block Aemond and Criston as Aegon hesitated for a heartbeat before bolting toward the nearest exit.

Aemond released a low growl of frustration, his breath coming in heavy spurts as he surged forward. Sensing the impending clash, the knight unsheathed his sword swiftly, the blade glinting ominously in the light. With a determined shout, he met Criston's weapon head-on, the sharp clash of steel ringing out like a battle cry, reverberating through the tense air.

"You will regret this treason, Erryk," Criston snarled, his blade falling in a vicious arc.

"I already do," Erryk replied, dodging the blow. Their swords clashed in a deadly rhythm, sparks flying as Erryk fought to hold his ground against the more seasoned knight.

Aegon darted through the dim corridors of the Sept, his breath ragged and his legs burning. Aemond was relentless, his footsteps growing louder with every passing second. Aegon turned a corner, only to find himself trapped by a wall. He spun around just as Aemond caught up, his sword drawn.

"You have run far enough," Aemond hissed, advancing. "Face me, brother."

In desperation, Aegon grabbed a candelabra from the wall, swinging it wildly. He was never the swordsman of the two. Aemond blocked it with ease, his strikes controlled but furious. The scuffle was brief and frantic, and Aegon's movements were clumsy compared to Aemond's calculated precision. The thought of being with you again guided his clumsy movements against his skilled brother. He would rather die than be forced into a position where he would have to turn against you. Aegon swung wildly, the lit candles flying from their brass holders and flinging wax on the holy stone. The older brother was not much against the younger.

Aegon found his chance in a twist of fate, driven by sheer luck or perhaps the raw instinct of hopelessness. He lifted the ornate candelabra, its metal glinting in the dim light, and with a determined swing, brought it crashing down onto Aemond's blind side. The impact was jarring, sending shockwaves through Aemond's body as he howled in pain, clutching his eye and throwing him off balance. His shocked expression revealed the suddenness of the attack.

Seizing the fleeting moment, Aegon dashed past his brother, his heart pounding as adrenaline propelled him forward. He slipped into the thick daylight of a courtyard, the cool air rushing against his skin as he escaped the chaos behind him.

In the darkness of the Sept, Erryk and Criston found themselves locked in a brutal clash. The air was tense as both knights fought with every ounce of strength and honor, their faces glistening with sweat and their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Each swing of their blades was becoming slower, heavy with fatigue, yet neither was willing to relent. Criston's rage burned bright in his eyes, a fierce fire that seemed to radiate from him, while Erryk stood his ground, his resolve as unyielding as steel, determined not to back down in the face of such ferocity.

"You've sealed your fate, traitor," Criston spat as they clashed again.

"Perhaps," Erryk replied, his voice steady despite the chaos. "But I could not live with myself if I did not try to stop this madness."

The distant sound of bells filled the air again as Aegon disappeared into the city's shadows, the realm's fate hanging in the balance as he made his way to the only place in King's Landing where he would be safe from his mother and grandsire's schemes. 

Masterlist of Series

How about that cliffhanger, besties? It feels like the reader can't get a break! Thank you to everyone who has commented and rebloged this story. I know I was on a very long hiatus so it'll take sometime for some reader's to come back. I really appreciate everyone who has stuck with me. (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnn , @malfoytargaryen , @targaryencore , @justasmallbean , @omgsuperstarg , @sommornyte , @silverslive , @prettykinkysoul , *@duesobabe, *@legolas017, @iiamthehybrid , @dd122004dd , @ladybug0095 , @millies0bsimp , @kalfild , @sheislonelyalways , @tempt-ress , @minttea07 , @trikigirl271 , @esposadomd , @prettywhenicry4 , @justarandomflowerchildofthenight , @partypoison00 , @please-buckme , @pastelorangeskies , @existential-echo , @priyajoyy , @valaenatargaryensdragon , @merovingianprincess , @candy12110 , @w3ird11 , @ruhjkie , @somemydayy , @marikkjj , @zillahvathek , @sunfyresrider , @heavenly1927 , @hjgdhghoe , @im-sidney , @aurorathi , @marihoneywk , @xitsemm , @justbelljust , @qardasngan , @shari-berri , *@tomgcmrs

*Bold means I can't tag you for some reason (⁠╯⁠︵⁠╰⁠,⁠)

[getvalentined]

Okay I know I keep saying I'm gonna do a big post about Vincent in Rebirth and I've kinda been waiting until both my besties have gotten to him so that I can explode at both of them about him first, but there is one point that I've talked about a bit on the twits and I'm gonna babble about over here in greater detail.

There won't be a lot (if any?) direct spoilers here, but I'll be using screenshots that are absolutely spoilers to drive the point home, so keep that in mind.

Babbling under the cut.

One thing that really strikes me about Vincent's design in Rebirth is how he looks so...young. There's no other way to describe it, he looks young. In Advent Children and Dirge of Cerberus he had this sort of agelessness to him, particularly when compared to the rest of the cast; it was hard to get a read on how old he was aside from "younger than Hojo" because of this. He could have been anywhere from 25 to 35 at a glance, and up into a healthy 40+ during some scenes.

In Rebirth, that agelessness has been completely thrown out, and the only thing lending even an iota of uncertainty to his age is how covered up he is. The moment you see anything more than his eyes, it's excessively clear that this is a man in his mid-twenties, no older.

It's particularly obvious when he's confused or in pain, moments when he's not tooling his expression into something more neutral, when wouldn't be consciously presenting himself a specific way.

At a glance, Vincent is definitely older than Cloud, sure, but he's undeniably younger than Barret and Cid, he's younger than the majority of the extended cast—Reeve, Tseng, Rufus, the "emissary from Wutai," et cetera. He might even be younger than Sephiroth.

This makes the incongruity between his apparent age and his behavior hit particularly hard, in a way that it was never really able to in the Compilation thus far.

The way Vincent talks is off, noticeably off, and not just in a way to indicate education or accent—the way he structures his sentences follows grammatical standards from decades ago. Him commenting "if we're to stay the night" at Gold Saucer is one that really sticks out to me, because when other characters use similar sentence structure in the series (Genesis is the most egregious example of this) it's explicitly an indication that they're speaking in an old-fashioned way, they're being intentionally over-the-top. Vincent, though? He isn't doing that. The comment is so simple and offhand, there's no question that this is just how Vincent talks.

But he's a man in his twenties.

Vincent knows Dio as an antique collector, even though it's been over twenty years since he was in that business—Cid is the one that calls him out on this, because Cid clearly "knows" that he's older than Vincent, and Vincent brushes him off with a simple statement: "I've been around a while."

But he's...a man in his twenties?

When Cid warns him that the Tiny Bronco's radio is old enough to be considered an antique, Vincent is pleased—and in spite of having failed to properly operate the brick-phone-outdated security system in the mansion earlier, he has no problems operating the aforementioned antique radio.

But he's a man in his twenties! He's obviously a man in his twenties!

The juxtaposition between his appearance and his behavior is so stark as to be distressing; even if you don't know what happened to him, you can tell that there's something terribly wrong here.

Because Vincent Valentine is a man in his twenties, and he will be until the end of the world.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: What use is honor in war?

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

*Clouds of ash part to reveal burnt out husks of barracks complexes, shatter communication towers, and looming over all of it was the crumbling structure of the once proud command center itself.*

*Setting down in front of the command building a small squad of human soldiers approach and form a cordon to either side of the lowering boarding ramp.*

*General Marius Fimble slowly walks down the ramp flanked by a pair of black clad honor guard. His robotic left foot slamming against the ramp with a resounding cannon like echo until he reaches the bottom*

Colonel: *Salutes* General.

Marius: *Returns salute lazily while scanning surroundings* Colonel.

Colonel: You can relax sir; we’ve cleared the area of all resistance.

Marius: Complacency breeds overconfidence; never forget that.

Colonel: Sir!

Marius: Do you have him?

Colonel: We are keeping him in the main building to prevent escape.

Marius: *Confused* Have they made attempts?

Colonel: First one he killed three and injured twelve.

Marius: First?

Colonel: Second he killed seven and injured six, then again three hours later with eight injured.

Marius: He’s tried escaping three times already?

Colonel: Oh no.

Colonel: Those were all within the first seven hours of capture; we’re on twenty seven attempts by now.

Marius: *Grunts*

Marius: Let’s get this over with then before he kills any more of my men.

*Colonel escorts the general and his guards inside the command center. Descending three flights of stairs the group comes to an armored door guarded by twenty soldiers and an auto turret pointed at the doorframe*

Marius: Open it.

*The armored door slowly creeks open as all twenty guards take aim at the opening. The auto turret slowly begins spinning its turrets in preparation to fire as the general walks by.*

Marius: *Waves his bodyguards* Wait here.

Colonel: I would not recommend that, sir.

Marius: *Walks past Colonel and into the room* Noted.

*The door slams behind Marius as he takes in the surroundings. A single light hangs from the ceiling illuminating a lone figure secured firmly to the ground my numerous heavy chains*

Marius: Commandant Fring, we meet at last.

Fring: *Spits out glob of purple blood at Marius’s feet*

Marius: *Steps over it without acknowledging it*

Marius: I had heard tales of the great Grung military back in my academy days and I must say after fighting you, I am deeply underwhelmed.

Fring: *Low growl*

Marius: *Circling the room* Over a thousand years of military prowess and I took you apart in less than a day.

Fring: YOU STRUCK WITHOUT HONOR!

*Fring lunges at Marius who doesn’t flinch. The chains straining under the sudden pressure with Fring just out of reach of Marius’s throat*

*Marius watches in silence as Fring continues for several minutes before relenting*

Marius: I never understood that.

Fring: What?

Marius: Honor.

Fring: You do not understand it because you have never held it.

Fring: You preach of taking down our military when you attacked like cowards and thieves in the dead of night! Slaughtering my warriors while they slept rather than dying by their hands on the field of battle!

Marius: The purpose of war is to win.

Marius: Everything else takes a back seat to that one concept; because if you don’t win nothing you were fighting for matters.

Fring: And yet it is the manner of how you fight that defines who you are.

Fring: And you are a coward!

Marius: So you justify your incompetence by claiming I am a coward?

Fring: You dare!?!

Marius: You were unprepared for an attack despite declaring war on my people. They should have been mustering for war and already onboard troop ships heading out of system; instead they were…how did you put it? Ah yes, they were sleeping.

Marius: *Leans in close to Fring who lunges again only to be grabbed by the general’s hand*

*The general’s grip is iron and Fring claws at it as he gasps for air. There is no emotion behind the eyes of the human leader as he watches his foe*

Marius: Honor, is a novelty for those who can afford it. A justification to fight in a manner of combat they prefer regardless of how many souls die by the outdated ideal that is “Honor”. I fight to win wars, and though my victories seem beneath you I ensure that my men, my soldiers, will return home safe and sound because I fought using my head and not my heart.

*Marius let’s go of Fring who collapses to the ground*

Marius: *Looks down at Fring* You fought with your heart and you lost five field army’s worth of soldiers in a single night.

Fring: Do you keep me alive just to mock me? End me then, for I will hear none of this.

Marius: *Chuckles* I’m sure I had a reason for keeping you alive, but seeing you now I can’t for the life of me wonder why I thought it was worth the effort.

Marius: *bangs on door and the door opens*

Marius: *motions to the soldiers* kill him.

[tiredsmashbros]

"happy birthday, bluejay."

2k words ; tsari fanfic

"gAH!" tari yelped as she lost her grip on the wooden plates nailed to the tree. fear of adrenaline rushed inside her veins, glancing a peek below her, acknowledging the height and distance above from the ground. she didn't have a fear of heights, yet it still was an alarming issue to imagine in her mind what could happen if she were to fall.

"w-wOaH! bj, grab my hand!" tsb directed extending his arm out, using his stretchable ability to allow tari a more secure reach. "come on!" he exclaimed, assisting her up until she was finally standing on the wooden surface base marked on their destination. "heh, trying to fall again now are we?" the man chuckled in hopes of lightening the mood, referencing an inside-joke recall based on their first meeting, "but on your birthday? what kind of a crazy bird are you!"

tari giggled, relief dominating over her after finally arriving at the top of tsb's home. "i'm not used to climbing up!" she began, taking a break to catch her breath, "why'd you have to live up so high? it's challenging to come to visit you!" the bluejay spoke glancing her eyes to take in the view as she recovered. she could see the showgrounds perfectly where she stood, watching her friends play in the grass field, and even a clear view of smg3's coffee and bombs. it was just a marvelous view, pondering why she hadn't thought to come here more often. with the wind brushing onto her face, and the shade provided by the tree's leaves to guard from the sun it was evermore peaceful and quiet. her worries gone within an instant, it was relaxing to say.

"then i suppose you'll have to come by more often to see silly o'l me, huh?" tsb responded, opening the entrance door for tari to enter. "birthday girl first~" tsb flirted, forming an exaggerated body gesture for her to enter in. tari shyly smiled and nodded, making her way inside the blue and yellow man's humble abode.

as if it was her first, tari couldn't ever grasp how peculiar and unique tsb's home was structured. the outer appearance appearing as a regular small treehouse built from wood and nails. yet the interior, god the interior was like an entirely whole other world. seemingly cartoonishly larger, covered in bright light blue walls, white clouds painted onto them. additionally, small rainbows scattered around. a giant painted sun on the ceiling, accompanied by multiple small paper-shaped stars assisted with tape dangled down from right above. high enough where her standing wouldn't bother it, but not so high where you couldn't acknowledge them. the area was furniture filled with shelves of unused big and small canvases, all sorts of art materials neatly placed and organized, with the man's silly personality of individually colored beanbags to sit on, and nets filled with all kinds of plushies and toys. it felt like a dream house for an art child really. dried used paint splattered about here and there on the walls and floor adding color to the bright white room.

"still breathtaking for you, birdy? i thought it would still be boring even doing some minor edits here and there." tsb scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment noticing tari's positive expressive expression as she glanced the place up and down, side to side.

"are you kidding? how could i not be? any normal person would find this breathtaking! your place is an absolute dream house, tsb! it's bright, cozy, colorful, and a playground of endless creative creation! i can't get over how you can manage to create this all yourself! very impressive!" tari exclaimed, as her smile stretched up to her cheeks, really absorbing and giving a twirl around the space. excitement fueled her as he bounced about exploring the other familiar areas and all of its satisfying gleam of bright colors. it felt like she truly was up in the clouds or a figment of what she felt was a physical imagination of heaven.

tsb could only watch and giggle from the side. his heart was pounding in glee seeing the bluejay prance about in joy, admiring the work of art he's created for himself to call home. he felt an over beamed of satisfied joy he endlessly craved being appreciated. especially from her. a compliment from anyone would've still been appreciated of course, yet hearing those words coming from her felt like he could die at any moment. and he wouldn't mind.

after some time of tari exploring the area admiring all the nooks and crannies of tsb's dream-like treehouse, tsb finally directed tari to his bedroom. a place he... coming to the realization he had never shown her before up until now. the first time smg4 interrupted them cutting their time short, and other visits were with other guests visiting to do arts and crafts or play board games. yet this was the first since her first visit it was just the two of them. tsb grew nervously anxious as he tiled the sun-shaped knob of his door, allowing entry to the girl he admired most. it was just his room and he truthfully had nothing to hide, yet it was still nerve-racking for him, pondering about her opinion.

"t-this is my room-" before tsb could even continue to create a proper introductory description, tari jolted up in joy, squealing in glee rushing inside to admire the new room, eager to explore. it had the same vibe and aesthetic as the main entrance room, the entire treehouse quite frankly, yet this room specifically was more in the theme of tsb's main colors. yellow and blue! additionally, instead of the walls being painted or scattered with paint, they were filled with drawings drawn on paper of different mediums taped onto the wall.

entering the room revealed tsb's bed, filled with drawings of rainbows and clouds above as seen the theme all over the place. the bed is cuffed below of soft felted cloud-shape border with a uniquely colored placed rainbow for a bed frame. to the right side of the wall was a large window viewing of the sky, and next to it a tall dresser. accompanied by the wall where the door was placed, was filled with drawings she could recognize were drawn from her friends. boopkins, luigi, heck even some dumb doodles from smg3 she recalled tsb telling the tale of them hanging out one night.

the last wall to the left side of the room erupted with colors of different shades of green and brown. taken aback coming to the realization tsb's home lacked the color green almost entirely, let alone any color of brown other than the "disguise" from the exterior. illustrations of trees, squirrels, and small rodents, and what she could make out looked like a television. causing a shiver down her spine being reminded of mr. puzzles, yet these looked nothing like him. furthermore, they looked the same tv of a design with a nice chestnut brown with a cyan-like blue screen. some with hearts, some crossed out even wrinkled, and others... tari stared at it in confusion. she assumed it was an interesting relation due to tsb heavy interest in cartoon shows, he would watch several frequently with mario. however, something inside her told her it meant something else. as if it linked to-

"soooo what do you think, bluejay?" tsb queried, interrupting tari's thoughts. to the bluejay's surprise, he was resting on his bed in a crisscross position with his hands questionably behind his back slightly awkwardly.

"oh! i-it's awesome!" she quickly responded, trying to rid herself pondering over the mystery of this "tv". "i don't recall you ever showing me your room before. what gives! trying to hide more secrets?" she confidently spoke back, removing any possible suspicion. taking a seat next the the cartoony man.

"noo, of course not! just something i suppose i hadn't had the time to show you till now." tari rolled her eyes playfully trying to seem hurtful by his response. tsb giggled.

suddenly, he began to clear his throat, straightening his back, and shifting closer to tari with a slight struggle refusing to use his hands for support. however, fear rose inside as he wondered if he was too close to the bluejay, but she didn't seem bothered and instead mimicked his actions. receiving another giggle from the man feeling his face grow hot. "i uh," tsb began, "i have a gift for you! um..." tsb slowly unhidden his hands to reveal a bird-like figure in his palms. tari began to decipher it being a hand-crafted bluejay figure with a neatly small bowtie around its neck. yet she was utterly confused and speechless, it allowed tsb to continue his monologue. "i'm... not very good at making something supposedly grand like parties or cakes, for someone's orbit around the sun, but i do like handcrafting things for people i... um... admire most." tsb confident outward speech turned to stutters and quiet speech seemingly looking down as he could feel his hands sweat under his golden gloves. "i hope you like this gift-"

"of course i do!~" tari finally bursted into squeals having her hands turn to fists positioned up to her face in an attempt to hide her overly joyous smile. shifting her position to admire the beautifully hand-crafted bluejay more up-close. "it's so cute!~" she squealed once more feeling like she could feel herself almost cry from overstimulated happiness. "how did you use to make it?" she queried swiftly, staring at tsb's shades, eyes wide with sparks of adoration.

tsb only stuttered to find the words, his face growing hotter by the second hearing the beats of his pounding heart inside his ears. "i-i used cardboard to create the base of the shape... and um gluing layers of newspaper to give some texture... a-after painting it with acrylic- nO gouache a-a-and reusing some old thick ribbon i had in my scrapes to gave it a bow!" swiftly adding in the end, "y-you know! because it's a gift! cause it you're birthday! a-and purple to match your eyes! b-because your eyes are purple! oH and this is a bluejay, not a duck i-i-i-im not sure if that was obvious um-"

"it's perfect.~" tari softly interjected, cupping tsb's hands and lowering them down from their chests. "it's adorable of you think of me like that. i've never received a gift like this before... it exactly represents me and considering the thoughts you had i seriously appreciate the effort you put in. it's," tari couldn't help but giggle.

before tsb could muster to search for words to say thank you, tari kissed tsb on the cheek. "it's really cute. thank you.~" shots of physical cloud of air flew out of tsb's ears, face even red than the color red itself, stunned and completely flustered he sat there frozen. tari once again giggled seeing the clouds of smoke coming out of their ears like a real-life cartoon, yearning to see what more of a reaction she can get. she was always fascinated by tsb's strange cartoonish nature she just simply adored him more and more. nothing about him could ever bore her. 

just if by instinct, she removed her hands from tsb and reached out to remove tsb shades. settling it down by the bed, gazing admirably into his brown eyes as they were shifting animatedly to pink hearts back and forth. "t-tari-" tsb started, but was unfortunately cut off by someone outside. turning his eyes into pupils with red outlines from surprise.

"tari!" a familiar voice called, "TARI!" smg4 called again louder.

"smg4 must have the party essentials ready. we should go till he gets impatient hehe!" tari stood up from the bed grabbing the bluejay gift with one hand while the other grabs for the cartoon man's glove. 

"y-yeah..." he replied, still stunned by what happened. eventually after a soft tug from tari, he regained his senses and threw back his shades on. springing off the bed and following tari out of his room. 

"you think there'll be cake left after mario gets to it first?" tsb asked.

tari chuckled, "i doubt it." 

END

[learnandbuild]

Learn and Build Summer Internship Program

For more details visit - Internship.learnandbuild.in

[welcometomytrashcan]

Before the Dawn: Chapter III // Logan Howlett

Logan Howlett x f!mutant!reader Chapter 3/4 Read Chapter 2 here Word Count: 1369

Background: You are a mutant with hydrokinetic abilities (think Percy Jackson meets the mermaids from H2O), and arrived at the X-Mansion 4 months before Logan. You started dating Logan after the events of X-Men but before he left for Alkali Lake. You are both in love with each other but have yet to confess it. Takes place within the events of X2, Canon violence, pre-established relationship

With adrenaline pumping through your veins, you and Logan sprinted through the collapsing base. The roar of the dam’s crumbling structure echoed through the metal corridors, water already starting to flood certain sections. But that wasn’t your focus. Right now, you had to find Stryker and stop him—once and for all.

As you stepped outside, you spotted Stryker near a helicopter, preparing for takeoff. Logan moved fast, grabbing Stryker by the throat and slamming him against the helicopter, driving his claws into his sides.

Stryker screamed in agony.

"How does it feel, bub?" Logan growled.

Stryker gasped, "Why did you come back?"

"You cut me open. Took my life. You tried to take Y/N's too," Logan snarled.

Stryker managed a twisted smile. "You make it sound like I stole something. You volunteered for the procedure. As for Y/N... I wasn’t going to pass up that opportunity."

Logan's claws dug in deeper, and Stryker winced.

"Who am I?" Logan demanded.

Stryker smirked. "You're a failed experiment. If you knew your past—the kind of person you were, the work we did—you’d know people don’t change. You were an animal then, Wolverine. You still are."

Stryker glanced at you with a cold grin. "He’s still an animal now."

He turned back to Logan. "I just gave you claws."

Suddenly, an alarm blared from the distance. The ground trembled as the sound of metal screeching and concrete cracking filled the air.

"What the hell is that?" you asked, alarmed.

Logan pressed his claws deeper into Stryker, demanding, "What is it?!"

"The dam’s ruptured," Stryker said through clenched teeth. "It’s going to flood the spillway. It’s too late. In a few minutes, we’ll all be underwater."

You and Logan exchanged a tense look. Stryker glanced between you both, sneering. "You can’t save your friends. They’re as good as dead."

He turned back to Logan. "You’re a survivor. Always have been."

Logan’s face hardened. "I thought I was just an animal—with claws. If we die, you die."

Without hesitation, Logan ripped his claws out of Stryker and shoved him against the helicopter’s wheel, securing him with a chain. You stepped forward, melting the snow beneath him and freezing it again, pinning him to the ground.

"We have to find the others," you said urgently, pulling Logan’s attention back to the base. The rumble of the dam breaking grew louder.

As you started to walk away, Stryker shouted after you both. "There are no answers that way!"

Ignoring him, the two of you raced back toward the base. Jean, Scott, Storm, the students—they all needed to get out before the dam collapsed completely.

The base was shaking violently by the time you reached the others. They were about to head down a pathway that would’ve led them to certain death. Logan thrust his claws into a control panel, slamming a door shut.

"You don’t want to go that way," you called out. "Follow us!"

You helped guide the group back outside, everyone moving as quickly as they could through the snow. But when you reached the spot where the helicopter had been, it was gone.

"Damn it," Logan muttered, scanning the horizon. Panic started to creep in, but then, through the clouds, you saw it—the jet. Rogue was at the controls, with Bobby helping her.

The jet descended, wobbling dangerously as Rogue struggled to keep it steady.

"She’s not going to make it," you said, fear creeping into your voice.

Rogue managed to land the jet roughly onto the ground.

"Go help them onto the jet!" Logan ordered, his tone sharp but firm. "I’ll catch up."

"What about you? What are you—"

"I need to take care of something," he interrupted. "Go."

Reluctantly, you nodded and ran toward the others, helping them board the unstable jet. Despite the chaos, you kept it together, focused on getting everyone to safety.

Once everyone was aboard, you glanced back and saw Logan confronting Stryker again. Stryker was chained up, thanks to Magneto, and Logan stood below him.

"Who has the answers, Wolverine?" Stryker taunted. "Those people? That creature you’re with?"

Logan didn’t reply. He glared up at the man who had ruined his life, the man who had turned the woman he loved into his own weapon. “I’ll take my chances,” Logan spat, tearing off his dog tags and dropping them at Stryker’s feet before turning his back on him.

As Logan walked away, Stryker shouted after him. "One day, someone will finish what I started, Wolverine! One day!"

Logan jogged back to the jet, leaping inside just as the ground shook violently beneath you. The dam was about to burst.

"Are you okay?" you asked as he rejoined you, your hand brushing down his arm in comfort.

Logan gave a small nod. "I am now."

He planted a firm kiss on your forehead.

"Come on, get us out of here!" he called, strapping himself in.

Storm and Scott scrambled to start the jet, but the engines sputtered and failed. The cabin filled with tension as everyone realized that the water was coming fast.

“Why isn’t it working?” you yelled, fear rising in your throat as the water rushed toward the jet.

And then, in the chaos, Charles’ voice softly called out. “Jean?”

You looked around, suddenly realizing Jean was missing. Panic gripped you, and you shot a glance toward Scott, who was frantically looking around as well.

“She’s gone,” Scott muttered, his voice strained. “Jean… where is she?”

You bolted to the back of the jet, searching for any sign of her. Your heart pounded in your chest as you screamed, “Jean! No! You can’t do this!”

But as you reached the door, it slid shut in your face. Through the window, you saw her standing outside, her eyes glowing with power, her face set in grim determination.

“No!” Scott yelled, banging his fists against the glass. “Jean! Don’t do this!”

You felt a pang of guilt slice through your chest. You could’ve helped. You could’ve used your powers to manipulate the water, to do something. But your leg was still weak from the earlier fight, and you weren’t strong enough to control the water currents. You hadn’t been at the school long enough to master your abilities. I could’ve helped her…

Outside, Jean’s powers surged, and she lifted the jet with her telekinesis, guiding it into the air. The water from the dam swirled around her, bending to her will. She was holding back an entire flood.

You pressed your hands against the glass, tears streaming down your face as you tried to reach out with your powers. “Jean!” you called, but your voice was lost in the roar of the flood.

Scott’s voice broke, trembling with anguish. “Jean… please.”

But it was too late. With a final, heartbreaking glance at Scott, Jean guided the water around the jet, holding it at bay just long enough to save you all. The jet soared into the air, leaving Jean behind.

You searched desperately for her in the water, your hydrokinesis pushing you to the limit. But with the blood loss from your leg and the overwhelming force of the current, you couldn’t sense her. You weren’t strong enough.

As the jet ascended higher, the reality of what had just happened sank in. Jean was gone. And it was your fault. You should’ve been able to do something. You could’ve saved her.

The silence in the jet was deafening. Scott collapsed into his seat, his face pale and stricken with grief. You sat down, staring blankly at the floor, guilt clawing at your insides.

“I could’ve helped her,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else. Tears streamed down your face, and the weight of Jean’s sacrifice pressed heavily on your chest.

Logan placed a hand on your shoulder, his voice low. “It wasn’t your fault.”

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was. You’d failed her. You’d failed Logan. And now Jean was gone because of it.

The jet flew through the sky, but the atmosphere inside was heavy with grief and guilt. The battle wasn’t over, but as you sat there, surrounded by your team, you couldn’t help but feel that you’d already lost.

Tag List: @spacemacandcheese @oscarissac2099 

[opencommunion]

"What is this force, these human beings, referred to in this word – resistance? 

First, literally, we refer to the achievement of the poorest and most strategically disadvantaged people on the planet. Within the encircled and immiserated Gaza Strip, many of the Al-Qassam fighters are orphans. Amidst closure and de-development, the popular resistance has been able to consolidate an arsenal and bring 1.5% of its population into a guerrilla force of 30,000-40,000 men that can – man for man – outmatch nearly any in the world. 

The resistance, secondly, has alloyed ideological commitment, willingness to sacrifice for their people, and technological ingenuity into armed capacity capable of going head-to-head with a nuclear power from underground tunnels, the ‘rear base’ and physical strategic depth needed for guerilla insurgency. The concrete is their mountains. From there they have imperiled an enemy with orders of magnitude higher GDP per capita – Israeli GDP is at $52,000 a year, with arsenals worth billions.

Third, the resistance, in launching its October 7 operation, is an example to the world that post-Soviet asphyxiation and extermination procedures, sanctions and terror lists and aid-based countermeasures, could not prevent the rise of a disciplined and new national movement from raising its head to the sky. 

Fourth, the popular cradle brings the word resistance beyond armed men to doctors going to their deaths in lieu of abandoning their patients and women and men in the Gaza Strip’s North – facing white phosphorus rather than abandoning their homes. It is precisely the strength of the civilian commitment to the national project that provokes US-Israeli extermination: ‘the 'civilian' officials, including hospital administrators and school administrators, and also the entire Gaza population’ are, as a result, the targets – not out of cruelty but to break Hamas by breaking its cradle. 

Fifth, through these achievements, the Palestinian resistance has been able to present an acute threat to the settler-capitalist property structures called Israel, to militarized accumulation, to the world’s workshop for counterinsurgency technology, and to the entire architecture of regional repression with its associated petrodollar flows, treasury and security purchases, and arms merchandising. For capitalism is not just the smooth clockwork of accumulation through generalized commodity exchange and labor exploitation, it is the machinery of violence – its technology – which ensures the smooth running of the clock, the thingification of its human elements, the political decisions to maintain and rework the machinery of monopoly accumulation, and the waste of human lives which is increasingly the core Arab input into global capitalism. 

More worryingly from the perspective of monopoly power, the Palestinian resistance is not alone. It is part of a regional populist resistance enfolding the poorest people on Earth. ... It is unimaginable that the neocolonial authoritarian states nor their US benefactor would remotely tolerate massive working-class militia which speak a language of justice and republicanism and raise arms against those states’ sponsors. In turn, it is as natural as the sun rising in the East that the US, the UK, Germany, France, and their Gulf and Arab satraps would converge on support for Israel as the spear’s tip of the assault on the surrounding Arab popular militia. 

And because Israel is the keystone of the regional imperialist order – maintained not by hegemonic consensus but the brutality of Apaches and Merkavas – it is as natural as water falling from clouds that what has developed in the Gaza Strip, as soon as it mobilized politically and militarily, would incite the Western reaction to wipe it from the face of the Earth and impose unimaginable horror to terrify the Palestinian, Arab, and Third World people to never again raise their heads.

The October 7 operation has perhaps overcome the central role of the Israeli state in accumulation on a world scale: ingraining a state of defeat amongst the Arab working classes, as part-and-parcel of the post-Soviet ideological defeat imposed by capital upon labor globally. Deterrence is the form that defeat takes when pushed to the military plane, and Israel openly admits that its deterrence has been shattered.

Seen from this perspective, the risks run by the western capitalist states – their imposition of fascist regulation against freedoms of speech and assembly, their backing for genocide, their desperation to see the Palestinian armed militia wiped from the face of the Earth – is logical, reasonable, and rational in its sociopathy. It is the logic of monopoly attempting to defend itself and the consciousness which bodyguards it with fire from the sky. It is a logic which fills graveyards, and a logic which makes orphans, and it is a logic which might yet meet its end in that crossroads of continents – that salient, and city and their camps and their people."

[nomsfaultau]

FINAL SECTION

Hybrid AU in exile week where avian instincts can take over to a degree that is almost horrific, erasing someone’s personality and rationality when they’re panicking. First part here.

“I can’t make promises that this will cure anything,” Philza reminds him. Tommy scoots towards the cliff ledge of the frozen bay, a kicked pebble plummeting, plummeting, crunching into the ground below, blood and pain spilling out of him. He tries to focus on fluffy white clouds and pretty scenery but all he can see is the tower from exile. The choppy, turbulent waters of the sea he always woke up drowning in. His chopped off feathers fanning around his abuser’s mask. 

He’s pulled away from the hypnotizing reverie when strong arms wrap around his chest. Philza’s steady heartbeat hums against the back of his head. It’s so wonderfully comfortable in a way that makes him nervous. He’s tried to avoid close contact with Phil, but there isn’t much of an option now. “.....ommy? Tommy? Mate?”

“Huh?” His head feels like it’s swimming. 

“I asked if you feel secure enough.” No. Tommy can’t remember the last time he felt safe. Well. Aside from what his avian instincts were tricked into believing. He doesn’t trust the feeling all that much. 

What he says instead is, “If you drop me I’ll stab you.” Philza chuckles. 

“Fair enough. If it helps I never dropped Techno the few times he let me fly him.” 

“Bruh. Never accidentally, more like,” Techno mutters darkly, earning a smirk. But Phil assures Tommy it’s going to be as gentle a flight as possible. Which probably isn’t a very accurate replication of a first flight. Vaguely Tommy remembers his own from when he was a kid, a scrambling terrifying elating freeing chaotic tangle rushing at him faster than the wind. It had felt so right, once. Natural, like he was growing up. Finally independent, not needing to rely on a guardian anymore. Tommy wants that feeling more than anything in the world right now. Tommy needs Philza to be right, for this flight to fix him. Even just a little, just enough to know it’s possible. 

But the memory of his recent failed flight is far sharper, of the moment he realized his abuser was right about him. An overhanging shadow of doom, despair, dependence. 

Phil tries to nudge Tommy forward, towards the edge, and suddenly Tommy’s panic spikes. He scrambles back, almost expecting resistance, expecting Phil to dump him off the tower. But Philza easily gives away, letting him retreat even as scarlet shame fills him. 

“Uh…are you scared of heights?” Techno asks. 

“No, don’t be stupid,” Tommy snarls. “Stop laughing at me, oh how ironic the avian hates heights, I’m not stupid, I’m not scared of the tower. How about you try jumping off a cliff and see how you like heights, pig boi. I’m not scared. I’m not stupid.” 

“Never said you were. I wasn’t making fun of you,” Techno replies mildly, hooves held out in pacification. “And, uh, what’s the tower?” 

Shame throttles Tommy. Philza frowns at a memory. “...is it the structure I found you at?” 

“I was trying to fly,” Tommy mumbles. He had been trying a lot of things. Some of them had very nearly succeeded. 

Techno and Philza wince as they remember the bloody, almost dead state they’d found Tommy in all those weeks ago. “Could do it with your eyes closed,” Techno suggests. “Just like when I clean up your wings.” Techno’s tusks twist in thought, then he roots around in his bag. He presses a glass bottle into Tommy’s hands. 

“It’s not going to work if I’m asleep, idiot.” 

“Nah, it’s Slow Falling. Just smash it if you need it, alright? It’s the extended version so no matter how high up you are you’ll get to the ground safely. Whenever I get anxious about somethin’ I like to over prepare. That way I have a plan to think about instead when my brain tries to run through disasters.” Oh. Tommy stares at the foggy, half frozen potion. The knots in his gut ease a little. Not the terrifying plummet of the tower, but something slow and gentle. It can’t quite ease the instinctive fear rolling inside his subconscious, but it soothes his more logical balking. What helps even more is knowing Techno cares enough to look at his fear and somehow untangle it in a way Tommy could never manage on his own. 

Techno and Phil are both trying so hard to help Tommy with the messy, ugly parts of himself. Not pushing him away because of it or ignoring the bad, but accepting and working with it. And if they’re trying so hard, they must think it’s possible for it to get better. Maybe they’re right, or will be if Tommy gives it his all, too. 

“... and if that’s not enough I can get you Feather Fall boots. I’d give mine but, well, hooves. It’ll take a bit to make, but you wouldn’t get hurt as badly if there’s ever another fall like that.” 

Tommy splits into a tentative smile. “Really? You’d do that for me?” 

The tension lining his broad shoulders eases, taking on a lopsided grin. “Well. Well you’d have to pay me. I’m not a charity out here, kid. But. Maybe I can get you a friendship discount.”

“We can wait till the boots are done to fly,” Phil offers. “There will be another windless day.” But Tommy clutches his potion. Now. He needs to do it now, when hope still hums in his chest. He can do whatever he has to for it to be easier for himself, not get overwhelmed with shame and loathing and refuse to ever make it better. 

And if what it takes for him to fly is a potion clutched for dear life, is large black wings that aren’t his own spreading out, is his face buried in the crook of Phil’s neck so he doesn’t have to see, then all that means is Tommy is flying. Maybe not the way he’s meant to, but the only way he can. Maybe it’s enough. 

He screams with the first swoop, clawing into Philza for safety. Strong arms press him closer to Philza’s chest, reassuring in their tight hold. The nascent reverberations of a coo Philza bites down rumbles in the throat Tommy’s tucked into, instinctively weakening his coiled tension. The flight smooths into a gentle glide, the plummet of Tommy’s gut vanishing. Only the wind tearing past assures him of their movement. 

He knows they can’t be falling, but he can’t shake the thought. Scared, he pries open a eye. Unlike the tower, the ground isn’t rushing up to shatter him. Icy waves scroll past slowly beneath them, almost still. Sunlight glitters across glaciers, burning in radiant streaks. The tranquil arctic sea is starkly incongruous with the terror ebbing in his chest. His urgent nightmares give way to new peaceful memories, the spark of fear unable to catch. Tommy’s death grip on the potion eases from its white-knuckled terror. 

It hasn’t been long enough when they’ve crossed the bay, Phil coming to a careful stop on an outcropping. There’s an awkward moment as Phil tries to set him down and Tommy still clings on. As cold as it is Tommy doesn’t mind being tucked underwing. 

“Alright, check in time. How was the glide? Do you want to try more compli- oh- oh mate,” Philza says in a soft, fragile way as he finally catches a look at Tommy. He bends slightly till they’re face to face, carefully brushing away blossoming tears. Tommy wants to shove him away, pretend it was the wind. But it feels so nice to sink into the warm, calloused palm cupping his cheek. “This cliff connects to the mainland if you’d prefer to walk back. We can try again later. Or never. Whatever you need…” 

Tommy shakes his head, dismissing his worries. “I didn’t know how much I missed it.” 

Philza’s smile is a mixed thing, half relief half heartbreak. “Flying should’ve never been taken from you. But before long your new primaries will come in and you’ll be able to soar on your own.” Before the thought had filled him with dread, but the memory of wind gushing through his feathers dulls the edge of his insecurities. One day he’ll have feathers his abuser never touched. 

On the return flight Tommy doesn’t need to hide, instead facing outward like Phil initially planned. Probably more aerodynamic that way, and it gives him a better view. Tommy’s wings scrunch up, trying not to get in the way of Philza. The flight is rougher than the glide, Philza flapping quickly to gain upward momentum. Tommy’s gut swoops, but the ascension is so unlike his plummet, a controlled and triumphant race towards the heavens. The arms wrapped around his midriff are secure and not for a second does he imagine falling. The shift of Philza’s muscles against his back with each beat of his wings almost feels like his own strain against the wind, almost feels like his own wings. He finds himself tensing in the pattern of it, echoing Philza’s minute adjustments to the wind current. 

Tommy’s wings instinctively begin to spread. They’re so ragged and ugly compared to Philza’s sleek ebony plumage. Mud colored, his abuser teased once. But in the streaks of close sunlight they glow with auburns and golds, the white undersides softer than the surrounding clouds. They wobble slightly as wind buffets the pair, and quickly Tommy straightens out fully, hesitance forgotten. As air slips through his feathers something wakens in him. It feels right in a way so little has recently. 

Philza caws at him, subtly rocking, and Tommy leans into it, copying the tilt of his wings as they arc into a loose gyre. Tommy grins as he earns an approving coo, dutifully mimicking Philza’s exaggerated, coached movements. He flaps, Tommy’s wings awkwardly crashing into his the first few times till he gets in rhythm, the pair climbing higher into the azure. Perhaps for Philza it feels like teaching, but for Tommy it feels like remembering. All the little instinctive details he’d forgotten, all rushing back like they’d never left, like an old nostalgic song he’d thought he forgot the lyrics to until he heard the tune again. His own short wings stretch out beneath Philza’s massive black ones, flapping and angling to match. It’s as if they become one. 

An elated chirp bursts out of Tommy, and for once he doesn’t slam his hands over his mouth. It doesn’t overwhelm him, this joy, doesn’t rob him of his senses. It feels like laughter, something drawn out, not forced upon him. A wild, booming caw explodes from Philza in response, vibrating deep in the chest Tommy is flush against. Tommy is delighted to discover his vibrant, bubbly chirps are prettier than Philza’s raspy caws, though they surely hold no less enthusiasm. Suddenly it makes sense why they’re always so loud and ear-piercing. Words are only whipped away in the rush of the wind. The pair twitter back and forth, less a language and more intuition and tone. It feels like pure joy. 

Their descent is slow and winding, Philza careful to avoid anything resembling a dive or swoop. He’s disappointed when they finally land at the first cliff. It’s dizzying to go from feeling like the wind itself to be standing on firm ground once again. Unconsciously Tommy’s wings flare out, echoing the memory of freedom still ringing in his head. The careful angling for aerodynamics, adjusting to currents of wind. He steps back towards the cliff, tensing as if to launch once more. 

A hand lands on his shoulder, and Tommy blinks. “Hold on, I need a break first.” Phil smiles at the impatience in his eyes.

“Tired old man! I bet I’ll be an even faster flier than you. I’ll leave you in the dust.” Tommy puffs up his chest, but mischief suddenly dances in Philza’s eyes, and Tommy huffs. “What’s so fun-”

“BOO!” Techno shouts, jabbing Tommy in his soft sides. The boy shrieks, feathers fluffing up as he’s seized and lifted into the air. He thrashes and flaps wildly, but the piglin’s long arms prevent retaliation. 

“OOOOOH I’M GOING TO STAB YOU. YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW MUCH I’M GOING TO STAB YOU.” Tommy smirks in satisfaction as his wing bashes Techno in the snout. It falters as Techno swings him around and around until the world blurs. Tommy stumbles as he’s set down, then leans against Techno as he tries to overcome the vertigo. “There, now I got my turn flying you. I’m sure it was the exact same deeply bonding experience you just had with Phil. I’m guessing it worked?” 

“It was fantastic!” Tommy enthuses, stretching his wings out. 

“I meant the hatchling thing. Like, you didn’t freeze up when I spooked you.”

“Oh.” Tommy had…kinda forgotten about that part. “...maybe?” He catches himself and jerks his head up. “Actually, since I have no possible way of knowing we’ll just have to go on a bunch more flights. You know. Just in case. You never can be sure with these things.” 

Philza chuckles and tucks him neatly underwing, pulling him close. “Oh yes, really cement the milestone to your instincts.”

Tommy laughs as Philza scuffs up his hair, batting him away. “Oi! Don’t mess with the Tommy Charm™!” When meticulously fixing his locks, he freezes as his fingers encounter a foreign object. He slowly pulls out one of Philza’s feathers from where it had accidentally gotten lodged in his hair. He runs his finger along the vane, watching dark barbs ripple, iridescence catching the light in flashes of indigos and wines. 

Philza goes a little rigid. “Ah- sorry mate, didn’t mean to shed on you.” He reaches for the feather, but Tommy is mesmerized by it, flicking the edges so the barbs part then preening them back into smooth completion. 

“Can I keep it?” he asks before he quite plans to. He doesn’t mean to, knows he’s only getting Phil’s hope up. He wants to shove it back in his mouth. He doesn’t. 

“Y-yeah. Sure mate. If you want to.” Phil barely clamps down on bursting euphoria, trying to be as calm and nonchalant as possible. In avian culture, wearing another’s feathers is a promise to carry the person as safely as their own two wings. Hadn’t Philza already done that? Hadn’t he already promised to always? He’s so, so ready to be family, but even if Tommy is painfully aware of it, Philza never intentionally pressures him. He’s just…allowed to take things at his own speed. Tommy doesn’t slip the feather behind his ear, but he doesn’t let go of it, either. That night he tucks it next to a picture of the three of them. It doesn’t feel overwhelming, more like a gentle promise for when he’s ready for it. 

And one day he will be. Not now, though. Not when some small panicked creature in him wants to bolt at the thought of wearing Philza’s feathers, let alone how he feels about his own. 

But one day he’ll wear both their feathers with pride. 

Fin.

[parkerpeter24]

bloody love . part 4

pairing ➳ peter parker x reader

warnings ➳ hanahaki!au, angst, fluff too this time 🥰 a happy ending (maybe)

w.c. ➳ 2.2k

summary ➳ maybe. just maybe love doesn’t kill.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

peter knew now. he didn’t know what to do with the information but he knew.

he hoped you didn’t know that he knew. so he walked into the hallway of midtown high as if nothing happened last night.

as if it was another day.

as if his whole world was not collapsing.

you were cautious around him after that night. he noticed it every time the two of you hung out– if that’s what anyone could call it. but he was thankful that you had at least started getting lunch everyday along with him and ned, just like before.

however, you were almost formal. like you didn’t even know him even though he was still the silly boy who bought your favourite milkshake for you and made corny star wars jokes.

“don’t you think it’s a little too cold now for milkshake?” you asked him, almost letting out a laugh as he placed two of the familiar little milkshake cartons in front of you.

“it never stopped you before.” he gave you an almost challenging look, finally breaking your hard exterior, making you let out a small laugh.

ned couldn’t stop the adoring smile that made way to his lips, sitting across from the two of you. peter had told him the detailed account of everything the second he found out you passed up on that surgery. he just couldn’t keep it all in anymore. ned was the saviour he needed then. but now, peter had to kick him under the table, making that smile disappear off his face.

peter hoped you would tell him one day that you decided to not get surgery for your condition. but then again, would he tell you about his?

he wasn’t sure even one bit.

why were feelings so complicated all the time. he wanted to just ask to talk to you in private but everytime he was around you, he could find words scarce. peter parker, the guy who scored perfect a’s in language, found it hard to talk in front of you.

he was thankful that you hadn’t completely pushed him away because some nights he would still visit your balcony, keeping an ear out just in case your mom’s footsteps neared your room, and the two of you would just watch the few visible stars.

it was the little sneeze that made peter wrap his arm securely around your shoulder, “everything okay?”

you rubbed your nose slightly, “i’m sure it was the milkshake.”

you could almost see the outline of his thin lips through his mask as he pressed them together, “i’m sorry, i was kinda second guessing it too.”

“it’s fine.” you shrugged, hoping you wouldn’t catch a cold.

“it was actually stupid of me, to be honest, i’m sorry-”

“it’s fine, peter.” you tried to assure him but he didn’t seem convinced. you could tell by the way he exhaled, the cold air turning it into a small cloud of mist.

“but i-”

“you don’t have to keep apologising.” you added, cutting him off again.

“but i hurt you.” he suddenly let out, voice almost a whisper.”

“so did i, to you.”

peter swore his heart stopped beating for a few seconds. he knew he was bad at keeping a secret but was he this bad? how could you have found out about his condition? he was discreet and it had been some time since he felt his breath clog up due to those goddamn flowers, “-huh?” was all he could let out.

“you know, how i ignored you for so long?” your voice was as soft as his had been a minute ago, “i was a shitty friend to you, not the other way around.”

“that’s not-”

“no, i was selfish.” you looked up at him, finding the same pattern of web-like structure. it was almost disappointing to see his face so close but not actually seeing his face. you took his hand and carefully tugged on it, “let’s go inside.”

peter followed without another word even if he’d wanted to stop you from talking about yourself like that. he took off his mask the second you closed the curtains. thankful that you didn’t have to ask him to do so, you sat onto the edge of your bed and so did he, following persuit.

it was after a few minutes of silence that peter spoke up, finally finding the right words to say, “you did what you had to. i’m not upset.”

“you have every right to be upset…” you stared at the floor, “it’s none of my business if you and gwen-”

“there’s nothing.” peter cut you off, shifting so that he was facing you, his knees brushing against your thigh, “between me and gwen, i mean.”

your eyebrows were pulled together when you looked at him, “i thought…”

“that was the past. i- i didn’t… nothing happened.”

“oh.”

the silence ensued again, the only sounds in the room being the steady breathing of you and peter. you searched your brain for anything else that you could talk about next but nothing came to mind.

“would you like to go to ned’s christmas party with me?” peter mumbled out, breaking the silence once again.

“he’s having a christmas party?” a faint smile came over your features despite the fact that you weren’t already invited to said party, “sounds nice.”

peter smiled in return leaning in to kiss your forehead. you blinked in surprise as his lips lingered over your skin for a second more. not wanting to read too much into it, you pulled back, “uhm... so, it’s getting late.”

you felt the need to hide your face from peter as the warmth spread through your cheeks.

“right.” peter mumbled before he shuffled off your bed and put his mask, “i’ll see you tomorrow?”

“you will.” you confirmed, opening the window for him to climb out.

your gaze followed him until he disappeared into the cold night of new york.

it was half past midnight when peter climbed through his window, into his own room. the first thing he did was call ned. his best friend answered in a groggy voice from just being woken up, “peter? what’s wrong?”

“ned. you need to host a christmas party.”

–––

“she’s heard every michael bublé christmas song ever.” peter grinned as he looked at you, in his overly christmas-y sweater with santa’s laughing face on it. he held a cup of hot chocolate in his hands because ned’s lola wouldn’t let any of you make eggnog.

“they’re just all too good.” you shrugged, sitting down on the couch.

when peter said a christmas party, you thought the house would be filled with people and the smell of baked goods. but when peter opened the door for you, the only lights you could see were the ones in the living room area, above the led tv which showcased the movie “jingle all the way” paused on the screen.

you greeted ned with a hug and gave him the plum cake you mom had made.

the three of you talked and had one too many hot chocolates and before you know it was time to go home and peter was offering to walk you home.

you walked in silence, looking around at the snow glazed grass.

“thanks for inviting me to the christmas party.” you mumbled as you neared your apartment building.

“thanks for coming. it wouldn’t have been a christmas party without you.” peter remarked, making you laugh and nod in agreement.

“actually, without your sweater, it wouldn’t have been a christmas party.” you chuckled, and so did he as he felt you tug at the sleeve of his oversized sweater.

he sighed in what felt like comfort. you looked at his face for a second before your eyes met and peter gulped, finding the courage to utter the next words that he’d been waiting to say the whole evening, “i uh… i-i brought something.”

you could feel the nervousness swimming in his eyes as you nodded for him to show what it was.

peter dug into his pocket and pulled out a small leaf. you eyed the unmistakable plant and then your eyes flickered to the brown ones that were already staring at yours.

“it’s um… a mistletoe plant… well it was a plant, now it’s just a leaf.” he gave out a nervous chuckle, “but we don’t have to-”

the leaf fell onto the tar of the road when peter had to hold onto the back of your neck. your lips were slow against his and his other arm went around your waist when you pushed yourself against him. peter felt the few snowflakes pause in the air as the world stopped– or maybe it was just his breath– but he didn’t waste a second in kissing you back with the same passion.

you pulled back reluctantly, finding yourself on the tip of your toes and breath short. it didn’t matter. nothing else mattered when peter pushed his forehead against yours, making you get back onto your heels.

peter leaned in again, fingers gently digging into the back of your head as he kissed you this time. your arms went around his shoulders as you held onto him. this one was more rushed than the last. his hand at the small of your back, pulling you closer to himself. when peter pulled back this time, he held you like this, looking into your eyes. it seemed as if you two had been slow dancing.

“i missed this.” he mumbled, making you laugh.

“we’ve never done this.”

“i know. that’s what i missed about it.” and he leaned in again, pressing his lips to yours for a third kiss.

you were so thankful that everyone was busy with their families, leaving the road completely empty of cars and passer-bys for you and peter to make out. you probably wouldn’t have found this amount of privacy in your own room, your cousins lounging in it together.

“i should go.” you mumbled quietly, sighing softly as you felt the phone vibrate in your jacket’s pocket, surely your mom’s call.

peter hummed but neither of you moved, “i can join you.”

you held his warm cheeks gently in your gloved hands, “my mom will chase you out of the building.”

“you’re worth it.”

you gave him a soft smile as he finally stood up straighter, though keeping his arm around your waist, “we have a lot to talk about…”

he nodded in agreement, “we do… and i’m ready whenever you are.”

–––

you’d texted him five minutes before you were knocking at his door. it was wednesday, so may was out all day on her hospital shift and it felt like the perfect time to talk to peter. clear up the air between you two and hopefully… kiss him some more.

it started in reverse order.

you had been in his room for all of three seconds before the consequences of not seeing each other for two whole days came up. peter was holding your face gently, his lips pressed to yours as you two shared small kisses. your hands were on his arms as he guided the two of you to sit on the edge of his bed, “god, i missed you.” he mumbled, moving one hand to the back of your neck.

“missed you too.” you kissed him again, pushing gently so the two of you were laying down beside each other.

peter looked into your eyes, running his thumb over your cheek, “i was so stupid. to not see what was in front of me all along.”

you shook your head, “i was more stupid. it would have been fine if i never caught feelings for-”

“y/n, i love you.”

your eyes snapped up to his, a warm feeling was blossoming in your chest, unakin to the other times. these blossoms felt different, “you…”

“i should have said it before. before you went away.”

you looked down at that, not knowing that the brunette already knew what was going through your mind. he held your chin between his thumb and index, making you look at him, and you gulped, “peter i…”

“you never got the surgery.” yet again your eyes snapped up to meet his soft, brown ones, “i heard you… talking to your mom.”

“oh.” was all you could utter, not knowing what else to say, “so then…”

“there’s something you should know too.” peter sighed, cutting you off mid sentence and sitting up, making you follow suit, “i… got it too.”

your eyebrows furrowed, “the flowers?”

he nodded once, closing his eyes.

“when…?”

“months back… same time you left. i didn’t know what to say then.” he sighed, shifting so that he was closer to you again, “i know what to say now. i love you.”

you smiled softly, “you did not just quote star wars.”

“the fact that you remember it makes me love you more.” peter let out a laugh, pressing his forehead against yours.

you leaned in, capturing his lips in a soft kiss.

“promise me something.”

“what?”

“no more flowers.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist (been a while, feel free to ignore): @the-girl-in-the-chair @annathesillyfriend @uwiuwi @spideyspeaches @prancerrparkerr @usergarfields @theglitterymess @quaksonhehe @starlight-starks @piscesparker @incorrectsourwolf @wildxwidow @annab-nana @kelieah @arvinsvintage @parkersdahlia @raajali3 @tommyfroggie @ellabellabus07 @holland-styles @1-800-starkindustrie @feariteriu @wittlewowa @20forty9 @skepticalleo

[angelosearch]

Be brave.

Some Chaos Theory art I commissioned from @thornart (Insta: thorlincorn)

I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS!!! It was such a cool process bringing an iconic scene from my alternate timeline FFVIII fic to life! This scene is from the end of Part 3: Spontaneous Order | Trust Falls if you are curious why Rinoa is in a Galbadian soldier uniform! The scene itself is under the cut!

Thank you to thornart for this amazing work!! I knew I wanted to commission something special when I completed Chaos Theory and then I saw your Locked Tomb fan art and... well, here we are!

The building began to shake violently. There was the distinct sound of engines activating.

They were digging out the drill.

“Come on!” Squall yelled to Rinoa as he started up the stairs again.

A mass of Moombas and prisoners was following them again. At this point, the momentum of the escapees was too great—soldiers were being swept up and consumed by the wave.

The Spiral was designed so in the event of a catastrophic security failure, the drill could raise the building up high enough to prevent escape.

The drill was already a few stories high when Rinoa and Squall arrived on the top of the north drill. Massive drill structures rotated aggressively, kicking up a nearly opaque cloud of dust and expelling an earsplitting whirring.

Squall was horrified to realize that unburying the drill did nothing to deter escape. Dozens of desperate and broken prisoners sentenced to life in D-District prison tossed their bodies off the platform and into the unknown waiting for them on the other end of the dust cloud—if their bodies didn’t get caught on the drills.  

“What do we do?” Rinoa screamed over the grating sound of the twisting drills.

Squall looked back at the entrance they had just come out of. It was swarmed with bodies trying to get their shot at freedom, whether that freedom be in this life or another. They were not going to get back down there.

“Do you have any float spells?” Squall called out.

“A few.”

“Rinoa, we have to jump,” Squall couldn’t see much, but he could see the panic wash over Rinoa’s face. “We have to jump before we get any higher.”

She shook her head several times.

“We don’t have a choice. Just cast float, it might break our fall.”

“IT MIGHT?!”

Squall walked to the edge of the platform. Rinoa walked up beside him, looked over, and cried.

“I can’t, I can’t!”

Through the cyclone of dirt, Squall could just barely see the ground, which was getting further and further with every second. He looked over at Rinoa, who had turned away and was holding herself, terrified.

In the last decade of his life, his only method of fighting fear was ignoring the feeling and pushing forward anyway. But it wasn’t always that way. He was always a fearful little kid. He cried, he hid, he avoided. Ellone was the only person who could get him to stare down what he was afraid of. She would stand by his side and remind him he could do it. Back then, her love was the sword he used to keep the demons at bay.

Squall removed his gloves, walked up to Rinoa, and offered her his hand.

She looked at him with apprehension.

“When I used to get scared… Ellone always held my hand. You can do this, Rinoa. We’ll do this… together.”

Rinoa bit her lip. She squinted her eyes shut and slapped her hand into Squall’s.

“Okay…”

Squall walked them carefully back to the ledge. He did not like how high up they were now, but they had no options.

“Alright, on the count of three, we’re going to jump, and once we’re in the air, you need to cast float, okay?”

Rinoa did not open her eyes but fiercely nodded her head.

Squall gripped tightly on Rinoa’s hand. He found himself squeezing his eyes shut as well.

“One, two, three…!”

Be brave.

The two teens leaped from the Spiral and disappeared into the veil of sand.