#and the overwhelming terror and panic of his last moments

[lakehelevorn]

hc i have is that fingon feels like he was made for beleriand, and the happiest years of his life were those of the long peace. when he’s reborn, it’s with a profound, crippling sense of grief for lost beleriand, and he spends the rest of his life yearning for it while the rest of elvenkind does it’s best to move on

[amdiriel]

lonely

Azriel x fem!Archeron!reader

SUMMARY: Reader, the second Archeron sister, finds herself overwhelmed by the sight of her sisters in their respective happinesses one day. Luckily Azriel stops by her room in time to comfort her.

WARNINGS: feelings of loneliness (real), fluff, Azriel being hot (that’s a given), slight suggestiveness at the end, first time writing

NOTE: hey, i’m diri! been sort of a silent spectator on this tag for a while but then i wrote this and thought hell why not!!

WORDS: 2.5k

main masterlist PART 2

•••

The emptiness of loneliness burned hollowly in my chest, blooming when I entered my room at last, stumbled onto my bed.

Pathetically, I just wanted what my sisters had. I didn't dare show it, but I ached to be held, loved, to love fiercely and be happily, healthily devoted to someone.

I wanted to be touched and adored. I wanted to build a life with someone. To not have to look, wish, hope, or dream about it anymore.

My knees curled up under my chin as I sat there in the nest of my bedding, looking blankly at the wall as the tears came.

I hadn't realized that I had been softly weeping until the knock came to my door. Fuck. I heard his soft, beautiful voice announcing himself, asking to come in.

When I don't reply, frozen in terror that he'll come in and see me in this state, Azriel calls my name again in question. I know he can sense me behind the door, and when I sniff, he calls lowly, "I'm coming in."

Panic sweeps through me as he pushes open the door, eyes falling on me in concern as I wipe at my face. The book he borrowed from me goes from his hand to a side table as he comes to me, forgotten. "Hey. Hey, what's going on?" he asks with the softest tenderness I've ever heard him speak. To know that it was reserved for me makes my chest ache for it even more, and another little sob slips from me. He sits on my bed and reaches for me, hands going to my arms and rubbing up and down.

“I’m sorry,” I croak, shaking my head and trying to draw back and wipe my face. He doesn’t release me.

“No,” he says firmly, squeezing my arms. “No, you’ve done nothing wrong. Let me help you.”

I shake my head again, can’t seem to stop, trying to wave him off. “It’s not something you can help with,” I rasp. “It’s my own shit, I’ll deal with it—“

“Tell me what’s going on.” His tone brooks no argument.

I can’t speak for a long moment, for several long moments. The words are embarrassing, stuck like molasses on my tongue. To say them would be to humiliate myself. But he isn’t relenting. I realize that five hundred years of extracting information from people as spymaster had made him patient in a way I could never outpace.

“It’s just hard,” I finally settle on, not quite processing my own words. “It’s hard seeing them—my sisters, I mean. Sorry, I think I’m just tired, out of it—“ He shakes his head with a squeeze of my arms.

“Stop trying to excuse your feelings. It’s merely how you feel,” he murmurs, watching me carefully. A breath puffs uncomfortably in my chest, but I go on.

“I’ve always made myself content in the fact that something like that didn’t really happen to people like me. I’ve never known why,” I rasp, the color finally rising in my cheeks as I gear up to admit, “But I’m—“ I choke. “I just see them and I feel so lonely.”

His expression shutters and his eyes soften. “Sweetheart,” he whispers, stroking my arms. To hear that word from his lips is already a shock, but knowing it’s directed at me makes me fall apart more.

“I’m not one for self pity, ever,” I get out as another cry raises the pitch of my voice. “I just feel so alone.”

A huff of a sigh leaves Azriel’s lips and he draws me forward. “Come here.”

My breath shudders in my chest as I try not to lose it, try to calm myself as the tears stream hotly down my face. “I’m sorry,” I whisper again. “I feel ridiculous. It just hurts sometimes. Right here.” I rub my chest where the hollow ache is.

He hums and soon I’m in his arms. He gently scoops me onto his lap and tucks my head into the crook of his neck. He’s so warm, so strong, and smells so good that I shudder again and let myself break in his embrace.

His hushing and stroking over my hair lulls me as every bad feeling seeps out of my body. He holds me quietly until my crying ceases, until my shaking stills. Until I am merely breathing tiredly against him.

I could fall asleep like this, could die peacefully here. His hand strokes my hair again. “Feel better?” he asks, his voice a quiet rumble that rumbles in his chest, therefore mine.

I blush profusely at how ridiculous I’m being, but make no move. I nod. I can’t move, can’t look at him. I must be the silliest, most ridiculous woman—female, I correct mentally—at my age that he’s ever seen. He’s centuries old and has a better grip on things than I do. I know he feels bad for me, but any respect he had before must have loosened considerably in the minutes he’s seen me in this state.

As I’m trying to overcome my embarrassment, he strokes my hair softly and begins on a murmur, “I get this way too. I feel it right in my chest, like you said. I have for a long time.” I don’t dare breathe or move. He’s revealing very vulnerable feelings and I fear one move will scare him off. He sighs. “It is difficult—seeing everyone pair off and be happy. Just as difficult to see my brothers as it is for you to see your sisters that way. But you aren’t alone. You’re never alone.”

I sigh, whispering haltingly, “I know. But—it isn’t the same, is it?”

He shakes his head. “It isn’t,” he concedes, “But you shouldn’t doubt that you’ll find that. You’re more than deserving of it.”

A little flutter in my chest, and of all things, a smile blooms on my face. “You are too, Azriel.”

I feel his smile against my hair.

I sigh and draw away even as my body screams in argument, not looking him completely in the eye. “I really am sorry. For—this.” I gesture nonsensically between us, eyeing the wet stain at the collar of his shirt with a small wince. “I really am not usually like this,” I grumble.

His soft chuckle draws my eyes to his face, and I find him looking down at me softly, amusedly. “I know. You’re usually very formidable, self-assured. It was a surprise to see you so…” I raise my brows as he searches for the word, something he usually never has to. “Weighed down,” he settles on.

I don’t know what to say. I settle on a small shrug of my shoulder as I take my sleeve and wipe my face again, sighing as a calm settles over me again.

When I glance back over at him, he’s still observing me quietly. “What?” I croak.

“Nothing,” he says softly with a shrewd yet not unkind look in his eye. “It’s just funny.” I frown, but he continues on before I can interrupt. “You give yourself a private moment to let it out, then you reset. Like nothing happened.”

I feel a heat in my face at the accuracy.

“It’s funny because, well,” he shrugs, “It reminds me of myself.”

I glance warily over him with questioning tilt of my head. “You don’t seem like the type to deal in self-pity. Or crying at all for that matter,” I reply wryly.

His lip curls in amusement, and something hot curls in my stomach at the sight of it. My expression remains carefully composed, as it always is. “I have my moments,” is all he says.

I roll my eyes, shifting on the bed and sniffing. “Cryptic as always too.”

His laugh is quiet yet rumbling, and even though we don’t touch anymore, I feel the sound tumble deliciously through my muscles and bones, all over my body. “There she is,” he practically drawls, mirth lighting his hazel eyes. Cauldron bloody boil me.

Then he softens again. “But know that anytime you feel like this, you don’t need to wait for a private moment to yourself. Come talk to me,” he offers. Tingling warmth blooms in my chest. In my handful of years since turning fae and finding my place in Velaris, he’s been a kind but somewhat infrequent friend due to his busy nature. “What you feel isn’t anything to be ashamed of, and I’d rather you not bottle it all up.”

I eye the impenetrable Spymaster again, brow raised. “Bit of the pot calling the kettle black, aren’t you?”

He laughs in earnest now, and I watch in wonder as it lightens his features. And again that sound—

I’d been careful not to let my foolish mind not delve too deep in daydreaming about the silent, beautiful specter I had met in my house in the human lands those years ago. Everything about the fae then and even now had just seemed so elevated above my little life. And as hard as I worked, as skilled as I had become with my new body and abilities, I still felt like a complete novice, like a schoolgirl amongst grown men and women most days.

So no. I would not be the fool that fell for the male way above her very modest level, not when I knew he’d be too nice about it, and make me feel even more like the fool.

“What are you thinking about?” his voice breaks through my reverie. He’s eyeing me with amusement now, and a hint of fondness.

I force the heat creeping to my cheeks way down within the depths of myself, determined not to make more of a fool of myself than I already have. “Just wondering why you came in here. I wasn’t—�� A blush rises to my cheeks in earnest now. “You couldn’t hear me crying from the hall, could you?”

He shakes his head, hands creeping forward over my bedspread as though to placate me. “No, no. I just came to return the book you let me borrow,” he replies gently, and again my eyes fall to the book he had dropped on the table near my door as he came in to comfort me. Oh. Right. “You were right. I did like it.”

A small smile creeps up on my lips. “Of course I was right.” He chuckles again, and I relish that I can make him do so.

“Will it inflate your ego terribly if I tell you that you have surprisingly good taste?” he drawls. I let out a playfully indignant noise and gently shove his shoulder.

“Says you. You may be quiet, Shadowsinger, but don’t think I haven’t noticed you peacocking more than once,” I toss back. He draws closer with a little grin. Holy fuck.

“Well when I’m as talented as I am, why shouldn’t I?” he purrs, the most Rhys-like I’d ever seen him. I hold onto my composure for dear life.

“Yeah, well, you can take your peacocking and incredible talent off my bed and out of my room,” I retort with a scowl, shooing him as I fight blushing like a schoolgirl. He laughs, but slides smoothly off my bed and stands, hands raised in mock surrender.

I realize then that he had taken me from my depressive state, comforted me until I calmed, then goaded me until I smiled and bantered with him again.

His eyes go from mirthful to soft, and a beat passes where he’s looking down at me still sitting on my bed, and me at him. His lips quirk. “I’m glad you’re alright. Come to me with anything. I mean it,” he reiterates with gentle firmness. I nod my head.

He begins to leave, but I blurt his name and he halts. As soon as he looks at me again, I murmur, “Thank you.” He nods his head once, eyes kind.

I expect him to turn, to leave. But he steps toward me. I still as his hands gently hold the sides of my head, and he drops a single kiss to my hairline. I don’t move or breathe until he leaves the room with one last look at me over his shoulder.

My door snicks shut and a rush of breath leaves my mouth as my hands fly up to my face. My back finds the duvet.

I was fucked.

—

Azriel walks leisurely down the hall from her room back to his once more, musing on the hour that had just passed in her room.

He’d always found the second Archeron sister to be the most interesting female he’d ever met.

Clever, strong, funny. Beautiful, absolutely, in her own way. She was interesting to look at—that counted far more than conventionally beautiful.

The kind of person you don’t let get away.

He’d have to play this carefully. Had he had thoughts these past two-three years about the fact that they were both the remaining unmated ones of their respective sibling units? Yes. But he knew that even as it drew the two of them together in a careful dance around the line, it could also end very poorly if that was the only assumed reason that he wanted her.

Which it wasn’t.

Sometimes he curses that of his brothers, he hadn’t met her first. He could have, should have wooed her. Then, at least he could be enjoying the same felicity his damned brothers were currently enjoying with two of her sisters.

But she’s proving to be a tough one to crack.

It was no matter, he decides. He hadn’t failed to notice at least some attraction on her part. But she brushes off most things with a clever joke, much to his frustration.

Tonight had been a step forward. Even as it had killed him to see her in such a state, he thanked every bit of fate that led him to her room as she had been breaking.

So he could be the one to hold her, put her pieces back together.

He could have held her in his arms, in his lap until the day he died.

But he knew getting her to come back out, to grin and tease him again was more important than his selfish desires. And gods, what a sight she was when she did.

It was no matter, he thinks to himself again. He’d be patient. He’d be the person she’d lean on until he could make her want him. Maybe she’d allow him to touch her in the way he envisioned in his most needy moments in the dark of night. He enters his bedroom and sighs.

Fuck. It might be another one of those nights after all.

•••

NOTE: hey so uhhh if literally anyone cares i’ll make a part 2

[prythianpages]

Next to You | Azriel

Azriel x Reader | The world is ending and Azriel does all he can to be next to you.

warnings: angst, this does touch on death/dying (character deaths/reader death), end of the world, mentions of blood/injuries

word count: roughly 3,400

a/n: You can thank Lady Gaga & Bruno Mars for this lol. I was supposed to post this way earlier but I decided to rewrite some things last minute.

Death had come, manifesting in a cloud of heavy darkness. So dark it made Azriel’s shadows appear light and shiver at the sight. The darkness was rising from every crevice, every corner and a low, rumbling growl shook the earth beneath him. 

Koschei was here.

The sky began to darken, the sun being swallowed whole by the vast darkness much like the warriors at his side did. Shadows writhed and swirled around him, whispering and frantically urging him to run.

But Azriel’s eyes were still fixed on the spot where Rhysand was standing. Where Rhysand had stood.

Koschei had suddenly unleashed his wrath upon Prythian, taking each court down one by one. He saved the Night Court for last but he took its High Lord first. Feyre had stayed behind with Mor and Amren at the riverhouse to protect Nyx. Rhysand had been struck with such brutal force and swallowed by Koschei’s void of darkness so swiftly that Azriel still couldn’t believe it.

Not a single trace was left behind of his best friend, his brother, his High Lord.

Rhysand was gone. Just like that.

There was no time to grieve, no time to scream. Koschei’s men were advancing, their swords and arrows drawn and ready to continue their relentless attack. Azriel, Cassian and Nesta fought back alongside their own soldiers or what little remained of them.

It was no use. They were vastly outnumbered and no help would come as the Night Court was the last one standing. It felt as though the battle had already been lost, the sickening smirk on Koschei’s pale face sealing their fate. 

The ground buckled and split, jagged cracks tearing across the cobbled streets like veins of chaos. Trees swayed violently, their roots torn from the earth and the sounds of fae screaming rang out in the distance. All signs of life were being ripped apart at the seams.

Azriel’s gaze darted to Cassian, and an overwhelming wave of dread twisted deep in his gut. The Night Court General, usually so unbreakable, now stood battered and bloodied, his eyes void of any hope. Defeat clung to him like the grime smeared across his face. Nesta reached for his hand, their fingers threading together in silent solidarity.

A look of understanding passed between them. 

“Go,” is all Cassian said.

Azriel hesitated, his chest tightening with wild emotions. There were words burning on his tongue—words he never thought he'd have to say. But he couldn’t force them out. He didn’t need to. Cassian nodded once, his eyes conveying further understanding. A final, silent farewell. A nod that Azriel returned. 

And then he spread his wings wide, launching into the air. The wind howled against him, his shadows shuddering nervously, sensing his panic and wanting to soothe him. But they, too, could see that the end was near.

**

Azriel had never feared death.

As an Illyrian warrior and the Night Court’s spymaster, he had long prepared for it, accepted it as an inevitable part of his life. He was willing to die for his court.

But then he met you and everything changed.

Suddenly, the thought of dying filled him with terror. The fear of leaving you behind, of never being able to say goodbye. The idea of dying without feeling your touch one last time, without whispering how much he loved you. That was more frightening than any enemy he could ever face.

The words you had exchanged earlier were rushed and hurried, Koschei's attack taking everyone by surprise. He hadn’t said goodbye. He had only just enough time to promise to come back to you. 

And that’s all Azriel could think of in this moment–in what could very well be his last moments–is keeping that promise.

Smoke and dust choked the air, Koschei’s darkness thickening. He doesn’t turn around in fear for what he’d see. He kept his gaze forward, watching in distress as buildings shattered. The city of Velaris was crumbling apart around him. 

He ducked and wove through the falling stones and debris, doing his best to avoid the death arrows that seemed to be coming from every direction. His hazel eyes were sharp and focused. Even as pure fear clawed at his chest, making his heart race and hands tremble.

Your name was a prayer on his lips that manifested into a mantra of desperate hope.

The bond between you thrummed and sung madly. What once was a source of comfort was now only magnifying his fear. He could feel your terror, feel the frantic rhythm of your uneven heartbeat, echoing through the bond like a scream.

Azriel’s eyes locked on the House of Wind as it came into view, his wings straining as he pushed harder against the air. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, pushing past the protests of his muscles, the stinging of his injuries. The mountain the house was on trembled beneath the force of the quakes. His breath caught in his throat as one of the house’s spires broke away, crashing into the rocky expanse below.

He folded his wings in tight, landing hard in the courtyard, barely keeping his balance as the ground beneath him bucked and split. Cracks spidered across the stone beneath his boots, but he forced himself forward. Determination burned bright in him, every second counting. He had to find you, to be next to you.

Inside, the walls trembled, stone and dust raining from above as the ceilings began to crumble. He barreled through the halls, his destination clear. The library. He had left you there, hidden away with the priestesses and some of Valkyries, who had vowed to defend in case the attack reached them.

He thought you would be safe there. That he’d defeat Koschei and his army of death. That he’d return to his family and be able to hold his nephew, who has only had a taste of the world, in his arms again. That he’d be returning to you with the promise of tomorrow and a future where the two of you could start a family of your own. 

All those hopes and dreams were dying along with the world around him. The cruelty of fate knew no bounds. It continued to weave its harsh and bitter threads and when Azriel threw open the library doors, his heart stalled in his chest. Panic gripped him, raw and unyielding, flooding his veins like ice. So cold that he found it hard to breathe.

Because there was nothing.

No priestesses. No Valkyries. No you. 

Only darkness.

Koschei’s death magic had hit the library first. The clouds swarming below let out a hiss from the faint light that dared to creep in through the doors.  Azriel’s shadows slammed them shut, trying to hold the darkness back. The House’s energy pulsed faintly, aiding his shadows and taking over. Whatever magic remained of the House directed itself at repelling the evil force that had invaded its walls.

His shadows scattered, darting through the ruined halls, desperate to find you. But the gnawing fear clawing at his chest felt insurmountable, a type of desperation he had never known. He reached for the bond, tugging on it with everything he had. He pulled and pulled on those threads, frantically searching for any response. 

Tears stung his eyes when, at last, he felt your response.

“Please,” he rasped, his voice trembling, the word a plea torn from his soul. He didn’t know who he was begging—the shadows, the House, or the Mother herself.

His shadows moved, drawing his attention away from the door that shuddered under the pressure of Koschei’s darkness. His head snapped up as he realized where you must be.

Azriel bolted back up the stairs, his shadows scouting ahead and darting through the debris and cracks. His head began to pound and vision blurred from his injuries but he pushed on. The connection through the bond grew stronger, the tug more insistent. 

She’s safe for now. Not hurt, a shadow reported to him but he needed to confirm it for himself. Needed to see you with his own eyes, feel your presence. 

His legs trembled as he pushed forward, his lungs burning. When he finally reached the door to your shared room, he shoved it open with more force than necessary, his gaze sweeping around, wild with fear. 

And there you were.

The sight of you nearly buckled his knees. Relief washed over him in a crashing wave.  You stood on the balcony, your back turned to him, silhouetted against the dimming sky. Koschei’s creeping darkness loomed on the horizon, thick and unnatural, swallowing the sky and closing in around the House of Wind. 

The sense of relief he had felt was abruptly cut short. Time was running out.

His shadows reached you first, swirling around your feet, urging you to turn. When you did, his heart clenched painfully.

Your eyes, wide and teary, were full of fear and despair. You clutched something tightly against your chest—his cloak. Your fingers trembled as you gripped onto the fabric as if it were a lifeline.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” your voice quivered. “I thought–I thought I wasn’t going to see you again…”

Azriel crossed the distance between you in the blink of an eye. He pulled you into his arms, wrapping you tightly against him, cradling your head to his chest. His embrace was fierce, almost desperate. Only when he buried his face in your hair, breathing in your scent, did he finally allow a few tears to slip from his eyes.

“I’m here,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. He repeated it, softer this time, as if trying to convince himself. “I’m here.”

You pulled back slightly, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. Your hands cupped his face, thumb gently wiping at his tears. When your eyes roamed over his face and then lowered, a sob tore through your body, more tears spilling from your eyes.

“You’re hurt,” you choked out, taking in the gashes and bruises marring his skin and wings, the torn leathers barely holding together. The agony in your eyes when you met his gaze once more was far more tormenting and painful than his injuries. 

Azriel shook his head, his breath ragged and labored. “It doesn’t matter.”

The world outside was falling apart—literally crumbling into darkness. Azriel was dying and every breath now tasted of bitter and agonizing defeat. He could only hope that the Mother would spare him some mercy and grant him more time so that he may go with you. 

“You’re bleeding,” you whispered, your hand reaching down to touch the blood that soaked through his leathers. It stained your hands and Azriel removed your hand from his side, placing it back onto his face, not caring over the blood that now smeared his face.

“It doesn’t matter,” he repeated as if he could force the pain away with sheer will.

Because you were the only thing that mattered to him at this moment. You are his everything. His only reason to keep fighting, to keep breathing.

You let out another sob, the sound like a dagger, piercing straight through his heart. “I don’t want this to be the end,” you whispered, your words shattering him further. 

“I know, baby, ” Azriel replied. His grip on you tightened, his wings curling protectively around your frame as though he could shield you from anything, as though nothing in the world could touch you while he was near. 

He wished he could take away your pain, your fear. That there was something he could do to stop the darkness invading the world. His brows furrowed in anguish, whether from his wounds or your suffering, he couldn’t tell. He leant his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, feeling as though he failed you. As your mate, he had vowed to protect you, to shield you from harm, to always keep you safe.

“No,” you said firmly, sensing his regret and shame through the bond. 

“Azriel, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. The best partner I could’ve ever wished for. I thank the Cauldron every day for blessing me with you so” –your face tightened, the very thought of Azriel’s shame and sense of failure cutting deeply through you– “so don’t for a second think you’ve ever failed me. Not then, not now."

"I love you so, so much."

His eyes opened wide, searching yours, and there he found only love. His heart swelled with emotion, eyes filling with more tears. “I love you, too.”

And then he kissed you. One last time. The saltiness of your tears mixed into the kiss but he didn’t care. Azriel cherished every taste of you, savoring the bittersweet blend.

The harrowing sound of stone breaking and collapsing followed by more screams had you tensing and breaking apart. Azriel’s shadows circled around you both, forming a protective barrier as the world around you got darker and darker. The floor groaned and splintered beneath you and a shudder coursed through you as the air grew unbearably cold around you.

Unbridled fear and panic surged through the bond, so intense he could no longer tell where your emotions ended and his began.

“Look at me,” Azriel murmured, his voice soft but laced with a tremor, betraying the emotion he was holding back. He looked at you, his eyes tracing every feature of your face, indulging himself one more time.

Azriel’s shadows let out a hiss and your breath hitched. Koschei’s darkness had finally reached your room. But Azriel refused to let the overwhelming emotions suffocate you both, refused to let things end this way. 

 “Look at me,” Azriel said again, holding your face firmly in his hands to keep your head from turning. There was a slight tremor in his fingers as you looked back up at him, tears slipping continuously. He offered you a smile that was trembling yet still warm and comforting. “That’s it, baby. Just keep your eyes on me.”

The stone above you began to crackle and Azriel pulled you closer to him, held you tighter. “I’ve got you. In this life and the next. I will find my way back to you.” 

His eyes looked into yours, those hazel irises filled with raw vulnerability, a fierce determination. Your lips trembled as you nodded, struggling to form words past the lump in your throat. Yet, slowly, you managed a smile of your own. 

The world was ending around you, Koschei’s oppressive shadow of death looming.  He could take anything and everything he wanted. Except for this. He could never take what lived between you.

Because not even death could tear you apart, sever the thread that bound your souls.

Azriel swallowed hard, pressing his forehead to yours. His chest heaved with the effort of breathing, each inhale more shaky.  “Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow,” he whispered, his words straight from the vows he made to you during your mating ceremony. 

“And wherever we go, we'll face it together, ” you breathed, the ache in your chest nearly unbearable, mirroring the one in his. Yet, beneath the weight of fear, a fragile sliver of hope flickered. 

And Azriel couldn’t help but think back to how he’d always imagined his end would come. Brave, fearless and alone. A warrior’s death. It was the way he’d been raised and trained to believe he should go. 

But this… this was something far greater. 

He found a deeper kind of bravery. The courage to love so deeply and fiercely, even at the darkest of times. To face death not with a sword, but with you in his hold and feel whole. There was something tragically beautiful in facing the end with you by his side...

A sudden chill swept through him, paralyzing him. The warmth between you two began to fade yet your gazes remained locked. Unwavering and resolute.

Was this it? The last shard of light before the darkness consumed him? The scene around him began to dissolve, your image flickering like a candle in the wind. 

The last thing he saw was your eyes before the world faded into black.

just kidding!

Azriel startles awake, eyes wide and frantic, searching through the darkness. He blinks and he realizes that it’s not completely dark, that he's in your shared room and it's warm and comforting. Moonlight trickles in, casting a soft glow on you and he feels like he can breathe again. You’re nestled in bed beside him, turned on your side and facing him. He watches as your chest rises and falls gently, features soft and peaceful.

So different from the you he had seen moments ago and a stark contrast to the way his chest is currently rising and falling. Rapidly and uneven, driven by the hammering of his heart.

It had all been just a dream. A nightmare.

A strand of hair falls across your face, and Azriel’s eyes catch the movement of a shadow. The one that much rather prefers to be by your side than his. It peaks over its hiding spot, your hair, to face Azriel.

Though his shadows don’t have eyes, he feels as if it is blinking right back at him, slowly assessing him. It gives a shudder and then, another shadow darts from the corner, stirring the rest awake. They rise from were they had been hiding and resting, rushing back to him in a heartbeat. 

Master is safe, they whisper as they brush up against his arms and wrap around him. Before he can reign them back, some of them flutter toward you, doing the same. Master’s mate is safe.

It was just a nightmare. You both are safe.

The cool caresses of Azriel’s shadows have you shifting slightly and they coil back as you blink your eyes open. Sorry, they whisper. Some of them retreat back into hiding in the corners, merging with the ordinary shadows of the room. The ones hovering at his side continue to whisper their reassurances, intent on calming and soothing their master.

“Az?” Your voice is heavy with sleep.

You begin to push yourself up and Azriel scoots closer to you, one of his wings draping over you to keep you in place. His hand reaches out for your face and he pulls you in close until your noses nearly touch.

Concern immediately flashes in your open and wide eyes as you must sense the lingering unease through the bond.  “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Azriel murmurs, still groggy and shaken from the remnants of his nightmare. But as he studies you—the warmth in your gaze, the absence of the fear and despair he had seen in his dream—his anxiety begins to ebb. “I am now. It was just a nightmare.”

Your brows furrow in doubt, and he brushes his thumb along them, soothing the crease. Your hand then reaches for his chest, right over where his heart is still racing and your frown deepens. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can bring you some tea.”

Though his wing remains draped over you, he hooks a leg around you for added security. “I’m okay,” he reassures you, leaning in to nuzzle against your nose. When he pulls back, he can still sense your worry so he adds: “I don’t need tea. I just need you.”

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," he breathes back almost immediately.

He covers your hand on his chest with his own, feeling his heart begin to calm with each passing moment. He then brings your hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to your palm before resting it against his cheek. He can feel the warmth that blooms in your chest at his touch and reciprocates the feeling through the bond.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoes softly.  “Now, go back to sleep.”

“You too,” you huff out, the sound of small disbelief strangely soothing to him at this moment.

Azriel grins, his tense muscles slowly easing. “You first.”

He lets out an amused exhale as you slightly roll your eyes at him, but he can tell sleep still clings to them. After one more assessing look at him, you let out a sigh and finally, close your eyes. His gaze is tender and loving as he watches you drift back to sleep, your features softening. The grin on his face eases into a contented smile when you shift even closer, instinctively seeking his warmth.

This time, the last thing he sees before closing his eyes is your peaceful face, the lines of worry smoothed away. No trace or hint of fear or panic. Only tranquility.

And as he sinks back into the embrace of sleep, he feels relaxed and secure, knowing that the promise of another tomorrow still awaits for the both of you.

a/n: Did I get y'all? Honestly, I was going to leave this without that last scene but then I thought that was too cruel so I stayed true to the song "I just woke up from a dream." I watched this scene between Cersei & Jaime from Game of Thrones so many times to help me write this because I wanted it to give the same vibes.

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith

[apricot-blossomss]

I love your latest Apollo story! This line "Let's release her into no man's land, make sacrafices to Apollo to soothe him and hope for his mercy." give me an idea for a request. What about an actual sacrifice story where reader is offered to Apollo as an exchange for the reward as people have hoped, but he falls in love with her at the first sight and treasure her contrary to her expectations?

�� mortal! fem! reader is sacrificed to apollo

☛ sfw, tw: disease/epidemic(the plague), threats of violence/death; this was such a fun request to write, thank you very much!

Two weeks. The plague had been raging in your city for two weeks, and it was on the brink of collapse. Bodies lined up on the sides of the streets, too many to bury, the cries and sighs of the dying to be heard from out of the houses. Louder than the weakened bawling of the sick were the screams of the relatives, losing loved ones, that cut through the horrid symphony of suffering.

Of course, you knew how precarious the situation was. You knew you had an obligation to your people after your father, the king that was supposed to protect them, had drowned them in such misery. He had insulted the god Apollo and now, innocents were dying in the hundreds for his blasphemy. When he had turned to the city's seer, the old man had prophecied that only one thing could save the city: sacrificing you to the god to appease him.

Other than your father, you were ready to give everything for your people, but the thought of your impending death made a cold wash over you, your heart squeezed in an unforgiving panic as tears ran down your cheeks. Without so much as a second thought, your father had ordered you to be locked in a cell until the sacrifice tomorrow morning. It hit you like a flash that it had to be morning already, you only had so little time left, and you were spending it chained like an animal in a cold, moldy dungeon, shivering in terror and crying cold tears over your fate.

Another tremble shook your body and you pressed it into the corner you were sitting in, longing for the smallest bit of comfort. Your stomach was empty, but you weren't hungry, you felt too sick. If only you could have spent your last night in your room with your pets and your instruments, where it was warm and bright and the memories of better times lingered. They hid under the covers, lurked behind the doors and would have brought you comfort. Instead, your end would be thoroughly miserable.

You had overheard what the soldiers had said. Chained up, you would be brought before the city gates to an altar, built quickly to serve its purpose, and an archer on top of the city walls would end your life for your sacrifice to be collected by the god. You sniffled and tried to think of something beautiful as your hand squeezed the place over your heart that would soon be pierced by the arrow. It was as if you could feel it already.

Eventually though, the despair in combination with your exhaustion must have overwhelmed you, because the next thing you knew was that two guards were waking you up, releasing your chains and guiding you up the stairs. Over the night, the cold had settled in your bones, but that wasn't the only reason your legs were wobbly and unstable as you ascended into the palace. Your father wasn't there, but that didn't surprise you. Only a group of scholars, magistrates and officials had gathered to lead the procession out of the city.

The moment you left the palace, still guarded, though you assumed it wasn't for your protection but rather your safekeeping, the horrible smell of rotting flesh and burning bodies hit you. If it hadn't been for your empty stomach, the urge to puke would have overwhelmed you. That would not have been a very graceful last walk. Looking forward, you saw that the people, sick and healthy, but all dirty and with grief written into the hollows of their eyes, had gathered along the sides of the road to watch the procession.

There was no music played, and the usual sound of screams and cries had given way to a haunting silence. Ignoring the piercing smell, you allowed yourself to bask in the bright sunlight for a moment, dwelling in the irony that it would be your downfall.

When you were almost by the city gates and your feet started to hurt, a commotion disrupted the eerily still crowd of onlookers and the procession halted, guards stepping forward to protect it. An elderly woman broke free from the assembly. Her thin hair, sickly complexion and buboes on her face and neck left no doubt that she was very sick. When she called out, her voice was but a rasp. "Princess!"

Surprisingly, the guards didn't stop you when you stepped forward, towards the woman. Though you could see why. Even if you got infested, it wouldn't matter, your life would end before the sun had risen to its peak. Unable to stabilize herself, the woman had fallen to her knees and you crouched down to her. A stifled gasp erupted from the crowd when you placed your hand on her shoulder. "It'll be alright," you said, not knowing where you got the sudden calmness. "It's all going to be over soon."

"Thank you," the woman sobbed, cradling your hand as dirty tears got caught up in the deep wrinkles of her face. "Thank you for your sacrifice, princess." Two young women stepped forward and helped her up as the guards took you between themselves once more, and as the procession moved forward, you felt strengthened. That was right. What did your life matter if you could save the lives of thousands?

Only the guards proceeded with you once you reached the gate. You took a nervous look upwards that made fear jolt through you once more. The archer was already in place. The archer that would seal your fate once you were displayed upon the altar.

The alter itself was a few hundred steps from the walls, a quick construction for this purpose only. The guards chained you onto it, so that you were displayed upon it like a sacrificial lamb. How fitting. When they left, you could barely sit up enough that your back didn't bow under the metal pressure, but you wanted to die with dignity. That was why you stricktly forbade yourself to cry, but you couldn't stop the trembling of your body and the racing of your heart, it's beat drumming in your ears, running in its last moments to its inevitable end.

Shivering and heaving, you awaited the arrow. This was so much worse than if they had killed you right away. It was torture not to see it coming. Managing a quick look back at the city gates, you saw the archer draw his bow. Despite yourself, a fearful sob left your throat and you closed your eyes, waiting. Almost anticipating. Any second now. The darkness was comforting.

The touch on your chin made you jolt. There was a hand, gently lifting your chin. Was it Thanatos, death itself? Death had an unexpectedly gentle touch.

"Open your eyes."

Without thinking, you did and froze. Your heart, that had been beating as fast as a dragon-flies' wings, halted for just a second. A breathless second, because in front of you stood the most beautiful creature you had ever seen. He was no man, he couldn't be. Emitting an otherworldly glow, his hair seemed to be woven out of gold, his skin as spotless as marble and his eyes a golden color. No, he was no man. The bow draped over it's shoulder, with which he had unleashed despair onto your city, sealed the deal. It was the mighty god Apollo himself.

You couldn't read his expression, but it was neither happy nor angry. He didn't present himself as a vengeful, destructive force of divinity, yet his might you could feel in every fiber of your being. His touch on your skin burned, as if you were too close to his godliness. Only now you followed his other arm with your eyes, that was stretched behind you, and gasped. It held the arrow meant for you, as if he had grabbed it out of the air right before it would have hit your body.

His surprisingly soft fingers tilted your chin further upwards, not meeting any resistance. Your body surrendered to his touch automatically. Golden eyes studied your features with such interest that it made you sweat. The weight of his godly eyes on you was almost painful. With a courage you didn't know you had in you, you looked up, right into those hard, unforgiving eyes. They widened slightly as you did and the god tilted his head. When he spoke, his voice shook you to your core.

"Who are you?"

Too caught up in the melody of his smooth voice, the grave sound of centuries and eternities, you almost missed the question. For a second, you contemplated wether you should tell him, but you didn't see what use there was in lying. And you knew you couldn't lie to him. It was time to meet your purpose.

"I am the eldest daughter of the king that offended you, and who's city is suffering the hail of your arrows, Lord Apollo. I am a sacrifice to you. Please-," your voice broke, but you forbade yourself to cry. "Take me, let me die for my city and have mercy on my people." You could have cursed yourself for the way your lip was trembling, and you added a choked "if it pleases you."

They had chained you down like an animal. Apollo knew that the king was a scumbag, but so much of a scumbag that he would leave his daughter to die without a second thought. The audacity to think that he would be satisfied with this, that he would be granted mercy. And such a pretty little thing you were, too. And obviously way more interested in your people than their king.

All you could hear was your heaving breath as you averted your eyes. His hand left your chin and when he lifted it, you ducked under the impending hit, but it didn't come. When you looked up carefully, he had only placed his hand on the altar next to you. Still, his golden eyes studied your face, though you thought that they looked just a little softer than before. His other hand dropped the arrow and came up to your face to brush strands of hair behind your ear. "What is your name?"

You told him, but he showed no reaction. Were you not enough to satisfy his vengeance? "Please," you begged, "accept me as sacrifice and forgive my father's sins."

The god only scoffed. "Who had that idea? What moron prompted you to be sent out here?" Again, you told him of the seer and his prophecy, shaking under the weight of the chains and your fear. "So, he told your father he would be forgiven if he sacrifices you to me?" the god said. "How could such an error happen to him? He is a very skilled seer." He wasn't talking to you but to himself, glaring at your city in the distance. The waves of his godly anger rolled off of him and left you breathless. You cursed yourself. Was this all you could do? Shiver, die, cover?

The god let out a sigh that sounded like a tragic tune. Such grace, even in the most minor of his mannerisms. He spared another glance at you and again, you felt like blinded by the sun itself. "How would you like a new home, Princess?" there was a scornful tone to his voice when talking about your former home. His lips twitched in mocking amusement. "The old one produces such horrid smells."

You felt your chest constrict with a sudden surge of anger. "And who's fault is that?"

Oh gods.

You had not just said that. What had you been thinking? You didn't dare to breathe as both you and him were, for a moment, stunned by your words. Because you didn't want to see the extent of his eternal anger at your defiance, you chose to look on the ground, expecting the death blow any moment now. But no, he would not make it quick for you, not when you had shown such impudence. Would it be a torturous death? But if it was already set in stone...

You didn't know what prompted you to look up again, but you did, and found him with a stunned expression only making his features prettier. "You hold a grudge against my father because of his blasphemy, fine. Give him the torturous death he deserves. But if you think bodies thrown in the sewers for the rats to eat because there is not enough wood to burn them would touch my father, you are wrong. But it does touch me, and I care about my people. You can do whatever you want to me, and I know you will, but I am begging you to end this punishment!"

You were fierce. Apollo was stunned by your bravery, not many had ever dared to talk to him like that. His sister would like you. There was such clear directness in your words, he could tell you were intelligent, smarter than your father, and you could articulate it even under godly scrutiny. You were interesting. And even more pretty glaring at him. Something tingled inside him, as if you had touched a nerve, but a good one.

"Heh"

It was a slight sound, almost swallowed up by the wind, but it made you look up in disbelief. But it was true. The smile on Apollo's features stunned you, he was too beautiful to be beheld by mortal eyes like yours. Your amazement by his grin almost washed away your confusion about his amusement. Why was he smiling? Why weren't you dead yet?

You flinched away when his hand touched your waist, but you were surprised by how gentle it was. It wrapped around the chains that tied down your whole body and dug painfully into your flesh and they dissipated. A wave of his hand and the bruises that had formed under their pressure healed in front of your eyes. "Hm," he hummed and you looked back at him. "Such a shame, those bindings taking up the view."

"Uh," was all you could say, still half lying on the altar. His smile widened, but it was not malicious. No, it was ... charming. Flirty. Stunningly beautiful.

"Tell me, pretty lady, do you sing?" he asked, leaning on the altar with his two arms caging you in as he leaned towards you. He was so close you could feel it radiating off of him. It felt like heat, only that it buzzed that air in a way that made your lungs constrict. Pure power.

"Ye- I mean, a little," you said, trying to follow his sudden mood shift. "Why?" Because boldness had been the most effective diplomatic tactic so far, and because you felt the strong urge to say it, you added: "Do you want me to sing for you?"

His eyes gleamed with... something. Now, he was truly shining. "Yeah, real interesting," he smiled, leaning even closer. Your heart was racing. "How about I rephrase my previous question, darling. You can either go back to your city and your father, or you can come with me. Your choice. Either way, your city will be forgiven and have peace."

The proposal knocked the breath out of your lungs and the flirtatious smile on his face didn't make it any better. You looked back at your city. Back to your father, who was so willing to sacrifice your life for his, who hadn't even had the decency to see you one last time before sending you out to die, alone and scared, paying for his mistakes. There was nothing there for you, but something was pulling you to the man in front of you that you couldn't quite explain.

"I want to leave with you," you said, surprised by the firmness of your voice. And even more surprised at the way he lit up, emitting a soft golden glow. The stone cold gold of his eyes had melted into warm honey as his arms sneaked under your body and lifted you up. You couldn't help but smile back, as if you were out of control of your face muscles.

"That little smile of yours is almost as irresistible as mine," the god grinned down at you and you felt yourself blush, slapping his chest out of embarrassment as you would have done any man's. For a moment, you were mortified by your own actions, but it turned into relief the next moment because Apollo let out a hearty laugh. A little chuckle left your own lips and for a second, his eyes lingered on them.

The next, he was shielding your eyes with his hand and you could only hear and feel him all around you now. "You might want to close your eyes for a bit. It might get bright."

As you did, he removed the hand, held you gently and looked down upon your face as a hail of golden light engulfed the two of you. Your fingers dug into his tunic but he couldn't have minded it any less. There was something about you that fascinated him. You were interesting, and the god liked interesting people. Eyes still closed, one of your hands found his and squeezed, and he was glad your eyes were closed, or you would haves even the bright pink blush on his marble cheeks.

Yeah, real interesting.

[midnightarcheress]

you panic.

pairing: bodyguard!ghost x actress!reader cw: reader's pov. panic attack, simon in protective mode, hurt/comfort ig? 6 | gold rush masterlist.

you couldn’t breathe. the room seemed small, walls closing in and trapping your limp figure inside of an endless nightmare, compressing your lungs until no air reached your alveolus. the mirror reflected the terror stamped on your face, bloodshot eyes staring at the terrifying warning that froze your blood flow and the trembling hands clutching to your arms, wrapping your torso like a straightjacket, desperately trying to pressure your body into disappearing from that reality.

up to this point, you’ve managed to control your fear. shove your worries aside, trust that nothing would trespass your walls and infinite security measures, promise yourself that it would never infest your brain, but that was the last straw. it was your home. you weren’t safe anywhere and it was just a matter of time until you’d be ripped to shreds in your own garden, crimson painting the destroyed flower beds and a golden crown placed on your head like a perfect corpse-bride.

your knees dropped to the frigid floor with a thud, dreadful mist clouding your vision as tears rolled down your cheeks. you couldn’t think, you couldn’t speak, and the alcohol in your veins only managed to heighten the panic. your soul was floating out of your form, knocking on the bars of the prison, looking for a way out of the ordeal and hoping that it was just a hallucination. the loud thumps of your heart ringed in your ears, muffling Ghost’s attempts to get your attention.

the knot in your throat kept tightening, constricting your vocal cords until the only sounds that could be heard were your strained sobs. being in your own skin was overwhelming and you’d give it all to escape the well you were stranded in, but the water was rising quickly, covering your head and drowning any attempt at tranquillity.

“hey, i’m here,” Ghost said, trying to coax you back to the present, “just focus on my voice, can you take a deep breath for me?” 

your dilated pupils take the sight of him crouched on the floor and follow the movement of his chest, letting his low timbre pierce your eardrum and soothe your heartbeat. you mimic him, feeling the crisp air cursing through your nostrils, down your trachea and bronchi, finally having enough oxygen in your system. 

“can i touch you?” he asks, and you notice the concern behind his hazel irises. you can’t ignore the shame that came with your panicked state, breaking down in front of someone you barely know and who must’ve endured so much worse in his life. you hate feeling weak, frail, like you’d crumble by just one look, but you need comfort. need it so badly that you nod, allowing him to take your quivering hand in his.

his grip is firm, and despite the roughness of his palm, the touch is delicate, tender, enveloping you in gentle heat. you melt in his arms, pitiful sobs leaving your lips when you turn in nothing more than putty in that moment. “shh, i got you, everything will be alright,” he coos, doing his best to calm you, but you couldn’t believe him.

how could everything be alright? the last ounce of safety you had was just taken from you. “it’s my– it’s my home, Ghost,” you stutter, lifting your head to look at him, “i’m not safe in my own home anymore, i can’t–” another wave of tears flood your waterline, and you stop before finishing your sentence. the anxiety was still bubbling in your stomach, it was still too much to handle at once. 

“i know, love, i’ll get you out of here, trust me. nothing will harm you. now just breathe, okay? slow and steady.” his tone is light, almost ethereal, but unmistakably determined. it sounded more than just a phrase to pacify you. it was a promise. a vow. one made with his whole heart and he wouldn’t die before making sure you’re safe.

it takes a while before your brain settles back, slipping out of the hysteria. Ghost lifts you to your feet, taking a step back to give you some space. you sense him studying your expressions, wanting a hint of how to proceed. “what do you need?” he questions softly.

what do i need? the query lingers on your mind while he gazes at you. you're not sure. you never had an attack like this, never had an emotional collapse, never needed so much comfort. “i... don't know,” you gulp, glancing around the room and viewing the bathroom door, “i guess i could go for, uhm, a bath? it might help, right?”

he nods, pacing past you and walking through the door. you faintly hear the running water filling the bathtub and you strip off your heels, your clothes, let your hair fall down and your skin feel the cool air of the room. you shiver, but the tingling of the cold reminds you that you’re still alive, so there’s still a flimsy hope of peace in your future. 

you put on a robe and head to the bathroom, tip-toeing on the chilling tiles. Ghost moves to the exit, allowing you privacy in your vulnerable state, but your meek request makes him freeze on the spot. “can you... stay?” you sigh, “i’m scared of being alone right now.”

he pauses, not knowing how to answer, and you shift your weight from one leg to another, fingers fidgeting with the fluffy belt that holds your covering in place, regretting even asking for such a thing. “sure.” he clears his throat, taking a seat in the tiny wooden ottoman in the corner. the image is quite comical, the bulky man slowly leaning down to the stool as if one glance from him would crack the material, and a timid chuckle escapes your mouth.

his face turns to the side when you undo the knot of your robe and you feel the heat coming to your cheeks when you come to your senses. what the fuck did i ask? you’re bare, slipping into the warm water that was supposed to relieve your anxious mood, but that mainly swells your chest with embarrassment. 

you don’t know if you should be grateful that he’s not making a big deal of it, or sink in the tub due to the quiet – too quiet – atmosphere. Ghost is nothing but a gentleman at that moment, maintaining his head down and eyes away from your blurred naked body, so different from every man you’ve been near. they all seem to think that because you’re known, famous, whatever, you’re merely a doll on display for public use. it’s nice to not feel like an object.

after a long hour of letting the water purge your anguishes, you find yourself draped on a blanket on the sofa, sipping on a cup of chamomile tea that he, so heartily, prepared. he’s on the phone in the next room, and you don’t want to pry, but your ears unconsciously perk up to catch some of his words. he’s talking to someone named Price? something about a safe house? 

a few minutes later, he’s back, sitting on the coffee table in front of you. “so, we’re gonna move,” your brows raised, confused by his statement, “talked to an old friend and i got you a safe place, you can stay there as long as you need, the bastard won’t find you. and i’ll be there with you all the time, okay?” he’s gonna stay with me?

rationally, you know it’s a good idea. you don’t feel protected in your house anymore, and having him constantly by your side would probably give your heart a rest and unburden your shoulders. but moving is a big thing for a life so regulated. “Dan–” 

“i’ll talk to him tomorrow, don’t worry,” he assures, putting a hand on your knee and giving you a small smile. your vision was so hazy before that you didn’t even notice that he had his mask down, and you find yourself musing on the curve of his lips. 

“thank you, Ghost.”

[onebadassunicorn]

His Blue-Eyed Angel

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: torture, beating, captivity, depression, hopelessness, serious angst

word count: 3.4k

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Story tags: @bravo-delta-eccho @tele86 @tiredsleepyhead @celestialgilb @theflowerswillbloom @fuckingsimp4azriel @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @salvatoresister1 @imperfect0angel @stvrdustalexx

Image owned by Velocity Visual Media

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

Chapter 17

Y/n POV

My world was a blur of confusion and terror as I was pulled into the dark, cold space. Panic surged within me, my heart hammering as I struggled against the binds that restricted me. Every breath felt shallow, choked by the overwhelming fear gnawing at my chest.

The first blow hit, sharp and sudden, a burning sting that tore through my skin, a violent reminder that I was no longer in control. I gasped, my body instinctively flinching, but there was nowhere to run. Pain pulsed through me, each strike and each cruel movement adding to the weight of helplessness pressing down on me. It wasn’t just the physical pain that tormented me—it was the sense of being completely powerless, of being at the mercy of someone who relished in my suffering.

Tears welled in my eyes, but I couldn’t bring myself to cry out. There was a strange numbness creeping into my mind, a survival mechanism that dulled the worst of the agony. The pain still seared, but my thoughts became disjointed, my mind retreating in an attempt to shield itself from the constant assault. Yet, the darkness of my reality was undeniable. I had no idea where I was, or what my captors wanted from me—each unanswered question making my fear grow deeper.

In the moments between the torture, my mind drifted, desperate for any escape, any distraction from the overwhelming pain. But instead of finding solace, my thoughts inevitably turned to him—Azriel. His name was now a ghost in my mind, lingering in the back of my thoughts like a phantom I couldn’t escape.

Azriel.

I remembered him—not the brutal warrior I saw on the battlefield, but the way he had been before the war and before he started pushing me away. The quiet strength in his eyes, the kindness hidden beneath his sharp exterior. He had always been different from the others, a presence that was at once distant and somehow familiar. I had admired him from afar, the way he carried the weight of his past with such silent dignity. There had been a time when I thought, in some impossible way, that he could save me—that he could be the one to rescue me from the nightmare that had now become my reality.

But now, all of that felt so distant, so hopeless.

I will come for you.

But he never did.

Why?

My chest tightened with the weight of the unanswered questions, the impossible hope that had died with each passing day of my captivity. I had waited, silently, for the moment when Azriel would burst through the door, his shadows swirling around him, his voice the calm in the chaos, telling me it was over, that I was safe.

But it hadn’t come.

And now, with the cruel reminder of Elain’s rescue, that hope felt foolish, childish. The reality set in like a vise around my heart.

I was his mate.

I love you.

He had whispered.

But perhaps I was now just a shadow in his past that would never be worth saving.

My stomach twisted in despair, the thoughts spiraling downward into a dark pit.

Did he even think about me?

My body trembled as fresh tears slipped down my cheeks, the hopelessness of it all crushing my spirit. The memory of Azriel’s hazel eyes, his quiet strength, felt like a distant, unreachable fantasy.

At first, I tried not to count the days. In that dim, stinking cell—walls of rough stone and iron bars—time had become slippery. The only constants were darkness, the taste of old blood on my tongue, and the murmurs of distant voices, each more merciless than the last. Hybern’s men had kept me trapped, their cruel methods refined over decades of brutality. And no rescue had come before they left their mark upon my flesh and mind.

The scars were more than the thin white lines traced over her shoulders and wrists. Those could heal with salves, with magic, and eventually fade to faint memories on her skin. However, the cruelest marks were made, given with doses of faebane, to ensure those scars would remain forever.

The one on my abdomen, an eternal reminder of their cruelty.

Inside was another story. I no longer dreamt in colors. Sleep now brought shadows shaped like leering grins, the sound of steel dragging over stone. I woke gasping, heart pounding, disoriented and panicked. But in the quiet hours before dawn, every moan of the wind brought a hiss of a guard’s voice in my ear, every shifting shadow the approach of another torment.

They hadn’t been kind.

I hadn’t expected them to be.

They’d yanked at my wings, twisted joints until I screamed, and laughed when I begged them to stop. They starved me for days, providing only enough water to ensure I remained alive to feel the next blow, the next invasive question. They’d demanded secrets I didn’t have, forced me to repeat answers until my voice cracked and the words meant nothing. When I didn’t speak—when silence was my only defense—they pressed hot iron to my skin, delighted by the way I bit my lips bloody to hold in cries of pain. Eventually, they’d learned to savor my struggles, not for information, but for entertainment, as they each took turns in subjecting me to their own personal style of torment.

That was the worst of it: understanding I was no longer a person in their eyes, only an object whose suffering could amuse them. Over those endless nights, my sense of self had frayed. I’d once been proud, fierce in my own gentle way, but how did pride survive when reduced to sobbing and shaking at the sound of approaching footsteps?

My dignity had slipped through my fingers along with my tears, leaving only raw survival instinct and the desperate hope that someone would come.

Azriel would come.

Tarquin or Rhysand would come.

Anyone would come.

But no one had arrived in time before I was drug off the battlefield.

My body ached, but the worst of it was the crushing weight of vulnerability—how small and insignificant I felt in that moment. I tried to hold on to memories of my life before, of moments where I felt safe, where I had the control I now craved desperately. But even those memories seemed to fade, like distant, unreachable stars.

******

Azriel POV

The war was over. Hybern had been defeated, their forces scattered, and Prythian stood victorious.

Yet, for Azriel, there was no relief, no celebration.

Azriel stood at the edge of the House of Wind, staring out over Velaris as the night wind howled against his wings.

Three months.

Three long, torturous months since she had been taken.

Three months of searching, scouring every possible lead, sending his spies far and wide. And they’d found nothing.

Not a trace.

Not a whisper.

His shadows curled tightly around him, restless and agitated as they whispered in his ear—whispered nothing of use, nothing about her. He had hoped, desperately, that one of his spies would come back with something, anything, but every report brought silence.

An empty trail.

Azriel’s hand clenched around the railing so tightly the wood splintered beneath his grip. He barely noticed. His mind was lost—lost to her. Y/n. The name was a ghost in his chest, echoing through the hollow space she’d left behind.

Three months since he’d seen her on the battlefield, fighting with every ounce of strength she had, her wings flaring defiantly as she told him to go, to save Elain. Three months since he’d felt the bond snap for her and seen the confusion and love in her tear-filled eyes as she whispered, You’re my mate. And the last words he’d told her…

“I love you. I’ll come back for you.”

A promise that now mocked him.

Azriel exhaled a shuddering breath, his head falling forward, his wings drooping under the weight of it all. He had fought wars, spilled blood, ended countless lives, faced horrors that would break lesser males—but nothing had prepared him for this.

For losing her.

For three months, he’d led the search personally. Every waking moment was spent hunting for her. He combed through every camp, every hideout Hybern’s soldiers had fled to after the war. His spies followed every lead, but they all ended in nothing but cold trails and dead silence. As though she had vanished from the earth entirely.

The bond in his chest still pulsed faintly, like a flicker of a candle nearly snuffed out. It was there, a cruel reminder that she was alive—somewhere. But it was so faint now, so fragile, he feared it would disappear at any moment. And then he would know. He would know she was gone.

He sank down onto the edge of the balcony, his hands running through his hair as he tried to breathe, to steady himself against the tide of grief that threatened to pull him under.

“I didn’t get to kiss her again,” he whispered brokenly to the shadows that curled at his feet. “I didn’t get to—” His voice caught, and he dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders trembling. “I never got to hold her. To touch her the way I wanted to. To… love her the way she deserved.”

He had tried to connect with her every day since the war had ended, had poured everything he had into that fragile thread that tied them together. But there was no response.

He could still see her in his mind’s eye—the way her black feathered wings spread wide with such beauty and strength, the way her eyes, deep as the ocean, had looked at him with love even as she was surrounded.

Why did I leave?

He had told himself he didn’t have a choice. That she had made the call. But it wasn’t enough to ease the torment in his mind—the gnawing despair that he had left his mate to be taken, to be broken, to be tortured.

“She’s gone,” he whispered hoarsely to no one, to the night, to the stars that offered no solace. “She’s gone, and I’ll never—” His throat closed, a single tear slipping down his face as he gripped his knees tightly.

Never hold her. Never feel her warmth against him. Never run his fingers through her midnight hair or kiss the sadness from her lips. He would never get to take her flying over the Sidra, never get to tell her just how deeply, how irrevocably he loved her.

Three months of silence, of failure, of waiting for a truth he couldn’t face.

“Please,” he murmured aloud, his voice raw, his hazel eyes staring into the night as though he could find her there. He closed his eyes, focusing all his energy on the bond, tugging at it gently, trying to send her something—anything.

Y/n, he called through their connection, his shadows curling around him in frustration and despair.

Talk to me.

Please.

The shadows whispered restlessly around him, unsettled and agitated, as though they, too, could feel the truth of what was happening.

The bond.

The fragile thread in his chest pulsed faintly—so faint it might’ve been a ghost. A cruel trick of his own mind. For three months, he had felt it weakening, fraying at the edges. She was still alive. He clung to that truth, that faint hum. She is alive. But it wasn’t enough.

Because there were moments—terrible, shattering moments—when the bond screamed.

Azriel’s head snapped up suddenly, his breath halting in his throat as the sensation hit him like a physical blow.

Pain.

Agony.

It tore through him, scorching every nerve, leaving him doubled over as though he’d been struck with a blade.

He clutched his chest, his heart hammering as the feelings bled through the bond, unrelenting.

Fear—so potent it made his own blood run cold.

Desperation—like hands clawing at a prison that wouldn’t break.

Pain—sharp, bright flashes, as though steel had been dragged across skin.

And through it all, the silent scream.

Her silent scream.

“Y/n,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, desperate, as though she could hear him. “Angel…”

She wasn’t doing it on purpose. He knew that. She didn’t even realize what she was sending down the bond.

It had started shortly after she’d been taken—those flashes of raw agony that would break through the silence of the bond like lightning through a storm. At first, they had been faint, just the barest flicker of something—of her. But as the months wore on, as Hybern’s remnants worked to break her, the bond had become a lifeline of its own, even as it sent him to his knees.

The bond pulsed again, sending another sharp wave of fear and unbearable pain, and Azriel gasped, his wings snapping out behind him as he fought to breathe through it.

“Baby,” he whispered, closing his eyes tightly, trying to steady himself. “Hold on. Just hold on.”

There were no words in response—no whispers from her side of the bond. She had never sent anything willingly. This… this was her body, her mind betraying her, the terror bleeding through to him against her will.

Azriel pressed a hand to his chest, where the bond still flickered faintly, like a dying candle in the dark. It wasn’t fair.

The Mother, the Cauldron—it wasn’t fair to give him a mate, to bind them together so deeply, only to tear her away before he ever had the chance to love her the way he was meant to.

But he could feel her, even now. The way her fear trembled against the bond, as though she was trapped in a nightmare she couldn’t wake from.

His teeth clenched, his shadows spiraling wildly around him in response to his fury. He could do nothing. For months, he had searched, sent his spies, combed through every whisper of Hybern’s remnants. And yet she was still there. Still in their hands.

And every time he felt her pain, felt her terror, it killed him all over again.

“Hold on, angel,” he whispered, the words raw, his voice breaking as he stared down at his trembling hands. “I will find you.”

He didn’t know if she could hear him. He doubted it. But still, he sent those words down the bond like a prayer—like a promise.

The bond trembled, faint and fragile once more, the storm of agony fading into a haunting silence. Azriel slumped back against the wall, his chest heaving, his body shaking from the force of it all.

She was slowly dying.

He buried his face in his hands, his entire body trembling with the weight of his emotions. He could feel the agony that was breaking her piece by piece. The thought of her being tortured, of her suffering alone, was a torment he couldn’t escape.

“Angel,” he whispered again, his voice breaking as he pressed his hand to his chest, where the bond pulsed faintly beneath his ribs. He could feel the distance between them, the fragile thread connecting them stretched so thin it felt as though it might snap at any moment.

His shadows swirled restlessly around him, reflecting the chaos in his heart.

He didn’t deserve her—he had told himself that over and over.

But Gods, he couldn’t lose her.

Not like this.

The thought of her dying alone, her last moments filled with pain and suffering, was more than he could bear.

He had thought the war was the hardest thing he would face, but this—this slow, agonizing loss—was worse. The silence through the bond, the absence of her presence, the knowledge that she was still alive but beyond his reach, was a torment that consumed him.

Azriel leaned forward, his wings curling around him as he let out a shaky breath. The stars above blurred as tears filled his eyes, the weight of his failure pressing down on him like a crushing tide.

He had left her behind.

He had made the choice that haunted him every moment since, and now she was paying the price for it.

Azriel leaned back against the cold stone wall, staring up at the star-flecked sky with hollow, haunted eyes. The world around him was silent, still—so at odds with the war raging in his heart.

And Azriel let himself cry—quiet, broken sobs that echoed through the night.

Because he knew, deep down, that he was losing her. That the bond would soon flicker out. And when it did, he would feel it—feel the moment she was gone forever.

That was the thought that shattered him completely.

And as he sat there in the dark, sobbing, clutching at the bond he feared would slip away entirely, he made a silent vow.

He would find her.

No matter how long it took, no matter how much blood he spilled to do it. He would find her and destroy every single soul who had dared to harm her.

Because every ounce of pain he had felt through the bond—the fear, the torture—he would repay a thousandfold.

And when he held her again, when he pulled her into his arms, he would tell her—tell her that she had never been alone, not for a single heartbeat.

Because even across the vast, empty silence, Azriel had been there.

And he always would be.

******

Y/n POV

The days bled into one another in a haze of exhaustion and despair.

Three months.

Three long months of silence, of waiting, of aching for something I couldn’t have.

It felt as though time had stopped, as though I had entered a place where nothing, but torment existed. Desperation set in, my mind cycling between thoughts of escape, of somehow fighting back, and the sickening realization that I was alone.

The scent of damp stone filled my nose, and the flickering light from the small torch in the corner did little to soothe the cold in my bones. But the deepest chill came from within, from the gnawing emptiness in my chest.

I was his mate.

The bond between us should have been enough, but it hadn’t been. It was like I no longer existed in his world. In the three months since I had been taken, I hadn’t felt his presence the way I once had when the bond snapped for me…so strong, so real, so undeniable.

Perhaps it was the faebane.

Or worse, he had moved on.

But even in the silence, a part of me still longed for him. The bond tugged at me, subtle but undeniable, pulling my thoughts to him in the dead of night when I couldn’t sleep. I could still remember the way his touch felt, how his eyes would soften when he looked at me, how his lips felt when he kissed me that night in the alley at Rita's.

I could still feel the warmth of his presence, as though he were just beyond the reach of my fingertips, and the ache to have him near me again gnawed at me relentlessly.

The fear grew, not just for the pain, but for the terror of what might come next, of the uncertainty stretching out before me in a never-ending void. Would it ever end? Or was this my life now? I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that I couldn’t escape, and the torment felt like it would never cease.

The bond, that maddening pull, kept me tethered to him even as my mind screamed at me to let go. Every day, every hour in this dark prison was a reminder of my helplessness, of how little control I had over the one thing that mattered most.

I’d thought I could fight it. With hopelessness growing more and more each day, I thought I could erase the memories of him. But with every passing day, it only grew stronger, as if my soul itself was tethered to his. It didn’t matter that he had saved her and not come back for me. It didn’t matter that Elain was now the one he would protect, the one who had his care and his attention.

I would never stop longing for him.

Chapter 18

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 8

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"The fates already fucked me sideways,"

summary: the secrets out

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 8

masterlist of the series!

previous | chapter 7

next | chapter 9

The sun filtered through the church windows, casting a soft glow over the sanctuary where the girls' dance troupe had been practicing for hours. Tomorrow was the big day—the fellowship celebration—where all the church elders, members, and their families would gather to witness the performances. The pressure was on, and you could feel the weight of it pressing down on your shoulders. This was your first time leading something, and the responsibility felt immense.

Jemima had been a godsend, helping you organize the routines, going over each step with the girls until everything was perfect. Her calm, reassuring presence had been a balm to your nerves. Joel had been equally supportive, his quiet encouragement easing the anxiety that had threatened to overwhelm you. Just thinking about him brought a smile to your face, even in the midst of all the stress.

During a break in the practice, you and Emma headed to the back of the church to grab some snacks and drinks. The two of you chatted idly, the tension from the rehearsal melting away with each laugh you shared. It was a rare moment of calm, one you desperately needed before the whirlwind of tomorrow’s event.

But then, as you reached for a bottle of water, a familiar, unwelcome presence loomed over you. Your heart skipped a beat, and your breath caught in your throat as you turned to see Jamie standing there, his eyes dark and malicious.

“Hi, Jamie,” Emma greeted him casually, completely unaware of the storm brewing beneath the surface. “What are you doing here?”

Jamie ignored her, his gaze locked on you, a twisted smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Did you tell him, hm?” His voice was low, taunting, sending a chill down your spine.

You froze, confusion and fear knotting in your stomach. “What are you talking about, Jamie? Just get out of here.” You tried to keep your voice steady as you turned back to the snacks, hoping he would just leave you alone.

But Jamie wasn’t finished. He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “I know about you and him.”

Your body went rigid, the blood draining from your face. Panic surged through you, but you forced yourself to remain calm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you muttered, hoping to deflect his insinuations.

Jamie chuckled darkly, leaning in closer. “Don’t play dumb. You think I wouldn’t find out? I knew you were always a dirty slut, but damn, you really outdid yourself this time.”

Emma glanced between the two of you, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What’s going on?"

You didn’t answer, your mind racing, trying to figure out how to diffuse the situation. “Jamie, just leave me alone,” you repeated, your voice shaking.

But Jamie wasn’t done yet. His eyes glittered with malice as he continued, “If you say anything about us, I’ll make sure everyone knows about you and Joel.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure Emma could hear it. The mention of Joel’s name made you freeze in place, terror gripping you like a vise.

Emma’s eyes widened as she processed what Jamie had said. She looked at you, then back at Jamie, horror dawning on her face.

Jamie grinned wickedly, relishing in your fear. “Oh, she didn’t tell you, did she? The saint preacher's daughter over here has been fucking around with good ol’ Joel Miller. Isn’t that right?”

Emma’s face went pale, her expression a mixture of shock and disgust. “Jamie, stop,” you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper. But he ignored you, his cruel words cutting deeper with each passing second.

“He’s old enough to be your dad, for God’s sake,” Jamie sneered. “He should be in jail for what he’s done to you, and you…you should be ashamed of yourself. But then again, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You were always such a little whore.”

Jamie’s words hit you like a slap to the face, the weight of his accusations crashing down on you. Emma stood frozen beside you, her eyes wide and filled with disbelief.

“I…” You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. Jamie’s threats hung in the air, and the reality of what he could do, the damage he could cause, made your head spin.

Without another word, Jamie turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you and Emma standing there in stunned silence. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, everything spinning out of control as you tried to process what had just happened.

"Emma..." you said. you are scared, scared to death.

Emma’s eyes were wide, her face pale with shock as she pulled you into the small storage room, slamming the door shut behind her. The dim light barely illuminated the cramped space, casting long shadows on the walls. The sound of your heart pounding in your chest echoed in your ears, drowning out the faint hum of the air conditioning unit.

“What the fuck?” Emma’s voice was a harsh whisper, her hands trembling as she ran them through her hair. “Joel Miller? Ellie’s dad?! Are you fucking crazy?!”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Panic seized your throat, making it impossible to form a coherent sentence. You felt trapped, cornered by both Emma’s piercing gaze and the weight of the secret that had just been exposed.

“I…I can explain,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. But even as you said it, you knew how hollow it sounded. How could you possibly explain something like this? How could you make her understand the connection you felt with Joel, the way he made you feel safe, loved, and cherished in a way you had never experienced before?

Emma’s expression softened for a moment, as if she could see the turmoil in your eyes. But it was quickly replaced by a mixture of anger and disbelief. “Explain? What’s there to explain? This is crazy! He’s twice your age, he’s Ellie’s dad and YOUR DAD'S BEST FRIEND!, for God’s sake. Do you even realize what you’ve done?”

"This could ruin everything. Do you even realize the danger you’re in? What will happen if your dad finds out? If the church finds out?” She said again.

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to break down. “I know how it looks, Emma, but it’s not like that. It’s not just some fling or something… I love him, and he loves me.”

Emma stared at you, her mouth agape, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Love? You think this is love? He’s a grown man, He should know better!”

“He does know better,” you shot back, your voice rising in desperation. “But I’m not a child, Emma. I know what I want, and I want Joel. He’s not taking advantage of me. It’s real. He protect me, he...he's always there for me,"

Emma shook her head, her face a mix of anger and hurt. “You’re so blinded by this…whatever it is that you can’t see how wrong it is. What do you think is going to happen when people find out? What about your dad? He’ll go ballistic. And Joel…he could get in serious trouble. You’re both going to get hurt.”

Her words hit you like a ton of bricks, the reality of the situation crashing down on you. You knew she was right, but the thought of losing Joel, of being torn away from him, was unbearable.

“Emma, please,” you begged, reaching out to grab her hand. “Please, don’t say anything. I know this is a mess, but I can’t lose him. I love him, and I don’t care about the consequences. I just…I just need you to understand.”

Emma looked down at your hand clutching hers, her expression torn. She was silent for what felt like an eternity, and you held your breath, praying that she would somehow find it in her heart to forgive you, to keep your secret.

Finally, she sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “I don’t know what to do. This is so messed up. You both will get exiled! Or worse, he could be in jail for molesting you!”

Her words struck a nerve, the idea of Joel being painted as some sort of predator made your blood boil. “He did NOT molest me!” you snapped, your voice rising with a fierce intensity that startled both of you. Emma’s eyes widened, clearly taken aback by your sudden outburst, but you couldn’t hold back the torrent of emotions any longer.

“He didn’t do anything wrong, Emma,” you continued, your voice trembling but steady. “He didn’t force me into anything. I wanted this. I wanted him. Joel is a good man, and you don’t understand—he’s the only one who’s ever made me feel like I’m worth something. He’s been there for me when no one else was, not even my own dad.”

Emma’s face softened, but there was still a deep conflict in her eyes. Don’t you see how wrong this is? It’s not just about love or how he makes you feel. This could destroy everything—for both of you.”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside you. “I know it’s complicated, and I know it’s not what people expect. But it’s real, Emma. What we have is real. And I don’t care if it’s wrong in the eyes of the church or society. All I know is that I can’t lose him. I won’t.”

Emma shook her head, her expression a mix of concern and frustration. “You’re not thinking straight. This isn’t just about you. It’s about him too. If this gets out…if people find out, it won’t just be your life that’s ruined. Joel could lose everything. His reputation, his business, his freedom. Is that what you want?”

The weight of her words hung heavily between you, but you couldn’t back down. “No, of course not,” you said, your voice cracking slightly. “But I can’t just walk away from him. I love him, Emma. I love him in a way I’ve never loved anyone else. And I can’t imagine my life without him.”

Emma’s eyes searched yours, as if looking for some sign that you might change your mind, that you might realize the gravity of the situation. But she didn’t find it. Instead, she saw the depth of your resolve, the unyielding determination in your gaze.

“Then you better be prepared for the consequences,” she finally said, her voice tinged with sadness. “Because this won’t end well. Not for you, not for Joel. And I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over as you faced Emma, your heart pounding with the weight of the truth you were about to unveil. “I’m already hurt, Emma,” you whispered, the words trembling on your lips. “Every day I have to pretend that I’m okay, that I’m fine living this life. But I’m not. Joel is the only thing that makes it bearable. And I’m willing to risk everything for him.”

The desperation in your voice hung heavily in the air, and you saw Emma’s resolve begin to waver. Her eyes softened, the anger and judgment in them slowly being replaced with concern and fear for you. “Please, Emma,” you begged, your voice cracking, “please, I'm begging you, don’t tell anyone. Joel’s not the bad guy. He’s not who you think he is. He saved me.”

Emma hesitated, her face torn between wanting to protect you and not fully understanding the gravity of the situation. You knew there was only one way to make her see, to make her understand why you couldn’t let go of Joel—why you couldn’t go back to the way things were before.

Taking a shaky breath, you let the words spill out, words you’d kept buried deep inside for so long, words that had been eating away at you like a poison. “You want to know the truth, Emma? The real reason why I’ve been avoiding Jamie? Why he’s been threatening me like that?”

Emma’s eyes widened, fear creeping into her expression as she shook her head slightly, as if not wanting to hear what you were about to say. But you couldn’t stop now, not after holding this secret for so long.

“Because he raped me,” you whispered, your voice breaking on the word, the shame and pain you’d been carrying for so long finally breaking free. “He took my virginity by force, Emma. He didn’t care about me—he just wanted to prove he could have me, no matter what. And when he was done, he left me there, feeling like nothing.”

The tears finally broke free, streaming down your cheeks as you saw Emma’s face pale, her eyes filling with horror and disbelief. “He—he did what?” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your voice wavered as you continued, the weight of your confession bearing down on you like a cross too heavy to carry. "I felt so dirty," you whispered, your words trembling in the still air between you and Emma. "So broken. I wanted to end it all, to just disappear and never have to feel that way again. I started drinking, hiding bottles in my room, sneaking out at night just to numb the pain. I even went to church drunk, praying to God to take this all away, but no one ever noticed.”

The words tumbled out like confessions at a confessional, your voice cracking under the strain of so much pain. "Every night, I would whisper to God, pleading for mercy. I’d pray for the angels to come down and take this burden from me, to carry me away on their wings to a place where I didn’t have to feel this pain anymore. And if no angel would come, I begged for death, for the final peace of oblivion, because I couldn’t keep fighting. I was drowning, Emma, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t break the surface.”

You took a shuddering breath, your hands shaking as you clutched Emma’s arms, searching her eyes for some sign that she understood. "I prayed for deliverance, for a way out of this darkness. I asked God to send me someone, anyone, who could make me feel whole again, who could remind me that I wasn’t just a vessel for shame and sorrow. And then Joel came into my life, like a beacon of light in a storm. He made me believe that maybe I wasn’t beyond saving, that maybe there was still something left in me worth loving."

Emma’s eyes were filled with tears, her face a picture of grief and understanding. She didn’t say anything, just held you tighter, as if trying to shield you from all the pain you had been carrying alone for so long.

“And now, I’m terrified, Em,” you admitted, your voice breaking completely. “Because I’m afraid that if I lose Joel, I’ll lose the last bit of hope I have left. I don’t want to go back to that darkness, to that place where I prayed for death. I don’t want to feel that way again.”

Emma’s arms tightened around you, her tears mingling with yours as she whispered, “You won’t go back there. I promise, you won’t be alone anymore. I’ll help you through this, whatever it takes.”

The weight of your confession hung in the air like incense rising to the heavens, a prayer of desperation and sorrow. And in that moment, you felt a glimmer of something—something like hope—begin to take root in the cracks of your broken heart. Emma’s embrace was like a lifeline, pulling you back from the edge of the abyss you had been teetering on for so long.

"I can't lose him, I can't," you said, your voice barely a whisper, as if speaking the words too loudly might shatter the fragile hope beginning to bloom within you. The thought of a life without Joel, without the one person who made you feel seen and loved, was unbearable. You clung to Emma as though letting go would mean slipping back into the darkness that had once consumed you.

Emma held you tighter, her hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "You're not going to lose him," she murmured, her voice firm yet gentle. "We’ll figure this out, okay?"

Tears welled up in your eyes as you buried your face in Emma's shoulder, her words offering a comfort you hadn’t realized you needed so desperately. It was the first time in a long time that someone had promised to stand by you, no matter the cost. "Thank you, Emma," you managed to choke out, your gratitude overwhelming.

Emma pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, her expression serious. "You don’t have to go through this alone anymore. I’m here for you, and I’m not going anywhere."

You nodded, sniffling as you wiped at your eyes. The fear still lingered, but it wasn’t as suffocating as it had been before. With Emma by your side, the path ahead seemed a little less daunting. The darkness that had once felt all-consuming now had a small, flickering light within it—a light that you were determined to hold onto.

But as the two of you stood there, the reality of your situation pressed in on you once more. Jamie’s threats echoed in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the fear of what he might do. The thought of him exposing your relationship with Joel sent a shiver down your spine.

“What if he tells?” you asked, your voice tinged with anxiety. “What if he goes to my dad, or the church? Joel could be ruined, and I—I don’t know what would happen to me.”

Emma shook her head, determination hardening her features. “We won’t let that happen."

You swallowed hard, feeling a renewed sense of resolve. Emma’s faith in you, in both of you, gave you strength.

As you stood there, side by side, the weight of the world felt just a little bit lighter. The storm was far from over, but at least now you knew you didn’t have to face it alone.

***

The night had settled in, wrapping the world in a cloak of darkness as you and the other girls finished your practice. The church hall was now empty, the echoes of laughter and chatter fading away as everyone headed home. The dance routine had been drilled into your muscles, each movement precise, every step aligned with the rhythm. You had pushed yourself hard, knowing that tomorrow would be a day of judgment—not just for your performance, but for the life you had chosen to live in secret.

As you stepped outside, the cool night air kissed your skin, a welcome relief from the heat of the practice room. The streets were quiet, almost eerily so, with only the occasional flicker of streetlights breaking through the darkness. The silence was a stark contrast to the noise in your mind, where thoughts swirled like a storm.

Emma offered to drive you home in her new car, her concern evident in the way she lingered, keys in hand. "Are you sure you don’t want a ride? It’s getting late," she asked, her voice gentle but insistent.

You shook your head, forcing a small smile. "I’ll be fine, Emma. I just need to clear my head a bit. I’ll walk."

She hesitated, searching your face for any sign of doubt. "Alright," she finally said, though her eyes still held a trace of worry. "Just… be careful, okay?"

You nodded, reassuring her with another smile. "I will. See you tomorrow."

With that, you both exchanged goodbyes, and you started your walk home. The night seemed to press in around you, the darkness heavy with unspoken fears and unvoiced hopes. Your footsteps echoed on the pavement, a steady rhythm that matched the beating of your heart.

You clutched your backpack a little tighter, its weight grounding you as your thoughts drifted. Tomorrow was supposed to be a big day—your dad would be home early, the church event would be in full swing, and all eyes would be on you. But all you could think about was Joel. The way he made you feel alive, seen, and cherished in a world that often felt cold and uncaring. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, of having that light snuffed out by the darkness that threatened to consume you.

The streetlights cast long shadows on the road ahead, their glow flickering like the doubts that gnawed at your mind. What if Jamie followed through on his threats? What if your dad found out? The thought made your chest tighten with fear. You had built this delicate web of secrecy, each strand woven with care, but it could all unravel with just one word, one misstep.

You tried to push the fear away, focusing instead on the warmth Joel had given you, the way his presence had pulled you back from the edge time and time again. You repeated to yourself that you couldn’t lose him—not now, not ever. He was your anchor, your sanctuary in a world that had so often felt like a battlefield.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the figure lurking in the shadows until it was too late. As you rounded a corner, a rustling sound from the bushes made you pause. Your breath hitched, and you stopped in your tracks, your heart pounding in your chest.

Then, like a specter emerging from the darkness, Jamie stepped out from the shadows, his presence cold and menacing. His lips curled into a twisted smile as he saw the fear flash across your face.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, his voice low and taunting. His presence casting a dark shadow over you. You took a step back, a chill running down your spine. “Get the fuck out of my face, Jamie,” you demanded, your voice trembling but resolute.

Jamie’s eyes narrowed as he advanced. “You told Emma about me, didn’t you?” His tone was cold and accusatory. Fear tightened in your chest, but you tried to hold your ground.

“If you ruin me, I’ll make sure I ruin you,” he sneered, his threat hanging heavy in the air. “I’ll make sure they take him away from you.”

Desperation and anger flared inside you. “What the fuck do you want from me?!” you shouted, your voice breaking with emotion.

Without warning, Jamie’s hand clamped over your mouth, dragging you toward the bushes. You struggled against his grip, trying to scream for help, but his strength overwhelmed you. The world seemed to close in as he shoved you down onto the dirt, his actions abrupt and frightening.

In a surge of panic, you tried to push him away, your heart racing as he started to unzip his pants, “No, Jamie, please!” you begged, tears streaming down your face. “Don’t!”

Jamie’s voice was cruel and mocking. “Did he make you feel good, huh? You should thank me. I brought out this slut hidden beneath you, didn’t I? I should be the one who fuck you good, not some old fucking ass like Joel Miller.”

His words cut deep, and you felt a sense of helpless dread. The stars above seemed to spin as you tried to escape, your heart pounding with fear and sorrow. But Jamie’s hold was unrelenting, and your pleas seemed to fade into the night, swallowed by the dark.

"Please, don't, please," you try your best to shoved him but he pull your skirt down, "Help!" you scream and Jamie punch you again, "Be quiet, you dirty whore,".

As Jamie’s grip tightened, he enters you by force, and the world seemed to tilt, your mind sought refuge in the distant twinkle of the stars. You closed your eyes, trying to escape into the silent comfort of the night sky. Each star above was a distant beacon, a reminder that somewhere, beyond this moment, there was still a world of light and hope.

You tried to focus on the stars, their cold, indifferent light providing a fragile sense of calm. In the midst of your torment, you held onto the hope that this night would end, that the dawn would break and with it, bring the promise of a new beginning.

The beauty of the celestial expanse above seemed to offer a quiet solace, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, there is still a universe beyond, filled with unspoken promises and untold stories.

As Jamie’s actions continued, the pain and fear seemed to blur, becoming a distant echo compared to the clarity of the stars. You imagined yourself drifting among them, free from the terror below, where the hurt could not reach and the darkness could not touch.

Just look at the stars, you'll be fine

As the tears running down your face, you bit your lips to hold the pain, Jamie's moaning on your ear. You tried to focus on the stars, their silent brilliance a reminder of a world beyond this moment. You whispered a prayer to the universe, to any higher power that might be listening, to make it stop, to take away the suffering and grant you the strength to endure.

"Jesus Christ, please, make all of this stop, I'm tired," you prayed, your voice a desperate whisper that mingled with the night’s silence. The tears streaming down your face were a testament to your exhaustion, both physical and emotional.

Jamie, lost in his own world, was too consumed by his actions to hear your plea. His mocking laughter echoed through the night, a cruel reminder of the powerlessness you felt in this moment. His words and actions were a stark contrast to the gentle night sky above, where you tried to find solace.

Despite the overwhelming pain, you continued to gaze at the stars, seeking refuge in their distant, unchanging light. They were your silent witnesses, a reminder that there was something beyond this immediate suffering, a world where this moment of anguish would eventually fade into the past.

With final thrust, he finally reach his climax, he came inside you.

The night was a tapestry of silent suffering and shattering despair. When Jamie finally finished, he lay beside you, breath ragged and labored. The stillness of the night contrasted sharply with the turmoil of your heart. You lay there, numb and tearful, as though the ground beneath you was a cruel reminder of your helplessness.

Jamie eventually rose, zipping his pants with a contemptuous smirk. His words were a chilling echo of his earlier cruelty. “If you tell anyone about this, you’re dead,” he threatened, his voice cold and indifferent. With that, he walked away, leaving you alone in the dirt, a broken figure beneath the indifferent stars.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours as you lay there, struggling to gather yourself. The pain was a relentless tide, overwhelming and unyielding. The stars above, once your silent witnesses, now seemed distant and cold, a vast expanse that mocked your suffering.

You slowly sat up, the weight of the night heavy on your shoulders. Your dress was torn and stained, your hair a tangled mess. Every movement was a reminder of the agony you had endured. You tried to fix your appearance, but the effort felt like an exercise in futility. The blood staining your legs was a harsh reminder of what Jamie had done.

As you walked through the night, your steps were unsteady, your mind clouded with despair. The questions swirled in your head: Why had this happened to you? Why did life have to be so painfully cruel? The burden of your suffering seemed almost unbearable.

Desperate for solace, you made your way to Joel’s home. Each step was a struggle, your heart aching with the need for his presence, for his comfort. When you reached his door, you knocked, hoping against hope that he was home.

Ellie opened the door, her eyes widening in shock as she took in your disheveled and bleeding appearance. Her voice was filled with panic as she called out, “What the hell happened?! Are you okay?!”

With tears brimming in your eyes and your voice trembling, you asked, “Ellie, is… is Joel home?” The words were barely a whisper, but they carried the weight of your desperation.

From inside, you could hear Joel’s voice from inside, “Ellie, who's on the door?"

Joel’s eyes widened with alarm as he saw you standing there, a vision of distress and anguish. Without hesitation, he bolted to the door, his face etched with fear and concern. As he reached you, the dam holding back your tears finally broke.

“Joel…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, your strength crumbling. You collapsed into his arms, the sobs wracking your body uncontrollably. The dam of your grief had burst, and you clung to him with all the strength you had left, your tears soaking into his shirt.

Joel’s expression shifted from panic to a fierce, protective concern. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding you close as though he could shield you from the world’s cruelty simply by being there. “What happened?” he repeated, his voice thick with emotion.

Ellie watched in stunned silence, her hands covering her mouth as she absorbed the gravity of the situation. Joel guided you gently inside, his movements tender yet urgent, as if every second mattered. He led you to the living room, helping you sit down on the couch, his touch both steady and soothing.

“Joel... he... he did it again,” you said weakly, your voice barely more than a whisper. The words felt heavy on your lips, each one a painful reminder of what had happened.

Ellie’s confusion turned to alarm as she processed your words, her face pale with concern. Joel, however, understood immediately. His anger was palpable, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. “That son of a bitch,” he cursed slowly, his voice low but seething with fury.

He moved you gently, laying you down on the couch with careful hands. As he began to check you for injuries, his touch was both deliberate and compassionate. When his fingers brushed against your legs and he saw the blood, his expression shifted from anger to a deep, heart-wrenching sorrow.

Joel’s face contorted with grief as he realized the extent of Jamie’s cruelty. He shouted “FUCK!” in a voice that shook the very walls, causing Ellie to flinch and step back in shock. The raw emotion in Joel’s outburst was a stark contrast to his usually composed demeanor.

With a trembling hand, Joel placed his forehead against yours, the warmth of his skin mingling with your tears. For the first time, you saw him cry—silent, heartbroken tears that spoke volumes. His voice was a whisper as he spoke, “I’m going to make sure he pays for this. I promise you.”

You looked into Joel’s brown eyes, feeling a mix of fear and sorrow. The pain in your body was overwhelming, and you could barely comprehend what had just happened. “Joel, it hurts,” you managed to say through your tears.

“I know, baby,” Joel said, his voice filled with tender sorrow. “I know it hurts. We’re going to fix this.”

He turned to Ellie, his voice now frantic. “Ellie, get a bucket of warm water and a napkin, now!” His desperation made Ellie’s hands shake as she hurried to follow his orders.

Returning to you, Joel’s eyes were filled with a mixture of fear and determination. “I need to know, baby,” he said softly, “Did he... did he...”

“Inside of me, Joel,” you sobbed, “He came inside of me.”

Joel's world had never felt so fragile, so perilously close to shattering. The weight of your words bore down on him like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him in a sea of grief and rage. His heart twisted with a pain so fierce it felt as though it might break him in two. Every fiber of his being screamed for vengeance, but right now, his only focus was you—protecting you, comforting you, holding you together when you were on the verge of falling apart.

His breath came in ragged bursts as he fought to control the storm inside him. He pressed his forehead against yours, the gesture tender and desperate, as though he could transfer some of his strength to you, even as his own reserves were dangerously low. His voice, usually so steady and composed, wavered with emotion as he whispered, "He will pay for what he did to you. I swear it."

But your voice, so small and broken, cut through the darkness of his rage. "Joel, I'm scared," you whispered, and the fear in your voice was a knife to his heart.

In that moment, Joel’s protective instincts surged to the forefront. All thoughts of vengeance were pushed aside by the overwhelming need to be there for you, to make sure you knew you weren’t alone. “You’ll be okay, I promise you,” he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. “I’m here. I got you, babygirl.”

Ellie returned with the warm water and napkins, but she paused in the doorway, her breath catching in her throat as she took in the scene before her. Joel’s forehead was still pressed against yours, his eyes closed, as he murmured soft words of comfort. There was a raw, unguarded tenderness in his expression that Ellie had never seen before—an intimacy that spoke of a deep, unspoken connection between the two of you.

She felt a pang of confusion and something else, something she couldn’t quite name, as she watched the way Joel held you. He was always protective, always looking out for her, but this... this was different.

As she handed Joel the bucket and napkins, she kept her gaze on the two of you, trying to reconcile this new reality with the Joel she knew. He was always a guardian, a protector, but this... this was a depth of care and love that shook her to her core.

Joel took the supplies from Ellie with a quiet “thank you,” but his attention never wavered from you. He dipped the napkin in the warm water, his hands gentle and sure as he began to clean your wounds. His touch was reverent, almost like he was handling something sacred, something fragile that he couldn’t bear to see hurt anymore. Each movement was careful, deliberate, as if by caring for your physical wounds, he could somehow heal the ones buried deeper within you.

You watched Joel through tear-filled eyes, seeing the pain etched into every line of his face. It was as if the roles had been reversed—where once he had been your protector, now you saw how deeply he was affected by your suffering, how much he needed you to be okay, not just for your sake, but for his.

Ellie stood by, watching Joel taking care of you, her heart heavy with the weight of this new understanding. She could see the fear and hurt in your eyes, the way you clung to Joel as if he were your lifeline. And Joel... the way he held you, the way he whispered reassurances, it was clear to Ellie that this wasn’t just about protection. This was love, fierce and consuming, and it terrified her as much as it comforted her to see it.

She began to replay moments in her head, memories that had seemed insignificant at the time but now took on a new meaning. There were the sudden, unexplained changes in Joel’s behavior—the way he’d started going to church more often, sitting quietly at the back but always there, as if he were trying to keep an eye on someone.

She remembered conversations she’d had with him, And then there was that offhand remark from Tommy at work, about how Joel had started to “smell like a woman.” At the time, it had just been a joke, something Ellie had brushed off as Tommy teasing his brother. But now, it struck her differently.

And then there was that conversation with you and Emma, the one where you had hesitantly asked Emma and her about falling in love with someone. older. Ellie had laughed it off at first, not thinking much of it, but now those words echoed in her mind, each one slotting into place like pieces of a puzzle she hadn’t even realized she was solving.

The realization hit her like a freight train, knocking the breath out of her. 

***

When they reached your home, the quiet of the night wrapped around the small house like a blanket. Joel and Ellie helped you inside, your steps heavy with exhaustion. Your mother, who had been waiting anxiously, rushed to the door as soon as she saw you, her face pale with worry.

“Oh my God, what happened?!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling as she took in your disheveled appearance, the bruises, the blood. Her hands fluttered helplessly as she looked to Joel for answers.

“There was an accident,” Joel lied smoothly, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. “She got caught up in a fight between some kids from out of town. It wasn’t her fault, just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Your mother’s eyes widened in horror. “A fight? But—”

“It’s okay,” Joel interrupted gently, his gaze steady and reassuring. “She’s going to be okay. I took care of her, and she just needs some rest now.”

You clung to Joel, your hand gripping his shirt as if he were your lifeline. The pain and fear still echoed in your chest, but with Joel there, you felt a small measure of safety. “Please stay,” you whispered, your voice small and pleading.

Joel’s heart clenched at the sound of your voice, and he stroked your hair gently, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I have something to do, baby,” he murmured. “But I’ll be right back, I promise.”

You nodded, your eyelids heavy as sleep began to pull you under. Joel waited until you were settled in bed, your breathing evening out as you drifted off. Only then did he stand, his eyes lingering on you for a long moment before he turned to your mother.

He walked over to her, his expression serious. “Please,” he said quietly, “don’t tell your husband about this when he comes home tomorrow. She doesn’t need him getting worked up over it, and it won’t help her. Just tell him she had a fall, or something like that.”

Your mother frowned, confusion and concern etched into her features. “But why? He needs to know—”

“Trust me,” Joel cut in, his tone firm. “It’s for the best. I’ll be back in the morning to check on her, I promise.”

After a few more reassurances, Joel finally left with Ellie. The drive back to their house was silent, the air between them thick with unspoken words. When they finally arrived home, Ellie could no longer hold back.

“Joel,” she started, her voice tense as they walked into the house, “what’s going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"What's going on between you and her?"

Joel froze for a moment, his back to Ellie as he hung up his jacket. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, trying to sound casual, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

“Don’t lie to me,” Ellie shot back, her voice rising with frustration. “I have eyes, Joel. I saw how you were with her tonight. And it wasn’t just about protecting her—it was more than that."

"She’s... she’s barely older than me! What the hell are you doing?”

Joel finally turned to face her, his expression pained. He knew there was no dodging this, not with the way Ellie was looking at him—like she was trying to make sense of something incomprehensible, something that felt like a betrayal.

“Ellie,” Joel started, his voice low, laden with the weight of his guilt. “I can explain—”

Ellie cut him off, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and disbelief. “Explain what, Joel? That you’re sick? That you’ve lost your fucking mind? How could you do this? How could you even think about her like that?!”

Joel’s heart ached at the venom in her words, the disgust that he could hear so clearly. “It’s not what you think—”

“It’s exactly what I think!” Ellie shouted, her hands shaking as she tried to comprehend the man standing in front of her. “How could you, Joel? How long has this been going on?"

Ellie’s voice wavered, the anger boiling over as she struggled to grasp the reality of the situation. “How long, Joel? How long have you been doing this behind my back? Behind everyone’s back? She’s just a kid! How could you even think about her like that?”

Joel swallowed hard, his mind racing, searching for the right words, but everything seemed wrong. “Ellie, it’s not... I didn’t mean for this to happen. It just... it just did.”

Ellie’s expression hardened, her eyes narrowing as she processed his response. “We both knew her father beat her, Joel!"

Joel’s heart skipped a beat as Ellie’s words hit him like a punch to the gut. “Ellie... how do you know about that?” he asked, his voice low, almost fearful of the answer.

Ellie’s eyes were filled with a mix of anger and sadness. “I’m not blind, Joel. I have eyes. I saw the bruises, the way she flinched when her father was around. And I saw the way she looked at you, the way she leaned on you. That night, dinner at Tommy's I noticed how she clung to you. She was scared, Joel, and I thought you were stepping in to be the father figure she needed. Like you were for me.”

Joel’s chest tightened, the guilt of Ellie’s words cutting deep. He had been so caught up in his own feelings, in his need to protect and care for you, that he hadn’t noticed Ellie was watching, understanding more than he ever gave her credit for.

“But you weren’t just being there for her, were you?” Ellie continued, her voice trembling with accusation. “You were supposed to protect her, Joel. Instead, you... you took advantage of her.”

Joel’s breath hitched, the weight of her accusation pressing down on him like a physical force. “Ellie, no... it wasn’t like that. I protect her,"

Ellie shook her head, disbelief etched into every line of her face. “Protect her? By doing this? By crossing a line that should never have been crossed? How could you, Joel? How could you do this to her?"

Joel’s patience snapped, the fury and desperation he’d been trying to keep in check finally boiling over. “BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE HER!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the house, raw and unfiltered.

Ellie froze, her breath catching in her throat as she stared at him, wide-eyed. The intensity in his voice, the sheer force of his confession, left her reeling. Joel’s chest heaved with emotion, his eyes wild as he finally let the truth out, the words he’d been too afraid to admit even to himself.

“I love her,” Joel repeated, his voice breaking as the weight of it all crashed down on him. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. She’s not just some kid to me, Ellie. She’s everything. And I know it’s wrong, I know it’s messed up, but I can’t help it. I love her, and I’m not gonna let anything happen to her.”

Ellie stared at him, her mind racing to process what she’d just heard. The Joel she knew, the man who had become her family, was now a stranger to her in this moment. She could see the pain in his eyes, the sincerity, but it only made it harder to reconcile.

“You’re out of your mind,” Ellie whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and fear. “This isn’t love, Joel. It can’t be.”

Joel shook his head, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “It is, Ellie. I wish I could change it, but I can’t. I love her, and I’m gonna protect her, no matter what. Even if that means keeping her safe from me.”

She didn’t know what to say. "And I will make sure the person who did this to her pay," Joel said again.

Ellie stared at Joel, her emotions a tangled mess of fear, love, and resignation. Joel had been more than just a guardian to her; he was the closest thing to a father she’d ever known. The thought of losing him, or of watching him spiral into something dangerous, tore at her heart. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a path that could only lead to disaster.

“Joel,” Ellie began, her voice shaky, “I don’t want to lose you. You’re my father, and I love you. But this… what you and she are doing… it scares me. What if her father finds out? He’s not just going to let this slide. What if Tommy finds out? What if the whole town finds out?”

Joel’s face tightened, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He knew she was right. The risks were enormous, and the consequences could be devastating, not just for him, but for you, for Ellie, for everyone involved. But despite all of that, he couldn’t turn away from what he felt.

“I know, Ellie,” Joel said, his voice heavy with guilt. “I know what could happen, and it scares the hell out of me too. But I can’t… I can’t lose her..."

Ellie looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and something like acceptance. “I just hope you know what you’re doing, Joel. I don’t want to see you hurt, or worse. And I don’t want to see her hurt either.”

Joel nodded, swallowing hard. “I’ll do everything I can to protect her, Ellie. And I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe too. I promise.”

Ellie sighed, the fight leaving her as she came to a reluctant acceptance. “If she makes you happy, Joel… then I guess that’s what matters. But please, be careful. This could blow up in your face in ways you can’t even imagine.”

Joel reached out, this time placing a hand on her shoulder, his touch gentle and reassuring. “Thank you, Ellie. Thank you,"

note: FUCKKK i think chapter 7 and 8 are shit, i promise i'll be better

[yvannile]

I wonder what Megumi is like after a rough mission...💭

⊹　 ︶︶　 𖹭᪲　 ︶︶　 ⊹

Megumi! Who watches you from a distance after the mission, his eyes filled with a storm of emotions he doesn’t understand himself. The images of his failure—of the people he couldn’t protect—haunt him, and when he looks at you, all he can feel is guilt. The fear of losing you, of becoming the very person who hurts you, keeps him away. He doesn’t know how to fix what’s broken, so he isolates himself, convincing himself that pushing you away is the only way to keep you safe.

Megumi! Who walks past you like you’re invisible, the weight of his failure heavy on his shoulders. He can’t look at you, not when every time he does, he’s reminded of how he couldn’t keep his promise to protect those he cares about. He tells himself it’s for the best, that he’s keeping you at a distance to shield you from the darkness within him, but all it does is make the silence between you grow unbearable. He watches as you begin to laugh with others, each smile a dagger to his heart, reminding him that he’s the one who pushed you away.

Megumi! Who can’t shake the image of your face when he snapped at you in anger and fear, the hurt in your eyes etched into his mind. In that moment, he was overwhelmed—by the guilt of his failure, the anger at himself for not doing more, and the fear of losing you. That fear consumed him, making him lash out, but now it’s suffocating him. He can’t bear the thought that he’s the one who caused the pain he’s seeing in your eyes, and it eats at him every second of every day.

Megumi! Who stands alone in the dark, remembering the screams of those who suffered because he wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t strong enough to protect them. He thinks of you, of your kindness and warmth, and the thought that he might have ruined that forever sends a chill down his spine. The more he tries to push you away, the more it feels like he’s losing you completely, but he doesn’t know how to stop. He’s terrified that if he lets you in again, he’ll only end up hurting you, just like the others.

Megumi! Who sees the distance growing between you, the way your once-friendly smiles have faded into something more reserved, more distant. He’s the reason for this coldness, and the guilt crushes him. He remembers your tears, the way you’d hide your pain, and he curses himself for not being able to shield you from his own self-doubt and turmoil. He wants to apologize, wants to beg for your forgiveness, but he’s too afraid that the damage is irreparable, that he’s already lost you.

Megumi! Who is haunted by the memory of your last conversation—the one where he pushed you away in a moment of panic and fear, certain that it was the only way to protect you. The words still echo in his mind, and each time he sees you, that same terror rises in his chest. He wants to fix things, to show you that he cares, but he’s too afraid that he’s too broken, that there’s no coming back from what he’s done.

Megumi! Who stays up at night, torn between his regret and his fear of losing you. The emotional weight is unbearable. He feels your absence like a hollow ache in his chest, knowing he’s the one who caused it. He watches as you pack up your things, and something inside him shatters. He realizes, too late, that he’s pushed you to the brink of leaving, and that the walls he’s built around himself might be the very thing that costs him your love. The thought that you might walk away for good is too much to bear, and it breaks him to know that, in his attempt to protect you, he might have destroyed everything that mattered.

≿————-　ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🌷་༘࿐　————-≾

[peachdues]

The Great War (Giyuu x F!Reader Bundle of Joy)

Secret pregnancy fic!

I had this queued up before my hiatus so I’ll give you a crumb 😘

(y’all can’t yell at me for this)

CW: night terrors, trauma, strangulation (I swear fluff comes later)

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

It was Giyuu, only it wasn’t Giyuu.

Y/N didn’t recognize the cold black that had replaced the soft azure of her lover’s eyes. There was none of the familiar tenderness or quiet affection that she had come to know and love. No warmth; no mercy.

Y/N gazed only into an empty black void that had taken over her beloved as she struggled for breath, her hands weakly clawing at the hand he had locked around her neck, crushing her throat with rapidly increasing force.

“G-Giyuu,” She choked. Black spots danced across her vision and her lungs squeezed for air that would not come.

The world suddenly seemed to slow down, as though she were under water; her blood rushed in her ears as her hands lost their weak hold around her lover’s hand, and Y/N knew her end had come.

In one last, desperate attempt to recall the man she loved, Y/N limply moved one hand to rest gently on his face.

He flinched from her touch.

“I-I’m not…y-your enemy, G-Giyuu…” she managed before her hand felt limply to her side.

And then there was nothing.

————————————————————————

With a gasp, Giyuu felt the world around him open.

His senses returned to him sluggishly, the smells and sounds of even his and Y/N’s quiet wing of the shared estate overwhelming to him as he struggled to regain his breath. His heart thumped wildly in his chest to the point of pain and his muscles strained from tension.

Another night terror. This time, the souls of his dead comrades and friends had tried to pull him beneath an endless oasis of murky water, the Infinity Castle looming ominously in the distance.

As he had been pulled below the lapping waters by the dead, he had shot out his arm, desperately clenching for anything by to grab onto, to help pull him back to the surface and away.

What had he been grabbing, anyways?

He could not remember, though, as Giyuu’s senses slowly returned to him, he became vaguely aware that he was indeed gripping something.

Still panting, he slowly looked down to inspect what precisely his hand had latched onto.

It took him a moment to process what he was seeing; below him, pinned between his knees, was Y/N, her arms limp at her sides and her eyes closed.

She was slightly suspended from her place on the floor near their shared futon, shoulders pulled up but her head slumped oddly back.

Giyuu distantly realized that she was half-pulled from the floor by the hand that was still wrapped firmly around her throat.

His own hand.

With a horrified cry, Giyuu released his grip. He had awoken from one night terror straight into another, only this one was real, and his fiancé was unconscious on their bedroom floor, with strangulation marks from his own fingers already blooming across her throat and neck.

“Y/N…” he said shakily, tears already falling as he leaned forward to check for her breath or for her pulse.

“Y/N,” the former Water Pillar sobbed again, hand shaking as he grazed her face, brushing her hair back. His arm trembled as it slid beneath her, pulling her motionless body up to his chest as he clutched his fiancé close, rocking back and forth.

“Tengen,” he cried, his tears making it almost impossible for him to see, to do anything that could help, as the panic within him built. “Sanemi! Anyone!”

—————————————————————————

(…..)

As the former Sound Pillar hoisted the sobbing raven haired man from the hall of the estate, Suma turned to Makio, her hand clamped over her mouth in sudden horror.

“Isn’t she pregnant?” She breathed.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Now wait til August!

[foliosriot]

THE DRAIN ♱ CHAPTER TWO

noah sebastian x ofc (grey)

SUMMARY!!

the concrete jungle is incredibly dangerous and a scary place to live. but grey has made it her mission to provide whatever light and aid she can in such a dark place. even if it means catching the attention of someone at the top of the food chain.

WARNINGS!!

stalking if you squint ig. mentions of bl00d. brief mention of ab*se.

TAGS!!

@concretenoah @circle-with-me @malice-ov-mercy @somewhere-diamond @iknownothingpeople @cncohshit @lilhobgobbler @bngurngheart

masterlist. the drain masterlist.

It’s been about a week since Vivian discovered the note, and Grey has been panicking every moment of every day.

Every corner she turns she fears someone will reach out of the shadows and drag her away. She fears leaving her apartment, and even turning on the Angel’s Light every night like she is used to. She doesn’t want to make the target on her back even bigger.

But, as expected, the fear and panic is always drowned out by Grey’s need to care for the Concrete Jungle’s occupants. Her need to help as many people as she possibly can will always be stronger than her own terror or anxiety.

Even now, as she goes about her nightly routine by helping anyone who is drawn in by the comforting glow of the Christmas lights, Grey can’t help but feel like she is being watched. And the feeling isn’t coming from the last couple people resting on the fire escape. No, it’s coming from somewhere else. But from where, she can’t tell, as the night has taken hold of the city and darkness overwhelms everything in its wake.

“Make sure you find somewhere safe to sleep tonight.” Grey is currently helping wrap the arm of a boy who had sliced it open after jumping over a broken fence as he ran from his abuser. “But there is a shelter a few blocks that way if you’d rather do that, okay?”

The boy looks up at her, his fluffy orange-red hair falling into his eyes. Tear stains run all the way down his ruddy face and disappear under his jaw.

“Thank you, Angel,” the boy, Jace, murmurs in a broken voice.

“Oh, no, no need to thank me,” she replies with an awkward smile. The nickname has always rubbed her the wrong way for some reason. But still, she resists the urge to correct her patients who call her that, especially now. “This is what I love to do. I love helping others.”

Jace looks like he wants to say more but bites his tongue instead.

Grey finishes helping him and lets him go on his way with a plastic water bottle and a small bag that contains a granola bar, an apple, and a string cheese. He thanks her one more time before he shimmies his way down the fire escape, and hurries in the direction of the shelter Grey had mentioned.

The final patient of the night, Georgie, hobbles towards Grey. Georgie is one of her regulars, a homeless man in his fifties who happens to be one of the sweetest people Grey has ever had the pleasure to meet. He says he has a shelter of his own somewhere close by, but only comes to her when he struggles to find food for himself and his dog. His dog, Cleo, sleeps soundly at the foot of the fire escape.

“Hi, Georgie,” Grey greets him with a genuine smile. She reaches behind her to grab one of those little food bags, like she had just given to Jace. But she also fills another one of those bags with some dog food and a few chunks of chicken.

“Hiya, Grey,” Georgie says with a lopsided grin. He looks thinner every time she sees him, so it’s nothing new to see. But there’s something about this visit that tells Grey he’s not doing well.

“How are you doing?” Grey asks him, handing him the bags of food and two water bottles. “Find any cool sticks recently?”

“Can’t find a single damn stick worth adding to my collection these days,” Georgie huffs, his tone annoyed but clearly joking.

Grey chuckles lightly. “Then you haven’t tried Miracle Park,” she tells him. “I took a walk down there a few weeks ago and some mighty fine sticks that I know Cleo would love to fetch.”

The whole reason Georgie collects cool sticks in the first place is to play with Cleo. Cleo loves playing fetch, and since Georgie doesn’t have the money to buy her any real dog toys, he scours the city in search of the best sticks he can find. And Cleo loves joining him on his journey.

“Is that so?” Georgie hums to himself. “Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind. Well, thank ya, Grey!”

“Any time. Stay safe.”

Grey watches as Georgie fumbles his way down the fire escape slowly. He manages to get back to the sidewalk, and Cleo rises at his presence. The dog happily wags her tail and follows after her person down the concrete.

Grey smiles to herself watching them go. She’s glad to see Georgie with a smile, because there are times when she has seen him frowning and unable to joke with her. So it always warms her heart whenever he is so jovial and happy.

Once Georgie and Cleo vanish into the night Grey gathers her things. She goes to turn off the Angel’s Light and her spine tingles with that same sensation from earlier.

Someone is watching her.

Eager to get back inside and go to bed, Grey makes her way through the open window and begins putting all of her supplies away as fast as she can. A light breeze blows into the bedroom while she finishes up.

“I gotta hand it to ya, this whole setup you have going on is pretty impressive.”

The sudden voice nearly scares Grey out of her skin. She whips around, the box of gauze still in her hands. Fear immediately sluices through her at the sight of another person standing over by the very open window. Judging by just the voice and body she assumes it’s a man. He’s covered head-to-toe in black clothing, including the balaclava that obscures his face. She can barely make out his pale skin that is half hidden by the coat hood pulled up over his head.

“Who are you?” Grey hisses, even though she is terrified out of her mind. This masked stranger standing in her father’s old bedroom with her has planted her to the very spot she stands. And right about now, she really wishes the bowie knife wasn’t on the other side of the room.

The man has one of her many medical encyclopedias in his gloved hands. He flips through it lazily without acknowledging Grey.

Grey’s hands are trembling as she watches the man close the thick book and put it back on the bookshelf in front of him. He steps away and wanders around the room at a leisurely pace, ignoring Grey’s presence.

“You’ve made this into your very own triage room, haven’t you?” he muses. He strides by the blood pressure machine that is drilled in to the wall, another shelf stacked to the brim with various medical supplies, and the old bed frame and mattress she had converted into a proper hospital bed, white sheets and everything. “Like I said, impressive.”

The man sits down in the armchair. Then he’s reaching behind it and the bowie knife is in his hand. Grey curses herself as her heart is pounding wildly from inside her ribcage, making her pulse throb almost painfully. Her veins are on fire as she watches him with the eyes of a hawk. Every single one of her instincts are screaming at her to do something.

But what?

“Who are you?” Grey repeats with a shaking voice. “And what are you doing here?”

Grey watches as the man relaxes in the chair, his legs spreading wide like he owns the fucking place. He rolls his neck with a sigh before speaking.

“Who I am doesn’t matter,” he says, almost in a bored tone. He twirls the knife in his hand. “But what I’m doing here does matter. I’m here about that note you got. I come alone.”

Shit.

Is this one of those people Vivian had warned her about? Someone part of that violent gang that basically controls the entire city?

Grey can feel a panic attack brewing from just below her sternum.

“W-What note?”

“Don’t play dumb. You know the note I’m talking about.” He turns his face towards her. “I have a message.”

The man rises to his feet, the knife still in-hand. He slowly approaches Grey and ends up backing her into the wall behind her. Her grip tightens on the box of gauze the moment he halts. And god, he towers over her by at least a foot. But now she can see his eyes, and they are the blackest pits with an unknown light from within.

“There are others coming after you.” He speaks so softly his words are nearly inaudible. “What you provide the Concrete Jungle is valuable, and we know that. They know that.”

“What?”

Grey surprises herself with the sheer terror and shakiness of her own voice. There are more people coming after her? But why? What could she possibly offer to be considered so valuable?

The masked man continues to stare down at her for a few more seconds before vacating her personal space. He begins making his way back towards the window.

“Consider this protection,” he tells her from over his shoulder, his voice no longer so quiet. “With me being here like this, it tells others I’m laying claim. So you should be fine for the time being. Just don’t do anything brash or that would catch their attention even more, alright?”

“W-Wait, what?! What the fuck are you talking about?”

Grey continues to throw question after question at this mysterious man, but he keeps ignoring her until he is stood outside on the fire escape. He looks back at her, now that she is only a few feet away from the window.

“Keep an eye out. I’ll be around.”

And without another word, the man jumps from the fire escape and disappears down the dark street below.

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

♱ foliosriot 2024

[smytherines]

The headcanon that keeps me up at night is the idea that Owen Carvour was this very closed-off, isolated guy who just singlemindedly devoted himself to spycraft (almost as if it were his special interest) and was generally disinterested in any sort of relationship- romantic or otherwise- and suddenly agent Curt Mega strolls into his life and stubbornly insists on being part of it.

And Owen is just completely, utterly fascinated with this guy. Infatuated with him. How could he not be? Curt is perhaps the only person on Earth that can keep pace with Owen, that can best him (not that Owen would ever admit to it). He's so different from Owen, but they're also very much the same.

And over a number of years Curt wins his trust. First by being an excellent (if unconventional) partner, and then they start a physical relationship. And then Owen actually finds himself in love with this person, an attachment he never wanted but now can't live without (in a way he sort of resents Curt for sometimes).

He feels these things in an overwhelming but impossible to articulate way, to the degree that he willingly puts himself in a position to be outnumbered 21 to 1 to rescue Curt from a Russian weapons facility- because that's what you do when you love someone, right? You flip off god and walk backwards into hell for them.

So when Curt leaves Owen to die, part of him just fractures. This delicate, imperfect, but still very real trust he had in Curt is absolutely shattered. He's afraid and helpless and critically injured, and the last thing he can remember before waking up in unimaginable pain, his body and brain damaged in a way he will never fully recover from, is the look of horror on Curt's face as he ran away.

And the worst part is that there is no way for Owen to disengage from those feelings. He will never have any sort of distance from Curt and his betrayal ever again. His body hurts constantly, his mobility is impacted, he gets headaches and vertigo and panic attacks, and every single time he is forced to relive the moment that Curt left him. Forced to relive that terror.

Every time his leg gives out while he's forcing himself to walk without crutches, or the burn scars start to ache, or his vision goes blurry and his heart feels like its going to burst out of his chest, he feels that hurt. The only person he would've ever confided those feelings in is the reason those feelings exist to begin with. That person thinks Owen is dead. And Owen sometimes wishes he had died too.

And Owen hates Curt, but more than anything he hates himself for trusting Curt. For putting himself in a vulnerable position to save Curt, only to be destroyed by Curt's hubris- part of the very same thing that made Curt irresistible to him. That cocky confidence, the effortless charm, the completely intuitive, instinctive way his mind worked- a style that had never let him down before. Owen loved him, and he knows that if the situation were reversed he would've gone back for him. He would've laid down and died next to him. And it's blisteringly painful to him to realize that the same wasn't true for Curt.

And for Curt's part I don't think he was like "oh well, fuck it, time to book." I don't think he thought at all in that moment. He didn't decide to leave Owen so much as his body, his adrenaline, his instinct made the decision for him. It was fight or flight, and his body chose flight. Speaking from personal experience, when you have ADHD and you realize that you've screwed up and you're suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, your body can just kinda carry you away without thinking.

But the leaving being involuntary doesn't help Curt deal with his grief and shame and self-hatred, because he still has to live with the decisions he did consciously make that night- leaving the banana peel on the steps, deciding to blow up the facility instead of just sending the blueprints with the watch, setting the timer for three minutes instead of four.

For years, when he's not too drunk to think at all, he endlessly relives each point where things could have gone differently. He obsessively thinks about how his pride was a bit bruised by needing to be rescued, by being chewed out by a boss who seemed to prefer his partner to him, and wondering if maybe he was more over the top than usual out of spite or insecurity, to save face with Cynthia and Barb, to impress Owen (because he loved Owen and respected him and cared about what Owen thought of him).

He wonders if Owen was right about his drinking, and then he drinks to shut out the pain of that thought.

He has to live with the decision his adrenaline made, tortured by the idea that he should've somehow fought back against that flight impulse in the moment and gone back for Owen. Tortured by the idea that maybe, if his rational brain had been fully present, he might have still made the same decision- leaving Owen to save himself.

He saw Owen twitching on the ground, grasping onto the banana peel, bleeding out on the concrete. He was almost certainly about to die, but when Curt left Owen hadn't died yet. So maybe, maybe, maybe there was a chance and Curt missed it. And every time he thinks about the possibility he feels sick. And he drinks. And he has imaginary conversations with his dead partner before passing out curled up in the corner of his bed, clutching a pillow, his eyes red and burning from the tears.

This was supposed to just be a couple of short paragraphs, but that's what I get for thinking about curtwen I guess

[spacesapphi]

"Moving Forward, Spiraling Downward Chapter 17- Reunion"

First of all, I want to apologize for the wait. It's been a difficult time recently and writing this fic actually made things a lot worse for me. Rest assured that I am still continuing this. I just needed a bit of a break for my own mental health. Thank you all for reading and your patience.

CWs in this chapter for talks about addiction, suicide, and mental health, the events of Shanes 6 heart event, and a hospital setting

Summary: After that fateful night at the cliffs, Shane finds himself in a spot somewhere between life and death. He must confront his fears and vices, along with three people he misses most, and figure out exactly how to move forward from here. The chance to take back his life is given to him, and he must decide what to do with it before it's too late.

AO3 Version Here

Tumblr Version Below the Cut

 “It’s so nice to see you again, sweetheart,”

Shane tried to speak, tried to do anything, but his mind just wouldn’t let him. Frozen, still as a statue, he just stared Mona down in complete awe… maybe even fear. It had been so long, he didn’t even know how to feel. He was happy, yes, but also incredibly, utterly confused and upset. How else was he supposed to react to seeing her after decades, especially like this? Mona didn’t seem to be impressed by his reaction however, furrowing her brow and frowning in a rather annoyed manner.   

“Oh come on, it’s been this long and you can’t even greet your mother?” she asked, approaching Shane with open arms. He froze at the feeling of her embrace. It was warm, it felt real. Was this real? Did he want it to be? His mind was racing a mile a minute, heart ready to beat out of his chest. This was so overwhelming, he couldn’t handle it a moment longer. He felt ready to vomit from pure panic. Pulling away from her, he held up his hands defensively, trying to protect himself from… something. What that ‘something’ was, he didn’t know.

“What the hell is going on?! Why are you acting like this is normal, I-” Shane looked around at the trio before him, obvious distress in his face and body language. Jason’s smile fell, a much more serious expression replacing it now. He stood and approached his friend, holding up his hands in a cautious manner, “It’s okay man, don’t panic,”

“Just tell me what’s going on! Why- how are you here? What the fuck is this?!”” Shane demanded, scared as ever. How was he supposed to calm down now? The last thing he knew he was dying, and now he was here? With all of his passed loved ones? His tone softened just for a moment, a realization dawning on him, “... Am I dead?”

“No, not right now, it’s….” Jason stopped for a moment, pursing his lips. He had no idea how to explain what was happening to Shane, and feared attempting to would only confuse him further. But seeing that terror in his eyes, that deep fear, he just knew he needed to, “You’re not really dead… but not exactly alive, either. Does that make any sense?”

It, in fact, did not make sense. At least, not at first. Shane took a moment to look around the room, fully taking in his surroundings. The decorations hung through the room were identical to the way they’d been placed at that fateful Winter Star party years ago, before everything got to this point. All of the sensations around him brought him peace, reminding him of a time before the fighting and destruction. And now, the people he missed most were standing in front of him. This was a grand construction of everything he longed for, granting him the smallest bit of comfort in such a dire situation. But even that comfort wasn’t enough. The bitter knowledge of his reality outweighed this fantasy entirely. Shane was dying, and there was nothing he could do.

—----------------------

The back of the clinic was so sterile and unfeeling. The nauseatingly bright white walls and incessant buzz of the lights above were enough to give Marnie a headache. In any other situation they would. But right now, her focuses were set on something much different. Shane lay in one of the old clinic beds, silent and still. Marnie refused to leave his side, intently watching the rise and fall of his chest, terrified it could stop at any moment. Sitting on the stiff bench to his side, she held his hand, relieved to feel it had warmed up again. But that relief was short lived, entirely outweighed by the soul-crushing guilt on her shoulders. She wasn’t the only one to feel that way either. 

At her side stood Mohle, who hadn’t said a word since they’d arrived. Their mind was racing, filled with panic and guilt. In their heart, they felt like part of this had to be their fault. They hated how difficult it was to pick up on intricacies and social cues, cues that could have clued them in to how bad things were. They knew they couldn’t help it, it was just how their mind worked. But now more than ever they wished they could. Shane was depressed, that much they knew. He hadn’t exactly made that a secret since they’d moved back to town. But to think he would do something like this… they couldn’t have even dreamed of it. Perhaps they were still in shock from the previous night, perhaps their mind was still far too clouded. But everything, all of this, felt so inconceivable. They remembered back to when they were young, how happy he used to be. He never acted like this, not even in his darkest moments. The world had changed him beyond recognition, stole away their friend’s joy. To think that they may never see him like that again, it was impossible to wrap their mind around.

And Marnie… oh, Marnie felt like the most despicable woman on Earth. The conversation from the previous night continued to ring in her head. She had been quick to anger, defensive as ever, and lashed out in a way that was entirely inexcusable. To know that her words and actions made him feel like a burden, made him feel like he ruined her life, she just couldn’t forgive herself for it. She knew for a fact that if she hadn’t said those things last night she wouldn’t be sitting in this waiting room now. Her nephew wouldn’t be fighting for his life. 

But as much as they felt this soul crushing guilt, they were also victims of the situation. Everyone in that clinic was. There was no single person to blame, no individual situation to call back to. No one there was an enemy, nor a villain. Time and circumstance itself was the aggressor. A grand, complicated butterfly effect of tragedies had led up to this very moment, a wide collection of situations all compiling to this grand climax. No single person was to blame, but everyone was suffering the consequences. And that was the worst part.

Marnie finally broke the silence that weighed in the air, “I wish I had seen this coming… I should have known…” 

“It can be hard to catch,” Mohle mused sadly, “Sometimes things like this just hap-”

“I should have known!” Marnie repeated, much louder this time, a bitter venom in her voice, “I didn’t see it coming with Mona, and I didn’t see it again… How can I be so blind to this?”

No one had an answer, not even herself. She guessed that perhaps she just didn’t want to believe it could happen. No one ever wanted to think of something so awful happening to family. Why would they? But looking back on it, the signs were so obvious to her now. This past year had been a progressive breakdown of Shane’s entire spirit and being. She hardly recognized her nephew anymore at this point. She remembered the days where he’d smile so brightly that the sun was put to shame, the way he laughed and joked with friends, the adventures and escapades he would tell her grand stories of. She desperately wished for all of it. She wanted the person that he was back, more than anything. To see that glimmer in his eyes again, to see him love life and live it to the fullest… it was all she wanted for him.

The clacking of Harvey’s shoes on the tile floor grew louder, the ever-nervous doctor approaching with a heaping stack of papers and pamphlets in tow. He turned to look at the farmer standing by Marnie’s side, giving them an apologetic look, “Do you mind if I talk to Ms. Marnie in private for a moment?”

Mohle started to nod before Marnie cut them off, “They can stay, if they want,”

Harvey cleared his throat, trying once more to get the point across, “I really think it might be best if-”

“They can stay if they want,” Marnie repeated, her voice harsher. In truth she just didn’t want to be dealing with this alone. She was worn, entirely spent and exhausted. She needed a shoulder to cry on, someone to confide in during this time. Harvey seemed to catch the hint. He nodded and slowly sank into a chair across from Marnie, speaking in a quiet, sympathetic voice, “We had to pump his stomach, and he seems to be recovering well from hypothermia… Honestly, you’re lucky to have found him when you did. It’s a miracle that he even made it here,”

“I just need to know that he’s going to be okay…” Marnie muttered, her voice exhausted and broken. She could tell by the look on the doctor's face that the answer would be less than favorable. 

“Well… I’m not entirely sure yet. He’s not out of the woods yet, to put it simply.” he cleared his throat, gingerly grabbing a pamphlet from the stack in his hands, holding it out to Marnie, “But right now, I’m most worried about his mental health. Too much alcohol is awful for the body but this… It scares me, honestly. I know it scares you too,”

Marnie scanned over the pamphlet, finding it to be an advertisement for a well-rated psychiatrist back in the city, one who could help Shane with everything he needed. Harvey continued on, “Once he’s awake and aware, it might be a good idea to discuss treatment options with him. That doctor is a great colleague of mine, I’m sure I can put in a good word to get him an appointment,”

“Thank you…” Marnie muttered, not even having the energy or desire to continue talking. She looked back to Shane, feeling the pit in her stomach grow the longer she looked at him, “I don’t know what to do anymore. Hearing what he said at the cliffs, I just-” she closed her eyes, holding his hand just a bit tighter, “I don’t know where to go on from here,”

“... Life can be painful sometimes… But there’s always hope for a better future,” Harvey assured, “You’ve got to believe that,”

Oh how she wanted to. Who wouldn’t want to believe in a better, brighter future? But at that moment, Marnie couldn’t. She just didn’t see a bright future, not one anywhere close on the horizon. She prayed she was wrong. 

----------------------

He was dead…. Or at least dying. Or whatever the hell Jason had meant earlier.  Regardless, Shane couldn’t shake that thought and it sickened him. And the part that sickened him more was just how he felt about it. The rational part of his mind feared this outcome, screamed and begged for his life. But the other? The one that made him go to those cliffs in the first place? It was glad. This was his plan… wasn’t it? This was exactly what he wanted. But now that he had it, he didn’t know how to feel. He thought he’d feel more certain about this, that he’d have more peace. But he didn’t. It was agonizing, and oh how he hated it. 

“You know, I know it’s not the best circumstances but… I’m really happy to see you. It’s been hard only being able to watch everything going on… I wish we could be with you down there,” Jason smiled weakly, placing a hand on his shoulder. Shane just looked away from him, far too ashamed to even dare look him in the eye. Jason furrowed his brow and leaned in just a bit closer, “What’s wrong…? I thought you’d be at least a little happy to see us.”

“I am,” Shane admitted, “But how are you happy to see me?” 

“We love you, man, all of us do… Why wouldn’t we be happy to see you?”

“I think I’ve given you all enough reasons to hate me. I’ve been awful to Marnie, I’m a shitty friend, an even worse godfather, and everytime I try to get better I get worse!” Shane snapped, a deep resentment towards himself arising, “You’ve seen everything I’ve done and you don’t hate me? How?!”

The three of them just stared at him in silence, unsure how to respond. Shane just continued to ramble, unable to control his mouth, “I’ve managed to fuck up everything. You two trusted me with something so fuckin’ important and I’ve done nothin’ but mess up at every turn. I had no money, I got us evicted, I can’t stop drinkin’, and now all of this!” he threw up his hands for emphasis, “How do you not hate me?!”

Jason took a moment to find his words, his expression solemn and serious, entirely unlike him. Shane rarely saw this look even when Jason was alive, and he knew it meant he was speaking from the heart; honest, emotional, serious.

“I won’t lie. I was mad. Really mad.” Jason huffed, “Watching the way you just… gave up... Seeing how you changed like that, I could hardly recognize you… and I was pissed,”

Amelia and Mona reluctantly nodded in agreement. They had been angry at him too for all the same reasons after all. Shane looked down in shame, face flushed red in embarrassment. Jason had never spoken to him that way ever. The two had argued on occasion through the years they had been friends, and not once had Jason raised his voice like this. But he deserved to hear how angry he was, and he knew it. Jason’s voice grew just a bit louder, his tone progressively growing more frustrated.

 “Just-.... I wanted to just scream at you sometimes, Shane. Wanted to just shake you and ask what the fuck you were doing! I was mad, but-,” he sighed, closing his eyes, “I couldn’t stay that way… I couldn’t blame you,”

That he didn’t expect. Shane felt a little glimmer of reassurance in his heart, feeling just barely confident enough to look him in the eye, “What?”

“Well… I just thought about what I would’ve done in your shoes, honestly. If you and Ams died ‘n it was just me raising Jasmyne alone…. I probably would’ve done everything you did. I’m not afraid to admit that,” he shrugged solemnly, “And honestly? I don’t think you were that bad. You did a lot of really stupid shit, but…” he trailed off, tears beading at the corners of his eyes. 

“But the effort you put into raising her, the sacrifices you made, it was honorable,” Amelia continued, meeting the two of them, taking her husband’s hand, “You both went through hell and back, but we could see how much she smiled through it all, how much you tried to keep her happy… it’s no wonder you broke under all that pressure. Honestly it’s a surprise you didn’t break sooner,”

“I shouldn’t have, though,” Shane spat, feeling so incredibly disappointed in himself, “You trusted me to be a caretaker, to be able to handle all of these problems and handle them well. And I didn’t,”

“Well…” Mona spoke up again, thinking carefully, “You still have a chance to change… tomorrow can be different. The future is yours to decide, Shane,”

Shane couldn’t help but think what a joke that was. Sure, other people could change. Others could easily choose to improve themselves and follow it through. But not him. No matter how hard he tried, he just fell flat on his ass every single time, ending up worse than when he started. They had seen it with their own eyes time and time again. Why did they think he could be any different?

“I can’t…” he grumbled, “You’ve seen me try, you know how much I’ve fucked up. Why do you believe I can be any different?”

“Why not?” Mona asked. Shane tried to protest, but found himself unable to say anything. There was no excuse, nothing good enough to deny it. He resigned into himself, repeating the question in his head. Why not? Why couldn’t he do this? Shane supposed the answer was as simple as they came. He could do this. Just not on his own. That much was certain, now more than ever.

“As long as you’re alive, you have a chance to make things better. It’s going to take time, and so much effort, but you can do this,” she assured, trying to give him even a glimmer of confidence and self-belief, “But you can only do that if you decide to keep on living,”

“And you need to go back…” Amelia mused sadly, “You need to go home, Shane,”

“... Do I even deserve to?” he asked, looking at her with such conviction, scanning the expression on her face, “After everything, do I even deserve another chance back there?”

“Whether or not you think you deserve it… you need to,” Amelia confirmed, “If not for yourself… then do it for everyone else. Don’t your aunt and Jas deserve to see you alive and well? Your other friends?”

“Do they want to? Jas said she hates me,”

“She didn’t mean it-”

“I’m sure she did! Look at me, look at everything I’ve done!” he motioned to himself, “You’re the only people that don’t look at me the way everyone in that town does!”

“What are you talking about?” Jason asked, earning a bitter scoff from his friend, “They think I’m a lazy, drunk piece of shit. They won’t say it to my face, but I see those looks. They think I’m disgusting, Jason. And the worst part is that they’re right! Everytime I look in a mirror, that's all I see. And it makes me feel like a fuckin’ monster,”

“Struggling doesn’t make you a monster. Whether it’s with your health, addiction, whatever it is… it doesn’t define you,” Jason assured, his voice firm and passionate, “You’re one of the best people I know, Shane. You’re flawed, but that doesn’t make you a monster… it makes you human. There’s a future waiting for you, better than you could ever imagine. You just have to pursue it,”

“.... I will.” Shane reluctantly agreed. He hated feeling vulnerable and stupid like this. Everything they said should have been so obvious to him, but he couldn’t see it. He never did. But now, for the first time, he thought he did. No matter how desolate, how broken he felt, there was always tomorrow. There was always another chance to do better. And he would do better. For them, for his family, for his friends… but also for himself. They all deserved better, but so did he. He deserved happiness, good health, a good life. He wasn’t the monster he felt he was. His trauma and struggles didn’t define him, and he wouldn’t let them do so anymore. It was taking some time to get used to that thought, a bit of reluctance holding him back from fully realizing the worth of self-love. He already struggled to believe that others loved him without condition. But in the meantime, he would at least do this for everyone else. He would give them the Shane they deserved to see in their lives, no matter how difficult that would be.

“And hey… better not see you back here for a while, alright? Live a good life, a long one,” Jason mused, fighting back a sniffle. He hugged his friend tight, his embrace and body language betraying his words. He himself didn’t want to let him go. He wanted him to stay. As much as Shane missed him, Jason missed him even more. Shane was his best friend, his brother, and he longed for him to stay here… even though he knew he couldn’t.

Shane gave him a sarcastic smirk, “You just want to make fun of me for being an old man someday, don't you?”

“Hell yeah, I do,” Jason let out a little snort laugh, one Shane had missed dearly. His heart panged just at the sound of it again. That laugh, that smile… he hadn’t realized just how much he longed to have them back in his life. Jason just shook his head as he smiled, hugging him just a bit tighter, “You know me so well, man… Can’t wait for it,”

Shane couldn’t help but laugh as well, feeling a warm, safe feeling arise in him as Amelia and Mona joined in for the embrace. He didn’t want to let them go. He wished that they could come back alongside him, that all of this could be over, that they could go home and be a big family again. But they couldn’t, and they wouldn’t. When he woke up they would be gone again, and oh how it broke his heart. He let out a shuddery sigh, feeling his cheeks grow wet with tears, “I don’t wanna lose you again… I don’t wanna go,”

“You have to, though,” Jason whispered, “You got a whole life ahead of you, man…”

“I know…”

“You got a lot of people waiting for you back there too, they all need you… Especially Jas. She needs her dad, Shane,”

Shane pulled back and shook his head, stuttering over his next words, “No, Jay, I can’t-.... I can’t steal that from you, it’s not fai-”

“Shane.” Jason interjected loudly, shocking him into silence. He smiled weakly, feeling himself grow choked up, his throat clenching, “It’s okay… There’s no one else I’d want to take on that title… we made you her godfather for a reason,”

“Just make sure you tell her we love her, alright?” Amelia asked, “Make sure she knows that,”

“And be good for Marnie, will you?” Mona added.

“I will… I promise…” 

The four of them embraced for the last time, Shane finally content to resume his life, finding himself with a newfound confidence, a new charge to keep him afloat for at least a little longer. He would live a good life, he would have a wonderful legacy, a loving family. And then one day, when it was his time, he’d see them again. But he still didn’t feel ready to let go. He didn’t want to, not yet at least. There was just one last thing, one thing holding him back from being ready. The more he tried to ignore it, the stronger the feeling grew, and he couldn’t handle it anymore. 

“.... Wait-”

Shane opened his eyes once more, finding now that just he and Mona stood there, alone in that lonely ranch house. It was silent, the tv screen turned to snow, the record having stopped. He just looked at his mom, feeling his eyes turn glossy, hot tears stinging at the edges. Truly he tried his best to speak, but again the words just wouldn’t come out. There was just so much. Where would he even start? He’d lived an entire life without her there, after all. She could see him growing more and more distressed by the moment, feeling guilt begin to eat at her.

“I’m sorry, you know,” she started, “I know it was hard for both of you,”

“What happened to you?” Shane finally asked, “Mar-.. Aendi never told me. Just told me you were stressed and… was it me? She said it wasn’t, but I need to hear it from you…”

“Oh… oh no, of course not,” Mona assured, “It’s so much more complicated than that,”

“Then what happened?” Shane repeated. He breathed out harshly, closing his eyes tight in frustration, “I just have so many questions. What happened to you, who my dad is, I just-... there’s just so much I wanna know,”

“She didn’t tell you for a reason,” Mona’s tone was suddenly more solemn and regretful. She motioned for Shane to sit beside her, taking his hand gently, “These things… they’re difficult… It's always been difficult. Our entire family is just stuck in this damned vicious cycle. We’ve all given up our dreams for responsibility, we’ve all lost so much…” 

Mona couldn’t bear to look him in the eye, holding so much hurt in her heart. Lowering her gaze, she muttered brokenly, “And it hurts so much to see you do the same as me. To feel this desperate you just want to end things,”

She held his hand a bit tighter. Shane didn’t respond, but she could tell by the look on his face what was on his mind. Shock and sorrow was etched into every crevice of his expression. It made him feel a bit more at peace, in some twisted, awful way. To know he wasn’t the only one struggling with this in this family, it gave him just a bit of peace of mind. Part of him felt awful, selfish even, for feeling that way. But even still, finally knowing the truth, and knowing he could relate to that truth made him feel like less of a failure.

“I know what it’s like to feel like this. Life can be so isolating when you just watch everyone pass you by, smiles on their faces when you feel so fucking miserable,” Mona spat out, shocking Shane with the profanity, “Anger and resentment at them and life just builds up until you can’t handle it anymore. Doing the right thing and fulfilling your responsibilities can be one of the loneliest things in the world… especially when it comes at the expense of your dreams.”

“Did you ever regret it?”

“In life, I did,” Mona admitted, “But looking back on everything now… no. I don’t. I may have struggled, but there was some good that came out of it… Do you regret this?”

Shane thought back on the past few years. In the span of such a short amount of time he’d grown so much, learned so much. He learned how to be a father, learned how to accept some help. He was forced to grow and change, and though the growing pains were quite literally killing him, he knew in his heart that it would all be worth it. Something good would come out of all of this someday. When that day was he didn’t know, but it would come to be. And with that, he knew his answer. 

“I don’t,”

They sat in silence for a moment, mulling over their words. Shane noticed they sat the exact same way, hunched over in their seat, hands folded nervously and resting in their laps. He felt he finally understood what Marnie meant when she said he reminded her so much of his mother. The demeanor, body language,  their actions, that sailors mouth, he shared it all with her. And right now, if he didn’t choose to continue on, they’d share the same fate. With that thought, Shane could only imagine the turmoil Marnie was going through in the moment, and the guilt was eating him alive. He had to go back, he knew he needed to. But he also wanted to stay here. His friends, his mother, they were all here. The idea of the afterlife that gave him such peace was real, and it was in his grasp. But he had to lose part of his family to gain back another, no matter what he decided to do. He lost just as much as he won, and the decisions were becoming hard to weigh.

“You need to go now, Shane,” Mona stated, almost as if she could read the thoughts churning in his mind, “You’ve spent enough time here,”

He furrowed his brow, a frustrated expression on his face, “I finally get to see you all again and now I have to lose you again too… How is that fair? How am I supposed to just go back now?” he huffed, feeling himself grow overtly-emotional yet again, “How do I keep on living when some of the people I love most and all my dreams are gone?”

 “I don’t think I’m the best person to ask that… am I, Shane?” 

He opened his mouth to protest, but quickly found himself unable. He just shook his head in silence, letting the tenseness in the air overtake the conversation yet again. Mona sighed softly, “You’ll figure it out someday, I know you will… You’ve become such a resilient, strong young man. I can only thank your aunt for that. She did such a good job with you,”

“She did, didn’t she?” Shane let himself smile just a bit, finding Mona giving him the same one in return, “She never planned for this life, but she was such a good mother… better than I could have been, really. Can you tell her that for me?” 

“Of course, momma,”

Mona pulled him into another hug, holding him tight, “And stop givin’ her such a hard time, will you? I think we’ve both given her enough trouble to last a lifetime,”

“No promises,” Shane joked, earning an annoyed huff from his mother, “You better fix that attitude Shane Aaron Y-”

“I’m jokin’!” he assured, feeling his heart jump just a bit at being called his full name. That always meant trouble, after all. He held her a bit tighter, changing his tone to a serious one more fitting to the situation, “I’ll be good, honest,”

“That’s all I needed to hear…” Mona muttered, “I love you, Shane,”

“I love you too,” 

And then, just like that, Shane was on his own again. Everything around him faded away. The ranch, the music, and his family. It was an intensely bittersweet feeling. He knew he’d see them again someday, but he just missed them even more now. The right decision was made now, but that didn’t make this hurt any less. 

The next time he opened his eyes, he was no longer at some odd version of his home. In fact, he didn’t really recognize any of his surroundings, actually. His vision was still blurred, slowly going into focus as he awoke. Everything was sterile and white, save for the blue privacy curtains hanging from the ceiling. An overhead light buzzed obnoxiously, annoying him into full consciousness. The clinic, that’s all this could be. 

There was a dull pain pulsing through his entire body, the peak of it centered around his throat. It burned with a fiery intensity, each breath drawing in a tight, dry pain that made him flinch. He could barely remember what had happened that landed him here. The last clear thing in his mind was the argument back at home, but after that? It was all bits and pieces, really. But based on what he could remember, maybe that was a good thing.

He looked to his side, finding the nightstand next to his bed absolutely overflowing. Decorated sympathy cards from people around town, flower arrangements, little trinkets and the like all covered it. He was surprised, to say the least. How many people had visited him? Did that many people here really care that much? And how long had he been out? Peering past one of the larger arrangements he saw Marnie sitting there, perched in an uncomfortable hospital chair, completely unaware that he had awoken.

She looked absolutely miserable. Marnie was still dressed in her clothes from the night of the fair, that dark purple dress and warm shawl. Her hair had fallen out of its signature braid, resting on her shoulders in an unkempt manner. Dark circles hung below glossy eyes, a lack of sleep obvious on her face. In one hand she held the Book of Yoba, silently reading over a passage as she sat. With the other she gently held his hand, doing her best to be careful of the iv stuck inside it. She had refused to leave the clinic for even a minute since he’d been brought in, resigning herself to that chair for what felt like forever, intent to not leave that room

Shane desperately wanted to call out to her, but found his throat swollen and pained. He could barely make a noise, even the hoarsest whisper. All he could do was lightly squeeze her hand, a limp and weak gesture. But it was enough to grab her attention. Marnie jumped, letting the book fall to the floor as she turned her attention to him. She was stuck between showing how overjoyed she was and trying to give him the quiet he needed. It was overwhelming, and all she could manage to do was cry, holding onto him tightly.

“Yoba, it’s been days, I’ve been so worried! Are you comfortable, do you need anything?” She was practically speaking a mile a minute, a frantic tone to her voice, “Anything, anything you need!”

“I’m-” Shane’s voice crackled, hoarse from non-use, “I’m so sorry…” 

Marnie’s face softened, her eyes filled with so many emotions. Regret, relief, and empathy to name only a few. It was impossible to explain exactly how she was feeling at the moment. The only thing that was sure was the overwhelming relief she felt seeing him awake after so long. She gave him a weak smile, hugging just a bit tighter, “I’m sorry too,”

There, in that moment, none of what had happened mattered anymore. Both of them understood that far too much time had been focused on the past, agonizing over what had been rather than what could be. The anger and frustration that had built over the past two years began to crumble away. There was much work to be done for a bright future. It would take time to repair this family and move on. But all of this had been a sign, a wake up call. With their sincere apologies the first steps in moving forward had been taken, and the future looked just a bit brighter.

[leighsartworks216]

I Come With Knives Pt11

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Not proofread. I wanted to add some padding between the last chapter and a future chapter I have planned, bc I feel like it's a big jump in the timeline and I don't want it to be super jarring. So here's something a little bittersweet

Idk why my favorite to write for Astarion is bedtime fics. My brain really said this mans needs sleep and I will be the one to give him it

Warnings: touch aversion, trauma, references to past abuse, slight panic attack, swearing, self-deprecation, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1,806

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

I Come With Knives Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Very little changed at the start of your new relationship. Neither of you quite knew how to navigate something genuine (in Astarion’s case) or something so foreign (in your case). Any chances for romance had been stolen from you a long time ago, and much of Astarion’s interactions with it were under false pretense. So, needless to say, it wasn’t easy.

Despite your separate aversions to touch, you found small ways that didn’t overwhelm either of you. On long excursions that wore you to the bone, you’d find Astarion’s side and wrap your pinky finger around his. It was a small gesture, but one that did not feel as weighted as holding hands. And even then, when you wanted to or needed to separate, you’d pull until the link broke with little smiles.

When you gathered in his tent for the night, during your long talks, he tested different ways of physical contact. A hand on your knee, a delicate brush to push your hair back, even simply allowing you to play with his fingers went a long way. It was during one of these times that he’d smirked and asked if he could kiss you now. You’d flushed and nodded, and he took his sweet time building to it.

He trailed a hand along your arm until he could cup your cheek, something he’d not done up until then because of your distaste for your neck being touched, but you leaned into it. He ever so slowly leaned forward until his forehead pressed against yours, noses side-by-side. He asked again if it was okay when he heard your heart start to race in your chest. You nodded again, and he finally pressed a delicate kiss to your lips. He let you test the waters, allowed you a moment to learn how this all worked. When he’d tried pulling away, you chased after, and he laughed and kissed you again, and again, and again. Your heart did not still until the moon was high in the sky.

Yet every sweet gesture had its bitter moments. Sometimes even something so simple could be powerful enough to claw out your insides and plunge like a shard of ice into your chest. A mere brush of a hand made you flinch and pull away, or made Astarion dissociate from his body. There were nights when feeding became so difficult because neither of you would want to touch anybody else, and you’d both go to bed turned away and feeling like shit.

Everything can seem fine all day, until the discomfort rears its ugly head.

All through the day, things were perfect. You’d linked pinkies with Astarion for most of the trip, arms brushing against each other; he’d taken great pleasure in giving you a small peck when nobody was looking; you ran your fingers thoughtfully along the creases and calluses of his hands. But then it fell apart.

It wasn’t a new gesture - Astarion would bring your wrist to his lips, but before he bit you, he’d press a few kisses to it. It was soft, sweet. It’d never bothered you before. But tonight, when you felt the familiar press of his lips to your skin, your mind didn’t think it was Astarion. Your body reacted immediately with pure terror, jerking your wrist away and frantically rubbing at the spot, like his kiss had burned you.

You couldn’t even look at him, your mind was so scared you’d look and it would be her sitting there.

“Darling?” Astarion reached forward, hovering his hand over your knee, but not touching. You stared at it with wild eyes, focusing on his dull nails. They weren’t claws. They’re not her hands. “Did I do something wrong?”

You shook your head insistently. No, this wasn’t his fault. Your bodies were so over-reactive, and it was never the other’s fault. It was their faults, for stealing years of your lives away and forcing you to be like this: So desperate for affection and so unable to fully enjoy it.

“Can I touch you?”

You forced your mind to think for an answer. There was a war inside of you. You wanted nothing more than for him to wrap you in his arms, pet your hair and ground you into his body. But your skin crawled just thinking about being touched. You tried taking his hand, hoping you could play with his fingers and run a thumb over his nails or- or something. But your fingers brushed his and you jerked away again when it felt like your skin was set aflame.

You shook your head over and over, tears beginning to choke you. “I’m sorry, I- I can’t-”

He shushes you. “It’s okay, darling. Just breathe.”

You don’t know how long you sit there, only able to stare at his hand as tears blur your vision, rubbing your wrist and willing the horrible feelings to pass. To his credit, Astarion stays there with you. You remind yourself over and over that it’s only him. You’re safe. You know you’re safe. With Astarion, you know you always will be safe.

When the tears have slowed and the emotions in your chest have mostly disbursed, you take a deep breath. You blink, and you finally look at him, a sort of guilt in your eyes. You sniffle pathetically, but you do your best not to look away.

“I’m sorry, Star. I don’t know why…”

He offers you a sympathetic smile, pinched tight from his worrisome frown. “I understand, love. Should I go out to hunt tonight?”

He waits as you consider it for a moment. Your hand absentmindedly traces over the new bite-scar on your inner wrist, the one you’d just been rubbing at like a madman. As if testing a theory, you reach out again and carefully touch his hand. This time, however, you don’t jerk back away. You visibly relax, shoulders slumping with relief as you sigh - you wanted nothing more than to touch him, and you couldn’t. He slowly turned his hand over to hold yours, loosely, so you could pull away if it became too much, but it only seemed to ease your fears more.

You shook your head slightly. “No, I can do it, just… no kissing. Not tonight.”

His hand slides to cradle your wrist, drawing a shiver from you and raising goosebumps along your arm. It amazes him even after all that, his touch affects you so greatly. “I’ll try to be gentle,” he promises in a murmur. You nod in understanding.

He draws your wrist up to his mouth, but pauses before he bites down. You’re still anxious; he can smell it racing through your blood, just below the surface of your skin. Slowly, as though you’re a deer prepared to race off at any second, he uses his other hand to intertwine your fingers. It’s awkward - he slips his fingers through yours from the backside of your hand, curling them into your palm - but you don’t hesitate to curl your fingers into a semi-hold anyway. It eases him to know you’re not scared of him or his affliction, only what has been done to you before. It’s a little sickening to think that way, he scolds himself, to be proud his vampirism doesn’t frighten you but the memory of someone else’s horrifies and haunts you.

He’s frowning when he leans in and immediately bites down, trying to be gentle as his fangs pierce into your veins. He doesn’t drink as much as usual, not wishing to pull you back over the ledge you seem to teeter precariously on. He doesn’t even lick the blood away when he lets go. Instead, he uses a cloth and swipes it away, before carefully wrapping it in a bandage as always, keeping it clean until Shadowheart can heal it in the morning.

He places your hand back in your lap, and lets go. His hands feel cold without yours.

“Come on, love. Let’s get you tucked in.”

You move like a zombie as you go through the motions of your nightly routine. You slip your feet under the blanket when he opens it up and lay on your side facing him, though you seem to look through him rather than at him. He tugs the blanket over your shoulders and carefully tucks it into your neck, where you grab on and pull it even tighter around.

He doesn’t curl up by your side as he usually does. Instead, he slips into his own bedroll and lays on his back with an arm to act as a pillow. He stares up at the canvas ceiling. Little imperfections in the fabric catch his attention, forming obscure shapes and faces in the flickering candlelight. It’s been a while since he hasn’t been able to cuddle somebody to sleep.

On one hand, he hates how weak it makes him feel. He’s so close to being free of Cazador, free of the chains that bind him; and here he is creating a bond out of material thicker than steel, tying you together by the wrists and preparing to burn the keys that could unlock the manacles.

On the other, he’d never felt so safe before. He’d never felt so warm and cared for. It doesn’t feel like it now, but he knows one day soon, perhaps even tomorrow, you would be pressed against his chest or he to yours, fingers in hair and tracing odd shapes into the other’s spine. Soon. He’ll have to suck it up and be patient until then.

He closes his eyes, prepared to try to sleep.

A few moments later, he hears you shifting, the soft rustle of fabric, and he feels a soft touch against his free hand. When he opens his eyes and turns to look, you’re awkwardly leaned over to reach him, eyes staring at his hand, like you’re waiting for the second the touch turns sour and your master’s burning caresses take over.

He tentatively turns his hand over and allows you to curl your fingers around his, holding him securely, even as your fingers twitch like you’re debating letting go. He slides your combined hands until they rest comfortably between you both. You relax back into your pillow.

“I’m right here, my darling. I won’t leave.” He squeezes your hand gently. “Get some sleep.”

You nod slightly, so faint he almost misses it, and finally close your eyes. You don’t sleep for a while. Your heart rate spikes every so often, and he can hear you taking deliberate, slow breaths to calm down, but you don’t let him go. Late into the night, when the moon has already passed its zenith, your breaths even out and your heart calms to a steady beat.

He squeezes your hand again very softly, and closes his eyes once more.

---

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[starmapz]

if there’s anyone who has the patience of a god, it would be reader.

it’s a mix of deep compassion and mounting frustration, where she feels this overwhelming urge to shield him, to take on the weight of his fears, but every time she tries to guide him, his anxiety creates barriers, and yet, the way you described her steady presence and determination throughout the story feels so reassuring.. even when faced with frustration, whether it’s misunderstandings, resistance or the difficulty of the circumstances, she doesn’t waver. instead of pulling away she leans in with even more patience and compassion. it’s as though you truly understand the depth of what it means to hold space for someone who’s struggling. which is what helps me calm my senses, knowing that reader isn’t so easily deterred and won’t give up on sukuna without much effort. and as seen in sukuna’s most vulnerable moments, his panic attack in response to the harsh and cruel reality he’s had to face that day, where you’ve managed to capture the raw, visceral intensity of what it feels like to lose all sense of mind in the heat of the moment, the way you convey the racing heart, the suffocating sense of losing control, and the spiraling thoughts is both haunting and incredibly real. every sentence felt like a pulse, quickening and constricting, drawing you into the panic and holding you there. there was a brief moment of fear, where i wasn’t sure if either of them would say or do something that would leave the other out in the cold, but the realization and sense of assurance i got from both characters, such as sukuna working to control and tame his emotions and reactions, in order to stay composed in front of the person he respects and values the most, determined not to drive her away with the harsh words he’s used before and reader trying her best to hold herself up right despite the constant push she gets from him calmed my senses even if just a little.

it’s clear that sukuna’s actions are driven by deep internal conflict, not because he doesn’t recognize the help being offered, but because his pride prevents him from accepting it, and vulnerability does little to ease his discomfort. it’s almost as if he believes that by keeping others at arm’s length, he can protect himself from people viewing him as weak and pitying him. yet, beneath the walls he’s constructed, there’s a quiet desperation, a longing for connection he’s too scared to acknowledge. sukuna doesn’t want to admit that he needs help, even though he’s drowning in the very thing he refuses to accept. it’s what makes him a bit frustrating to deal with, which is why i’m saying that reader has the most patience out of everyone. they both so obviously need each other in order to stay grounded, preventing themselves from losing control amidst their overwhelming responsibilities and emotions.

your skill lies in not just describing the physical aspects, but also in conveying the emotional weight- the terror, the helplessness, and the isolation. it’s a rare talent to make such an intense, personal experience feel universally understood, and you do it with both precision and empathy. your words hit hard, but they also leave an impact that’s impossible to forget.

and despite the intense angst of the chapter, this was an incredible read. (i gasped when i saw it was at almost 18k words, we’re too spoiled 🤭)

HIIII LOVE <33 i hope you're doing well!!

i always look forward to your asks they make me so happy <33

sukuna absolutely needs someone with reader's patience, the poor man :(( he's so quick to spring to his own defense, to put up walls and even tear her down at times with his own anger, but it never comes from anything more than his own pride and fear that he won't acknowledge, but that can all only last so long when the weight of the world is on his shoulders.

a part of why this chapter took me so long (aside from the whole 17k thing LMAO) is that i really wanted to make sure i captured not just the moment where sukuna falls apart, but everything leading up to it as well, because that crushing sense of doubt and fear that sukuna goes through i felt was all the more emotional knowing that it's a sum of a very mounting pressure built up over the course of several days. sukuna is beyond strong, very self sufficient, and very competent, but he's still human. i really wanted to make sure i captured his fear of loss and failure, but also the fear of being seen at his most vulnerable not only by the reader but also his brothers, because they're already at their lowest, so he knows he needs to be above that, he needs to be their pillar, but he so stubbornly thinks he can handle it alone.

the reader absolutely has the patience of a god, something that comes very much from her extremely kind nature and the sympathy she has for sukuna, but also from a place of love. she understands on a level that most don't see that what you know about someone, sukuna in this case, isn't always a real picture of who they are (ehehe fic title drop), and the same can be said about her. most don't see the extremely hard-working girl who studied her ass off to get a scholarship, they see gojo's friend. they see the preppy girl who sits with frat boys, who holds the title of prom queen and gets good grades, and they make assumptions.

the reader and sukuna are two sides of the same coin, even if it takes them both a while to come to this realization. they both are hard-working, compassionate (albeit in different ways), and unrelenting in their resolve. and honestly thank god that she's as nosy as she is, because as much as sukuna complains, they wouldn't get anywhere if he was constantly pushing her away and letting his pride come between them. it's the traits that they do share that draw them to one another and the traits that they don't share that make them work so well, because where sukuna lacks temperament, the reader brings it to the table in droves, supplying enough for the both of them, especially when sukuna's drowning and needs it most.

slowly but surely, they're making progress!! even if sukuna sticks his foot up his ass to prevent it sometimes. i love him sm though

AAA THIS IS TOO SWEEEEET thank you sm 😭🫶 i can't even describe how grateful i am for your support and to hear that my words could have such an effect is so overwhelmingly encouraging and really does keep me writing.

i'm so so so glad you enjoyed the latest chapter, thank you sm for your ask <333

actual image of me reading your ask

[glamphantasm]

OM x Whumptober - Day 8

Mammon staggered forward, gripping the edges of the lavishly decorated table as his legs threatened to give out. His eyes, usually bright and mischievous, were dull and heavy-lidded. He had lost track of how long he had been awake—hours bled into days, and days seemed like they had no end. The lights in the room were harsh, unforgiving, illuminating every corner and highlighting stark shadows under his eyes.

“Lucifer…” Mammon’s voice was hoarse, barely a whisper, but it echoed in the silence of the room. “Just turn it off for a second. The lights… I can’t…”

Lucifer stood near the door, arms crossed, his expression hard as stone. His usually pristine attire was slightly disheveled, his frown deeper than usual, but his crimson eyes were sharp, unwavering. His patience had long worn thin.

“I told you, Mammon,” Lucifer said, voice cold, “you are not allowed to sleep until the curse is lifted.”

Mammon winced at the reminder. The curse—an ancient and cruel spell placed upon him during one of his more reckless endeavors. It kept him awake, forcing his mind and body to endure sleepless nights. It was manageable at first, a minor inconvenience, but now… now it was unbearable.

“Please… just a few minutes,” Mammon pleaded, knees wobbling as he swayed on his feet. “Just turn off the lights… I can’t—”

“No.” Lucifer’s voice cut through his brother’s plea like a blade. “If the lights go out, it will devour you whole. Do you understand that?”

Mammon let out a broken laugh, covering his face with his trembling hands. “Then what am I supposed to do?! I can’t take this anymore, Lucifer! I haven’t slept in a week! I—I feel like I’m losin’ my mind.”

Lucifer’s jaw tightened, his gaze softening for the briefest moment. “This is your own doing, Mammon. You were the one who sought out that artifact. You were the one who defied my warnings.”

Mammon groaned, slumping against the table. His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of exhaustion and fear gripping him. He was so tired—so damn tired—and all he wanted was just a moment of relief. But the lights stayed on, relentless, and Lucifer stood guard, unwavering.

“I didn’t know it would be this bad,” Mammon whispered, eyes burning as unshed tears blurred his vision.

Lucifer’s silence was deafening, and Mammon’s despair grew heavier by the second. He felt himself slipping, his body giving out as the fatigue overwhelmed him, his vision swimming. The curse thrummed under his skin, feeding on his desperation, and a deep, dark terror clawed at his mind.

“Lucifer…” Mammon whimpered, collapsing to his knees, hands clutching at the floor. “Please…”

Lucifer’s frown intensified. The curse was explicit—Mammon had to stay awake, no matter the toll it took on his body. The lights in the room burned unnaturally bright, casting a glare that only amplified the agony of his sleepless torment. It was part of the spell, the reason Mammon’s eyes were swollen and dry, his movements becoming sluggish and disoriented. Every second without rest was tearing him apart.

"I can't do that, Mammon," Lucifer replied, his voice still cold, though his heart ached seeing his brother in such a state. "You know what the curse demands. The moment the lights go out, the curse will consume you." The words, or those close enough to them, had been repeated so often as to nearly lose their meaning.

Mammon’s fingers scraped against the floor, nails cracking as they dug into the wood. His breaths were shallow, labored, and his vision swam, black spots forming in the corners of his sight. His thoughts were incoherent now, fragments of panic and delirium. He tried to remember the last time he had slept, but it felt like an eternity ago, a luxury now ripped away from him.

"Please…" His voice cracked, trembling. "I can't��� I can’t do this anymore…"

Lucifer’s eyes flickered with something close to sorrow, but his hands remained steady as he stood over his brother, arms crossed, torn between duty and compassion. The curse wasn’t his fault, but Lucifer had promised to keep Mammon alive. Yet every moment like this, watching him reduced to this broken state, weighed heavily on him.

"You don’t have a choice," Lucifer said, but softer this time. "You need to stay awake, Mammon. Just a little longer. I’m working on breaking the curse. You just have to hold on."

Mammon’s laugh was brittle, a hollow, pained sound that made Lucifer wince. "You been sayin’ that for days…"

Lucifer’s lips thinned, guilt gnawing at him. He had been working on breaking the curse, but dark magic like this wasn’t something even the Avatar of Pride could easily dispel. It would take time.

As Lucifer stood there, helpless in the face of his brother’s suffering, Mammon’s head slumped forward, his eyelids drooping despite the punishment they brought. His body was starting to give out.

"Lucifer… I… I’m so tired…"

Lucifer knelt beside him, gripping his shoulder. "I know, Mammon. Just a little longer."

The lights blazed on, harsh and unrelenting.

For the first time in hours, Lucifer moved. He crossed the room in a few swift strides, kneeling down in front of his brother. His hand reached out, gently tilting Mammon’s chin up to meet his gaze. The hardness in his eyes had melted, leaving behind something softer, something stricken, pained.

“Mammon,” Lucifer murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “I can’t save you from this. But I’m not going to let you face it alone.”

Tears slipped down Mammon’s cheeks, his body trembling from the strain. The lights remained blindingly bright.

[overlordofthelollipopguild]

Taking That Second Chance, Chapter 7 - A Captain Swan, Once Upon A Time Fanfic

Start here on FF.net and here on A03.

Chapter 7 is here and here.

Note: I know that in canon, Regina tried to train Emma in magic the same way she was taught, so using anger and negative emotions to use magic, but I'm going with the idea that perhaps at that time, Regina didn't fully understand Emma was truly a Light Witch, so after Regina figured it out, she trained Emma better. The reason I'm mentioning this is because there's an explanation of Light and Dark magic in the chapter and I'm trying to head of the nitpickers in the reviews/comments.

Also, TRIGGER warning for mild mentions of alcoholism and addiction.

Chapter 7

“Choices are the hinges of destiny.” – Pythagoras  

A bright light spilled out of the Wishing Well of Storybrooke as the group from the Enchanted Forest flew out of the portal. 

Snow landed first tucking and rolling as she lost her footing. Laying on her back, she looked up at the bright sky, finding herself in a different set of woods than the ones in the Enchanted Forest. Pushing herself up, she looked around, recognizing the well. 

She was back home. 

As Marian stumbled out, she maneuvered so that she landed on her back with Roland tightly tucked against her chest. Her breath left her as her back hit hard ground, eyes closing and teeth clenching at the pain. 

Roland cried against her, scared and overwhelmed over the realm traveling, not understanding exactly what happened. 

Mulan and Aurora stumbled out next, both tumbling to their knees close to the well. Mulan looked around for any threats. Finding none, she stood and helped Aurora up, glancing over her for any injuries. 

Finally, Anton brought up the rear falling over the edge last and flat onto his back onto the ground. He heaved heavily trying to catch his breath. It took him a moment to get his bearings. 

Snow pushed herself up and looked around wildly. “Where’s Emma?” She hurried over to the well, seeing the portal close. “No, no. Emma!” 

“Hook,” Anton gasped out. “He said they were right behind. Portal was closing.” He pushed himself up, using the wall of the well as an aide. “He was running towards the portal, but he was carrying her. That might’ve slowed him down.” 

“Do you think they missed it?” Aurora asked as she too came towards the well, looking for any inkling that Emma or Hook were coming through. 

Snow stared down into the darkened well, not even able to see the water at the bottom. There was no sign of Emma or Hook. No, no, no. Panic gripped her at the thought of being separated from Emma again. They just found each other; now Emma was stuck in another realm with the most dangerous and notorious pirate in their land. Tears pricked at her eyes. She was a horrible mother. She couldn’t keep her daughter twenty-eight years ago, and she lost her again now. What if they couldn’t find another portal? What if Emma was stuck there for good?

“At least Cora didn’t come over with us.” Mulan stated grimly. “Kicking her away from us as we travelled through realms must’ve worked.”

“What does that mean?” Aurora asked. “Is she still alive?” 

Marian stood, loosening her tight hold on Roland, who calmed down somewhat, but just barely. “Does it matter? She’s not here, which means she can’t terrorize any of us anymore.” That was certainly a relief for all of them. She brushed dirt off of Roland’s cheek. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

Roland just nodded, clinging to his mother. “Want to go home, Mama.”

Marian swallowed. She hadn’t wanted to go through the portal, and now they were separated from Robin. Again. Her poor husband was probably going out of his mind with worry not knowing where Roland was or if he was even alive. 

“We need to find a portal back.” Snow said. 

“Are there portals here?” Marian asked. She needed a portal back to the Enchanted Forest, back to Robin, but with this being the Land Without Magic, Marian doubted finding a portal would be easy.

“No.” Snow said. “The Dark One is here, so maybe he knows of some way? I can’t leave my daughter in the Enchanted Forest with a man I can’t trust she’s safe with.”

“Even if she’s not safe with Hook, she sure knows how to handle him.” Mulan grumbled. She glanced around the woods before turning to Snow. “This is your world. What do we do now?”

Snow looked down the well one last time with the vain hope she might see Emma. Closing her eyes, Snow took a breath. She’d find a way back to Emma. Even if she had to make a deal with the Dark One. Opening her eyes, Snow turned back to the group. “We head into town, get you all settled, and I reunite with my husband and grandson.” Her grandson who might very well hate her for leaving his mother behind. 

“Let’s go then.” Marian said. “I for one could use some food and a bed.” Then maybe discuss a portal with the Dark One. 

The others agreed and followed Snow through the woods into the town. 

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

He really should’ve waited until the afternoon when school got out. Reuniting with her now would only distract her, but after a long night of thinking over Liam and Henry’s words, Jefferson knew he couldn’t wait any longer to reunite with his daughter. Even though he was sweating from nerves and second guessing himself, Jefferson stood still staring at the bus as it came down the street.

Here we go. 

He watched the bus pull up to the school parking lot. Swallowing, Jefferson walked closer as the fourth graders hopped off the bus. Come on, Hatter, you can do this. 

Jefferson watched each face, searching for the familiar face of his daughter. 

Soon enough, Henry exited the bus with Liam close behind him. His breath caught in his throat as Grace appeared behind the boys. Her smile was wide, laughing at something one of the boys said. 

Jefferson stepped closer. Taking a deep breath, he needed to get to her. It was now or never. 

“Grace!” He called out, hoping she’d recognize his voice. 

Grace froze. 

Liam and Henry paused as they too heard her name, both turning, both looking surprised when they saw him behind Grace, though he was still a good distance away. 

“Grace!” He called out again, his throat tightening the longer it took for her to turn around. She hates me. What am I even doing here? I knew this was a bad idea. Gods, I should’ve left her alone. She’s probably happier without me. 

Finally, she slowly turned around. Tears and disbelief were in her brown eyes when she took in the sight of him. 

Then suddenly she was sprinting towards him. “Papa!” 

Relief filled him as he realized that her tears were joyful ones, so he knelt down just in time to catch her in his arms. 

Her arms locked around his neck as she buried her face in his shoulders, sobbing into him. “Papa, papa, you found me. I can’t believe you found me.” 

Guilt ate at him at her words. She believed he’d been looking for her just as she’d been looking for him. He swallowed again, trying to rid himself of the lump in his throat. Grace deserved the truth. No more cowardice and no more lies. Jefferson squeezed her tightly one last time before releasing her to look at her. He brushed some loose strands of her dark blonde hair behind her ear. Gods, she looked so much like her mother. That only struck his heartache all the more. 

“Grace, I…” He choked on his words for a moment. Once he told her the truth, she might very well hate him then. “I missed you so much.” Emotions overwhelmed him. Guilt, fear, remorse, everything hitting as he looked into her guileless brown eyes. 

“Papa, it’s okay.” Grace smiled. “I missed you too. I’m so glad you found me.”

Jefferson winced. Here came the hard part. He needed to be honest with her. “Grace I love you so so much. You mean absolutely everything to me. I need you to know that.” 

“I know that.” Grace’s brow furrowed, confused as to why he was telling her this.

“Grace, I wasn’t cursed the same way everyone else was.” Jefferson began. “Regina left my memories intact even as she gave me knew memories. Two lives in my head drove me to insanity. I didn’t know what was real somedays.” Jefferson swallowed thickly. “Even with two lives in my head, I had a huge house and wealth, but Regina took you from me. She put you right in front of me but made sure we could never be together. For twenty-eight years, all I could think about was how I failed you all the while watching you live a happy life with two very alive parents. I’m your father and I was supposed to protect you, but I let Regina scare me into one last job.” He paused, letting his words sink in, hoping Grace would understand. 

In the distance, the bell for school rang and Liam and Henry looked between father and daughter and the school building before shrugging. They’d let the teachers know what was going on, so they headed inside, letting Grace have her time with her father. 

“She tricked me, and I left you alone. It was the biggest mistake of my life and I can’t tell you how much I regret it.” He made sure to look into Grace’s eyes as he continued speaking. “When the curse broke, I knew where you were, but I thought you’d hate me for abandoning you and I was a coward. I let my own guilt rule my decisions, and thought staying away from you was for the best.”

Grace’s face fell as he spoke. Did he not want her? Was he saying goodbye for good?

“You were so happy under the curse.” Jefferson swallowed, tears gathering in his eyes. “I thought it was better for you to stay away. I’m still not sure if I should be in your life. My time away from you really did a number on me. I’m not exactly the most stable parental figure at the moment.” He paused again, this time to take a breath, hoping he’d be brave enough to continue. “I do love you. I want you to come home with me, but if that’s not what you want…if you want to stay with your cursed parents then I will be more than happy to let you because you deserve the best life you could possibly have even if I’m not in it.”

There. He got it all out. 

“Papa,” Grace let her tears fall. “You’re so stupid.” She hugged him fiercely. 

Jefferson blinked. Okay, was that an answer? He wasn’t sure but he hugged Grace back. “Does that mean you’re not mad at me?”

“No, Papa.” Grace mumbled into his shoulder. “I can come home after school, right?”

“My home?” Jefferson asked, wanting to be sure. “What about our neighbors…you’re other parents?”

Grace pulled away. “They’ve been helping me look for you. They want to help you out, like they did before the curse, but they want to start their own family.”

“Really?” Jefferson huffed out in disbelief. Grace wasn’t mad, and she wanted to come home. Fuck, he worried himself to death for no reason. Maybe he needed therapy. No, he definitely needed therapy. Not with Archie though. God, did they even have other therapists in Storybrooke? He shook his head a bit. He’d worry about that later. “Yeah, okay, I’ll pick you up here after classes and we’ll go talk to them.”

Grace beamed at him. “Okay.” She hugged him again. “Promise me you’ll be here?”

“I promise.” Jefferson said. “I swear to you I will be here.” He wanted to reenforce the idea to her that he wasn’t going to disappear again. Maybe family therapy wasn’t off the table. 

She nodded and reluctantly went inside, looking over her shoulder multiple times just to make sure he was still there. 

Jefferson sighed. Well, step one, reuniting with Grace was done. Now he needed to learn how to be a proper father again.

Crap. 

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

David entered Granny and Ruby’s private apartment on the ground floor of the Inn, looking for them after Art, the other cook, told him they were delayed from working today. “Ruby, Granny, you here?”

Feet pounded down the stairs and Ruby came into view, her expression one of pure panic. “We can’t find my cloak!” 

Her cloak that protected her from turning into the wolf during the full moon. While she hadn’t needed it in ages, with them being in a new realm with magic, Ruby was terrified about how the wolf would act during the moon. With the curse, they relived the same day over and over, but there wasn’t magic either. What if the wolf was feral now after being dormant for so long? What if she was a danger to everyone? 

The stairs creaked as Granny followed her. “We’ll find it. No need to worry, Red.” Her calm exterior was the reassurance Ruby needed, but inside, she was worried herself since with having magic in Storybrooke they weren’t sure how the wolf would react come the first full moon.

“What if we can’t find it in time?” Ruby asked, fear clear in her tone. “The full moon is just over a week away.” 

“Plenty of time then.” David said, following Granny’s lead to keep Ruby calm. “If we can’t find it, then we’ll figure something out.” He clasped a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I promise.”

Ruby relaxed slightly before stiffening again. Her head tilted in a way David knew meant her hearing picked something up. “Hold on. Is that…?” She raced out of the room, leaving David startled before he and Granny followed her. 

Just as David entered the parlor of the Inn, he saw a group of women, a man, and a small child. 

Ruby was hugging… “Snow!” David exclaimed hurrying over as Ruby and Snow pulled apart. 

Snow didn’t have time to recover from Ruby’s fiercest bear hug before Charming came in sweeping off her feet in a hug, his lips pressing hard against hers. “Charming.” She breathed, smiling against his kiss. 

As David set her down, before he could even speak, he was forcefully pulled away and thrown into a wall.

“Anton!” One of the women exclaimed shocked. 

“You!” A large, unshaven man with long dark brown curly hair pinned David to the wall with hatred in his eyes. “You killed my family! I should kill you too!” His hands gripped David’s throat tightly. 

“Anton, wait.” Snow and Mulan both moved to pull Anton off of David. Marian shielded Roland from the scene by hurrying back out of the Inn, fearful of her toddler becoming even more traumatized than he already was after everything with Cora. 

David struggled to breathe through the vice of Anton’s hands.

“No, I won’t let you protect this monster.” Anton snarled at the women. His hate filled eyes turned back to David. “You took everything from me.” Anton squeezed tighter. “How would your father, King George, feel if I killed you now?”

Snow, Ruby, and Granny all realized the same thing at once. Anton didn’t want revenge on David. He wanted revenge on James. 

If David hadn’t been fighting to breathe, he would’ve realized it too. 

“Anton, Prince James died thirty years ago.” Snow snapped, hoping she’d get through to the giant. “My husband is James’ identical twin brother David.”

Anton didn’t loosen his grip right away, but slowly he lessened the pressure around David’s neck. “What?” 

David was sputtering. 

“David and James were born to shepherds.” Snow said, trying to keep her wits about her as David struggled. “The Dark One took James when they were babies and George raised him while David was raised by their birth parents. David didn’t even know about James until after James died.” Snow cautiously approached Anton, placing a hand on his arm. “David isn’t James. He’s a good man. You need to release him.”

Anton slowly let David go and stepped back. He let David catch his breath before asking, “You really aren’t James?”

David breathe harshly, taking a minute before he found his voice. It was raspy as he spoke. “No. I never met him.” David coughed as his lungs begged for relief. He took another deep breath. “I know he was a bastard just like George. I’m sorry for what he did to you.” He coughed again, his throat bruised.

Granny appeared with a glass of water for David, which he took gratefully. 

“I’m sorry.” Anton whispered. “The last time I saw your face it was helping other humans murder my brothers. They were all I had left. They raised me.”

“Anton, I’m so sorry.” Snow patted his arm comfortingly. “I know it can never make up for what James did to you, but I truly wish things were different. I swear to you, David and James are completely different men.”

Tears formed in Anton’s eyes and he nodded as his throat thickened with emotions. He focused on David again. “I’m sorry I tried to kill you.”

David waved him off. “Honestly, I’m surprised it took this long for James’ reputation to catch up with me.” 

Snow turned to Granny and Ruby. “Anton, Mulan, Marian, and Aurora came over from the Enchanted Forest. They need rooms until we can get them on their feet.” 

“Of course.” Granny nodded. She led Anton and Mulan away towards the front counter. Aurora ducked out to let Marian know that the fight was over. 

Snow hugged David tightly, the adrenaline from watching him almost die still in her system. 

David leaned on her, still struggling to regain his breath. Anton’s grip was tight enough to leave bruises, but he hoped he didn’t have to go to the hospital. That’s when he realized something. “Wait, where’s Emma?” 

Snow’s expression crumbled. “The portal closed before she and Hook could come through. It happened so fast. Cora pulled Aurora through and then the rest of us fell in. Emma was separated from us. She’s still there.”

David swallowed though it was hard to do. His little girl was lost to them again. “Emma’s resourceful and smart. She’ll find a way back to us.” 

“I hope so, Charming.” Snow buried her face into his chest.

“Hold on, did you say Hook?” Ruby asked. “As in the legendary Captain Hook? He’s real?”

Snow sighed unhappily. “Not only is he real, but if we’re not careful, he’ll be Emma’s new boyfriend.” 

Shocked, David could only exclaim. “What?” 

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

Killian started a fire and kept Emma close to it, but without a change of clothes, he feared they’d both grow ill. He watched her unconscious form with concern. As far as he could tell, she hadn’t broken anything, but she’d have a hell of a bruise on her back. 

Even so, he checked periodically to make sure she was still breathing. 

With the portal closed, they’d have to figure out their next steps. Portals were hard to come by without magic beans now. He pulled the dried bean Emma gave him from his coat pocket. 

He wondered why Emma insisted on keeping a dried up, useless little thing like this; there couldn’t be any magic left, could there? 

His eyes traveled to the pool of water at the center of the clearing. What was the legend again? That the waters could restore life? Killian looked at the bean in his hand. Was it possible? Would the waters of the lake restore the bean?

A jolt of excited hope shot through his heart as he stood up and walked over to the water. Carefully, he held the chain from which the bean hung between his index finger and thumb. Please work. Lowering the chain, he dipped it underneath the water. 

Holding his breath, not knowing how long it would take, he watched the bean in the clear water. After a minute, the bean seemed to glow briefly before slowly turning from brown into a translucent, sparkling white. 

Killian grinned as he pulled the bean from the water. It actually worked. The bean was restored, which meant Emma had a way home.

The thought stopped him short. His first thought should’ve been that he had a way to exact his revenge. He was one step closer to killing the Dark One. Yet, his first thought concerned Emma. He looked over to her prone form. He could leave now and she wouldn’t be able to stop him; he’d get to the Dark One, magic be damned. 

Except it would be bad form to leave her. His heart didn’t want to anymore than his good form did. What about Milah? Why was he so concerned over a stranger when his revenge was within reach? In three-hundred years this was the closest he’d been to getting to the Dark One. He knew he couldn’t use the dagger, which was why he bottled some Dreamshade in the hopes that such an incurable poison would be the key. However, since Emma told him that the Dark One brought magic to Storybrooke, he tried to think of ways to get close to the crocodile, knowing that Rumplestiltskin would be on his guard if he ever saw him. He knew Emma wouldn’t help him since she was already against him getting his revenge. Though considering it was Rumplestiltskin he was after, Killian didn’t quite understand why she was so invested. On the beanstalk when she admonished him for his suicide mission, Killian could’ve sworn he saw grief in her eyes as though he meant something to her.

That was impossible though since they barely knew each other. Yet, since he met her, Killian couldn’t deny that there was a deep, intangible connection he felt towards her, and he was almost certain she felt it too.

Having never experienced anything like it, Killian wasn’t sure how to describe it other than this desire to know her, protect her, and be near her. If he was honest with himself, he hated this feeling, but he couldn’t help being curious about such a mystery. What was it about Emma that sparked this connection? Was it because she was the Savior? Was it because she had magic? Or worse, was she using magic to make him feel this way? He doubted that last bit. Emma truly didn’t seem comfortable with her magic even though she was far more advanced than any novice he’d encountered. More than that, she didn’t seem the type of person to manipulate people, and he would know having been that person and having worked with people like Cora and Regina.

Killian wished he had an answer. Especially since whatever was going on between him and Emma pushed Milah so easily from his mind in a way he’d never allowed before. He loved Milah so deeply and fiercely he thought he’d never get over her. She was his first love. They had only a few short years together before it all ended violently and abruptly. Killian despised Rumplestiltskin down to the marrow in his bones for ripping his happy ending away from him. Yet, here was this beacon of light crashing into his life so unexpectedly that he wasn’t prepared for her. 

It was a bitter pill to swallow and truth be told, Killian wanted to resent Emma for it, but he couldn’t quite find the strength to do so. With his mind a tumultuous whirlwind of emotions, Killian returned to Emma’s side, sitting beside her with his stomach full of knots as he thought over the choices he made in his life and about his revenge.

Anger, bitterness, hatred. These were the emotions he wrapped his heart in for so long he felt terrified to peel them away. Since Liam’s death, he wallowed in such darkness, which only intensified after Milah’s murder. He failed to get revenge for Liam’s death and the king lived on to continue his bloodline despite Killian’s efforts. He couldn’t fail Milah too. He needed to kill the Dark One. He couldn’t let some white witch, no matter how beautiful, get in the way of his goals. 

His revenge was all he had, and all he had ever lived for. At one time he thought he could let it all go for Baelfire, but the boy proved that opening one’s heart to love of any kind, whether it be familial as he had with Baelfire and Liam or romantic as he had with Milah, wasn’t worth the pain. He needed to protect his heart and if death was the final solution, so be it. No one cared whether he lived or died. His crew was gone, likely swept up in the curse and better off for it. He had no family. No one would miss him. After all villains don’t get happy endings. Villains only begot and received tragedy. 

After living so long, death was the only ending he truly needed and the only peace he would ever get from his torment. 

He fiddled with the magic bean, looking at the final key for his revenge. He was so close he could taste it. Yes, he’d get Emma home and go with her, but then they’d part ways and he’d finish what was started centuries ago. He truly hoped that his ending would mean the end of the crocodile as well, but that remained to be seen until he got to Storybrooke and assessed his options. Fortunately, he was a patient man when the occasion called for it.

A groan broke him from his rumination. His eyes instantly flicked to her as Emma slowly came to awareness. Worry for her well-being overtook him much to his irritation. Killian remained silent as she got her bearings, quickly pocketing the bean from her sight. 

The first thing Emma was aware of when she returned to consciousness was the stiff, aching pain shooting up and down her back. Her lungs breathed sharply and painfully as she adjusted her body in order to see her surroundings. The sun was higher in the sky and the waters of Lake Nostos not far from her. But where was everyone else? What happened to the portal?

“Afternoon, princess.” Hook’s tone had bite to it. “Sleeping the day away while the rest of us commoners have work to do?”

Confused as to why he was angry, Emma turned her attention to the pirate captain sitting near her. His eyes were hard and that muscle in his jaw ticked with irritation. What the hell happened while she was unconscious? “Hook, the portal.” It was hard to talk through the pain. Damn, she’d kill for a bottle of Aleve and an ice pack. “What happened?”

He hated seeing her in pain, wishing there was more he could do, and he hated himself for fucking caring about her. “It closed. Everyone else fell through and we remain stranded.” 

Emma eyed him, knowing he was holding something back. What was going on with him? Was it because he lost his chance at revenge? No, that couldn’t be it. Killian had the bean and he was intelligent enough to know the waters would fix the bean. After all, he’d done so in the original timeline. “You healed the bean. We have that, and I’m sure the Jolly is docked somewhere close by.” 

Killian stared at her for a long, scrutinizing moment. “I never told you I had a ship or her name.” 

“If I’m going to tell you how I know about the Jolly or that you’d use the waters on the bean, then we’re going to need a lot more rum than what’s in your flask.” Emma sighed. “How far to your ship?” 

“Too far for you in the state you’re in.” Killian said. “How are you feeling?” His tone was neutral, but Emma saw the worry in his eyes. 

“I’ll live.” Emma sighed. She didn’t feel like bones were broken, but she certainly felt beaten up. “Don’t worry about it. The sooner we get to the Jolly, the sooner I can tell you everything.” Emma pushed herself up unsteadily. 

In a flash, Killian was next to her, supporting her with an arm around her waist, just below the spot where most of the pain was centered. “You can’t walk in your state.”

“What are you going to do, carry me?” Emma arched a brow. “I know I’m lighter than the rum barrels you’re used to, but I doubt you’d be able to carry me from here to your ship.” 

The back of his neck prickled as her words unsettled him. Shaking himself, Killian had an idea. “Perhaps not, but you know how to teleport, don’t you?” It was a guess, but he knew Emma wasn’t entirely incapable. 

Emma eyed him, surprised he hadn’t cottoned on sooner that she wasn’t entirely new to magic. “I’m still working on teleporting myself, but I’m an export at teleporting hooks.” Her joke only earned a raised eyebrow from him. Sighing, Emma explained. “I can’t teleport to somewhere I’ve never been, but fortunately for us, I’ve been on the Jolly before. I’ve never teleported myself and someone though, so hold tight.”

She’d been on the Jolly before? Killian’s confusion only grew as Emma tightly wrapped her arms around him. Shaking himself, he leaned into her personal space with a smirk. “Don’t worry about getting too handsy, love.” He tightened his hold around her waist, though kept his hand in an appropriate spot.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Flirt away, Hook. We’ll talk about what’s eating at you later. Let’s just get going.” 

How did she read him so well? His smirk fell and he pulled back, though allowing her to still lean on him for support. He’d get his answers soon enough, he hoped.

“Close your eyes. Think of your quarters on the Jolly.” Emma whispered in her ear.

Killian’s arms wrapped around her as he followed her command. 

Emma took a breath and reached out for her magic, hoping she had enough energy left to try something like this. Pushing away her worry over teleporting farther than she’d ever tried before, Emma concentrated on picturing the Captain’s quarters on the Jolly. The bed in it’s wooden frame. The slanted beams which divided the windows. The small table that seated four. Take us to the Jolly. She told her magic and it responded in kind. 

Her body floated away in a whisky white cloud, though even as she became nothingness, she held tight to the nothingness Killian became. It wasn’t long before she felt herself solidifying and her feet were on hard ground. Opening her eyes, she found herself in his room on the Jolly, Killian himself in her arms. Sighing in relief, Emma released her hold and stepped back. Her vision swam suddenly and her feet gave way, but she didn’t hit the ground. 

Killian lifted Emma in his arms, depositing her onto his bed. “Sleep, Emma. You need your rest.”

“Home.” She mumbled before her eyes fluttered closed. 

Killian swallowed, wondering when exactly Emma visited his ship and her strange words. She was an enigma he was going to figure out. 

For now though, he’d find food, and maybe have a drink or two. 

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

At the end of the school day, Liam and Henry watched Grace walk away with her father, a skip in her step. 

Liam hated the bitterness festering in his heart. Where was his papa? Why couldn’t he reunite with him? Why did Grace get her father back and he was stuck alone?

Henry put a an arm around Liam. “It’s okay, Liam. We’ll find your dad too. I promise.” 

He wished he had Henry’s optimism. Every day that passed, Liam lost hope that his father was even in Storybrooke. They’d never be reunited. As kind as Henry and David were, and as much as Henry reassured him that Liam had a place in their family, Liam felt doubt creep in his bones. Was he an orphan after all? “What if we can’t find him?” 

“Then you’ll stay with us.” Henry answered confidently. 

Liam wasn’t so sure. 

The boys made their way towards the bus. 

Not wanting to think about his lack of parents, Liam changed the subject. “Did you figure out what’s going on with your book?”

Henry’s nose wrinkled. “No. It’s weird though.” He hopped onto the bus with Liam and they headed towards the middle seats they often occupied. “The new pages aren’t exactly stories from what I can tell.”

“What are they then?” Liam asked as they sat down.

“Honestly, it reads like a history book.” Henry said. “Something about Arcana, Arcanum, darkness, powerful magic. It all sounds long ago, like it’s a history of magic.”

“What’s Arcana and Arcanum?” Liam asked. 

“No idea.” Henry said. “I haven’t had time to really sit and read over everything. I don’t think it’s English though. Like some words are, but other words I can’t figure out.” Henry wasn’t sure, but from the little bit he picked up, it was as though the new pages were in multiple languages, but why? Who would write a history book where every sentence wasn’t fully in one language? 

“Is there a title page somewhere?” Liam tapped on his knee, ready to get back to the loft and hide away from his thoughts. 

“Not that I found.” Henry shrugged. “I wonder if Grandpa knows anyone who can read other languages.” 

Liam arched a brow. “What about Google? I mean, wouldn’t the internet be easier?” 

Ironically, Henry hadn’t thought about that. He knew the Enchanted Forest had English, but did they have all the same languages as the Land Without Magic, or could some languages be different? “It’s not a bad idea. It makes sense that if English exists in the Enchanted Forest, then other languages would too. I still think we should try and find Pinocchio too. Like I said, he changed the book once, so maybe he knows what’s happening now.”

“It couldn’t hurt.” Liam agreed. “Where can we start looking?”

“Well from what I overheard at Granny’s, Marco is still looking for him.” Henry said. “So he’s avoiding his dad. He’s hiding, but I wish I knew why.”

“He’s a former puppet, right?” Liam asked. “Maybe he’d be comfortable in the woods with his cousins Oak and Pine.”

Henry snorted at the joke, but Liam made a good point. The woods were vast and there was plenty of places to hide. 

Before long, the bus reached their stop on Main Street and the boys got off.

“Henry!” 

Henry’s head whipped towards the sound of Snow White’s voice. 

Snow and David stood nearby, both smiling widely, David’s arm around Snow’s shoulders. 

“Grandma!” He ran up to her, throwing his arms around her waist, hugging her tightly. “You’re back!” Excitement overcame him. Grandma was back, which meant Mom was back. He grinned up at her. “Where’s Mom? What was the Enchanted Forest like? Did you beat Cora?” 

As he volleyed his questions, Snow’s face fell. She and David shared worried looks, bracing themselves for how Henry would react.

Liam walked over cautiously, standing near David. 

Snow chewed the inside of her lip as she pulled back, being sure to meet Henry’s eyes. “Henry, I’m so sorry. Cora kept Emma from the portal. She’s still in the Enchanted Forest.” 

Henry’s stomach dropped. “What?” What did she mean his mom was still in the Enchanted Forest? No, she was supposed to come home. 

Seeing Henry’s distress hurt Snow’s heart. Some mother she was; her daughter was abandoned once again. If only she’d been faster and gotten to Emma before falling through the portal. She couldn’t even find relief in the fact that Emma wasn’t alone since she wasn’t entirely sure Hook could be trusted with her daughter. Snow truly hoped Emma was right about trusting Hook, and that the pirate would get her daughter home somehow. “Henry, I’m so sorry. Even though she’s not home, we know she’s alive and I know she is going to find another portal home because all she could talk about was trying to find a way home to you.”

David knelt before Henry, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Your grandmother is right. Nothing is going to stop your mom from finding her way home. Remember, our family always finds each other.”

His throat was too tight with emotions to speak, so Henry nodded yes for his grandparents’ sake. While he believed Snow and David’s words, it wasn’t the same as having his mom back with him. Where would she find another portal? How long would it take? Henry swallowed as his grandparents pulled him into a hug. 

Liam remained off to the side, watching the exchange awkwardly. While he felt bad for Henry, since his mom still wasn’t home, anxiety festered in his gut now that Snow White was back. What if Henry was wrong? What if they decided to put him out on the street? They didn’t owe him anything and it’s not like he was paying his way or pulling his weight.

When Snow and David released Henry, Snow turned to the young boy David had told her about. Her heart ached to find out that Liam had been on his own with no one to take care of him, wearing ragged clothes and starving. While she hoped they could find his father, Liam was more than welcome to stay with them for however long he needed. Noticing how nervous the boy seemed, Snow smiled warmly, and stepped closer to him. “Hello, Liam. I’m Snow.” 

“Hello, ma’am.” He mumbled shyly. 

“Oh please call me Snow.” She put an arm around him. “You’re family now after all.” 

Her words surprised him. Did she mean it or was she just saying that to comfort him and put him at ease? Looking at her welcoming expression, Liam felt that perhaps Henry was right, and that he was slowly becoming an accepted member of this small little family. “Okay.” He said, though it sounded small. He was starting to hope that Henry was right, but there was still a part of him that couldn’t quite believe in their words and reassurances. He wasn’t sure if he would ever feel secure again, even if they ever found his papa. He’d been alone so long that it would take time to get used to being a part of a family again. 

“How about family dinner at Granny’s?” David suggested. “Milkshakes all around.”

His suggestion at least got a smile out of both boys. As the four of them walked to Granny’s with the boys walking ahead, Snow and David looked at each other concerned, both worried about how Henry was taking the news. 

They knew that Emma would find her way home, but they hoped it would be sooner rather than later. 

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

It was dark out as Emma came to, finding herself in Killian’s bed, fully clothed and still sore along her backside. Gingerly, she rolled over onto her side, facing the rest of the room. 

Killian sat at the table, watching her. His eyes were curious as he took her in; Emma was certain he had more questions than she was ready to answer. 

Her eyes flicked away, landing on the table, where a few jars of pickled vegetables and a plate of hardtack rested on the table. A bottle of rum and two glasses were set out. 

Emma’s stomach rumbled, so carefully, she slipped out of his bed and limped to the table. 

“How are you feeling?” Killian asked. He was proud of himself for sounding completely neutral. His feelings were a jumbled mess at the moment; as Emma slept, he thought over his entire life thus far and didn’t like his analysis. Again, his anger wanted to lash out at the woman who made him question everything, but at the same time, he knew it wasn’t fair to Emma to put all of this on her. 

Emma grabbed the rum first, pouring it in her glass to the rim.

Killian raised an eyebrow. 

Emma shrugged. “I told you, we’re going to need a lot of rum for this conversation. Plus, my back is killing me and you don’t have pain killers.” She took a hefty gulp before surveying the jars before her and loading up her plate. 

Killian surveyed her curiously. Emma seemed to know things, but if it was just a part of her magic, why were they going to need the rum? Just what was he about to learn about this infuriatingly intriguing woman? He too began to eat, wondering when he’d get his answers. 

For her part, Emma mulled over where to even begin with such a conversation. Time travel was hard for her to believe and she’d done it twice! Killian tended towards skepticism as she did, though he was more optimistic than she was most of the time. She knew she needed to be honest; there weren’t going to be any secrets between them. Not if she could help it anyway. The thing was, should she let him ask his questions first or tell him everything and then he could ask? It might be easier to give him the full story, but it was a lot to take in. 

After a while of them eating in silence, Killian finally spoke. “You said you’d tell me everything. What exactly is everything?”

Emma paused, unable to look him in the eyes, not wanting him to read her as he often easily did. Starting from the beginning would be easiest, he’d have all the details… “Okay. Well, I have a lot to go over.” She started. Deep breaths, Emma. “But I need you to listen and save your questions until I’m done, all right?” It would be easier to tell him everything without interruptions. 

Killian could only nod as anxiety settled in his stomach. “All right.”

“So, here’s how this story goes.” Emma began by telling him how Henry found her in Boston and how he brought her to Storybrooke. She spoke of her animosity with Regina, her deal with Gold for Ashley’s baby, Graham’s death, her ascendency to Sheriff, her kidnapping, Snow’s brief imprisonment, Henry almost dying, slaying the dragon, and breaking the Curse. 

He listened intently to her tale. 

“Now, the thing is, when Mom and I came to the Enchanted Forest the first time around, things were different.” Emma carried on. 

The first time around? Killian wanted to ask the question aloud before remembering Emma’s request. 

“So, originally, when we went to my parents’ castle, you and Marian weren’t with us.” Emma said. She saw how curious he was, and hoped he’d let her get everything out first. She weaved her tale of Killian working with Cora, the first trip on the beanstalk, her betrayal of him and his going back to Cora, the first battle of Lake Nostos, how she thought she left him behind, how he used the bean the first time around to follow her to Storybrooke. Emma spoke of his attempts at revenge failing, Henry’s kidnapping, their journey to Neverland, their first kiss, the journey home. “Pan followed us and cast the Dark Curse. Henry couldn’t go to the Enchanted Forest, so he and I were left behind. A year later, you found us and brought us home.” 

Wicked witches, flying monkeys, and their own time travel experience came next. Then Emma told him about the Snow Queen and Elsa and how the Dark One controlled his heart before he was banished from Storybrooke. 

Emma swallowed thickly as tears gathered in her eyes. Now came the hard part. “After Elsa left, there weren’t any villains around. It was peaceful. You and I had dates. You were a part of family dinners and movie nights with my parents and son. Hell, I think Dad was starting to see you as his best friend.” Emma sniffed. “We told each other everything. I told you about my childhood, Henry’s father, things that I never shared with anyone.” Her throat caught. “You told me about Liam and Milah, about things you did working for Pan, about your father…” She closed her eyes. “We didn’t have secrets.” Tears started falling freely. Opening her eyes, Emma couldn’t look at Killian as she remembered his lifeless eyes. “We were heading home and there was this building that burned. The owners hired contractors to fix it and they left crap everywhere. When we passed by it…” Come on, Emma. You can do this. You can tell him. 

“A brick fell and hit you on the head.” Her lips trembled as she held back sobs. “You were right next to me one second and then…then you were gone. There was so much blood.” Her emotions wanted release, but Emma held back, knowing she needed to finish telling him. “When I realized you were dead,” She choked on the word. “I begged you to wake up. I wanted you back so badly. All I could think about was how we just found each other after all the time I wasted pushing you away.” Finally, she found the strength to look at him. It surprised her that his own eyes were glassy, clearly holding back his own emotions. She figured her tale overwhelmed him and adding on that he died might’ve been too much for him. “I passed out. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in the Enchanted Forest. I somehow, without a spell, or portal, or potion, time travelled fifteen months into the past. I couldn’t tell you how I did it, but all I can figure is that I wanted you back so much, that my magic responded.” Emma met his eyes. “I love you so much that I couldn’t live in a world where you didn’t exist.”

She sniffed again, wiping away her tears. “So, I decided that I wasn’t going to waste time. I was given a second chance, so I took it. I changed things. Maybe I shouldn’t have and maybe I’m playing God or something.” Emma shook her head. “I don’t know, but I do know that it doesn’t matter now.” Clearing her throat, she leaned forward, carefully taking his hand in hers. “What I do know is that no matter what, time traveling, changing the past, all of it is worth having you back. You’re worth it, Killian.” 

Killian could only swallow as a whirlwind of emotions overwhelmed him. Everything Emma spoke of was hard to believe, but in a world of magic, it wasn’t entirely impossible. But she time travelled for him? Because she loved him? That was much more improbable. He was a villain and his revenge was all he needed. How could someone clearly as good and light as Emma want anything to do with him, let alone love him so strongly that her magic acted out of her control as it did? “I…Time travel?”

Emma nodded. She pulled back, watching him, waiting. It was too much to take in, she knew. He’d need time. Hell, he’d need space. She’d have to give it to him. She promised no secrets, but she also wasn’t going to push him before he was ready. Changing the past or not, Emma wasn’t going to manipulate him into loving her. He needed to come to that on his own. He needed to give up his revenge on his own. “Yes. I still have a hard time believing it and I’m living through it.” 

Killian closed his eyes, massaging his temple, hoping to push away the beginnings of a headache. “You time traveled fifteen months in the past, because I died. Because you love a version of me?” He wasn’t under any illusions that his present self earned any affection from her.

“I love the man you could be.” Emma said. “But I’m not going to force you. You have a choice.”

“My revenge or you?” He snarled, defensive. He was already questioning his life choices and he didn’t want a guilt trip added to that. 

Emma flinched at his tone. “No. You can choose to live your life and let go of your pain and heal. Or, you can pursue your revenge and die and be reunited with Milah in the afterlife.” As much as it hurt to say, she couldn’t force him to let go of his revenge. It was his choice before, and it needed to be his choice now. 

Killian scoffed. “You time travelled to save me, and now you don’t care if I live or die?” He found that hard to believe. 

“No, I do care.” Emma snapped. “I want you to live, but I’m not going to make your choices for you and have you resent me for the rest of your life. You need to decide for yourself who you want to be and what life you want to live.” She leaned back, crossing her arms over his chest. “If you go after Rumplestiltskin, yes, I’ll be devastated, but I refuse to watch you die again. So you and I are going to Storybrooke tomorrow, and then we’ll part ways. You can find me when you make your choice.” 

Her passionate words stirred something in him, but Killian shoved it all down. He truly disliked the way this woman made him feel. 

Emma lost the rest of her appetite, so she grabbed her glass and the bottle of rum and stood. “I know it’s a lot to take in.” He wasn’t the only one overwhelmed with everything. For the first time in a week, she had a chance at privacy, and she was going to take it. “I think I’ll hunker down in the crew quarters for tonight. I’m taking the rum for my back. You have plenty more if you want to drink your problems away.” Okay, low blow since she knew he struggled with alcohol since he was a preteen, but she was tired, sore, and wanted to be alone. Killian wasn’t the only one who lashed at when in pain. 

Killian didn’t watch her leave. His eyes stared at the table, trying to process it all. Emma loved him, or a future version of him at least. One who gave up his revenge for her after only knowing her a few weeks. Three-hundred years he spent in the Hellscape that was Neverland, doing Pan’s grotesque bidding, searching for any means to kill the Dark One without becoming the very creature he hated, all for the woman he believed to be his truest love, and now this captivating stranger strode into his life only to tell him that he gave up everything he fought and suffered for for her? Killian couldn’t understand it. How could he just let it all go?

Worst of all, from how Emma spoke of the future, the Dark One still lived. 

He stood and walked over to his cabinets, where more rum was stored, took out another bottle, and took a rather large, bitter swig, anger running through his veins. Anger at himself for being weak and at Emma for apparently having so much power over him. Agitated, Killian stood and began to pace the length of the room. His future self told Emma everything; did that mean she knew about his childhood as a slave? Did she know about the scars he carried, physical and invisible? She knew about Liam. She knew Killian goaded him, leading to his death, that he was responsible. His skin crawled thinking about how much Emma knew when he knew so little about her. He hated it. He felt…exposed. 

Then there was the fact that Milah apparently meant nothing to him after all. His stomach twisted. Why did he always fail everyone he loved? Killian gulped down more rum, until the bottle was empty. His hand acted before his brain did and the bottle soared through the air, shattering against the wall. A scream of anguish left him, echoing throughout the ship as he fell to his knees. 

In the crew quarters, Emma sobbed, letting out every emotion she’d been holding in since Killian’s death. Her body shook as she cried for the future she lost, the possible future she would have now, losing Killian, losing Killian again if he decided on a different path, everything hit her all at once. Emma had been alone in her life many times, but the despairing loneliness that gripped her now put all of her past to shame. She was adrift at sea with only hope to guide her and she wasn’t sure of that was enough. 

It was too late to go back to the beginning. She made her choice and now she and everyone else would have to live with it for better or worse. 

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

They watched the sunrise from the roof of the library. The young man with his mother’s blue eyes and dark hair and the woman with their father’s curls and brown eyes sat together overlooking the sleepy little town. 

“Don’t get too giddy.” The young man said to his older sister. “The Captain and the Savior will find their way back to Storybrooke.” The pair always were too clever and resourceful. It proved rather infuriating in the past…or future as it were. 

“I know.” She grinned. “And when they get here, we’ll kill them. Or, well, we’ll make it accidental. Like the brick in the last timeline.” She giggled at all of the fun ways to kill the Truest of Love couple. 

He turned to his sister. “You aren’t concerned as to why we have to time travel to kill him again? You don’t think they changed the past in our stead?” They could too. After all, despite his sister’s confidence, Light Magic often won out. Particularly the Arcanum. He shuddered at the thought of the power of the entire Arcanum coming down on them. 

“They follow the rules.” She huffed. “It will be too detrimental for them to time travel as well. Even if they did, they’d try to change very little.” 

“They might not if it means correcting what we’ve done.” He countered. “This is a dangerous game we’re playing. The Grand Design…”

“Oh don’t be so serious.” She chided, pouting. “We have the darkest of magic on our side. We were meant to rule over these plebeians and we will make sure father lives this time to aide our rise to power.”

He wished his sister took the threat of the Arcanum more seriously. “You forget that there are more of them. Particularly the Seventh.” Did she forget how sacred seven was to magic? How much power seven held?

“He won’t do anything to alter history too much.” She was adamant in her beliefs. The Arcanum wouldn���t break the rules of magic. They were confined by them. She and her brother were above them. It was that simple. 

“If it means protecting his family, ensuring that the Savior and her happy ending live on…”

“You doubt our plans.” She stood angrily, cutting off her brother.  “We are this close to achieving our goals. We just need to get rid of…”

“I don’t doubt our plans or you, sister dear.” He corrected. “I just worry that you underestimate them.” 

She scoffed. “You fear them, you mean?”

“I have a healthy respect for their power.” He said. He too stood. “Come on then. Let’s see what Snow White and her prince are up to. If they come, they will seek out allies.”

The sister nodded and the pair teleported away in whirls of black smoke. 

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

It was well past sunrise when Emma went up to the deck, ignoring the pounding headache from the rum. Killian wasn’t anywhere to be found, so she assumed he was probably sleeping off his own hangover in his room. 

Emma walked to the bow of the ship, looking out over the sparkling sea. Sleep hadn’t come easy last night. After her crying ceased, anxiety and doubt kept her tossing and turning and when she dozed off, nightmares plagued her. The rum only numbed the pain in her back, not the one in her heart. She finally gave up around sunrise, lying in her misery as her mind mulled over every decision she made since her arrival to the past. Even though she saved Killian, what was the cost? 

Regina once told her that it was Dark Magic that had a price. Light Magic, so long as it was used for good, only put good out into the world. It was a balance. 

Dark Magic ate away at the user, darkening hearts, corrupting good, while Light Magic only reinforced the goodness of a being. However, with the good came a higher price. Should a user of Light Magic use their magic for evil, then they’d become the darkest of magic users. Light and Dark were antithesis after all. Light couldn’t be used for evil and Dark couldn’t be used for good. It was how Regina explained her magic weakening over the months of her using it for good. 

“I’ve used only Dark Magic my entire life.” Regina said. “Since I’ve been using it for good, it wants to transform into Light Magic. Of course, I slip up and use it for bad, and I’m back where I started. Transitioning from Light to Dark is quick and overwhelming because of temptation. It’s a powerful, corrupting force. It’s addicting. It is an addiction. Going from Dark to Light is harder. It’s like being an alcoholic. You kick it for a bit, but if you aren’t careful, you fall off the wagon. Then you have to start your sobriety all over again. It’s a constant struggle. Since I’m in the midst of it, my powers are weakened from going back and forth. It took me years to build up my Dark Magic and my heart is still darkened. It will take more years for that darkness to go away and for me to grow stronger.”

Emma wondered if her time traveling with her Light Magic was fueled by a dark intent. Selfish, sure, but did selfish mean dark? Would she pay a price for what she’d done? 

She didn’t know and that worried her as much as what would happen between her and Killian now did. Emma sighed, leaning against the railing, feeling the weight of the world crushing down on her. She felt as though she was Atlas, serving her punishment for her going against fate. Maybe. Was fate even really a thing? Her mother liked to think so. Emma heard Snow’s spiels on fate, True Loves, and happy endings often enough. 

Was Killian fated to die, or was she fated to time travel and save him? That was the question. 

So lost in her thoughts, Emma didn’t hear him come onto the deck or his footsteps as he walked towards her. “Doubloon for your thoughts, Swan?” His voice was soft, uncertain, but it still startled her. 

“Hey.” Emma held herself, standing back from him, unsure of where they stood. 

Killian scratched behind his ear, looking away from her. He drunk himself into unconsciousness last night and his head throbbed him into a wakeful state. He took a potion to cure his hangover, and with that came a clarity of thought. He wasn’t sure he wanted to follow in his future self’s footsteps, he wasn’t sure if he wanted a life with her, but he wallowed in his revenge for so long, Killian wondered if it blinded him. Was the life he lived one Milah would’ve wanted for him? Would she want him to have killed, maimed, kidnapped, stolen in her name? 

Killian second guessed every choice he made and where it led him. He wanted to hate Emma Swan for the way he doubted himself and his path, but his heart was too tired. He was tired. And Emma needed to get home to her family. “Are you ready to go?” 

Emma nodded. “Yeah.” She pulled the bean from where it rested in her pocket. Without a thought, she handed the bean over to him. 

Killian fingered it gently, remembering the last time he used one. Shaking his head, he pocketed the bean. “Let’s weigh anchor and sail further out.”

Emma nodded. It didn’t take too long as Killian expertly guided his ship away from the harbor, further into the ocean. Emma took a steadying breath as he threw the bean. 

The swirling portal slowly expanded and Killian sailed his ship straight on into it.

Emma held onto the railing tightly. She was going home and the unknown all at once. 

It was time to brave a new future. Maybe she was strong enough, maybe she wasn’t, but she was going to find out one way or another.