#an unshakable sense of foreboding

[m4g0rtz]

Today's polish is one I like a lot and didn't realize I had dupes of in my collection already here and here. Once I got in on my nails though I thought, Hmmm that looks familiar. 😂🤦🏻‍♀️I really love how the green shimmer stands out against the dark blue jelly base. And in the sun, when you can see those reflective glitters twinkle? Perfection. This is An Unshakable Sense of Foreboding from Lurid Lacquer.

[obliviouscxnt]

Home Azriel x Reader

a/n: forewarning I'm a firm believer in things getting worse before they get better. I hope you enjoy!:)))

synopsis: azriel has to resort to desperate measures in order to ensure your safety

Warnings: SA, depictions of RAPE, angst, violence, minor fluff

5.3k words

pt.1 | pt.2

The feeling was unshakable, those hands grabbing you, forcing you into the darkness. The freezing cold void of absolutely nothing and everything all at once. 

It’d been a day since the incident, the bruises and scratches on your body were already healing, getting better by the second. 

You hadn’t felt anything since then, no presence in the corner of your mind, no eyes on you, just silence. 

You didn’t know why its absence brought you no comfort. Why it made you feel worse. Like your body was trying to warn you about something your mind hadn’t caught up with yet. 

However, that was the last thing you wanted to think about as you lay beside Azriel’s form. Listening to his soft heartbeat. Letting the rhythm soothe you into a state of calm. 

You were so tired, you just needed a little bit of sleep, to rejuvenate your brain.  And if you had any hope of avoiding that nightmare you had to keep it far out of your thoughts. Distract your mind with other things. Conjure a nice dream for yourself. A dream about you and the shadowsinger. 

A dream where the two of you could just exist together. With no worries, no foreboding feelings in your hearts, just you and him, and your family, and happiness. 

Slowly that disturbed twisting feeling of unease faded away, and you closed your eyes. Ready for sleep to take you away.

Then it rushed you. 

Darting out from whatever crevice it had been lurking in. Invading your mind, taking hold of your senses. 

It tore apart your dream, cracked open your fabrication, and sent a shockwave through your system. It felt like the magic under your skin flinched. 

You gasp, eyes snapping open as you sit up. 

You feel Azriel’s hands on your shoulders, then you see his face in front of yours. Hazel eyes darkened with worry. 

It had been hiding from you, waiting for you to let your guard down. Waiting for the perfect opportunity to grab you and pull you into its never-ending darkness. 

It snapped your dream world in half. 

You shiver. 

“I don’t know what to do.” You confess to him. “It’s like it has a mind of its own.” 

Azriel’s hands grip you tighter and pull you into his chest. His wings cocooning you. “We’ll go see the sisters first thing in the morning. You can give it back to Elaine. Let her deal with it.” 

You swallow. Knowing that wasn’t an option. It would destroy her. And in turn, destroy Feyre. 

He reads your face. “You think you need to keep it? That because of your abilities you have some obligation to? You don’t. What if your abilities make it worse? At least, with Elaine it can’t take form.” 

You don’t voice your thoughts, you can’t fight with him. 

You don’t say that it would eat the newly turned Fae alive in her fragile state. Pick away at her mind until there was nothing left. That you at least had a fighting chance against it, even if you hadn’t quite figured that part out yet.

But you don’t need to say anything, not when he could see it all in your eyes. The shadowsinger sighed, so frustrated, so powerless, he wanted to do so much more, wanted to ease your stress, but he didn’t know how other than by being with you. Offering you his support.

It didn’t feel like nearly enough. 

He held you the rest of the night. 

*****

You’d abandoned sleep. Until you could find a way to counter this thing, to keep it caged, you would stay awake. 

You were very experienced in nightmares, probably the most experienced. You could manifest the perfect nightmare for any person, reduce the finest warrior into a sniveling coward at your feet. But you’d never taken somebody's nightmare before. Never had to hide from someone else’s fears.  

Even if you wanted to give it back to Elaine, you wouldn’t know the first thing to do. It was very different than twisting someone’s fears. 

So for the past week, you’d been doing research. Re-reading those books from Helion, scouring the library for anything else that mentioned dreams, nightmares, or the subconscious. When your brain needed a break from words you trained your body. Joining Cassian from time to time. 

The training backfired miserably, making you more tired, body aching with fatigue every hour, minute, and second of the day. 

But you couldn’t sleep, couldn’t go in that cauldron again. Not when it could hold you there. Keep you from waking. And even though Rhys had started sleeping at the House of Wind to ensure that you wouldn’t be trapped, you couldn’t risk it. 

You didn’t know if it would continue to attack you, like normal nightmares did, you had no way of knowing what its next move would be. It didn’t act like anything you’d encountered before. 

It could attack someone else next time, attack Azriel. 

That thought alone was enough to keep you awake for the past week. 

But with each passing day, keeping your eyes open got harder and harder. 

“You can’t let this continue.” 

Azriel hadn’t even noticed his brother’s presence. You’d taken all of his focus, diminished the spymaster to a man who couldn’t even hear Cassian’s footsteps. Which were not at all quiet.

The two Illyrians watch you from the library doorway. You sat with a multitude of books scattered around you, the one you were currently reading almost wider than the length of your hand and you were already halfway through. They watch your eyelids slowly fall, watch you try to fight it by blinking rapidly and shaking your head. 

Azriel was in full agreement with Cassian. This couldn’t go on.

Azriel feels hopeful when your eyes finally close, you’re head falling back against the sofa cushion. He holds his breath as he waits for you to sink deeper into sleep, not daring to make a sound in fear of startling you awake. But you shoot up a moment later.

Eyes flying open as you grab the couch like you had to catch yourself from falling. Head snapping to and fro as you frantically search for something that isn’t there. Harshly rubbing the sleep from your eyes over and over, but it only makes your eyes burn with a fire that could only be sated by letting them shut. 

In a moment of desperation, you grip your wrist, letting the sharp claws dig into your arm. Repressing the sleep in your system with pain.

Your hand is snatched away.

“Stop!” Azriel yells panicked. Watching as blood began to drip down your arm. “Fuck. Cassian can you-“ 

His brother was already handing him a first aid kit.

The sounds of shaky breaths and ruffling bandages fill the room. You don’t look at him as he wraps your arm, so mortified, so embarrassed he had to see you this way. That anyone could see you this way. So weak.

He grabs your jaw, forcing you to look him in the eyes. He’s not rough, but he’s not gentle either. So much emotion filled his face. 

So much worry, and love, and sadness. 

Then his eyes harden. “You need to sleep.” You try to shake your head but can't with his grip on you. “It’s not a suggestion.” 

Tears fill your eyes. No. You can’t. Not when you knew it was salivating at the thought. If it managed to kill you in your sleep, only the Gods knew what could happen. If that horror would be unleashed on the world. 

You couldn’t risk it. You wouldn’t. 

At first, the shadowsinger was torn on what to do. He couldn’t bear the thought of ordering you to suffer. Still can’t. But you were suffering anyway. He couldn’t watch you deteriorate anymore. 

He would sacrifice your trust in him if it meant you were healthy.

 

*****

Dinner was quiet, Rhys and Amren were busy. So that left you, Azriel, Mor, and Cassian. The Acheron sisters ate in their rooms and kept to themselves, though you had seen the older sister a few times. She joined you in the library every once in a while. She never spoke, never looked your way, but she stayed.

“You look like shit.” Mor had said when she saw you, slapping a hand over her mouth as if realizing she spoke aloud. Leave it to Mor to speak the truth.

“Gee, thanks.” You replied, wanting to send her a smile to let her know you didn’t take it to heart but could only find the energy to slide ungracefully into the chair next to her. 

Mor turns to you, forgetting her full plate of food. “Gods, look at you!” You tense as she reaches for your face, fingers brushing the bags under her eyes. Her touch made sleep slowly enter your system again. “Why are you doing this to yourself?” She asks as if she didn’t know the answer to that question. Which she most certainly did. 

You don’t have it in you to say anything so instead you start shoveling the tasteless food in your mouth. Forcing yourself to swallow it even though it felt like you were chewing chalk. 

“You know we’re here for you, don’t you?” She continued, and the food became increasingly hard to swallow with every word she spoke. “You don’t have to fight this alone, it wasn’t even your battle to begin with.” 

Your heart drops at her words. Not your battle? 

That’s right, this all started with your selfish need to feel useful. So you wouldn’t have to lay around like a weakling. All you did was make everything worse. Of course, you did.  

You reach for your water when you feel the food start to rise back up. The water doesn’t help. Your whole body starts to feel clammy, and your head starts to spin. 

So you pause leaning back to take a few slow deep breaths through your nose, swallowing the spit that didn’t stop gathering in your mouth.

“Feyre would hate to see you like this.” 

Those words were the final blow.

You jump from your seat, hand on your mouth as you dash out of the dining room. Running for the nearest bin, the house seemed to hear your inner pleas because a bucket was waiting for you in the hallway. You fell to your knees in front of it. Too busy hurling up all the food you just ate to cry out at the pain of your kneecaps slamming into the stone floor.

You feel his warm gentle hands on you. Softly rubbing your back, and pulling away your hair. Waiting patiently for you to finish heaving. 

When you could breathe without gagging you leaned into him, letting him wipe your face with his sleeve. Ruining the fine shirt he wore. “Can you call Madja? Tell her I need another tonic?” 

The little shots of energy that’d kept you standing the last two days, were all you could think of. You needed them before it was too late. Before a week's worth of sleep could catch up on you. 

Before that thing was free to roam.

Azriel looks to Cassian, expression grim, and he nods. The general was rushing off the next second. You hope he’s getting Madja.

A moment later Cassian was running back over and crouching beside you, pushing a glass of water in your hands.  You wanted to protest, remembering how the water hadn’t helped just moments before, but Azriel takes the cup and puts it to your lips. 

“Drink.” You comply. He tilts the cup up and up and up until you drink the final drop. “There you go.” He whispers, setting the cup aside so both of his hands are free to soothe over your body. “That’s it.” 

The effect was swift. 

That magic that was always writhing under your skin begins to slow.  It’s vibrating energy dying out. Until it wasn't even a tingle.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, and your heart dropped. What did he do?

Your head becomes foggy, and your body is no longer your own. You can’t fight it as you slump back, can’t do a single thing when your eyes fall shut, can’t even think as your brain powers off. 

All you could do was sleep.

Azriel holds you close to him, lip curling at the smell of your fear permeating through the air. “I’m sorry.” He whispered again, though he knew you couldn’t hear him now. 

“It will work,” Mor said from where she leaned against the wall, watching you with a solemn look on her face. She, along with everyone else in the inner circle, was on board with the idea the moment Madja brought it up earlier in the week.

“It better.” He was reluctant until today, until he watched you hurt yourself. The fact that you couldn’t keep your food down was the cherry topper.

Azriel just hoped the Faebane in your system would last longer than the sleeping tonic.

The drug succeeded in quelling your magic, succeeded in its purpose of ridding your mind of that awful thing. But it also succeeded in other things. 

Without your magic, you were unable to conjure a happy dream for yourself. 

Leaving you trapped in your very own nightmare. 

*****

Your mother smiled with pride as she adjusted your hair. “Every male will want you.” Your whole life had led up to this moment, everything you had been taught was for this night. The night a male would choose you. 

The night you would submit. 

 So why weren’t you excited? 

“Stop that frowning. It’s unsightly.” Your mother leads you to a mirror. A pressure settles on your chest when you look at yourself. 

The sheer white gown did nothing to hide your body. Giving anyone who looked a full view of what was underneath. Your face was painted, your skin shaved and silky—glowing from whatever substance she’d lathered on you—and your wings were spread wide, fluttering at a pace that made every intricate design viewable. 

Your mother looked the happiest you’d ever seen her. The expression uncanny on her. “They won’t be able to keep their hands off you.” 

You felt something inside you twist at the thought. 

“Mother?” You say before you can think better of it. She meets your eyes through the mirror. She looked at you like you were a trophy, an object to be displayed not loved. Not that you ever knew the difference.

I don’t want to do this. 

The words were right there. At the forefront of your mind. All you had to do was give them a voice. 

But it was like your lips were wired shut. Your mouth doesn’t move, your voice doesn’t work. You say nothing. 

It wouldn’t have mattered if you had anyway. You didn’t have a choice, you never did.  “Don’t worry, child, none of the others can compare with your beauty. You will not be left unpicked.” 

Her words brought you no solace. 

You hold your chin high, as she leads you out of the hut and toward the growing horde. You make sure you stand straight, shoulders squared like you had been taught. Make sure your hips swayed just slightly, just enough to keep their attention like your mother had shown you. 

Make sure your teeth don’t grit, and your legs don’t shake. Make sure your wings don’t twitch, and your smile doesn’t fall.

Your mother parades you around for every male to see. Laughing at some of the comments they made, insinuating banter between the rowdy ones, reveling in the way they fought over you. 

With each laugh, each yell, each claim made upon you that pressure in your chest grew. Except it wasn’t just in your chest now, it was in your stomach, and in your head, and under your skin.

Your wings folded subconsciously, making your mother sink her sharp claws into your wrist. Not enough to bleed, she wouldn’t ruin all her work, but enough to hurt. Enough to make your wings snap back open. 

Is this really it?

The feeling gets worse when she leads you toward the other women, and then it doubles when she leaves to sit with the onlookers. Not so much as a goodbye, or even a second glance as she walks away. 

Your heart pounds as you blend yourself in with the sea of white. 

Maneuvering through the women was easy, each and every one of them was silent, tense, and scared. You try not to look at their faces for too long, didn’t want to be able to notice which ones were missing once everything was over. 

It wasn’t uncommon for males to lose themselves to the night, last year seven woman were found dead. Brutalized.

You swallow, heart beating so loud, so fast, it’s all you can hear. It drowns everything out. 

I don’t want to do this. 

You don’t hear the horn blow. You only know it did when everyone around you began heading through the woodline. You almost trip over yourself as you dash forward. You had to run. You had to hide before the second horn blew. You had to make it till dawn. 

Your bare feet don’t feel the sharp rocks and sticks that stab into them. Adrenaline fills your body, pumping through your blood, and muscles. Blocking out the pain.

The shimmering barrier is what makes you come to a stop. You’d never seen them before, the wards that kept your community safe, but there was no denying it. That wall of energy was where your colony ended.  

Beyond it, death was inevitable. 

There was no hope in flying, male wings are much different from females. Stiffer, sharper, stronger, the males would always be superior in the sky. 

So you stay on the ground hiding in a nearby thicket just on the edge of the wards. Arms hugging your knees to your panting chest, making yourself as small as possible. 

 You hoped nobody would search this far. But you knew the males in your community. They stop at nothing and do anything to get what they want.  

When a distant scream echoed through the woods you knew you’d missed the second horn. The males were already hunting. 

You hold yourself tighter, trying to force slow breaths in your nose and out of your mouth. Frantically trying to slow down your palpitating heart. But it felt like you weren’t getting air. Your whole body was shivering from the adrenaline, that pressure still building. 

You would get found by the sound of your breathing if you kept it up.  

“No! Ple-!” Your head snaps in the direction of the scream, much closer than the other one. You try not to think about how it cut off so suddenly, about what could’ve happened to her. What could’ve made her object to a male.

You just need to make it till dawn. Just need to keep hiding. For six more hours. 

It was hopeless, there wasn’t nearly enough ground to give the women a fighting chance. The men greatly outnumber the women, making the former even more desperate, even more competitive.

Where was the fun if everyone had a chance at winning?

No, they had to yearn for it. It was what made the Ritual work. 

Your head falls to your knees. 

You don’t want to end up like your mother.

Three years ago your father had grown tired of her, he participated in that year’s Flowering and never spoke to either of you again. As your mother is far from pure, she can not be used in the ceremonies. Instead, she was made a community whore. 

A female for the pent up males who had no luck on Flowering to fuck as they please. 

Your mother always said it was necessary. That all the things your people did, there were reasons for.  

That Flowering Night was a gift, it provided the magic that grew our blooms. The blooms that supplied our only food source. Nectar. 

Of course, you believed her, you’d never known any reason not to. The Middle wasn’t a resourceful place. It was too dangerous to send hunters beyond the wards, and there weren’t even any animals to hunt. Only other monsters. And even they weren’t worth hunting. Bodies usually emaciated with no meat on their bones if any at all. 

It was necessary, but that didn’t mean you wanted to do it. 

You wouldn’t know until much later that your people were just addicts. That hunting wasn’t an impossible thing, not when they had wings. That they could’ve flown to the Day Court to hunt, or even the Winter Court, but they chose not to. Because nothing could ever compare to their precious Nectar. 

Snap. 

Your blood runs cold as an older male sniffs around. Fifteen feet from you. His hard wings make a low buzz as they vibrate against each other with frustration.

The male was a brute, muscle stacked upon bulging muscle. 

You hold your breath as he slowly gets closer, the buzz becoming louder. If he caught your scent, no amount of shrubbery could keep him from finding you. 

He gets closer, and your heart pounds faster. That pressure you feel under your skin now throbbing. Pulsating.

He’s almost ten feet away, if he got any closer he’d undoubtedly smell the fear that left your body in waves.

White dots started filling your vision. You fight with your body to hold it. 

A blessing came in the form of a scream, this one even closer than the last. Your throat constricts trying to force air into your system. Your teeth ache from how tightly you clench your jaw.

The male started in that direction. Your throat burned, your head pounding. 

Just a second more.

But you couldn’t stop yourself from gasping for air. 

The male stops. Then he looks right at you.

You’d never known terror till that moment. 

*****WARNING: until the next scene change dark themes will be depicted such as rape and violence, if you do not wish to read proceed to the next “*****”

He pounced, dragging you out of the bushes by the base of your wings. Even though you don’t struggle.

He throws you to the ground, not wasting a second before straddling your thighs. Pinning down your legs. His hands grip the fabric of your gown, tearing it off your shoulder. You want to cover your body, but instead you lay still. Let him run his filthy hands over your breasts, let them squirm their way between your legs. 

You let him cause it’s all you’ve ever known. 

Even though your mind was screaming.

He is anything but gentle, forcing his way inside, digging around. You can’t stop the cry of pain that leaves you, the tears that fill your eyes, and he moans. Touch becoming rougher, harsher, trying to force another cry from you. 

The pain becomes worse when he adds more fingers, shoving his way though. 

Like he was trying to rip you open.

 His head buries into your shoulder. Sniffing and groaning in your ear. Rutting against you like a wild animal.

Then he bites down, and you scream. 

Your hands find his head and that pressure, that jerking energy under your skin devours him. 

The male collapses, body twitching on top of you. Teeth still embedded in your shoulder. You're stunned for a moment, but that's quickly replaced with revulsion.

Your arms shake with the effort it takes to roll him off of you. Whimpering when his teeth slowly leave your shoulder. 

His hands don't leave you, even though he was now out of reaching distance you could still feel them. Touching, grabbing, digging.

You feel nothing but disgust as you look at the male, watching him mumble, whine, and mewl in his unconscious state. You don’t even get the time to question it, to think about what happened. The heavy footsteps that head your way get closer by the second. 

I don’t want to do this. 

So you don’t. 

For once in your life you disregard all of your teachings. Every rule beaten into you. Each false instinct that’d burrowed into your body. And you run.  

Right past the wards. 

Because you’d rather die than end up like your mother.

You run and you keep running until your lungs are stabbed with pain, until your legs give out from beneath you, and you crash to the ground.  

Your nails dig into the soil as you lay there. To breathe. To think. To cry. 

Maybe you could just wait here till dawn. Maybe then you could go back. Nobody would have to know you even left. 

But the chill of the crooked woods laugh at you. You hear the sound of old trees creaking in the wind, calling you foolish. 

You couldn’t go back, you’d attacked a male. There was nowhere for you now, just death.

Still, there was a senseless part of your brain that hoped this was all a wretched night terror. That any minute now you would wake up to your mom’s voice. And you would be in bed. And Flowering will have already passed. And you wouldn’t have went because your mom knew you didn’t want to. And she wouldn’t have wanted you to go through it either, because of how ruthless the males were. And your life would go on until the next year came around. And maybe then you would be ready. Maybe then you would have accepted it.

The other part of your brain was ready to be done with it all.

“[name]?” 

Your breath catches, unsteadily lifting yourself from the ground. You look around, searching for that familiar voice. 

 “Mother?” 

“[name], my child…” You see her. She was completely bare, something you were used to, her beauty a stark contrast to the spindly trees around her. She walks toward you crouching before you, you sob when she rests a soft hand on your cheek. So, so different from how she usually held you. Then she spoke in such a soft voice, a tone you’d never heard leave her mouth. “You looked so beautiful when you were screaming.” 

The next moment it felt like you were punched in the shoulder, a heat unlike any other burned your skin. You look down to see a blade sticking out of your chest, a shriveled-up hand attached. Not the smooth skin of your mother.

When you look back into your mother's eyes they were no longer hers. Replaced with a milky white that gleamed in the moonlight. The face no longer female or beautiful. It’s skin was stretched taught over its thin bones.

Then as it spoke again with a smile so wide, teeth so rotted, and breath so pungent you knew what it was. 

“Cry for me, child.” It said, sounding like a million different voices at once. 

A creature that preyed on the weak, found pleasure in the act of killing. It cannot be reasoned with, its only joy is to watch the life leave someone’s eyes. To watch people die a sad miserable death in the form of the ones they loved the most.

The Mymic.  

You scream, and it laughs. You scream louder as it twists the blade inside you and then drags. Ripping each nerve, muscle, and vein as slowly as possible. So you could feel each and every tear.

The creature howled in ecstasy as it tore into you, cutting you open endlessly. 

No one would save you, not this time. 

Nightmares don’t have happy endings. 

“So beautiful…” It sighed pulling the blade out of your chest only to play with the blood that pooled out, finger-painting your white gown red. 

*****

He couldn’t stand it, you were so still that Azriel had to keep making sure you were breathing. He holds you against him, unable to keep his hands from wandering, soothing you. Shadows doing the same. 

You’d been sleeping for two days straight. Madja kept assuring him and everyone else that you were okay. That it was a good thing, that your body was responding well to the tonic and catching up on the sleep it needed. 

The Faebane had cleaned out of your system after the first twenty-four hours. But no Hybern soldiers made any appearance, no evil king, not even a flicker in the fae lights.

His head leans against yours, watching your chest lift up and down. He moves a hand to rest there, watching it rise and fall. Finding comfort in the repetitive motion.

Maybe you weren’t made for him. Maybe the cauldron didn’t deem you mates. Maybe he didn’t care.

Azriel was content to just share something so real with you, so raw. 

A bond didn’t make what the two of you had any less intense. He didn’t need to be tethered to you to know what you were feeling. Didn’t need fate to tell him you were the love of his life. 

He’d always pick you.  

A small sound reaches his ears, he was so worried about you that he’d started having audio hallucinations. But then he heard it again, louder this time, and he knew it wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

Your breathing becomes irregular, another little noise leaving your parted lips. Azriel’s hands rub you soothingly. Waiting patiently for the sleep to fade from your body. Whispering when he could tell you were conscious enough to hear him. “Hey.” He drawls, making sure he's quiet. When you open your gorgeous eyes and look at him his heart stops. “There you are.” 

You blink at him. “You drugged me.” 

Azriel flinches at the words. Actually flinches. Then he nods. 

“My magic… I can feel it now but it was…” 

His hand reaches for yours, feeling relief when you let him take it. He runs his thumb over the smooth skin. “Faebane. We got some when Rhys was captured.” 

You look down at your free hand, willing a small moth to appear there. Checking that everything was working correctly. The moth flies up toward Azriel but it dissipates before it can get far.

You weren’t mad. Quite the opposite. You’d woken up and found yourself relieved. Relieved to see him there next to you. Relieved to be home. 

You weren’t angry because you knew he did it to help not to hurt. Sure, he could’ve gone about it in a different way, maybe presented the idea to you instead of just slipping the drug in your water. But you couldn’t fault him for that either, Azriel was a man of action and few words. 

Still that didn’t stop you from asking. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” 

“I didn’t even want to agree to it at first. So little is known about your kind, your magic, there was no telling if the Faebane would even effect you. I didn’t want to risk you getting stuck in that nightmare without the ability to heal.” 

Your eyes widen at the information. If he’d told you that, nothing would’ve gotten you to agree. But he took that chance? Azriel wasn’t a gambler. 

Your face must’ve shown what you were thinking because he continued. 

“Then you hurt yourself and I couldn’t take it anymore, [name]. You needed to get better.” He squeezes your hand. “If I have to fight off a living nightmare so you can get a night's sleep, I will.”

“Did you?” You ask, wondering if the male had made an appearance or the Mymic. 

Azriel shakes his head. You sigh in relief. Ignoring the way your stomach grumbled with hunger, in no hurry to force down tasteless food. No hurry to leave your male. You lay your head on his chest.

“I’m sorry.” You say, and he shakes his head at you in confused questioning. “For letting it get that far.” For not being strong enough to get a grip. 

The shadowsinger holds your head to his chest. “I’m sorry.” He presses his lips against your head, saying the words into your hair. “I wish I knew other ways to help.” 

Your hands grip him. Nails clinging to his bare skin. “I missed you.” The worst part about reliving that Nightmare, was that you hadn’t known he existed. That someone so amazing was out there, and capable of loving you. 

“I never left.” 

taglist <3: @acourtofbatboydreams @xreaderbooksreads @gorlillaglue25 @anuttellaa @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @mybestfriendmademe

[ms-snape]

Father? (Father!severus snape x reader x father sirius black)

Request: not a request, requests are OPENED, please I need request cause my imagination is limited

Summary: Yn is Snape adoptive daughter but Sirius's biological daughter

Warning: Angst, fluff, platonic relationships (father daughter)

Word Count: 2062

Masterlist

---

The summer sun filtered through the thick canopy of trees surrounding Spinner's End, casting dappled shadows on the ground. Y/N stood at the door of her home, her heart heavy with an unshakeable feeling of uncertainty. Severus Snape, her father in every sense she understood, was preparing for yet another meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. While he had always been secretive about his work, this time felt different. There was a tension in the air, a sense of foreboding that gnawed at her insides.

"Y/N, we must go," Snape's voice broke through her thoughts, his tone clipped and impatient, as if he was trying to shake off a weight that pressed on his shoulders. She nodded, following him into the depths of the familiar darkness that was their home. The cold stone walls felt suffocating, but she was used to feeling the chill of their surroundings. She had long since accepted that her life was intertwined with shadows—the shadows of her father’s past, the shadows of the wizarding world.

The journey to Grimmauld Place was filled with an unsettling silence. Y/N stole glances at her father as they walked side by side, his normally stoic expression deep in thought. She could sense the turmoil within him, something he was guarding, something he didn't want to share. But Y/N had learned long ago that there were things even a father like Snape would not reveal. There were secrets that had a way of festering in the dark, and for a fleeting moment, she wished he would let her in.

As they arrived at the imposing door of Grimmauld Place, Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine. The house loomed before them, its dark façade speaking of secrets and whispers. Snape knocked three times, his hand steady but his brow furrowed. The door creaked open, revealing a bustling room filled with members of the Order.

Y/N felt a rush of apprehension. She had heard tales of these brave souls who fought against the darkness, but what did they think of her? She was just a girl, an outsider in a world filled with heroes and legends. Her heart raced as she stepped inside, the atmosphere thick with tension and determination.

As they entered, the room fell silent, all eyes turning towards her and Snape. She felt a flush of embarrassment wash over her. It was as if she were under a spotlight, exposed and vulnerable. But it was Sirius Black who broke the silence. He stood at the far end of the room, his eyes widening as they locked onto her.

"Y/N,my dear daughter" he breathed, his voice catching in his throat. The intensity of his gaze was unsettling, and she shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

"Umm....You must be mistaken," she replied defensively, crossing her arms over her chest. She could feel the weight of the room's attention on her, and it made her anxious. "I’m with here with my father."

But Sirius stepped forward, his expression earnest and pained. "No, it’s you. You’re my daughter. I thought I lost you.” His voice was thick with emotion, and Y/N felt the air grow heavy with unspoken truths.

She shook her head, incredulous. “That’s ridiculous. You’re just messing with me—my father is Severus Snape! Dad tell him!” She turned to fave her father, Her heart raced, anger bubbling up inside her. How dare he come into her life, claim to be someone that important, and disrupt everything she thought she understood?

Snape’s expression shifted from annoyance to something closer to dread. “Y/N, you need to listen—”

“Please tell me he's messing!” she interrupted but the look on Snape's face answered her, her voice rising. “You’ve been lying to me! How could you not tell me? Did you think I wouldn’t want to know? Did you think I wouldn’t care?”

The room was silent, the tension palpable. Snape's face hardened, but Y/N could see the flicker of pain behind his stoic demeanor. “It was to protect you,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Protect me?” she spat, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. “You kept me in the dark! You let me believe I was someone else. You let me think I was safe, and all this time, my real father is Sirius Black!”

“Y/N, please,” Snape implored, his voice strained. “Balck is known as a criminal in the wizarding world. I did it for your safety. You wouldn’t understand—”

“No, I don’t understand!” she yelled, her voice breaking. “You’ve betrayed me, Dad!I dint know if i vsn eben call you like that anymore! I thought you loved me.”

With those words, she turned on her heel and stormed out of Grimmauld Place, her heart racing as she fled into the night. The cool air hit her like a slap, but it did little to quell the fire raging within her. How could he? How could he keep such a monumental truth from her? She felt lost, adrift in a sea of confusion and anger.

As she wandered the streets of London, she felt a familiar presence beside her. It was Sirius. “Y/N, wait!” he called after her, his voice filled with concern.

“Don’t follow me,” she snapped, her heart racing. She didn’t want to hear what he had to say. She didn’t want his pity or his apologies.

But he didn’t listen. He matched her pace, his long strides easily keeping up with her. “I know this is overwhelming. But I need you to hear me out. I thought you were lost forever. I never meant to hurt you.”

She stopped abruptly, spinning to face him. “You don’t get to come in here and claim to be my father after all these years! I have a father, and he’s been there for me. You’re just a stranger!”

Sirius’s expression darkened, but there was a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. “I know it’s hard to understand. But I didn’t abandon you. I thought I’d lost you when I went to Azkaban. I had no idea that you were safe, that you were with Snive.....Severus”

Y/N felt a pang of guilt for the raw emotion in his voice. She didn’t want to feel sympathy for him; she didn’t want to feel anything but rage. But there was something in the way he spoke, a desperation that made her hesitate.

“Why didn’t you come for me?” she asked quietly, her voice trembling. “Why didn’t you try to find me after you escaped?”

“I s researched I'm the whole world,” he replied, his voice heavy with regret. “And I had no way of knowing were you were. I thought I was protecting you by staying away. I thought you’d be safe without me.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken words and emotions left hanging in the air. Y/N turned away from him, feeling the tears she had fought so hard to contain begin to spill down her cheeks. She felt raw and exposed, and the remnants of anger were slowly being replaced by confusion and sadness.

“Why now?” she whispered, wiping at her eyes. “Why do you want to know me now?”

“Because I’ve missed you,” he said simply, his voice filled with sincerity. “I’ve spent years thinking about you, hoping that you’d be okay. I never stopped thinking about you. I just wanted to find you again.”

Y/N’s heart wavered, torn between the anger she felt towards Snape and the aching sadness that came with realizing she had lost a father—two fathers, in fact. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “But you’re a criminal. Everyone thinks you’re bad.”

Sirius’s expression darkened, a flicker of pain crossing his features. “I made mistakes, yes. But I’m not the man everyone says I am. I’ve fought against the darkness. I’ve sacrificed everything for the people I love.”

“Like my father?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “Sniv....Severus has his own demons. But I knowhe loves you, Y/N. He just wanted to protect you from the truth. He didn’t want you to be hurt because of me and my reputation.”

Her chest tightened at his words, and she found herself yearning for the comfort of her father’s embrace, despite the betrayal she felt. “He could have just told me,” she murmured, her heart aching.

“Maybe he thought it was easier this way,” Sirius said gently. “But the truth has a way of finding us, doesn’t it? We can’t hide from who we are.”

Y/N felt a sense of loss wash over her. The truth felt heavy, like a weight on her chest. She had built her life around the idea of being Snape's daughter, and now that foundation had crumbled beneath her. She glanced back toward Grimmauld Place, where she knew Snape was waiting, torn between anger and longing.

“I don’t know what to do,I dont know what to think....” she admitted, her voice trembling.

“Take your time,” Sirius replied softly. “You don’t have to rush into anything. I’m here, and I want to help you understand. You’re not alone in this.”

Y/N met his gaze, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. There was a flicker of hope there, something that made her heart ache with longing. She wanted to know him, to understand the man who had been kept away from her all these years. But part of her still wanted to turn back and confront Snape, to demand answers and closure.

As days turned into weeks, Y/N found herself spending more time with Sirius at Grimmauld Place. It was a strange and confusing experience, but there was something comforting in the shared moments. They would talk about the past, their lives, and the weight of their shared history. Slowly, the anger she felt began to fade, replaced by a growing understanding of the complexities of the situation.

But even as she grew closer to Sirius, the rift between her and Snape remained. They exchanged few words, the tension between them palpable. She wanted to confront him, to demand answers, but every time she tried, the words caught in her throat.

One evening, as Y/N sat alone in the dimly lit kitchen of Grimmauld Place, she heard a familiar voice behind her. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

She turned to see Snape standing in the doorway, his dark eyes unreadable. Her heart raced, and she felt the anger bubbling up again, but she fought to keep it under control. “I’ve been trying to figure things out,” she replied tersely, her tone colder than she intended.

Snape stepped closer, his expression hardening. “I did what I thought was best. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you did,” she shot back, her voice sharp. “You kept the truth from me. You made me believe I was someone else, that my life was one way when it wasn’t.”

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you,” he admitted quietly. “You’re my daughter in every way that matters.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at his words. She wanted to forgive him, to let go of the anger that had festered inside her, but the hurt was still too fresh. “I need time,” she said, her voice trembling. “I need to figure out who I am and what I want and who I want to be.”

Snape nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Take all the time you need,” he replied softly. “Just know that I’m here for you, no matter what.”

She watched him leave, the weight of their conversation lingering in the air. As the days passed, Y/N slowly began to come to terms with the truth. It was a difficult journey, but she found strength in the connections she was building with Sirius, Snape, and the Order. She realized that family wasn’t just about blood—it was about the bonds they forged, the trust they built, and the love that sustained them through even the darkest of times.

And so, as Y/N stood at the threshold of a new chapter in her life, she knew that the road ahead would be challenging. But with Sirius and Snape by her side, she felt ready to face whatever lay ahead, ready to embrace the truth of who she was and the family she had come to know.

[heavens-moonlight]

𝗕𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦 | 𝟬𝟭 : 𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗔𝗗𝗩𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗘

SYNOPSIS | 02 : THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT

Author’s Note: The following chapter will be where the misery starts but I wanted to build character and friendship dynamics here first. Updates won't be as frequent (because of one word: life) but I have pre-written a lot for this drama already so I'll see this work to the end! Hopefully this is enjoyable so far, and feel free to let me know what you think (or what you want to see in future chapters)! Until next time! ♡

"THE INNOCENT CIVILIANS HAVE LOST, AND THE MAFIA WON!"

Your heavy palpebrae that moments earlier masked your vision in dimness, adorned with a trace of gentle sleepiness, slowly flutters open at the announcement, eyes emerging from the veil of unconsciousness. Finding yourself awakening with an overwhelming and unshakeable wave of trepidation washing over you, your chest tightens in palpable distress. The heaviness pales no less in comparison to the weight of an anvil sinking down atop your sternum, lungs punctured by bowed bones.

You sit there in a state of unease, mind racing with apprehension and discomposure, searching for answers to the troubling sensation coursing through your body. The sense of foreboding grips your heart tightly like an invisible vice, leaving you breathless and unable to shake off the unwanted feeling.

In a haste, you slide open the window beside you, the glass screeching against rubber weatherstrips expanded by scorching summer heat. Through the humidity, a light breeze brushes past, breathing air and life back into you. It's not hard to recognize the way your subconscious whispers insistently that something is amiss, the combination of uncertainty and uneasiness blending together into something you can't decipher.

Your hand comes to rest against your chest, heart pounding strongly and ceaselessly against your ribcage, almost as though wanting to escape from its confines. It sends you reeling, akin to an out of body experience. For some unexplained reason, confusion clouds your thoughts as you struggle to clear the thick shroud of fog encasing your entire being, the mist muddling and settling deep within you. A haunting sense of premonition creeps over as if some elapsed memory shares in its ominous secrets. Yet, try as you might, you could not uncover the source of this inexplicable anxiety. You're left clueless except for the empty feeling both in your mind and soul, like you have forgotten something important.

When your breathing returns to normal and your pulse has settled back into its regular rhythmic beat, you shake your head to clear it of the sudden upsetting thoughts. Only then do you realize you had fallen asleep at one point, head tilted back against the warm and worn peeling leather seats of the bus. The sound of loud conversations and even louder hum of the engine, the smell of smoke, and the bump of the vehicle's wheels on uneven pavement brings with it a gentle sway of movement that returns to you a sense of comfort you can't put into words.

Glancing down at your lap, you notice that you had left the entirety of a horror movie playing on your phone, the end credits having long since rolled endlessly, words drenched in red blinking cursorily across the screen. You rarely experienced nightmares, not even after indulging in disturbing content, and certainly not when it's broad daylight out still. So then, why now?

The sound of a book plopping down to the ground pulls you out of your reverie and you lean forward to pick it up, folding it closed to survey the front cover.

흰나비의 살인.

The White Butterfly's Murder.

You smile to yourself. It was so like Yoon-Seo to read a murder mystery on a school trip, the same exact one you had gifted to her only yesterday for her birthday. A love of thriller was what brought you both to be such good friends in the first place, and it didn't seem those like-minded interests would diverge any time soon.

"Yoon-Seo ah..." Scooting forward in your seat, you lightly tap her on the shoulder and she jolts upright, turning back to look at you, unreasonably startled, a shiver running down her spine. "What's wrong?" Your grin drops slightly at her growing restlessness, face now pale as if she had encountered an apparition. Her eyes shift back and forth, guarded for a microsecond before snapping back into her usual self.

Yoon-Seo takes noticeably deep inhales, drawing the attention of Jung-Won, her seat mate for the ride, who pauses mid-coding to look over, displeased.

"What did you dream of?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Han Seol-Hwa. Lee Yoon-Seo.” Jung-Won clicks her tongue teasingly, pointing a finger from you to Yoon-Seo. “I'm making it a rule that you guys stay away from blood, murders, and deaths this trip, alright?"

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. "Alright, I promise you eomma. No more nagging Yoon-Seo and I."

Jung-Won scowls at you playfully, pushing her glasses up higher on the bridge of her nose and you stick out your tongue in her direction impishly. Yoon-Seo laughs quietly at the exchange as you hand her back her book.

"Thanks, Seol-Hwa."

"Tell me all about it later when we've arrived." Despite muttering it under your breath to avoid being heard by Jung-Won, you fail miserably.

"Seriously?!"

You and Yoon-Seo laugh together as Jung-Won goes on a tangent about how psychologically, scary things are not good for young, impressionable minds, fingers click-clacking away all the while. Fortunately preoccupied, she doesn't notice Yoon-Seo sending you a wink, a hidden promise between you two to indulge in the realm of the supernatural regardless.

A resounding and victorious scream travels all the way from the back of the bus and you turn around to observe the friend group seated there.

"See?! I told you all Yool was the Mafia! Let's play again," Eun-Ha says, arms crossed. "You idiots never listen to me, do you?" She slaps both Yeon-Woo and Eun-Chan on the back of their heads as petty punishment.

"What can I say? You simply can't kill the master." Yool leans back, legs thrown atop the headrest of the seat in front, a proud smile stretched across his face.

As they're about to commence another game, Jin-Ha gets relayed a message through Seung-Bin. "Tell them that Kyung-Jun is sleeping and to shut the hell up."

"YAH!" The random shout is so out of place and entirely uncalled for, but it's effective for the time being. "Kyung-Jun is sleeping," Jin-Ha parrots, obedient. "You guys are always so fucking loud that we can hear you before we can see you!" Met with blank stares all around, he's finally satisfied at the reduction in volume and goes back to looking at something Seung-Bin points out to him on his phone. Unbeknownst to him, the rest switch to eyeing him in disfavor behind his back.

It wasn't hard to see the hierarchy of the bullies' group, although Jin-Ha most likely doesn't notice anything wrong with the skewed power dynamics.

Kyung-Jun unpredictably opens his eyes, turning to glare at Heo Yool specifically, but when he swivels back around again, your eyes meet coincidentally and he simply stares, an unreadable expression on his face. You avert your gaze hastily, not wanting to stir up trouble with the bullies, especially not Kyung-Jun who was quick to anger if someone so much as breathed wrongly in his direction.

Your eyes search the rest of the bus lazily before landing on Jun-Hee, sleeping peacefully unaware, head tilted towards the window. The sunlight bathes him in a soft yellow glow and you can't help but stare as a single ray of light filters through the curtains, slanting lightly across his face. You etch every slope, every contour, and every dip of his countenance behind your eyes so that the image of him doesn't fade.

The comfortable rise and fall of Jun-Hee's chest, synchronized with his steady breathing is so serene that it captivates your heart. In high noon, the gentle curves of his face seem even more soft, accentuated by the calmness enveloping his features. Fondly, you observe him in the morning's bright golden haze, and in the beauty of the falling sunbeams, you wonder if he'd ever see you in the same way.

A rolled-up piece of paper hits you square in the face and you finally drag your gaze away long enough to see who it is. Whipping your head around, you're met with snickers from Hyun-Ho and Dong-Hyun, who don't even try to hide they're the culprits.

You're being obvious. Hyun-Ho mouths the words discernibly. Just sit next to him if you're going to gawk.

You chuck the paper ball back toward him and it smacks him in the mouth, your nose scrunching up in focus mixed with annoyance.

"I think that's the most creative way I've ever seen someone being told to shut up," Dong-Hyun voices approvingly, shooting you two thumbs up.

"Are you my friend or hers?" Hyun-Ho asks childishly, somewhat snubbed.

"To be honest, she can be more frightening than you at times even though she's half your size."

You giggle to yourself as the two start squabbling in their seats across the aisle from Jung-Won and Yoon-Seo.

For the most part, after having transferred to Yooil High, you were fairly well-liked by everyone for your just and nonjudgmental attitude. That, and you pretty much kept to yourself, stayed out of trouble, and knew not to dig your nose in other's business if it didn't concern you. You weren't popular by any means, but not a single person had a true reason to dislike you and you hoped to continue that track record.

By a stroke of bad luck, your parents died a few years ago in a car accident, and you've been living with your cousin Hyun-Ho ever since, adopted by your aunt and uncle-in-law. They have been nothing short of welcoming and loving, and the same goes for Hyun-Ho, who acts no less like your real brother. Sure, he's annoying at times but it's just his overprotective nature and ease of accepting the older sibling role. You got on quite quickly with Yoon-Seo and Jung-Won, and Hyun-Ho made sure you adapted to his own friend group, introducing you to his best friends Jun-Hee and Dong-Hyun. You loved your companions dearly, all incredibly close and inseparable ever since you could remember.

But you couldn't remember when you began to see Jun-Hee as more than that.

Friends.

It's not the first, and it certainly won't be the last time you remind yourself of that fact.

Just friends. Nothing more and nothing less.

Except, you're not the only who was harboring feelings for him. Where you were quiet and discreet about it, So-Mi is loud and unabashed. It's hard to ignore and pretend you don't hear her snapping pictures of Jun-Hee shamelessly and without permission, the shutter ticking in quick succession.

"Isn't this crazy? It's like a photoshoot, right? How does he look like that? Even while sleeping?" So-Mi rattles off questions in awe, more to herself than anyone else.

Woo Ram doesn't miss a beat in his reply. "I'll tell Jun-Hee about your crazy obsession with him."

"Could you, please?" So-Mi widens her eyes, batting her lashes imploringly. "I'll use that as an opportunity to tempt him."

You hear Ji-Soo's laugh ring out brash and clear. "This delusional girl, seriously..." she chides. "You've been saying that since last year. When will you actually find the courage to tell him?"

That's the question you ask yourself also. You don't blame So-Mi. Sometimes, you think it might be better to not have been best friends with him. It only complicates your feelings further, too afraid to ruin years of friendship, but also too filled with wishful thinking on the mere possibility of it growing into anything beyond that.

Sighing, you turn to look out the window, trying your best to tune out their conversation even though it doesn't work. There's not much to hold your attention when the scenery is endless stretches of barren trees and even emptier infrastructure, or lack thereof, rolling by.

The setting sun dyes everything in a blaze of orange, making it appear as if the city was burning, the sky collapsing.

"Seduce him now," Yu-Jun taunts, voice giving way to his utter lack of confidence in So-Mi's coquetting abilities, knowing full well the impossibility that the two would ever end up together.

"Cut it out! It will happen soon...just not here." So-Mi tries to shush her friends as they holler at Jun-Hee teasingly, with all intent to wake him up.

Woo-Ram and Yu-Jun successfully manage to rouse him if the sound of So-Mi's indignant squeals is anything to go by, coupled with the unmistakable clicking of her phone's camera shutter, pressed by accident this time around.

Somewhere in between listening and musing, you had begun to doze off again when you feel the seat shift and sink beside yours. The movement is so light and careful that you don't pay it any notice at first.

"Hey, I thought when you flirt with someone, they're supposed to come to you and not away from you." Ji-Soo's snickers mix in with So-Mi's annoyed remarks aren't as jarring as you thought it'd be after everyone was subjected to the silent rule earlier.

You feel your head droop forward before someone touches the side of your face gently, fingers grazing the curve of your cheek to angle your head into the broad line of their shoulder.

The pads of their fingers trace the underside of your jaw in a featherlight motion, and you lift your face in alarm, curious as to who would do such a thing especially if they weren't necessarily close to you

Eyes trailing upward, your vision refocuses and they widen at the sight of Jun-Hee staring down at you, gaze soft and unwavering as he stares, transfixed, pupils shining. One hand is hanging in midair, held steady to shield your face from the sun.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but no words come out, a frozen expression of surprise on your visage.

Jun-Hee's lips tilt slightly upward, the motion bunching his cheeks up, almost as if he was trying hard to suppress his laugh.

Pulling yourself together, you sit up properly and lean away from his shoulder. "Sorry."

You don't notice Jun-Hee's smile dropping imperceptibly and the light in his eyes dimming as you're no longer within close proximity. "Why are you apologizing?"

"It's nothing." The response is too dismissive even to your own ears as you can't conjure up an excuse for the sudden pretense, or for your outlandish behavior.

It would be quite a long bus ride, sitting next to each other, both not knowing what to say.

The space between Jun-Hee's eyebrows crease together in confusion, but he doesn't push the matter further.

You clear your throat awkwardly, shifting in your seat to sit on your hands. When did simply talking to him become so hard to do? You've hidden your feelings for years without problem, so why was it so different now? Those feelings changed and grew. "When did you come to sit here? Weren't you just sleeping earlier?"

Jun-Hee knocks his shoulder into yours, a teasing lilt to his voice. "You were watching me?"

"Pft, as if," You deny with lackluster confidence, scoffing. "I was just observing what everyone was doing."

"Right..." He elongates the word. "...And what I was doing was sleeping. That you watched." Jun-Hee looks at you again, a deadpan but knowing look on his face. Flustered, you duck your head only for him to mirror the movement, subtly leaning his own toward yours and trying to catch your eye. It ends up with him chortling as your forehead nearly collides with your knees in the slouched over position you had subjected yourself to.

Knowing full well you were being made fun of without a hint of malice, you twist your body sideways and lean your back against the window, turning to him with a glare. "Is this fun to you?"

As he laughs, you find yourself wanting to follow suit, but stick to the bit of maintaining your mock angry façade, slapping him on the arm. If anything, he continues to chuckle, barely flinching, finding your reaction rather amusing.

"Don't worry. I promise I didn't sneak any pictures." It quickly registers to you that he was clearly teasing So-Mi for earlier. You can't help the scandalized look on your face, cheeks puffing out as you try to hold in your laugh. "I guess you did notice a camera being pressed up to your face, huh?"

"Kind of hard not to with all the noise." He shakes his head in annoyance. "But I am still sleepy." Jun-Hee pulls your arm so that you're pressed against his side again, no semblance of space remaining between the two of you as he lowers himself, sinking further down into the seat, eyes shut and head now leaning against your shoulder.

"Jun-Hee..."

"Let me borrow your shoulder for a little while."

You're about to pull away, thinking he's playing around when his grip tightens on your arm.

"Think of it as returning the favor from earlier. We can call it even."

Making a vague sound of neutrality but not moving, you relax, and Jun-Hee lessens his hold, adjusting his position to be more comfortable. "Are you going to watch this time too?" His hand squeezes your forearm once.

"Dream on," you kid.

"Maybe I will," he answers with certainty. "Until it becomes reality."

"I didn't know you were this affectionate with everyone."

"Not just anyone. Only you," Jun-Hee mumbles, tilting his head further into the crook of your neck. His lips move dangerously close to the juncture of your shoulder, your pulse point centimeters away as he shifts around, finding the most relaxing spot to rest.

"Don't say things you don't mean." You can't bite your tongue fast enough as the words tumble out unprompted. That was supposed to be an inside thought no one else should be privy to but yourself.

"Who says I don't mean it?" You tense up beside him, at a loss for words, but Jun-Hee doesn't point it out, more than not nice enough to ignore it for your sake. "I'm self-proclaimed as your favorite." He bumps his knee against yours. "I know you better than anyone else."

"Do you, though?"

"...Of course, I do."

But you don't know that I'm already halfway in love with you.

"On what basis, mister?"

"Best friend privileges."

"Right..."

You stare down at the top of his head, Jun-Hee unaware of your blatant staring and the way your smile fades at the same time one appears on his face.

"That's acceptable, no?"

"Of course, it is. Best friends. That's what we are..." You trail off.

And I guess that's all we'll ever be.

Hours later, the sky has since darkened and you can see the visible outline of the full moon on high, light not concealed by the stars weakly glimmering to illuminate the night.

Most, if not the entirety, of the students on the bus were asleep, except for you and your two lovable, but mischievous best friends sitting in front of you.

Yoon-Seo and Jung-Won peer over the back of their seats like cute meerkats, only their eyes visible, phones raised suspiciously in your direction.

"You're welcome in advance," Yoon-Seo says cheekily, showing the widest grin you've ever seen on her, eyes crinkling as Jung-Won stifles her laugh behind her hand. At your persistent eye signals, they sink back down into their seats, satisfied after overfilling their camera rolls.

As the bus slows down, indicating that your class was nearing your destination, the road gradually begins to get rougher and bumpier. It's a surprise Jun-Hee still hasn't woken up yet, sleeping soundly away still leaning on you.

Deciding to mess around with him, you slightly pivot your body so it's facing him, leaving enough room for his head to not fall off your shoulder.

"Jun-Hee," you call, tilting your head down in front of his.

"Jun-Hee ah." The bus is rocking him, lolling his head forward along with the movement, his face nearly downturned.

"Wake up, sleepyhead." Your shoulder is no longer acting as support when you turn your face directly below his and peer up, tilting your head like he had done to you miles back, smiling at his obliviousness to the harmless prank, peacefully undisturbed in his slumber.

"Kim Jun—" The bus lurches abruptly, running over a speed bump the driver misses, and your words die in your throat as it jostles Jun-Hee's body forward and consequently his head toward your own, his lips meeting yours. The next slope in the road, and the fleeting press of the accidental kiss fades away, but the butterflies in your stomach refuse to settle.

You're motionless, eyes wide, hands immediately coming up to touch your lips where they're still tingling from the lingering imprint of Jun-Hee's lips against your own, barely registering just how close his face is to yours still, remaining asleep all the same.

"Kids, we're here!"

Your teacher's announcement snaps you out of your thoughts and you hurriedly sit back as Jun-Hee's eyelids sluggishly part, the first thing they focus on is you. He grins drowsily, and you wonder what can truly fix the irreparable damage to your heart.

Get a grip, Han Seol-Hwa.

Forcing a smile that you hope isn't as awkward as it feels onto your face, you decidedly withhold the truth about the incident.

"That was the best sleep I've had in a while," Jun-Hee tells you, leaning closer to be heard over the ruckus of everyone moving around in their seats, wanting to alight the bus the moment it stops.

You scoot back reflexively with your face aflame, still not over what had happened.

Jun-Hee also pulls away, worry mixed with bewilderment evident on his face. "Are you alright?"

"What do you mean?" You cringe internally at how guilty the tone of your voice comes out.

"It's just..." Jun-Hee regards you for a moment, studying your face as you avoid his searching eyes. "You've been acting a little weird since this morning."

"I'm tired is all," you lie through your teeth.

"If I—"

Suddenly So-Mi appears next to the two of you in the aisle, eyeing you up and down judgingly. "Jun-Hee, the teacher said he wants to talk to us."

As Jun-Hee gets up but doesn't reply, you swiftly scoot out of your own seat and attempt to scurry away to where Yoon-Seo and Jung-Won are waiting for you by the wheel, wanting to avoid the dreaded conversation you knew was sure to follow.

So-Mi dismisses your presence completely, standing into the empty space between the rows in an effort to block Jun-Hee off.

His eyes count your steps and before you can move even a feet away, he grabs ahold of you, fingers wrapping securely but tenderly around your wrist. Your pulse quickens beneath your skin, and you wonder if he can feel how rapidly it bounds under his touch.

"Seol-Hwa—"

Jun-Hee appears a bit dejected for some reason you'd rather not dwell upon. You gaze down at his grasp on you before turning to face him.

"Didn't you hear me?" So-Mi interjects, trying to make him focus on her by stepping into his line of vision, but his eyes remain fixed only on you. "Seonsaengnim needs both of us for something."

Your fingers graze Jun-Hee's as you slowly remove his hand, much to his reluctance. To the bitter distaste of So-Mi, he doesn't seem like he'll go along with her any time soon. She directs her glare at you once more, and you sigh quietly, not wanting to be in the middle of this interaction one bit.

"I'll see you later Jun-Hee."

"Wait—" He tries to grab your hand again, but So-Mi is quick to turn his shoulder away, making up filler dialogue.

Given the slip unintentionally, you speed walk toward your friends, and the three of you descend the steps. You feel Jun-Hee's stare burn through the back of your head yet refuse to turn around.

Maybe if you leave everything that happened on the bus and the thoughts along with it, you'll go back to being yourself soon enough.

The teacher is pacing the edge of the curb looking perturbed, voice frustrated as he speaks into the phone, the person on the other end not comprehending a single word.

Before you can tune into what he's saying, Yoon-Seo taps you on the forearm, whispering, "Have we been here? Why do I feel like I have? It's so familiar..."

"All the youth centers look the same," Jung-Won settles, rummaging through her backpack. "Yoon-Seo, Seol-Hwa, I'm heading in first. See you inside."

You wave to her as Yoon-Seo stands beside you, unmoving and gazing up at the third-floor window of the building.

"Yoon-Seo...?" You move your hand back and forth in front of her face, and she finally blinks, her gaze returning to normal.

"What is it?" she responds absentmindedly.

"That's what I should be asking you." You halt at the blank expression on her face staring back at you.

"I thought I saw something..." She points at the window but when you look, squinting against the dark to focus your eyes, all you can see is the white curtains billowing back and forth from the window barely cracked open.

"It's only the wind. Your mind is probably playing tricks on you." Yoon-Seo seems assured by your answer for the time being, nodding. You rap on her head lightly with a loose fist, mock admonishing. "Aigoo, Miss Detective. The books are taking over your imagination."

Yoon-Seo laughs and shoves you playfully. "Don't act like you don't also live and breathe all things horror."

"But I'm not the one seeing things, am I?" Raising your eyebrows at her teasingly, Yoon-Seo simply rolls her eyes and links her arm with yours.

"Come on, let's go. It's cold out here, and I want to see the rest of this place."

The two of you enter the lobby, and the first thing you take note of is the pure white marble statue of a girl, sitting atop a pillar and staring down into nothingness, eyes soulless and devoid of emotion. It’s melancholic in a way, a personified goddess, yet alone and ostensibly powerless.

"Yoon-Seo, don't you think those eyes remind you of anyone?" You fix your gaze on the figurine closely, examining the features etched haphazardly into the rock. Whatever intention the sculptor had, you couldn't find the purpose for the seemingly out of place decor.

Yoon-Seo nudges you. "Now who's the one with the wild imagination?"

"I'm being serious here."

"I don't see any resemblance to anyone we could possibly know. There's no informative plaque on who it may be either."

You shrug. "Maybe it's just me then."

"Aren't you two going to scan?" Jung-Won ushers you and Yoon-Seo toward the flyer:

[ sᴄᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ǫʀ ᴄᴏᴅᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪ-ғɪ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴsᴛᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴏᴜᴛʜ ᴄᴇɴᴛᴇʀ ᴀᴘᴘ ᴀᴜᴛᴏᴍᴀᴛɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ]

"This place has an app? What for?" you question.

"Hmm, I'll just stick to this paper booklet they have instead." Yoon-Seo decides quickly, rifling through the readily available printed maps.

"You'll have to lead me around," you say in all earnestness. "I'm very direction disoriented."

Jung-Won doesn't even try to hide her smile. "We can tell."

"It's not my fault I was born like this." You dramatically fall back onto Yoon-Seo. "Would you two really lead me astray as my best friends?"

Yoon-Seo giggles behind you. "No way. We saw how dazed you were getting off the bus earlier. You need all the help you can get."

Jung-Won snickers, shaking her head while dragging you and Yoon-Seo through the double doors of the gymnasium where the rest were gathered.

Everyone is off scattered into their own respective friend groups, your trio throwing your backpacks haphazardly on the floor before sitting against the wall of bleachers yet to be pulled out.

Jun-Hee and So-Mi enter shortly after with the teacher, engaged in a discussion. You look away before they can notice, and focus on the girls attempting to practice for their performance instead, Woo-Ram filming their efforts. Joo-Young pushes Mi-Na out of her spotlight and steals it openly, not that Woo-Ram minded. If anything, he holds the camera ever-sturdier, a newfound excitement apparent this time around as he zooms into her face. His happiness is short-lived however, as Kyung-Joon turns off the speakers nonchalantly, forcing the girls to start over from the beginning, much to their irritation.

Despite what you decided on earlier, you can't help but throw glances over in Jun-Hee's direction. He's seated at the table reserved for school council members by the entryway, overlooking everyone as So-Mi talks his ear off, undeterred by his indifference.

"Stop staring. You're going to wear away his pretty face," Yoon-Seo jokes from your left.

"I wasn't staring," you reply back half-committally, knowing she's caught you in the act.

"You totally were," Jung-Won joins in, slowly leaning her head on your right shoulder. "Let me borrow your shoulder while I code."

"If she's allowed, I should be too," Yoon-Seo copies, mirroring Jung-Won from your left side.

"Careful, that one's Jun-Hee's. You'll have to wait your turn, Yoon-Seo."

"Oh my god," you groan, embarrassed, hiding your face into your hands as the two laugh beside you, kicking your feet from both sides with theirs. "You two are merciless."

"Are you going to deprive me of the best sleep I'll ever have?" Yoon-Seo snuggles closer, hugging you tightly to her.

"Yah! Lee Yoon-Seo!"

You had the intention of taking Jun-Hee off your mind by hanging out with your friends, only for you to see bits of his personality in Yoon-Seo, their long-time friendship having had them taking on one another's mannerisms.

"I'm using my best friend privileges." Jung-Won pats you on the knee. "Stay still."

As Yoon-Seo and Jung-Won squish into you from both sides, you can't help but giggle at the sheer absurdity of the reenactment and their dedication to coming up with jokes on the fly. You try to fight back the onslaught of laughter, but it's entirely pointless in their presence. Traitorously, your eyes crinkle in mirth, half-crescents resting atop your cheeks as your laugh tinkles in the shared space, making the other two giggle along, shaking with glee where they're pressed against you.

Jung-Won eventually caves and sits up properly when all the hooting you and Yoon-Seo are doing keeps rattling her laptop, messing up her coding. A permanent smile sits on her face though, watching you two bicker.

"Jung-Won, help, I need my inhaler. I can't breathe from laughing so much," Yoon-Seo gasps out, holding her stomach.

"I'm not getting it for you."

"I can't believe you would tease me at the expense of your asthma." You push Yeon-Seo away, sniggering as she goes back to clinging onto your arm and laying her head back on your shoulder.

Jung-Won turns to look at you and Yoon-Seo briefly, her eyes shifting to the side momentarily, a ghost of a smile settling on her lips before she resumes attention to her laptop. "Don't look but Jun-Hee is watching."

Right as she says that, you make to move your head, but Yoon-Seo expects it and holds your chin in place with her hand, pinching your cheeks playfully.

"I said don't look!" Jung-Won chuckles.

It throws Yoon-Seo into another fit of giggles as you try to speak through your puckered lips. She releases her hand quickly after, and you drop your head to lean on the crown of hers, giving up.

You elbow Jung-Won in her side. "Were you messing with me?"

"Why would I?" she says innocently, typing away.

You look at her pointedly. "Yeah, you totally wouldn't."

Jung-Won holds her hands up in a motion of surrender. "I'm not this time, really. Seeing So-Mi angry is my favorite past-time."

"So mean," Yoon-Seo sing-songs.

"And you had no part in this?" You poke Yoon-Seo in the cheek. "Who told you to have an annoyingly cute and kind best friend?"

"You mean you?"

"You know what I mean."

"It's true."

"Guess I'll have a crush on you instead."

Yoon-Seo chortles with laughter. "So, you do admit you like him!"

"I didn't say that!"

"I read between the lines."

“It was one line!”

"This really sucks," Jung-Won says off-handedly, scrolling through the app. "I can make something like this in a day."

"Huh?" Yoon-Seo inquires, lost.

"You really didn't scan the QR code earlier? It was installed automatically. Give me your phone. I'll do it for you."

"No, it's okay. I'll get by. It's a short trip."

"I wouldn't put it past Yoon Seo to carry around the paper map for two whole days," you jest.

"Careful, you can't even navigate well, Seol-Hwa."

Jung-Won snorts at Yoon-Seo's jab.

"You got me there. If you tell me to walk back the way we came from I'd probably end up walking in the opposite direction."

Yoon-Seo shakes her head in fond disbelief.

"I'm not getting any signals in here." Jung-Won holds her phone up high, arm stretching.

While you watch as Jung-Won moves her device around to figure out the cause of the lost signal and no connection to Wi-Fi, Yool rushes past, making a mad run for the storage room. Adjacent to the bleachers where you and your friends were sitting, he flings the door open with purpose and digs through the contents of the room. Various apparatus gets upended from their designated places, the speed and sheer amount of hiking gear, equipment for ball sports, as well as other items meant for the gymnasium flying out from the doorway is nothing short of the effects in a comedic cartoon. Knowing how much of a jokester Yool was, you pay it no mind and turn back to the task at hand.

You pull out your own phone to try and locate even one bar of cell phone service, only to be met with the message that the vicinity was an unserviceable area. "That's weird. We're not in a remote place or anything like that. What happens if the power goes out, then?"

Right as you say that, static from the speakers produces head-splitting screeches, causing everyone to recoil with palms over their ears in annoyance, the lights flashing once before cutting out.

With everyone fearing the worst, a few remain unmoving while screams of the rest bounce off the walls, echoing in the spacious room. You and Yoon-Seo however, have no reaction, more curious than anything else.

"Why did you turn the lights off?" Someone you can't put a name to probes in the dark. "Turn them back on!"

Following in haste after one another, the students make good use of their phone flashlights, aiming it at the court's center, revealing a figure cloaked in white standing as clear as day amidst the obscurity of the room.

While the majority cower in fear, clutching onto their friends, Hyun-Ho imperturbably throws a basketball at the unknown prowler, knocking them over in one go.

"Ouch!"

The white sheet is flung off theatrically, and out crawls a disheveled but cackling Yool.

"Aish, seriously," Hyun-Ho admonishes. "Quit goofing around."

Kicking the blanket to the side away from his feet, Yool raises his hands up in the air dramatically, acting to the end. Not a single person has managed to find the overhead lights in the meantime, the only ones illuminating the outline of his thin frame were the stage bulbs operating on a different circuit.

"While I have your attention, you guys have to listen up," he begins conspiratorially. "I heard a harrowing tale that's been passed down to everyone who steps foot into this building." Yool looks from one classmate to the next, more serious than he's ever been. "They say a female high school student took her own life here." He continues on as gasps and murmurs spring up around you. "There are things you absolutely can't do." He waggles his pointer finger dramatically for emphasis. "Don't look back after glancing in the mirror past midnight, and ignore it even if someone were to grab your ankle while you are asleep. If you don't follow these rules..." Yool pauses for staged effect before walking in broken steps like he’s possessed, arms and legs bent in odd angles, rushing straight toward the dancers still seated on the floor.

"...YOU'LL SEE A GHOST!"

Shrieks pierce the room as someone manages to flip the lights on again with perfect timing, ending Yool's one-man show.

Jung-Won clucks her tongue while you and Yoon-Seo look at one another. You were expecting her to be as nonchalant as you were, all her readings considered, but she's staring straight ahead, spooked.

"Earth to Yoon-Seo?" You touch her hand and she flinches, causing you to jump as well from her unexpected reaction.

"Huh?" She whips her head toward you, still zoned out. "Sorry." A forced smile settles on her face, an infrequent sight to her usual bright demeanor. "Don't worry, it just felt like deja vu for a minute."

"You said something similar earlier. Are you sure you're doing okay?" Your voiced is laced with worry.

"See, this is why I told you two to tone it down with the heebie-jeebies. You're only scaring yourselves." Jung-Won pats your head and then Yoon-Seo's in turn. "We should go to our rooms anyway. They all have too much energy they can't wait to waste away," Jung-Won states, gesturing to everyone milling about.

"Let's go?" You pull Yoon-Seo up, and she nods in return, reassuring you that she was finally present and not off and away in her thoughts.

As the three of you leave, your ears perk up at the last thing you hear Yool say.

"Did you guys really believe it?" His sentence is cut by a boisterous laugh, pleased to no end at the affirmative from his friends. "Eyy, come on now, it was just an innocent and fake joke. None of us are going to die. Not tonight and not for a long time to come."

SYNOPSIS | 02 : THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT

© 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐇𝐚𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞. 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨, 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞, 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭. 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞.

[mya-valentine]

Frozen Flames

Synopsis: As the Ice Hashira, you’ve always trusted your instincts, a gift that has never been wrong. But when Kyojuro Rengoku, your beloved, is sent on a dangerous mission aboard the Mugen Train, a foreboding sense of loss weighs heavy on your heart. Despite your pleas and an intuition you can't ignore, Rengoku remains resolute in his duty. Now, with a bitter farewell and a heart full of unspoken fears, you must face the chilling reality that even love and intuition may not be enough to alter fate.

The air was crisp, the sun just beginning its descent beyond the horizon. The quiet breeze whispered through the trees, carrying with it the scent of autumn as you sat with Kyojuro Rengoku by the edge of the training grounds. His ever-optimistic smile lit up his face as he gazed at the sky. You, the Ice Hashira, sat beside him, your expression as stoic as ever, but your heart was weighed down with a sense of unease that had been creeping in for days.

Kyojuro broke the comfortable silence, his voice filled with excitement, "I've been assigned a mission, a rather important one involving a strange occurrence on the Mugen Train. I leave in a few days."

You turned to him, your icy eyes narrowing slightly as a familiar feeling settled into the pit of your stomach—a feeling you had come to dread. It was that intuition of yours, the one that had never been wrong before. The one that had saved your life, and the lives of others, countless times. And now, it was telling you something you didn’t want to hear.

"Kyojuro," you began, your voice as calm and measured as always, "I have a bad feeling about this mission. You shouldn’t go."

He chuckled softly, brushing off your concern with his usual enthusiasm. "Don’t worry! I’ve faced many dangerous missions before, and this one is no different! I’ll come back in one piece, I promise." His tone was filled with that unshakable confidence you had come to love.

But as much as he tried to reassure you, you could see something flicker in his amber eyes—something fleeting but undeniable. He knew. Deep down, he knew your intuition had never been wrong. And that scared him, even if he didn’t show it.

"Kyojuro," you repeated, your hand instinctively reaching for his. It was rare for you to initiate such contact, but the gravity of the situation compelled you. "Please… I can’t shake this feeling."

He squeezed your hand, his touch warm against your cool skin. "I’ll be careful, my love. But I have to go. It’s my duty." His voice was softer now, the bravado giving way to something more serious, more intimate. He knew how much this worried you, but duty was something neither of you could turn your backs on.

You could say nothing more. He had made up his mind, and you respected that about him, even if it broke your heart.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. The weight of your premonition hung over you like a cloud, and you found yourself standing outside under the pale moonlight, lost in thought. The next morning, you sought out Kagaya Ubuyashiki. You entered his quiet chambers, your usual calm exterior hiding the turmoil within.

"Master Ubuyashiki," you greeted, bowing slightly.

He smiled warmly at you, as he always did. "Ah, Ice Hashira. What brings you here today?"

You hesitated, carefully choosing your words. "I… wish to accompany Rengoku on his mission. I feel that my skills may be of use." It was a half-truth, and you knew that Ubuyashiki, with his unparalleled insight, could see right through you.

Ubuyashiki’s smile softened, his pale eyes gazing at you with understanding. "You have never asked to join a mission like this before. Why now?"

You felt your chest tighten. You couldn’t tell him the full extent of your feelings without sounding irrational, but you also knew you couldn’t lie to him. "I just… I want to be out in the field again," you said, your words evasive.

His smile remained gentle, though it was tinged with something akin to sympathy. "You care deeply for Rengoku, don’t you?"

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze as you felt the truth of his words sink into you. "Yes," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

"It’s a beautiful thing," Ubuyashiki said, "to care for someone so deeply. You have come so far from the cold, distant person you once were. I am proud of you for opening your heart. But, as much as I understand your desire to protect him, this is Rengoku’s path. His fate is his own, and it is not for us to change."

His words, though spoken with kindness, felt like daggers to your heart. You wanted to argue, to demand that you be allowed to go, but you knew it would be in vain. Ubuyashiki was right, even if you didn’t want to accept it.

With a heavy heart, you left his chambers. As you made your way back home, the overwhelming sorrow you had been trying to keep at bay finally broke through. Tears fell silently down your cheeks, and as they did, the air around you grew colder, the moisture in the air crystallizing into delicate snowflakes that began to fall gently from the sky.

You stood in the middle of the snow, letting the coldness wash over you, but even that couldn’t numb the pain you felt.

It wasn’t long before you sensed Kyojuro’s presence approaching. He came running, his usual cheerful demeanor replaced with concern. He knew what the snowfall meant—it always snowed when you were in deep sorrow.

"My love," he called softly, reaching you as the snow continued to fall around both of you. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as you stood there, shaking.

You buried your face into his chest, your tears soaking into his uniform. "Don’t go," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Please… don’t go on this mission."

Kyojuro held you tighter, his hands trembling slightly, a rare display of his own vulnerability. He rested his chin on top of your head, his breath warm against your cold skin. "I can’t," he murmured. "I have to go."

You clung to him, knowing deep down that no matter how much you pleaded, it wouldn’t change anything. You hated that part of him, the part that was so bound to duty. But you also loved it because it was who he was—a man of honor, of unshakable resolve.

"I can’t lose you," you whispered, your voice breaking again.

Kyojuro pulled back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. His thumbs brushed away your tears, though new ones quickly replaced them. "You won’t lose me," he said, his voice full of that familiar confidence. "No matter what happens, I will always be with you. My flame will burn bright, even in the darkest of times."

You didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, as the lump in your throat grew. All you could do was hold onto him, trying to memorize the feel of his warmth, the sound of his heartbeat, the scent of his hair, everything about him that you loved.

The next few days were a blur of emotions. You and Kyojuro spent every waking moment together, both of you knowing that time was slipping away too quickly. You trained together, ate together, talked late into the night, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to truly be vulnerable with him. It was bittersweet—these moments of closeness you had always craved, now tainted with the knowledge of the impending separation.

The morning of his departure came all too soon. The sun had barely risen, casting a pale golden glow over the land as you stood at the entrance of your home, watching as Kyojuro gathered his things.

He turned to you, smiling that same bright smile that made your heart ache. "I’ll be back before you know it," he said, his voice full of that familiar optimism.

You couldn’t smile back. Instead, you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him one last time, holding him as if your life depended on it. He hugged you back just as tightly, his own tears finally spilling over.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

"I love you too," he replied, his voice cracking. He pulled back just enough to press his lips to yours, the kiss slow, lingering, filled with all the unspoken fears and emotions you both held inside. It was a kiss you never wanted to end, but eventually, you had to let go.

As Kyojuro stepped back, he gave you one last look—one filled with love, sorrow, and a glimmer of hope. Then, with one final smile, he turned and walked away.

You watched him until he disappeared into the distance, the weight of your premonition settling in your chest like ice.

And as the first few snowflakes began to fall again, you stood there alone, silently praying that, for once, your intuition would be wrong.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[libby-for-life]

Based off @lilacwriter07 psychopath Lucifer.

Adam harbored a deep-seated discomfort towards Lucifer, an unease he couldn't quite articulate. It wasn't just a matter of disliking the angel; something about his very presence felt unsettling. The breadth of Lucifer's smiles seemed almost exaggerated, stretching wider than what felt natural for someone who claimed friendship. His words dripped with a charm that, while captivating, sent shivers down Adam's spine, filling him with an inexplicable sense of foreboding.

Each time Lucifer drew near, Adam could feel the weight of something menacing lurking beneath that friendly facade. The way Lucifer embraced him felt too tight, too lingering, as if the angel were trying to ensnare him in some unseen trap. There was a persistent, nagging feeling that danger loomed just beneath the surface when Lucifer was around, like shadows dancing at the edges of his vision.

In stark contrast, Lilith seemed utterly captivated by the angel, her laughter ringing out like sweet chimes whenever he was near. She found joy in his playful banter, basking in the warmth of his attention, while Lucifer frequently indulged her whims with an affable charm. Yet, despite her enchantment, Adam could feel the tension in the air as Lucifer's cold blue eyes were always drawn back to him. There was a chilling intensity in those gazes, an unyielding focus that tracked Adam's every move, leaving him unsettled and wary, as though he were a moth caught in the thrall of a flame he couldn't escape.

Adam exhaled, a mix of frustration and concern bubbling to the surface as he observed Lilith's infatuation with the angel Lucifer. "Lilith, please, you have to listen to me," he urged, stepping closer, his voice laden with desperation. "Lucifer doesn't mean anything good, I promise you that. You can't trust him."

But the First Woman merely brushed his words aside with an indifferent flick of her wrist. A fierce glint sparkled in her eyes as she shot him a defiant glare. "You're just jealous, Adam. You know I like him better than you," she retorted, her voice sharp and unwavering.

"I won’t let you take him away from me," she added, her resolve firm despite Adam's growing anxiety.

Adam felt a surge of helplessness wash over him. This was not jealousy consuming him; it was a deep-rooted instinct to protect the one who had once shared her dreams and laughter with him. He could see the allure of Lucifer—the celestial being exuded charm and danger in equal measures. But Adam knew how deceptive appearances could be with that angel. Each time Lilith turned her back on him and walked towards the angel, it felt as though he was losing pieces of the woman she had been during the dawn of creation.

As she moved away, Adam's heart sank further, fragmented by the sight of Lucifer’s chilling smile. The angel's expression was one of triumph, as he took Lilith’s hand, leading her into shadows that felt darker than night. Adam stood rooted to the spot, a silent witness to the rift forming between them, and the looming threat that seemed to grow with every step Lilith took towards the unknown.

There were countless moments when Adam had awoken to find the angel perched at the edge of a tree he was sleeping under, a haunting presence in the shadows of dawn. Each time, he would open his eyes, feeling the crispness of the morning air enveloping him, only to be met by the piercing gaze of glacier-blue eyes fixed intently on his face. In that ethereal light, the angel’s features took on a surreal quality, every angle sharper and more defined, casting an almost otherworldly glow around him.

The angel’s lips would curl into a chilling smile that sent shivers down Adam’s spine, and he would hear the soft, melodic voice—like distant chimes—drift through the silence. "Good morning, Adam. I'm glad you woke up. I'm always scared one day you won't." The words hung in the air, heavy with an unshakeable sense of foreboding that twisted in Adam's gut. What could that possibly mean?

Panic would grip him at the thought, and instinctively, he would leap from the ground, his heart racing as he fled from the unsettling sight. Yet, as he dashed away, he could feel Lucifer’s eyes tracking his retreat, a mixture of amusement and something darker lurking within that smile, which only deepened the eerie atmosphere. It was a sensation that wrapped itself around him—both unsettling and compelling. The angel's presence, while breathtakingly beautiful, carried with it a disquieting edge that Adam could never quite shake off.

And then the day came when Adam came across the unsettling sight of Lilith's mangled corpse. He didn't understand what he was seeing though. He had never experienced death or anything like it. So he could only stare at Lilith's pale purple eyes and tilt his head. "Lilith? Why aren't you getting up? And what's all that red stuff?" She didn't answer.

"Adam!" Adam froze when he felt strong arms envelop him in a hug. He whimpered a bit and turned slightly to see Lucifer who was covered in the same red stuff as Lilith. "Lucifer? What's wrong with Lilith? Is she sleeping?"

"Hm? Oh, I took care of her. She was saying awful nasty stuff about how she was sorry how she was treating you and how she wanted to make it up to you. I couldn't let that happen. Worked far too hard to keep her away from you." Lucifer rubbed his cheek against Adam’s stomach and grinned at him. Adam didn't understand. He wouldn't for a long time but he gasped when warm lips pecked his stomach. "Now I have you for myself."

[koyagifs]

shattered trust

pairing: Ravenclaw!Hongjoong x Hufflepuff!reader au: harry potter genre: angst | fluff | Summary: as the years go by, you never noticed the dark side of your lover.

Warning(s):

Some cursing, their ages will be aged up a bit! This fic is not meant to reflect how Ateez are in real life. This is a fanfic.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14

st masterlist | ateez masterlist

.𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓☽.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓☽.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓☽.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓☽.𖥔 ݁ ˖˖☾

The last few weeks of school passed in a haze, the shock of Cedric’s death weighing heavily on everyone. The once lively chatter in the Great Hall had turned to hushed whispers, and the atmosphere at Hogwarts was thick with fear and uncertainty. The return of You-Know-Who cast a shadow over everything, even for those who tried to carry on as if nothing had changed.

Mina’s expulsion was another shock that rippled through the school, the circumstances surrounding it stirring up a whirlwind of rumors. Some whispered that she had been caught practicing dark magic, while others speculated that she had been involved in Cedric’s death. The truth remained murky, but one thing was clear: the confidence and camaraderie that once filled Hogwarts were fraying at the edges.

Conversations about Cedric and the Triwizard Tournament had all but stopped—no one wanted to relive the horror of that night. The Ministry was in denial, refusing to believe that Voldemort had truly returned, but you knew the truth. The fear, the grief, and the unshakable reality that the Dark Lord had indeed returned.

Hongjoong had been by your side more than ever, his presence a comforting constant in the midst of the chaos. He seemed to instinctively know when you needed a shoulder to lean on or a distraction from the weight of the world around you. Together, you navigated the uncertainty, finding solace in shared laughter and whispered confessions, even as the shadows of the past loomed over you.

Mingi, too, remained close, his protective instincts kicking in full force. He often joined you and Hongjoong, ensuring that you were never alone, whether in the halls or the library, where you found refuge in books. The bond among your friends deepened as you all leaned on each other for strength, determined to face whatever lay ahead together.

As you sat with your friends by the courtyard one afternoon, watching the sun dip low on the horizon, it hit you just how much had changed. There was no escaping what was coming. The carefree days of your earlier years at Hogwarts felt like a distant memory, replaced by a growing sense of foreboding.

Mingi sighed heavily, breaking the silence. “It’s not going to be the same anymore, is it?”

You shook your head, your voice quiet. “No, it’s not.”

Hongjoong glanced at you, his eyes filled with concern. “We’ll get through it, though. Together.”

The others looked at each other, nodding as they gather closer, " beside im sure it won't be a wild ride next year"

Yeosang's attempt to lighten the mood earned him a soft laugh, and the tension in the air eased just a bit. "Yeah, a wild ride," Jongho echoed, a hint of sarcasm lacing his voice. "More like a treacherous journey filled with dark magic and danger."

You smiled faintly, grateful for their efforts to keep things light despite the heavy reality looming over you all. “As long as we stick together, I think we can handle whatever comes our way.”

“Exactly,” Mingi chimed in, his gaze unwavering. “We’ve faced tough times before. This will be no different.”

Wooyoung, always the jokester, added, “And if all else fails, we can always find a way to prank our way out of trouble!”

The laughter that followed was a welcome sound, a reminder that amidst the darkness, there was still light to be found in your friendships. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the courtyard, you felt a flicker of hope. It was small, but it was there. Together, you would face whatever challenges awaited you, united in your resolve to protect each other and navigate the uncertainties of the future.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓☽.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓☽.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓☽.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓☽.𖥔 ݁ ˖˖☾

As you walked away, Hongjoong couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. He watched you and your family disappear into the distance, his heart heavy with concern. Despite the warmth of the sun setting behind you, a chill crept up his spine. He could sense that the shadows of the past few weeks were not completely behind you.

“Mingi,” he called out, turning to his friend, who was lingering nearby, deep in conversation with Yeosang. “Do you think everything will really be okay?”

Mingi paused, his expression turning serious. “What do you mean?”

Hongjoong ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “I just have this feeling... like something’s coming. I don’t want to leave YN alone, not after everything that’s happened.”

Mingi nodded slowly, his brows furrowed in thought. “I get that. But you know she needs some space too. We all do, in a way.”

“I know,” Hongjoong replied, glancing back one last time. “But what if she needs us more than we realize?”

“Then we’ll be there for her,” Mingi assured him. “We always will be. But right now, let’s make sure we take care of ourselves too. We can’t help her if we’re not okay ourselves.”

" beside, i'm pretty sure im staying at your place again this summer.." Mingi mumbled, fidgeting with his fingers.

Hongjoong looked at his parents who were talking to Mingi's parents, glancing at the two before they came towards them. Yeosang was quick to say his goodbye, mention he'll write to them before he headed to his family.

"come boys, time to head home," Hongjoong father called out, not glancing at the boys as they left King Cross.

Hongjoong followed his father, the familiar sights of King’s Cross Station blurring together as his thoughts raced. The reality of everything that had happened weighed heavily on his mind, but he tried to focus on the little moments, the warmth of his parents’ presence beside him and Mingi’s reassuring companionship.

With one last glance at the station, they stepped outside into the bright sunlight. Hongjoong felt a renewed sense of purpose. The road ahead may be uncertain, but with Mingi by his side and a strong support system at home, he knew they would face whatever challenges awaited them together.

[jadegretz]

Miharu Hirano: Dance of Fists and Fury by Jade Gretz

Miharu Hirano stood at the edge of the dense forest, her breath visible in the cold night air. The moon was full, casting an eerie glow over the ancient trees that seemed to whisper secrets of the past. She tightened her grip on the leather-bound scroll in her hand, the key to mastering an ancient fighting technique that had been lost to time. The journey ahead was fraught with danger, but Miharu’s resolve was unshakeable. She had come too far to turn back now.

The scroll had been passed down through generations of her family, each custodian adding their knowledge to its contents. The final, elusive technique was said to grant its master unparalleled power, but no one had been able to decipher it fully. Legends spoke of a hidden temple deep within this forest, where the secrets of the technique could be unlocked. Miharu's mission was to find this temple and complete her training.

As she ventured deeper into the forest, the trees seemed to close in around her, their branches forming a canopy that blocked out the moonlight. The path was barely visible, overgrown with thorny bushes and twisted roots that seemed to reach out to trip her. She moved carefully, her senses alert to any sign of danger. The forest was known to be haunted, and the stories of those who had entered but never returned weighed heavily on her mind.

Hours passed, and the forest grew darker and more foreboding. Strange sounds echoed through the trees – the rustling of leaves, the snap of twigs, and the distant call of an unknown creature. Miharu pressed on, her determination unwavering. She had trained for years, honing her body and mind to peak condition. This was her destiny.

Suddenly, a shadow flickered at the edge of her vision. She spun around, her heart pounding, but saw nothing. The silence that followed was oppressive, as if the forest itself was holding its breath. She continued forward, each step more cautious than the last. The path narrowed, leading to a clearing bathed in moonlight.

In the center of the clearing stood a stone altar, weathered and covered in moss. Miharu approach …(see the rest of the story at deviantart.com/jadegretzAI). For more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, rogue and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support :)

[timeless-fanfic]

Yay can you write a John the Baptist one shot where he tells his wife to follow Jesus like remember the episode where simon z came and John the Baptist witnessed Jesus do a miracle maybe she came with him to see Jesus and then he goes to tell of Herod and he tells her to stay with Jesus and follow him for now?

A Call to Follow

Word Count: 1312

John the Baptist x Reader

The dust kicked up around your sandals as you hurried to keep pace with John. His long strides moved with a purpose, his cloak flaring behind him as if he were a man on fire—fueled by an unshakable conviction. You had always admired that about your husband. His calling was clear, his path unwavering, but today felt different. There was something heavier in the air, something that pressed against your heart.

The two of you had traveled together for years, spreading the message of repentance, preparing the way for the Messiah. But now, everything was changing. The One whom John had spoken of—the Lamb of God—was here. And you were about to see Him for the first time.

"John," you called, quickening your steps to match his. "What do you think He will do today?"

John paused, turning to look at you with eyes that sparkled with a mixture of awe and urgency. "Only what the Father has willed, my love. But whatever He does, it will change everything."

You had heard of the miracles, the teachings, and the healings—whispers of Jesus’s works spreading like wildfire across the land. But it was still hard to grasp. The man you loved, who had spent his life preaching of the coming Messiah, now stood on the brink of meeting Him, and you were by his side.

As the two of you neared the gathering crowd, your pulse quickened. The people had already begun to assemble, their faces alight with anticipation. John led you to a spot where you could both observe, his hand gently resting on your arm as if to reassure you. There was a heaviness in his touch, a sense that he was preparing himself for something monumental.

It wasn’t long before you spotted Him—Jesus. He stood in the midst of the people, His presence commanding but serene. Even from a distance, you could feel the weight of His authority, yet it was coupled with an undeniable gentleness. The crowd hushed as He approached, every eye fixed on Him, waiting.

Simon the Zealot was there too, a man you recognized from stories John had shared. Once a fierce warrior, now a follower of the Messiah. And then it happened. Before your very eyes, Jesus performed a miracle—something so profound, so otherworldly, that the crowd gasped in amazement. You couldn’t tear your gaze away as a man who had been lame stood on legs that had been dead for years, his face lit with joy and disbelief.

You felt a surge of awe rise in your chest, your breath catching as you glanced at John. His eyes shone with a kind of reverence you had never seen before.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. This was it. Everything John had foretold was happening right before you, and it left you breathless.

After the crowd began to disperse, John took your hand and led you away from the people. His face was serious now, a stark contrast to the elation he had just felt. You knew that expression well—it was the look he wore when the weight of his calling pressed heavily on him.

"Come with me," he said softly, guiding you to a quiet place by the side of the road, away from the bustle of the crowd. "There is something I must say."

You followed, your heart tightening with an inexplicable sense of foreboding. "John?" you asked hesitantly, searching his face. "What is it?"

John’s jaw tightened as he turned to face you fully. His hand cupped your cheek, rough from years in the wilderness, yet so tender. "I must go to Herod."

The name sent a chill through you. Herod—king and tyrant. You knew what it meant for John to go to him, to confront him for his sins. You knew the danger.

"No," you whispered, your hands gripping his cloak. "John, you can’t—"

"I must," he interrupted, his voice firm but filled with love. "I must call him to repentance, as I have called everyone else. But this time... I do not know if I will return."

Tears filled your eyes as you shook your head. "Don’t say that. You will return. You always do."

John’s expression softened, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "My love, I have always known that my path leads to this. My work is nearly finished, but yours... yours is just beginning."

You blinked through your tears, confused. "What do you mean?"

He took a deep breath, his gaze locking with yours, steady and sure. "I want you to stay with Him—with Jesus. Follow Him, learn from Him. This is where you are meant to be now. The road I must walk is dangerous, but with Him, you will be safe."

Your heart clenched at his words. The thought of being separated from John, of him facing Herod alone, was unbearable. "But I don’t want to leave you," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I don’t want to lose you."

"You won’t lose me," he said gently, his thumb brushing away your tears. "Not truly. You see, this is bigger than us. The Messiah is here, and He is the one we have waited for. My time was to prepare the way, but now... now it is His time. And it is your time to follow Him."

You stared at him, your heart torn in two. You understood the truth of his words, but it didn’t make them any easier to accept.

"When will you return?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

John hesitated, his eyes flickering with the weight of what he wasn’t saying. "I don’t know. But I will be with you, always, in spirit. And He—He will take care of you."

The tears you had been holding back finally spilled over as you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. He held you close, his strong arms providing the comfort you needed, even as you felt him slipping away.

"Promise me," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Promise me you’ll be careful."

John pressed another kiss to your forehead. "I promise to do what the Lord has called me to do. And you—promise me you’ll follow Him. Stay with Jesus, no matter what happens."

You nodded, though your heart felt heavy with dread. "I promise."

He pulled back, his hands resting on your shoulders as he gave you one last, loving look. "Then go," he said softly. "Go and be with Him. I will go where I am called, and we will trust the Lord together."

You nodded, tears streaming down your face as you stepped back, your eyes never leaving his. "I love you, John."

"I love you too," he replied, his voice full of affection and pride. "Now go."

With a heavy heart, you turned and began to walk toward where Jesus and His followers were gathering again. Every step away from John felt like a piece of your heart was being left behind, but you knew that this was the path you were meant to walk now.

As you glanced back one last time, you saw John standing tall, his face set with determination as he prepared to confront Herod. And though fear gripped your heart, you held fast to the promise you had made—to follow the One who was greater, who would lead you into a new life, even if it meant walking without John by your side.

[msmorningstaarr]

Holy and Heathen - 8 (Changes.)

Pairing: young!Oberyn MartellxF!Original Hightower Character

Word count: 7.3k

Chapter Warnings: sex; descriptions of depression and anxiety;

ao3 | masterlist

SUMMARY: Lady Melara Hightower is the youngest daughter of Lord Leyton Hightower and has a distinct, serious and pious personality. She is sent to serve the Faith as a Septa, but her destiny suddenly changes once she becomes betrothed to the heir of Dorne, Prince Oberyn Martell. She sees herself living in a land far from hers with distinct habits, dealing with many divergences and a husband far more wild than she could ever expect. Would she be capable of lighting the way of her mind and heart?

(Except for Melara Hightower, all characters do not belong to me but to George RR Martin, author of the 'A Song of Ice and Fire' book series.)

Taglist: @princessanglophile @hiroikegawa @hiraethrhapsody

Before you read... I'm sorry for taking so long. But here it is! I hope y'all have a good holiday <3

Melara 

Melara woke up yelling loudly. Her heart beat fast and her eyes were filled with tears of angst. Almost every night, her mind reproduced the same scene: her, alone and lost in Oldtown, running desperately. Her breathing was irregular as she held her childish garment, running amongst the commoners and dimly lit alleys. The ancient cobblestone streets of her home city seemed to stretch endlessly before her, labyrinthine and foreboding. Melara's small feet pounded against the cold stone as she darted through the narrow passages, the distant echoes of her footsteps mingling with the haunting whispers of the wind.

In her recurring nightmare, the cityscape around her was both familiar and alien. The towering structures of the Starry Sept loomed overhead, their spires reaching toward the moonlit sky like ominous sentinels. The air was heavy with a palpable sense of dread, and shadows danced menacingly in the corners of her vision.

As Melara sprinted through the eerily deserted streets, she felt a pervasive sense of isolation. The windows of the ancient buildings stared back at her like vacant eyes, and the flickering lanterns cast long, distorted shadows that seemed to taunt her. The silence was broken only by the rhythmic echo of her breath and the distant tolling of a sombre bell.

Her memories of why she ran were always elusive in the dream. Yet, an unshakable feeling of urgency compelled her forward, urging her to run off the dirty streets of Oldtown with a desperate determination. She clutched the worn garment closer to her chest, its significance known only to her subconscious.

The dream held a mysterious grip on Melara's psyche, leaving her shaken each time she awoke. She longed to unravel the enigma that bound her to these scary visions, to understand the cryptic messages her subconscious seemed to be conveying. Her eyes quickly opened up and burned to the intense morning sunlight, heart beating fastly and still fretting with her bad dream. Melara scoffed and pressed her hands over her chest whilst some nervous tears fell from her eyes, still recovering from the fright. Her loyal handmaidens were sleeping on the same bed, guarding her reputation: Melessa by her side, Lys on her feet and Megga on the other side of the mattress. The three girls had woken up worried about Melara, sitting around the princess and trying to understand what happened while also gathering up their consciences.

"Princess!" Megga said, pressing one of her hands on her chest and the other on Melara’s knee while the young Princess cried in panic. 

"What happened, my lady?" Lys asked, crawling at the top of the bed.

"I had… I had a bad dream…" Melara sighed as Lys wiped her tears away and pampered her with kisses on her arm and gentle patting on her body, since all of them knew how negative her response to physical touch was, especially where Oberyn left a sore mark. Her handmaidens put a few ointments, but her fair skin left it all apparent as a white canvas being covered in paint.  

"It is gone now, princess." Melessa said, stroking her hair with her soft fingers, gently gazing at her lady. 

"You are safe here, princess." Megga whispered words of affirmation whilst massaging her feet.

"Give us a smile, my lady." Lys pleaded, kissing one of her hands and allowing Melara to feel the warmth coming from her lips as the slow and brief moment happened. From all her handmaidens, Melara found Lys the most beautiful of them. Lys was thin, but had curves in all the right places and a long, thick black hair. She often mixed a ribbon between her braids and had a beautiful and enticing smile, a soothing voice she used to sing lullaby songs and tell tales in Melara's ears as she loosened her hair and brushed the silvery gold cascade.

Melara could never grow used to these types of dreams and she recalled having them since a young age. Once more, a faceless man appeared in her dreams, smirking at her and cornering her somewhere in the streets of Oldtown. The sense of fear was excruciating. The eagerness to scream from the top of her lungs and no voice coming out was frustrating. Her breathing was heavy as if she had run from the gates of Sunspear until the Water Gardens under the sun. Melara's trembling breaths began to steady as the reassuring presence of her handmaidens enveloped her. Their unwavering loyalty and genuine concern provided a comforting balm to the residual fear lingering from the dream. Slowly, she allowed herself to be swayed by their soothing gestures and words.

A hesitant smile tugged at the corners of Melara's lips, grateful for the genuine companionship that surrounded her. The weight of the unsettling dream started to lift as she absorbed the love and support from her loyal attendants.

"Thank you, girls," she whispered, her voice a fragile echo of the self-assured princess she presented to the world. Melessa continued to stroke her hair, Lys maintained her comforting touch and Megga kept a watchful eye, ready to offer solace in any form.

After a few moments, Melara collected herself and sat up, breaking free from the cocoon of worried looks that surrounded her. She surveyed the room, her gaze landing on the wide windows that now bathed the chamber in the soft morning light. The dream still haunted the edges of her consciousness, but with the support of her handmaidens, she felt a renewed sense of strength.

"Prepare my bath, and bring my matutine dress," Melara instructed, her voice now composed. "I will not let a mere dream dictate the course of my day."

The handmaidens nodded in unison, their expressions transitioning from worry to peaceful. As they hastened to carry out Melara's orders, the princess took a deep breath, centering herself for the day ahead. The journey into the corridors of her dreams would have to wait; duty called, and Sunspear awaited its princess.

Megga separated her a grey dress from the wardrobe, a dress with flowing fabrics adorned with intricate patterns of suns and spears, the Martell sigil. Melessa fetched a basin of water, infusing it with fragrant oils to create a soothing bath for Melara. Lys, ever attentive, prepared the fan and laid out the dress with delicate care.

As Melara immersed herself in the cold water, the tendrils of anxiety began to dissolve. The calming scents of the oils enveloped her, and the rhythmic sound of water being poured added a soothing cadence to the room. The handmaidens worked in unison, attending to their princess with a practised grace, understanding the rituals that accompanied her morning routine.

Megga gently approached Melara with the chosen dress, holding it out for her like a precious offering. "This one, my lady?" she asked, her eyes reflecting concern.

Melara nodded, a faint smile playing on her lips. The garment, in shades of gray that mirrored the precious stones, clung elegantly to her form. As the handmaidens separated her dress and her jewellery, Melara's mind lingered on the frightening dream that still echoed in the recesses of her thoughts. Lys scrubbed her shoulders and rinsed her skin, smiling and reciting a prayer to Melara in order to keep cheering her lady up. It was still awkward for Melara to have people pampering and obeying her commands after staying for almost a year serving as a Septa but it reminded a old peace she always had. Even if she had grown up  surrounded by wealth and luxury, being spoiled was something odd for her after the renovating experience of serving the Gods. The company of maids and Septas could be considered the closest of friendship she could ever have growing up, even being surrounded by siblings. 

She missed the icy breeze and the giant tree and waved at her window as she did her morning prayers, trying not to distract herself as Lya spoke volumes after the most random things related to life. Somehow, she missed Lya as well. She found the girl to be rather talkative and dull at times, but she was a joyful person at most parts. Melara wondered if Lya had taken her vows instead of going after her in Sunspear and this thought made her have mixed feelings, once following the faith was a more than fulfilling path and some comfort lived in her heart once she ruminated about Lya serving as a Septa somewhere but unease also reached her mind once she reminded that the girl would be happier anywhere else where she could be free at her most.

"My lady," Lys approached her ears, provoking a tingle on her neck. "Shall we dress you now?"

"Yes Lys, please." Melara stood up with her bathing suit wet, her nipples appearing through the linen which made the black haired maid smile briefly. The young princess extended her hand to Lys and left the bathtub. In the quiet moments that followed, the sounds of water being drawn and the rustle of fabric filled the chamber. Melara, adorned in the morningly dress that reflected her delicateness and beauty, emerged once more as a beacon of grace and resilience.

"You are dismissed now, girls. Go find something to eat as I break my fast with Princess Ysilla." The girls bowed at her and left. But as they opened the door, two servants were standing by the entrance of her bedchambers.

Just as Oberyn commanded, there were two servants at her door with a five feet wooden stick with peacock feathers on its top, made especially to fan her and ease the heat. 

"Princess," Said one of the servants, bowing at her presence alongside the other. "We are here to serve you by refreshing you as the prince commanded."

"Thank you." Melara said, walking away from her bedroom and having the boys following her and blowing a windy refresh feeling towards her recently bathed skin. She would remind of doing some kindness to her lord husband in return for this thoughtful act for her. 

Oberyn was such a confusing person. In one moment, he would be distant, aggressive and aloof to her presence but just after grabbing her violently and pushing her against the floor he sends her two servants to refresh her, apologetic and thoughtful. A wave of sadness hit her remembering it, but she shrugged that feeling away. Melara would keep dutiful and loyal to Oberyn, no matter what happened. Once she gave him a trueborn heir he would leave her alone as she hoped. 

She breathed heavily before encountering princess Ysilla in her solar, eating her own food. Melara tried to disguise her unease before she could face her mother by law for the first time. Ysilla, however, had a pleasant smile and a striking confidence even in that early time of the day, which made Melara wonder what could bring her so much joy. "Mother, good morning." Melara said, pushing her own chair to sit by. The older princess stared puzzled at the fan boys, intrigued by the situation.

"Good morning, my dear." She said, still watching them blow some breeze on her face. "Are you still struggling with the weather?"

Melara nodded and sighed, adjusting her dress as she sat down. "My apologies for being late, princess," she started. "And yes, I have been. Oberyn commanded I had servants to refresh me."

Her eyes had fallen onto her arms, noticing the faint bruises around it. Melara, ashamed, covered the marks with her hands discreetly and Ysilla sighed.

"What happened to your arms, my lady?" Ysilla asked, drinking a sip of her wine. 

"I… I had an accident, my lady. I fell in my bathtub last night." Melara replied, disguising her nervousness. Her eyes blinked nonstop, trying to avoid tears falling down. Ysilla knew it all, Melara could see through her eyes the fury, the rage. Though it was a tough matter, Melara yearned to let it go, once everything was already too painful to remember and Oberyn seemed genuinely regretful of his explosion over her. Then, Melara sighed and stood her head up and opened a simple smile, as she would always do. 

"I could not help but notice the absence of my husband at the table." Melara stated, noticing Ysilla’s eyes getting numb, somewhat worried.

"Oberyn is not in good spirits this morning." She sighed heavily, resting her head over her hands. "Which is a shame on such a beautiful, bright day with wonderful news from King’s Landing."

Melara narrowed her eyes. "What news, if I am allowed to ask, mother?" 

Then, her face turned to be happy as it was before and a wide smile rose on her lips. "Elia is with child. I had just received the news, my dear." 

Melara's eyes widened at the revelation. A mixture of surprise and conflicting emotions played across her features as she processed the news. Elia, Oberyn's sister, was with child, carrying the next generation of House Targaryen. A rush of conflicting emotions surged within Melara — joy for the impending addition to the family, but also a pang of jealousy of Elia, because she was able to be with child so early in her marriage. Meanwhile, Melara cried all months her bleeding fell between her legs.

"That is wonderful news, mother!" Melara exclaimed, forcing a smile to her lips despite the turmoil in her heart. "A new heir for the Iron Throne is indeed a cause for celebration."

Ysilla beamed at Melara's response, seemingly oblivious to the internal struggle beneath her daughter-in-law's composed exterior. "Yes, my dear. Elia and her husband, Prince Rhaegar, are overjoyed. The entire realm will soon rejoice in the birth of a Targaryen heir. We must throw a feast tonight to celebrate such soul fulfilling news. You make sure to be on your best looks, my dear. I will be more than thrilled to celebrate it with you."

Melara nodded, concealing the tumult of emotions within. The news added another layer of complexity to her relationship with Oberyn. The prospect of Elia providing an heir might put even more pressure on Melara, heightening the uncertainties surrounding her own role in House Martell.

"I am happy for them," Melara continued, her voice carefully modulated. "I'm sure Oberyn will be delighted to hear the news as well."

Ysilla's expression shifted slightly, her eyes betraying a hint of concern. "Oberyn has not taken the news as joyfully as one might expect. He seems burdened by some troubles."

A knot tightened in Melara's stomach. The revelation about Oberyn's mood cast a shadow over the joyous occasion. She couldn't shake off the haunting memories of the previous night's confrontation and the bruises on her arms.

"I will go to him," Melara said, her resolve strengthening. "Perhaps there's something I can do to ease his troubles."

Ysilla nodded approvingly, seemingly reassured by Melara's commitment. "A supportive wife is a pillar of strength, my dear. Go to him, and may your presence bring comfort."

As Melara rose from her seat, a subtle conflict lingered in her eyes. She moved with determination, fueled by a sense of duty, yet the echoes of the previous night's turmoil resonated in her heart. "If you excuse me, my lady. I must go see my husband."

"Be my guest, my dear." Ysilla said and Melara excused herself from Ysilla's solar, leaving behind the air of celebration and entering the quiet corridors of Sunspear. The palace seemed to hold its breath as she walked, the weight of her thoughts making each step heavier.

Her search for Oberyn led her through the winding corridors, but his presence eluded her. The normally bustling palace felt eerily quiet, echoing her growing unease. She checked the places Oberyn often frequented—his study, the training yard, and even the gardens—but all proved empty.

With a sense of frustration gnawing at her, Melara finally approached one of the servants in the corridor. "Have you seen Prince Oberyn?" she inquired, her voice laced with concern.

The servant, a young girl with wide eyes, hesitated before responding, "I'm sorry, my lady. I haven't seen Prince Oberyn since the early morning."

Melara thanked the girl and continued her search, her anxiety deepening with every unanswered inquiry. A growing sense of foreboding shadowed her steps as she roamed the palace halls accompanied by her servants.

She decided to check Oberyn's private chambers once more, hoping he had returned without her knowledge. As she approached the door, she found it slightly ajar. Pushing it open, she entered the dimly lit room. The stillness within was almost palpable, and a sinking feeling settled in Melara's chest.

"Oberyn?" she called, her voice echoing in the silence. There was no response.

Melara scanned the room, her eyes falling on the cluttered table strewn with maps and parchments. The abandoned maps seemed to mirror the complexities of their life. The atmosphere held an air of solitude, and the absence of Oberyn's usual presence felt like an unspoken void.

A feeling of helplessness crept over Melara. She moved to the window, gazing out over the sun-drenched courtyard below. The beauty of Sunspear seemed to mock her internal turmoil. She wondered if Oberyn sought solace beyond the palace walls, perhaps in the vastness of Dorne. Was he angry at her for not giving him a son like Elia gave her husband?

As the day wore on, Melara's concern deepened. She considered seeking the counsel of trusted advisers or enlisting the help of the guards to find Oberyn. The weight of responsibility settled heavily on her shoulders, and the echoes of Ysilla's words about being a supportive wife reverberated in her mind. Melara had no intention to disappoint her husband or mother by law.

In the fading daylight, Melara finally decided to retire herself in one of her quarters and quilt with her maids. Her footsteps echoed in the corridors as she retraced her path to the solar. Upon entering, she found a silent bedroom with no one but Lys, preparing a new dress for her lady. Over her table, a letter rested with the Targaryen sigil, her expression a mixture of concern and frustration.

"My lady," Lys bowed at her, "I was preparing your dress for the feast. Is it of your liking?" She asked.

Melara looked up, her eyes reflecting the same worry that clouded Melara's thoughts. She looked at the yellow dress made of Pentosi silk. "It is perfectly fine, Lys. Where are Megga and Melessa?"

"They are preparing your next bath, my lady." Her fingertips passed by the soft paper and grabbed it, showing it to her handmaiden. "Oh, it came from King’s Landing for you, my lady. Must be your good sister, Princess Elia."

Her lips slightly curved up on a timid smile, slowly opening the envelope.

My good sister,

It occurred to me I have never written to you before and I feel in need to pay you my pardon. Life in court is rather agitated and I have been attending so many events I can barely write to my loved ones. How has life in Dorne been so far? I hope you and Oberyn are building a strong relationship together. I am writing this to you in hope we can maintain contact with each other, for I hold you dear in my heart as my good sister. 

I imagine it is already your acknowledgement that I am with child, once mother must be jumping to the clouds in happiness with this news. But allow me to share a secret with you - I am deeply frightened with the prospect of childbirth. I confide in you these words as a manner to bond with you. Please, do not tell this to Oberyn nor mother, they are overprotective of me due to my weak health. But the Gods are good and I will provide Rhaegar healthy babies. As for you, my lady, I am truly praying day and night you provide my brother with a nephew or niece to call it mine. I wonder if they would go to his dornish traits or your Hightower appearance. It would be beautiful either way.

Please, write me back. I would be overjoyed to have you as my friend.

With love,

Princess Elia Martell of Dragonstone.

Melara caressed the paper, caringly reading the words Elia wrote her. Apparently, both of them had the same thought and exchanged letters at the same time and the princess thought of it as a funny coincidence.

"Lys, fetch me a paper and a feather, please." Melara asked, sitting at her chair graciously. Once the handmaiden handed her everything she asked, the princess started writing in response, writing about the coincidences and how she is happy to maintain contact with Elia. Melara dipped the feather into the inkwell, her thoughts flowing onto the paper. She described the day's events, the joyous news of Elia's impending motherhood, and the challenges that seemed to envelope Sunspear in an air of uncertainty. As she wrote, the quill glided over the parchment with a fluid grace, capturing the intricacies of her emotions.

Dread settled back in Melara's chest as the letter was sent away. The complexities of her marriage with Oberyn seemed to intensify, and the challenges they faced loomed larger than ever. Her mind always returned to the thought of Oberyn raging for the failure of her womb in giving him a child. Her mind recollected places where her husband could be, she wanted to show him she could be a dutiful wife, not a disappointment, like her stepmother always made sure to remember her. She was terrified of feeling his rage again and scared she could never accomplish her only goal: give House Martell heirs. Ever since she installed herself in Sunspear, Oberyn never mysteriously disappeared without warning and it made her anxious, nervous. Once more, the scene of the day she left King’s Landing replayed in her mind. Why was Oberyn so upset with all things related to Elia and Prince Rhaegar? Why did he cry and gazed at her as if she was his lover? Why did he not receive the news well? 

After getting bathed and dressed by Lys, she faced herself in the mirror and her hands slowly roamed her empty belly. How could she desire something so much she was deeply scared of? She grew up being groomed into faith. All her marital intenders gave up on her, Lady Rhea always told her posture was odd, her sombre expression was sombre and she was too skinny to bear children. Lynesse, Alysanne, Denyse, Leyla, Alerie and even Malora, who was a mind sickled woman, was considered more well built in body to have children in Rhea’s eyes. That is why they arranged good marriages sooner. She prayed to the Gods to answer her why her fate suddenly changed. Melara yearned to return to faith, to take care of people and just forget the eternal mess she is. The poor would never see her odd behaviour or her failures, they would only see someone helping them. That is what she yearned, to be nothing, to disappear. 

"You look mesmerising, my princess." Lys appeared behind her, gently patting her shoulder and facing her through the mirror with a gentle smile that faded immediately after realising the sorrow on Melara’s face. "Is there something wrong, Princess? Is the dress not of your liking?"

Her eyebrows furrowed and she shook her head quickly. "No… I just… do you believe I am being punished for being who I am?"

"What greater sin such a lady, a princess like you could commit to be punished, Lady Melara?" Lys asked, wiping a single tear falling from her eyes. "Are you still sad because you’re not with child, my lady?" Lys cautiously looked at her lady with disbelief and noticed her hand resting over her womb. Her hands covered Melara’s womb, taking the hands of the princess away from it. "No… never, princess. You’re a good woman, rather serious but kind, a pious woman."

Melara sighed, the weight on her shoulders feeling a bit lighter with Lys's reassurance. She appreciated the loyalty and support of her handmaiden, but the lingering doubts about her worth as a wife and her ability to fulfil her duties gnawed at her.

"I fear I disappoint Oberyn," Melara confessed, her gaze dropping to the floor. "He's a man of passion, and I fear my inability to give him an heir might wake his anger up again."

Lys tightened her grip on Melara's hands, offering a warm and reassuring smile. "Princess, love is not solely measured by the number of heirs. Prince Oberyn cares for you deeply," she said, slightly facing the bruise on her left arm. "And I'm sure he understands the details of such matters. Your worth goes beyond bearing children."

Melara squeezed her hands and gently left Lys behind, ignoring her question. "My lady, you will be with children, I know it." Lys assured her, wrapping her arms around Melara in a comforting embrace. The softness of Lys's touch offered a momentary respite from the weight of Melara's anxieties.

"But what if I'm not meant to have children, Lys?" Melara whispered, her voice tinged with vulnerability. "What if I am truly cursed? My stepmother always said I brought misfortune to those around me."

Lys held Melara at arm's length, meeting her gaze with unwavering sincerity. "You are not cursed, my lady. Your stepmother's words are baseless. We all have our trials, but you are strong, and the Gods have a plan for you."

Melara managed a faint smile, touched by Lys's unwavering support. The handmaiden took Melara's hands in hers, a gesture of solidarity. "We face the unknown together, my princess. Perhaps the Gods have a different path for you, one that leads to happiness and fulfilment."

Melara's thoughts were a tempest of uncertainty. The mirror reflected not just her external beauty but also the internal turmoil she wrestled with. She couldn't shake the fear that Oberyn's absence was somehow connected to her inability to fulfil her role as a wife and mother. The echoes of her stepmother's disparaging words haunted her, the scars of past rejections etched into the fabric of her being. As they exited the chambers, the soft glow of the evening sun painted the corridors in warm hues. The palace seemed to hold its breath as Melara made her way toward the grand hall, accompanied by the soft rustle of her gown and the gentle footsteps of Lys behind her.

Lys spoke with a tone of reassurance, "My lady, you have a duty to yourself. Worry not about what others may think or say. Your worth is not determined by your ability to bear children."

Melara nodded, appreciating the sincerity in Lys’ words. The corridors echoed with the resonance of their footsteps as they moved towards the heart of Sunspear. The grand hall loomed ahead, its vastness symbolising the weight of responsibility that rested on Melara's shoulders.

Upon entering the grand hall, Melara's eyes scanned the room for any sign of Oberyn. The courtiers conversed in hushed tones, their attention momentarily drawn to the princess's entrance. The air was thick with the fragrance of candles and the distant aroma of a meal being prepared.

Ysilla, seated at the head of the long table, looked up with a mix of concern and curiosity as Melara entered. "My dear, you grace us with your presence. Is everything well?"

Melara curtsied, her movements graceful yet weighted with the burden she carried. "I am searching for Oberyn, my lady. Have you seen him?"

Ysilla's brows furrowed slightly, concern deepening in her eyes. "No, my dear. He has not returned since this morning. I thought he might be with you."

A cold shiver ran down Melara's spine, but she forced a composed smile. "No, my lady. I have yet to find him. I wished to join him for the banquet in Elia’s honour."

Ysilla’s eyes seemed numb for a moment as she did in the morning when they first spoke about Oberyn. She sighed and dismissed the black haired handmaiden escorting the young princess. "Come with me and sit by the table. Tonight we must celebrate. I am sure that my lordling son is well and safe somewhere as I already commanded the guards to search for them."

Melara nodded and agreed, trying to hide how tense she was. Sitting by the table, she wasn’t interested in eating or drinking wine and just retreated back, watching people cheer and feast for the new babe in Elia’s womb. Melara often wonders if they will celebrate and fuss over when she presents them a child. Maybe they would, but only because their father is Oberyn, their equal in skin, mind and bravery. No one would notice her, she knew it quite too well. Feeling invisible when you are supposed to be seen is even worse than painting yourself invisible by purpose.

Ysilla stood up and raised her cup and toasted. "I would like to raise a toast for my beloved Elia, who secured an heir for her husband and our bloodline on the Iron Throne. Cheers!" She exclaimed and everyone, including Melara, raised their cups to celebrate Elia. But then, the sounds of the crystal cups and cheering from the court were muffled by a loud bang coming from the entrance of the Great Hall. Oberyn walked the hall sweaty and grinning snarkily, the court remained in silence and Melara could hear the sound of her heart beat ripping off her skin. 

"Why do I see so many silent mouths on an allegedly auspicious night?" Oberyn questioned, spinning around to see everyone, who little by little returned to raise their glasses and drink. "You," He yelled at the group of singers. "Start the song all over again." He commanded and so they complied, smiling to see the girls dancing with their respectives pairs and his mother going back to her peaceful mood. "And you," he now said to Melara. "Come dance with me."

Melara stood up and left the table, disconcerted. Oberyn usually smelled like fresh fruits and vanilla at times, but right there he had a musky scent mixed with a strong wine. His hand gently led her to the dance floor, where he began to dance with him. She feared he was mad at her, once she knew his rage could always be hidden under a well put smirk. 

"Husband." Melara said and bowed at him before they started dancing.

"Wife." He replied, bringing her a bit closer and she could look him in the eyes.

The intensity in Oberyn's gaze sent shivers down Melara's spine, his eyes holding a mixture of emotions that she couldn't quite decipher. As they danced, the rhythm of the music seemed to mirror the unspoken tension between them. The court watched the prince and princess with polite interest, their conversations subdued as they observed the couple. The musicians played a lively tune, but the atmosphere surrounding Melara and Oberyn held an undercurrent of unpredictability.

Oberyn led Melara through the dance, his movements commanding yet strangely fluid. The fabric of Melara's gown rustled softly as they swayed to the music, the proximity between them both thrilling and unnerving.

"Your absence was felt, husband," Melara ventured, her voice steady despite the apprehension that knotted her stomach.

Oberyn's smirk deepened, and he spun her gracefully. "I had urgent matters to attend to, my lady. Duty calls even in moments of celebration."

Melara couldn't shake the feeling that there was more beneath the surface, that his absence had a significance he chose not to disclose. As they twirled around the dance floor, the courtiers discreetly observed the couple, trying to gauge the dynamics of their relationship.

The dance continued, and Melara felt a mix of emotions — the desire to understand Oberyn's mood, the fear of his unspoken anger, and the longing for the unity they once shared. The courtly facade they wore hid the complexities of their marriage, and each step of the dance seemed to echo the intricacies of their intertwined destinies.

"Was it an official event? Why wasn't I summoned to accompany you?" Melara asked, slightly worried her presence was useless.

Oberyn laughed lightly. "Because it was outside the city gate, my lady. I don’t think it is appropriate for you yet."

"Why not?" Melara questioned, trying her best to be polite. 

"Do you want to meet Planky Town, my lady?" Oberyn squeezed her waist and Melara noticeably sighed to his touch, an expression Oberyn noticed quite too well.

"Yes. I will be their lady someday, it could be good for them to see me." She muttered, passing her fingertips over the fabric of his tunic. Her eyes, however, were still not able to disguise all the mental unease Melara felt during the day and the sadness over the iminent jealousy she fought against.

"Then I promise to take you. We can buy you new dresses and fabrics for your future features when you bear our children." 

Melara looked down and stumbled on his feet, making both stop dancing that moment. Her eyes flickered with a mixture of embarrassment and a shadow of pain. The mention of bearing children, a topic that had become a persistent source of unease between them, hung heavily in the air. Her gaze met Oberyn's, and the intensity of their locked eyes conveyed a silent understanding. The mention of bearing children hung in the air like an unspoken truth that lingered between them.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Oberyn said softly, his tone a touch more tender than usual. He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze more closely.

"Oberyn…" Melara hesitated, searching for the right words to express the internal turmoil that had plagued her all day.

Oberyn raised an eyebrow, his expression unwavering. "Speak your mind, Melara. I value honesty."

Melara took a deep breath. "You disappeared today because you were angry with me?"

Oberyn's face went from soft to puzzled, and he cupped her cheek gently. "Why would I be angry with you, my lady?"

Melara bit her lips, trying to gather her thoughts and express her feelings. "Princess Ysilla told me you did not receive the news well…"

Oberyn stood silent for a while, looking away from her with a hint of regret, sadness in his eyes. "Do you fear I am angry with you because Elia is with child and you are not?"

Melara took a deep breath. "I fear your expectations, Oberyn. I fear failing you. I want to be what you need, but the pressure... the pressure is suffocating. I yearn to be the lady you need, but I can't ignore the weight of these expectations."

"Melara… some things are just beyond my understanding. But I assure you none of it is your fault. You are not defined by the expectations of others. Nor should you be bound by the expectations you assume I have. We are partners, and your well-being should matters more to me than any perceived duty." Gently, Oberyn caressed the bruise over her fair skin and took a breath before speaking. "I am not being a good person to you and it brings me deep shame. Which is odd for me, because before I met you, I never experienced this."

A mix of relief and vulnerability flashed across Melara's features. "You could be worse. You could be cruel, you could yell at me for my foolishness… you could be old or force yourself on me. You’re a good man, Oberyn." Melara said, staring at the others dancing around them. "I wish to be a good wife to you, Oberyn. But my dreams are haunted by this constant fear of not meeting the expectations placed upon me."

Oberyn sighed, his thumb tracing soothing circles on her cheek. "You are not alone in this, Melara. I want to be better for you and right all the wrongs I did to you because you do not deserve any of it. Let go of the fear, my lady. But if you wish for a child, then we must conceive one." He grinned lightly while brushing his finger on her chin, approaching slowly and carefully. When she thought he would kiss her lips, he kissed her forehead and the prospect of being kissed in public suddenly became acceptable.

Melara nodded, her expression a blend of gratitude and uncertainty. The music resumed, and Oberyn guided her in a renewed dance. The courtiers, ever observant, continued to steal glances at the couple, their curiosity evident in the way they discreetly murmured to one another.

As they danced, Melara couldn't shake the feeling that there were layers to Oberyn's words, nuances that eluded her understanding. The promise of visiting Planky Town, the mention of future children — they were threads in the complex tapestry of their shared destiny.

The night wore on, the festivities continuing around them. The laughter, music, and clinking of glasses filled the Great Hall, but for Melara, there lingered a sense of alleviation. She longed for safety that transcended the formalities of courtly life.

When the dance finally concluded, Oberyn led Melara away from the crowd, toward the high table, where both could no longer see Ysilla. Apparently, she retired after being stilted by a sudden illness. Maybe it would be the large amount of wine the princess mother had drank all night.

"Melara," Oberyn began, his voice a murmur in the still night air. "I believe it is time for us to try and conceive our child once more."

Melara nodded, a mixture of apprehension and determination in her eyes. She braced herself and clung on his arms clumsily, fiddling her fingers nervously. As they walked into the moonlit gardens, the shadows whispered of untold stories, and the night held the promise of truths that could reshape the path of their relationship.

As they entered Oberyn’s private quarters, Melara trembled to the thought of having intimacy, even after being married. As their lips met in an intense kiss, Oberyn felt a surge of desire coursing through him. The air in the room was thick with anticipation as he pushed the door shut behind them, enveloping them in a cocoon of lust. The flickering candlelight cast shadows that danced across the walls, adding to the comforting atmosphere.

Oberyn's hands traced the curves of his wife’s body, revelling in the warmth and softness that had been absent from their marriage. The princess responded with a fervour that matched his own, her fingers deftly working to undo the intricate clasps of Oberyn's garments, which surprised him. The room echoed with the rustling of fabric and the quiet sounds of their shared passion.

In that intimate space, Melara allowed herself to be fully present, free from the constraints of duty, the weight of responsibility and guilt over any sin she committed. It was a stolen moment, a secret liaison that fueled the fire within him. He murmured in her ear pleading for apologies almost as if it was a prayer, desperately kissing her.  At the same time he was so consumed by desire, Melara felt him so vulnerable… even regretful? She felt the sorrow in his voice. Mayhaps, the disappearance could have done something to change his mind about Melara. 

“Do you consent me to fuck you?” He asked, darkening his eyes as he revealed his bare chest. Melara simply nodded, allowing him to come closer and squeeze her arse, which caused goosebumps and a soft moan leaving her lips with the sudden move.

As they tumbled onto the bed, Melara’s mind was a whirlwind of sensations. The scent of her perfume mingled with the musky aroma of the room, and the silkiness of her skin under his fingertips sent shivers down his spine. The prince surrendered himself to the intoxicating blend of pleasure and compassion for each other.

The night unfolded in a symphony of passion and vulnerability, each stolen touch and shared breath etching a memory that would linger long after their bodies parted ways. In the quiet aftermath, as they lay entwined in the dishevelled sheets, Oberyn couldn't help but wonder about what caused her husband to act towards her this way after so many altercations.

When he placed over her, Melara could see the drops of sweat mixing with his long, wavy hair. Oberyn got silent and stood still for a moment, caressing her face as she spread her legs to make entrance for him. 

“I want you to ride me, my lady.” The request made Melara blush deeply and her cheeks burned with the unusual request. 

Melara hesitated for a moment, her eyes locking with Oberyn's intense gaze. The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow on the scene, accentuating the question mark clear in her eyes, still questioning when Oberyn turned into a caring person towards her and desire in their eyes. She could feel her heart racing, torn between the familiarity of her marriage and the allure of the forbidden.

Oberyn, still caressing her face gently, whispered, "Trust me, Melara. I want you to experience pleasure like you've never known." His voice was a seductive murmur, coaxing her to surrender to the intoxicating dance of desire.

With a nervous nod, Melara shifted her position, straddling Oberyn as he lay beneath her. The air in the room thickened with anticipation as she slowly lowered herself onto him. A mix of pleasure and discomfort crossed her face, but Oberyn's hands on her hips guided her movements, creating a rhythm that merged their bodies in a sensual dance.

As the union deepened, Melara's initial hesitation melted away, replaced by a growing hunger for the pleasures Oberyn promised. The room echoed with the sounds of their passion, a symphony of gasps and moans that mingled with the rhythmic creaking of the bed.

Oberyn's lips sought hers, and their kisses became a fusion of longing and surrender. In that intimate moment, the boundaries between them blurred, and the world outside ceased to exist. Melara discovered a side of herself she had never known, a realm of pleasure that transcended the constraints of societal expectations.

The physical connection between Oberyn and Melara became a manifestation of their unspoken desires, a silent rebellion against the confines of duty and tradition. In that unexpected encounter, they discovered a new form of intimacy that left them both breathless and wanting.

As the night wore on, the walls of the room seemed to absorb the echoes of their passion until the undeniable climax reached them both as waves crashed rocks in the sea. Melara laid by his side and as usual, she would sleep turning her back at him, however, Oberyn pulled her close to his chest and therefore, both could look into each other’s eyes. Melara was still ashamed for all the pleasure she felt, but this is what she was supposed to feel now? Pleasure and bliss? Melara thought it was about time to be more welcoming to new feelings as Oberyn gave signals of a sudden change.

Melara slept peacefully in his arms and allowed to hold her close, the rhythmic beating of his heart acting as a lullaby that soothed her ears. In the quiet aftermath, the moonlight streamed through the windows, casting a soft glow over their entwined forms.

Oberyn's fingers traced gentle patterns on her back as they lay in each other's arms. His eyes, filled with a mixture of tenderness and understanding, met Melara's gaze. There was a newfound intimacy in that shared moment, a bridge built between them that went beyond the physical. Finally, a strange warmth in her heart hit her once she had a big realisation: she wasn’t a disappointment nor felt like one for Oberyn. Still, the ruminations of what caused this sudden change lingered her mind and followed her to her sleep.

[star-wars-writing]

The Temple's Test: Hearts Revealed

Hey, Star Wars fans and fellow fanfic lovers! 🌌✨ Just dropped my latest work, Dive into a tale where Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody are caught in a time loop inside a mysterious Sith Temple. It's a story of hidden emotions, forbidden love, and the courage to face the deepest truths. Can't wait to hear what you all think. @codywanbingo @swfandomevent @swfanfics

The planet loomed before them, an enigmatic world shrouded in myths and whispered fears. Its surface, a tapestry of jagged mountains and foreboding valleys, lay bathed in the waning light of a crimson sun. Obi-Wan Kenobi, Commander Cody, and the loyal soldiers of Ghost Company - among them Waxer, Boil, Trapper, Wooley, and several others - trekked across the rugged terrain towards their ominous destination: a long-forgotten Sith Temple.

Each step was cautious, deliberate, as if the very ground beneath them could give way to the darkness that seemed to seep from the planet's core. Waxer and Boil, always the pair to lighten the mood, exchanged tense jokes under their breath, but even their humor was dulled by the heavy air of the alien world.

Trapper, ever vigilant, scanned the horizon with a wary eye. "This place feels wrong," he muttered, his hand subconsciously drifting to his blaster.

Wooley, usually unshakeable, nodded in silent agreement. The rest of the troopers, their armor reflecting the dying light, moved with a synchronized caution, a testament to their training and unspoken fears.

Obi-Wan, leading the group with Commander Cody at his side, felt a knot of apprehension tighten in his chest. The Force was a maelstrom here, twisted and tainted by a darkness that he had only encountered in the deepest shadows of the galaxy. He could sense Cody’s unease too, a rare crack in the commander's otherwise stoic facade.

The temple itself was a silhouette against the darkening sky, a monolith of ancient evil that seemed to pulsate with a life of its own. Its spires were like fingers clawing at the heavens, and its walls whispered of untold horrors and secrets best left buried.

As they neared the temple, the ground beneath them began to tremble subtly, a low vibration that resonated with the haunting energy of the place. Boil stumbled slightly, catching himself against Waxer, who shot him a concerned look.

"Steady there," Waxer said, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the slumbering malevolence that surrounded them.

The troopers formed a protective circle around Obi-Wan and Cody as they approached the temple's entrance, their blasters at the ready. The doorway was a gaping maw, an invitation to the unknown that promised no return.

Obi-Wan paused at the threshold, his hand resting on the hilt of his lightsaber. He turned to look at his companions, their faces a mix of determination and dread. In Cody’s eyes, he saw a reflection of his own turmoil - a battle between duty and the foreboding sense of a trap waiting to be sprung.

With a deep breath that did little to calm his racing heart, Obi-Wan stepped forward, crossing into the shadow of the temple. The air grew colder, the whispers louder, and the darkness more oppressive. They were no longer just soldiers on a mission; they were intruders in a realm that had been undisturbed for millennia.

The threshold of the Sith Temple felt like a boundary between worlds. As Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody stepped over it, a heavy silence enveloped them, a stark contrast to the whispers that had hounded their approach. Behind them, the members of Ghost Company hesitated, their unease palpable in the charged air.

"Keep your guard up," Obi-Wan instructed, his voice resonating in the hollow expanse of the temple's antechamber. The walls, adorned with sinister carvings, seemed to absorb the light from their torches, casting elongated shadows that danced with a life of their own.

Cody, his hand resting instinctively on his blaster, surveyed the room. "This place... it's like it's alive," he murmured, his usual composure frayed at the edges.

Obi-Wan could sense Cody's discomfort, a feeling mirrored in his own heart. The Force here was a twisted labyrinth, and he treaded its paths cautiously. He reached out, trying to pierce the darkness with his senses, but it was like grasping at smoke.

As they moved deeper into the temple, the rest of Ghost Company trailing behind, a sense of isolation began to creep in. Waxer and Boil exchanged uneasy glances, their usual banter silenced by the oppressive atmosphere. Trapper and Wooley moved with a heightened alertness, as if expecting an ambush at any moment.

Suddenly, the ground beneath them shuddered, and a low rumble echoed through the halls. Obi-Wan and Cody exchanged a look of alarm just as the floor split open, separating them from the rest of their team.

"Wooley, Trapper, fall back!" Cody shouted, his voice laced with urgency. The soldiers scrambled away from the widening chasm, barely evading the grasp of the dark abyss.

Obi-Wan and Cody found themselves isolated on the other side of the fissure, cut off from their men. Obi-Wan's gaze met Cody's, a silent communication passing between them. They were alone, and the weight of that realization settled heavily upon them.

"We need to find another way around," Obi-Wan said, his voice a steady anchor in the midst of chaos.

Cody nodded, his expression grim. "Let's move. Keep an eye out for any more surprises."

As they ventured further, the air grew colder, and the walls seemed to close in around them. The oppressive energy of the temple bore down on them, a physical pressure against their chests.

Obi-Wan felt Cody's unease, a tension that was uncharacteristic of the seasoned commander. It was more than the fear of the unknown; it was a reflection of the emotional turmoil that lay beneath Cody's stoic exterior.

Their path led them to a vast chamber, its ceiling lost in shadow. In the center stood an altar, atop which lay the artifact they had been sent to retrieve. But it was the presence that filled the room that drew their attention – a malevolent force that seemed to emanate from the very stones.

Cody's hand tightened around his blaster. "There's something here with us," he whispered, his eyes scanning the darkness.

Obi-Wan extended his senses, trying to identify the source of the malevolence. "Be ready for anything," he warned, his lightsaber ignited, casting a blue glow that did little to dispel the encroaching darkness.

They moved towards the altar, each step heavy with anticipation. The presence grew stronger, a suffocating blanket of fear and anger that threatened to overwhelm Obi-Wan's defenses.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows, its form shifting and indistinct. Obi-Wan raised his lightsaber, positioning himself between the apparition and Cody.

"Stay back," he commanded, his voice a mix of determination and concern.

Cody, his blaster raised, stood shoulder to shoulder with Obi-Wan. "I'm not leaving you to face this alone," he said, his loyalty overriding his fear.

The figure coalesced into a more distinct form, a manifestation of the dark side that the temple harbored. Obi-Wan could feel its hatred, a tangible force that sought to crush their spirits.

Together, they faced the embodiment of darkness, their bond a beacon of light in the heart of the Sith Temple.

The first rays of dawn barely penetrated the foreboding darkness of the Sith Temple, casting an eerie light on the figures of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody as they regained consciousness. The air was thick with an ancient menace, a silent observer to their plight. As Obi-Wan stirred, his mind was a whirlpool of confusion and unease, a sensation only exacerbated by the sight of Cody, who lay beside him, disoriented and vulnerable.

"Cody," Obi-Wan called out softly, his voice echoing in the vast chamber. "Are you alright?"

Cody groaned, slowly sitting up. "Kenobi... what happened? Where are we?" The fog of confusion in his eyes was evident, and it pained Obi-Wan to see his usually unflappable commander so disconcerted.

"We're in the Sith Temple," Obi-Wan explained, his voice steady but laced with an underlying current of worry. "Something... something has happened. I can't quite remember."

As they stood, the oppressive atmosphere of the temple pressed down on them, a tangible reminder of the dark forces at play. They ventured deeper, their steps cautious, with Obi-Wan leading the way. His senses were heightened, attuned to every shadow and whisper that the temple offered.

Their journey was fraught with danger, traps springing from the very walls and floors, but they navigated them with the skill and precision honed over years of battle. However, Obi-Wan couldn't shake the feeling of dread that clung to him like a second skin. It was more than the fear of the unknown; it was the fear of what lay within his own heart.

Cody, ever observant, noticed the subtle changes in Obi-Wan's demeanor. "Kenobi, you seem... troubled," he commented, his voice tinged with concern.

Obi-Wan offered a strained smile. "It's nothing, Cody. Just the effects of this place."

But it wasn't nothing. Obi-Wan's heart was a tumult of emotions, a storm that he had long kept at bay. His feelings for Cody were a secret he had buried deep, a truth he dared not face, even in the solitude of his own mind.

As they approached the heart of the temple, a sudden onslaught of dark energy erupted around them. Obi-Wan reacted instantly, his lightsaber igniting with a reassuring hum. But it was too late. A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, its form shifting and malevolent, and struck out with a speed that was terrifying.

Cody, caught off guard, was thrown against the wall with a sickening thud. Obi-Wan's heart stopped. "Cody!" he cried out, rushing to his side.

But he was too late. Cody lay motionless, his eyes closed, a grim testament to the ruthlessness of their adversary.

Obi-Wan's world shattered in that moment. The man he had secretly loved, the man he had shared countless battles and quiet moments with, lay lifeless before him. His heart ached with a pain so profound it threatened to consume him. Tears blurred his vision, a rare show of vulnerability for the Jedi Master.

The shadowy figure laughed, a sound that echoed through the chamber and pierced Obi-Wan's soul. With a cry of anguish and rage, Obi-Wan lunged at the figure, his lightsaber a blur of blue light.

The battle was fierce, but Obi-Wan's heart wasn't in it. His movements were mechanical, driven by a sense of duty rather than the will to survive. When the figure finally dissipated, vanishing into the darkness from which it had come, Obi-Wan was left alone, his breath ragged, his spirit broken.

In the shadowed heart of the Sith Temple, time seemed to stand still, the air itself heavy with the weight of unspeakable loss. Obi-Wan Kenobi knelt on the cold, unforgiving stone floor, the lifeless body of Commander Cody cradled in his arms. The eerie silence of the temple was a stark contrast to the tumultuous storm of grief and regret raging within Obi-Wan's soul.

As he held Cody, Obi-Wan's mind replayed every moment they had shared, every battle they had fought side by side, every quiet conversation that had deepened their bond beyond that of mere comrades. But now, those memories were tinged with a profound sorrow, for he had never revealed the depth of his feelings to Cody, feelings that went beyond friendship, beyond brotherhood.

Tears welled up in Obi-Wan's eyes, a rare display of emotion for the stoic Jedi. The tears traced silent paths down his cheeks, each one a testament to the love he had kept hidden in the deepest recesses of his heart. He gazed down at Cody's face, peaceful in death, and felt a pang of heartache so intense it threatened to overwhelm him.

"Cody, my dear friend," Obi-Wan whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. "I never told you how much you mean to me. In a galaxy torn apart by war, you were a constant, a source of strength and comfort. And now... now I've lost you without ever having the chance to reveal my true feelings."

The temple seemed to absorb his confession, the shadows around him deepening as if echoing his despair. Obi-Wan's hand gently brushed Cody's hair, a small, intimate gesture he had never allowed himself in life.

"You were more than a commander to me, more than a fellow soldier. You were the light in the darkness of war, the voice of reason in the chaos. And I... I loved you, Cody. I loved you with a part of me that I dared not acknowledge, even to myself."

The reality of his confession hit Obi-Wan like a physical blow. He had always upheld the Jedi Code, always put duty before personal desires. But in this moment, alone with his grief and the silent witness of the Sith Temple, he allowed himself to acknowledge the truth.

As he held Cody's body, memories flooded through him - shared laughs under alien skies, quiet moments of mutual understanding, and unspoken glances that spoke volumes. Each memory was a dagger to his heart, a reminder of what could have been but would never be.

A sob escaped Obi-Wan's lips, a sound of pure anguish that filled the chamber. He bowed his head, his forehead resting gently against Cody's, and allowed himself to fully feel the loss, the love, and the unbearable pain of a future torn away.

And then, just as the weight of his sorrow seemed too much to bear, the world around him began to shimmer and shift. The cold stone beneath him faded, and a blinding light enveloped him, erasing the dark confines of the temple.

When Obi-Wan opened his eyes again, he was back at the temple's entrance, the dawn light casting a soft glow on his surroundings. Beside him, Cody stirred, alive and unharmed, oblivious to the cycle that had just reset.

Obi-Wan's relief at seeing Cody alive was overwhelming, but it was accompanied by a haunting realization. The time loop had begun anew, and with it, the fear of reliving the agony of losing Cody over and over again. The secret that lay heavy in his heart felt more burdensome than ever, a truth that he knew he must confront if they were to escape this cursed place.

As the light of dawn once again filtered through the crevices of the Sith Temple, Obi-Wan Kenobi found himself grappling with a surreal sense of déjà vu. Beside him, Commander Cody stirred to life, blissfully unaware of the harrowing ordeal they had just endured in the loop that had reset. Obi-Wan watched him with a mix of relief and an aching sorrow, the memory of holding Cody's lifeless body still vivid and raw in his heart.

"Kenobi?" Cody's voice broke through Obi-Wan's reverie, tinged with the usual alertness that marked his personality. "Did you find something? You seem... distant."

Obi-Wan forced a composed facade, masking the turmoil within. "It's nothing, Cody. Just a feeling of... unease. This place has a way of playing tricks on the mind."

Cody eyed him for a moment longer, sensing an unspoken weight behind Obi-Wan's words, but he didn't press further. Instead, he nodded and rose to his feet, the commander in him taking over. "We should keep moving. The artifact won't find itself."

As they navigated through the temple's labyrinthine corridors, Obi-Wan's mind was a battleground of emotions. Each step was a reminder of the cycle they were trapped in, each breath a struggle against the fear that clawed at his soul. He watched Cody move with his usual efficiency, his demeanor betraying no hint of the fate he had just suffered in the previous loop.

The reality of their situation weighed heavily on Obi-Wan. He was torn between the Jedi Code, which had always been his guiding star, and the depth of his feelings for Cody, which the time loop had brutally brought to the surface. The memory of his confession, uttered to a Cody who could no longer hear, haunted him. It was a truth he could no longer deny, yet revealing it carried risks he wasn't sure he was ready to face.

Cody's voice pulled him back to the present. "This hall looks promising," he said, gesturing to a passage marked with ancient symbols. "Let's see where it leads."

As they delved deeper, Obi-Wan couldn't help but steal glances at Cody, each look a silent acknowledgment of the love he held secret. It was a love born not just of shared battles and hardships, but of a profound connection that transcended the chaos of war. In the dim light of the temple, Obi-Wan saw not just the commander, but the man – brave, loyal, and unknowingly the keeper of Obi-Wan's heart.

Their journey was interrupted by sudden tremors that shook the temple. Walls cracked, revealing hidden chambers and releasing bursts of dark energy. Obi-Wan's instincts kicked in, his lightsaber at the ready, but his protective gaze never left Cody.

"We need to be careful," Obi-Wan warned, his voice steady but laced with concern. "This temple is not just a structure; it's a test, a trial of sorts."

Cody nodded, his trust in Obi-Wan unshaken. "Lead the way, General. I've got your back."

As they moved forward, Obi-Wan felt the weight of his secret pressing down on him. The fear of losing Cody again, not just to the dangers of the temple but to the truth that lay between them, was a specter that haunted his every step.

In the echoing halls of the Sith Temple, under the watchful gaze of ancient evils, Obi-Wan Kenobi faced not just the physical challenges of their mission, but the inner conflict of a heart torn between duty and desire.

Within the oppressive confines of the Sith Temple, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody continued their cautious advance, the air around them thick with ancient enmities and unspoken fears. Obi-Wan, haunted by the memory of Cody's death in the previous loop, felt each heartbeat with an intensity that bordered on pain. His eyes, though focused on the path ahead, were constantly drawn to Cody, watching over him with a vigilance born of a secret, deep-seated fear.

Cody, oblivious to the cycles they had already endured, moved with his characteristic determination, unaware of the emotional storm raging within Obi-Wan. The Jedi Master's mind was a tangle of conflicting emotions – the duty to the Jedi Code, the love he harbored for Cody, and the harrowing knowledge of what could happen again.

As they navigated a narrow corridor lined with ominous statues, Cody's voice cut through the silence. "This place is like a maze," he observed, his blaster held ready. "Every corner seems the same, yet different."

Obi-Wan nodded, his throat tight with unvoiced sentiments. "It's designed to disorient and trap. Be on your guard, Cody."

The tension in the air was almost palpable as they turned a corner, only to be confronted by a sudden, deafening collapse. The floor beneath them gave way, a trap sprung by the malevolent will of the temple. Obi-Wan reacted instinctively, leaping towards safety, but his heart stopped as he saw Cody, caught off guard, plummet into the abyss that opened beneath them.

"No!" Obi-Wan's cry echoed through the chamber, a raw sound of despair and helplessness. He rushed to the edge, peering into the darkness, but it was too late. Cody was gone, swallowed by the merciless depths of the temple.

In that moment, time seemed to freeze for Obi-Wan. The loss of Cody, once again, was a blow that shattered the barriers he had built around his heart. The pain was not just the agony of losing a comrade, but the anguish of losing someone he loved deeply, profoundly – a love that he had never dared to express, a secret that now gnawed at his soul with renewed ferocity.

Obi-Wan sank to his knees, his lightsaber clattering to the ground, forgotten. His breaths came in short, ragged gasps, each one a struggle against the overwhelming grief that threatened to consume him. The walls of the temple seemed to close in on him, as if feeding off his despair.

"Why, Cody? Why did it have to be you again?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. The question was a plea to the uncaring stones, a lament for a fate too cruel to bear.

The Jedi Master's mind was a whirlwind of memories and what-ifs. Every smile, every shared glance, every moment of camaraderie with Cody – they all flashed before his eyes, a montage of a relationship that had been so much more than mere friendship.

As he grappled with his loss, the temple seemed to mock him with its silence, its very air a suffocating shroud of sorrow. Obi-Wan's heart ached with a pain that was almost physical, the burden of his unspoken love for Cody a chain that bound him to an endless cycle of grief.

And then, just as the despair threatened to engulf him, the world around him began to shift. The harsh stone of the temple blurred, and a blinding light enveloped him, sweeping away the darkness.

When Obi-Wan opened his eyes once more, he was back at the temple's entrance, the dawn light spilling over him anew. Beside him, Cody stirred to life, unharmed and unaware, the cycle reset yet again.

Obi-Wan's relief at seeing Cody alive was tinged with a profound sense of dread. The loop had begun anew, and with it, the haunting knowledge that he would have to face the agony of losing Cody over and over again. The secret of his love, a truth that lay heavy in his heart, was a burden he knew he must confront if they were to break free from this cursed cycle.

In the dim, foreboding light of the Sith Temple, Obi-Wan Kenobi found himself in a familiar yet agonizing situation. This was the fifth time the time loop had reset, the fifth time he had woken up to the same haunting dawn, and the fifth time he had watched Cody, alive and unscarred, unaware of the tragic fates he had already suffered. With each reset, the burden on Obi-Wan's heart grew heavier, the pain more acute.

Cody, ever the soldier, moved ahead with a purpose, but Obi-Wan's steps were slower, heavier. The memories of Cody's repeated deaths lingered in his mind, each a sharp stab reminding him of his unresolved feelings and the cruel nature of their predicament.

"Kenobi, you alright?" Cody's voice cut through the silence, laced with concern. He had noticed Obi-Wan's distant demeanor, the uncharacteristic lag in his stride.

Obi-Wan forced a nod, his throat tight. "Yes, just... cautious," he managed to say, his voice betraying a hint of the emotional turmoil churning within him.

As they ventured deeper, the temple seemed to respond to their presence, the air growing colder, the shadows darker. Obi-Wan's eyes, marked with the pain of loss and love, never strayed far from Cody. He watched him with a protective gaze, an unspoken vow to prevent the tragedy from repeating.

Their journey was interrupted by the activation of a trap. Walls slid closed around them, separating Obi-Wan from Cody. Panic surged through Obi-Wan's veins. "Cody!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls.

From the other side, Cody's muffled voice came through. "I'm alright, Kenobi! Find another way around!"

But Obi-Wan's heart raced with fear. The memory of Cody's lifeless body, the feeling of utter helplessness, was too vivid, too fresh. He frantically searched for a way to reunite with Cody, his mind a whirlwind of dread and desperation.

Finally, Obi-Wan found a path that led back to Cody. He rushed towards him, his relief palpable when he saw Cody unharmed. But as he approached, the ground beneath Cody crumbled, sending him plummeting into an abyss.

Time seemed to stand still as Obi-Wan lunged forward, his hand outstretched in a futile attempt to save Cody. "No, not again!" he screamed, his voice a raw, guttural sound of agony.

As Cody disappeared into the darkness, Obi-Wan collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his face. The pain of losing Cody, once again, was unbearable, a torture to his soul. He had sworn to protect him, to keep him safe, but the cruel cycle of the time loop made it impossible.

"I can't... I can't do this anymore," Obi-Wan sobbed, his body wracked with grief. The walls of the temple closed in on him, the oppressive atmosphere suffocating.

In his heart, Obi-Wan knew the truth. He loved Cody, more than he had ever allowed himself to admit. But this love was now a curse, a source of unending pain in the merciless cycle of the time loop.

As he mourned, the familiar shift began again. The temple blurred, the light enveloped him, and the cycle reset.

When Obi-Wan opened his eyes, he was back at the beginning, the dawn light gentle on his tear-streaked face. Beside him, Cody stirred, alive once more, oblivious to the anguish Obi-Wan had just endured.

Obi-Wan's heart ached as he watched Cody rise, the weight of his secret love and the torment of the time loop crushing him. But they had to find a way out, for both their sakes.

In the renewed light of dawn, with tears still in his eyes, Obi-Wan rose to his feet. Despite the pain, despite the fear, they would try again. For Cody, for the love he couldn't express, he would face the cycle once more.

In the ancient corridors of the Sith Temple, under the oppressive weight of a curse that seemed to mock the very essence of time, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody pressed forward once more. The air around them was heavy, thick with the scent of age-old secrets and the echo of tragedies past. For Obi-Wan, each moment was a torturous reminder of the cycles he had endured, the relentless repetition of losing Cody time and time again.

Cody, unaware of the looping nightmare, moved with his usual focus, but Obi-Wan's steps were laden with a growing sense of dread. His eyes, haunted by the pain of repeated loss, remained fixated on Cody, guarding him with a desperation born from a love too deep, too forbidden to acknowledge.

Suddenly, the temple sprang another of its devious traps. A burst of dark energy erupted from the walls, striking Cody with a force that sent him hurtling to the ground. Obi-Wan's heart lurched. "Cody!" he cried out, rushing to his side.

Cody lay motionless, his eyes closed, his face a mask of peace that belied the violent end he had just met. Obi-Wan's hands trembled as he cradled Cody's body, a wave of grief washing over him with such intensity that it threatened to shatter his composure.

"Not again," Obi-Wan whispered, his voice breaking. The tears that he had fought so hard to hold back now flowed freely, each one a silent testament to the depth of his love and the agony of his loss.

As he held Cody, a surreal, horrifying moment unfolded. Cody's body stirred, his eyes opening to reveal a hollow, lifeless gaze. In a voice that was not his own, an echo of the dark energy that permeated the temple, Cody spoke.

"It's your fault, Obi-Wan," the corpse intoned, its words cutting through Obi-Wan like a blade. "You cannot escape this cycle until you face the truth. Your denial, your refusal to confront your deepest feelings, binds you here."

Obi-Wan recoiled in horror, the words striking at the very core of his being. The cruel twist of the curse, using Cody's lifeless form to convey its message, was a torment beyond comprehension.

"I... I can't," Obi-Wan stammered, his heart breaking. "Cody, I'm so sorry. I never wanted this. I loved you, more than I should have, more than I ever admitted, even to myself."

The confession, wrung from the depths of his soul, was a raw, exposed wound. The love he had harbored, hidden under layers of duty and restraint, now laid bare in the most excruciating way imaginable.

As Obi-Wan's sobs filled the chamber, the lifeless form of Cody remained eerily still, a grotesque puppet of the temple's will. The realization of what his unacknowledged love had cost them both was a burden too heavy to bear.

In his arms, the body of Cody began to dissolve, turning to dust as the cycle prepared to reset once more. Obi-Wan's cries echoed off the ancient walls, a lament for a love lost, a future never to be, and a heart irrevocably broken.

As the world around him began to blur and shift, signaling the start of yet another loop, Obi-Wan's tears continued to fall, each one a silent vow. He would find a way to break this cycle, not just for their escape, but for the chance to honor the truth he had kept hidden for far too long.

In the renewed light of dawn, with the burden of his confession still heavy on his heart, Obi-Wan prepared to face the cycle again, this time with a resolve born from the ashes of his shattered heart.

The relentless cycle of dawn brought Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody back to the hauntingly familiar beginning once again. The Sith Temple, with its oppressive shadows and sinister aura, loomed around them, a relentless reminder of the curse they were ensnared in. Obi-Wan, his soul already frayed by the repeated trauma of losing Cody, felt the weight of despair pressing down upon him with a crushing force.

Cody, blissfully ignorant of the looping nightmare, began to stir, his movements marked by the usual efficiency of a soldier. But for Obi-Wan, the sight of Cody alive again was both a balm and a torment. Each reset was a reminder of the love he harbored, a love that was both his salvation and his curse.

As Cody looked up, ready to embark on their quest once more, he noticed the pallor of Obi-Wan's face, the haunted look in his eyes that seemed deeper, more pronounced than before. "Kenobi, are you sure you're alright? You look like you've seen a ghost," he said, his voice laced with genuine concern.

Obi-Wan tried to muster a response, to put on the facade of the composed Jedi Master, but the effort was too great. His defenses crumbled, and with them, the dam holding back his emotions broke. Tears, unbidden and unstoppable, began to stream down his face, each one a silent scream of anguish.

Cody, taken aback by this rare display of vulnerability, stepped closer, his hand reaching out in a gesture of comfort. "Kenobi, talk to me. What's wrong?" he asked, his voice filled with a worry that went beyond the concern of a comrade.

Obi-Wan looked at Cody, his vision blurred by tears, his heart aching with a pain that words could hardly convey. "I can't do this, Cody. I can't lose you again. Not again," he choked out, the words laced with a desolation that echoed in the hollow chambers of the temple.

Cody, bewildered, tried to grasp the meaning behind Obi-Wan's words. "Lose me? Kenobi, I'm right here. What are you talking about?"

But Obi-Wan was lost in the torrent of his own emotions, the reality of the time loop and the repeated loss of Cody breaking him piece by piece. "You don't understand. You... you die, over and over, and I... I have to watch, unable to save you. Each time, I hold you in my arms, and each time, I die a little more inside."

Cody, struck by the intensity of Obi-Wan's distress, realized that there was something profoundly amiss, something beyond the comprehension of their current reality. "Kenobi, I... I don't know what you've been through, but we'll face this together. We always have."

Obi-Wan's sobs subsided into shuddering breaths, the rawness of his confession leaving him exposed, vulnerable. The truth of his words hung between them, a revelation that altered the very fabric of their relationship.

In the dim light of the temple, with the weight of unspoken love and unspeakable loss bearing down upon him, Obi-Wan Kenobi faced not just the physical challenges of their mission, but the inner turmoil of a heart torn asunder by a love too powerful to remain hidden.

Together, yet apart in their understanding of the cruel reality they were trapped in, Obi-Wan and Cody prepared to navigate the temple once more. But for Obi-Wan, each step was a battle, each breath a struggle against the tide of despair that threatened to consume him.

In the shadowed confines of the Sith Temple, the air hung heavy with a sense of impending doom. Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody, bound together by fate and a secret love, moved with a semblance of purpose, their steps echoing hollowly against the ancient stone. Obi-Wan's heart, already ravaged by the repeated trauma of losing Cody, beat with a resigned dread, each thump a countdown to an inevitable tragedy.

Cody, still unaware of the looping nightmare, proceeded with his usual diligence, but there was a perceptible shift in Obi-Wan. His movements were slower, burdened not just by physical fatigue but by the emotional torment of a love that had been his silent companion for too long.

As they navigated a treacherously narrow ledge, the temple revealed its cruel intent once more. A sudden, malevolent force, unseen but palpably evil, struck out. Obi-Wan, ever vigilant, reacted instantaneously, his lightsaber springing to life. But it was too late. The force caught Cody, throwing him violently against the wall.

"Cody!" Obi-Wan's voice was a mix of fear and desperation. He rushed to Cody's side, his heart sinking as he saw the extent of the injuries. Cody lay there, his breaths shallow, his eyes fluttering in a struggle to stay conscious.

Obi-Wan cradled Cody in his arms, his hands trembling as he tried futilely to stem the flow of blood. Tears blurred his vision, each drop a testament to the depth of his feelings, feelings that had remained unspoken, hidden in the shadows of his heart.

"Cody, stay with me, please," Obi-Wan begged, his voice a raw whisper of despair. "Don't leave me."

Cody's gaze met Obi-Wan's, a faint smile touching his lips. "Kenobi... I..." His words trailed off as his strength waned.

Obi-Wan's world narrowed to the man in his arms, the man he had loved in silence, the man he was about to lose yet again. "I love you, Cody. I always have," Obi-Wan confessed, the words spilling from him in a torrent of agony and love.

But as Cody's life ebbed away, his body began to speak, manipulated by the dark will of the temple. "It's because you won't face the truth, Obi-Wan. Your denial dooms us both."

The words, coming from Cody's dying form, were a cruel knife twisting in Obi-Wan's already shattered heart. He screamed, a sound of anguish and frustration that echoed through the ancient halls. He clutched Cody closer, his tears falling on Cody's still face.

"Why?!" Obi-Wan yelled, his voice breaking. "Why must this be our fate?"

The temple seemed to absorb his cries, its sinister energy feeding off his pain. Obi-Wan rocked back and forth, holding Cody, lost in his grief. The man he had loved in secret lay lifeless in his arms, a victim of a cruel cycle that Obi-Wan was powerless to break.

As Obi-Wan's sobs echoed in the empty chamber, the cycle prepared to reset once more. The world around him began to blur, and the crushing realization that he would have to endure this agony again descended upon him like a shroud.

As the relentless cycle reset, bringing forth yet another dawn in the cursed Sith Temple, Obi-Wan Kenobi awoke to a reality he could no longer bear. His body trembled, his heart ached with an overwhelming grief, and sobs wracked his frame uncontrollably. The crushing weight of loss, of a love too deep and too forbidden, threatened to shatter his very soul.

Beside him, Commander Cody, oblivious to the tormenting loops they had endured, stirred to consciousness. His eyes, still clouded with the remnants of sleep, widened in confusion at the sight of Obi-Wan, a man he had known as a pillar of strength, now broken and weeping.

"Cody," Obi-Wan whispered through his tears, the name a caress, a wound, a lament. His voice was laden with a despair so profound that it seemed to echo off the temple walls, resonating with the ancient tragedies that the place had witnessed.

Cody, his instincts as a soldier momentarily overridden by a deeper, more personal concern, crawled over to Obi-Wan. The sight of his general, his friend, in such a state of despair was jarring, unsettling in a way he couldn't quite comprehend.

"Kenobi, what's happened?" Cody asked, his voice a mix of worry and confusion. He reached out, hesitantly placing a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder.

Obi-Wan, lost in a sea of grief, barely registered Cody's touch. His mind was a whirlwind of memories, each loop, each loss, each heart-wrenching moment he had watched Cody die, all crashing upon him with merciless force.

"It's all my fault," Obi-Wan choked out, his words barely audible over his sobs. "I've lost you... so many times. I can't... can't do it again."

Cody's brow furrowed in confusion and concern. "Lost me? Kenobi, I'm right here. You're not making any sense."

But Obi-Wan was beyond the reach of reason. The dam had broken, and years of repressed emotions, of love and loss, poured forth. "You don't understand, Cody. You can't remember. Each time, I have to watch you die, hold you as you slip away. And each time, I'm too afraid, too cowardly to face the truth."

The truth of his words, the rawness of his confession, hung in the air between them, a revelation that changed everything.

Cody, his heart aching at the sight of Obi-Wan's pain, struggled to grasp the enormity of what he was witnessing. "Kenobi, or... Obi-Wan," he corrected himself, using the name as a lifeline, a way to reach the man behind the title. "Obi-Wan, please, tell me. What truth?"

The dim light of dawn cast a soft, melancholic glow in the Sith Temple, illuminating the figures of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody in a poignant tableau. Obi-Wan, his body wracked with sobs, faced a moment of unbearable truth, a crossroads of his heart and duty.

Cody, his brow creased with concern and confusion, watched Obi-Wan with a growing sense of alarm. "Obi-Wan, please," he urged gently, "talk to me. What is this truth you're speaking of?"

Obi-Wan's eyes, red and swollen from tears, met Cody's. In them, Cody saw a depth of pain and vulnerability he had never witnessed in the Jedi Master before. "Cody, I... I have been living a lie," Obi-Wan began, his voice quivering with emotion. "A lie to myself, to the Order, to you."

Cody's hand remained steady on Obi-Wan's shoulder, a silent offer of support. "What lie, Obi-Wan?"

"The lie of my own heart," Obi-Wan confessed, his gaze dropping. "I am a Jedi, bound by our Code, our ways. We are taught to be devoid of attachment, of personal desires. But my heart... it has not obeyed. My heart chose you, Cody."

Cody's breath hitched, a mix of surprise and realization dawning upon him. "Me?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Yes, you," Obi-Wan affirmed, lifting his eyes to meet Cody's again. "I have loved you, not as a comrade, not just as a friend, but with a love that goes beyond the bounds of what I am allowed to feel. I have watched you die, again and again, in these cursed loops, each time holding your lifeless body, feeling a part of me die along with you."

Cody, still processing Obi-Wan's words, felt a surge of emotions he couldn't quite name. The man before him, a Jedi Master, renowned for his strength and wisdom, was baring his soul in a way Cody had never imagined possible.

In the quiet, somber dawn within the ancient walls of the Sith Temple, Obi-Wan Kenobi found himself at a crossroads of his soul. The confession of his forbidden love for Commander Cody hung heavily in the air, a revelation that shattered the facade he had maintained for so long. His tears, a rare display of vulnerability, reflected the turmoil that raged within him—a storm of duty, honor, and a love that defied the strictures of the Jedi Code.

Cody, his expression a mixture of shock and empathy, remained by Obi-Wan's side, a steady presence in the midst of the emotional upheaval. The revelation had pierced through the armor of the soldier, reaching the man beneath. "Obi-Wan," Cody began, his voice soft yet firm, "I never imagined... I mean, you, a Jedi Master..."

Obi-Wan's gaze was one of resignation, braced for rejection, for the inevitable distancing that his confession might cause. "I understand if this changes things between us, Cody. I had to be honest with you, with myself. This... feeling, it's been a part of me, despite everything I am supposed to be."

Cody took a deep breath, his own heart racing with a confession of his own. "Obi-Wan," he said, his voice steady despite the chaos of emotions within him, "you're not the only one who's been living a lie."

Obi-Wan's eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of hope mingling with his despair. "Cody?"

"I've felt it too," Cody admitted, his gaze unwavering. "These feelings for you, they've been there for months, maybe longer. I pushed them down, told myself it was just the bond of battle, the closeness that comes from fighting side by side. But it's more than that, and your confession... it's like a mirror to my own heart."

The revelation hit Obi-Wan with the force of a tidal wave. Cody, the man he had loved in secret, harbored the same forbidden feelings. It was a truth as startling as it was bittersweet.

"Cody, I had no idea," Obi-Wan whispered, a mix of joy and sorrow in his voice. "To think we've both been carrying this burden, in silence, all this time."

Cody reached out, his hand gently cupping Obi-Wan's cheek, wiping away a tear. "I guess we're more alike than we realized," he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

In that moment, amidst the shadows and echoes of the temple, the barriers between them crumbled. The confession, shared in the soft light of dawn, bridged the gap that duty and doctrine had imposed. They were no longer just Jedi and Commander; they were two souls laid bare, united by a love that had silently grown in the depths of war and hardship.

As they held each other, the weight of their secret love no longer a solitary burden, the cruel cycle of the time loop seemed, for once, a distant concern. In the revelation of their shared lie, Obi-Wan and Cody found a shared truth, a connection that transcended the roles they played in the galaxy's grand drama.

For Obi-Wan, the confession was a liberation, a release from the chains of denial and fear. And for Cody, it was an acceptance of a part of himself he had never dared to acknowledge. Together, in the heart of the Sith Temple, they faced not just the physical challenge of their mission, but the emotional odyssey of their unveiled hearts.

In the quiet sanctum of the Sith Temple, illuminated by the first light of dawn, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody found themselves at the precipice of a new understanding. The air around them, once heavy with the weight of unspoken truths, now seemed to hum with the electricity of revelation. They stood close, their shared confession hanging between them like a delicate, newly-formed bridge.

Cody, his eyes reflecting a mixture of wonder and apprehension, gazed at Obi-Wan. The Jedi Master, so often a bastion of composure and strength, now stood before him vulnerable and open-hearted. The confession had stripped away the layers of duty and decorum, revealing the man beneath—the man Cody had, in his own silent way, grown to love.

Obi-Wan's eyes, still glistening with the remnants of tears, met Cody's. There was a question in them, a hesitant seeking of permission, of mutual desire. The intensity of the moment was palpable, a crescendo of emotions that had been building, unacknowledged, over countless battles and shared glances.

Slowly, as if drawn by an invisible force, their faces moved closer. The distance between them, once marked by protocol and rank, now seemed insignificant. Obi-Wan's breath hitched, his heart pounding in his chest. Cody, his own breathing unsteady, closed his eyes, surrendering to the moment.

Their lips met, softly at first, a tentative exploration of uncharted territory. The kiss was a gentle clash of reality and longing, a mingling of fears and unspoken dreams. It was an acknowledgment of the love they had both concealed, a love that defied the roles they had been bound to, a love that was now, in this sacred space of truth, finally given voice.

Obi-Wan's hands found their way to Cody's waist, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Cody responded in kind, his arms wrapping around Obi-Wan, anchoring him in the moment. The kiss grew more urgent, a physical manifestation of months, perhaps years, of hidden yearning.

In that embrace, the world outside—the war, the Jedi Code, the relentless cycle of the time loop—faded into insignificance. All that mattered was the connection they shared, a bond forged in the crucible of war and solidified in the vulnerability of their confession.

As they slowly parted, their eyes opened to gaze upon each other anew. There was a sense of wonder, of disbelief, as if they were seeing each other for the first time. The kiss had changed everything and nothing all at once. They were still Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody, but now they were also something more—two hearts united in a love that had finally found its expression.

In the quiet aftermath of their kiss, as the first rays of dawn painted the temple walls with hues of gold and crimson, they stood together, bound by a newfound intimacy. The path ahead was uncertain, the curse of the time loop still a looming shadow, but in this moment, they found strength in their shared truth, in the love that no longer needed to hide in the shadows.

In the aftermath of their newfound emotional connection, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody felt a shift in the atmosphere of the Sith Temple. It was as if the ancient structure, having witnessed the unveiling of their hearts, had decided to release them from its relentless grasp. The walls, which had once seemed to close in on them with a malevolent intent, now receded, revealing a path leading out of the temple.

As they walked through the now-quiet corridors, there was a sense of surreal calm. The oppressive energy that had dominated the temple seemed to dissipate, leaving in its wake a silent acknowledgment of the truth they had shared. The artifact they had come to retrieve was nowhere to be found, but in that moment, it seemed inconsequential compared to the emotional ordeal they had just endured.

Upon returning to the Negotiator, their sense of reality was tinged with a dreamlike quality. The war, the ongoing conflict that had defined so much of their lives, felt distant, as if belonging to another world. They moved through the ship, their fellow crew members unaware of the profound journey they had just experienced.

Once inside Obi-Wan's quarters, the door slid shut behind them, cocooning them in a private sanctuary. The room, typically a place of solitude and reflection for Obi-Wan, now became a haven for them both—a place where they could process the events that had unfolded in the temple.

Cody, still processing the depth of what had transpired, turned to Obi-Wan. "I never imagined any of this when we set out for that temple," he said, his voice a mix of awe and uncertainty.

Obi-Wan, his eyes still reflecting the emotional intensity of their shared experience, nodded. "Nor did I. But what we've found... it's something I never dared hope for."

There was a vulnerability in Obi-Wan's admission, a departure from the stoic Jedi persona he was known for. Cody, sensing the depth of Obi-Wan's emotions, reached out, taking his hand in a gesture of solidarity and comfort.

"We've been through something extraordinary," Cody continued, his gaze locked with Obi-Wan's. "Something that's changed us. I can't go back to pretending, Obi-Wan. Not after this."

Obi-Wan's grip on Cody's hand tightened, a silent affirmation of his words. "I don't want to go back either, Cody. What we have... it's worth any risk. It's worth defying the expectations placed upon us."

In the quiet of Obi-Wan's room, they found solace in each other's presence. The conversation flowed between them, a mix of confessions, hopes, and fears. They talked of the future, of the uncertainties that lay ahead, but also of the undeniable strength they had found in each other.

As they sat together, the barriers of rank and duty that had once defined their interactions seemed to melt away. In their place was a profound connection, a bond that had been forged in the shadows of the Sith Temple and solidified in the light of their truth.

The ordeal they had faced in the temple had been a crucible, testing and ultimately revealing the depth of their feelings. Now, in the aftermath, they faced a new reality—one where their love was no longer a secret to be buried but a truth to be embraced.

In the sanctuary of Obi-Wan's quarters, away from the prying eyes of the galaxy, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody found peace in each other's company, a peace that had eluded them for so long. Together, they began to navigate the uncharted waters of a relationship that defied convention but was grounded in a love that had proven strong enough to withstand the darkest of trials.

Thanks for reading! 🌟 If you liked it, hit reblog and let me know your thoughts! What was your favorite moment? Any feedback or comments are always welcome and appreciated. Stay tuned for more intergalactic adventures!

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 1: These Devilish Intentions

Summary: Lucy earns herself a new name and a fearsome reputation.

Word Count: 3,120

Warnings: Violence and drugging.  

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Chapter 7: The Red Demon

There was a new woman working behind the bar. A tiny thing, with black hair and shining green eyes, light freckles doting her nose. Jeremy could have sworn that he’d seen her before, but he couldn’t place where. Not that it was of much concern; here barmaids tended to come and go.

He kept his eyes trained on the door, forever prepared to sound the alarm should a familiar face obscured by a newsboy cap appear across the threshold. There was almost no one else in the pub aside from their little group of rebels; just two women smoking in the corner and giggling.

“Where’s Jill?” one of his companions, Daniel, asked as the barmaid came to their table, setting their drinks down in front of them each carefully.

“She’s sick. Asked me to cover her shift for her. She’ll be back by next week,” the barmaid said.

“Pretty that one is,” commented Alexander, eyes trained on the barmaid as she walked away.

“I prefer Jill,” sulked Daniel.

“Enough of that talk,” ordered Jimmy, lighting a cigarette. “We’re here to talk about ending the Peaky Blinders. You can discuss which woman you'd prefer to get your dick wet on your own time.”

The men grumbled but quieted down. Jeremy took a nervous gulp of his beer. He always hated these meetings. They were too exposed, all together like this. Too easy to corner. And there was something about tonight in particular, some sudden sense of foreboding that made the hairs on his arms stand up in alarm. Something was wrong.

“I’ve gotten another letter from our benefactor in London. The weapons will be delivered no later than the beginning of next week. Once we have them, the real work can begin.”

A murmur of agreement rumbled throughout the group.

“Jeremy?”

He looked up from his beer to Jimmy’s wrinkled face. “Yes, sir?”

“What news do you have for us?”

He took another large gulp of beer. “Nothing much. Mostly it’s been quiet since they killed Xavier,” there were a few mumbles amongst the men. Xavier had been a long time friend to many of them. “There’ve been some rumors, though. That Thomas has got some sort of new assassin working for him,” Jeremy added.

“Another round?” he just about jumped out of his seat as the barmaid appeared suddenly behind him, another tray of filled glasses balanced in her hand. She set them down on the table and sashayed away. Jeremy waited until she was behind the bar before he spoke again.

“They’re saying that’s who killed Xavier.”

“I thought that Thomas killed Xavier.” George questioned from his spot tucked into the far corner of the booth. Jeremy shrugged helplessly.

“We need hard facts, Jeremy, not rumors,” Jimmy said sternly.

“If it’s true, we might need to be more careful–”

“Well, then you better find out if it’s true or not then, shouldn’t you?”

He looked back down into his drink. “Yes, sir,” he downed the rest of the glass and immediately reached for another from the tray the barmaid had set down on the table.

“You hear anything else from our friend in London, Jim?” Alexander asked.

“No.”

“How are we paying this guy again?” Oliver frowned. Jimmy rolled his eyes.

“I told you, Ollie, he’s not asking for money. Just that once we’ve dealt with the Blinders, we ensure that his stolen…property is returned to him. That’s the payment.”

Jeremy flinched and took another deep sip of his beer. He had never liked talking about human beings as if they were objects like that. A hand reached up to rub at his temples. He was starting to feel very, very tired. An unshakable grogginess making his head feel like it was full of stones. Christ, he hoped that he wasn’t coming down with something.   

He didn’t listen to much else of what the other men around him were saying, too busy fighting to keep his eyes open, a headache beginning to pound in his temples. From the corner of his eye, he saw the barmaid moving about–what the fuck was she doing?

“Does anyone else feel weird?” William asked, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. Jeremy blinked, his mind and movements sluggish.

“I-”

The sound of the gunshot was so loud, for a moment Jeremy thought that it had deafened him, hands flying to his ringing ears at the same time that he hurled himself to the ground, trying to get under the table. In front of him, Daniel’s head exploded into a bloody mess.

They all tried to move, some of them to get down under the table or behind chairs for cover, while others tried to return fire. But their movements were slow and unsteady. Two more shots rang out and both George and Gabriel’s bodies crumpled.

Finally, Jimmy managed to pull his gun out and get a shot off, but the barmaid ducked behind the bar. Jeremy was vaguely aware of the women in the far booth screaming, clinging to each other in the chaos. 

For a moment, there was silence.

“What the fuck, what the fuck,” chanted William as he struggled to pull his gun from its holster.

“You two,” hissed Jimmy to Oliver and Samuel, “go around that side of the bar, Jeremy, come with me. We’re going to corner the bitch. The rest of you stay down.”

Gun shaking in his hands and movements still staggering, Jeremy followed Jimmy towards one end of the bar while Oliver and Samuel took the other side. All of them were dangerously unsteady on their feet, the arms clutching their guns trembling and swaying. On the count of three, they rounded the corner, guns pointed at the empty space.

“Where the fuck did she go?”

Slowly, they began to advance behind the bar, guns still raised. Jimmy leaned forward, eyes peering into the darkness of a cavity beneath the bar used to store extra glasses.

She exploded from the cavity in a sudden flurry of movement, like a monster rising from the darkness. There was a violent slash, and a sudden red waterfall burst from Jimmy’s throat, where she had practically severed his head from his body with her blade. In one quick movement, she grasped Jimmy’s body by the waist and spun them, using his torso as a shield as she fired off another round of bullets into Oliver’s head.  

Diving back behind the bar to avoid getting shot, Jeremy only heard as Samuel returned fire, and a quiet yelp from the woman. He peeked his head out just in time to watch her lunge forward with a speed that was utterly inhuman, grabbing Samuel’s wrist and twisting it so that his gun was pointed away from her, a dagger stabbing over and over into his chest. She let Samuel fall with a heavy thump, head snapping around in Jeremy’s direction. For the brief flash of a second that he was able to make out her face before he ducked his head back down behind the bar, Jeremy could have sworn that she was grinning. 

Overturning one of the tables, Jeremy all but cowered behind it, the vision of Jimmy’s head lolling back, held only by a thin sliver of skin, replaying over and over in his mind. Christ, what the hell were they trapped in here with? He had expected that eventually the Blinders would come for them. But he had never expected them to send a fucking demon after them.

It was then that William tried to make a run for the door, only making it a few steps before a knife embedded itself into his back. For a moment, his entire body went rigid, arms halfway up in the air, before falling face first to the floor.

Jeremy clutched his gun tightly to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck, he couldn’t think. His movements were too slow. There must have been something in the beer she gave them.

Across the room, huddled together behind another table, he could see Alexander. Nicholas had used William’s attempt at escape to sneak in closer to the bar. Rounding it, he lunged forward, and managed by some miracle to grab the assassin. She snarled, inhuman and spine chilling, twisting in his arms like a snake. Grasping Nicholas’s arm, she forced it upwards so that the shot he fired embedded itself in the ceiling instead of her gut. He grabbed at her hair with his free hand, yanking away the black wig to reveal hair the color of blood, wrenching her head back. Clearly struggling to keep the arm with the gun pointed away from her, the woman–no, demon, he was certain that was what she was–opted instead to sink her teeth into Nicholas’s forearm. He howled.

“One of you idiots fucking shoot her!”

 His shout shook Jeremy into action, rising from his cover and firing. But his aim was off, first shot only managing to smash a few glasses to the right of the demon’s head. He sucked in a deep breath, steadying his next shot, and in the exact moment that he fired, the demon twisted herself and Nicholas so that their positions were flipped. Jeremy’s bullet hit where his mark had been standing a moment ago, bullet coming to lodge in Nicholas’s throat. Nicholas’s grip on the demon slackened, grasping at the hole in his neck. The demon shoved him away from her, pulled a fresh revolver from inside her coat, and shot him in the head.

Scrambling, Jeremy took the brief moment that she was distracted by shooting Nicholas to hurtle himself towards the doors. Maybe, if he was quick enough–

Her shot hit him in the right knee, leg buckling immediately and sending him crashing to the floor, wailing. His gun fell from his sweaty hands in the fall, vision blurring as his head smacked hard against the floor.

He could hear her footsteps, heavy thumps against the floorboards as she walked around the bar. Poor Alexander didn’t stand a chance. The second that he rose from his cover he’d be shot dead. Something that the man seemed to realize. Jeremy still couldn’t see very well, blinking hard in an attempt to rid himself of the blurriness. But he could still hear Alexander’s voice.

“Wait. Please. I surrender. I’m sorry, just wait, please–”

Another gunshot and a wet thump were all that followed the pleas. 

He could hear her footsteps, moving slowly towards him, the sound of the revolver cocking. Palms slipping on the blood seeping over the floor, pushing with his uninjured leg, he began to crawl towards where his gun had slid away from him.

His fingers just brushed over the cool metal when the demon’s foot pressed heavily to his wrist. A hand grasped him by the shoulder, rolling him over onto his back. She kicked the gun further away from him, and knelt down so that they were at eye level, terrible green eyes blinking slowly at him. Blood covered half of her pale face, dark red hair a mess of curls dancing around her chin.

“Tommy said that you should be last,” the demon said finally, voice that had been high and musical now low and rasping. She holstered her gun, pulling from her pocket a switchblade.

“Please,” Jeremy said, widening his eyes, hoping to somehow appeal to her better nature. If that even existed. “Please. Just let me go. I’ll leave town. You’ll never see me again. I’m sorry.”

“He said,” the blade unsheathed with a click. “That we will use you to send a message. You’re going to help us ensure that no one in this town ever even thinks of rebellion ever again,” she cupped his face with one hand, holding his head still even as he tried to wrench it away, the blade approaching his face.

“You’re a demon,” he choked out. She hesitated just a moment, head tilting to the side. 

“Maybe so,” she whispered, and brought the blade to his eyes. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Once she finished with the eyes, she sliced through Jeremy’s throat like butter, tossing him back to the ground as he gurgled and drowned. One by one, she went to each body sprawled out on the floor, checking to make sure they were really dead, and slicing a horizontal line across their eyes with her blade.

The mark of the Blinders. So there would be no mistake who was responsible for the killings. 

In most of their pockets, she found little more than lint and cigarettes, but tucked into Jimmy’s innermost coat pocket she found a stack of letters, tied together with string, all addressed from London. Their benefactor. She flipped the first one open, and nearly dropped the entire little stack of paper.

No.

Her eyes skimmed over the words scrawled out onto the letter, barely processing them. She did not need to glance at the bottom, where the name of the sender was signed in looping letters. 

She would know her father’s handwriting anywhere.

Swallowing a wave of nausea, she straightened, pocketing the letters. She was barely aware of the whimpering cries of the two women still huddled in the corner of the pub, clinging to each other with their eyes closed. They flinched at the sound of her footsteps towards them, sobbing when Lucy laid her fingers on their cheeks, turning their faces to look at her. 

“You tell people what happened here today,” and then she was moving to the door, halfheartedly wiping at the sticky blood covering her face with her handkerchief as she stepped outside. 

∗ ∗ ∗

It was only around the time that she had made her way back to the betting shop did she begin to grow vaguely aware of the throbbing ache in her left bicep. The bullet had only grazed her, thankfully, but the wound still stung. And she was growing more and more certain that she would have bruises blooming across her torso within a day or two. 

Still, she wasn’t dead. That in itself was some kind of success.

“Holy Jesus,” Polly said the second she staggered through the door, jumping from her seat. Lucy only really realized in that moment just how frightening she probably looked; drenched in blood, hair a mess, eyes a touch unfocused. “Tommy!”

“I’m alright,” she mumbled, even as Polly grabbed her shoulders and pushed her into a seat at the kitchen table.

“You’re covered in blood.”

“It’s not mine,” she said at the exact moment that Tommy walked into the kitchen, took one look at her, and went white as a ghost. “At least mostly.”

“Where are you hurt?” Polly asked. Lucy gestured to her arm. The woman set about filling a bucket of water, grabbing rags, a bottle of alcohol from the cabinet, and a kit to stitch her up with. Tommy approached her slowly, cautiously, sinking into the chair beside her while his hand reached out, tracing lightly along her face.

“I got them all,” she told him, nodding urgently. He swallowed hard but nodded. Polly set the bucket full of water on the kitchen table.

“I’ve got it, Pol,” he said. She looked like she wanted to argue, but just glanced between the two of them and nodded, going into the back where the offices were. Tommy dipped the rag into the water, ringing it out before he began to carefully wipe her face. The white rag came away stained bright red.

“You’re alright?”

“Mhm.”

He began to clean the blood away from her arm, before pouring a helping of alcohol over the wound and grabbing the needle and thread Polly had prepared. Head rolling back, she let her eyes slide closed as he silently worked, suddenly exhausted.

“You’ll be getting the shakes soon,” he said. “Once your blood cools down.”

“Fun.”

He tied off the string and wrapped a strip of cloth around the stitches. Moving with her good arm, she reached into her pocket.

“We have another problem,” she tossed the letters onto the table. He picked up the top one, eyes scanning fast across the page. “Lifted them from the leader’s pocket.”

“Victor Winters?” 

“Three guesses who that is,” she bit at her bottom lip. “My guess is he’s still working with Matthew. There’s no other way he could afford to send so many weapons otherwise.”

Tommy set the first letter down and picked up another one. As he read, his hand curled over the one she had resting on the table, warm and reassuring.

“I won’t let them hurt you.”

Taking a deep breath, she let the promise wash over her, wrap around her in a reassuring embrace. “I know,” her head bowed forward. Why couldn’t they just let her go? It was hard for her to imagine that she was worth all of this trouble. Tommy leaned forward, until their foreheads all but bumped into each other. His thumb rubbed along her knuckles.

“You’re going to be okay.”

She nodded, closing her eyes. “Thank you,” she hoped that he knew that she didn’t just mean for his comfort and protection, but for the home and purpose he had also gifted to her. His head turned, a kiss pressing to her temple. Breaths stuttering, her mind whirled at the movement, unable to comprehend much outside of how soft and warm his lips felt against her skin. Her heart felt like it was about to pound free from her chest, and not just from the effect of the adrenaline slowly leaving her veins.

Tommy pulled back, but kept his hand curled around hers, reading carefully through each of the individual letters scattered across the table. The door opened, Arthur walking in, removing his cap and sliding a hand through his hair.

“Hey, Tom,” he greeted, then clapped her on the shoulder. “Good work, Lucy.”

“How do you know what even happened yet?”

“Word’s already out on the streets.”

“Oh.”

He disappeared into the back. Lucy ran a hand through her hair, ruffling at the tangled curls, looking down at her blood stained clothes and sighing.

“I should go back to my flat. Get cleaned up.”

Tommy stood, moving to grab his coat and hat from the hook on the wall. “I’ll walk you home.”

“You don’t have to,” she stood, arms wrapped around herself.

“I’d like to.”

Her shoulders shrugged. It wasn’t like she minded his company. “Okay.”

They said nothing as they winded through the streets towards her apartment building. All around them, she could hear the fragments of conversations, of whispered murmurings and flickering glances shot her way. Words that spoke of Tommy Shelby’s Red Demon, and how she had just slaughtered a room full of men.  

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Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts! 

[ringhoarder]

Not butterflies not giddiness but a secret third thing (an unshakable sense of foreboding)

[meadow-roses]

Betrayed Perhaps - Part 2

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She blinked once and turned away as the world came back into focus around her. The dark room was just as it was before, only, somehow something felt… off.  Aris stood still, eyes locked to a random fold in the curtain across from her, trying to perceive without turning her head what had caused the change of atmosphere. She had felt this way before- the suffocating silence. Thick underbrush, nowhere to run, and that unshakable sense of unfriendly eyes watching your every movement- the feeling of being hunted. 

A low rumble like distant thunder grew into the foreboding silence, and Aris slowly turned to face the noise, every muscle tensed to run. 

Golden eyes. Shadowed by their own glowering brows they came closer on taloned feet, their noise muffled in the thick carpet. The growl caught into a snarl as King Gallagher himself stepped into the light cast by the only lamp. Aris took a single step backwards. 

"Go ahead. Take another step. There is nowhere for you to run." 

Aris stood frozen as her eyes shifted to icy blue. 

Gallagher laughed harshly in his throat. "I have caught you, Little Spy.  Did you think you could walk around my castle unhindered?" He held his head low as he continued stalking forward step by step until his entire massive form was visible in the flickering light.

Little spy? Had no one told him of her presence here, or was this some elaborate trap? Aris didn't know the castle well enough to know what was hidden by the darkness behind her- another room and an escape route? Or a dead end? Gallagher’s massive form of muscle and feathers was large enough he all but blocked the hallway ahead of her, but no escape? Not likely. 

She stood still like a deer caught in a forest clearing and watched the predator's every movement as he stepped slowly forward. 

"I would like to snap you between my jaws, but first I would like to know who sent you here. If you speak truth, I might let you stay alive."

"Then allow me to speak, oh King," Aris said quickly with a bow.

"Let's hear what you have to say." King Gallagher chuckled, settling back on his haunches, his dark wings filling the space between the walls. 

[alfredosauce50]

What makes me human

[Cyberpunk! America x reader] 08

Wordcount: 4, 490 Rating: MA+ for strong language, violence, and gore. Viewer discretion advised. Chapter synopsis: When Allen finally uncovers the truth, he walks out of his job, but it costs him his life. Meanwhile, you and Alfred have been captured by extremists. Heads will literally roll.

(Remastered)

08

On my way to hell

Nothing had even happened yet, but Allen could sense it a mile away—he was screwed, and to what degree, he didn’t know. His boss always made a point to keep things ambiguous. And up until a crucial moment to keep an unshakeable hold on him.

“You must have a lot of questions.”

A right-hand man was too generous of a title when he didn’t know shit. A glorified bodyguard was more like it. His importance was solely physical, and that didn’t bode well in a digitized world like this.

“Right, yeah.” Allen spared him a tight smile. He always knew those facts, but remembering it now sent chills down his spine. “I was just wondering if your secret parking space was really all that.”

Mizumoto didn’t answer him, and the silence ate away at him faster than he could deal. So he kept rambling, desperate to preserve the atmosphere. 

“I, uh, found somebody down there.” He continued, tensing at the memory. “The hell happened to him?”

“An experiment of mine.”

“Sheesh. What kinda experiment would leave them looking like a prune?” Allen asked. He was speaking the most, yet, he wasn’t the one dominating the conversation. “Did you bake him or something?”

Even in silence, the kumicho held all the power.

“Not at all. He mummified on his own,” The other looked him right in the eye. “But his death wasn’t in vain. I would say it served a purpose equal in value, which is the driving force of all scientific discovery.”

“Oh, yeah? And how did he die?”

“Brain death.”

Allen’s brow twitched, profoundly disturbed by the thought. But he played it off with curiosity. If not, there were grisly fates for those who reacted wrongly to the company’s doings—with empathy, not apathy.

“Damn.” He rubbed his neck. “Sucks to be him.”

And he wasn’t getting his ticket punched today.

“He was a part of the most ambitious experiment to date. One that began long before you were born.” Mizumoto explained, pausing momentarily before continuing. “Fifty years ago, this company was nothing but a lowly yakuza hiding in abandoned buildings. So, when we had the opportunity to make a name for ourselves, we took it without hesitation.”

Pulling out a long pipe, he lit the end and gave it a few puffs. While he tapped it to get rid of the residue, he sensed Allen’s growing confusion at his recount that seemingly came out of nowhere.

“You won’t rest until you have the truth. I know.” Mizumoto remarked lowly. “Even if it isn’t your place. But I’ve always admired that about you, Allen. You’ve always tried your best to live beyond your means.”

Taking on gangsters, joining the yakuza, doing everything he could to protect who he cared about. Forgetting his own heritage to adopt another, he lost and gained everything by becoming a Mizumoto.

“Even if it kills you.”

“I’m still here,” Allen laughed awkwardly.

He was used to being belittled. No matter how spunky he was, talking back to his boss was like asking for a death wish. So he never did—only this felt different. Foreboding, even. But he was too afraid to even entertain the possibility of that tone of voice.

“We made something of ourselves by developing technology decades ahead of our time,” Mizumoto turned back to the window, watching the distant blinking of lights, the airborne traffic of spinners. “Appliances, vehicles, weapons. We quickly realized we needed to protect what we were building.”

He turned back to give the other a hard stare.

“That was when I met Alfred.”

The name caused Allen’s face to contort. Flawless ivory skin, youthful vigor, and the naivety to match. The suggestion that Alfred was older than him was far-fetched enough, but by such a wide margin?

“What? But he doesn’t look a day over twenty!”

“Yes. Twenty-three. In the mind and body.” The man elaborated, watching his puzzled expression deepen.“My men found him on the streets on the brink of starvation. He was only a child, then. Ran away from his orphanage. So we took him in and raised him.”

It sounded too familiar for his comfort, ‘taken in’ by the syndicate. First, Alfred, then him. You were born into it, but what difference did that make? You were all children, lured in by the promise of protection.

“Taught him how to fight. He was exceedingly talented, so we planned to have him join our ranks when he turned sixteen. When he refused, we warned him we would be coming back for him.”

“But how is he…?”

“You didn’t let me finish.” Mizumoto walked closer and closer to him until the proximity was menacing. “In four years’ time, we brought him back to our lab. We put him to sleep for fifty years so he could wake up to a world when we made a name for ourselves.”

Allen took a step back, heart racing. He could feel himself coming apart, starting from the inside out.

“By the time he gained consciousness, we turned him into a fully-enhanced killing machine.”

His loyalty to the company and his protection in it.

“Even to this day, he remains my greatest creation.”

The way he spoke of him made his stomach churn, and the nausea went up his throat. He talked about Alfred like he was his, an object to be owned, controlled, and programmed to do his bidding.

“Let me guess. He didn’t want that.”

“He struggled until the anesthesia did its work.”

Allen closed his eyes. Sweat dampened his forehead as he processed what he was told. Forced sedation, nonconsensual body modification, just what the fuck else was he capable of? He didn’t even want to know.

“Then what about that body in the basement?”

“Oh, that?”

He opened his eyes, his complexion pale.

“That was Alfred.”

“What?” Allen strained. “What do you mean?”

“That body belonged to Alfred.” The man elaborated firmly. “The Soulkiller was a success. He was the first subject to allow for a complete transfer of the mind. His old body couldn’t accept the enhancements, so we gave him a new one—the one he has now.”

He threw his head back as heat rushed to his face. Allen didn’t think it was possible to feel so furious in someone else’s stead, let alone Alfred’s. But this?

“He is the first fully-functioning cyborg with a soul. Human thought and emotion, if you will.”

This was insanity.

“You lied to me,” Allen glared at him through his rapidly blurring vision. “You said the Soulkiller was a prototype. That you were gonna test it on him. But you were just saying that to cover up what you did!”

“And you were fine with killing him the exact same way. It would be hypocritical to blame me for it.”

“Things are different now!” He cried, digging his hands through his hair. Pointing an accusing finger at him, which wouldn’t stop trembling, his face warped with angry betrayal. “I thought he was just another cyberpsycho, but you’re the one who’s insane.”

It was disheartening to see how nonchalant his superior was, how little he cared. He stood there with his arms behind his back, waiting for him to finish.

“I can’t work for you anymore,” He turned his back on him, teeth clenched. “I’m getting out of here.”

“I didn’t think you would,” Mizumoto slid a hand into one of the flaps of his kimono. Allen was already on his way to the door, ready to put everything behind him. “My men shall escort you out of the building.”

Even then, he still wanted to look back for old times’ sake. He spent a great deal of his youth here, somewhere he used to fall asleep after work. There by the kotatsu, or on that couch. You sometimes came here to study, so he made it a habit to visit you.

But that was all in the past, now.

You weren’t here, and he was never coming back. So did that mean he would never see you again? Allen choked back a sob at the thought. As tears bubbled out of his eyes, he turned back for one last look.

But rather than a bittersweet sight of nostalgia, he found himself staring at death in the face. And to feel fear in a place he used to call home was alien to him.

Mizumoto had drawn out his katana.

He was paralyzed as he watched on. A part of him was in disbelief that the old man could even raise a hand against him. Another part of him knew this was his true self, a heartless wretch that didn’t know love.

Before he could do so little as take another step, they lunged forward and thrust the blade into his torso.

“Gh—!” Allen’s eyes flew open as a sharp pain engulfed his chest. He grabbed the handle with both hands and staggered backward, each wobbly step causing blood to pour onto the wooden floorboards.

Sweat rolled down his chin. His mouth fell agape. Lowering his gaze to where the sword plunged into, he watched a bright red patch spread on his shirt. His lung was punctured, and he was suffocating.

“You—” He looked up, face contorting. “—agh!”

While he gasped desperately for air, clinging to each breath to somehow survive, the blade pushed deeper in until it came curving out his back. To be stabbed and suffocated at the same time left him trembling with so much agony, he wished he died right there.

But his enhancements prolonged his death, letting him feel each and every part of his body shut down.

“I sensed you were in conflict with your loyalty, Allen. If you want to side with Alfred, you can do that in the afterlife.” Mizumoto smiled darkly. Raising the katana so he could be lifted a few inches off the ground, he leaned into his paling face for one final reckoning.

He kicked once, but the action only caused him to slide down on the katana, cutting him on the inside.

“Like yours, his death will be slow and humiliating. The chip will plant a virus in his system and cripple him. Then, he’ll become brain-dead so he can be put out of his misery. The most fitting end for him.”

Blood bubbled out of his mouth like a fountain, and he gritted his teeth just to stop more from spewing out. Not a word was spoken, but Allen’s expression did all the talking. His glare burned with the anger of ages, with a ferocity that would stay even after death.

You’ll never get away with this.

But perhaps, he already had.

Allen was the only one who knew of his diabolical plans, and here he was, fading away. Eventually, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, showing the whites. Only then did Mizumoto retract his sword, letting his body fall to the ground in a heavy thump.

He gave the katana a strong flick, leaving a thin line of red on the floor. The door burst open a few moments later, letting men in suits pour in.

“Take him to the dump.”

The katana came down on his mantis blades, severing them in one clean slice. They clattered on the floor and went up in sparks. Alfred reared back and let out a bloodcurdling scream. Then, he started kicking his feet against the ground, wailing in agony.

Your jaw dropped, horrified by the sound of his voice. But what you saw made you cover your mouth. His mantis blades were reduced to stubs sticking out of his forearms, which twitched every so often.

Two men stood with you in the crowd, one on each side. They made it a point to hold you back, for what was about to begin would have you fighting to get onstage. Alfred was moved onto a medical table, and for what, you didn’t know. But it couldn’t be good.

The theater murmured restlessly, only to be silenced by their leader raising both hands in the air.

“Year by year, we lose hundreds to cyberpsycho attacks around the city. This man—”

The speaker pointed at him.

“—is one of thousands to instigate the senseless violence that is destroying the greatest megalopolis in the world.” He boomed, filling the stadium with his truth. The crowd went up in a passionate uproar, acknowledging the irrefutable reality that was their new norm: a widespread epidemic of psychopathy.

Alfred was laid flat on his back. The second they tied him down, he started pulling at his restraints.

But the pain was too much.

“Now, he may look like your average joe from 2070’s America, but do not be mistaken,” They continued, pulling a knife from their sleeve and holding it up. “He’s made of nothing but plastic and metal. Not a single organ is made of flesh, not even his heart!”

Your face fell, hypnotized by the glint of the blade.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you all go to sleep tonight with the relief that you never strayed from the path of God. We embraced ourselves for how we were created—in his image—but folks like him have lost sight of who we are as human beings.”

Alfred’s eyes widened, manic with rage.

“This is not a human being.”

He pulled harder and harder on his restraints, fueled by a growing fire in his chest. He’d been afraid before, but hearing that changed something inside him. If he really was a freak, he’d show them a freak.

The more he strained, the warmer his wrists grew. Soon, they’d be hot enough for him to break free. Small wisps of smoke curled up from his hands, and the stench of melting rope filled his nose.

“If he were, he would bleed.” The speaker cut him across his neck, and like he said, not a single drop of red appeared. Just a transparent slither of fluid. When the audience caught on, gasps went around.

You thrashed as hard as you could in the grips of the two strongmen, but to no avail. One of them resorted to holding your neck, quelling any and all resistance. If you wanted to look away, you couldn’t now.

“Imagine what he’d be capable of when he turns full cyber psycho.” The man mused, holding the knife above his head. “Are we just going to wait for him to slay ten innocents before he’s finally put down?”

The crowd yelled in dissent.

You lunged forward, screaming for him.

“Or do we kill him now and free him from the confines of his corrupted vessel?”

Just like that, your fear for him overcame the fear for yourself. And you did what you never thought you would—take on two grown men unarmed—but you’ve never been this sure of anything in your life.

Kicking one in the groin, they released your arm and stumbled backward. That let you throw a hard punch into the other’s temple. They fell on their side with next to no grace. Then, you raced towards the stage.

The next three seconds happened in slow-motion.

The outstretching of your hand, the beating of your legs, Alfred’s head turning to you.

Before you could get close enough, you were forced to the ground by the man you kicked. They slammed your head to the floor and twisted your arm behind your back, getting you to cry out in pain.

But that wasn’t all.

When you looked up with your teeth clenched, your nose was bleeding. And Alfred saw.

The redness of your blood, their hand on your face, their nails digging into your skin. And it gave him a real taste of the madness he was accused of.

Rage was all he knew as his wrists lit up in flames. Giving his hands a strong tug, he snapped himself free to rip the knife from his captor. Then, he rolled off the table and jumped back onto his feet.

The sight of an unrestrained cyberpsycho sent the audience fleeing, including the man holding you down. As you slowly rose to your feet, you found yourself watching the most gruesome scene unfold.

Alfred marched up to their leader, swinging the knife from side to side. It cut through the air in sharp ‘fwip’ sounds, but the weapon wasn’t nearly as terrifying as its wielder—a cyborg gone rogue. There was nothing behind his eyes but mindless bloodlust.

The man stumbled backward and fell on their back.

“Help me!” He cried. His underlings ran onstage from behind, training their guns at Alfred.

You dove offstage before they opened fire.

A few bangs went off, lodging bullets into his leg and shoulder. His body jolted back from the force of being shot at, but he kept standing. And there he waited, all until all their last bullet was fired.

Then, he dashed forward, slicing their necks. Blood sprayed onto his face, but he never stopped, driven by the uncontrollable urge to mow down every last son of a bitch that dared cross his path.

The last man onstage drew another gun. His mouth fell agape in fear as he fired uncontrollably at the unkillable monstrosity that came at him. Once Alfred passed him, a horizontal line formed on his neck.

His head came off, falling down his back.

But Alfred was far from done.

The man you punched had suffered a concussion, and only now did he have it in him to draw iron. Alfred leaped offstage and onto him with his knife raised above his head. His face sparked from a bullet ricochet, but that did nothing to stop him.

Sinking that into their skull, he killed him instantly.

That left the man who started it all, their leader, who was busy shuffling away from the head onstage.

He picked up the gun by his foot and trained it at the fucker’s head. Curling his finger around the trigger, his glare deepened when he pulled it, ending it all.

Four bangs went off.

Gun shells clinked and clattered on the ground.

When he lowered his arm, they were unrecognizable. The top half of his head was gone. Chunks of flesh, bone, and brain were blasted all over the stage like a painting. What was left of him was the bottom set of his teeth, tongue, and smoking hot flesh.

Alfred took you to the first bathroom he could find. He didn’t have to pay a dime, not when his face and clothes were doused with blood. And the first thing he did was tear off the bottom of his shirt.

Twisting that into a thin tube, he put it up your nose.

Only then did he start washing himself.

Soon, you were back on the street with him again, only more exhausted than before. Your hold on his hand tightened. Then, you slowed down, clutching your stomach with a pained frown.

“What’s wrong?” He turned to you.

“I’m hungry.” You uttered.

It wasn’t the first time he heard you say it, but he was crushed. His brows trembled together as he walked, towing you along. If what happened took as long as he thought it did, you couldn’t have eaten for days.

He’d been so occupied looking for a place to stay, he completely forgot about you. He didn’t feel hunger, nor did he depend on food like you did. His strength and appearance didn’t wax or wane. But you?

“Come on. Let’s get you some real food.” Alfred kept his eyes forward as he led you down the next block.

“Like organic food?”

“Not that real.”

“Aw.”

“Princess.”

Your arms were thinner, and your collarbones weren’t as prominent as they were now. He couldn’t bear to look at you, knowing he would crumble the second he did. Even then, you could barely keep up with him, and he felt it—every pull, every pause.

Staying the night in a traditional Japanese inn was your idea. A ‘ryokan,’ you called it. Night City was rich with all kinds of cultures, especially East Asian ones. Stepping into one transported him to Japan, and as an American who never left the country, he couldn’t really complain. When you walked inside with him, he was immediately taken by the neat line of shoes.

But Alfred seemed to know what he was doing.

And you never brought it up. He slipped out of his shoes, put them together, then moved them so they could point toward the door. You only followed suit, placing your flats next to his boots.

A line of women in uniform bowed deeply at your arrival. You bowed in return, and so did Alfred. After a friendly albeit frenzied exchange in Japanese, they whisked you away, so he jogged over to catch up.

“You seem to know them,” He commented.

“It’s just hospitality.” You replied.

“But they said they’d give you your favorite room,” Alfred quirked a brow. He walked with you down the warmly-lit hall, led by the innkeepers in the front. “And all sorts of things. The soup, what vegetables are in season, the mains, desserts, and blah.”

You turned to him, stifling a smile.

“You didn’t even check in yet.” He finished.

“So you do understand.” You walked into the elevator with him, watching his expression change. Sadness pulsed through him, and it flickered in his eyes. Something beautiful was reduced to a bad memory.

After getting settled in your room, you took a nice hot soak in the private hot spring. Alfred washed up next, and the food arrived while he was neck-up in water. An elaborate array of dishes was laid out on the kotatsu, ranging from warm and cold, soft and hard.

Sashimi, tofu, rice, soup, everything fermented, dried, and marinated among other delicacies.

Before you dug into the mouth-watering dishes, you sat back and called Alfred over. He showed up a few minutes later in his yukata, his hair a damp mess and obi tied in a ribbon. Giving your head a light shake, you stood up with a small smile. It was impressive how he could manage to make anything look untidy.

“You tied it wrong.” You pulled the sash apart.

“Woah—” His yukata loosened, but before his chest could be exposed, you pulled them together again. While you fixed his sash for him, he stood over you, watching every movement of your nimble fingers, every twist and pull you made. “—right.”

Alfred was so close, you could feel his breath fanning all over your forehead. And it was quiet, save for the rustling of fabric. Fortunately, not a minute passed before you were done, gazing up at him again.

“There. Tied like a proper samurai.”

What you weren’t prepared for was how close his lips were to yours. You were quick to notice, and you looked down almost instantly. Alfred didn’t falter. He just smiled at your coyness, only it was so subtle, you missed it when you scrambled to sit down.

“What are you standing around for? Come eat.”

“Alright,” Alfred laughed, giving the table a brief scan. He had never seen so much food in one place, but weirdly enough, that wasn’t what captivated him. “So, which one am I meant to eat first?”

He looked at you several times over the course of the meal. He wished he could say it was because he wanted to, but the injuries they left you with, no matter how minor, bothered him to no end.

You were too ravenous to notice, not lifting your head once as you ate for the first time in days.

Dinner went by without a hitch, bringing the night to a close. Two futons were laid out in the bedroom with a slight gap between them. It was no coincidence that a shoji screen stood conveniently in the corner.

The innkeepers were considerate of your privacies, but that wasn’t how things worked around here.

“Well—” He strained, dragging his futon to yours. One corner even overlapped yours before he fixed it. He stood up, satisfied by his work. “Now we won’t have to worry about separation anxiety anymore.”

“We?” You raised your brows.

“Right, sorry. Just you.” He dropped onto his futon. He leaned back and rested on his palms, watching you do the same. Not a minute passed before he backpedaled on his joke. “Wanna share a futon?”

You shot him a heated look. When you realized he was being serious, you just shook your head.

“One is too small.”

“No it isn’t.” He got under the blanket and scooted to the side, patting a spot for you. “C’mon. Just try.”

“But it won’t be comfortable,” You frowned.

Regardless, you humored Alfred on his suggestion, getting under the covers with him. It should’ve been strange, sleeping so close without reservation. But this was just the norm now. Every past motel room had one bed so he could keep an eye on you.

What made this so different was the choice. He could sleep apart from you, and you him.

Yet, you both elected to be together.

“If you can’t sleep, I’ll just move to the other futon.”

“Fine.”

He laid on his side to face you.

“Dinner was great, by the way.”

“Yeah,” You softened your gaze on him. “I haven’t had something that good in ages. I’m stuffed.”

“I’m glad,” He smiled. A comfortable silence fell as you stared at each other, heads on one pillow. As he lay with you, relief overcame him until it became pure ecstasy. You were here, and you were safe.

But with that pleasure was pain all the same.

What happened to you was all his fault.

Alfred pulled you into a hug, his face warped with sadness. You hugged him right back. As he buried himself into the crooked of your neck, a shudder ran down your spine. You’d been in shock until now, and when you finally processed what you’d seen, tears streamed relentlessly down the side of your face.

He kissed your forehead tenderly, closing his eyes.

Alfred felt no remorse for killing them.

His only regret was that you saw him do it.

Holding your face with one hand, he consoled you until you drifted away beside him. Even then, he never stopped caressing your cheek, comforting you as you slept. And he kept at it until morning.

“We have to go to the dump,” Alfred murmured, stroking your back as you laid on him.

“Why don’t we go to a ripperdoc?” You rolled your head to him, tone unwilling. After a good night’s rest, you were well enough to hear of his plans, however headache-inducing they may be. “I’m not letting you put anything in your body otherwise.”

“I don’t have the money,” He sighed. Before you could say anything, he took the words out right of your mouth. “And using yours is out of the question. We just have to work with what we got, okay?”

Next chapter: Coming soon

Tag-list: @sunnysssol, @chicha027

[hvonart]

In the shadowed heart of Kraków, the echoes of history reverberate through the cobblestone streets, where whispers of the past linger in the air like an unyielding mist. The gothic spires of St. Mary's Basilica loom overhead, their intricate facades pierced by the fleeting light that struggles to break through dark clouds, casting elongated shadows that dance anxiously against the ancient walls. At dusk, the Vistula River ripples under a veil of uncertainty, reflecting the muted colors of twilight while the silhouette of Wawel Castle looms imperiously above, an eternal sentinel bearing witness to the countless stories sung by its walls. The Market Square pulses with a palpable tension, as street performers ignite fleeting moments of joy against the backdrop of a city steeped in both beauty and sorrow. The air is thick with the scent of warm obwarzanek, yet an unsettling weight hangs in the silence of the bystanders, eyes flickering between curiosity and caution. Kraków, a jewel of history, draped in shadows, invites you to unveil the secrets hidden beneath its ornate surfaces, urging the observer to delve deeper into a story woven with resilience, nostalgia, and an unshakeable sense of foreboding.

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