#deadly voice epilogue

[scarlet-star-witch]

The moon and his sun (Part VII - Final Part)

Aemond Targaryen x Female Reader

Summary: People would remember their story. Even decades after they were gone, Septa’s would tell young children about the one-eyed dragon prince and his sweet wife as if they were a part of a fairytale, too good to be true for the harshness real life possessed.

Aemond meets a young girl who quickly becomes his most cherished friend and changes the course of history.

Word count: 13.2 K

Warnings: Angst as usual, Aegon testing my patience, smut, and fluff

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5 Part 6 ... Epilogue

~~

She and Aemond had barely spoken since their fight, the strain between them growing with each passing day.

He was always quick to leave their chambers in the early morning, leaving her to break her fast by herself. 

She didn’t mind, she found she had trouble even meeting his eye without feeling as though her insides were crumbling into dust, reminding her of how easy it would be to lose him. 

It felt like dying a slow, agonizing death. 

The door to their chambers opened and she instinctively perked up at the thought of seeing her husband, despite the warring emotions within her, but she immediately froze, fear rising as Aegon strolled inside as if they were his own chambers. 

He smiled widely at the sight of her and was quick to take a seat beside her, entirely too close for her liking. 

“What are you doing?”

“Joining my sweet sister for breakfast.” Aegon smiled, the gesture anything but innocent as he helped himself to the spread of food in front of him. “Where is my brother?”

“He’ll be back soon.” She answered immediately, as if she could use Aemond’s presence to deter him from staying. But with the way he looked at her intently, it was obvious he didn’t believe her. 

He knew the rift between them kept Aemond out of his chambers for hours on end. 

With a lump in her throat that grew larger and heavier with each second that passed with Aegon beside her, she kept her eyes down, beginning to sparsely pick at her food. 

“You know I never thought much of you.” Aegon began, his gaze never wavering from her tense form that refused to relax in his presence. 

She flinched and jerked away as Aegon’s fingers brushed against her cheek, her breathing becoming heavy as she fought hard not to smack the most powerful man in the realm. 

He smirked at her as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, feeling victorious at the sight of her discomfort. 

“It wasn’t until I saw you bouncing on my brother’s cock…saw this body bare, saw the kind of whore you are, that it felt as though I was truly seeing you for the first time.” He crooned, his fingers tracing down the length of her jaw and down her neck. 

As his fingers trailed downwards, getting close to the dip of her breasts, she finally snapped, her hand shooting out, gripping onto his wrist tightly, desperate to stop him before he could touch her further, in places only her husband had ever touched her. 

“Careful, sister. The punishment for putting your hands on your King could cost you your hand.” Aegon warned, delighting in the fury that crossed her features. “Save that fire for my bed.” 

“I will slit my throat before you could ever take me to your bed.” She told him with a fire in her voice that only made his eyes light with intrigue and delight, knowing he was getting under her skin exactly the way he wanted. 

The door to their chambers opened, Aemond stepping inside wearily, though when he saw Aegon, how close he was sitting to his wife, his wrist encased in her grip, her face drawn tightly with hatred, did cold dread settle over him, washing away any ounce of hesitation he felt to face her and their fight.

“What are you doing here?” He barked at his brother, his face hard with a deadly scowl.

“Just getting to know my future wife.” 

Aemond grit his teeth. It took all of his willpower to not beat his brother into oblivion. 

“Get out.” He ordered sternly, though Aegon only laughed and leaned back in his seat.

“No.”

Aegon’s sharp response had Aemond flinching in surprise, his surprise overtaking his anger for a moment at the presence of his weak brother’s backbone. It seemed that the crown on his head had finally made him unmovable in the face of his younger’s brother’s rage that used to make him cower.

“I am your King, you don’t command me, brother.” 

Aemond, without caring for the consequences or the threat of Aegon’s guards that stood outside the door, stormed forward, grabbing his brother by the shirt and hauling him to his feet, desperate to wrench him away from his wife who watched on with fear. 

“If you have any hope of winning this war, it is because of me and my dragon. You are a drunken idiot that has no idea what it truly takes to rule and if you wish to keep breathing and sitting on that throne you will keep your mouth shut and stay far away from my wife.” Aemond spat darkly, jerking his wastrel of a brother in his harsh grip. 

“I am already a Kinslayer and I will take whatever judgment the Gods give me for sinning again.” Aemond threatened him, his hatred clear. 

Aegon looked back at him with nothing but disdain, hating the fact that he needed Aemond, needed Vhagar, to fight his cause. His harsh glare moved to the woman who remained sitting, watching the brothers with wide, nervous eyes. 

“I will see you soon, Sister.” Aegon drawled out the word as if it were an insult, sneering at her one last time before he shoved his brother off him and made his way out of their chambers, leaving the couple in a tense silence. 

Aemond breathed heavily and turned toward his wife, his eye softening immediately at the sight of her. 

“Did he hurt you?”

“No.” She spoke quietly. 

Aemond watched her carefully, noting that she had yet to meet his eye. He sighed and sat next to her. The news from the council the previous night that he had yet to tell her weighed on him heavily. 

She had been asleep by the time he returned to their chambers last night and he loathed to wake her, especially for news that would only upset her. 

“We are to go to battle tomorrow.” He finally blurted out. 

His words finally had her gaze rising to meet him, a startled fearfulness growing in her eyes. 

“I am taking Vhagar to Rook’s Rest.” 

She remained quiet as she took in his words, the growing fear inside of her quickly incapacitating her. A thousand thoughts ran through her head, most of them all the ways she could lose him.  

The longer she stayed quiet, the more tense he became. 

“I’ve talked to my mother.” He continued quickly, looking at her hopefully. “She has agreed to let go of the annulment. I’ve asked her to station more guards at the door. A group will be with you any day I’m not here. They will protect you while I’m gone and if I… if anything happens in battle… they will take you home.” 

Her eyes watched him calculatingly, as if she were staring at a stranger and not the man she loved. Her mind was a mess of thoughts, none of which she could really make sense of. 

Her silence rang out in the room loudly, agonizing Aemond. He looked at her intently, pleadingly. 

“Say something, please.” He whispered weakly. 

She let out a long sigh, her face impassive, not revealing any emotion. Even the sight of her husband’s sadness wasn’t enough to sway her. 

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything.” He practically begged, her monotonous voice causing an ache to grow within him.

She grit her teeth, looking away from him. “Do you really believe it?”

“What?”

“That your mother is no longer a pawn in that ridiculous plan. That a few more measly guards will protect me from your family. That in the event of your death, I’ll be free to go home and not thrown in the black cells or shackled to Aegon’s bed.”

Aemond flinched at each of her words, looking pained at the reminder of the danger she was in, the danger his own family was placing on her head. 

“You are many things, Husband, but I have never known you to be naive.” 

“I am not naive-”

“You are if you believe I am safe here, especially in your absence.” She interrupted him sharply. “If you were to die in battle, that would be the end of me. No one would take me home, no one would let me live out the rest of my days as a mourning widow, they would have their boots on my neck the minute it was clear you would not be around to protect me.”

Only a stunted breath escaped him, as words were lost to him.

He looked at her pleadingly, but the guilt that lingered in his gaze did not go unnoticed by her and it only served to fuel her anger, knowing that he knew exactly the situation they were in, exactly the hard rock they were pushed up against by his own family.

“They won’t hurt you.” He began and held back a wince as she scoffed and shook her head. “They won’t. I have to believe it.”

“You have to?” She repeated, almost mockingly.

“Yes, because I cannot take another fucking breath if I don’t.” He replied loudly, his desperation, his slipping control clear as he looked at her, his eye wide and brimming with frustration. 

Her expression changed in an instant, the hard front she was portraying shattering the moment she saw how close her husband was to cracking. He had always tried to shield her from the worst parts of him, never wanting her to worry or fuss over him.

It wasn’t often he let her see him falter, but she could see now just how exhausted and broken he was over everything that had happened in the past month. 

She suddenly thought of all the times he had held her, picked her back up when her grief knocked her down, and she struggled to think of the times she was there for him, when he allowed her to be strong for him when he couldn’t.

He didn’t let himself show his weakness, hardly even to her, and it was slowly crushing him. 

“Do you truly have to go tomorrow?” She asked quietly, the fight gone from her voice. 

“I do.” 

There was a hesitation to him, as if he knew it wasn’t a good idea, but didn’t have another choice. He was burdened by the duty he was shackled to, beaten down by the sentiment that had been drilled in him since he was a child.

He felt this was all he could do, simply because his family told him so.

She hated they had such a hold on him, that they held such control over him.

“I will come back.” He told her, looking at her intently, as if he could will her to believe it. 

She just nodded, her throat growing tight with emotion at the thought of how tomorrow could go so wrong, at the thought of losing the one person she cherished with her entire being. The thought of losing him was already unfathomable, but the thought of losing him now, never being able to heal the rift between them was enough to break her. 

He stood, hesitating for a moment, knowing he had to meet with Ser Criston, but wary of leaving his wife, of furthering the divide between them. 

He looked to her longingly, as if he wanted to reach out to her, to kiss her, to lavish his affection on her as he used to, but just couldn’t find the courage to. 

He didn’t know if she even wanted him to, so he settled for a half-hearted nod and a mumble of goodbye before leaving her side once again, feeling as though the cracks in his heart were growing deeper and deeper with each passing day they were fractured.

She remained in his thoughts for the rest of the day, as she always did any moment he was not at her side.

He didn’t see her until that night at the feast Aegon was adamant on hosting. It was more of an excuse for Aegon to lavish in praises for his bravery for their planned battle on the morrow. 

Aemond could only roll his eyes at his brother’s brazen showmanship. 

They would run out of coin soon enough with all the celebrations he’d thrown in the short amount of time he sat on the throne. 

It seemed parties were the only thing Aegon could think to decree during his reign, despite the war that raged. It was a wonder a battle even got planned with his ambivalence for planning anything that didn’t include wine.

He looked to his wife sat by his side, her expression portraying she’d rather be anywhere else. She boredly looked among the dancing couples and reveling Lords who were drinking copiously, their laughter unable to stir a smile of her own. 

Aemond knew better than to ask if she wanted to dance. He knew she would refuse. 

He thought back to that night, the beginning of their divide and wanted to scream and cry all at once for the state of things, for this dreaded feeling of being so far from her in a way he had never experienced before. 

The thought of her not by his side was too terrifying to even imagine. The thought of her willingly separating from him broke his heart and he didn’t know how to react in any way but anger.

She had barely spoken to him since that night and it wasn’t as though he was any more forthcoming in swallowing his pride and apologizing for his anger that had struck her that fateful day.

Next to him, his mother sat, sending him a weak smile. Despite her assurance that she wouldn’t be forcing an annulment, he couldn’t deny that he had trouble believing her, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how agonizing it was to not believe it. So he did what he could to force himself to. 

But he knew he would worry every time he was not at his wife’s side that Aegon would swoop in and use his power to take her from him.

His brother was certainly not above despicable behavior. 

His wife was barely able to look at his family. A curt smile was all she was able to give as they arrived that evening. The only real emotion she had shown was towards Helaena, but even then it was only a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes. 

Aemond was sure it did not go unnoticed how tense the table of royals looked. He could only imagine the gossip that was spreading about them. 

He felt as though he could breathe easier once his mother retired for the night, his view of her irrevocably changed since that meeting. 

He tapped his fingers against the table erratically, stealing another look at his wife. A servant placed a new cup of wine before her and Aemond waved his hand, refusing another cup for himself, it was only making his already churning stomach worse. 

“Are you enjoying the music?” He asked, internally wincing to himself for how awkward he sounded as he tried to engage his wife in conversation. 

“Not particularly.” She answered monotonously. 

Aemond’s lips parted, but no words were found. It felt like talking to a stranger than to the woman he had loved for years.

“Could you two cheer up?” Aegon chastised as he approached the table to fill up his cup. “You look like you’re attending a funeral.” 

Aegon’s attention on her seemed to be the last straw of her already waning patience. With a sigh, she pushed her chair out and stood.

“I’m tired, I’m going to retire for the night.” She explained and left without another word.

Aemond watched her go with a frown. The lack of affection wasn’t something he was used to, not from her at least and it was enough to leave him with a sick feeling in his stomach. 

“She’s become quite frigid.” Aegon noted, not bothering to look at his brother and catch the glare he would surely be sending his way. “Have you stopped fucking her? Is that why she’s become such a surly bitch?” 

Aemond grit his teeth, his hands twitching with the urge to knock his brother’s teeth out. It seemed the drunken idiot had already forgotten about his earlier threat on his life. 

“Well, if she’s not drinking it.” Aegon laughed, grabbing the goblet that sat before his wife’s empty seat, handing it over to some foot soldier from the Lannister army who eagerly swallowed it down in one gulp, the cheering crowd around him growing raucous. 

Aemond could barely contain his annoyance, his desire to leave overwhelming. His fingers tapped at the table incessantly, itching to follow his wife, to be as far from Aegon’s arrogance as he could. 

“Must you look so sullen, brother?” Aegon chastised him.

Meeting the glassy eyes of his drunken brother, Aemond was forced to use all the willpower he possessed to not throw a punch, removing the smug smile from his face. 

“Stop crying over your wife. There are plenty of other women here-”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Aemond snapped at him darkly. 

Aegon scoffed, a multitude of insults on the tip of his tongue, but the sound of hacking coughs caught both of their attention. They looked to the Lannister soldier, his eyes wide, his face turning red as he gasped for air that wouldn’t come. He clutched at his neck, his body-shaking coughs bringing him to his knees.

The chattering of the crowd ceased, leaving terrified gasps and screams as men quickly surrounded the dying man, surveying for a threat.

Aemond stood from his seat, taking large steps forward, pushing others out of the way. He took in the scene before him with a growing dread. His gaze moved from the man twitching out a last painful breath, blood and bile spilling from his lips, to the empty cup on the ground. 

The cup that was meant for his wife. 

Something broke inside him at the realization. 

He rushed out of the room, elbowing his way past the crowd. He sprinted through the halls, a shrill ringing in his ears, his mind conjuring the horrible sights that he would find. 

What if he wasn’t fast enough this time?

He had already lost his child, he couldn’t lose her. 

The thoughts raced through his mind torturously as he ran, his fear growing with each step. His pulse thundered in his ears, his throat tight as he pictured the gruesome scene waiting for him.

He came to an abrupt stop, almost losing his footing, his chest heaving as he narrowed his gaze on the lone guard at their chamber doors. The man startled slightly at the sudden appearance of the disheveled prince and he bowed, greeting him dutifully. 

“Has anyone been inside?” 

“No, my Prince. Not since your wife.”

He stepped forward purposefully, the adrenaline in his veins and the fear that lingered, causing his hands to tremble. 

“Where’s the rest of you?”

“My Prince?” The guard questioned in confusion.

“Where are the other guards? There’s supposed to be more of you here keeping watch.” He seethed impatiently, the man before him blanching in intimidation.

“I-I’m sorry my Prince. It is only me. I have not heard of any others to be stationed with me.”

Aemond stared the man down angrily, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn’t quite make sense of. He pushed past the guard and rushed into his chambers, his shoulders sagging immediately, expelling a heavy exhale of relief as he spotted her. 

His wife lay in their bed, fast asleep and unharmed. 

He stepped towards her on weak legs, sitting on the edge of the bed, taking a moment to just look at her, to ease his wounded mind. He knew he wasn’t reaching, that what had happened just minutes ago, that man choking on his own blood, was no accident. 

Someone had tried to take her from him, again. 

He leaned down, placing a gentle kiss to her forehead, reveling in the sweet scent of the floral oil she had put in her hair that night. 

“I’ll make it right, I promise.” He whispered into the quiet room, needing to speak the promise aloud, even if she wasn’t awake to hear it. He needed to reassure himself that he could protect her, for he felt as though he had been failing. 

With one last lingering look at her, he stood and stepped out of the room, giving a quick warning to the guard to be on alert as he stomped down the hall. 

He made it to his mother’s chambers, barely acknowledging Ser Criston who stood vigil and stormed inside. 

His mother startled at his abrupt entrance and her face twisted, gearing up to scold him, but she soon noticed the fear in his eye, the lingering fury that made her stiffen.

“What’s happened?” She asked tersely, placing a hand over her racing heart, her stomach churning for what she was about to hear. 

“A man was murdered tonight.” He spoke monotonously. 

“What? Who?” Alicent asked breathlessly. 

“He drank from my wife’s cup. He drank the wine that was meant for her and barely a minute later he was dead.” 

Alicent’s throat went tight, her blood running cold within her veins. She straightened her posture, attempting to remain composed. 

“Rhaenyra and Daemon’s bloodlust knows no bounds.” 

“Where were the guards?” Aemond asked abruptly, glossing over his mother’s comment.

“What guards?” 

“In front of our chambers.” He clarified, his voice hard as stone. “I asked you to assign more, to ensure my wife would be protected. You said you would, but there was only one.”

Alicent’s heart raced wildly within her chest, the rapid rise and fall of her chest visible as she tried hard to settle her breathing. 

“I will have a talk with them. They should have been there.” She answered, the wavering of her voice clear, forcing her to swallow hard in an attempt to get rid of the lump that had grown and threatened to stop her from breathing.

Aemond watched his mother thoughtfully, the sinking feeling he had already been plagued with growing tenfold the longer he watched her, slowly becoming aware of her charade. 

His eyes moved to watch the flames dance in the fireplace, breathing out a long sigh as the thoughts in his head swirled like a hurricane. He wanted to refuse it, to not believe his mother would ever have anything to do with something so sinister, but her entire being portrayed guilt. He knew his family's ambitions made for crass and even sometimes despicable actions, he knew the way of war, he just never expected to fall victim to it at the hands of the ones who should have loved him dearly. 

“I was excited to be a father.” He started quietly, the tension in his body the only sign of the storm silently raging within him. “I knew I would have done anything for my child. They could’ve asked me for the stars and I would have flown on Vhagar in the night and taken every one of them from the sky.” 

The mention of the babe he had lost had Alicent’s chest tightening, her eyes beginning to sting with tears that threatened to give away the turmoil plaguing her. 

“I don’t even have a babe to hold and I know I would have done whatever I could to make them happy.” His voice became stunted, anger tinging the heartbreaking words that kept his emotions on a short tether, the reminder of what he lost, what had been ripped so brutally from him and his beloved. 

His lone eye raised from the fire and landed on his mother who seemed to squirm under his intense gaze. 

“You… you weren’t even trying to keep me from my happiness, you’re trying to rip it right out of my hands.”

Alicent’s breath caught in her throat, her stomach sinking with dread. 

“I don’t know what-”

“You know exactly what I’m speaking of.” He interrupted her angrily, his hands clenched into fists as it took all of his restraint to not lunge at her, having to constantly remind himself that the woman in front of him was his mother.

“Think about what you are accusing me of, it’s absolutely ridiculous.” Alicent screeched, her emotions fraying as she desperately tried to pull her son back to her. 

“You never wanted me to marry her. You wanted to deny me her, you wanted to tear her from me even when you knew she was the only one that truly made me happy.”

Alicent rolled her eyes, her fear quickly shifting into indignation. That Island girl has sunk her claws so deep in her son, she scarcely recognized him anymore. 

“The only one?” She questioned, almost sarcastically. “After everything I’ve done and you still don’t see that it was all for you, for our family.” 

Aemond let out a bitter sounding laugh, a sound that would have sent chills down the spine of a lesser man. 

“Tell me, Mother, when exactly were you thinking about my happiness? When you tried to force an annulment from the woman I love or when you tried to murder her?” 

Alicent’s voice caught in her throat. Each word was like a slap to the face. The guilt churned in her stomach so violently she thought she was going to be sick. 

“I know grandsire’s ambitions would have retribution, but I never thought you would bend to them at the expense of your children.”

Alicent sunk back in her chair, the fight swept from her as she realized Aemond was not going to budge an inch. She picked at the skin by her nails anxiously, her teeth biting her bottom lip incessantly as her heart raced. 

“We needed to help Aegon’s cause.”

The whispered words were all the confession he needed to hear. 

Aemond fumed silently, his jaw clenching so tightly it was a wonder he didn’t crack any of his teeth. His first thought was that he couldn’t believe his own mother would do this to him, to break him into disrepair by taking his wife from him, but as he remembered the forced annulment, he soon realized he didn’t really know his mother at all. 

“We know what Rhaenyra would do to us once she sat on the throne. I had to protect you, I did what I could so our family would survive.”

Aemond scoffed bitterly. He too once thought his life would be forfeit once his half-sister rose to power, but the longer he thought of it over the years, the more he spoke of those fears with his wife, the more he realized how unfounded they had been. 

“You really think my father-by-law would allow that to happen? Ixtal is King’s Landing’s greatest importer, you think Rhaenyra would risk the entirety of the realm, her position as ruler, just to do away with siblings she could not spare a second thought for?” 

“You don’t know that!” Alicent yelled, becoming desperate as she felt as though her son was slipping through her fingers.

Aemond sighed and stood from his chair, heading towards the door, but Alicent’s sobs stopped him as she begged him not to go.

“Aemond, you have to understand.” She cried. “I had to do what I could to keep you safe. You will see that one day, you will see that I only did what I thought was right for our family.”

To hear her speak of the life of his wife, his greatest love, as nothing more than collateral made him feel sick, his disdain growing even further. 

“I hope you will see one day that your ambition is what ruined this family.” 

With those final words, he left, leaving his mother to sob in solitude. He numbly walked back to his chambers, the look in his mother’s eyes haunting his mind. 

It wasn’t until he was behind the closed door of his chamber, standing in the dark room that he allowed himself to release a shuddering breath, his throat tightening as it all caught up to him. 

His mother’s betrayal was like a dagger to the stomach, letting the wound bleed until there was nothing left of him. 

His gaze fell on his sleeping wife and the dam broke. Tears fell from his eyes as he realized how close he had been to losing her and by the hands of his own family. It was enough to undo him completely. 

He knelt at her bedside, unable to stop the tears that fell. His lip trembled, shaking breaths escaping him as he clutched to her hand. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He whispered weakly. 

She stirred and blinked her weary eyes open, frowning immediately as she noticed the tears her husband was shedding.

“Aemond? What happened?” She asked tiredly, propping herself up on her elbow as she intertwined their fingers. 

“I didn’t protect you.” He whispered, his voice tight with tearful emotion.

“What are you talking about?”

“The second this war started, I should’ve done something. I knew you weren’t safe here, I knew you weren’t safe with them and I didn’t do anything. I’m so sorry, issa prūmia, please forgive me.” 

“Aemond…” She was stunned, watching as her husband, the stoic man she knew, broke into pieces before her. 

She laid her hand over his that held her other tightly, caressing gentle touches over his hardened knuckles. 

“Darling, there’s nothing to forgive.” She assured him, but the look on his face remained tortured. 

He sniffled and wiped his tears forcefully, tearing his hand from hers and he got to his feet, making his way across their chambers to her wardrobe. 

“I’m getting you out of here.” He spoke, his voice now full of determination.

“What?”

“It’s not safe for you here. You’re going back to Ixtal.”

Her heart jumped in her chest, it was everything she had wanted since this war started, but she couldn’t ignore the lingering dread that settled within her like lead, realizing what it would mean for them. The thought of separating from him was unbearable. 

“I’m not leaving without you.” She spoke forcefully, standing from the bed, her eyes hardened as she stared back at her husband. 

She knew it was a big ask to leave his family and his home for her, but circumstances were different now. She had already lost so much, she wasn’t going to lose him too, she certainly wasn’t going to let his family take advantage of her absence and shackle him to another woman. 

Aemond swallowed thickly and stepped towards her, his hands cradling her face gently as he revered her with nothing but adoration, his decision made in a split second.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere but by your side.” 

Her face softened, emotions swelling, tightening her throat. 

“What happened?” She asked quietly. His change of heart was unexpected and the state of him she had woken to was more than concerning. It wasn’t often he let himself feel his emotions, except anger of course, and it was upsetting to say the least.

Aemond seemed to shudder at her question, his eyes holding a faraway look that seemed tortured. 

“Not yet.” He said, his voice barely audible. He would tell her everything once they were safe, once they were far from King’s Landing and his scheming family. “Pack your things, we need to be quick and leave before the light.” 

She nodded and rushed to her wardrobe, hauling out as many dresses as she could carry and tossed them on the bed. A sudden realization came to her, igniting her worries once more.

“Wait, Aemond.” She spoke up frantically. “Helaena and the children. We can’t leave without them, they’re not safe here.”

Aemond’s entire being softened. Helaena and her children were the only ones, outside of her, that he cared about above anyone else and her care for them, her willingness to accept them as her own warmed his heart, only confirming to him that he was making the right decision.

His mother’s betrayal stung, it festered in him like a disease that threatened to spread and ruin him, but he pushed it down. He would feel the heartbreak when they were safe in Ixtal.

It didn’t take long for them to pack their meager belongings. They didn’t need to take much, there wasn’t much of anything with sentimental value he would miss. He just needed his wife at his side. 

They traveled through the hidden halls, quickly coming to the entrance of Helaena’s room. Aemond pushed the entrance open slowly, wincing at the noise, hoping he wasn’t about to scare his sweet sister.

He was soon shocked, flinching back as he met the awaiting eyes of his sister, her children cradled to her sides, bags at their feet.

“Is it time?” 

“What- Helaena…”

“We are leaving, are we not?” 

“Well… yes, but-”

“Let’s go. We shouldn’t waste any more time.” She smiled warmly, placing her hand on her brother’s cheek briefly before moving towards her friend, wrapping her up in a tight hug, her gratitude overflowing from her. “I knew you would be our saving grace.”

The whispered words of the Princess left her shocked. She had to shake herself of her surprise and hauled Jaehaerys into her arms. With Helaena carrying Jaehaera, their bags secured with Aemond leading them, they were on their way. His hand fluttered towards the sword at his hip every so often, senses sharp and at the ready for anything and anyone that dared to stop them.

It didn’t take long to get to the Dragon Pit.

“I’ll meet you outside with Vhagar.” Aemond assured her and with one last squeeze of her hand, he was gone. 

Her heart was in her throat, her palms sweating with nerves as she helped strap the children’s bags to Dreamfyre’s saddle. Once Helaena was seated on her dragon, she helped Jaehaera up and strapped her in. 

“It’s alright, my Darlings.” Helaena cooed to her children who were quiet and sullen with fright. “We’re going to a beautiful place where we’ll be safe.” 

“Is father coming too?” Jaehaera asked quietly and Helaena shook her head, almost seemingly delighted to share the news of the absence of their father. But the child just nodded and whispered ‘good’. 

She repressed a shudder. She didn’t want to think of the neglect Aegon had forced on his children. She swept Jaehaerys up into her arms once again, her heart aching as he nuzzled into her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. 

“You like to swim, don’t you, Jae?”

He nodded against her and she smiled, brushing her fingers through his hair soothingly.

“I know where to find the most beautiful beaches. You’ll get to swim in the bluest water you’ve ever seen where the fish swim between your toes and jump out of the water to greet you.”

“Will you show me?” 

She smiled and nodded. “I’ll take you there myself.” 

With the assurance, he loosened his grip on her, more at ease. A distant roar caught their attention, the familiar sound of Vhagar. With one last look to Helaena, silently assuring her that she would keep her son safe, she slipped out of the Dragon Pit, hurrying her way up the hill where Vhagar rested. 

Her hope spiked, her fear receding slightly as she spotted Aemond atop his dragon. Their escape was imminent. No one would stop them now, not when they had Vhagar to face. 

She helped Jaehaerys climb up into the waiting arms of his uncle who strapped him in carefully. She climbed, her movements familiar use, not something she’d ever thought she would say in relation to dragon riding, but Aemond had been insistent over the years of his two favorite girls bonding. 

She used to roll her eyes at him, but now she couldn’t have been more thankful. 

As she settled herself, her heart sped, uncertainty suddenly overtaking her adrenaline, the gravity of their actions soon crashing into her overwhelmingly. She placed her hand over Aemond's, stopping him before he could grasp the reins. 

“Aemond,” She spoke, her voice tight as her mind raced. “You have to be sure, entirely sure, that this is what you want.” 

He sighed, as if disappointed by her hesitation, believing he would ever second guess the decision to run away with her, to keep her safe. 

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” He assured her, tilting her chin with his finger so she was looking at him head on. “I promised you, didn’t I? We’re going to Ixtal where we’ll grow old and raise our children.” 

His words, which were once said in the comfort of their sheets, their love nothing more than a secret from the rest of the realm, soothed every ounce of insecurity that had crept through her veins. 

She breathed out in relief and leaned forward, kissing him swiftly. 

Dreamfyre’s roar broke them apart and they watched as Helaena took flight with her daughter. 

“Are you ready, Jae?” 

The child nodded eagerly to his uncle and leaned back into his aunt’s arms, holding tightly to her as the mighty dragon below them rumbled and stretched her wings, taking to the skies with ease. 

The moonlight was their only guide in the dead of night. It wasn’t until they settled high in the sky, covered by the clouds, easy on their course, did she finally let herself relax. She leaned back into the strong chest behind her, her husband’s hand leaving the reins to wrap around her, securing herself to his front, his forehead rested against hers, a look of nothing but pure contentment on his face, a far cry from the scowl that had been securely etched onto his features for months. 

She knew his decision to leave could not have been easy and she was terrified to hear what had happened, what the final straw was to get him to agree to leave the place he called home, to leave his mother behind.

She leaned into him, as if needing his comfort from the mere thought of what transpired to make him turn his back on the woman that raised him.

Aemond held her tightly, breathing in the scent of her, his eye falling closed in fulfillment at the feel of her skin under his fingertips. Even the brush of her hair against his face in the wind was the greatest thing he could have ever felt. 

She was all he needed. 

A weight was lifted from his chest, allowing him to breathe easier the farther they flew from King’s Landing. His family’s schemes, his mother’s betrayal, Aegon’s threats, they all seemed to melt away as the distance grew between them. 

The sun was just beginning to rise as they spotted the shores of Ixtal. 

Warmth bloomed within her at the sight of her home, knowing she was only minutes from reuniting with her family. 

She felt jittery, anxious excitement taking over every inch of her as they landed on the shores. A slew of guards were already waiting for them on the shores, the dragons having been spotted in the distance and causing mayhem in fear of a potential attack. 

Among the pointed spears and swords, she spotted her father’s face. She breathed shakily, eagerly undoing the straps around her waist, charging down from Vhagar’s back despite Aemond’s protests. 

She didn’t care for safety, she didn’t care for decorum. She charged towards the group of guards who soon lowered their weapons at their leader’s cries for a cease. Her father pushed the guards out of his way, coming to the front of the blockade, the sight of her causing tears to brim in his eyes. 

Barely a second later, she was in his arms, the force of her embrace almost knocking him off his feet. 

“You’re here.” He breathed out, holding tightly to his beloved daughter with a force that could only be portrayed by that of a father with a heavy heart. “How are you here? I haven’t heard from you in weeks, we thought-”

His words stopped as he noticed Aemond’s presence over her shoulder. His brows furrowed at the sight of the young child in his arms, his confusion only furthered as Princess Helaena stepped forward, another child in her arms. 

“You brought an entourage?”

Her face turned serious, worrying him immediately.

“Father, we… we’re seeking refuge from King’s Landing. It’s no longer safe for us there.”

He looked at his daughter incredulously, sensing there would be a long story to come. He nodded stiffly, having trouble tearing his eyes away from his daughter, his little girl he had been fraught with worry over the past moons.

A yell of her name sounded, catching their attention. Her face smoothed out, her worry disappearing as a bright smile grew. 

“Mother!” She called out, racing past her father and the litany of guards still standing at attention to seek out her mother who had raced out of the palace at the sight of the dragons, her arms open and ready for her daughter. 

Aemond watched, an ease settling over him as he saw her smile again, that bright, wondrous sight that could only assure him he had done the right thing. 

The Lord of Ixtal stepped forward, sending a polite smile to Helaena and eyeing the children with a soft gaze.

“Come, you must be exhausted from your journey.” He motioned them forward, allowing Helaena to lead, hand in hand with her twins, the two men settling in a matching pace side by side. “I knew you were the right man for the job.”

Aemond looked at the man beside him questioningly. 

“I knew you would keep my daughter safe. I never had any doubt.”

The young prince seemed to deflate under the praise. The guilt that had been festering within him unfurled, overtaking him so powerfully, he stopped walking.

“I didn’t- there was… it was too close-”

“Aemond,” His father-by-law placed his hand on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. “You’re here. You brought her home, safe and sound.”

“But I couldn't-”

“You are one man. You cannot fight the entire world of enemies alone, especially not when they are your own family.”

Aemond’s eye widened, looking perplexed by his words. The Lord just smiled sadly and shook his head.

“I had my suspicions from the start. I knew they didn’t want you to marry her, I knew their ambitions would become too great.”

Aemond just nodded stiffly, the words getting caught in his throat, not yet able to voice just what his family, his own mother, had done. 

“You’re a good man, Aemond. I hope you’ll be happy here.” 

“I will be.” He spoke, his voice laced with conviction, as if there were no doubts in his mind about his life now that he was standing on the sandy beaches of Ixtal, his future no longer out of his own control.

They stepped into the palace, his eyes finding her immediately. Her mother left her daughter’s side, coming towards him, a tearful smile gracing her features. 

Before he could say a word, she wrapped him in a tight hug. 

“Thank you.” She whispered to him, the words and the affectionate gesture plucking at his weakest points. The affection of a mother, a caring and kind soul, reminding him of what he had just lost, what he had purposefully stepped away from.

But it had never been like this. Alicent had never held him this tight, he had never felt love from his mother in a single touch, not like he was now from a woman he had met only a handful of times before. 

“You three look like you have hiked through the seven hells and back. Why don’t you rest for a while longer, we can talk later.” Her mother suggested. 

Helaena was guided to her new chambers for her and the children, her smile wide, no trace of derision from her escape. She seemed all too happy to be back to the place she had fallen in love with in that first visit years ago.

Aemond let his wife lead him to her old childhood chambers. 

He stepped in, taking in a deep breath, letting the events of the night roll off his back. He looked at the dried flowers and childhood drawings that lined the walls, some hers, some her siblings that had been gifted to her years ago that she couldn’t bear to part with. 

Her sentimental heart never failed to warm his own. 

As he set their bags down, his gaze fell to the view of the horizon from the balcony, picturing the chaos that would be ensuing across the sea in King’s Landing as their absence was discovered. 

He thought of his mother and the state she would be in once she realized both he and Helaena were gone, her grandchildren safe from their clutches. 

He let out a shaking breath and barely a second later, arms were winding around his waist. He hummed a grateful sounding noise, placing a hand over her clasped ones at his front.

“What are you thinking about?”

“They’ll send search parties.” He mused, his mind beginning to conjure the many ways his brother and grandsire could ruin the peace they tried to find for themselves.

“My father will handle it.” She assured him. “Besides, no one would dare try to force Vhagar away from here.” 

He smiled, his eyes falling to his mighty dragon that was basking in the sun, her wings fluttering in the waves that crashed onto the shore, her rumbles of contentment echoing up to their room. He looked over his shoulder at his wife, the warm feeling in chest growing at the sight of her, the ease she now carried around her.

“Thank you.”

Her eyes softened, a small smile growing. “I think I should be saying that to you.”

He had a million things he wanted to say but no idea how to say them. So he settled for kissing her softly, hoping it conveyed every ounce of love and adoration he held for her, the thanks he wanted to bestow upon her for saving his life, for saving his sister and her children. 

He pulled away regretfully, letting his forehead rest against hers as he thought over how close he had come to losing her just hours ago, causing tears to brim in his eye.

“I’m sorry.” He choked out, emotion welling his throat yet again. 

Her brows furrowed, not used to seeing him break as he was now, as he did just hours ago. 

“I haven’t been a good husband.” 

“Aemond-”

“I haven’t.” He spoke again, interrupting her attempt to soothe him. “I didn’t listen, I thought I could fight against everything alone. I pushed you away and I hurt you.” 

She watched him carefully, noting the guilt that seemed to seep out of every inch of him. 

“I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for it all, I swear.” He whispered frantically, as if he was desperate for her to believe him, as if she had any doubt. 

“What happened?” She questioned again, looking at him worriedly, but he shook his head, pushing the thought of this mother, of that man choking on his own blood, from his mind. 

“Not yet.” He whispered again, not yet ready to reveal to her the threat on her life, not wanting to break the peace they’d finally found after months of such heart-breaking tension. 

She was in his arms, they were safe, his sister and her children were safe. That was all that mattered. 

He kissed her again, this time firmer, more sure of himself. After tumultuous weeks of grieving and then spite between them, they hadn’t been close like this in ages. It had been too long since he had made love to his sweet wife. 

She melted into him, the feel of his hands on her, his lips against hers so desperately, was enough to heal the wounds in her heart the war had caused. 

“You are so beautiful.” He whispered as he planted kisses down the slope of her neck. “You are so wonderful, so kind. You have the most perfect, golden heart.” 

He lavished praise as his hands untied the laces of her gown, his lips finding their place over her racing heart, the heart that had given him so much love, enough to heal a boy doomed from the start. 

They moved slowly, treasuring each gentle caress and loving kiss as they stripped themselves bare. The waking nightmares they had been faced with in King’s Landing melted into nothing but old memories in the wake of their embrace. 

For so long, after the attack and losing their child, she had felt so disconnected to her own body. Now, as Aemond kissed every inch of her, as his hands roamed the familiar curves of her body, she felt she was finally herself again. 

She had spent too long watching her husband succumb to who his family wanted him to be. It made her determined to remind him why she loved him, how much she cherished him. 

Her hand slithered down the strong planes of his chest, his breath hitching as it traveled lower and lower until she gently grasped his stiff length in her hand that twitched with desire under her touch. 

Breaths left him in desperate pants as she stroked him, her touch familiar yet so missed. He repressed a shiver as she quickened her pace, her eyes watching him intently, the sight of his pleasure a welcome reprieve to how tightly wound she’d seen him for months. 

He moaned and quickly grabbed her hand, stopping her motions. He would not spill too early, before he even had the chance to bring her pleasure. 

She squealed in surprise, her laugh ringing out in the room as he picked her up and eagerly carried her to the bed. Her delighted giggles continued as she fell back on the soft mattress below her, biting her lip and practically writhing at the heated look from the man above her. 

She reached up, taking his eye patch off and tossing it to the side, needing to see all of him.

Aemond wasted no time, he couldn’t go another second without her. He spread her legs and kneeled before her, his mouth devouring her with a fervor of a man starved, moaning at the delectable taste of her.

She cried out, her hand falling to his head, tangling her fingers in his hair, pulling with each deliberately devastating stroke of his tongue. 

Her body was powerless against him, a litany of praise falling past her lips without her knowledge, mindlessly calling out to him, divulging every ounce of her love for him, both cursing and acclaiming his tongue and his ability to render her completely mindless. 

He growled against her, the sound of his name spoken so breathlessly, so desperately, quickly becoming his undoing. He quickened his pace, his need to push her over the edge growing as his own desires did.

She almost screamed, her back arching as he added his fingers, curling them in just the way he knew would drive her crazy. 

Her hands twisted into the sheets below her, her legs beginning to quiver from their place over his shoulders as he worked her to the cusp of ecstasy. 

“Aemond!” She cried out as his wicked tongue and fingers brought her to a blinding peak. 

She panted heavily, her limbs still trembling from the force of her release, barely able to comprehend the heated kiss Aemond pressed to her lips, the taste of her on his tongue making her moan. 

The soft sound turned into another high pitched cry as he entered her slowly, a shuddering breath falling past his own lips as they joined for the first time in months. He stilled, needing a moment before he lost his composure completely. 

He gazed at her below him, his lone eye shining, the love he felt for her in that moment suddenly overwhelming. He ducked his head into the crook of her neck, squeezing his eye shut as her hand caressed through his hair, her soft lips brushing against his temple. 

“It’s alright.” She whispered. “I’m here. I won’t ever be parted from your side.” 

Her words, as if she knew exactly what had happened just hours ago, the attempt on her life on the orders of his own family, were the salve to the torment running through his head since he learned of the threat against her. 

He raised his head, kissing her firmly, his tongue tangling with hers, desperate for her touch, her taste, every inch of her. 

“No one will ever take you from me.” He spoke softly, though the air of determination surrounding his words did not go unnoticed, whether to reassure her or himself he wasn’t sure. 

His hips began to move rhythmically, thrusting in and out of her gently, as if it were their first time again. 

She sighed, her eyes fluttering closed. Her hands gripped onto his back, feeling his muscle ripple under his skin as he moved. 

She wrapped her legs around his waist, holding him tightly as he made love to her as if he were afraid to break her, afraid to cause her any more harm than what she had endured since the war started. 

“Aemond,” She breathed out, leaning upwards, her nose brushing against his as she brushed her lips against his. “I’m ok. You can go faster, I can take it.” 

His face twisted, memories of the night of the attack, of her screams and cries of agony, of how close she had been last night to succumbing to the war. The thoughts were torturous. 

“I can’t-” He choked out, his jaw clenching, his brows furrowed as if he were in pain himself. “I can’t hurt you.”

“You won’t. I know you would never.” She assured him, her hands cradling his face as she looked at him intently, pure trust and love echoing through her eyes. 

He exhaled loudly, allowing his pace to quicken slightly, the moan she let out like music to his ears, soothing every ounce of his worry. 

“I trust you.” She whispered and his resolve shattered completely in an instant. 

He whimpered and began to thrust into her harder, his movements becoming more assured, his hunger for her reaching its peak, his hips now crashing against hers purposefully, moans falling freely from his lips as she cried out at every hard thrust, his cock hitting that place inside her that made her writhe against him.

Her noises were beautiful, they sent shivers down his spine, made his head spin in that delightful way only she could give him. He never liked to feel as though he wasn’t in control, but with her he welcomed the feeling. 

She was the only one he felt safe around to let himself feel it. 

He gripped onto her thigh, hiking it higher on his hip, allowing him to reach deeper inside her, her name like a desperate prayer on his lips as he felt himself nearing his end. It had been too long and he was no match for her perfect body. 

He brought his hand down, his thumb brushing against her clit, desperate to bring her with him. It didn’t take long until she trembled against him, her nails digging into his back, her head thrown back against the sheets as she cried out loudly. 

The feeling of her tightening around him and the sight of her lost in pleasure beneath him undid him effortlessly. He gasped, his movements becoming more frantic in his end, frantic groans following with each of his movements. It hit him like a wave, crashing over him all at once. He cried out, a sound more desperate than she had ever heard from him, his body stiffening before falling lax as he came hard. 

His eye fell shut as the haze of pleasure overtook him. He breathed harshly, letting the aftershocks of bliss roll through his shaking limbs. Her hands brushing his hair out of his face brought him back into the present.  

His eye fluttered open, meeting the eyes of the woman below him, her easy, pleasure filled smile bringing one of his own.

He leaned down, kissing her softly. Silently vowing to himself that he would never let anything threaten her life again, not as long as he lived, that he would never bring her pain ever again. 

He held her tightly, breathing out a long, drawn out breath, expelling every bit of the bitter anger and betrayal that clung to him. 

As he lay beside her, his softening length still buried inside her, the blissful touch of her hand running through his hair, he listened to the waves outside the open balcony doors, the calls of seabirds reminding him of where he was, where he would spend the rest of his days with her by his side.

It brought him more peace than he ever could have imagined. 

~~

With Aemond’s absence, and subsequently Vhagar’s absence from the frontlines, the Greens quickly succumbed to the Blacks. 

She held tightly to Aemond’s hand as her father read outloud the letter sent from Rhaenyra who now sat the throne. He gave no reaction as he heard of Otto’s execution, of Aegon’s demise in the black cells. He barely twitched as he heard his mother was to be sequestered in the Red Keep, forced to live out the rest of her life in solitude. 

The only emotion he showed was the breath he let out when he heard Daeron was to remain in Oldtown, with strict orders never to return to King’s Landing. He was thankful his younger brother never played a role in the war, that his life was spared from a gruesome fate. 

Helaena looked forlorn, her eyes cast down to her hands that fidgeted in her lap. She left for a reason, she had escaped with her children, an act she would never regret, but it didn’t lessen the unease in her heart.

She always knew this was how it would end. 

The knowledge that Aegon would never touch her again was a shining ray of light in the storm of dark clouds that was the news of the demise of her family. 

They were dismissed quickly, her mother throwing her a wary look as Aemond practically sprinted from the room as if it were deprived of air he desperately needed. 

She walked at a slow pace, knowing he’d need a few minutes to himself to take in the news. Making her way through the gardens, she knew exactly where he’d be, where he often found himself in moments of deep thoughts and contemplation. 

She knew he didn’t regret leaving, but some days the decision was harder to swallow than others. 

Within a few minutes, she found him sitting on the bench in front of the billowing willow tree, the place they had first spoken, the place he had complimented her drawings, the place where she had made him laugh as if they were old friends rather than new acquaintances. 

He didn’t look up as she approached. 

The only indication he gave to her presence was the long breath he let out as she took a seat next to him. 

“I’m fine.” He spoke impatiently, as if to assure her so he could be left to his torturous solitude.

“You know I don’t believe that.” She admonished softly, making no move to leave. 

His foot tapped erratically against the stone below him, his teeth biting his bottom lip, his shoulders hunched, the very picture of discontent. Frowning, she placed her hand on his arm, sliding down the length of his tense muscles until she found his hand, intertwining their fingers.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re feeling.”

“I can’t quite make sense of it myself.” He admitted quietly.

“I know you’re not happy Rhaenyra is on the throne-”

“I don’t care about that.” He spoke abruptly, his tone becoming sharp. “Our lives would have been much easier if that damned chair didn’t exist.”

She knew since coming to Ixtal, after the month of peace they’d had without his family breathing down his neck, forcing his every move, he could breathe easier. But it was still his family, his own brother and grandsire who had perished in the war. 

“Aemond,” She began softly. “Talk to me, please.”

“I know what my brother was. I won’t pretend to mourn him.” 

“You do not have to.” 

His eyes held a vacant look, as he retreated into the mess of thoughts in his head. He knew what his grandsire had done, the game he had played long before he had even been born. He knew the retribution Otto faced was well deserved. 

It didn’t cause him much grief. 

It was the thought of his mother that left his insides twisting in a way he hadn’t anticipated. 

“It doesn’t seem like enough.” He whispered, his words almost lost to the wind. 

“What doesn’t?”

“She tried to take you from me yet she lives.” 

Her breath caught in her throat. She had never had a close bond with Aemond’s mother but after she had been told what had happened that fateful night they left, what caused her husband’s tears, her view of Alicent had been forever changed. 

Aemond held tightly to her hand, as if saying the words aloud were too much to handle. 

He let out a shaking breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, he could feel a headache coming on, one that was all too familiar when it came to the derision his family caused him. 

“It does not seem a fitting punishment yet I’m… relieved. I don’t think I truly want her dead.”

Aemond didn’t know what to make of what he felt for his mother. He was angered she still drew breath yet relieved she hadn’t been killed brutally by Rhaenyra, yet he still couldn’t stomach the thought of her, not after what she’d done. 

“Of course you don’t. No matter what she’s done, she’s still your mother.” 

He thinks to himself that he doesn’t deserve her, this wonderful woman in front of him, the only one to truly see him. 

When he lies with his wife, when he sees her beautiful smile, when he feels her touch on his skin, he thinks he’d be content if his mother never saw the light of day again, yet deep down, the guilt festers. 

He was the reason their side lost. His departure was the sole reason Aegon and Otto are dead, the reason his mother is confined for the rest of her days. 

He can’t find himself regretting his actions, knowing the outcomes, yet he can’t help but feel as though he had failed his family. 

The sense of duty they had instilled in him was screaming, raging at him for what he had done. But he wasn’t that man they raised him to be. 

He was the man who fell in love with his best friend. He was the man who finally felt love as a child from a girl who tried endlessly to get him to see the beauty in himself and the world around him. 

The part of him that felt guilty for his mother was soon crushed out by the love he held for his wife. When he looked at her, he realized no one had ever truly cared for him but her. No one had ever had his best interest at heart except her. 

He squeezed her hand in his, finally letting his gaze reach hers, the concern in her eyes melting a part of him that desperately needed to be melted. 

“I don’t regret a single moment with you.” He tells her, the look in his eye now soft, no longer shrouded in agony and confusion. 

She smiles softly, still worried for him, worried for what the news would cause him. 

“Aemond-”

“I just want to think about our future.” He interrupted, knowing exactly what fears lay on her tongue, fearing much of the same for himself. 

But he would cross that bridge when he came to it. He would feel the moments of guilt, of relief, of whatever other emotion his family would cause him, as they came. 

He didn’t fear what he would feel because he knew the woman he loved would be there to soothe him in every one of those dark moments. His family, though they may try, couldn’t hurt him anymore.

“I want to raise our children here, where they won’t know any pressures of the court or successions, of war or conflict.” 

“Are you sure you don’t-”

“Protecting you was and will always be my number one priority.” He assured her before she could even voice her question about his regret. 

Her smile was much more genuine, his words soothing the anxiety she felt at his reaction. He felt himself smile at the sight before him, eased merely by her presence.

He leaned in, kissing her softly, letting his forehead rest against hers.

“You were always my purpose.” 

His whispered words were assurances they both clung to in the face of uncertainty. 

Tension would always exist as long as their enemy sat on the throne, but they were content, miles away, across the sea where their love flourished, where they would start their family.

No one would take that away from them.

~~

A year had passed peacefully. No further word from King’s Landing came. Helaena and her children thrived in the beauty that was Ixtal. The eccentric Princess made many friends with the ladies in court, finally feeling as though she could be herself without judgment, without fearing retribution or gossip. She no longer felt the pressure to be the perfect image of a Targaryen Princess. 

Aemond had quickly found his place alongside her younger brother in leading the city watch. He melded into his new life with an ease she hadn’t expected. 

Her own father accepted Aemond into their council, his voice soon becoming a valuable and respected asset to the island and its governance with most of the realm. 

Their new life was everything they wanted. 

Until the day their past caught up to them. 

“My Lady?” She looked up to notice her guard approaching, a nervous expression painting his features. “A dragon has been spotted approaching our shores. Shall I request your husband?”

Her face was drawn tightly and she shook her head brusquely. She knew exactly who would be accosting them.

“No, I will handle it.” 

She walked determinedly to the throne room, her guard following behind her worriedly.

“Where is my father?”

“In a council meeting.”

“And my husband is with him?”

“Yes, my Lady.” 

“Good.” She breathed out. She didn’t need either of them catching wind of their guest’s arrival and causing a stir. “You are dismissed.” She spoke to her guard whose eyes widened at the command, his mouth opening to refuse, but she gave him a pointed look.

“I can handle this, Ser Jerrod.” 

The guard sighed defeatedly and gave her a look of resignation.

“I am telling your husband of your orders when he comes to punish me.” 

Aemond had developed quite the reputation of being protective of his wife, the guards were terrified to obey her orders when they knew they would face the ire of her dragon husband. 

“I will take the blame, I promise you.” She assured him with a smirk. 

As her guard left, leaving her alone in the throne room, she let out a long breath, her heart racing as she prepared herself for what she would soon face. 

Only minutes later, the great doors opened and Queen Rhaenyra entered, her face hardened, bitter anger in her eyes. 

Her steps faltered, her powerful pace slowing as she met the eyes of the person she had least expected. 

Rhaenyra spoke her name slowly, her entire demeanor changed, abruptly thrown off from her course of murderous rage that darkened her thoughts, that prompted her abrupt arrival. 

She breathed deeply, straightening her posture as she steeled her expression, putting on the mask of anger back into place.

“I’m sure you know why I am here.”

“I do.” She answered Rhaenyra cooly, her posture relaxed, an exact contrast from the woman before her who looked as though she was unraveling. 

The dark circles under her eyes did not go unnoticed. 

“I need to see Aemond.”

“That’s not going to happen, Rhaenyra, you know that.”

“He needs to pay for what he did.” The woman spoke through gritted teeth, angry tears filling her eyes. 

She stared at the woman, the Queen, before her for a few long seconds, taking in her state of weariness with a heavy sigh, which only seemed to upset Rhaenyra further, her face turning red, her jaw clenching as she took a mighty step towards her.

“He killed my son!”

“And you killed mine!” She yelled back, matching her with the ferocity only a devastated mother could have. 

The reminder of what Rhaenyra agreed to, what she allowed Daemon to do, made her face crumble, her eyes falling to the floor, refusing to meet the gaze of the woman in front of her, the woman she had made lose everything. 

She never wished the loss of a child on any woman, yet here she was, standing face to face with the woman with whom she had directly caused the greatest sorrow. 

“Gods, Rhaenyra, do you think yourself innocent, do you think you are absolved of punishment from your place in this war?”

“I know I am not.” She choked out, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I did not start this. Your husband must pay for what he has done.”

“My husband does not hold this blame alone. This war would’ve happened no matter who laid the first blow, you know that.”

“They usurped my crown!”

“Yet you sit on the throne and the only reason you do is because Aemond chose to step down from the fight.” 

Rhaenyra’s jaw tightened, the fury in her eyes taking over her grief. 

“You did not come here to wager about succession.”

“No, I came to kill my brother.” Rhaenyra stated simply, her glare deepening when the woman in front of her scoffed.

“Aemond is under Ixtal’s protection. He has no governance under the crown.”

“Your father is an honorable man, he will do what is right-”

Her sarcastic laugh stopped Rhaenyra mid sentence, the older woman scowling at the young woman before her with blooming hatred.

“My father does not know all the details about what happened that night in King’s Landing, why I was attacked, how I lost my baby. If he knew it was you and Daemon that orchestrated it, that you were the reason he lost his grandchild, no force in this realm could save you.” She threatened, delighting in the way Rhaenyra shrunk under her pointed words. 

“Your position is tentative, Rhaenyra. Most of the realm despises you, especially after this senseless war. The smallfolk in King’s Landing are starving, the Lords of great houses are fed up with your trade arrangements, raising taxes, abandoning treaties.” She started, her voice low with animosity that steadily grew with each passing second she stood before her.

Rhaenyra looked surprised by what she knew, the details that hounded her night after night, the reason she was berated practically daily in court by smallfolk and Lords alike. 

“Most leaders in this realm hate you, you have little support anymore. If my father were to break tradition and take a stand against your position, how many houses do you think would remain loyal to you?”

Rhaenyra remained silent, her face twisted with disdain, mostly because she knew she had no argument. 

“If you threaten my husband, if you plan some heinous attack on his life, if you darken Ixtal with your presence again, I will tell my father the role you played in my attack and nothing will stop him from marching to the gates of King’s Landing, with the support of the entire realm behind him.” She warned darkly. “Don’t forget, we’re the reason you still have food on your plates. You shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

“Who do you think you are to threaten me? I am your Queen.” Rhaenyra raged, losing what little control she had left. 

“You think you can threaten me?” She countered. “That’s what you came here for, wasn’t it? To exert what little power you have left to boost your ego, to enact revenge for a bitter fight you caused.”

Rhaenyra flinched, her face twisted with derision at her words.

“Don’t pretend you have no role in this, Rhaenyra, you are smarter than that.” She added before the queen could speak another senseless word. “You pretended some measly words against your sons were more dire than a child who lost an eye. You added fire to an already growing inferno and you think they would, what? Live in peace?”

Rhaenyra gazed past her, refusing to look her in the eye. 

“I am truly sorry about what happened to Lucerys.”

“Don’t say his name.” Rhaenyra seethed.

“A son for a son, that was what you wanted, wasn’t it?” 

Rhaenyra flinched, swallowing harshly against the lump in her throat, the guilt she still felt for her role in such a violent act drowning her, especially now as she faced the woman she hurt directly. 

“You got what you wanted, so consider us even.” She choked out through her own growing emotions, the memory of that night still haunting her. “Now leave.”

She watched, feeling victorious as Rhaenyra bowed her head, unable to look at her, as she turned on her heel and began to walk to the door in defeat.

“You may sit on that throne but it is my house that holds the power.” She called out before she could leave the room. “Remember that next time you get the urge to visit again.”

The door closed behind the Queen and she let out a long breath, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, having spoken to the reason for her attack for the first time, having expelled her anger towards the woman who had caused her greatest loss. 

She let her shoulders relax, suddenly realizing how tense her entire body had become. She turned on her heel and stopped abruptly as she noticed Aemond in the doorway across the room.

His face was passive, she couldn’t read a single emotion on his face. Even after all their time together, she still had trouble reading him in moments when he was guarded. 

“How long have you been here?”

“Long enough.” He answered vaguely. A moment passed before he let a small smile grow and she breathed out, laughing slightly as she approached him. “I quite like seeing that side of you.”

“You are not mad?”

“Mad?” He asked in disbelief and laughed. “No, I think you handled that with much more grace than I ever could.” 

He held his hand out to her as she came before him, taking her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. 

“In fact, seeing you defend me as valiantly as you did was quite… stirring.” 

She rolled her eyes and pushed at his chest.

“Aemond.” She admonished. “This is serious.”

“It is and you handled yourself as if you’ve been ruling for years.”

She sighed in annoyance, the praise not having the effect she expected. She felt as though he was avoiding the seriousness of what happened, or how wrong things could have turned out. 

“Your sister arrived to kill you and all you can do is compliment me?” 

Aemond’s smile faltered, his demeanor changing in an instant, the cool air around him gone.

“I have to live with what I did… to Lucerys.” He admitted quietly. “She must live with what she did. It’s like you said, we are even.” 

She intertwined their fingers, her hand squeezing his in a silent show of comfort. She knew he still felt immense guilt about what had happened that night, for what she endured as a result of it. 

He still had nights when he couldn’t face it. 

“Do you think she will retaliate?” She asked quietly and Aemond shook his head, clearing his throat and the air of intensity surrounding him as his easy smile returned. 

“Not unless she wants another verbal lashing from you.”

She scoffed and looked at her husband plainly. He pulled her towards him, a serious look in his eye even as his smirk remained. 

“If she ever dares to return, she will have to face Vhagar.” He told her. “I would never let her hurt you or anyone on this Island.”

She breathed out in relief. She didn’t want it to ever come to that, but to hear it so plainly, the lengths Aemond would go to protect her, to protect her family and their home, was a strange comfort. 

He kissed her forehead and looked at her with a gaze full of nothing but love, the words she had said to Rhaenyra in his defense running around his head. He would not soon forget it, the way she stood up for him. 

Her name was called from across the hall, breaking the moment between them. 

They turned to see her younger sister approaching, their smiles widening as they saw the bundle she carried in her arms.

“Sorry to interrupt, but she was getting fussy. I think she’s missing you two.” 

Aemond met her halfway, his arms already outstretched to take his daughter from his good sister. He whispered his thanks, his gaze locked onto the babe in his arms, his precious girl. 

At only 3 moons old, she was the greatest light in his life, aside from her mother of course. She had him wrapped around her little finger the second she took her first breath.

“Thank you for looking after her.” She told her sister and stood by Aemond’s side, latching onto his arm as they both gazed down at their child. 

“Is everything ok? I heard there was a dragon spotted.” Her sister inquired.

She looked over at Aemond, but he seemed too engrossed in their daughter to have even heard the question. 

“Everything’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about, she won’t be coming back.” She assured her sister who nodded and quickly made her exit, sensing the couple wanted to be alone with their little family.

Together, they walked out of the palace and through the gardens, coming to the familiar bench by the willow tree. 

Aemond sat, sparsely taking his eyes off his daughter. Next to him, his wife laughed, continually amused at how effortlessly their daughter mesmerized him. 

She leaned her head on his shoulder and reached out, gently tracing her finger over her daughter’s chubby cheeks that grinned at her touch, making a noise of contentment as she wriggled in her father’s arms. 

Aemond placed a kiss to her forehead and she raised her head, meeting his gaze. 

Their smiles grew at the same time, the same thought running through their minds. They had made it.

Whispered promises made in the beginning of their love had finally come true. 

They had their family and nothing could take it from them. 

~~

Thank you all for reading and coming with me and this wild ride! All of your comments have meant the absolute world to me and I'm just so happy I got to share this with you all xx

There will be an epilogue so this will not be the end of Aemond and his Sun xx

~~

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[throneofsapphics]

the ebb and flow of fate epilogue 

(part one) (part two) (part three) (part four) (part five)

Cazriel x f!Reader

Summary: “Pure silence filled the room, and Feyre shifted on her feet, wondering if maybe she’d crossed a line.”

Warnings: illness, mentions of violence, death, & blood

A/N: I’m sad this is over, but I've really enjoyed writing it. thank you all so much for your love on this little series <3

She took a deep breath,  steeling herself for this conversation. “When I die-“

“We don’t know -“ Cassian interrupted.

“Please,” she cut him off. “Just .. I need to say this.” 

His mouth tightened, but he nodded.

“Don’t give up. This world still needs both of you,” she swallowed harshly. The tears had already come. 

“And it doesn’t need you?” Azriel said, voice breaking half way through. 

“The world doesn’t get a choice, with me.” 

Cassian ran one hand through his hair, gripping hard enough she thought he might tear it out. “I can’t lose you. Not like this.” 

She snorted. Azriel’s eyes narrowed, he didn’t find this amusing, not one bit, but he knew laughter and humor was one of her coping mechanisms. 

“Do you think I want to die?”

“I didn’t say -” She held her hand up, and Cassian’s mouth slammed shut. Her mouth quirked up at the corner, well trained. Azriel rolled his eyes. She did hold both of their leashes, but he wouldn’t tell her that. 

“It’s happening. I refuse to insult myself or the healers pretending otherwise,” she reached out her hands, palms up, and they each took one without hesitation. “If you want to be angry, do it when I'm dead or not looking. I’m the sick one, you have to listen to me.” 

Cassian looked like he was about to disagree, thought better of it, and pulled her into his chest. “We’ll see who’s listening to who tonight,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair. 

-

Pure destruction stood in front of him. A killing field. Some parts scorched, raw power incinerating everything in its path, others still coated with blood and mismatched body parts. There would be no identifying who had fallen. 

Rhys would never be glad his cousin died, not in millenia, but he’s glad she didn’t have to see the war waged. She’d died weeks before it broke out, and triggered a deadly rage in both Cassian and Azriel. One the world might never see again. 

-

They never missed starfall. 

“You’ll still get to see me once a year.” She waved her hand towards the sky, about to say the most ridiculous love-sick words he’d ever heard, “I’ll be waiting for you, my spirit still traveling between worlds. We’ll find each other in whatever comes after, in the next life, maybe even shoot through time and space together.” 

Cassian’s mouth quirked up at one corner, before he picked her up and spun her in circles until she flicked his wing. 

Cassian braced his forearms on the railing, eyes fixed on the sky. “Which one do you think is her?” He didn’t need to look to know Az was right beside him. They asked this question every year, and each time came up with a different answer. He liked to think she was switching forms, maybe trying to play a joke on them, or play another game. 

-

Azriel peered down in the Cauldron again, after pulling Amren out. He’d hoped, foolishly, that she might be in there too. 

He knew Amren, even spluttering and catching her breath, caught his movement. Azriel tried to avoid her, but she eventually caught up to him and Cassian.  

“She wasn’t there,” the sorrowful, almost pitying, look in her eyes pissed him off. 

“I didn’t ask,” he said coolly. 

“Maybe not,” she assessed him. “But there’s your closure.” 

“What … what does it mean, she wasn’t there?” Cassian asked. 

“It means her soul isn’t trapped in limbo.” 

Azriel really, really didn’t want to speak about this, but Cassian kept going. “So she’s moved on?” 

“No,” Amren said sharply. “It means she’s waiting for you idiots,” Amren really never missed the chance to throw an insult in there, “in peace.” 

Cassian caught Azriel’s eye. In peace. It was a small comfort, like a bandaid stuck on a gaping wound. He knew she wanted him to move on, to go find his “peace,” but it was never the same without her. An empty space inside of him he couldn’t fill. For years, he avoided every reminder of her, did everything he could to drown out the screaming abyss threatening to tug him under. It took Cassian to pull him out, to knock some sense into him and tell him she’d be pissed off. 

-

“Cassian and Azriel had a mate.” Rhys told her quietly. Feyre paused. The sorrow in his voice threw her off. Had. 

“What happened?” She asked softly. 

“She died. Y/n was my cousin, Mor’s younger sister.” 

A part of her heart shattered. She hadn’t known he had another cousin, or that Mor had a sister. They never spoke of her. Feyre didn’t … she didn’t like that. Not that she hadn’t been told, but that they weren’t keeping her memory alive. Maybe that was unfair of her, all things considered she hadn’t been around them that long, and some wounds never truly heal. 

“Will you show me her?” She let Rhys read the silent request in her eyes; I’ll make a portrait. Her mate swallowed, before giving a short nod. 

Winter Solstice came, and to say Feyre was nervous would be an understatement. She’d decided to pull Azriel and Cassian aside before, not certain if they’d want a vulnerable moment like this in front of the rest of them. 

She handed them two identical portraits, wrapped in soft paper. 

Cassian shot her a grin, “Finally take up the offer to paint me in the nude?” 

Feyre snorted, huffing out a laugh. “Open it.” 

They both did. Pure silence filled the room, and Feyre shifted on her feet, wondering if maybe she’d crossed a line. 

For the first time, she felt like she could see every raw emotion going through Azriel’s features. 

Rhys had shown her a specific image, the three of them perched on the roof of the Townhouse, her feet swinging back and forth over the edge, a glass of wine in one hand. Azriel’s shadows subtly pinning her - keeping her from tumbling into the rose bushes. She leaned to the side, Cassian standing trying to snatch the glass from her - a wide grin on his face. Azriel watched from behind, amusement lining his features. An open emotion she hadn’t seen frequently from the male. Her mate had flown in, catching the perfect angle. 

Cassian carefully placed the painting on the table - like it was made of pure gold, and wrapped her in a tight hug. 

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[my-religion-greek-myth]

Freedom far away - N

I kinda want to write one shot of Reader X Agatha or Reader X Agatha X Rio. But gotta finish this first.

There might be typos or other mistakes, but I'm too tired to go over it again. 🤧

Fem Reader X Agatha X Rio

Part A | Part B | Part C&D | Part E | Part F | Part G | Part H | Part I&J | Part K | Part L | Part M | Part N | Part O&P | Part Q | Part R | Epilogue

Warning: Depictions of blood and violence may be disturbing to some readers

The city simmered with tension, its usual hum of life subdued under the oppressive presence of royal guards. Called upon by the spymaster himself, the guards patrolled the streets with visible unease, their sharp eyes scanning for signs of trouble. The spymaster had woven a tale of two foreigners—dangerous and unrelenting—kidnapping his granddaughter and attacking his household. The story seemed plausible to many in the city and the palace. After all, who would dare doubt the spymaster of the king?

Through the city gates, the foreigners in question arrived, their presence as commanding as a thunderstorm rolling in.

Agatha strode forward first, her flowing purple dress catching the faint sunlight. Her wavy hair framed her face, her expression a mask of calm that only made her glowing blue eyes more unsettling. Around her hands, purple sparks of magic crackled faintly as though impatiently waiting to be unleashed.

Beside her, Rio was a stark contrast. Clad in a tailored black suit, her dark eyes were sharp and cold, her posture exuding predatory confidence. Her hair fluttered slightly as though moved by an unseen force, and her aura pulsed with latent power. Together, they were a force of nature, their very presence turning heads and quickening pulses.

Rio and Agatha’s presence was impossible to ignore. The air seemed to hum around them, a faint shimmer of magic curling at their feet like restless shadows.

The guards stationed at the gates faltered as they approached. While the two women made no overt move to attack, the palpable energy surrounding them was enough to unnerve even the bravest of men.

"Stand aside," Rio commanded, her voice low but carrying an undeniable authority.

One guard stepped forward, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword tightly. "You’re the ones we were warned about," he said, his voice wavering slightly despite his attempt to sound firm. "By order of the king, we’re to apprehend you on sight."

Agatha’s lips curved into a cold smile, her fingers flexing subtly as the violet energy around her hands flared briefly. "Apprehend us?" she repeated, her tone laced with amusement. "Do you really think that’s possible?"

The guards didn’t retreat. Their loyalty—or fear of the spymaster—pushed them forward despite the ominous energy crackling in the surroundings. One by one, they drew their swords, grimly advancing toward the witches.

Agatha’s sharp gaze flicked over the advancing guards, unimpressed. "Amateurs," she muttered, her voice cold and disdainful.

One guard lunged, his blade aimed directly at her heart. But before he could get within striking distance, Agatha raised a single hand, her fingers moving with a graceful, almost dismissive flourish.

In an instant, arrows of pure, crackling purple magic materialised in the air, shimmering with deadly precision. The guards barely had time to react before the arrows shot forward, their speed blinding. Each arrow found its mark and pierced the guards’ heavy armour as if it were made of paper. The enchanted projectiles struck true, piercing their chests and sending them crumpling to the floor one by one. The faint glow of her arrows still hovered around Agatha, ready to strike again if needed.

"Wasting their lives," Rio said coldly as she clicked her tongue, her voice devoid of emotion as she stepped forward. Her dark eyes, sharp and calculating, let out a low, humourless laugh. "If they surrendered, it would’ve been a simple job for me."

One of the remaining guards, emboldened or desperate, charged toward Rio with a fierce yell. His sword glinted in the sunlight as he raised it high, determined to strike her down. But Rio didn’t move. Her lips curled into a wolfish grin as she raised one hand.

The ground beneath the guard trembled, a low rumble that vibrated through the cobblestones. Before he could reach her, thick, jagged roots erupted from the earth, snaking around his legs and dragging him to a halt. He struggled and swung his sword wildly, but the roots tightened, lifting him off the ground by one foot. He dangled helplessly in midair, his blade clattering uselessly to the street.

"Pathetic," Rio muttered, flicking her wrist. The roots swayed slightly, tightening their grip on his ankle but doing no more harm. The guard hung suspended, his face red with effort as he tried to free himself. Rio’s sharp eyes swept over him, and a small, wicked smirk tugged at her lips. "You’re lucky I’m not here for you today."

She turned her attention to the remaining guards, her grin widening. "Anyone else?"

The others hesitated, their gazes darting between their helpless comrade and the crackling energy swirling around Agatha. Some began to back away, their courage faltering in the face of overwhelming power. Their retreat was hesitant at first, but as Rio took a deliberate step forward, her cold gaze boring into them, they scattered in fear, leaving their swords abandoned on the ground.

The spymaster’s estate stood silent under the glaring sun, the air heavy with anticipation as Agatha and Rio advanced toward the gates. The destruction they left in their wake painted a clear message: they had come for blood.

Agatha's magic surged around her, coiling like a living entity hungry for vengeance. Her eyes burned an icy blue, and the hem of her dress whipped violently in the magical storm she commanded. Rio strode beside her wife in her pitch-black suit that reminded her of death, her dark eyes sharp and unforgiving. The cobblestones cracked beneath her feet as the earth shifted subtly in response to her fury.

The gates to the estate were heavily guarded, but the spymaster’s forces might as well have been paper before the storm that was Agatha and Rio.

With a flick of her wrist, Agatha sent tendrils of glowing purple energy lashing out, piercing the guards' chests as if their armour were nothing. They dropped like leaves, their weapons clattering uselessly to the ground, creating a red river of blood.

Rio raised her hand, the cobblestones rippling like water before sharp vines erupted from the earth, coiling around the remaining guards. The screams of their enemies echoed across the courtyard, but neither woman flinched. They were past the point of mercy.

Inside the estate, the spymaster paced anxiously in his study, his sword in hand. He sneered at the muffled sounds of chaos outside. "Fools," he muttered. "They’ll regret stepping into my city."

But the doors to his study slammed open with a deafening crash, the wood splintering as Agatha and Rio entered. The spymaster turned, his face twisted in fury, but his expression faltered as he took in the terrifying sight before him.

Agatha’s magic crackled with unrestrained power, casting an eerie purple glow across the room. Rio’s dark gaze was colder than death itself, her presence suffocating as she stepped forward, her hand brushing against the hilt of her dagger.

"You dare bring your filth here," the spymaster growled, trying to regain his composure. "You think you can defy me? I am the spymaster of the king—"

"You were," Agatha cut him off, her voice sharp and venomous. She raised her hand, and purple energy shot forward, wrapping around the spymaster’s throat. He gasped, clawing at the invisible force as it lifted him off the ground.

Rio’s voice was quiet but no less menacing as she stepped closer. "You beat her. Hurt her. Spilled her blood." Her fingers twitched, and the ground beneath the spymaster cracked, jagged rocks jutting upward, grazing his dangling legs. "You thought you could take everything from her, and we would do nothing?"

Agatha tightened her grip on the magic, her gaze burning with hatred. "You call her a disgrace," she hissed. "But the only disgrace here is you." Her voice dropped to a deadly whisper as she added, "You don’t deserve to call yourself her family."

The spymaster struggled, his face red as he choked against the magical noose. "You think you’re better?" he rasped, his voice barely audible. "You’re nothing but monsters. Foreign filth who—"

His words were cut off as Rio stepped forward. Her posture was calm, but the air around her shifted, thickening with an oppressive weight. Her dark eyes glowed faintly as she spoke, her voice carrying an unnatural resonance. "You like to speak of disgrace and power," she said quietly. "Let me show you what true power looks like."

Agatha only glanced at her wife as Rio’s form began to change. The room grew colder, and the light dimmed as a black mist seeped from her body. Her once-perfect face twisted, revealing the truth beneath. The lower half of her face faded into bone, a grinning skull that glinted ominously under the dim light. The transformation was grotesquely beautiful, a reminder of the being she truly was.

The spymaster’s eyes widened in horror as he struggled harder against Agatha’s grip. His breaths became laboured, his body shaking as he tried to claw at the invisible force choking him, as though he could escape Death itself.

Rio’s skeletal hand reached out, her cold fingers brushing against his chin. The touch sent a visible shudder through his body, and he froze, his eyes wild with terror. "You fear me now," she murmured, her voice a haunting echo that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. "You should have feared me then."

"Wh-what are you?" the spymaster gasped, his voice barely audible.

"I am Death," she said simply, her skeletal grin widening. Her grip on his chin tightened as she tilted his head, forcing him to meet her gaze. "I’ve come to collect what you owe."

Agatha stepped closer, her magic swirling more violently as her fury reignited. "You wanted to treat her like a pawn, a tool for your ambitions. Now look at you—powerless and pathetic."

The spymaster tried to speak, to protest, but Rio’s skeletal fingers dug deeper into his skin. The room seemed to darken further as she leaned in, her voice soft and chilling. "You will feel every ounce of pain you inflicted on her, every bit of fear and despair you caused. And then," she drawled deliberately, "you will die."

The spymaster’s screams echoed through the estate as Agatha and Rio unleashed their wrath. Agatha’s magic struck like lightning, searing through his body, while Rio’s vines coiled tighter around him, pulling and crushing with merciless precision.

When the end came, it was slow and torturous, his final breath a gurgling plea that fell on deaf ears. As his lifeless body crumpled to the floor, Rio returned to her human form, her dark eyes meeting Agatha’s.

"It’s done," Agatha said, her voice heavy with finality.

As Rio and Agatha turned to leave, their path was interrupted by F/N's father, who stood frozen in the doorway. His face was pale, his hands trembling at his sides as his gaze flicked between the lifeless body of his father and the two women who had so effortlessly ended him.

Rio’s dark eyes bore into him as she stepped closer, her voice low and unyielding. "Be a better father than the monster you served," she said coldly, her words sharp and cutting. Agatha followed, her piercing blue gaze snapping at him with equal intensity. "She deserves a family who will protect her, not one that will destroy her," she added, her tone dripping with disdain. "You have a chance to make amends for the years you failed her. Don’t squander it." The weight of their words hung heavy in the air, but before F/N’s father could respond, a panicked voice cut through the tension.

"You can’t take her," a young boy cried out, his voice trembling with both fear and desperation. He had been standing in the shadows with F/N's mother and sister, his wide eyes darting between the two witches. His voice shaking but firm. "I don’t trust you to take care of her."

Rio raised an eyebrow, a dark glint flashing in her eyes. Agatha, however, didn’t look surprised. She merely tilted her head, her gaze sharpening. "And why is that?" she asked, her voice laced with icy amusement. The brother hesitated, his gaze flicking nervously between them. "Because I’ve heard things," he said finally. "Purple shaman…you cursed her, didn’t you? You were called by another noble house—my friend’s family—to ruin her life. That’s why all this happened, isn’t it?"

Agatha’s hand twitched, a faint crackle of purple magic sparking at her fingertips. Though she didn’t move closer, the charged air between them was palpable. "Am I?" she asked smoothly, her tone unsettlingly calm. Her piercing blue eyes bore into him, making him falter and take an instinctive step back.

"I…" he stammered, visibly unsettled but still holding his ground. "You’re dangerous. Both of you. How do we know you won’t hurt her? How do I know you haven’t already cursed my sister by destroying my family?"

The sharp accusation hung in the air, and Agatha’s magic flared briefly before she reined it in with a deep, steadying breath. She stepped closer, her gaze icy. "Cursed your sister? Destroying your family?" she echoed, her voice dripping with incredulity. Her hand tightened into a fist, the faint glow around her fingers subsiding as she forced herself to remain composed. "And where were you?" she asked softly, her words cutting like a blade. "When was your eldest sister hurting?"

His lips parted, but no sound came out. Agatha’s eyes narrowed, her expression unreadable yet cold. "Where were you when your grandfather beat her when he stripped her of everything but her dignity? Where were you when she was crawling on the floor, protecting your second sister with what little strength she had left?"

"I…" His voice faltered, his resolve cracking under the weight of her words. He averted his gaze, shame flickering in his expression as his inability to answer became painfully obvious.

Agatha tilted her head, her voice softening just enough to be heard over the silence. "Your second sister—she stood up for her. She put herself in harm’s way. But you? You’re here now, questioning the people who saved her, who would die for her." She took a step back, her eyes still fixed on him. "Where was your bravery then?"

Rio, standing quietly until now, let out a low, mocking chuckle. "Seems bravery comes easy when the stakes aren’t as high," she said, her dark eyes gleaming as she crossed her arms. "But don’t mistake our restraint for weakness. If we were here to destroy anything, boy, you wouldn’t have the chance to stand there accusing us."

The young man’s face flushed with anger and humiliation, but he didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The heavy silence that followed was punctuated only by his sister’s sharp intake of breath and their mother’s muffled sobs from the corner of the room. Agatha's expression was unreadable, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed the storm she held within. Agatha took a deliberate step forward, her presence suffocating as she loomed over him. "The only danger she faced," she said quietly, her voice dripping with menace, "was in this house. From your grandfather, from your silence, and from your family’s failures." Her magic sparked again, brighter this time, but she stopped short of doing anything more.

F/N’s father, still standing frozen nearby, finally broke the tension. "Enough," he said, his voice hoarse. His shoulders slumped as he stepped forward, glancing at Agatha and Rio before turning his gaze to his son. "They helped your sister," he said softly, his voice steady but weary. "Let it go."

The young man opened his mouth as if to argue but faltered under his father’s exhausted yet resolute expression. His shoulders sagged, and he looked away, his frustration palpable but muted by the weight of the moment.

Agatha’s sharp gaze lingered on him for a beat longer before she turned her focus back to F/N’s father. Her features softened slightly, though the tension in her posture didn’t fully ease. "Wise words," she said, her tone still edged with steel. "I suggest you all heed them."

Rio gave a slow, approving nod, her dark eyes glinting with a mix of wariness and restrained anger. "The past can’t be changed," she said, her voice calm but firm. "But you’d do well to stop clinging to it before it drags you all down further."

The room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of the conversation settling heavily on everyone.

A softer voice cut through. "Am I never going to see her again?" F/N’s sister asked, stepping forward. Her eyes were wide and brimming with tears as she looked up at Rio, then Agatha. "Are you taking her away forever?" Rio’s gaze softened for a moment as she glanced at Agatha. The unspoken question hung heavy in the air between them. Agatha pursed her lips, her expression conflicted as she looked at the younger girl. "It’s not our decision," Agatha said finally, her tone quieter now but still firm. "It’s hers."

The sister’s face crumpled slightly, her hands clasping together as if trying to hold herself steady. "Please…just tell her I love her," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

Before anyone could say more, F/N’s mother stumbled forward, her tears flowing freely as she sobbed, "Leave us be! Just take her and leave us be!"

Agatha turned sharply, her piercing blue eyes flashing with contempt. "Leave you be?" she echoed coldly, her tone cutting through the mother’s wailing like a blade. "After everything you’ve allowed to happen to her, the only thing you have to say is 'leave us be'? Not even a single question about how she’s doing, whether she’s all right, or if she’ll ever recover?" Her words dripped with venom, each one striking like a whip.

The mother’s sobs grew louder, but she didn’t respond. The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of Agatha’s condemnation hanging heavy in the air.

F/N’s mother had always been a coward, too afraid to stand up to her father-in-law and too wary of her eldest daughter’s mysterious power over animals. Her fear had distanced her from F/N, leaving a chasm between them that only deepened over the years. While F/N’s father and siblings had tried in their own ways to protect and connect with her, the mother had kept her distance, retreating into herself rather than confronting the injustices F/N had endured.

Rio shifted slightly, her dark eyes narrowing as she observed the family. "The way she turned out is a surprise to me," she muttered, her voice low but audible enough to cut through the tension. Her tone carried a quiet rage, tempered only by the presence of her wife beside her.

Agatha’s gaze lingered on the family for a moment longer, her expression a mixture of disgust and finality. With sharp, deliberate movements, she turned on her heel. "We’re done here," she said flatly, her tone carrying the weight of a verdict. Without another glance, she strode toward the door, each step heavy with barely contained fury.

Rio followed her pace more measured but no less resolute. As she reached the gate, she paused, her dark eyes narrowing as she glanced back at F/N’s father. "Be better," she said simply, her voice quiet but brimming with unspoken weight. "For her sake, and for theirs."

The silence following her words was deafening. The family stood frozen, the sting of Rio’s statement cutting through the tension like a blade.

The witches strode away together, their departure leaving an indelible mark on the broken family. The room remained still, heavy with unspoken words and unacknowledged guilt. The brother stood stiffly, his earlier bravado shattered, while the sister sobbed quietly, her trembling hands covering her face. The father, his shoulders slumped under the weight of shame, stared after them, the shadows of his failure etched into every line of his face.

As the door creaked shut behind the two women, the sister’s voice broke through the stillness, a whisper filled with trembling despair. "She’s really gone… isn’t she?"

No one answered. The mother’s tears flowed freely, but she remained silent, her guilt too profound for words. The brother’s fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tight with a mixture of anger and confusion. The father’s head bowed, his voice failing him as the full weight of what had transpired settled over them.

Outside, the witches disappeared into the distance, their path lit only by the flicker of fading lantern light. The echoes of their confrontation hung in the air long after they were gone, leaving the family to grapple with the scars left behind.

[saellefanwork]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕋𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕋𝕚𝕞𝕖

The Demon Slayers are not the only ones tracking down and beheading the deadly creatures of the night. There are also solitary hunters, acting in the shadows for different reasons. The Nagase family, of which you are the last heir, has been training their eldest daughters for generations in the art of wielding Nichirin swords. Your Breathing style is unique to your lineage: it is the Time Breathing, capable of slowing down or accelerating the movements of both the user and their opponent. Despite the tensions between the Kisatsutai and the solitary hunters, nothing can break the bonds that unite you and your childhood friend, Rengoku Kyojuro. Not even death.

Story in second person (you). The name of the main character can be changed using Interactive Fics without disrupting the narrative.

First name: Kanoko. Family name: Nagase

While my interpretation of Kanoko appears in the art, there is not much text descriptions of her features, hoping it will give you more freedom to imagine her in your own way if you wish to ignore the pictures. More info on how the illustrations are done on my instagram (saellefanwork)

Intro

Chapter 1: There is this woman I like...

Flashback Arc

Chapter 2: Our First Encounter

Chapter 3: The Calm before the Storm

Chapter 4: The Darkest Night

Chapter 5: I swear to the kami!

Chapter 6: A life's commitment

Mugen Train Arc

Chapter 7: A Wind of Love

Chapter 8: A Wind of Death

Chapter 9: Lost in Time

Chapter 10: No matter what it takes

Chapter 11: What Duty Demands

Chapter 12: A demon's vow

Eternal Paradise Cult Arc

Chapter 13: Deceiftul Dreams

Chapter 14: The Bloody Altar

Chapter 15: Voices from the Past

Chapter 16: The Eternal Paradise Cult's Fall

Chapter 17: One should always listen to their heart

Bonus scene! (preview)

Hashira Training Arc

Chapter 18: The Hashira Training

Chapter 19: The kanoko-patterned haori

Chapter 20: New Year's Eve

Final Battle Arc

Chapter 21: Upper Moon Three

Chapter 22: The Tsuguko's teachings

Chapter 23: The Lord of Demons

Chapter 24: Setting our Hearts Ablaze!

A world without Demons Arc

Chapter 25: A New Dawn

Chapter 26: Grief and Gratitude

Chapter 27: Home

Epilogue

Chapter 28: Fated Love

[teddy-bear-baby]

Their Deadly Flower - Twelve

(A/n: Been putting off finishing this story for a while now because I've poured so much time and love into it, but I think it's time to put it to rest. Sadly, I will be finishing this story with around 15 chapters and maybe an epilogue. Hope you all have enjoyed this story as much as I have. As always enjoy this chapter, my Lovelies and don't forget to leave feedback.)

Pairings: Ghost X GN!Reader, König X GN!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of violence and torture, angst, slightly crazed reader

Prolog - One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven - Eight - Nine - Ten - Eleven - Here - Thirteen

     Ghost and König agreed on only two things. One, you meant far too much to both of them for this stupid fighting to continue. And two, they were completely and utterly fucked in their current situation.

     Both men sat facing each other, bound to chairs and gagged. Their masks had been removed a few hours ago when they were placed into these godforsaken seats. The lack of facial coverings allowed both men a good look at each other’s features as they silently communicated. Using only their eyes and minimal facial expressions they’d begun to slowly devise a plan of escape.

~~~~~

     Two days. It’s been two fucking days since anyone has seen Ghost or König and you are in an absolute downward spiral. Your thoughts are consumed with worry and fear. Dreadful images flooding every corner of your mind as the endless possibilities recount themselves to you, for what feels like, the millionth time today.

     “Iris?” Soap’s wary voice cuts through the thoughts swirling around your brain. Concern evident in his features as he stares at you. “It’s going to be alright.” He attempts to reassure you as your eyes finally meet across the bare living room of the old house. “They’re going to be alright.”

     Gaz nods in agreement with the same cautious concern in his eyes. “We’ll find them and bring them back safely.” 

     All three of the men standing with you had been trying to calm your nervousness and worry for the past two days. Though they should be a calming force, having been like family to you for so long, nothing they said or did had helped much at all. Not since Price had admitted that Alice had said something odd the night before your two men had been stolen away from you. “I might be here with you, but believe that there are people planning in the background, just waiting for their chance.” You were sure in that moment that Alice’s people had taken something important to you either to prove a point, or to draw you out. To get you to do something reckless, like run headlong into danger to keep those around you safe from wraith that was aimed toward you.

     At first Alice’s anger was on the 141 in general for all the trouble we’d given her and her people. But after everything she’d gone through trying to get information out of you for two years, you’re almost certain it’s personal now. A vendetta against you specifically for not only wasting two years of her time but also playing a part in her capture.

     “Iris?” Fingers snapping in front of your face cause you to once again jolt from your dreadful thoughts. Price’s fingers to be specific. He stares at you with an understanding glint in his eyes. He’s worried too, though he’s better at keeping calm in most situations. “Come on,” His hand rests flat against your shoulder blade, applying a little pressure as he begins leading you toward the front door. “We’ll get you a drink, calm your mind a bit and go over what we know again. I need you focused if we’re going to get them back.” His voice trails off slightly as though he wanted to add something to the end of that statement but decided not to.

     Price’s words have the opposite effect of what they were meant to. If we’re going to get them back? You’d at least expected him to say something like “By the end of the week” or “Anytime soon”. You understand though. In a situation like this, when there’s no clear evidence of where they’ve gone or who had been responsible, there is no guarantee that they’ll return alive. If they return at all. 

     A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you step out of the house for the first time in almost four days. The light of the early evening sun burns your retinas and causes you to squint in order to see your surroundings. “Do you really think drinking is a good idea at a time like this?” Your voice comes out strained from the incessant crying you’d done over the past 48 hours. “Ghost and König are out there somewhere, likely being tortured or killed, and here we are going out for drinks.” It felt wrong even if it wasn’t for enjoyment purposes.

     “If it gets you to calm down enough for a proper conversation, I’d say it’s more than worth it.” Soap comments from behind you as he closes and locks the rickety door. 

     You let out another sigh as you climb into the passenger seat of the car they’d come in. You weren’t going to enjoy this one bit. You’d gotten so used to drinking with Ghost sitting across from you, you’re sure you’ll break down more than once.

~~~~~

     It doesn’t take long to get to the local pub, which seems more like a nightclub with the music booming in your ears before you even enter the building. The inside is dimly lit, the music getting exponentially louder as you and your three companions push past a few people lingering around the entrance. Your eyes rove over the crowd of bodies bumping and grinding in the center of the large room. A migraine begins to form in your temples as Soap grabs your arm and tugs you behind him through the crowd. 

     Groaning you allow him to pull you toward a small table in the back corner away from the rest of the patrons. You find it hard to pull your eyes away from the group of people dancing and having a good time, feeling almost envious of how joyful and carefree they are. You wish more than anything that you could be out there dancing and laughing with König while Ghost sits in the corner watching over you. Images of your fantasy flash behind your eyes; König’s bright eyes crinkled at the corners as you dance together a large grin on your own face as you look over to Simon whose eyes have been on you the whole time.

     A harsh shaking of your shoulder pulls you from your blissful daydream. Price stares down at you intently with furrowed brows. “Welcome back to reality, care to stay for a while?” His mouth twists into a small sarcastic smile, his mustache curving with his lips as he attempts to lighten the mood a little.

     You take a deep inhale, allowing the air to stretch out your tired chest before nodding slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.” Taking in your surroundings once more you realize you’re already sat at the corner table, Soap and Gaz are sitting across from you sipping on pints of amber liquid. “Sorry, I’m trying to separate my emotions from work, I really am but-”

     Gaz cuts in and finishes your thought. “But you’ve made a mess of that whole philosophy. We know.” He takes another sip from his glass as he glances around the room.

     You grumble a bit as you pick up the pint that had been set in front of you at some point, draining half the glass in seconds. You can only hope it’ll help numb the emotions enough for you to focus on the present moment. You needed to know exactly what the plan was to get your men back. “How the hell are we going to find them?” Your question is followed by silence and brief glances among the four of you as you look for the others to answer. 

     After a few moments Price speaks up. “Well, the plan was to look for any evidence in the house and hope it’d point us somewhere.” He cocks his head slightly as he idly fiddles with the rim of his glass. “But whoever did it was more prepared than we hoped, left nothing but that handprint. Only thing we can go off of is what Alice said, but that’s not proof of anything.” He sighs and takes a large gulp from his glass, his stress and worry over the situation showing more than before. His composure only slips further the longer you all go without any answers.

     You all go over the events of that morning multiple times, each of you proposing different ideas of what could have happened. None of them end up making any sense or giving way to new leads. The only thing that made sense in your mind was that Alice’s people were out for blood or her return, neither of which were comforting thoughts. Either outcome could and would leave good people injured and dead. Ghost and König likely being among the first to succumb to those afflictions.

     Your stomach turns, whether from the alcohol, the thoughts, or both, you're not sure. Not that it really matters. What matters is making it to the bathroom before your drink comes rocketing from your throat and all over the table. You jump up from your seat clutching your stomach before rushing toward the restroom. You ignore the concerned looks from your companions as you race through the room, pushing through crowds of people. Bile stings the back of your throat, a sour taste forcing its way onto your taste buds as you slam the restroom door open.

~~~~~

     A growl escapes your throat as you deliver another harsh blow to the man’s gut, watching with demented glee as his body tries to fold in on itself. A wheezed breath follows his pained grunt as he tugs against the bindings that hold his wrist to the arms of the old wood chair. “I’m getting tired of the games, Ezekiel.” Your voice flows through the room, bouncing off the cement walls of the basement with a bone chilling sweetness. Your eye twitches slightly as he glares at you through swollen eyelids, that same glare he’d given you just before you’d knocked him unconscious a few hours ago.

     Letting out a shaky breath you tear your eyes away from the reflection in the mirror, unable to stare at your tired face any longer. It’s a clear visual of how badly Ghost and König’s disappearance has affected you and it only served to make your mind spiral further.

     You make your way quickly out of the restroom and back into the loud, crowded pub. You’re about to move toward the table where your companions are seated when your gaze lands on a pair of eyes that seem all too familiar. One orb is a bright emerald green and the other is a dark, almost black, shade of brown. You don’t recognise the rest of the man’s face. Those eyes, however, they’d be recognisable anywhere. Your mind races as the pieces of this terrible puzzle fall into place. 

     This man standing only a few paces away from you was present at many of your negotiations with Alice. His all-too-unique eyes give him away even if he’d worn a face covering to every meeting that he’d accompanied her on. You’d done some research into her and the team she worked with to better equip yourself just in case a negotiation went sideways. His name is Ezekiel and he’s known to be one of the more dangerous members of the group.

     The only question now is what the hell is he doing here? Not that you had to think too much about it after the thoughts that had plagued you for the past two days. It was glaringly obvious to you now that the theory you’d come up with about Alice was almost certainly true. She’d most likely had this as a backup plan if she was found out. But there was no way for her to have known how important Ghost and König were to you. Unless she had someone, a mole of sorts, watching you and your team. 

     Before you can think through your actions you’ve stepped up to the man. He’s large, not as large as König, or even Ghost, but he could definitely be lethal based solely on his build. You could handle him though, especially if he’s not as well trained as the members of 141.

     His eyes move to your form as you step into his space, a quizzical and almost flirtatious look crossing his features. “Something I can do for you?” His voice is like satin, caressing your eardrums in the most spine tingling way. If he weren’t the enemy, and someone who is more than likely involved in the disappearance of König and Ghost, he’d be a nice catch.

     Your mind whirls with visions of ripping his throat out with your teeth before beating him into a mass of blood and bones. You want to tell him off right there, scream at him to give back the two men you hold so precious. You don’t though, knowing it would only cause a scene and give away who you are if he hadn’t put that together already. “You’re eyes,” You manage to force the words out slowly with a small flirtatious smile. “They’re gorgeous.” The words taste like battery acid on your tongue and guilt begins to form in your chest. If you’re lucky you might be able to smooth-talk this guy into leaving with you so you can get some answers out of him.

     It really was that easy. You sweet talked your way past the sour taste in your mouth and managed to get into his head. Ezekiel was all-too-desperate to be taking someone home and you were all-too-happy to follow him out to his car. 

     Wasting no time once the two of you were secluded in his car, you give him a sweet smile. “I would apologize for what comes next, but I have no empathy for scum like you.” You watch his brows furrow as he glares over at you just before your fist makes contact with his temple. He slouches forward against the steering wheel with a soft thump. The only thing left to do now was figure out how to tell your three companions about the reckless move you’d just pulled.

     “So tell me, where are my men?” Your voice comes out low, your harsh tone accompanied by a dangerous glare. You stare him down as you slowly circle around him, a predator studying their prey.

     Ezekiel lets out a low chuckle, something he’d done multiple times since you started questioning him three hours ago. It was different this time, a hint of nervousness seeping into what was meant to be a sound of mocking. “I’m not tellin’ you shit.” His voice is gruff and strained from the number of blows he’d taken to the abdomen. 

     It was an answer, not the one you were looking for, but he’d indirectly confirmed that he knows something about Ghost and König. Whether he was directly involved or not, you now know he has some sort of information that could be useful. A relieved feeling settles low in your belly, knowing now that you’re not wasting precious time with this unconventional interrogation.

     You grin widely at him as you lean down and look him directly in the eyes, certain you look completely insane at this point. “So you do know something about it.” Excitement and intrigue lace your words as you grip his face hard in your left hand. You watch closely as his expression shifts, his brows furrowing as he realizes he slipped up. “Let’s try this again, hmm?” You straighten yourself to stand at full height as you pull out the switchblade König had given you a few weeks ago. “Perhaps I can persuade you to tell me the truth.” Your eyes linger on the knife in your grasp as you flip it open, admiring the way the blade shines in the dim fluorescent light of the musty basement.

      You feel absolutely crazed, finding enjoyment in tormenting this man more than you should. You wanted answers, wanted to find your men and this insect, this pest was keeping you from that. You’re breaking, becoming unstable from the emotional distress of the whole situation. Your mind is slipping, the want to find them giving way to dark thoughts. Thoughts of all the ways you’d enjoy tearing the information from this man’s lips. All the rage you’ve held in over the years is creeping up under your skin, flowing straight to your fingertips as you play with the knife, like lightning to a rod.

     Ezekiel’s eyes stare intently at the blade as he appears to consider his options. "So what, either I tell you what I know or you'll kill me?" He asks incredulously, eyes still focused on the sharp blade. "Isn't that against your code of conduct or something?" He's desperately trying to remain calm but the smallest hint of panic has worked its way into his voice, and that sends a thrilled shiver down your spine. “You’ll go to prison for this.”

     A small laugh burst from between your lips. "Oh, darling Ezekiel," You coo at him as you place the tip of the blade against the underside of his chin, forcing him to look you in the eyes once more. "Do you see a uniform? A badge? Any symbol that would represent a professional bound by some such code?" Your grin widens, a maniacal glint flashing in your eyes as you watch his panic become visible. "No," You shake your head a little while pressing the knife more firmly into his chin. "Not here, not now. You see, right now I am someone looking for something important to me. And you," You pull the knife from his chin and point it directly at his face, enjoying the way his eyes widen as it nearly touches his nose. "You are simply an obstacle standing in my way. Believe me when I say I will dismantle you piece by piece until you give me the information I'm asking for."

     Ezekiel's eyes flit rapidly between the blade and your face, a look of contemplation gracing his features. "You won't do it." His voice is shaky and quiet, filled with uncertainty. Whether he’s uncertain of his own words or your willingness to follow through, you’re not sure.

     Your head cocks to one side as you move the blade to his cheek, swiping the sharp edge swiftly across the flesh. "Are you willing to bet your life on that?" You ask in a low, menacing tone as you force your eyes away from the streak of red on his cheek, looking to his eyes instead. You find your answer there, in his mismatched orbs. A look of pure horror echoed by the way he flinches away from your gaze. "Good. Now then," You slowly pull the knife away from his blood streaked face, wiping it clean against the leg of your pants. "You have three choices here. I can start with your fingers, I can start with your toes, or you can give me the information I'm asking for."

(Don’t forget to ask about joining the tag-list: @josieguts @strangepuppynightmare @theredviolets @poohkie90 @giulia2372 @fillechatoyante @buckysjuicyplums @running-writing @darkravenqueen98 @bigman101 @birdiiiiiiiiiii)

[dinoace2]

Lives Changed

One of the part twos to this

Tw knife, blood, vampire

500 words, post-game so idk if it counts as spoiler

~~~~~~

"Make your choice, Ancunin!"

The Ascendant was quiet for a long moment, then he smiled, his tone light and friendly. "My dear, if you had problems with anything, why didn't you say so? I've told you before...if you need anything, simply ask for it, and it shall be yours. I havent heard you voice any such concerns before. If you were unhappy, you could have mentioned it..."

She scowled. "Shame on me to have thought I would hear honesty from your mouth ever again. My request to be changed was one of the few that I would repeat. And all the times I asked, your response was always 'all in due time, my love.' Well." She adjusted her grip on the knife. "That time is long overdue."

Astarion was still for a long moment, weighing his options.

Eventually, he sighed. "I see how it is, pet. Lower the knife and drink your fill."

He paused, and his tone changed...he almost sounded...like himself again, after so long. "...darling...please, do not misunderstand. I love you dearly. I always have, and I fear I always will. I won't force you to leave after this, but if that is truly what you want...I will not stop you."

She took a deep breath, and, not once moving the knife, leaned down and sunk her teeth into his flesh. He flinched, wincing as he felt the blood drain from his neck, and he felt...oddly lightheaded.

She licked her lips, then cleaned the fresh wound on his neck, feeling a new power course through her body. She was stronger....more alert...

Better.

She stood up, continuing to hold the knife out toward the man she once loved. "...i...appreciate your offer, truly. But...i...I don't know if I can trust you anymore. Not now." She sighed. "...perhaps one day. Eternity is a long time, after all." She walked backwards until she reached the door.

She opened it and began to step out, but paused with one foot through the door. "Astarion...." she whispered. "...thank you."

"This was a gift, you know. I wont forget it."

~~~~~

Once she left the Ancunin manor, her legs buckled. She fell to her knees outside, choking on wracked sobs and shaking breath. She almost felt like she could have vomited up the blood she just drank. Did she really do that? Had she truly defied her vampiric master...and gotten away with it? It just didn't seem possible...but...finally, at long last...she was free.

~~~~~

(Epilogue)

After many days spent traveling by moonlight, cowering under tarp and rooftop alike by day, and fighting the aching hunger in the depths of her stomach, the infant vampire finally arrived at her intended destination.

A land that, nearly a century prior, had been under siege of a deadly, dark curse. Nearly a century before, the curse was lifted by the vampiress and her friends.

Nowadays there stood a thriving village, occupied by teifling families that Halsin once helped and guided.

The old Druid opened his door, looking down at the creature knelt at his feet. He smiled, creases forming at the corner of his eyes. "Ah, Lady Ancunin...it is nice to see you. It's been a long time, old friend. What brings you here?"

"You...were the first person i thought of when i was trying to figure out where to go."

He paused, his smile fading slightly. "...Where is Astarion?"

She let out a shaky sigh. "...its...a long story...and im terribly sorry for showing up unannounced...but...may I come in?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading! :]

[dax-enfinity]

I’ll cry if Izuku gets the typical Shonen MC treatment once MHA ends and in it’s epilogue Izuku will get a shitty ass cut that forever will ruin his hairline and then name his kid something like:

‘Katsuki Shouto Midoriya’

So I wrote a little snippet LMAOOO (forgive me):

———

Izuku then kneels to a tombstone, one of the many tombstones decorating the cemetery from the events of the war against Shigiraki.

Or in this case Tenko Shimura, turns out All Might’s mentor Nana was his grandmother.

Even after everything the villain had done he was like a young child forever trapped in the carcass of a deadly man.

Izuku blinks his deep thoughts away and clears his throat.

“Well then Tenko, I’m sorry if you don’t remember that name but, this was truly Our Hero Academia…”

Izuku says with a soft chuckle by the end of his words as he wordlessly runs his right hand over his hair, now sporting an undercut alongside a full green beard which had taken months to grow out.

He then turns to hear the voice of his wife calling out to his son Katsuki Shouto Midoriya.

So he walked out of the graveyard and headed towards the car until he felt a shiver run down his spine.

Izuku’s eyes widened as Danger Sense had suddenly been activated

“Shoot…”

“E.D.A.M.W, it’s time to activate… To go beyond…! To go PLUS ULTRA….!!!”

———

Forgive me PLEASE 😭😭🙏🙏

[radiowallet]

Meant to Be - Epilogue

The Endearment

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Fem!OC (nameless, third person), Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand, Ellaria Sand x Fem!OC (nameless, third person) Summary: Time marches on. WC: 1.5K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Canon-typical violence, grief, death, political intrigue, arranged marriage, soulmate shenanigans, drinking, the barest hints of pregnancy, female on female dynamics, oral sex (female receiving). Oberyn Martell comes with his own warning.

A/N: This is it! The last chapter! I'm surprisingly emotional for this one to end and I really can't explain it. Please look to the end for more notes. As always, a few things to keep in mind: This is an alternate universe that takes place after the main events of the show. Bran is still king of Westeros. Sansa is still queen of the north. Oberyn lives. Doran never had any children. Our Fem!OC is from Winterfell, but she is not a Stark and is a blank canvas physically.

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~~Please see dedications at the end~~

Masterlist II Series Masterlist

Part 5 <<<

Endearing and sweet

Mine and yours

I hold your kiss on my lips

And my heart in your hands

Time is not always enough to heal. Some wounds are too deep, muscle and bone and blood unable to grow again over the gaping pain of loss. A sister and brother taken too soon are always a lingering scab across Oberyn Martell’s heart, and on the worst of days those wounds break open, and the treacherous concept of time starts all over. 

But it does lend itself well to building something new. Sometimes something unexpected. 

Oberyn leans back in his chair, head tilting to rest along the high back, crossing his legs and casting an eye out of the wide window framing the great hall, noting the position of the sun. Morning is nearly over, and despite his requests from the meeting the day prior, this council meeting is decidedly not. He sighs, loudly, before reaching for his cup, chasing his annoyance with a heavy slurp of wine. 

“And with this year’s tax revenu—“

“I do believe,” he nearly shouts, trying and failing not to slam his cup down, “we went over these numbers just yesterday, is this not correct, Lord Daemon?”

The other man tries and fails to hide his fear, looking up from the scroll spread open in front of him and immediately shrinking back in his chair. “I think there may have been some o-overlap in our agendas, my lord.”

“This entire meeting has been nothing but overlap,” Oberyn continues, his demeanor shifting from bored to deadly in the blink of an eye.

“It felt prudent. His lordship will be gone for some time and we wanted to be prepared.”

Oberyn stands then, the legs of his chair scraping loudly across the floor, and he delights in the wave of discomfort that filters through his council. 

“Let us consider you all prepared. My wife is waiting for me.” 

He pays no mind to the raise of voices, the members of his council clearly convinced no good could come from his absence. Oberyn was nonplussed, ignoring their outcry as he made his way back to his quarters. She truly was waiting for him, and he was eager to be back at her side. 

The visit north he had promised had been put on hold after Doran’s passing, the task of assuming his duties as Lord of Sunspear much more insistent upon his time than he cared for. She had handled the news with the same grace and duty he had come to know and love, standing at his side through it all. He could see now why Sansa Stark valued her friendship along with her support, and it was just another way he counted himself grateful that all manners of fate and choice brought them together. 

Things were settled now, the transition from one brother to the next complete. The strength of Dorne held true, unbroken and unbent, the sandy shores living on in peace. Oberyn felt more secure in the standing of his homeland, and though he did not relish the drop in temperature, he was pleased that he was finally making good on this one promise. 

Trunks were packed and loaded into the carriage, all manner of cloaks and fur lined fabrics stored safely away for the trip. Oberyn’s wardrobe had been distinctly lacking in that regard, but she was quick to a solution, the palace dressmakers tasked with her very specific requests.  

He had snapped his teeth at the idea of it — heavy fabric and brass buttons, his coat cinched tight around his waist and up the column of his throat. But she somehow found a way to turn his eye, standing behind him as the finishing touches were made on a rich red cloak. He cut an imposing figure, the shade almost violent, the symbol of Sunspear stitched into the fabric. 

He could feel her smile burning with pride as she brushed her hands along the wide expanse of his shoulders, her artistic fingers sending shivers down his spine. 

“The color is a bit unorthodox for northern customs,” he had teased, even as he preened before the mirror, back straightening and chest puffing out. She took his tone in stride, lips pressing hot and wet just behind his ear, her hungry eyes glued to his in the looking glass. 

“We do not see many vipers in the North. Allow me to present mine as I see fit.”

Oberyn moves his feet a touch faster, the memory of that day spurring him on. They had dismissed the seamstress with barely a glance, too busy stripping one another bare, and laying down together across the ruby red fabric. Oberyn can still feel the press of her lips as she whispered all the ways she intended to keep him warm between the stone walls of Winterfell as he fucked into her tight heat. 

Their union had strengthened ten fold over the passing months, even as the responsibilities of leadership came to rest upon their shoulders. Her mark upon him had spread easily, complimenting him but never changing. Everywhere he looked he could see her imprint upon his life. Her own throne beside his, her paintings hung on the walls, her moans painting their sheets. 

And in kind, she carries his marks with the same glow of pride. Books of poetry littered her desk, plum wine stained her lips, little pieces of himself left behind in her heart. 

True to their promises all that time ago, he was free to seek out time and pleasure on his own, but he found he preferred it best when she or Ellaria joined him. He still remembers with a spiteful sense of glee how members of his council had mentioned seeing the Lord and Lady of Sunspear walk arm and arm into one of the more luxurious bathhouses. 

It seemed the fates knew a thing or two, gifting him a match with just as voracious an appetite. 

But more and more he found himself content to remain closer to home, his bed there as full as his heart. It’s overly sentimental and he rolls his eyes at it all on his own, but it does not stop his heart from picking up speed when he reaches the door of their chambers. 

The sight that greets him on the other side is not exactly that of a woman who had assured him she would be ready to leave upon his return. 

But he cannot find it in himself to be vexed. 

Not when what he sees is so stunning. 

His soul’s match is laying back amongst the plush dressings of their bed, her body bare and her legs spread wide. She’s twisting back and forth, eyes closed and lips parted, begging for more more more in a way that his own groan slipping out to join her own, the unforgiving leather of his britches suddenly too tight. 

Ellaria is a generous lover, quick to meet his wife’s request and Oberyn steps closer just as one of her elegant fingers slides up inside her fluttering entrance, her lips never breaking away from that beautiful bundle of nerves.

It had been a natural progression, the two of them finding their way to each other. It was as seamless as two people walking together, their arms locked, and fingers laced, until finally they moved together as one, sides pressed together and cheeks on shoulders, closer than close and a sight to be held. 

Oberyn feels a foolish man for ever thinking there was a choice to be made. 

He does not go unnoticed for long, her eyelashes fluttering open, feverish eyes finding him and he is quick to move to her side, cupping the curve of her cheek in his palm. 

“Am I to assume we will be leaving late?” 

She smiles for him, nuzzling into his touch, but all words are stolen by Ellaria’s own lips pulling away. 

“Do not be mad at her, my love. We were restless and she looked so beautiful in the bath. I could not help myself.” 

Oberyn hums in agreement, letting his fingers trail down the column of her neck, squeezing gently, just enough to feel the gasp as it leaves her. He holds her gaze as his touch moves further down, up and over the peak of her breast until his hand rests along the slight swell of her belly, just starting to show with the promise of new life. 

“You are right as alway, my paramour. Our little wolf can be so hard to resist.” 

“Will you join us?” Ellaria asks the question sweetly, each word coated in honey, her dark eyes watching from where she rests her cheek along her thigh, two fingers now moving slowly in and out of her cunt. “Or must we leave her so unsatisfied?”

He smirks down at the two of them, before making a show of untying his robe and letting it fall to the floor. He could play coy, and insist they leave at once, but he knows there would be little use in denying either of them anything. 

He lets the last of his clothing fall away before he slides into bed beside her, his hand drifting low enough to join Ellaria’s, her cries for more finally answered. 

“I suppose not,” he murmurs, before pressing his lips to hers, always eager for the taste of her kiss. 

A taste he thought he had only dreamed.

———

A/N: If you told me my bingo card for the end of 2022 had writing a Game of Thrones fanfic, I do not think I would believe you. But I am so proud of myself for stepping out of my comfort zone, for trying out tropes that I don't normally seek out, and for taking on a new writing style in the fanfic space. I feel like I learned a lot in this process and I think I grew as a writer. I have had so much fun and trust me, this is a world I could see myself revisiting if the right prompt or request tickled my fancy. 🖤

Dedications: I have said this many times before, but it remains true: stories like this do not happen in a vacuum. I am so very grateful for the community here that has supported me through this and all of my writing. To every reader out there, thank you! Endlessly! Your support means more to me than I will ever be able to coherently explain.

To my dearest @astroboots who didn't blink an eye when I started spouting nonsense about Oberyn and arranged marriages and soulmates, she simply replied "Write it." You never let me think I can't do anything I set my sights on, and I love you.

To @magpie-to-the-morning who supported all of my love for this cheeky prince and who I sent blocks of smut to completely unprompted. You took it all in stride and begged me for more and your enthusiasm made me feel higher than high! Thank you so much!

And to my wonderful wife and Ellaria Sand's biggest fan @jazzelsaur You read every chapter. You listened to GoT facts you never thought you would learn. You laughed with me and and encouraged me and helped push me to make this story better than I ever thought it could be. I love you and I would be lost without you.

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

At the Dawn There is Rejoicing--a birthday gift for @kmomof4 (Prologue)

Summary:  Birthday gift for Krystal, @kmomof4. Based on the story of Leslie Moore and Owen Ford in the book Anne’s House of Dreams–the 5th book in the Anne of Green Gables series.  Emma Gold has led a difficult life.  Her brother and her father died when she was a child, and she was then coerced into marrying the odious Neal Gold.  She thought she’d been granted a reprieve when he was believed to be lost at sea–only for him to return disabled and in need of a caregiver.  Killian is a newspaper reporter who is tired of his routine life.  When he falls ill, his editor forces him to take a sabbatical.  What will happen when Emma takes Killian in as a border for the summer? Big thank you to @snowbellewells for making the cover pic set!

Word Count: 406

Tagging a few people who may be interested (Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the list):

Other chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (Epilogue)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Prologue

Havana, Cuba, 1879

He wiped the sweat from his brow as he stepped out of the dockside tavern the night he was scheduled to set sail for home.  He hated the infernal heat and humidity of this godforsaken place.

Point of fact, there was very little about Havana that he didn’t absolutely despise.  They’d sailed out of Prince Edward Island months ago, looking for high adventure, for wealth, perhaps even for the treasures one could find in the tropics, if the tales of other sailors could be believed.

What they’d found instead was heat, humidity, the constant buzzing and biting of mosquitos, and in the end–yellow fever.

He’d never seen a disease like this.  One by one, his men had fallen ill with fever, chills, headache, nausea, vomiting.  At first he’d chalked it up to a few too many nights imbibing a few too many libations and carousing a bit too rowdily.

But then the jaundice had started, the uncontrollable bleeding, the red eyes, delirium, seizures.

He wouldn’t wish this disease on his worst enemy.  His men, whom the doctors merely shook their heads over, wishing for the best, had died horrible deaths, while he stood by helplessly.  

Why Providence had seen fit to spare him the misery and humiliation of this affliction, he didn’t know, but he was certainly grateful.  His cousin, however, had not been so fortunate.  Just this morning, the man had succumbed, cursing his rotten lot in life to the bitter end.

He felt in his pocket to be sure he still had what his cousin had given him, and he turned his thoughts to Emma as he slowly made his way to the docks.  Emma needed to know; he must return to her, and the sooner, the better.

Perhaps his thoughts of the beautiful blonde distracted him, for he didn’t notice the danger increasing by the moment.  As he walked toward his ship, a crowd of rough, dangerous-looking men surrounded him, and it wasn’t until the first one spoke in a deep, deadly voice that he realized what an incredibly precarious position he found himself in.

“Well, what do we have here?” the man jeered.

He’d barely had the chance to meet the speaker’s cold, calculating eyes before he felt a crushing blow to the back of his skull.  For a moment, he felt a sharp, explosive pain, and then he felt nothing at all, as he descended into utter darkness.

Notes: Happy birthday, Krystal!  I hope you have a wonderful year ahead!  This story is rather different from any I’ve written.  It is based on a side plot from the Anne of Green Gables novels that fairly screamed CS to me when I reread it again as an adult.  I’m sure Krystal will recognize the source of the title–from the last half of Pslams 30:6–At dusk weeping comes for the night; but at the dawn there is rejoicing.  That being the title, I’m sure you can imagine the trajectory of this story.  The first part is going to hurt–but then there will be a payoff at the end.  The current plan is for this story to run 7 chapters plus prologue and epilogue, and I plan to post every Tuesday and Friday.  To this point, I have the prologue and the first 3 chapters written, so you can expect me to keep to the posting schedule for at least the first two weeks!

Up next: We meet Emma as well as the more important people she’ll interact with in the story.  We’ll get Emma’s (rather tragic) backstory.  Prepare to thoroughly despise Neal! No Killian yet, but never fear.  He’ll show up soon enough.

NEXT CHAPTER->

[hellsfirekeepsyouwarm]

All Hell Breaks Loose Pt. 5

Long time no see darling, and i apologize for abandoning this series this much. Life's been a bitch (between that damn driver's licence and a mystery health issue i'm still working out), and i had literally no will to live. But i promised i would finish this, so here i am. I''m thinking about an epilogue, the story might needs it. Thanks fr waiting this out.

Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, injures, reader being very bad, Simon being very bad, all canon typical tbh, not proofread

Summary: The time has come, both you and Simon do everything to survive the night.

The fright that shakes your body helps your aching fingers, breaking the small but sharp piece of wood off your one and only companion, your chair. The wood sits in your palm, squeezing it tight to your hand to feel any and every hope it gives you as a makeshift weapon.

You heart beats in your throat, now focused on the sudden noise on the hallway. Barked orders, heavy boots running around, door slamming and opening again.

A weird tingling sensation erupts in you body, something tells you that your time in this room has come to an end. Fucking finally. It fills you with some energy you lacked for a long time now, the pain and constant silence exhausting your everything. You chuckle on how the grip on your tiny wooden piece is deadly, holding for dear life. Now you wait for some unfortunate bastard to unstrap you.

You hear some kind of alarm going off in the distance, the chaos growing outside, but the space you are in is still annoyingly silent. You are sick of it, thoughts too loud and clear in the numb stillness. It's never been so suffocating in there, knowing something is in motion. Meaning the guys are here, or someone else is. Either way, you'll be moved, and that can be good news, or real fucking bad news. Depends on what happens when the door opens next, and who's walking through it. If Graves himself escorts you, he will do every imaginable thing to keep you and himself alive if it means to have his twisted endgame. That what makes you so fucking scared.

His main target wasn't you, you are a means to an end. You are the pain for someone else. You are Simon's pain and fear. You know this is his worst nightmare, he would switch places with you without thinking. And he would still be guilt ridden because then you would have to live with the thought of loosing him. He wouldn't care about the torture, let that be physical or mental. Nothing could break his spirit if it means you are somewhere safe. You can't say the same.

Your mind couldn't stop circling about all the aches in places you never felt before, pushing your limits to a point you think you'll beg to the next person coming through the door to end it in a way or another.

You shake your head, a swift attempt to get rid of the thoughts with the motion. You are so close, you can feel in your bones, stirring the anxious feeling in your stomach.

You can't quite make out the noises, which boot will barge in and grab you, which one is gonna pass and leave you there for another agonizing minute.

Now you just wait, between immediate death by Graves's hands and a desired rescue by your beloved Lieutenant.

*

Simon's body tensed before his eyes narrowed at the end of the hallway. He is fucking loud, his ego and pride walked in front of him, slapping a person in the face before meeting the man himself. Only a couple minutes passed since the alarms started screaming, he anticipated Graves later.

While the tension is unpleasant, it brings a sense of relief too as Graves stops right next to him. He will go through this fucking door and he can't do shit about it. His heart is a beast against his rib cage, so loud he thinks others surrounding him can hear it through his skin.

Time slows down, his right ear is clear from anything else other than your voice. It's drained, a mere whisper to Graves's taunting cocky voice, but it's there, and his heart sinks. He can't just barge in, can't lay his eyes on you to be sure that what he's hearing is real. He stands there, slowly cut off from you by the shut of the door with an awfully loud bang. After that, is just muffled and coherent sounds. It goes like that for a few minutes before he can hear you again.

"Don't fucking run away from me now Philip! You know what's fucking funny? Huh? You preach about loyalty and trust and all that shit, but do you realize what my loyalty towards you could have done to me?"

Simon body twitches, fingers too close to the trigger, eyes averting nervously. You are definitely in this room, you are loud and clear in his ears. He wasn't imagining you, and the crack on the door allows him a good angle to listen in. He can feel Grave's movements almost, circling around the door. Simon can see in his mind how Graves's body is frozen in one place, contemplating what he should do with you. He remembers that look, it was plastered on him anytime he laid his eyes on you, like an unfinished job, a loose end. He was always unpredictable, and he is certainly kept that attribute. And you are not making this easier by pushing his buttons.

"Yeah you know, you thought about it didn't you? If i stay your Shadow, you right hand, i would have been on that black-bag operation..."

"NO.."

"DON'T FUCKING LIE!"

Oh fuck no. Your voice is something he never heard before. Strained but undying. The undertone of it is agonizing, a reminder of all the times you woke up sobbing in pain in the hospital bed from a nightmare, trying to explain between cries what went down behind those eyes in your sleep. But it's the anger and desperation that catching Simon off guard.

"Don't lie! I would have died then and there with the others protecting that damn cargo. Do you hear me? There is your fucking loyalty."

You talked about it a lot with Simon, how your life would have been the exact opposite if you don't choose the 141. How you thought the change was certainly worse for Graves than you, and that thought process changed real fucking quick after Graves's betray.

"It doesn't fucking matter anymore Y/N. You gotta see that at this point." Graves appears next to Simon in the middle of his sentence, kind of shaken up, seeing the tension on him like never.

"DON'T FUCKING LEAVE ME HERE! YOU WANT 141? YOU CAN FUCK OFF GRAVES, YOU'LL NEVER WIN, YOU UNDERSTAND ME? THEY'LL COME FOR YOU WHEREVER YOU ARE!"

You scream, scream like a madman, loosing every drop of your strength so your words reach him, and you do. Simon eyes flicker on the man, completely zoned out, almost looking shaken up.

"Exfil is in 5 minutes. I'll meet you there. Don't fucking loose her or you'll be looking up at the grass before the sun comes up."

The threat is real, Simon can tell just by he look on his current partner. He plays along nodding vigorously to look somewhat scared.

Graves walks away, two man attached to him by the hips. Simon might can't take out Graves tonight, but he can get you out of here, and that is all he wishes right now.

5 minutes it is.

*

The only thing you can remember is the sharp edges of the wooden piece hugged by your palm, fingers sliding on the rough splints, poking your already aching skin. That is what grounding you, the sharp tiny stings on your fingertips while you wait. You can't tell anymore what is minutes and what is hours, but eventually a man dressed in black step inside. He comes right for you, untying your aching limbs with frantic hands and more frantic breathing. You can see the pulsing vein on his neck, the very pulse you'll dip your gracious weapon with joy.

Your eyes shift, up a little to see a shadow slip in, tall and quiet, looming over the other man, posture threatening and predatory. You almost choke on your cry when you realize, but your weaponized hand is freed, air hitting your irritated skin signaling your green light to lunge forward, nothing was every more simpler than your hand violently colliding with his neck. It's his skin you feel, and not the power of the lethal stab you inflict. He's on the ground right after, the wood still poking out, hands clutching the source of his pain. Or whatever he's feeling.

Simon is stunned for a second, watching you kill a man with probably your last remaining strength.

He moves carefully towards you, in case you have another hidden gem under your sleeve.

"Simon?" You ask with blurry eyes, with so much hope held in your gaze it's giving Simon butterflies and so much pain. You recognized him as soon as he stepped in the room. You recognized him.

"Yeah luv, it's me. It's me." He breathes out softly, cupping your face cautiously afraid he might still spook you. "It's me."

"About damn fucking time." You chuckle a little, foreheads touching for a moment, just a quick breath before coming back to reality.

"Can you walk?" Estimating the damage on you, searching for injuries, collecting information on what is the next step.

"I think so. I have to." You nod a little, accepting his helping hand, even with the gloves on your light touch soothes his troubled mind, clearing the red rage. Oh how much he thought about this moment, haunted by your bruised body, lifeless and cold. But you are alive. Of course you are alive, what a fool he is to believe the opposite.

"I fucking hope you have a plan cuz this is how long i planned ahead." You point down at the dead body next to you, the Shadow's blood now leaving a forever stain on the floor under him.

Simon whole body is surrounding you, a barrier between you and anything else that'll com to your way. Simon hands you the gun that was owned by the guard, the cold metal a blessing in your palm. In a haze you see Simon drag the vest off of the man, then putting it on you in a hurry.

"My plan was to find you, anything else was a mere idea." He admits, not defeated but surely agitated by the lack of potential of escaping the facility in one piece. "We can go back the way i got in, but i..."

His words falters, his masked face isn't enough to hide the fear he feel looking at you, trembling in his hands while the chance of a herd of Shadow barging in any fucking minute. You need to move and do it quickly. "We gotta move. Anything moves, you shoot, copy?"

"Copy." You might look out of breath, but he knows you are more than ready to massacre your way out of this place, and by his side you can do anything.

So you move. Hand clutching the gun close to you, focusing on step after step, hopping from corridor to corridor, trying to ignore the loud rush of your blood in your ears. Fuck it's almost impossible to not tune in with your body shutting down so rapidly, every fiber shouting at you to deal with the pain and how the pain surrenders your body.

In reality you only entered the neighboring hallway. Simon can feel your disoriented body bumping into him when he halts. He only can hope the decoy lasts until you are out of Graves's hair. Which will be a hell of a job considering Graves is probably knows you are gone. That awful five minutes runs by quick when you need it.

The building is oddly quiet, and while the odds are still good, he know any slip up can end up in a disaster. A disaster in a form of only one hostile. The on who is currently radioing in to report the missing hostage, walking right to where Simon is shielding your body from the open space as much as he can. The second are running past and the last resort steps in. He acted his way in here, so he will act his way out.

"Follow my lead." Is all he says before picking up a nasty and harsh behavior. Simon grabs you by your forearm, keeping you close but in a more uncomfortable way than you would like. You whine from the lack of contact, and the sudden pain washing over you as Simon drags you in front of him.

Your distress isn't unnoticed by Simon, his chest twisting in a familiar way, the one where pain is unbearable and the pressure is too much to breath. But he can't let go, because in a second he will face the Shadow, delivering the most important person in his life on a silver platter.

"Negative, Sir. Halls are empty, no sign of any of the."

It's time.

"Don't you dare try anything." Simon huffs out, acting like he's struggling to keep you at bay, and the change of his tone that hits you, seeing a stunned man in front of you and your first thought is the loss of the metal from your hands.

"Sir. She killed.." Simon starts to speak, voice so weird without his natural accent.

"I know i saw. Why didn't you answered the radio? Commander is about to blow and i don't fucking plan to take the damage."

"Sorry sir, i had to act quick before..."

"Yeah yeah, you shit your pants. Now fucking move, Graves is mad as fuck."

Call it in. Fucking call it in. That is all what Simon needs. Just a couple of words into Graves earpiece and he can take you out of there. He can feel your body weighing on his own, knowing it's not an act. You try so hard to make it work, but every step, every breath and blink takes something away from you, the comforting scent and protective arm around you is making your mind too much at ease. You told yourself to just bear with everything until you can see him again, and now you have got what you wanted, your mind is satisfied.

Call it in for fuck's sake.

"Shadow 3-0, i found her. going for exfil now."

Ghost waits, eyes on the back of the Shadow's neck, just a little more to be sure, and he lunges forward.

" Yes sir." Letting you go swiftly, knocking his gun right at the back of his head, the soldier collapsing instantly, right at his feet, knocked out cold. Before you can comprehend anything, he's back at your side, hushing you, asking you to stand up, to lean on him for support, to bare with the pain, just for a few more minutes.

It's a surreal scene, you think. You see the walls of the hall like you see the city lights from car that speeds on the empty road at a godless hour of the night. Your legs move, but you have no idea how, how it's still working for you but not feeling any of it. You are not even a passenger in this reminder of your body, you just watch as everything changes. After the dust, your nose fills with fresh air, cold breeze reminding you of the last time you sat on the porch wishing Simon home. Light to dark, you vision blurred with tears and almost no source of light.

"Just a few more steps luv." He says, but you are confused because you don't feel yourself taking steps, or running or panting, not even the air around you collides with your skin how it should when you move.

Between his earthy scent, and the unmistakable sound of shots fired, your body gives in to the pulling, and the world around you goes dark.

*

The last thing you remember is smelling evergreens, ears ringing with bullets being fired. Your nose crunch up in discomfort, feeling the overwhelming smell of disinfectant.

Breathing picking up, your fingers moving around in a panic to get a hold of something, to know what's happening.

His hands finds your shaking one right when his raspy voice calls out your name next to your ear.

"I'm here, i'm here. You are okay, i'm here with you. You are safe."

*

Taglist: @cabreezer0117 @multitargaryen @embers-of-alluring @batmanunicorns523 @5seastar @sweetybuzz25 @levisbebe @galagcica @briefwinnerpersonaturtle@afro-hispwriter @v-v-x-x @levi-llama @kat-nee @kuwizo @thefairybird @haythemsychopathicgirlfriend @woodeelf @sinon36 @actuallyanita @khjssss @randomchick546 @sinon36 @elliestark13 @jillvalentinesworld @kaghost @lumpypoll @iwaizumicumslut @umiexe @kyuupidwrites @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @supremekid @yaaamadaa-blog

[aralezinspace]

Sweet Nightmares (The Tale of the Blade in the Dark) Part III

A single Hidden One goes against Dream of the Endless, and gets way more than they bargained for. One does not emerge from a nightmare unscathed.

Previous ~~ Next

A/N: (crossover with Assassin's Creed) My contribution to @roguelov's Sweet Nightmares challenge! gif by @honeybeezgobzzzzz tagging @fangirlmary @alteon77

This is where we get into the Good Shit 🤩Part 4 will be posted tomorrow or Sunday, a little epilogue to wrap this up. Enjoy!

Warnings: AFAB, named, they/them reader, blood, nightmare!Morpheus, some Endless style torture, copious use of petnames

The panic began to solidify and ooze into dread when they realized the Nightmare King had vanished. Their head frantically swiveled back and forth, looking for any sign of him, but all they saw were stars, dust, and more stars. 

“Fear not the darkness,” they murmured to themselves, the beginning of a phrase their Mentor and other Master Assassins of their brotherhood had repeated endlessly throughout their training, throughout their entire life: “Fear not the darkness, but welcome its embrace. Fear not the darkness, but welcome its embrace.” 

They repeated the phrase over and over, their heartbeat gradually slowing to match the rhythm and cadence of the words. The dark itself was nothing to be afraid of (what lurked in the darkness was another matter entirely). It was no different than the light. Not good or evil, malicious or benevolent, they simply existed, each serving a unique purpose to keep balance.   

“Fear not the darkness,” they whispered to the void, “But welcome its embrace.” After one last calming, almost meditative breath, the primal survival instincts and fear were calmed and replaced by heavy caution. Yeraz was a Master Assassin, born and raised into the Brotherhood. Their training had sunk deep into their bones, deep enough to overcome base, primal fear. 

The Hidden One had a moment of lightheadedness, easing it away with more deep breaths. Their fingers and toes throbbed in time with their heart, their hands prickled and stung. Their mind was still shrouded in a dream-like fog, their skin felt too hot and too tight, but they could somewhat think through it. 

The first thing they noticed was that their side was completely healed and cleaned. No evidence remained of the horrendous wound, not a single scar or drop of blood. Confusion and relief competed with the fog in their mind. Their clothes were also clean- they were no longer soaked with  blood, and it would have been a comfort if only they didn’t feel so constricting on their sensitive skin.

“The wisdom of your brotherhood will not save you.” Yeraz gasped when they heard Morpheus’ voice echo through the void, unable to pinpoint its origin. It surrounded them, moved through them. 

The Nightmare King faded into existence before them- if they thought he had been monstrous before, they were wrong. 

He loomed over them, easily seven feet tall. Smoke clouds the color of ink churned and roiled around him, dancing like snakes to a piper. Occasional gaps in the sinuous shadows allowed quick peeks at the moonlit skin of his body. The flames of his cloak had spread out at his feet like a pedestal, reverently writhing about him.

Any softness in the structure of his face was gone: cheek and chin bones were sharp and protruding, tightly wrapped in that unnaturally pale skin. Black pits of eyes sunk deep into his skull, like staring into a bottomless chasm. The faintest silver outlines of scales like those of a great serpent, shimmering on the skin that was visible. Dangerously sharp teeth bared in glee. A pointed tongue licking blood red lips. 

This was the eldest and darkest of all primordial creatures, the worst of nightmares. Clever, ancient, deadly, and hell-bent on retribution.  

He glided even closer. The sand binding Yeraz’s hands floated slowly upward, dragging their body with it until they were at eye level with the monster, letting him get another good look at what he was working with. A fat bead of sweat slid down their spine. Everything had gone cold, the terror was overwhelming. Yeraz had never felt so powerless or afraid. 

“Now then…” he rumbled low in his chest, the voice of an ancient creature stirring in the deep. The nightmare floated away just a little, leaving a ribbon of sand in his wake. It snaked toward Yeraz and flitted around them, the tiny grains tickling every inch of exposed skin before slipping into their body. The Assassin squirmed, both panic and training overwhelmed by something more base: desire. 

Not the kind that Dream’s sibling normally dealt in. This was the most primal, most ancient form of want. The kind where the line between pain and pleasure didn’t exist, and the two bled together in mind-breaking intensity. Yeraz’s entire body cried out for release, for catharsis, for room to breathe and be numb, and it didn’t care whether that release came from the tender touch of a lover or the sharp agony of a knife. 

Tendrils of ink and ash snaked out of the black emptiness that was Morpheus and wound their way through the void to Yeraz, taunting them as they drew closer. The Assassin curled in on themselves as much as they could, tried to make themselves small, but there was no escaping, not when every star in the sky was an eye, all the better to see them with. 

Those tendrils started at the tips of their toes, slowly creeping up Yeraz’s legs like vines. They were hot and cold all at once, freezing and burning, pleasure so intense it almost hurt. They kicked and thrashed, trying to dislodge them, but that darkness wouldn’t let go. Thin, sharp barbs slipped under their skin and held fast. 

As the stinging blackness continued to creep up Yeraz’s legs, a long, bony finger tipped with a diamond sharp claw whispered down their cheek. Black eyes reflected the stars around them as Morpheus stared them down. A whimper bubbled from their mouth unbidden- the burning shadows had reached halfway up their thighs, and didn’t show any sign of slowing down. 

“That’s it,” Morpheus purred, pulling his hand away. Both hands now slid up Yeraz’s arms to where their hands were still bound in iron. He intertwined their fingers and squeezed, hard enough to make the delicate bones creak and crack. 

Yeraz cried out, their eyes crunched shut against the pain. Shadows mixed with sand seeped into their skin, tracing the lines of the veins in their arms in black ribbons. Yeraz screamed as the rivulets of pain trailed down their arms, congregating at their diaphragm, their body’s center. 

“You were never meant to succeed, little blade.” Their eyes snapped open. Morpheus’ hands slid back down their arms and all the way down their torso, tracing the curves of their body with false tenderness. He almost sounded sad. “You gave a valiant effort, and I commend you for it. But…” He drew in closer, close enough to feel the warm puff of the  Assassin’s short breaths on his face, “You could never have defeated me.” A pause. “How cruel to ask that of you…” 

The pleasure from below finally collided with the pain from above, the two swirling in a vortex of intense sensation that ripped another scream from the Assassin, long and raw and ragged, echoing in the void. Morpheus smirked; they had finally reached the crossroads he had been guiding them towards from the moment they fled after their failed attempt in his life. Pain or pleasure. Life or death. 

Yeraz felt like they were being ripped apart from the inside by shadows and sand that refused to be contained by any physical form. The void was pulling at them, separating the fabric of their essence thread by thread. All they knew was the burning pleasure, the sharp pain cutting through it, the nexuses at their heart and core where the two blended together. Their insides and outsides bubbled and roiled, so close to exploding out of the skin that confined it, but never granted that release.

No amount of will or training could overcome the unraveling of their very being. No wisdom could silence the screams for them to get away, could diffuse the bomb that begged and pleaded to go off. 

Yeraz… Morpheus had once again disappeared, leaving Yeraz alone in the void. The stars and colors had vanished, leaving them surrounded by nothing but cold blackness. It could have been the furthest reaches of the universe, the darkest depths of the ocean. His thunderous voice was all around them, rumbling through them, shaking the firmament of reality. They closed their eyes again, hiding behind their eyelids from the forces beyond their comprehension. 

Their body went numb. No pleasure. No pain. Nothing. They gasped and sagged in relief. The iron cuffs had scraped their wrists raw from the force of their struggles, yet still held their weight firmly in place amidst the vast nothingness. Their eyes slowly fluttered open- not that it mattered whether they were open or shut, everything was black. Broken whimpers and tears flooded out of them as they trembled and shook. 

Yeraz, my blade. Two pinpricks of silver appeared, slowly growing larger. As they grew bigger and closer, more colors filled in the edges. First blues, then reds, then purples. His eyes were almost as tall as Yeraz themself- a monster that unfathomably large could snap them in half like a stalk of grain. Bone-crushing dread and despair overcame them. 

They never had a chance. 

Their head bowed limply in almost pathetic supplication, an ant before a titan. Little Hidden One, alone in the dark… 

Yeraz shivered and blubbered, tears filled with pain and shame dripping into nothingness. They hadn’t been afraid of the dark since childhood, and yet now their child self was extremely vindicated, for it turned out there were terrible monsters hiding in the black, just waiting to rip them apart. 

Little. Broken. Blade. Morpheus let the echo of each word fade before moving on to the next, those monstrous eyes the size of suns staring down his prey. Here we are. The beginning and the end. Everything, and nothing. A tense pause. You are shattered, my knife. What then, would you have your master do? Shall I remake you, or shall I scatter your fragments to the stars, lost among the void? He paused again, and a toothy smile split the blackness in pyramids of white. 

Your life is mine, or it is forfeit. I can reforge you anew, or make you beg for the release of death, should I deign to grant it. Choose.

Yeraz stopped breathing. They had been utterly defeated, their fate in his unfathomable hands. Reduced to a speck of nothing among the cosmos.

And yet, that survival instinct, that bone-deep desire to live that sparked in every human being, flared into existence. They took several deep breaths, all their strength going into making heavy and sluggish lips form the words. Their mouth was dry, their throat torn open from the force of their almost endless screams.  

The eyes blinked, the grin vanished, but they could tell he was frowning. The Nightmare King didn’t like to be kept waiting. Yeraz stared into what they assumed were his pupils, swirling and glowing, the size of a galaxy on the horizon. They stared at him with a determined resignation, even though their voice was ragged and breathy, barely audible even to their own ears. 

“My life is yours, Dream Lord.” 

That grin appeared again with more teeth that were even sharper. A wise decision, little blade.

In a blink, Yeraz had left the void and was once again floating in the colorful, star filled sky. They squinted as their eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness surrounding them. Sensation slammed back into their body all at once. A cry tore open their already ragged and tattered throat, their entire body arching and tensing at the onslaught. 

They yelled and swore as Morpheus materialized in front of them, back to his mere seven foot stature. That grin was still on his face as he glided up to them. Yeraz panted for breath, sweat beading their skin. They shuddered as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind their ear. 

“Now, my precious knife,” he purred, a devious, sadistic glint in his eye.

The cuffs binding their hands together separated, slowly lowering their arms until they were spread eagle at their sides. Their shoulders burned and ached in relief. They groaned loudly, their head hanging again. Morpheus lifted their chin with two fingers, the digits supporting the weight of their head with an easy strength and forcing Yeraz to look at him. Their eyes were watery, and yet still hard beneath the tears, shimmering stones at the bed of a crystal clear lake. 

“Good blade,” he rasped. 

The words rolled and shuddered through their entire body. He blew into his palm again and more sand flitted into Yeraz’s eyes. Whatever lingered of their previous pain was gone, replaced by caramel heat. Yeraz moaned- confused, relieved, unable to resist succumbing to the waves of bliss. Sand swirled around them again, and when the grains had vanished, so had their clothes, revealing every inch of their form to the nightmare’s hungry gaze. They yelped and tried to hide themselves, but whatever forces bound them wouldn’t budge.

Morpheus hummed low in his throat, clearly pleased with the reaction he was getting. His eyes raked over their exposed form- the lean muscle that tensed and rippled with their struggles; the scars that littered their body in raised lines of silver, evidence of their previous brushes with death. The birthmark on their abdomen, a dark splotch that looked like a bird in flight if he squinted. 

The missing left ring finger; the mark of their devotion to the Hidden Ones.

A flawed weapon, to be sure. But also one that was strong, well-tempered, and would no doubt serve him admirably for uncountable years to come.

Slender ribbons of shadow and sand bled from the tips of his fingers and snaked around their form. Yeraz felt his touch all over their body, and Morpheus felt the sensation of touching them everywhere all at once, practically consuming their form with his own. One ribbon reached the palm of their hand, and in a moment of instinctive defiance, Yeraz wrapped their fingers around it and squeezed, digging their blunt nails into it, a warning and threat they were in no position to make.

Morpheus felt it as keenly as if they had squeezed his finger in their hand; those shadows were extensions of his form. He snarled and his eyes flared, the silver at the center eclipsing the black in a supernova. A hand left their waist faster than lightning and clasped around their throat, the tips of sharp talons digging into the skin and drawing blood. Little rivulets of red trickled down their neck and onto his fingers. Yeraz choked and sputtered as they released the shadow in their grasp. 

“Do not test me,” he growled darkly, the threat and power behind it clear in his voice. “I can still shatter you beyond all hope of repair.” He pulled them close enough to lick the tiny streams of blood off their neck and whisper in their ear, “Now be a good blade, and be still.” 

The command was clear, and his power slid across their skin to reinforce it. Their flesh pebbled and tingled with goosebumps. Yeraz froze, their stillness tense like a taut bowstring. They barely breathed, save for quick, tiny puffs of air moving in and out of their nose.

Morpheus hummed, pleased with their obedience. “Good… Very good.”

The silver white of his hands slowly faded to the black of the deep, dark night. The outline of his form blurred into mist, the inky smoke seeping into their skin. It slowly spread through their entire body, tracing the rivers of their veins and fibers of their muscles. As it moved, Yeraz was filled with warmth, the same feeling of bliss as laying on the rooftop of the bureau under the sunrise. They shivered and sighed in weariness, in relief, in despair. 

They may never feel that sunrise again.  

A sadistic grin pulled Morpheus’ face apart as his darkness spread. It slithered between their toes, under their nails, into the cracks in their lips, between vertebrae and delicate nerves. Their skin slowly took on the color of the nightmare, deepening to the fathomless black of the empty void. Even their eyes had been sucked into the nothingness. 

In that moment, Yeraz couldn’t find it in them to care, or pay heed to the infinitely dangerous monster lurking in the dark just before them. For the first time, in what seemed like eternity, they had finally found some semblance of peace. There was nothing but that warm caress encasing every inch of them.

They gasped breathlessly, another tear trickling out of the corner of their eye. This single tear was the only one not born of pain, but of relief, of release, the feeling of lightness after setting down a long held and heavy burden.

A soft, dark chuckle was all the warning they had that the moment was not to last. 

Burning pain set their every nerve on fire. The soothing warmth had turned into acid, searing them from the inside. Yeraz shrieked, high and wailing. They pulled as hard as they could against the bonds on their wrists, trying to curl up in a ball in an attempt to ease the agony, but the sand-crafted iron wouldn’t budge. They bit their lip hard enough to draw blood trying to stifle the screams that clawed out of their throat with every breath.  

Morpheus’ grin widened as they thrashed and strained against his iron grip, their movements little more to him than those of a worm wriggling its way through wet soil. He tightened his grip on their neck, bringing their frantic struggles to a crashing halt. 

Yeraz could only twitch and whimper pathetically, their vision going fuzzy and dark around the edges as the constant agony sapped their strength and the nightmare’s grip on their neck stopped the breath in their lungs. “Hush,” he scolded in a dark whisper, squeezing just a little tighter. The nails at their waist dug into soft flesh, pearls of red briefly flashing in the starlight. “It will be over soon.” 

The blackness covering their body began to recede, taking the pain with it, all of it flowing towards their wrists. While the rest of their body no longer hurt, their wrists were on fire while being clamped in a spike-filled vice that happened to be submerged in boiling water. Morpheus removed his claws from their flesh in favor of wrapping a hand around each wrist, bony fingers shrinking in length to get a solid grip. His grasp pushed the blackness further into their wrists, he could feel the frantic throbbing of their pulse against his palms.

Fat tears flowed freely from Yeraz’s eyes as the pain only grew stronger. They screamed and screamed, unable to form words, not even to plead for mercy, or beg for death. Morpheus’ eyes were silver flames, points of starlight creating shadows around the sharp angles of his face.

Yeraz was too far gone to take notice when the pain finally stopped and Morpheus released their wrists. Their cries continued until Morpheus threaded his fingers into their hair and pulled, forcing them to look up at him. They looked rather pitiful, their face all clammy and covered in sweat and tears, their entire form trembling before him. Fear and despair filled eyes swam in a sea of tears. For a moment, Morpheus almost thought he had gone too far, and broken his new weapon beyond repair. But it was only a moment, only almost a thought: a little light was left in their eyes, a little spark remained in their veins, but most of the fire had been effectively doused. No matter, it could be rekindled. 

The galaxies around them faded back to the gray stone of the room they had awoken in. The iron cuffs disintegrated back into the sand from which they were formed, and Yeraz’s entire body sagged without anything to hold them up. Broken sobs poured from their mouth as they collapsed into Dream’s arms. A clean blouse and breeches materialized onto them as he knelt and lowered them to the floor. 

He gently pushed up the sleeves of their blouse: each wrist was marked with a scorched band of black skin about two fingers wide, the edges jagged and rough. A sadistic, satisfied grin briefly touched his face. They were now forever marked as his.

Their hands trembled as they continued to sob. Morpheus held them in his lap, close to his chest, the way one would hold a delicate newborn. Yeraz's tears soaked into his robes, weak fingers curled into the fabric like a lifeline. 

“There, there,” he breathed softly, a tender hand still tipped in claws caressing their hair and brushing stray locks out of their face. “Rest. You are safe.” 

Yeraz’s sobs slowly quieted, their eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Dream brushed cold, soothing fingers over the marks on their wrists. When they were finally calmed, he brushed his lips over their sweat coated forehead in a feather light kiss. 

“I have a task for you, my blade.” Yeraz started and tried to pull away from the voice of their worst nightmare, but Dream’s hold on them remained unbreakable. He murmured in their ear, “Your target is a man. Arrogant and cowardly. He is motivated by hubris and spite. The lives of his brethren mean little to him, especially those he sends into the lairs of monsters with nary a chance of surviving. Such a man deserves to die, yes?” 

Cold dread slid down Yeraz’s spine. His words were poison dipped in honey, sweetly burning. Their stomach heaved. Morpheus leaned in closer, lips flowing over sharp teeth stretched into a monstrous grin. “Kill the Mentor who so foolishly ordered you here.” A pause. The grin grew wider. “He sent me a knife in the shadows, one that turned out to be a handsome gift. And it would be quite rude of me to not send a gift of equal or greater value.” Pale knuckles ghosted down their cheek. They shuddered at the touch. “And so… I will send him you.”

Yeraz took a breath, about to protest, but Dream stopped their words with a deceptively gentle finger laid atop their lips. “Mine, or forfeit,” he reminded them, the words soft but steely. Taunting. Smug. Dread settled in their stomach and their eyes fell; there was really only one answer they could give. 

“I am yours to command. I am but a blade in the crowd.”

[dhr-ao3]

Break the Curse

Break the Curse https://ift.tt/VD8x1iC by Unfoggingthefuture "I want you to find happiness, Hermione," Draco whispered, his voice cracking. "Even if it’s not with me. You deserve to be with someone who can give you everything you deserve, without any complications or barriers. You deserve a love that’s free and unburdened." Hermione’s heart shattered further at his words, but she nodded, understanding the depth of his love for her even in this moment of parting. "I love you, Draco. I always will." Soon after their painful separation, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger are brought together again by a desperate mission: saving Astoria Greengrass, Draco’s betrothed, from a deadly blood curse. Bound by duty and an unwanted engagement, Draco works alongside Hermione to find a cure, hoping to free himself and reclaim their lost love. Words: 2559, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/M Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Break Up, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/i2wuetE July 22, 2024 at 04:36AM

[inkjackets]

To Save a Loved One Epilogue

It's been a moment since I've posted any sort of fiction let alone for this story, but I've finally found the time to get this epilogue done!

I hope you all enjoyed reading this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Let me know if you did :)

I hope to see you in future works.

AO3

Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Epilogue

~~~

10 years later

‘How are you?’ Gabriel’s voice was low and soft, and reverberated through Emilie’s heart.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The scent of bleach and sanitiser penetrated her senses and the conditioned air dried her throat, blonde wisps of hair fluttering against her neck. 

She slowly exhaled and met the gaze of her husband sat on the other side of the table. Each time she came here he looked older but no less refined. He wore his elegance like a shield – like a mask – a form of protection behind of which existed an exhausted, worn-down man.

‘I’m well,’ she said quietly.

Gabriel’s expression softened into the barest of smiles. 

‘And Adrien?’ he asked. ‘How is he?’

Emilie didn’t reply; she let his question hang in the room as she thought back to a few days ago when she’d last seen their son. Adrien had been laughing and smiling, and oh, he was the most beautiful thing in the world; he’d been gorgeous as a child and only blossomed further as he’d grown – something she didn’t quite know how to forgive Gabriel for missing out on.

‘Do you regret it?’ The words slipped from her tongue before she could stop them, words she’d wanted to voice for years but never dared to.

Gabriel’s smile fell away. What little warmth was in the room vanished.

‘No,’ he said, in a voice so deadly gentle it sent shivers down her spine.

Emilie cast her eyes down. She ran her fingers across the metal surface of the table, catching her nails on the grooves made from years of wear and tear.

‘You know you didn’t just lose Nathalie that night…’ she said soft and quiet. ‘You lost Adrien too.’ 

Gabriel swallowed. ‘I know.’

‘And yet, you say you regret nothing.’

‘Everything I did, I did for you.’ 

He took her hand and she slowly raised her gaze to meet his. His grey eyes pierced her heart and warmth rose within her at the love and devotion he clearly held for her. 

‘I know,’ she whispered. Her heart clenched in her chest. She twisted her hand and gripped him back just as tight, gazing at him with conflicted affection, love flowing for him despite her better judgement. ‘I know.’

Emilie breathed in the sunshine as she strolled along the river, savouring every moment that her second life gave her. Grateful to be out of that prison and amongst life.

She paused at a billboard showcasing the latest Emilie collection. With his side-swept blond hair and smile that lit up the skyline, the model was the perfect Emilie ambassador. Yet he was nothing compared to her Adrien.

After Gabriel’s imprisonment she’d taken over the company and rebranded it. Though she hadn’t expected Adrien to disagree with her about it.

‘You’re continuing the business?’ Adrien had asked her after he’d found out. ‘You’re not selling it?’

‘Of course not,’ she replied. ‘It’s your father’s legacy. And it would be wonderful if you would continue being the face of the brand.’

Adrien had stared at her, offended and wounded, before turning his back on her and walking from the room.

Emilie exhaled and tore her gaze from the billboard. Despite the years that had passed, that rejection still hurt and confused her. But after her conversation with Gabriel this morning maybe, just maybe, she could start to understand. 

She turned away from the river and crossed the road to meander down the backstreets and alleyways of Paris, determined to get lost; to explore and discover, whether it be stumbling upon a fresh set of blooming flowers or a new cafe that had opened. Overcome with the overwhelming desire to not waste her life.

Eventually though, she found herself gazing up at the familiar building where her son lived – a humble little flat he shared with the Dupain-Cheng girl. Not for the first time she wondered why they didn’t move somewhere more suitable for his station, it’s not as if they didn’t have the money.

After a moment’s hesitation, she strode up the steps to their flat and paused outside the door, fist poised to knock. She probably shouldn’t show up unannounced.

Especially just after visiting Gabriel…

But she dismissed her concerns with a shake of her head, and rapped her knuckles on the wood.

‘Mum!’ Adrien opened the door with a wide smile on his face. And tension leaked from Emilie’s shoulders as he wrapped her in his embrace. ‘I wasn’t expecting you, come in, come in!’ 

Plagg popped out Adrien’s mop of blond hair as she followed him into their little sitting room, he stared at her with his unreadable green eyes. She smiled at the Kwami.

He narrowed his eyes in response. 

‘Can I get you something to drink?’ Adrien asked, turning and forcing her to break eye contact with Plagg. ‘Tea? Coffee…?’

‘Tea would be nice.’ She placed her bag on the couch and sat down, looking around, ignoring Plagg’s eyes on her as Adrien headed into the kitchen. This living room was so small it barely held the television and sofa. 

As Adrien made their drinks she leafed through the exam papers scattered over the coffee table that he’d been in the middle of grading. She sighed. Being a teacher was such a waste of his potential.

‘I saw the Gorilla the other day,’ Adrien spoke loudly from the kitchen as the noise of the kettle boiling died down.

‘Oh?’ Emilie put the papers back. ‘How is he?’ 

‘He’s doing well! He’s got a gig driving around some high-flying lawyers, so he treated Marinette and I for dinner last week. We had a really nice time.’

‘How lovely.’

He appeared with two steaming mugs. ‘Have you been up to anything?’

‘Oh a bit of this, a bit of that. Nothing out of the ordinary.’

Adrien handed her a mug, smiling, and Emilie’s heart swelled. She loved that smile, it never failed to warm her heart. What she didn’t like however, was the unnatural paleness of his skin and the deep shadows under his eyes. 

‘How are you sleeping?’ she asked, wrapping her hands around her mug. 

Adrien shrugged. ‘I tried coming off my medication, but they put me back on it. But it’s always hard this time of year, regardless.’

‘Well, I’m glad the medication helps, even if it’s just a bit.’ She brought her mug close to her chest and cradled it in her hands, grateful for the warmth seeping into her skin.

Adrien hummed an agreement and perched on the arm of the sofa. ‘It does help,’ he said. Comfortable silence wrapped around them and Emilie blew gently on her tea.

‘You seeing him doesn’t.’

Emilie tensed. She met Adrien’s gaze, which had lost its former brightness and grown an icy edge.

‘You don’t deny it then,’ he said at her silence.

Emilie squeezed her mug so hard it burned her hands. ‘He’s my husband,’ she said quietly.

Adrien’s expression grew unreadable. ‘He’s my father,’ he said, devoid of emotion. ‘Yet I’ve never had the urge to visit him.’ He raised his mug to his lips. ‘Then again, I didn’t choose to be related to him.’

‘He’s still a good man, believe it or not—’

‘I don’t.’

She closed her mouth at the hardness in his eyes. Eyes which had long lost their childhood innocence. She glanced over his defined jawline, clenched fair too tight, with its ever so faint shadow of stubble, the ever so faint creases at the corners of his eyes, and his long locks of blond hair so haphazardly styled. 

She’d never admit it, but she often missed the child he used to be. The one who never defied her – who said, ‘Yes, Mummy!’ to everything she said and listened to her like she was queen of the world. 

She went to gently brush his fringe to the side but he pulled back.

‘You remember it, don’t you?’ she began softly, lowering her hand. ‘The way he would smile and play with you when you were little?’

Adrien looked away. ‘That was a long time ago.’

‘He can be like that still,’ she urged, ‘if you just—’

‘Drop it, Mum,’ he said, his voice quiet but sharp. ‘There’s no coming back from what he did.’

Emilie lowered her gaze. ‘He saved my life.’

Adrien glanced at her, more tired than ever. 

‘I know.’

All the other acts Gabriel had done filled the room with their silence, swirling around and around like the tea in Emilie’s mug as her hands clenched tighter and tighter. He wanted us to be a family again, she wanted to scream but she bit her tongue. She knew too well where that sentence led.

She took a deep breath and sipped her tea, the lemon bitter on her tongue. Her eyes drifted around the room and landed on the mantelpiece, specifically on the framed picture of Adrien looking gorgeous all dressed smartly in black, with the Dupain-Cheng girl dressed in white next to him.

‘How’s Marinette?’ she asked, breaking the silence.

‘She’s well,’ he replied, sipping his tea, not looking at her. ‘Not that you care.’

That stung her. ‘I care—’

BANG.

They both jumped as the door slammed open. 

‘Adrien, I’m home! And I’ve got everything for dinner! Also Alya just messaged saying her and Nino will be over at seven — Oh!’ Marinette froze as she stepped into the living room and laid eyes on Emilie. ‘Madame Agreste,’ she acknowledged, her demeanour suddenly changing. Without taking her eyes off Emilie, she placed her bags down and walked over to Adrien, placing her hand on his shoulder. The gold band on her ring finger glittered dangerously. ‘It’s nice to see you.’

Emilie pursed her lips and, like she did every time, scanned Marinette for any sign of hidden jewellery. She never had figured out what the girl had done with her peacock miraculous, though that wasn’t for lack of trying.

‘You’re not overworking yourself, I hope?’ she put on a smile.

Marinette placed her hand protectively over her stomach. ‘Luckily I’m sat at a desk drawing all day, it’s not demanding work, but I thank you for your concern.’

Emilie nodded. Of course she cared about Marinette; if the girl wasn’t careful or healthy the effects could be disastrous.

‘I’m sorry, did I miss a memo?’ Marinette asked. ‘I wasn’t aware you were coming over today.’ The air of nonchalance in her voice hid the ice underneath.

Adrien slowly shook his head. He placed his mug on the coffee table.

‘Can’t I visit my son?’ Emilie asked.

Adrien’s eyes grew cold. ‘Not when your trying to convince me to forgive him.’

‘I’m not trying to convince you to forgive him,’ she said. Adrien raised an eyebrow. She deflated a little, glancing away and rubbing her arm. ‘Just to visit him,’ she admitted.

Adrien rubbed his face. ‘I’m not having this conversation, not again.’

‘He’s your father!’ Emilie said.

‘He’s a terrorist.’

‘He loves you!’

‘No. NO! I’m not doing this, Mum!’ He jumped to his feet and found Marinette’s hand and gripped it tight. 

‘You’re married with a baby on the way!’ Emilie cried. ‘He deserves to know and you should be the one to tell him!’

‘He deserves nothing,’ Marinette hissed as Adrien ran his hands through his hair in distress.

‘I don’t want anything to do with him!’ Adrien cried, ‘Why don’t you understand that?’ Tears rose in his eyes. ‘I can’t do this, not again, Mum. Please,’ he begged.

Emilie stepped back, a stab of guilt flashed through her.

‘I just want what’s best for you,’ she whispered, truthfully

Adrien swallowed. ‘I know,’ he said. He sounded so tired. ‘But this isn’t the way to do it.’

Emilie looked away, not knowing what to feel.

‘I think you should go,’ Marinette said quietly.

Emilie looked sharply at Adrien, and her heart sank as he glanced at her and nodded.

She swallowed, picked up her bag, and followed Marinette to the front door.

She turned back, holding her son’s beautiful green gaze.

‘I love you,’ she told him, filling her words with truth and sincerity, brimming with emotion.

Adrien sighed. ‘I love you too, Mum. I’ve never denied that.’ The barest of smiles rose on Emilie’s face. ‘But I loved Dad too.’

His words curled in her stomach, goosebumps ran up her arm.

‘Adrien—’ she began, desperate. Adrien turned away. Marinette grabbed her arm and pushed her out the door

And Emilie was left standing in the hallway, trying not to cry, with the sound of the slamming door in her ears, and her son’s broken eyes in her mind.

~~~

Marinette leant back on the door, fringe hanging in her eyes, and exhaled. Nothing was easy with Emilie. 

She brushed her loose hair behind her ears and turned her gaze to Adrien; he stood silent, jaw tense, hands clenched, with a crease in his brow, gazing unseeing to the side. After a moment he bit his lip before grabbing the mugs from the coffee table and headed into the kitchen. 

Marinette followed him.

She watched him as he placed the mugs in the sink and turned the tap on to get the hot water running. His hair shrouded his face as he washed the mugs, and when he turned the tap off, they were both met with sudden silence, broken only by the gentle dripping of water echoing in the drainpipe.

‘After all these years,’ he began softly, ‘all these years and she still doesn’t understand that he never loved me like he loved her. He never will.’

Marinette walked over to him, her soft footsteps loud in the silence, and placed her hand on his shoulder. He yielded to her touch, turning into her, burying his head into her neck, wrapping his arms around her. And she held him back, one hand clenching the back of his shirt, the other tangled in his hair, and she held him.

Tikki, Plagg, Nooroo and Duusu crawled out of their hiding spots and pressed themselves into the spaces between her and Adrien. 

‘You did good, kid,’ Plagg whispered as he curled up against Adrien’s neck,

And the six of them stayed like that for a while in the broken yet warm silence, protecting each other just like they’ve always done.

Eventually Adrien pulled back. Marinette held his cheeks and gazed into his eyes. She planted a gentle kiss on his forehead, nose, and then on his lips. Adrien chuckled and warmth lit within her.

A sly look appeared in his eye.

Marinette yelped as Adrien spun her and dipped her, scattering the Kwamis and making heat rush to her cheeks as he winked and kissed her. Even after all these years he still made her blush so easily. One of the Kwamis found the speaker and Adrien threw her back to her feet in time with the music, before grabbing her hand and making her spin back into him. She grabbed his hand in return and spun him and spun him — Dusuu swooping and yelping, Tikki giggling, Plagg egging them on, and

Nooroo begging them to be careful but with a smile on his face — until Adrien was crying with laughter and begged her to stop. She pulled him close.

And they danced in the sunlight falling dappled through the window, dust motes swirling around them, hearts fast, breaths quick, life thrumming between them.

They ended up arms wrapped around each other rocking gently in the middle of the room.

She went to brush his hair back and he leant into her hand before taking it and kissing her fingers in quick succession – one two three four five.

She rested her head against his shoulder, but after a moment he tilted her chin back up to face him and forced her to gaze into his eyes, so soft and gentle, skin flushed pink.

‘I love you,’ he whispered.

She raised to her tip toes and kissed him on the lips, holding the moment between them.

‘I love you too,’ she murmured in his ear. ‘Now go get the shopping, let’s get this feast going!’

‘Anything for you, milady,’ Adrien smiled and kissed her on the nose.

They spent the rest of the afternoon cooking, intermittent with dancing and laughing, the latter of which only increased as Alya, Nino, and Chloe walked through the door, each bearing delicious gifts of their own.

They had a wonderful dinner, the five of them, like they did every year. Filled with memories and stories and laughter and fun. All cheering as Marinette brought out another bottle of wine along with a fantastic dessert.

Before long, plates were empty, everyone was sat back, glasses were topped up for the umpteenth time. The Kwamis were curled up on the sofa, sleeping together as the clock ticked past midnight. Soft music in the background, everyone smiling as they listened to the story Nino was telling… 

‘—so she walks onto the set wrapped in this golden shawl,’ Nino said, ‘with these heels which must have been like ten inches high, and this MASSIVE headdress thats all spiked and celestial looking, and this gold paint on her cheekbones—’

‘She looked like a goddess,’ Alya chimed in.

‘She looked. Like. A. GODDESS,’ Nino agreed, slamming the table, ‘but with a Kazoo in her mouth. Like what? I know! Ruined her image. But then Kyle, the lighting guy, walks up to her and, well he— 

Marinette snuck her hand towards Adrien as she listened to Nino. She found his fingers and weaved their hands together. He instantly gripped her. She smiled. ‘—And then she says, she says’—Nino struggled to hold back his giggles,—‘“Well I would, but it’s impossible with you standing there!”’ They all burst into laughter.

‘Well he was being an idiot!’ Chloe said shrilly, with a smile on her face.

‘Of course you’d think that, Chloe,’ Alya said, sticking her tongue.

‘Hey! I won’t stand for this slander!’ she scoffed in mock offence. ‘That’s ridiculous! Utterly, ridiculous!’

They all dissolved into laughter once more, Nino swung back in his chair dangerously.

Marinette shared a grinning glance with Adrien and he squeezed her hand under the table.

Despite the warmth in the room, it couldn’t help but bring memories of the five of them sitting around that coffee table all those years ago. 

And Marinette watched them. She eyed her friends. She could see it in all of them. The hurt from all those years ago and their concern for Adrien.

It was in the way Alya swirled the wine in her glass but never quite managed to drink it. The way Nino would speak just a little too loud and tell just one too many jokes. The way Chloe would fuss over Adrien’s appearance and mutter about how he needed a hair cut.

She ran her thumb over the back of Adrien’s hand. All of their wounds, despite leaving scars, had managed to heal over. Except for Adrien’s. His wounds were constantly being ripped open, again and again. By his mother, his father, by Parisian celebrations.

Marinette closed her eyes. If she listened hard enough she could just make out – behind the jokes and the laughter and the music desperately trying to drain it all out – the noise on the streets from those celebrating Hawkmoth’s downfall.

Adrien was still smiling after everyone had left but Marinette eyed him worriedly. He danced as they cleaned and hummed while brushing his teeth but when they collapsed into bed, he lay on his back with his eyes wide open.

Marinette curled into him. ‘Talk to me,’ she whispered, bringing his forehead to hers. They both stayed there a minute, breathing in each other in silence.

‘Even now…’ he swallowed, ‘I still hold hope he might become a good father.’

A lump rose in her throat. ‘I know,’ she said.

The gentle sound of their breathing was the only sound for a moment.

‘I think I need to see him.’

Her breath caught. She pulled back and looked him deep in his eyes. ‘Not if you don’t want to, you don’t have to.’

He closed his eyes in a faint grimace, holding back his emotion. ‘I know. But I think I want to,’ he whispered.

‘Then I’m here to support you.’ And her heart broke for Adrien who would once again have his wounds ripped open.

~~~

‘What changed your mind?’

Adrien cast his eyes down and let the question roll around the room.

‘Why did you decide to see me after all these years?’ 

He let the silence swell.

‘I’m glad to see you. How has life been with your mother?

Adrien raised his eyes to meet those of the man who sat opposite. He looked tired and  old. He had lost all of his former elegance and yet the look in his eyes held the same coldness that had haunted Adrien’s waking life all those years ago. Only at the mention of Adrien’s mother did warmth flash through them.

‘Do you understand me now? Are you finally here to forgive me?’

Adrien let the questions sink in.

‘Ten years ago I exchanged one parent for the other.’ He began quietly. ‘Over the years that followed I learnt why it was that you two were both so well suited.’ He ran his fingers over the grooves in the table. ‘You both knew how to tie your hooks into me so well, pulling and pushing and making me do what you wanted me to. Mother has learned to back off. It’s either that or she loses me, and she fears losing me more than she fears losing control of me. But I don’t know if that applies to you.’

Gabriel held Adrien’s gaze.

‘I don’t understand you,’ Adrien whispered. ‘I’m not here to forgive you. I will never forgive you.’ And his heart broke inside because this man, despite everything, used to be his father.

‘Why are you here?’ Gabriel asked.

Adrien twisted the ring on his finger. 

‘Was it worth it?’ he asked, ‘The price you paid to…’ he trailed off.

‘Out of everything I did,’ Gabriel began slowly, ‘bringing your mother back is the one thing I do not regret.’

‘But what about Nathalie? What about Marinette? What about—?’ He cut himself off, biting down on his tongue, fighting the burning in his throat.

Gabriel sighed. ‘What happened to Nathalie was unfortunate, but she knew the risks. As for Marinette, she was a talented girl — still is from what your mother tells me. I would not have wished it to be her that got caught up in what happened, but I was not the one who selected her as wielder of the Ladybug Miraculous, it was not my fault it was her that got caught up in that fight.’

Adrien gazed in pain at his father. Waiting for an apology. Waiting for any form of repentance. Waiting for him to answer his third, unfinished question but the man remained silent.

Adrien swallowed his emotions, his face impassive. ‘I shouldn’t be here,’ he muttered and stood up. ‘I don’t know what I expected.’

‘Adrien, wait,’ Gabriel moved as if reaching for him.

Adrien looked at Gabriel’s hand. He slowly raised his tired eyes, waiting. 

‘I’m so sorry,’ Gabriel whispered, voice cracking.

‘No you’re not.’

Gabriel opened his mouth, but no words spilled out. He stammered, silent.

Adrien stared at the man and all he felt was sadness. Sadness for a life lost, for what could have been, but nothing at all for the man himself.

‘I’ve married Marinette and she’s pregnant with your grandchild.’ He said emotionless. ‘Mother wanted me to be the one to tell you.’

Shock rose in Gabriel’s eyes. ‘Adrien. Adrien! Wait—’ but Adrien had already turned on his heel and walked from the room. He didn’t look back.

~~~

Marinette gave birth in the middle of a storm.

The rain battered at the windows and wind howled through the cracks, then a baby’s wail rang out, drowning it all out.

The nurse placed the baby boy in Adrien’s arms as lightning flashed outside. He sat down on the bed with a thump, stunned and amazed and gazed at his son, at his tuft of dark hair and large bright eyes.

Marinette lay her head on his shoulder. ‘He looks like a Hugo, don’t you think?’ she said softly.

Adrien burst into tears.

Marinette and the nurses looked at him in alarm as he held Hugo tight to his chest and thunder crashed outside as rain pummelled the rooftops.

That storm, oh so many years ago, had changed his life for the worse, filled it with regret and guilt and ways he should have changed it. 

But no more. 

Adrien couldn’t stop staring at the baby in his hands. Marinette cooed and played with Hugo, and when Hugo giggled, Adrien was filled with so much emotion fresh tears poured down his face.

Marinette wiped them away and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I love you,’ she whispered. And Adrien gazed at the amazing woman who had saved him in more ways he could count.

‘I love you,’ he said fervently and kissed her full on the mouth.

And finally he could see so clearly his path moving forward. He was done with the past. Done with it dragging and ripping into him time and time again.

He had a family worth loving and a life that was worth living. He could finally begin to heal.

[not-a-big-slay]

Until it doesn't hurt

kaz brekker x fem!reader

warnings: talks of murder, slavery,

a/n: long ahh chapter, but thats what you get as an apology for waiting. i didnt forget about this series and id be damned if i ever would. there are only two chapters left- part 12 and the epilogue, so please stick around and i will try to get them out sooner than this chapter. it was almost half a fuckin year??!!! oh i need a wake up call goddamn. anyway, thank you for reading it and the positive comments here and on wattpad! enjoy this chapter :)

part 11/13:

previous part: part 10

next part: part 12

masterlist

taglist (sorry to bother everyone, i know it has been 5 months..):

@chickencouncilrep

@venomsvl

@happy-nico

comment to be added, two chapters left

"Sounds risky."

"It is."

"And suicidal."

"Yes."

"Also impossible."

"Very much so."

Jesper was amused by the conversation between Inej and Y/N. He has learned his poker partner had only a day left to finish her job. Killing Pekka Rollins couldn't be easy, so when she knocked on the door of Inej's old room, he could see just how anxious Y/N was and how desperate her voice rang when she proposed teaming up with his old friend. Their shared feeling of duty may help them cooperate and increase chances of ending the monster's life. However Inej's former enlightment that came from the hitman's good idea now seemed lost as Y/N shared her deadly plan.

Jesper was just happy to be in the same room, he didn't feel included, nor should he. It wasn't like he would join them, but even men living from the adrenaline of risks would doubt this scheme. It included too many holes that would serve trouble to sneek in "I don't know, Y/N." voiced her uncertanty Inej, "I understand you have limited time, but I'd rather be late than dead." Jesper agreed silently by nodding as they watched the girl think with furrowed eyebrows, not realizing she already is one of those choices. Jesper cleared his throat, he really didn't want to speak, but he couldn't allow Y/N to drag his friend to provoke death herself. "It's not exactly... bulletproof, is it?"

The plan goes as this: Y/N would send a message to Rollins, preferably not a dreg messenger, to meet him somewhere yet not disclosed where. First hole: the Dime Lions' leader will not listen to a mysterious note and probably will not come. Y/N reassured them he will, but didn't gave them a reason to believe that. After the target arrives at the place that's, again, still non-existent, he comes to face Y/N and some 'old friend', as the girl said. Second hole: Y/N won't tell them many key details to the plan, they are just supposed to

"Trust me, it will work."

Inej sighed loudly, clearly trying to find trust in this girl within her. "Are you sure he'll come alone?" she pointed out a part of the plan where they will meet Rollins alone. Third hole, for obvious reasons. "He won't have a reason not to. Our only leverage is that he doesn't suspect I know you, he still thinks I'm on my own." the hitman cleared up and ran a hand through her hair. At least she briefly explained to them that she had met Rollins before, that her job was sort of a revenge, but didn't tell them for what, nor they expected her to. Jesper wanted to keep his mouth shut, but it seemed he was the only one that saw another problem with her statement. "Remind me then, Y/N." the person mentioned turned her gaze away from the table covered under the map of Ketterdam and pleaded him to continue, "What did Rollins do exactly when he found out you were on your own? Kidnapped you is what." he didn't give her time to answer, because it wasn't a question. Finding her bloodied and strapped to a chair with Kaz pointing a gun at her was an unpleasant sight, more unpleasant was Y/N's story about how she got there. The image of the night appeared as if on cue in his mind and made him add: "And who was robbing him on the night you escaped?" Y/N's hands pushed themselves off the table before her legs started to slowly pace the room, hopefully thinking about Jesper's words.

"That's true. His guards saw us all escaping, there is no way you are considered to be alone." Inej supported his doubts and made the girl stop in tracks, her back facing them. Candles lit the room brightly and they flickered when Jesper thought about his utter confusion after finding out Kaz and Y/N knew each other since childhood. He assumed Kaz was born a teenager with insanity inside his genes, the thought of him being a demon that crawled out from hell also crossed his mind. No one knew exactly about his past, no one except maybe for Y/N, but since they seem to hate each other now, it's probably for their own good to not posses the knowledge of Kaz as a child. It was silence for a while until Y/N's words cut through it. "Well, he might be stupid enough to come alone," she let out a sigh and Jesper swore he saw goosebumps on her neck as she finished the sentence, "but not naïve enough to think Kaz would help me."

After Rollins arrives, Inej- present in the skies- will make sure he is indeed alone, or she gets rid of any other presence. Y/N aspires for the place of meeting to be dark, so Inej is not seen while working. After doing so, the spider will stand in the dark behind Pekka, waiting for her cue to put a knife on his throat. Jesper assumes there will be some dialogue between Y/N and Rollins before the two kill him, he fancies it as some sort of drama play they often held on Eil Komedie in a theater. He'd definitely took Wylan to see this play with him, but would rather avoid the same scenario in real life. And how they kill him: the hitman will shoot him, somewhere fatal but where he won't die instantly. Then, she will hit him until only a toe is left touching the alive side of border between life and death. Inej will then 'keep her promise'. or simply put, carve his heart out. Brutal, but poetic in Jesper's opinion. He will die a painful death, Y/N gets her money and revenge and Inej finishes a long undone job, everybody wins.

The girl turned to them, she saw the hesitation in their eyes and walked closer. "I know it's dangerous, but if we won't do it, someone else will." Jesper sinked into confusion and let it show on his face freely, Y/N for his sake quickly explained. "Someone, who holds grudges, will come for him. And they might do it in a more stupid and unprepared way. And then we will hate ourselves for not taking the risk." She looked at Inej and finished: "There's not enough Pekkas for everyone's revenge" Inej stared at her as the mastermind opened her mouth with one last question to ask: "Are you in?" Her eyes digged in Inej as they awaited for answer. She looked at Jesper first, as though he would somehow help. The boy just shrugged, what else to do, he is not part of it. She turned to Y/N again and a simple movement of her head made her understand and walk towards the door.

As she opened it, she turned to Inej and said: "Tomorrow night, after 4 bells until midnight, east stave, just behind Smeet Residence. You'll know." and left. Jesper watched Inej dragging her finger along the map and stopping at the possible building Y/N mentioned. She examined it, the boy could almost hear her mind as she thought about the route she'll take, her eyes caressing the paper streets and houses. Smeet residence belongs to Cornelis Smeet, he played cards with him before when they tried to save Inej from Van Eck. The feeling of nostalgia and warmth hit him. Oh, to go back as things were.

"Do you really trust her?"

"Did you trust she won't hurt you when you brought her to Wylan's house?"

He smiled, he really shouldn't have done that. Even when the question was probably rhetorical, he answered with a serious face. "Yes." Y/N seemed like anything but a liar. Sure, she didn't tell them much about her or the plan, but she didn't feed them lies so they would agree. And he did felt safe with her on that night. He didn't know her for long, but a trace of trust began in him. Inej, as if his thoughts written themselves on his eyes, knew what he was thinking about and smiled.

"Then yes, I trust her."

Oh, how he missed Inej.

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

She cursed herself with every step she took.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

It rang in her head every time her lungs ate the air.

Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea.

Yet everything stopped when she was staring at the tall bulding present at the very end of 5th Harbor. After Y/N spat out her trauma on Kaz, she sent a letter to her employer, who unfortunetely happened to be Deln. She never wanted to see him again and after meeting him in the church, she somehow got over the fact that she has to take her payment from him, so encoutering that man twice was unavoidable. Yet she almost puked when she wrote the letter that was begging him to see her. The letter didn't say much, she wanted to tell him about the plan personally, so feelings could be voiced and maybe even manipulate him to cooperate. Y/N also chose to tell him right before the plan starts, so he wouldn't have a choice or time to make up his mind. She has yet to admit Deln is crucial to her plan though, Rollins won't go alone without him present and will run if he won't see him there, a bussiness partner, a person that sold her to him all those years ago,

an old friend.

A chill ran down her back, even though it was quite a warm evening, no wind at the sea either. She looked at the watchtower again. The Council of Tides was supposed to look out for the sea and harbors, but one hardly saw them. As far as Y/N knew, the stadwatch was patroling the harbors. She wondered if anyone is up there, if the council even existed. They could have just built many watchtowers and manipulate a feeling of safety into people. Trust is a powerful tool. At that moment, Y/N felt uncertain that Deln will arrive. She chose to meet with a slaver at the council's feet. Not that they would care about some barrel rats, but he could play a scaredy cat.

The sound of heavy boots on the cobblestone, that decorated almost the whole Ketterdam, and the feeling of the world closing in on her while a heavy stone crashed her chest, the feeling she only gets around one person, were the signs Deln wasn't afraid. Y/N listened to him creeping closer, the old urge to run fighting with her, before she finally turned around and faced him again after 11 days.

"Snowflake" he exclaimed happily, the word shooting Y/N in her throat, drying it up. She hated how afraid he made her feel. It's been years, she was supposed to move on. Hopefully, she will after this is over. Maybe the afterlife exists and will forgive her for her sins after all. That gave her hope and courage to form a fake smile for the show. "Deln." she greeted him with a nod. The man stopped before her and put his hands on his hips, shaking his head with a smile. He seemed very pleased to see her, what a disturbing thing to notice. "Oh, it has been far too long."

As much as she needed to play nice, Y/N didn't resist rolling her eyes at that. "Could we not?" she tried to not let the harsh tone into her voice, but expected failuire. Deln just chuckled upon her response, but his smile disappeared shortly after, the friendly tone nowhere to be found when he asked: "What do you want? Job's done?" Y/N quietly sighed in relief he was finally himself before answering. "Almost. I came here to offer you a first row view at the murder of Pekka Rollins. The price? I get to use you as a distraction." the hitman smiled and tried to sell it to him as traders on the streets taught her. As much as he loved a good advertisement, Deln shook his head and scoffed.

"Still too proud to ask me for help?"

If I was proud, you'd drown in your blood 10 days ago.

"You will just stand around, doing nothing, watching your enemy to die." she said instead, "I'd even say I'm helping you."

Deln smiled and turned around to walk in circles, he always did that when thinking. The waves crashed as the sun almost fell asleep behind horizont, first and only stars slowly lit their light in the deep blue sky. Y/N wished Ketterdam was clearer, so the stars could shine brightly as they deserved. The slavery she lived in had always a hole in the roof in the back. When she couldn't sleep, she used to look at the night heavens above, naming the few little planets present. There were always only five she could see. First was named Fala, it was the smallest star out of all of them, easy to remember. Second got the name Nerezza, that happened to be the first star that appeared and the last to go away. For the third star Y/N came up with Lilith, named after a child that died by the cruel hand of Deln, she was the brightest. She didn't named the last one for a long time, it wasn't special, just lonely and always the farthest away from the rest. Yet after Rollins took her and then she returned to the place she hoped to never see again, the fifth star shined brighter than ever, still alone, but the four seemed to bow to it. Just then, full of anger and spite, she named them all.

"Oh, Y/N." his voice woke her up and the girl saw him stop. His back faced her and she could fully see the hump in it, his spine visible in the plain shirt he wore. Deln suddenly turned around, his brows furrowed, eyes darted in her, deep in thought. He realized.

"I'm already a part of this, huh?"

Y/N thought of the messanger that patiently waited for the 7th bell to ring through the city. "Rollins will expect you, he is only coming because of you," she inhaled the salt wind from the sea,

"he will die tonight because of you."

Deln's eyes showed he finally got the full importance of his part. Y/N knew she wouldn't have to bother with retelling her plan, she just needed to let him know Rollins will be alone and in the streets. And all of that depends on him, he cannot back out if he wants Pekka dead, because he is already involved.

"Everything fails without me."

He made himself sound important, which he was, but Y/N still cringed. He won't even move a finger and still praised himself for helping. She put it past her though, the 7th bell rang. The message is on it's way. "In a few minutes," the hitman started to walk slowly to Deln, "Pekka Rollins will get a message from you, saying you want to discuss your affairs. You told him to come alone, a conversation between 4 eyes. You also mentioned me being there, as a ransom in your favor." She wanted to continue, but the man stopped her. "Hold on, why do you think Rollins wants to do anything with you?" Y/N stopped as he interrupted and swalllowed when she was reminded of the night they kindapped her.

"If you wouldn't have left me, there wouldn't be a point of kidnapping."

"There is nothing sweeter than a family reunion."

"He hates leaving traces behind." Deln's eyes were pinned on her, but he was thinking behind them. There was no turning back. The messanger had to be close to Rollins now. If he won't be there, Y/N won't kill him and Rollins will probably come after the slaver. Not that she cared about Deln's life, Rollins killing him before she kills Rollins was her insane fantasy no amount of stolen luck could grant her. Not even the freedom papers could pride themselves as the main reason. Kaz was why she needs to finish this job. Only he deserved the revenge and she had to be the one to gift it to him. She was obssesed with the possibility of his forgiveness if she does this. It would lift up the heaviest stone on her consciousness before her deserved death.

The girl watched him as his face lit up. "How will he know it's me. There is no proof that I have sent the letter." Yet his face slowly darkened in confusion again when he saw Y/N furrow her eyebrows and smile a little.

"Because you've signed it, Deln."

He opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out as everything connected. "The release papers." he sighed, still in awe. Y/N sighed in relief, she loved the feeling of the dominos falling perefectly on time. "You couldn't have remembered my signature. You couldn't have." it was more of a wish than a fact, he tried to convince himself there was a backdoor to this all, Y/N sealed them all though. She actually only focused on his signature, the distant feeling of an official freedom made her remember every single curve of his handwriting. When Rollins' guards were hitting her, the pain flashed it in her mind, keeping her going. Deln found her eyes and for the first time she saw fear in them. Not disgust or mockery, nor peace and happiness.

Fear. Of her.

"You little bitch." he whispered. He couldn't run, he couldn't deny anything. He was cornered. Messanger already delivered Deln's worst fear. Y/N knew he didn't want to be involved with Rollins' murder, that's why she was hired after all. His slave empire would fall if he would be accused of murdering the king of the Barrel, but if she was supposed to kill her past, she was going to kill everything.

A bell rang through the city. Quarter past seven.

Y/N looked up at the sky, a star right above her has shined her way through the mist. She recognized it immediately. "We have to go, can't leave him waiting." she stood before Deln, not moving until he does. He laughed silently, hiding behind his easy-going personality, fearing to accept his faith. After taking in a deep breath, he nodded to the side: "Lead the way."

Before they disappeared into the centre of the city, Y/N looked at her fifth star for the last time. In an hour, Rollins might be dead, Deln will take the blame and Y/N might get her peace in hell. The realization pained her, but she also saw the warm embrace of closure behind it.

A name of the star ran through her head. Little Y/N's whispered it into her ear as the wind picked up.

Karma. Coming for them all.

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

Kaz coughed when the water reached his nose, filling it up so he couldn't breathe, even though air was all around him and the hallways of the Emerald Palace were dry. Everytime they rounded a corner, one of the two Dime Lions that dragged him along moved his hand across his biceps, causing the waters wetting new parts of his body.

People say Kaz always has a plan and a backup plan for everything, and they are right. However, that was before Y/N appeared and claimed the spot in his heart and mind that he thought was either abandoned or dead. When the frustration he had on himself fizzled out, his cane was already carrying him to the steps of Pekka's place, knitting a quick plan on the way. Kaz thought the deed was done, when he ordered Rollins to say his brother's name and made him believe he buried his son, but apparently it wasn't enough. It will never be, Jakob Hertzoon had hurt many people, not just them. There could be other fools with dead siblings or parents, begging for revenge every night. Stupid kids, as he was once. He couldn't help them, but Dirtyhands will feel enough joy for all of them once the only thing functioning will be Rollins' heart.

That is for Y/N to take.

As he was slowly getting closer to Pekka's office, he didn't doubt the guards will be the easiest part. An old flame in him was ignited and it won't be put down 'till the blood paints every wall of this place. The guards stopped and tightened their grip as one of them opened a door to the office. Kaz thought of just throwing up on them, but kept it in until they pushed him on the floor and released their touch. He coughed again and the water disappeared once he took in the hard wooden floor. His ears picked up voices and the sight of his cane being handed to Rollins, then the men left and he was left alone with the lion.

Kaz pushed his face off the ground into a seated position. His cane hit the floor once before Rollins started talking: "Let's not waste our time Brekker. What do you want?" His accent rolling down his tongue as Kaz tried to stand up. The office looked smaller than his, but it gained one advantage on him once he saw the part of the room that served Y/N as backround when she said his name for the first time in a long time. Her voice still echoed somewhere in his mind and he could never find it and catch it. He never wanted to see her again, in all honesty he just wanted to put her in Hellgate, so she would never be anywhere without his knowledge again, but the R on his shoulder urged him to do this, to get their revenge and to see her at peace.

He cursed that R everyday.

When he was on the way up from his knees, a crow head digged into his shoulder, making him to look at the disgusting face the other person wore. His eyes yelled an answer into Pekka's and he frowned in annoyance once he understood. "Why do you all suddenly hunger for blood, eh? You had to plan this with her, ain't a chance you didn't." he complained while releasing a tension in Kaz's shoulder, letting him to stand up. The boy hated the mention of Y/N, even though he didn't say the girl's name, the knowledge about her could be heard. It only pour gasoline in the fire his eyes flashed. But Kaz wouldn't let him see, Rollins still had no idea Y/N visited the bastard and that they already caught up on the lost time. There was chance he knew, yet he would deny it even if she confessed into Rollins' face.

"Who are you talking about." It wasn't a question, he challenged him to talk about Y/N. However Kaz's fears became true when the man laughed exaggeratedly. "Oh come on! I know you broke her out of my house boy, don't pretend to be dumber than you are." Rollins sat down the cane by his table and reached a hand out for a bottle of whiskey. The sound of liquid knocking on the glass was followed by Pekka's hand that flipped the cup's contents inside his mouth. He'd let him have his last drink, after Dirtyhands is through with him, he'll probably throw it back out. Fingers tapped on the wooden table, disturbing the silence Kaz couldn't handle. "So, why are you doing it. For her?" The last sentence was mocking and rhetorical, quite ironic that it's the only right reason. Kaz limped slowly closer to his table, if he could get to the right spot, he should be able to pick his cane up.

With the 7th bell ringing in the distance, Rollins swallowed his second drink before he started to speak again: "She's not worth it son." Kaz noticed his eyes wandered into afar, making it a good oppurturnity to knock him out. Only if the sudden pain in his stomach caused by the petname disappeared. "You don't even know her, the things she's done." Wrong, thought immediately Kaz. She told him her entire life, leaving out only her birth maybe. But he tied his tongue and imprisoned it behind his teeth due to the concatration he fixed on his only weapon. Rollins didn't mind, he continued gladly to think about the old days.

Kaz's heartbeat fastened everytime he mentioned her, that Nina could be able to pick it up. This moment was one of the many recent, when he desired to go reverse time. Hell, delete it if needed, he just wished to be the 17 year old boy again, planning heists with his Crows, rolling his eyes at the overly-sweet endless pining between Jesper and Wylan, hearing Matthias call him numerous demonic and cursed names, entertaining himself by watching Nina and Inej silent-laugh at something stupid when he was bored. He's glad everyone is safe and that they persued their life callings, but some changes are hard to swallow and this one was still hot to eat. This crave of his heart made itself known before, last time when he saw Y/N in this very office, but now it altered a little, bringing him shame and joy at the same time.

Kaz could see a new person in the picture, laughing along side with the girls, learning Fjerdan solely for the purpose of mocking him, teasing Jesper and Wylan for being so corny. The person didn't fit the timeline, but that was besides the point. He could see her with him, by his side. It squeezed his heart and he didn't know if it's a hug or an attempt to crush it.

The door creaking turned his head around, stopping his hand just mere inches before his cane. A messanger. Rollins walked past Kaz and without a word, the newly present man handed him a letter and left. As the door shut, Kaz's hand made contact with the cane. Rollins' low and weak laugh called to his attention and once his eyes settled on him, the man brought his own pair up. The smile should've already warn him, but his ears waited to hear the conformation. Pekka lifted the letter to Kaz's eye level, as if he would see the small letters from their distance. Yet he knew what it was for sure once the receiver said:

"Speaking of the devil."

Moments after, the man whistled and within a second his guards busted the room, handling Kaz again. The boy tried to fight the hands off, he leaned back and then forth quickly, swinging his cane right after they let go a little, striking one in the stomache. The other got hit in the neck, but before he could finish either of them, a back- up came to aid, trapping him with their arms. He threw himself to sides, trying to loosen up their grip, however it seemed to seal him closer every move. Rollins' hearted laughter played to this scene and his voice continued with the same attitude after Kaz gave up. "Should've brought a gun on me son!" he laughed as he delivered his advice.

He could bring a gun, he could bring his whole crew, but the urge to kill him with his bare hands and stained his clothes with Hertzoon's blood was a virus that have spread all over him, controlling his doings and feelings. If holy water isn't enough to kill the devil, gun would be useless against Pekka Rollins.

The man wiped off tears from laughter and looked at the helpless boy. His hand stretched out to him with the letter between his fingers, his feet erasing the rest of the space. Kaz tried to avoid reading the letter, knowing it won't bring nothing else but additional pain. He often wondered how much of it can still fit in his heart. Of course when his view was filled with Y/N's handwriting and he had no other sight to see, he studied every line. Her signature writing didn't change much, it was still horrible. For a slave, it was a miracle to write at all though. He remembered having trouble to read the love note she'd written him, Jordie wasn't as helpful as he thought he would be, but Kaz lost the need to understand it. He could always find the little heart on every single one of those, that was plenty for him.

This note lacked hearts though, it also was readable and no love was expressed. It was signed by the slavor, Deln she named him. When the letter mentioned Y/N his heart fell. This was the plan to kill him.

"I mean," Pekka began to move his mouth again as he freed Kaz's eyes of the paper, "I'm told to go alone. But I won't mind the company."

He damned his pride for not bringing the gun after all.

[spacewitchqueen]

(Love Is) A Deadly Game - Epilogue

A/N: The end of this story. Finally. Masterpost will follow soon. As always, thank you for reading! 

Snippet: A sudden feeling of dread gripped you. You remembered who you were, your life, your family. So why did you feel like there was something missing? And not just anything, something important. Someone.

Pairing: Chishiya x fem!reader (alternating POV, indicated by ***)

Chapter summary: After leaving the Borderland, who remembers first?

Bright lights. After so much darkness… Everything was too bright. You could feel the white light over you, all around you, even through your eyelids. You were afraid to open your eyes for fear of where you’d wake up. That state of panic lasted minutes, hours maybe. And you drifted back into an uneasy sleep.

Eventually you gathered enough courage to open your eyes and felt utterly lost. You did not recognize the place, you had no recollection of how you’d got there. With your heart racing it was hard to think. 

‘Focus,’ you commanded yourself, taking deep breaths. You were lying down, dressed in a hospital gown, tied down. No. Not tied down, your left arm was hooked to an IV bag, that’s why you couldn’t move freely. You calmed down somewhat, fine, you were in a hospital bed. But why? 

You looked down, your arms were covered in bruises, your right arm in a cast. Nothing too awful. Good. Next, you looked around. The room was pristine, quiet. Clearly meant for patients that were not in critical condition. There was a girl on the bed next to yours, unconscious, long dreadlocks framing her face. She looked familiar, something in you recognized her as a friend, but you were sure you didn’t know her. Did you?

A sudden feeling of dread gripped you. You remembered who you were, your life, your family. So why did you feel like there was something missing? And not just anything, something important. Someone. Was it her? Maybe, but shouldn’t there be someone else? You forced yourself to remember what you had been doing before waking up here but all you could recall was strange lights in the sky.

The small TV mounted on the wall distracted you from letting anxiety consume you, providing neutral background noise. Your eyelids felt heavy with sleep, you would have given into that drowsiness but the newscast caught your attention.

‘...The strange meteorite event also caused significant material damage in and around Shibuya, where dozens of people died and hundreds of people were injured.’

A meteorite? Yes. Those lights.... Memories came back to you in pieces. You’d been driving, waiting for the traffic lights to change at the busiest crossing. You’d spotted three guys running among the crowd, one of them riding on his friend’s shoulders; a guy with white blonde hair wearing a light gray t-shirt and a white sweater, seemingly lost in his thoughts. He had walked right in front of your car and for a second your eyes had met… your heart clenched at this image. Why?

 A nurse came into the room startling you out of that reverie. ‘You’re awake! How are you feeling? Are you up for a walk? You need to get those muscles moving again.’

You nodded and she came over to help you stand up. She secured your hospital gown and gave you a pair of slippers. You did not take her hand at first but the second you were on your feet your balance betrayed you. ‘Take it easy, you were in a coma, you know?’ she said in a soothing voice. 

Reluctantly, you took her hand and let her drag the IV stand so you could concentrate on staying upright.

The two of you walked in silence, allowing you to get lost in your thoughts again. You had only been walking for a few minutes when an alarm went off at the nurse’s station.

‘I’ll walk you back to your room now,’ the nurse said.

‘Can I please stay out here a little bit longer?’ you asked, not eager to go back to bed just yet.

‘I can stay with her,’ someone said before the nurse could answer. It was that white-haired guy! But who was he? 

‘Doctor! You should not be out of bed either,’ the nurse scolded him.

‘I take full responsibility.’

‘Very well, but no more than ten minutes.’

He took the IV stand in his left hand and offered you his right. Something flashed before your eyes. Did you know him? Had you met before the meteorite? 

‘I was wondering when you’d wake up.’

‘Do I know you? Doctor…’

‘Chishiya. You do now.’

‘I am…’

‘I know who you are.’

‘How?’

‘We were somewhere else together.’

‘The meteorite?’

Chishiya considered your question. ‘Between that and this.’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘You will.’

He walked you back to your room minding the ten-minute limit the nurse had imposed. He looked at the girl with the dreadlocks and smiled. ‘Glad to see you were in good company. I’ll see you around.’

That night, in dreams, you heard his voice.

***

Chishiya opened his eyes and found himself in a familiar place, even if the circumstances were not exactly what he was used to. A hospital room. Only this time, it seemed he was a patient, rather than the one looking after them.

He tried to sit up but pain made him lie back down, his heart monitor showing the sudden jump in his pulse. Alright, he was injured but apparently out of immediate danger. 

Whoever was on the bed next to his, had not been so lucky. There was a curtain around it. Chishiya learned later that the man had suffered serious burns on his face and had other wounds as well.

When the doctors came to evaluate him, Chishiya almost asked to be discharged. Almost. He did ask to walk around.

During these unofficial rounds, he came across familiar faces. Why were they familiar? 

That night he had a very vivid dream. He dreamed of a place where people had to play deadly games and be willing to kill others to survive. He dreamed of the people he’d met there, the faces he had seen at the hospital. He dreamed about her. When he woke up, he remembered everything.

It was still dark, but he had to know that he wasn’t going insane. He managed to climb out of his bed and go check the chart of the man with the burns. Niragi, just as he had called that man in his dream. So then his memories were real, and if that was the case…

Chishiya was very tempted to go looking for her that second, but he knew he couldn’t just roam the hospital in the dead of night without alarming the nurses. 

The next morning he couldn’t wait until the doctor came to check on him. He slipped out of his room as soon as the doctor had left. Not that he wasn’t allowed to. He went room by room and when he thought he might not find her, he saw her walking with a nurse.

He stayed with her, relieved that she had made it out. She didn’t remember him. No, no, she did. She just needed time.

It was fine, she was safe. He could wait.

But maybe not that much. Now that he knew where to find her it wasn’t easy to just sit around. He sneaked into her room that night between rounds to watch her sleep and maybe to tell her the things he hadn’t dared to give voice to while they were awake. He spoke in a whisper about how they had met, everything that had happened between them in the Borderland and the promise they’d made at the very end.

‘I know I’m there, somewhere, in your head,’ he said before leaving. ‘You have to remember.’

***

You woke up with a start and the very distinct sensation someone had been there, by your side. You looked around but there was no one else in the room other than the girl with the dreadlocks, still fast asleep. 

Earlier that night you had seen her eyes moving beneath her eyelids, and the nurses had said she was probably going to wake up the next day. Good. Hearing that had stirred another memory, you imagined what her smile would be like, feeling that you already knew.

Sleep claimed you once more. You didn’t hear his voice again, but this time the dream was different, it almost felt real. You tried to wake up, but couldn’t. The cards. The games. So much fear, so much pain, so much death. And in between all of that… him. Chishiya. 

You sat up in bed, your heart racing. The first rays of sunshine creeping in through the blinds, still too early to get up and walk around. Besides, you didn’t even know where to go looking for him. Chishiya had walked you to your room the previous day, but you didn’t know where his room was. You had to wait.

Minutes stretched into hours. At long last, you saw the door handle move. As soon as the nurse came in, you asked her to let you go for a walk. She hesitated because the girl in the next bed was finally waking up. You knew her name now too, Kuina. 

‘I will be fine by myself just for a few minutes,’ you said. The nurse pursed her lips but helped you stand up.

You wished you could walk faster, as if your memories would fade back into nothingness if you didn’t find Chishiya soon, or maybe fearing he would have forgotten you.

Just as you were losing your patience, you ran into him coming out of his room. He stared at you with a questioning look on his face. ‘Do you remember me?’

You nodded. ‘When we were there… at the end… You said you would find me.’

‘And I have.’

[greywoodrpg]

EPILOGUE

It was deadly quiet deep within the Greywood forest, between rows upon rows of pine trees, their needles silver on one side and green on the other, the giants the forest got its name for towering high towards the moonlit night sky. Until a tremor shook the earth above their roots. Nocturnal critters startled, spreading out and running off in all directions, spooked. The silence was broken by a rumble of ground as it cracked open, a giant fissure tearing the grassy earth. Rancid stench of sulfur filled the air, low hanging branches and dry bushels around the site spontaneously catching on fire.

Out of that large fissure, a hand crawled out, grabbing for the jagged edge of the hole to pull a body up. What first emerged were long horns curving up and back, a ball of flame suspended between them. Fiery red eyes blinked to take the world in as the creature climbed out, flaring nostrils taking in fresh air, so sweet, so soothingly cold, unlike the stinking vapors emanating from below. The creature’s body was charred black, like a dark, rocky crust of a lava stone with deep gashes revealing a pulsing liquid fire beneath, down its arms and across the creature’s back. Under its hooved feet, dry grass caught on fire with its every step, thin, naked tail whipping behind it.

It spread its arms to the sky and condensed into a cloud of thick, black smoke, losing form, dashing forward and weaving between tree trunks with dizzying speed like a shadow. Miles ahead, a winding road cut through the forest, a large ‘Welcome to Greywood’ sign reflecting off headlights of a passing car.

An obnoxiously off-key voice sang over the turned on radio, chewing on a mouthful of Cheetos.

“Another hard day, no water, no rest. I saw my chance so I got him at last. I took his six-shooter, put two in his chest. He’ll never say a word no more. The devil got him good, for sure.”

Watching the road, the man bobbed his head as he drove, until the headlights caught a figure in their beam and the car came to a screeching halt, almost colliding with whatever stood on the way. The man inside the car cursed loudly, the bag of Cheetos spilling all over his lap. As he grumbled and looked up, and all words were swallowed back down.

A pair of blazing red eyes were staring back, the grin below them sharp and blackened. Its form blurred, bursting into black smoke as it lunged forward, through the windshield. The man in the car barely had the time to whisper a quiet ‘fuck’ before all of the openings on his face were invaded by the black smoke, pushing its way in easily no matter how much he trashed and struggled behind the wheel. A few seconds later and it was over. The man recovered from a coughing fit and looked up in the rearview mirror, a red glow within otherwise dull, brown eyes dimming down to nothing. The car rumbled to a start again, the radio hiccupping to life again.

“The devil’s gonna make me a free man, the devil’s gonna set me free... So come on Lord, what you’re waiting for?”

An unedited transcript of the full Halloween event can be found here.