#his existence is such a mystery that even for the being who's duty is to record the past and the history of | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

astrxq · 1 month ago

Text

The Prince Among Spirits

jacaerys velaryon x ghost!reader

words: 16k

notes: Jacaerys encounters the ethereal ghost of a girl who embodies beauty and longing. Bound by an unbreakable connection, they navigate the depths of love and loss, exploring the bittersweet reality of their intertwined fates as they seek solace in a world beyond death. - i thought i'd like this a lot better but yeah… a bit of a spooky season fic. @earth4angels proofread this,, lomlism <33

The air in Dragonstone always felt heavier than the other places Jacaerys had traveled. It wasn’t the salt or the wind, nor the way the clouds pressed low against the horizon, but rather something deeper – something he could never quite shake. Maybe it was the ancient history of the island, soaked into every stone, or the looming presence of the dragons that had made their home there for generations. The weight of legacy.

He grew up with it, after all. The weight of expectation.

As the eldest son of Rhaenyra Targaryen, Jace had always understood what was asked of him, even before he fully understood why. He was to be a prince, a protector, and eventually, a king. The gravity of it all had followed him through his years like a shadow, growing darker as his boyish days slipped away. But, if he was honest with himself, he didn’t always carry it well.

The streets of Dragonstone were thick with more than just history; they thrummed with whispers, the kind that lived in the cracks between stone walls and echoed through the corridors of old castles. Jacaerys had heard them all his life – quiet, unsettling tales of figures that walked in the dark, too pale, too still, to be truly alive.

Ghosts, they said. The dead who still lingered in the places they once loved, haunting the alleys and gardens of the ancient fortress.

They were spoken of in hushed tones, as if giving the rumors voice would summon the spirits themselves. Dragonstone was old, older than most could remember, built in the heart of volcanic rock and guarded by dragons for centuries. Some said the spirits were the restless dead of Old Valyria, others believed they were simply the shades of those who had perished in Dragonstone's violent history, lost souls unable to find peace. The smallfolk loved these stories, passing them on like secret treasures.

The most persistent rumor, however, was that these ghosts were not like others. They were so close to human form that they could be mistaken for the living, dressed in the garb of commoners or even high lords. People claimed to have seen them at twilight, their faces blurred in the fading light, their movements slow and deliberate. They said these figures could walk past you on the street and disappear around a corner, only for you to find that no one had been there at all. Some swore they could hear faint whispers in the dead of night, words that made no sense but chilled the blood all the same.

Baela and Rhaena, his cousins, adored the stories. They would sit together at night, recounting every tale they’d ever heard with wide eyes and eager voices, pressing Jace to join in their excitement. To them, the whispers were a mystery waiting to be solved, a chance for adventure. They dared each other to explore the darker parts of Dragonstone, to look for signs of the ghostly visitors.

Jace had always dismissed the rumors, shaking his head at their enthusiasm. He was pragmatic, after all. Ghosts didn’t exist – not really. The world was full of real dangers, real threats, and he had no time for fantasies spun by smallfolk in taverns or idle kitchen maids. His life was one of duty, of preparation for the crown that would one day be his, and the weight of that responsibility left little room for idle thoughts about the dead.

But the stories had a way of creeping into his mind, especially at night when the castle felt too large, too quiet. Sometimes, walking the shadowed halls, he would feel a prickle at the back of his neck, as if he were being watched by unseen eyes. And when Baela and Rhaena would laugh, teasing him for being too serious, a small part of him would wonder if they were right to believe – if the whispers held any truth at all.

Dragonstone was full of secrets. Jace had grown up with that knowledge, had learned to navigate the unspoken currents that ran beneath the surface of the island. The weight of expectation was one thing – the inheritance of power, of responsibility – but there was also the weight of all that had come before. The ghosts of history, both literal and metaphorical, pressed down on him, whether he acknowledged them or not.

* * *

The air in Dragonstone carried more than just salt and wind that day. It carried the echoes of Jacaerys’ twentieth nameday, a milestone that should have felt like triumph – like a step closer to the throne. Yet it weighed on him like another layer of the legacy he could never quite shake. The feast had been grand, as expected. Lords and ladies from across the realm gathered, offering gifts and well-wishes, their smiles polite, their voices careful. Rhaenyra had watched him with a mother’s pride, but even she could not hide the small flicker of expectation behind her eyes. He saw it in everyone, really.

But as the night wore on and the torches burned low, Jace had slipped away from the celebration, craving a quiet that the great hall refused to offer. The weight of all those eyes, all those expectations, had grown too heavy, pressing against his chest like the very stone of the fortress.

Out in the gardens, the air was cooler, the breeze carrying the scent of the sea and damp earth. He walked among the towering statues and overgrown paths, the familiar surroundings offering a strange sense of detachment. The moon hung low over the water, casting the gardens in a silvery light, softening the edges of the world around him. Out here, in the stillness, it was easier to breathe, to think.

“Jace,” Baela had laughed just the night before, tossing her long braid over her shoulder, “if you don’t believe in them, why do you always look over your shoulder when we speak of them?” Her tone was teasing, but there was a gleam in her eye, as if she enjoyed toying with the idea that perhaps, just perhaps, their older cousin wasn’t as grounded as he seemed.

Jace had shrugged it off with a smile, though he couldn’t deny the strange feeling that sometimes washed over him, especially when he wandered the darker corners of the island alone.

Jace found himself wandering deeper into the heart of the gardens, where the shadows were thicker, the stone walls nearly hidden by ivy and ancient trees. It was the kind of place Baela and Rhaena would have loved – haunted, they’d say, their voices full of thrill. A place where the dead could walk alongside the living, where the ghosts of Dragonstone might choose to show themselves.

He shook his head, the thought slipping into his mind unbidden. No, he reminded himself. No ghosts, only shadows. Yet the stillness of the night made the stories feel too close, as if they lingered just beyond the edge of his perception.

Then, he saw you.

At first, it was nothing more than a shift in the air, a faint ripple in the moonlight that drew his eyes to a stone bench half-hidden beneath a gnarled tree. There, sitting as still as the statues that surrounded you, was a girl.

Jace stopped, his breath catching for a moment. You weren’t moving, and yet, there was something about you that made it impossible for him to look away. The pale light of the moon seemed to cling to your skin, casting you in an almost ethereal glow. Your gown – simple but elegant – flowed around you as if it were part of the night itself, blending into the shadows, making it hard to tell where you ended and the darkness began.

His heart skipped once, twice, as he took a tentative step closer. Something in the way you sat, so still, so serene, made him hesitate. He opened his mouth to speak, to say anything that might break the strange silence, but no words came.

You turned your head, slowly, as if you had been waiting for him all along. Your eyes met his, and in that moment, the world around him seemed to fade. There was a softness to your gaze, a quiet kindness that pulled at something deep inside him, something he hadn’t realized had been so desperately seeking to be found.

Jace swallowed hard, forcing himself to take another step forward. His voice, when it finally came, felt too loud, too real in the stillness of the night. “Who are you?”

You smiled – a small, almost wistful smile – and though you didn’t answer right away, there was a gentleness in the way your eyes lingered on his, as if you were measuring him, deciding whether to speak at all. The silence stretched between you, long enough for Jace to feel a faint prickle of unease at the back of his neck. He’d walked these gardens a hundred times before, yet now they felt unfamiliar, as if he had stumbled into a place where time moved differently, where the rules of the world no longer applied.

“I... didn’t mean to disturb you,” he added quickly, feeling foolish.

You tilted your head slightly, the gesture almost curious, and for a brief moment, Jace wondered if you were real at all. The moonlight flickered through the leaves above, casting fleeting shadows across your face, softening your features even more. You looked too perfect, too poised, to be someone he had simply missed in all his years on Dragonstone.

“You didn’t,” you finally said, your voice soft and light, like the rustle of leaves on the wind. There was something strange about it, something that sent a chill down his spine and yet warmed him all at once.

Jace felt a flutter in his chest, the kind that came not from fear, but from something far more uncertain. Your voice, though gentle, carried an unfamiliar weight – like an echo from a place he couldn’t quite reach. He couldn’t remember ever hearing it before, but it resonated in the air between you, settling in his bones.

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. The prince who had been trained his entire life to command rooms, to hold the attention of lords and knights, now found himself at a loss for words before a girl sitting alone in the moonlit garden. There was something in the stillness around you that quieted the noise in his mind, that stilled the thoughts of duty and expectation that always seemed to swirl just beneath the surface.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” he managed, the words feeling clumsy on his tongue.

You smiled again, that same soft, almost secret smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. It was as though you held something precious within you – something you weren’t yet ready to share.

“I’ve been here a long time,” you said, your gaze flickering briefly to the garden around you before settling back on him. “Perhaps you simply haven’t been looking.”

The response unsettled him. He’d walked these grounds all his life – knew every stone path, every gnarled tree. He couldn’t imagine missing someone like you. And yet, as you sat there, so at ease in the shadows, he wondered if that was exactly what had happened. Perhaps he had been so consumed with his duties, with the weight of what was expected of him, that he had overlooked the quiet mysteries of the place he called home.

He wanted to ask more, to understand who you were and why he had never seen you before, but something in your expression made him hesitate. There was an air of fragility about you, as if a single wrong word might break the delicate balance of this strange, unexpected encounter.

Instead, he said, “It’s a peaceful place, isn’t it? The gardens, I mean.”

Your gaze drifted toward the horizon, where the moon hung low over the sea, casting long shadows across the garden. “Yes,” you murmured. “It’s peaceful... but also lonely.”

There was a note of sadness in your voice, a quiet sorrow that stirred something inside him. Jace found himself stepping closer, the pull toward you growing stronger with each passing moment. He wanted to understand you, to know why you carried that sadness so gently, so beautifully.

He took a breath. “Lonely? Why–”

But before he could finish, a gust of wind swept through the garden, stirring the leaves and carrying with it the distant sound of laughter from the feast inside. It reminded him, abruptly, of where he was supposed to be – the prince, the heir, the guest of honor at his own celebration. But standing here, in this forgotten corner of the world, with you sitting so quietly before him, all of that felt distant and unimportant.

“You should go,” you said softly, your eyes lingering on his. There was no urgency in your voice, only a gentle suggestion, as though you knew exactly what was waiting for him beyond the garden walls.

Jace blinked, momentarily stunned by the abruptness of your words. He opened his mouth to protest, to tell you he wasn’t in any hurry to return, but something about the way you were watching him made him pause. There was a knowing in your gaze, a deep understanding of the weight that sat on his shoulders, even though you couldn’t possibly know the burden he carried.

Before he could speak again, you stood, the movement so graceful it seemed as if you were gliding. For the first time, Jace noticed how your feet barely disturbed the earth beneath you, how the hem of your gown seemed to float above the ground.

His heart skipped another beat, a small thrill of something unnameable curling in his chest. You were unlike anyone he had ever met. Ethereal, otherworldly. His thoughts wandered back to the whispers, the tales of ghosts that walked the halls of Dragonstone – so real, so human, they could be mistaken for the living.

No, he shook the thought from his mind. Ghosts didn’t exist. At least, not the way the smallfolk told their stories. You were just a girl, a mysterious girl, yes, but nothing more.

“Will I see you again?” Jace said, his voice soft but resolute, an unspoken promise woven into the words.

You didn’t answer, only offering him one last fleeting smile before you turned and disappeared into the shadows of the garden, your form fading like mist into the night.

Jace stood there for a long moment after you were gone, the silence around him thick and heavy, the scent of salt and damp earth still clinging to the air. His heart was still racing, his thoughts tangled in a way they hadn’t been in years.

And as he made his way back toward the grand hall, back to the feast and the people waiting for him, a single question echoed in his mind as he crossed the threshold of the garden's edge and back into the light of the torches.

Who were you?

* * *

He stepped back into the grand hall, the lively chatter and the clinking of goblets nearly drowning out his thoughts. The laughter seemed to echo louder, sharper, in contrast to the quiet he had just left behind in the gardens. But despite the merriment that surrounded him, the image of you lingered in his mind like a haunting melody – soft, mysterious, and infinitely compelling.

As he navigated through the throng of guests, their faces blurred by the weight of his own thoughts, he searched for Rhaena. She was a breath of fresh air, a flicker of understanding amidst the oppressive expectations that seemed to hang in the air. He remembered the way she often rolled her eyes at the festivities, how she would slip away from the noise with a knowing smile, as if sharing a secret with the shadows.

Finally, he spotted her, tucked into a corner of the hall where the light was dimmer, away from the enthusiastic throng. Rhaena leaned against a stone wall, a glass of wine cradled in her hand, her gaze unfocused as if she were lost in her own thoughts. She looked up just as he approached, her expression shifting from boredom to curiosity.

“Jace,” she greeted him, her tone light but with an undertone of concern. “You’ve escaped, then? I was beginning to think you’d actually enjoy your own nameday celebration.”

“Not quite,” he replied, a small smile flickering across his lips. “I needed air.”

“Or a moment of peace,” she said knowingly, and he felt the warmth of her understanding.

Jace sank onto the stone bench beside Rhaena, the coolness of the surface grounding him in the midst of the swirling revelry. The distant laughter and the warm glow of the torches felt like a world away from the quiet intimacy he had just shared with you in the garden. Rhaena held out her goblet, a small smile teasing the corners of her lips, her hair catching the flickering light.

“Here,” she said, her voice playful. “A toast to your twentieth year. Or to your newfound appreciation for solitude, whichever suits you best.”

He accepted the goblet, its cool metal pressing against his palm, and took a sip of the rich wine. The taste washed over him, filling his senses but still unable to distract from the lingering impression of you. Rhaena raised an eyebrow, leaning in as if she could sense the weight in his heart.

“What’s on your mind, cousin?” she prompted gently, her expression shifting from playful to concerned.

He hesitated, searching for the right words, the right way to convey the inexplicable feeling that had settled deep within him. Jacaerys glanced around, ensuring that no one was within earshot before leaning closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I saw a girl in the gardens.”

Rhaena’s eyebrows raised in surprise, her interest piqued. “A girl? Here? At this hour?”

Jace nodded slowly, his eyes distant as he recalled the encounter. "She was... different." He paused, struggling to find the right words to describe you. Then, he shrugged.

Rhaena leaned in closer, her voice dropping to match his hushed tone. "Different how? Was she a guest? A servant?"

"I don't know," Jace admitted, his brow furrowing. "She didn't seem to belong to any particular station." He trailed off, remembering the way the moonlight had seemed to cling to your form, the otherworldly grace of your movements.

"Go on," Rhaena urged, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

Jace took a deep breath, knowing how his next words might sound. "She was so still, Rhaena. So quiet. And when she moved, it was like... like she was barely touching the ground." He shook his head, frustrated by his inability to capture the essence of what he had experienced. "I know it sounds mad, but for a moment, I almost thought..."

"You thought what?" Rhaena pressed, leaning even closer.

"I almost thought she might be one of them," Jace whispered, his voice barely audible over the distant sounds of the feast. "One of the ghosts from the stories."

Rhaena's eyes widened, a mixture of excitement and disbelief flashing across her face. "Jace," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. But then, seeing the seriousness in her cousin's expression, she paused. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and she shook her head gently.

"Oh, Jace," she said, her tone softening. "You know those stories were just for fun, right? A bit of excitement to pass the time." Rhaena reached out, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "I've never actually seen a ghost, and to be honest, I don't think I ever will."

Jace furrowed his brow, torn between the rational explanation Rhaena offered and the undeniable otherworldliness of his encounter with you. He opened his mouth to protest, but Rhaena continued before he could speak.

"Have you considered that she might have just been another guest?" Rhaena suggested, her eyes scanning the crowded hall. "Perhaps she needed some air, just like you did. It's been quite a night, after all."

Jace followed her gaze, searching the sea of faces for any sign of you. But even as he looked, he knew he wouldn't find you there. The memory of your ethereal presence in the moonlit garden seemed at odds with the warmth and noise of the feast.

"I don't think so," he said slowly, turning back to Rhaena. "If she had been here, at the celebration... I would have noticed her." Even as he said it, a flicker of doubt crossed his mind. Would he have? He'd been so preoccupied with his duties, with being the perfect prince and heir, that he'd barely registered most of the guests.

"Did you get her name?" Rhaena asked gently.

"No," Jace replied, frustration coloring his tone. "She disappeared before I could ask. She told me I should go, that I was needed here, and then... she was gone."

Rhaena reached out, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "Will you look for her again?"

Jace hesitated, his heart a battlefield of emotions. He shrugged, the gesture feeling insufficient to express the turmoil he felt. How could he explain the magnetic pull you had on him, the way your laughter still echoed in his mind?

Rhaena's gaze narrowed, studying him closely. He sighed, leaning against the nearby column, its cool surface a stark contrast to the warmth pooling in his chest. "Not sure.”

Seeing the flicker of conflict in his eyes, Rhaena’s demeanor shifted, her excitement bubbling just beneath the surface. “Perhaps she is a ghost, or the young prince has gone to folly”

Jace couldn’t help but chuckle, though a part of him wondered if that might be true.

They settled into a comfortable silence, each lost in their thoughts as the feast continued around them. The sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and spirited conversation filled the air, yet Jace felt detached, like a spectator in a world that felt all too distant.

He picked up the goblet, the rich red wine swirling within, and took a sip. The warmth spread through him, a comforting embrace in the midst of the chaos. Rhaena did the same, her expression contemplative as she gazed at him over the rim of her glass.

They drank in quietude, the weight of unsaid words hanging between them like a delicate thread. Jace watched the revelry from the periphery, his heart still racing with the memory of your laughter, the way your eyes sparkled under the moonlight, weaving a spell he couldn't shake off.

* * *

The days following the feast were a blur for Jace. Duties piled upon duties, conversations blending into each other, faces coming and going in a ceaseless stream. Yet, through it all, one memory remained sharp in his mind – your figure bathed in moonlight, as fleeting as a dream, but more real to him than anything else.

He couldn’t explain it. He had only spoken to you for a brief moment, had only heard your voice for mere heartbeats, but your presence lingered. You had slipped away before he could ask for your name, disappearing into the night like mist. Every time he thought of you, the memory felt like a whisper at the back of his mind, a soft tug urging him to seek you out.

His nights were restless, his dreams filled with fragments of that brief encounter. Each night, he told himself it was folly, that he was chasing a phantom. But every morning, the pull in his chest remained, stronger than before.

And so, he began taking walks.

At first, it was subtle. After finishing his duties for the day, he would wander down to the gardens where he had met you. He told himself it was simply to clear his head, to enjoy the serenity of the greenery and the quiet rustling of the leaves. But deep down, he knew he was hoping – hoping that he might see you again.

The gardens were large, a labyrinth of neatly kept hedges and winding paths. Lanterns lit the walkways at night, casting long shadows that danced with the flickering flames. Each evening, as he made his way through the familiar paths, Jace found himself listening for your voice, searching for any hint of your presence.

For the first few nights, the garden was empty. The quiet was soothing, but it wasn’t the quiet he longed for. He wanted the soft cadence of your voice to fill the space, your footsteps to match his.

Jace scolded himself for his foolishness. What was he doing, wandering aimlessly through the garden like a lovesick boy? He should be attending to his responsibilities, ensuring the safety and future of his house. He was the heir to the throne, for the gods’ sake, and here he was, chasing after someone he barely knew even existed.

But it was as if he had no control over it. His heart was leading him, guiding him back to the garden each night. It was the only place where the restless yearning inside him seemed to quiet, even if only slightly.

After a week, Rhaena began to notice his nightly walks. She teased him lightly at first, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Still searching for your ghost, cousin?” she’d ask, her tone playful yet knowing.

He would brush her off with a smile, but inside, her words stung. Maybe it was foolish. Perhaps you were just a figment of his imagination, conjured up in a moment of vulnerability. But then he’d remember the way the moonlight had caught in your hair, the sound of your soft voice, and the pull in his chest would return, stronger.

A fortnight passed. Each night, Jace made his way to the garden, wandering the paths as if on some invisible tether. He grew more frustrated with each passing evening, the weight of his uncertainty pressing heavier on him. The moon hung in the sky, pale and distant, casting its silver glow over the trees and flowers, but you were nowhere to be found.

One evening, as he sat on a stone bench tucked away in a secluded corner of the garden, Jace let out a long sigh. The night was cool, the soft breeze carrying the scent of blooming jasmine through the air. The garden was quiet save for the faint rustling of leaves. He should give up, he thought. You weren’t coming back. It had been foolish to hope otherwise.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. What was it about you that had him so captivated? He had met countless people, but none had left such an impression.

Jace was about to rise, to leave the garden behind for the night, when he heard it – a csoft breeze, barely audible, approaching from behind him. His heart leapt into his throat, and he froze, hardly daring to breathe.

Then, he heard a familiar voice.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here again.”

He turned, his heart racing, and there you were. Standing a few paces away, your expression both surprised and amused. The moonlight bathed you in its glow, just as it had that night, casting an ethereal sheen over your figure. The sight of you, so vivid and real, made something inside him stir, as if a piece of him had finally fallen into place.

“I could say the same for you,” Jace managed to reply, his voice softer than he’d intended. He rose slowly, afraid that any sudden movement might break the spell and send you disappearing into the night again.

You smiled, that same quiet, knowing smile, and took a step closer. “What brings the prince to these gardens so late at night?”

His heart thundered in his chest, but he forced himself to stay calm. “Just needed some air. It seems I’ve found a good place for it.”

You tilted your head, studying him with those eyes that seemed to see right through him. “And here I thought you might be searching for something.”

Jace swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He couldn’t lie to you, not when the truth seemed to hang in the air between you, unspoken but palpable. “Maybe I am,” he admitted, his voice low.

The silence that followed felt heavy, charged with a tension he couldn’t quite define. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet of the garden wrapping around you both like a cloak. Then, you took another step forward, your presence filling the space between you, and Jace felt that magnetic pull again, the one that had kept him returning night after night.

“I think,” you said softly, “you’ve already found it.”

Your words sent a shiver down his spine, and for the first time in weeks, Jace felt a sense of clarity. You were here, standing before him, no longer a phantom or a distant memory. You were real, and in that moment, he knew – he would do whatever it took to keep you from slipping away again.

Jace's heart raced as he stood before you, the moonlight casting a soft glow around your form. He struggled to find the right words, his usual confidence replaced by an unfamiliar nervousness.

"I... I've been hoping to see you again," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't stop thinking about our last encounter."

You smiled, the expression both enigmatic and gentle. "Time moves differently here," you said, your voice carrying on the night breeze. "What feels like weeks to you may be but a moment to me."

Jace furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of your words. "Who are you?" he asked, taking a tentative step closer. "Where do you come from?"

Your laughter was like the tinkling of distant bells. "Those are heavy questions for such a beautiful night, don't you think?" You gestured to the garden around you. "Shall we walk instead?"

Without waiting for an answer, you began to move along the moonlit path. Jace hurried to fall into step beside you, acutely aware of how your feet seemed to barely touch the ground.

"I've never seen you at court," Jace said, his eyes drinking in your profile. "Are you visiting Dragonstone?"

You turned to him, your eyes twinkling with an otherworldly light. "I've been here longer than you might think. Dragonstone holds many secrets, young prince."

Jace's breath caught in his throat. There was something in the way you said 'young prince' that made him feel both seen and exposed. "Do you... know who I am?"

"Jacaerys Velaryon," you said, your voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Heir to the Iron Throne, son of Rhaenyra Targaryen. But that's not all you are, is it?"

Jace stumbled slightly, caught off guard by your words. "What do you mean?"

You stopped walking, turning to face him fully. The moonlight seemed to bend around you, creating an almost glowing aura. "You're more than your titles, Jacerys. More than the expectations placed upon you. I see the weight you carry, the doubts that plague you."

Jace felt his chest tighten, a mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through him. How could you know these things? How could you see so deeply into him?

"I don't understand," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "Who are you, really?"

You reached out, your hand hovering just above his cheek without touching. Jace felt a coolness emanate from your palm, like a ghostly caress.

"Understanding isn't always necessary," you said softly. "Sometimes, it's enough to simply feel."

Jace closed his eyes, overwhelmed by your presence and your words. When he opened them again, you had taken a step back, your form seeming to shimmer slightly in the moonlight.

Your smile was bittersweet. "The garden holds many secrets, Jace. If you listen closely, you might hear them whisper."

As you began to fade into the shadows of the garden, Jace reached out, his hand passing through the space where you had been. "Wait!" he called out. "At least tell me your name!"

Your voice came as if from a great distance, carried on the night wind. "Names have power, young prince. Perhaps next time, you'll earn the right to know mine."

And then you were gone, leaving Jace alone in the moonlit garden, his heart pounding and his mind reeling. He stood there for a long moment, trying to process what had just happened. Despite the lingering doubts and questions, one thing was certain – he would return to this garden, night after night, until he saw you again.

Jace stood rooted to the spot long after you had vanished, his mind reeling from the encounter. The garden around him seemed different now, charged with an energy he couldn't quite explain. Every rustle of leaves, every shadow cast by the moonlight, held the possibility of your return.

Finally, he let out a long, shaky breath and sank onto a nearby stone bench. His hands trembled slightly as he ran them through his hair, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

"Names have power," he whispered to himself, repeating your parting words. What did that mean? And how did you know so much about him? The way you had spoken of his doubts, his fears... it was as if you had peered directly into his soul.

A cool breeze rustled through the garden, carrying with it the faint scent of salt from the sea beyond. Jace closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to calm his racing heart. But every time he did, he saw your face behind his eyelids, your enigmatic smile, your eyes that seemed to hold secrets beyond his understanding.

He should be frightened, he realized. Or at least concerned. You were an unknown entity, someone – or something – that seemed to know far too much about him and the inner workings of Dragonstone. As the heir to the Iron Throne, he had been taught from a young age to be wary of such mysteries, to see them as potential threats.

But fear was the furthest thing from his mind. Instead, he felt... alive. More alive than he had in years. The weight of expectation, the constant pressure of his duties, seemed to have lifted, if only for a moment. In their place was a burning curiosity, a desire to unravel the mystery that surrounded you.

Jace stood up abruptly, pacing the moonlit path. He needed to approach this logically, to try and make sense of it all. But how could he apply logic to something that defied explanation?

You had spoken of time moving differently, of being here longer than he might think. Were you truly a ghost, as he had first suspected? But you had seemed so real, so tangible. He could still feel the coolness that had emanated from your almost-touch, could still hear the musical quality of your laughter.

And what of your knowledge of him? Not just his titles and lineage, but the deeper truths he kept hidden. The doubts that plagued him in the quiet hours of the night, the fears he dared not voice even to those closest to him.

Jace's mind raced with possibilities, each more fantastical than the last. Were you some kind of seer, gifted with the ability to read hearts and minds? A magical being, drawn to the ancient power that thrummed through Dragonstone? Or perhaps...

He stopped in his tracks, a new thought occurring to him. Could you be connected to the dragons somehow? The great beasts that had made Dragonstone their home for generations were said to be creatures of magic and mystery. Could their presence have drawn you here, or even created you?

The idea both thrilled and unsettled him. If there was a connection between you and the dragons, what did that mean for him, for his family's legacy?

Jace shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He was getting ahead of himself, spinning tales based on nothing but speculation and fantasy. What he needed was more information, more encounters with you to try and piece together the truth.

As he made his way back toward the castle, Jace found himself already planning his return to the garden the next night. And the night after that, and every night until he saw you again. He knew it was risky, knew that his nightly wanderings would eventually draw attention. Rhaena was already suspicious, and it wouldn't be long before others noticed his distraction.

But the risk seemed small compared to the pull he felt toward you, the desperate need to unravel your mystery. For the first time in his life, Jace felt as though he was on the cusp of something truly extraordinary, something that existed beyond the rigid confines of duty and expectation that had defined his existence for so long.

As he reached the castle doors, Jace paused, looking back at the moonlit garden one last time. The breeze picked up, carrying with it the faintest whisper, so soft he might have imagined it.

"Until next time, young prince."

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Yes, there would be a next time. Of that, he was certain. And when it came, he would be ready. Ready to ask the right questions, to push for answers, to finally understand the enigma that you presented.

With renewed determination, Jace entered the castle, his mind already racing with plans for tomorrow night's visit to the garden. Whatever secrets you held, whatever truths lay hidden in the shadows of Dragonstone, he would uncover them.

After all, he was Jacaerys Velaryon, heir to the Iron Throne. And now, he had a mystery to solve.

* * *

The following afternoon found Jace and Rhaena in one of Dragonstone's many secluded alcoves, a favorite spot of theirs since childhood. Sunlight streamed through the narrow windows, casting long shadows across the stone floor. Rhaena sat perched on a window ledge, her legs dangling, while Jace paced restlessly before her.

"So," Rhaena began, a mischievous glint in her eye, "are you going to tell me why you've been wandering the gardens every night like a lost soul?"

Jace paused mid-step, turning to face his cousin. He hesitated for a moment, weighing his words carefully. "I saw her again, Rhaena," he finally said, his voice soft with wonder.

Rhaena's eyebrows shot up. "The mysterious girl from the feast?"

Jace nodded, a dreamy look overtaking his features. "She's... she's… The way she moves, it's like she's floating on air. And her voice..." He closed his eyes, as if trying to recapture the sound. "It's like music, like the softest whisper of wind through leaves."

Rhaena leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. "And what did this ethereal beauty have to say?"

"She spoke of time moving differently, of secrets hidden in Dragonstone." Jace's eyes flew open, burning with intensity. "She knew things about me, Rhaena. Things I've never told anyone."

"Things like what?" Rhaena pressed, her teasing tone giving way to genuine interest.

Jace shook his head. "My doubts, my fears... it was as if she could see right through me, right into my soul."

Rhaena's brow furrowed. "That sounds... unsettling."

"No, no, it wasn't," Jace insisted, resuming his pacing. "It was... freeing. Like for the first time, someone truly saw me. Not the heir, not the prince, just... me."

A soft chuckle escaped Rhaena's lips. "Oh, Jace," she said, her voice warm with affection. "You sound like you're in love."

Jace stopped again, his cheeks flushing. "I... I don't know. Maybe I am." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration. "Is it possible to fall in love with someone you've barely met?"

"With a ghost, you mean?" Rhaena teased, but her smile was kind.

"She's not..." Jace began, then paused. "Well, maybe she is. I don't know." He moved to the window, gazing out over the castle grounds. "When she reached out to me, I felt this... coolness. Not quite a touch, but almost. And the way she moves, Rhaena... it's so smooth, so graceful. Like she's gliding rather than walking."

Rhaena slid down from her perch, moving to stand beside her cousin. "Jace," she said gently, "are you sure this isn't just your imagination? The stress of your duties, perhaps?"

Jace shook his head vehemently. "No, she's real. I'm sure of it." He turned to face Rhaena, his eyes blazing with conviction. "Maybe she's a ghost, or... or an angel." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I wonder if the gods sent her just for me."

Rhaena's eyebrows shot up. "An angel? Jace, listen to yourself."

"I know how it sounds," he admitted. "But you haven't seen her, Rhaena. The way the moonlight seems to bend around her, the wisdom in her eyes... it's otherworldly."

Rhaena studied him for a long moment, "Jace, I don't doubt you've seen something,” she said slowly, her tone cautious yet kind. "But this… girl, spirit, whatever she is – don’t you think it's a little dangerous? You’re talking about her like she’s more than just a fleeting dream."

Jace's jaw tightened. “I know what I saw. What I felt.”

“I’m not saying you didn’t.” Rhaena folded her arms, her gaze softening. “But ever since we were children, you’ve carried so much on your shoulders. I worry this... mystery might be more of a distraction than a blessing.”

Jace turned back to the window, the garden below bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. His mind was still full of last night’s encounter, the way you seemed to understand him in ways no one else had. His thoughts drifted back to your smile, the coolness of your almost-touch.

Rhaena sighed, stepping beside him. "I don’t know what to tell you, Jace. But just – be careful, alright? Sometimes, things that seem too good to be true... well, you know how those stories go.”

Jace met her gaze, nodding, though his heart wasn’t in it. He appreciated her concern, but how could he explain what he couldn’t even fully comprehend himself? He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the beginning of something important, something that reached beyond his understanding of the world.

* * *

The next night, as the moon hung high over Dragonstone, Jace returned to the garden. The path before him was illuminated by soft moonlight, the shadows deep and thick between the ancient trees. His heart raced with anticipation, every step fueled by the memory of your voice, the ghostly coolness of your near-touch, and the mystery that clung to you like mist.

He paused at the stone bench where he had waited the night before. The same jasmine fragrance filled the air, a familiar perfume to this place. His eyes scanned the garden, searching for any sign of you.

For a moment, the silence was absolute, broken only by the occasional rustling of leaves in the night breeze. And then, faint but unmistakable, the softest whisper of movement behind him.

“You’re back,” your voice floated toward him, just as it had before. It was light, like a breeze that stirred only for him.

Jace spun around, his breath catching in his throat. There you were, standing just at the edge of the moon’s glow, half-shadowed, half-illuminated. The sight of you, so familiar yet still impossibly elusive, sent a shiver through him.

“I said I would return, didn’t I?” he replied, his voice hushed as if speaking too loudly might break the fragile connection between you.

You stepped closer, your movements as graceful as ever, your eyes glinting like distant stars. “Many say such things, young prince. Few mean them.”

“I meant it,” Jace said, taking a step forward as well.

There was something in your expression – an emotion too complex for him to decipher. You tilted your head slightly, studying him, your gaze intense but soft, as if you were measuring something deeper than his words.

“And what did you hope to find this time?” you asked, the faintest hint of amusement playing at the corners of your lips.

Jace’s gaze flickered over your face, searching for answers he wasn’t even sure he had. What did he hope to find? He knew it had something to do with you, but the reason felt just out of reach, like a whisper in the wind – intangible, fleeting. His lips parted, but no words came at first. What could he possibly say that wouldn’t sound absurd?

You. I was hoping to find you.

But he couldn’t tell you that. Not when he barely understood it himself. His hesitation stretched the silence between you, thickening the air with something unspoken, something both alluring and unsettling.

“I–” he faltered, running a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he couldn’t seem to shake when you were near. His pulse quickened again, betraying the calm façade he tried to maintain. “I suppose I was hoping you might still be here.”

A soft, enigmatic smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “I am always here, Jacaerys. But not everyone can see me.”

Your words made his heart stumble, though he wasn’t sure why. He took another step forward, feeling as if he were being pulled deeper into some untouchable place, a world where you existed just outside the bounds of reality. Close enough to touch, but too far to reach.

“I see you,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You raised an eyebrow, that hint of amusement still playing in your eyes. “Do you?”

The question made him pause. Did he really? Or was he only seeing what he wanted to – what he hoped to? The thought unsettled him, a ripple of doubt threading through his mind. But as his gaze lingered on your face, he was certain of one thing: you were no illusion. There was a depth to you, a presence that stirred something deep within him, something ancient and unfamiliar.

“Yes,” he said, more certain this time. “I do.”

You watched him closely, the smile fading, replaced by something more thoughtful, something almost… sorrowful? The weight of your stare made his chest tighten, as if you could see through him, past his words and into the very heart of what he wasn’t saying.

Jace’s hand twitched at his side, instinct guiding him forward as a stray lock of your hair fell across your face. His fingers ached to reach out, to tuck it gently behind your ear, but something stopped him – something more than hesitation. It was like an invisible wall, a cold pressure pulling at his skin as he neared you, a barrier he couldn’t push through. His hand hovered inches from your cheek, and the chill seeped into his bones, sharp and unnatural.

You didn’t move, watching him with that same strange, sorrowful gaze. The touch he so desperately sought seemed impossible, slipping further out of reach even as he closed the distance. His pulse hammered in his ears, louder than the whispering breeze that stirred the garden, louder than his racing thoughts.

For a moment, the world stood still. His breath hitched, and all he could feel was the cold emptiness where your warmth should have been. It wasn’t just distance – it was as though you weren’t entirely there, not in the way he was. His fingertips brushed the air between you, but they might as well have been miles apart.

Before he could process the disappointment tightening in his chest, you lifted your hand with a fluid, almost ghostly grace, and tucked the strand of hair behind your ear yourself. The motion was so simple, yet it was accompanied by a sad, knowing smile, one that deepened the ache in his heart. You looked at him as though you understood something he didn’t.

“You can’t touch me, Jacaerys,” you murmured softly, your voice filled with a sorrow that mirrored the chill still lingering in the air between you.

The weight of your words crushed him more than he expected. He didn’t want to believe it. He wanted to tell you that he could, that he would find a way – but the cold that still lingered on his fingertips was a painful reminder of the truth. His hand fell slowly to his side, the loss of your touch – a touch he never even had – leaving him hollow.

"Why?" he whispered, barely audible, though his voice betrayed the frustration that churned beneath his confusion. He didn’t understand why you remained just out of reach, why you were always close but untouchable, like something woven from mist and dreams.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you looked past him, your gaze distant as if your mind had wandered to another time, another place. “Some things,” you began slowly, your voice almost too quiet to hear, “are not meant to be held. Not in the way you wish.”

The words hung heavy in the cool night air, filled with a meaning he couldn’t fully grasp. Jace’s jaw clenched, his frustration simmering under the surface. He hated this feeling – the helplessness, the confusion. He hated that you seemed so sure, so accepting of something that made no sense to him.

“But, I see you,” he said again, more firmly this time, trying to reclaim some sense of control, some sense of clarity. But even as the words left his lips, he felt the doubt creeping back in, poisoning his certainty. He saw you, yes, but he didn’t understand you. He didn’t know why he couldn’t reach you, couldn’t hold onto you.

Your eyes met his, and there was a flicker of something – regret, perhaps. “I know,” you whispered, your voice heavy with an unspoken weight. “But seeing isn’t always enough.”

The sadness in your words twisted something deep inside him, and for the first time, he wondered if you were trapped just as much as he was. If this distance, this untouchable space between you, was a prison for you too. But before he could ask, before he could say anything, you took a step back, retreating into the shadows that clung to the edges of the garden.

His heart leapt, panic flashing in his eyes as the distance between you grew once again. “Wait–” he began, reaching out, though he knew it was futile. You were slipping away, like the night itself, and all he could do was watch as the moonlight barely clung to your form.

“Don’t go!” he called out, desperation lacing his voice. Each word felt like a plea, a thread fraying in the cool night air. He took a step forward, willing the distance to close, willing the invisible barrier to dissolve, but it only widened as you stepped back, shadows enveloping you like a shroud.

You paused, turning slightly, and in that fleeting moment, he caught a glimpse of the sorrow etched on your features, a reflection of his own tumultuous emotions. “I have to,” you replied, your voice soft but firm, resonating with a certainty that left him both bewildered and aching.

“Why?” Jace's heart raced as he fought against the rising tide of frustration and helplessness. “Why can’t you stay? Why can’t we…” The question hung in the air, raw and vulnerable, echoing the unsaid words that lingered in the spaces between you.

You looked away, gaze drawn to the heavens above, where stars shimmered like distant dreams, unattainable yet hauntingly beautiful. “You know I can’t,” you whispered, almost to yourself. “This world… it is not mine. I belong to something else.”

His breath caught in his throat, the weight of your words settling over him like a heavy cloak. “But what does that mean?” he pressed, stepping closer, defiance mingling with desperation. “You’re here now. I see you, I can feel you. You can stay.”

A pained smile flitted across your lips, one that only deepened his unease. “You feel me, yes,” you said gently, the softness of your voice contrasting sharply with the coldness that still enveloped him. “But I am not meant to linger. I am but a whisper in the night, a fleeting moment. You have your life, your duties… your path to follow.”

“I don’t care about my path!” he retorted, the words bursting from him, fierce and unguarded.

You hesitated, and he could see the internal struggle etched across your face. You uttered your name in almost a whisper, like a song that resonated in the quiet night. “I will come to you again. I promise.”

He repeated your name, savoring the way it rolled off his tongue. It felt like a gift, a treasure he could hold onto. “Can’t you stay?”

A sad smile tugged at the corners of your lips, your expression a mix of hope and sorrow. “I will always find my way back to you, Jacaerys,” you said, a gentle certainty in your voice. “But know this: our paths, as intertwined as they may feel, are different. I may linger in your dreams, but my reality is… not your own.”

His heart sank at your words, a heavy ache settling in his chest. The thought of you slipping away again, of returning to the shadows from which you emerged, filled him with a deep sense of loss. “Then don’t go,” he urged, desperation bleeding into his voice.

“I wish it were that simple,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “But some boundaries cannot be crossed. Not without consequence.”

The chill of your words wrapped around him, but beneath it lay a promise – a flicker of hope that ignited within him. “Then I’ll wait,” he declared, his voice firm and resolute.

You gave him one last, lingering look, your sad smile etched in the moon’s glow. “I will see you soon, Jacaerys. Hold onto that promise, for it is all I can give you.” you whispered, though your voice felt as far away as the stars.

And with that, you were gone, leaving nothing but the jasmine-scented air and the fading memory of your presence. Jace stood there, his chest rising and falling with the weight of everything left unsaid, his hand still tingling from the cold where you should have been.

* * *

The days passed, each one marked by the silent promise of your return. Each night, as the moon rose over Dragonstone, you appeared in the garden, weaving through the shadows like a wisp of smoke. With every encounter, Jacaerys felt a pull, an undeniable connection that deepened with each passing moment.

He learned more about you, your laughter that echoed like a melody in the night, the way your eyes sparkled with untold stories and sadness, each visit drawing him deeper into the tapestry of your existence.

Yet, as the nights turned into weeks, Jace’s heart grew heavy with the knowledge of your intangible nature. The realization that he could never truly reach you, never feel the warmth of your skin or the comfort of your presence, began to weigh on him like a leaden cloak. The thrill of your appearances faded, replaced by an ache that nestled in the very core of his being. It gnawed at him during the day, haunting his thoughts and overshadowing his duties as prince.

Desperate to bridge the chasm that separated you, he turned to the maesters, seeking answers cloaked in scholarly words and dusty tomes. He approached them under the guise of curiosity, his inquiries carefully crafted to mask his true intent. “What do you know of spirits?” he would ask, feigning casual interest, hoping they would unwittingly share the secrets of the otherworld.

Yet the answers they provided were frustratingly vague. They spoke of ancient tales and long-lost rituals, but none offered the solution he so fervently sought. He was left with nothing but more questions and a gnawing sense of helplessness.

In secret, he sought out witches, drawn to their whispers and charms, clinging to the belief that perhaps they held the key to your return. He ventured into shadowed corners of Dragonstone, where the air crackled with magic and danger. Each encounter with a witch felt like a gamble, a dance with fate, but he was willing to risk it all if it meant bringing you back to him. Each time he faced a new practitioner, he wore a mask of casual interest, his mind racing with possibilities, a pulse of urgency thrumming through him.

Yet the more he searched, the more consumed he became, his obsession slowly pulling him away from his duties and family. His conversations with his mother and siblings grew strained, their worried glances punctuating the silence that lingered around him. He felt their concern, the weight of their expectations pressing down like a stone, but he could hardly pay them any mind. All he could think of was you – the laughter that lingered in the air, the sadness in your gaze, the warmth of your presence that remained just out of reach.

And still, night after night, you returned to the garden. You would stand before him, half-shadowed, half-illuminated by moonlight, your presence a bittersweet balm to his aching heart. Each reunion was a comfort and a torment, a reminder of everything he longed for and could never possess. You would talk, your voice weaving tales of places beyond his imagination, stories of a life that felt just beyond his grasp. But as the conversation deepened, so did the distance, the invisible barrier that kept you just out of reach.

One night, as you shared a particularly vivid tale about the stars and their secrets, he interrupted, his frustration spilling over. “Why can’t you stay? Why do you keep slipping away?” His voice cracked, the pain evident in every word.

You paused, your gaze softening with understanding. “I have told you, Jacaerys. Some things are not meant to be held,” you replied gently. But this time, there was an edge to your voice, a deeper sadness that echoed in your words.

“Then tell me how to break this,” he urged, his desperation clawing at him. “I would give anything to bring you back.”

Your eyes flickered, and for a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of hope, a light in the depths of your sorrow. “There are costs, Jacaerys,” you warned, your voice low and serious. “Some boundaries cannot be crossed without consequence.”

“I don’t care about the cost,” he insisted, his heart racing. “Just tell me what to do.”

But you shook your head, sadness etched in your features. “You cannot rush fate. I am not a prize to be won or a ghost to be summoned.”

The words struck him like a physical blow. He felt the ache in his chest grow, squeezing the breath from his lungs. The weight of your absence settled in the silence between you, and he struggled to find the words that would convince you to stay.

Jacaerys clenched his fists, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. The moonlight cast long shadows across the garden, the cool night air thick with the unsaid words hanging between you. He could feel it, the ache building in his chest, the unbearable weight of seeing you standing there, so close, yet unreachable. Your eyes held his, a flicker of sadness mirroring his own, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

“Do you have any idea what this is like for me?” His voice trembled, anger and desperation entwined in each word. “To look at you and not be able to touch you? To speak with you every night and wonder if it’s the last time? You vanish with the morning, and I’m left alone, not knowing if you’ll return. It’s a torment.”

You flinched at the sharpness of his words, but your gaze never left his. The silence between you grew heavy, thick with all the unspoken longing and heartbreak. His breath came faster, his frustration spilling out in waves. “I can’t see you, except like this,” he gestured toward you, his voice cracking, “only when the night comes. It’s not enough. You’re not here. Not really.”

You took a step closer, though still, there was that distance, an invisible chasm separating you. Your eyes, filled with a depth of sorrow that only mirrored his own, softened. “Do you think it’s any different for me?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. “Do you think I don’t feel the same?”

He blinked, taken aback by the rawness of your words.

“I look at you,” you continued, your voice growing steadier, though your expression betrayed the weight of your own pain. “And I feel the same longing, the same ache. I listen to you speak, and I wonder if the night will be kind enough to let me see you again. It is the same for me, Jacaerys.” Your voice wavered, the sadness you carried settling into the space between you.

His anger faltered, giving way to the hollowness that had taken root within him. He wanted to reach out, to pull you into his arms, to feel the warmth of your body and chase away the cold emptiness that had haunted him for weeks. But you were a breath away, and that might as well have been a world apart.

“I don’t want it to be this way,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, laced with the same vulnerability that twisted deep in his gut.

The words hung in the air, fragile and trembling between you. Jacaerys felt his heart pounding, as if it was fighting against the truth that lay before him. You stood there, not quite a ghost, not quite real, and he couldn’t bear the space between you any longer. He could see the sadness in your eyes, the unspoken grief of knowing your worlds were separated by a veil neither of you could pierce. His fingers twitched at his sides, the need to reach out to you overwhelming, but the fear of his hand passing through nothing but cold air held him back.

“I don’t want it to be this way either,” you said softly, the edges of your voice thick with emotion. “But I don’t have control over it. This… this place I come from, it’s not my choice.”

Jace’s brows knit together as he listened, his mind swirling with a thousand questions. There had to be a way, something he hadn’t thought of yet. The witches, the maesters, even the old stories of dragons and magic – none of them had given him a path to you. But surely, something was out there. He couldn’t accept that this was all fate had to offer him: a lifetime of nights filled with conversations that would fade with the dawn, and a heart that would never stop breaking when he woke up alone.

“Is there no way?” he asked, his voice a plea, raw and jagged. “No spell, no ritual, nothing that could change this?” His eyes searched yours, desperate for even a glimmer of hope.

You shook your head, and he saw the pain in your expression, as if his suffering mirrored your own. “Jacaerys, you don’t understand what you’re asking. The world of the living and the dead… they’re not meant to cross. Not without great cost. If we try to break that balance, something will break with it.”

His jaw tightened. “Then let it break,” he spat. “I can’t keep living like this, with you slipping through my fingers every time the sun rises. I need you here, with me.” His voice cracked, and the vulnerability in it made your heart ache.

“I want that too,” you whispered, stepping closer, your ethereal form catching the moonlight in a way that made you seem almost solid. Almost real. “But it’s not about what we want, Jacaerys. It’s about what is.”

He shook his head, stepping forward to meet you. His hand hovered in the air between you, trembling, unsure whether to reach out or hold back. His voice was softer now, a whisper as his eyes searched your face. “What if I’m willing to pay the cost? What if it doesn’t matter to me, so long as I have you?”

Your breath caught, and for a long moment, the two of you stood in the garden, bathed in silver light, the night eerily still around you. His words hung in the air, and you felt the weight of his desperation settling into your chest like a stone. Jace had always been fierce, determined – qualities that made him a leader, a dragonrider. But this… this was a path that even he couldn’t understand.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “The cost isn’t just yours to pay. It affects everything around you – your family, your kingdom, your dragons. Some boundaries are there to protect you, not to hurt you.”

Jacaerys’s eyes flickered with defiance, but beneath it was a deep sadness. He was a prince of the realm, and yet here, in this moment, he felt powerless. The idea that you were beyond his reach, no matter how hard he tried to grasp you, was unbearable. And still, he knew you were right. There was something dangerous about tampering with fate, something even he couldn’t predict. But how could he simply let you go?

“I just…” His voice faltered, and he lowered his gaze, unable to meet your eyes. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

A soft, broken smile played across your lips, and you reached out, though you didn’t touch him. “You haven’t lost me. I’m still here. Every night, I’ll be here, as long as I can. But you have to live your life, Jacaerys. You have a future – a future that doesn’t end with me.”

His heart clenched painfully at your words. The future without you felt like a hollow promise, a cold, empty thing. He didn’t want that life, didn’t want to face the possibility of moving on from you. The thought of it felt like a betrayal, as though by accepting the life waiting for him, he’d be abandoning you.

“I can’t,” he whispered, his voice shaking with the weight of everything left unsaid. “I can’t just move on like it doesn’t matter. Like you don’t matter.”

“This isn’t about forgetting me. It’s about living, Jace. You still have so much ahead of you.”

He swallowed hard, his throat tightening. The fire of his anger had dulled into a quiet despair, leaving him feeling raw and exposed. The reality of the situation was settling in, and with it came the crushing weight of inevitability. He couldn’t change this. He couldn’t fix it. All he could do was hold on to the nights you shared and the fleeting moments that came with them.

“I don’t know how to do that,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart ached for him, and though you couldn’t touch him, you leaned in as if your presence alone could offer some comfort. “You will,” you murmured. “In time. But for now… we have the night.”

Jacaerys nodded, but the hollow feeling inside him didn’t ease. He didn’t know how he could ever accept a world where you weren’t truly a part of it. But for now, he would cling to these nights, even if it was all he had. For now, he would hold on to the promise of your return, no matter how fleeting.

You stood there, a ghostly presence wrapped in moonlight, and Jacaerys, with all the fervor and fire that he carried in his blood, could not stop his thoughts from spiraling into what could have been – what should have been.

“If you were alive,” he began, his voice cracking in the stillness of the garden. He could feel the words clawing at his throat, desperate to escape, even though he knew they were futile. You tilted your head, curiosity flickering across your ethereal face, but there was sadness in your eyes as if you already knew where his words were heading.

“If you were alive,” he repeated, voice softening, as if saying it would somehow will it into existence. “I would make you mine. In front of all the realm, I’d declare it. Betroth you to me, like the old ways, in the halls of Dragonstone. The banners would fly, and no one would dare stand in our way.”

A wistful smile tugged at your lips, but the sadness never left your gaze. You watched him with the kind of tenderness that only came from knowing a truth the other could not accept. His words hung in the air, thick with longing, the very fabric of what could never be.

“We would spend our days together,” he continued, his eyes glazing over as he began to weave a tapestry of a life that, deep down, he knew was just a dream. “I would show you everything – the islands, the seas, the hidden coves of Dragonstone. You would meet my brothers. I can see it now… Lucerys would love you; you’d laugh together at the table, and Joffrey… well, he’d try to impress you with some half-baked stories. They’d look up to you.”

He swallowed, his throat tight, his voice growing rough with the weight of his words. “And I’d take you to the town.” His face lit up, momentarily lost in the fantasy. “I’d show you every corner of the market, every stone in the streets. You’ve probably already seen it all… in your past life.” He faltered, reality creeping back in, but he pushed through, holding tight to the dream. “But I would make it new for you, show you the best places, the hidden ones only I know. We’d laugh, walk together until the sun set behind us.”

His hand lifted as if to reach for yours, but it hovered, trembling in the space between you. “I would touch you,” he whispered, barely able to keep the ache from his voice. “I would hold your hand, run my fingers through your hair, feel the warmth of your skin under mine. You wouldn’t be cold, like the air between us now.”

You blinked, a single tear tracing a path down your cheek, catching the moonlight as it fell. But you said nothing, letting him continue, letting him live out the dream in the only way he could – through words.

“And the kisses…” Jace’s voice grew even quieter, more fragile. “I would kiss you every morning, every night. I’d kiss you under the stars, when the world went quiet, and it was just us. I would steal your breath away, like you steal mine now.”

His chest heaved, and he took a shaky breath. “If you were like me, like us, I would never let you go. I would fight every god, every ghost, every shadow for the chance to keep you. We would have a life together. A real one.”

The silence that followed his words was deafening. He stood there, the weight of all his unsaid desires crashing over him, the impossibility of it all hitting like a blade through the heart.

And then you stepped closer, so close that, for a heartbeat, he swore he could feel your warmth, even though he knew you were nothing but air, a wisp of what you once were. Your gaze softened, and your lips parted, but no words came at first. Instead, you watched him with that endless sadness, the one that said you wanted all of this too but knew it could never be.

“I know,” you whispered finally, your voice trembling with the weight of your own grief. “I know, Jacaerys. And if I could… if I could be like you, I would want those things too.”

His heart twisted painfully in his chest, the air thick with the shared ache of two souls that could never truly meet.

“I would give anything,” he whispered, his voice broken, “anything to make it real.”

But you only shook your head, stepping back ever so slightly, the distance between you growing once more. “Some things are not ours to change,” you said softly, your gaze filled with love and sorrow in equal measure. “But I will hold on to this dream with you, for as long as the night allows.”

Jacaerys clenched his fists, feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill over. The reality of your words felt like a noose tightening around his heart. He couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear the thought of a world where you were only a memory, a fleeting shadow in the night. But as you began to fade into the silver light, he knew, deep down, that this was all he had – the nights, the dreams, the fragile hope of what could have been.

And so, as you vanished into the air once more, he whispered into the darkness, “I will never stop trying.”

But the night, as always, gave no answer.

* * *

The air in Dragonstone had always felt heavy with the weight of its history, but tonight, it pressed down on Jace with a different kind of burden. He sat in the dim glow of flickering candles, surrounded by old, forgotten texts scattered across the stone table. The parchment crinkled under his fingers as he turned another brittle page, his eyes scanning the faded script for something – anything – that might give him a chance to bring you back. His heart ached in the silence, the hollow emptiness of your absence gnawing at him, consuming his every thought.

He had been here for hours, locked away from the world, desperate for answers. His brothers had noticed his absence at dinner, but he hadn’t cared. Nothing mattered anymore except the promise of seeing you again, of having you by his side in a way that didn’t leave him clutching at shadows when the dawn came.

His fingers paused on a passage written in a language so ancient it looked more like a series of symbols than letters. His pulse quickened as he squinted at the script, the words slowly taking shape in his mind. A ritual. A spell. His breath hitched as he read further. It was dangerous, forbidden, the kind of magic spoken of in whispers, but it was there – a way to bridge the divide between the living and the dead. His heart pounded in his chest, a sudden surge of hope lifting the weight that had been dragging him down for weeks. He could barely believe it, yet the words were there, right in front of him.

Jace shoved the other scrolls aside, pulling this one closer, devouring the details. His fingers trembled as he traced the lines of the incantation, each phrase searing into his mind. Could it work? Could this be the answer? It had to be. After everything he’d lost, after every night spent staring at the place where you used to be, this had to be the way.

He didn’t waste time. Grabbing the parchment, he hurried through the empty halls of Dragonstone, the walls echoing with the faintest whispers of his footsteps. His heart raced, but this time it wasn’t just from grief – it was from hope. A flicker of light in the darkness that had swallowed him whole since you were gone.

When he found you, standing in the moonlit garden as you always did, his breath caught in his throat. You looked just as you always had, your silhouette soft and haunting beneath the silver light. The sight of you, as beautiful and distant as ever, twisted something deep inside him. But this time, he carried more than his usual sorrow. He had a plan.

“Jace?” your voice was gentle, a balm to the storm raging inside him. You tilted your head, a soft frown pulling at your lips as he approached. “What is it?”

“I’ve found a way.” His words came out rushed, breathless with excitement. He could barely contain the trembling in his hands, his body thrumming with energy as if the very air around him had shifted. “A spell, a ritual. It can bring you back.”

Your eyes widened, your lips parting in shock. “What?”

Jace stepped closer, thrusting the parchment toward you as if that alone could make you believe it. “It’s here, in this ancient text. I’ve been searching for weeks – no, months – and I finally found it. A ritual that can let us be together again, not just like this.” His hand waved between the two of you, the unbridgeable gap of life and death hanging in the air. “But truly. You, here, alive.”

You stared at him, your expression softening into something achingly familiar – sorrow, deep and heavy, but also love. Always love. “Jace…” you breathed, shaking your head gently as if you already knew where this was going. “No.”

His heart lurched at your response, but he pressed on, his voice almost desperate now. “I’m serious. I can do it. I’ve learned enough, I’ve studied the texts. It’s dangerous, yes, but nothing worth having comes without risk, right? Please, just – just trust me.”

But you were already stepping back, your hands clasped in front of you as sadness clouded your gaze. “You don’t know the cost of this. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

Frustration flared in his chest, a sharp burn that contrasted with the dull ache that had settled there for so long. “I’m asking for you,” he insisted, his voice rising slightly, more insistent. “I’m asking to bring you back. I don’t care about the cost, I’ll pay whatever it is–”

“No!” Your voice was firm this time, your eyes glistening with the weight of your decision. “You don’t understand, Jace. This kind of magic…it’s not meant for the living. It’s not meant to be tampered with. The consequences–” You swallowed hard, glancing down at the parchment in his hands. “They’re far worse than anything you can imagine.”

He shook his head, refusing to accept it. “I don’t care about the consequences. I care about you.”

Your gaze softened again, and you reached out as if to touch him, but your hand hesitated, hanging in the air between you. “And I care about you too much to let you do this. Don’t you see? I would never ask you to pay that price.”

His heart clenched, his hope starting to slip through his fingers like sand. “But there has to be a way…” His voice was hoarse, strained with the weight of his desperation.

Tears welled in your eyes as you shook your head. “There isn’t. Jace, please. I know you’re hurting, I know how much this hurts. But you have to let this go.”

Those words were like a dagger to his chest, sharp and cold, cutting deep. He stood there, frozen, the parchment still clutched in his trembling hands as the hope he’d carried so fiercely shattered before him. The flicker of light in the darkness was extinguished, leaving only the cold, endless void that had been with him since you’d gone.

“I don’t know how to let go,” he whispered, his voice broken.

Your eyes softened with the same unbearable sadness that had haunted him for so long. “I’ll always be with you, Jace. But not like this.”

He lowered his head, the parchment slipping from his fingers and falling to the ground, forgotten. His chest ached, the weight of his grief pressing down on him again, heavier than before.

“I’m still here, in a way. But you can’t hold onto something that was never meant to last.”

He closed his eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks as he struggled to breathe past the tightness in his chest. You were right. He knew it deep down, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept. The love he felt for you was too strong, too overwhelming to just let go.

But he had no choice.

When he opened his eyes again, you were standing there, watching him with such tenderness it almost undid him. He wanted to reach out, to hold you, to pull you close and never let go, but he knew that wasn’t possible. Not in this world.

You lingered longer than usual in the quiet expanse of the garden, the moonlight spilling like liquid silver over the vibrant blooms and whispering leaves. The air was cool, a gentle breeze rustling the petals, mingling with the faint scent of night-blooming jasmine.

Beside you, Jace sat with his head resting against the cool stone of the low wall, his breaths slow and even, a stark contrast to the storm that churned within you.

You glanced at him, your heart tightening at the sight of his furrowed brow, the lines of worry etched deeper than before. His exhaustion was palpable, the weight of the last few weeks pressing down on his shoulders like a cloak of lead.

This was the first peaceful night he had experienced in what felt like an eternity, the tension of his world fading away in the gentle embrace of slumber. You wanted to memorize this moment – the way the moonlight danced over his features, casting soft shadows across his face, the way his dark hair fell just slightly over his eyes, giving him an air of vulnerability that made you want to reach out and touch him.

You did, your fingers almost brushing against his arm, pulled back by the cold force that kept you apart, seeking that connection that felt so vital. You caressed his skin, feeling the chill that seemed to seep into your very being, a reminder of the void that existed between you.

The coldness of your absent touch pricked at your heart, a reminder of the harsh reality that loomed over both of you. He needed warmth, needed the light of hope that had grown dim in the shadows of despair. At your closeness, he shivered.

But the silence hung thick in the air, heavy with unspoken words and the weight of a future that felt increasingly uncertain. You had both chosen not to speak of the bridge again – the dangerous path that laid before him. It was a bridge of dreams and desires, but also of dark sorcery and heart-wrenching consequences.

The memories of your conversation swirled in your mind, filling you with a mixture of sadness and fear. He had been so adamant, his eyes shining with fervor as he described the ritual, a lifeline he believed would tether you together forever.

In that moment, watching him sleep, you felt a sharp pang of regret. You wished you could take away his pain, ease the burden that threatened to crush him. The thoughts of all that could be flooded your mind: the moments you had shared, the laughter, the quiet intimacy of simply being together, and the love that blossomed in the quiet spaces between you. And yet, here you were, confronted by the reality of what you could not allow him to do.

You let out a soft sigh, your heart aching with unspoken love. Jace stirred slightly, his face softening as he unconsciously leaned closer to you. You felt a flicker of warmth bloom in your chest, but it quickly dissipated, swallowed by the chill of your predicament.

The first light of dawn crept slowly over the horizon, bathing the garden in hues of gold and rose, signaling your time together was drawing to a close. You felt the familiar tug at your being, the bittersweet ache of departure settling in your chest.

With one last glance at his peaceful face, you felt the pull deepen, the soft light of dawn fading into the background as you began to slip away. He stirred again, a frown creasing his brow as if sensing your departure. You wished you could linger just a moment longer, to bask in the warmth of his presence, but the light of day beckoned you back to your ethereal realm.

When he awoke, the garden would be empty, echoing with the silence of your absence. You hoped he would remember this moment, this fleeting night where peace settled over him like a warm embrace, even if just for a time. As you faded, the ache in your heart felt heavier than ever, knowing the truth of your parting would leave him more vulnerable than before.

In the quiet of the garden, the morning sun rose, the shadows shifting and stretching as if reluctant to let go of the night. You slipped away, leaving only a whisper of your presence behind, a lingering sense of love intertwined with sorrow. The silence enveloped the garden, and Jace, awakening alone, would find only the echo of your touch and the hollow ache of your absence, a reminder that love, while eternal, often came with a cost far too high to bear.

* * *

Whispers swirled through the halls of the city, soft yet insistent, painting Jace as a fool, a prince teetering on the edge of madness. They spoke in hushed tones of his folly, the madness of pursuing a ghostly love, feeding on their suspicions like wolves drawn to the scent of blood.

One of the witches he had confided in curiously, emboldened by too many cups of wine, let slip secrets of his obsession, igniting the rumors that danced through the court like shadows.

But Jace didn’t care. The laughter and scorn of those around him faded into a dull roar, drowned out by the thundering of his heart, filled with a desperate hope that this ritual might bridge the chasm between life and death. In his mind, this was not insanity; it was a daring act of love, a chance to grasp what fate had cruelly stolen from him.

Each day, he navigated the city with a singular purpose, his thoughts consumed by the idea of you, and the hope that perhaps – just perhaps – this could be a way for you to remain at his side.

Yet every time he envisioned a future with you, a stark reminder loomed in the corners of his mind: the unyielding divide that death had carved between your worlds. The weight of that truth settled heavily on his chest, a chain that grew tighter with each passing moment.

His duties as prince, once a source of pride, now felt like shackles. He neglected council meetings, the mundane discussions of trade and alliances slipping away like sand through his fingers. His advisors, sensing his distraction, exchanged concerned glances, their voices laced with unease. “Jace, you must focus,” they urged, but he only nodded absently, his mind already wandering back to thoughts of you.

In the evenings, as twilight draped the kingdom in soft shadows, he retreated to the solitude of the garden where you lingered. Each night, he felt the pull of that sacred space – the air heavy with the scent of blooming jasmine and moonlit petals. He sought solace there, hoping to reclaim the fragments of joy you had once shared. But the weight of his unfulfilled longing pressed down, sharper and more suffocating than ever.

The moments spent with you grew more intense, electric with a mixture of desperation and longing. He would sit on the stone bench where you had once laughed, your voice weaving tales of adventure and mischief. Now, it felt more like a requiem for a love that could never fully blossom.

Each word was a dagger to his heart, carving out the reality of your absence with an aching precision. He could almost feel your phantom touch, the brush of your fingers against his skin, igniting a fire that burned deep within him through the cold feeling of your closeness.

As the days turned into nights, the conversations shifted from dreams to regrets, heavy with the weight of the choices that lay before him. “What would it be like if you were still alive?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Would you still laugh at my terrible jokes? Would you dance with me in the moonlight?” The questions lingered in the air, unanswered, yet their weight hung over them like a storm cloud.

But each exchange only deepened his despair. The yearning within him grew sharper, more acute, a constant ache that gnawed at his soul. The more he sought solace in these stolen moments, the more painfully aware he became of the reality separating you: a gaping maw of darkness that swallowed every hope, every dream, leaving him grasping at shadows.

One fateful night, as he clutched your hands in his, he noticed how your fingers slipped through his like mist. It was a haunting reminder that even in the moments he felt closest to you, there was still an insurmountable distance. Jace’s heart thundered in his chest as he realized how far he was willing to go to close that gap.

As the stars blinked down upon them, Jace felt time slipping away, each moment a countdown to an unknown fate. And as he looked into your eyes, he knew he was ready to cross that line, to risk everything for the chance to hold you again, even if it meant tearing apart the very fabric of reality. The tension crackled in the air, heavy with unspoken words, as he silently resolved to pursue the only path he believed could bring you together again, unaware of the darkness that lay in wait.

* * *

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a gentle silver glow over the garden, illuminating the vibrant flowers that swayed softly in the night breeze. The air was sweet with the scent of jasmine, weaving its way around you as you stood in the sacred space where you had spent countless hours with Jace.

He approached, a shadow stepping into the light, and as he drew closer, your heart fluttered with a mix of warmth and longing. You had always felt a magnetic pull toward him, a connection that transcended the bounds of life and death, binding you in an invisible thread of love and desire.

“Jace,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, yet it echoed in the stillness of the night. His gaze locked onto yours, a mixture of hope and yearning dancing in the depths of his dark eyes. He stepped closer, the distance between you shrinking until you could almost feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

“I just want to feel you,” he murmured, his voice thick with longing. The intensity of his gaze sent shivers down your spine, and for a moment, everything around you faded, leaving just the two of you in this suspended moment of intimacy.

He reached for you, his fingers stretching out, trembling with anticipation. Your heart raced as he attempted to touch your cheek, but the chill of the air intervened, and with it, a sudden surge of panic washed over him. In his eagerness, he knocked over a nearby candle, the flame flickering violently as hot wax splattered across his hand. A gasp escaped your lips as you watched, horror-stricken, his skin marred by the sudden pain.

“Jace!” You reached out instinctively, your hands hovering over the injured area, desperate to comfort him. His hand had reddened, a raw reminder of the recklessness born of his longing. But when he turned to you, a grin broke across his face, and it was so achingly beautiful that it momentarily took your breath away.

“It’s just a scratch,” he laughed, the sound echoing through the garden, bright and defiant against the night. “It’s nothing.” His eyes sparkled with mischief, as if he were not just a prince who had just hurt himself, but a boy caught in a moment of pure joy.

You frowned, your brow knitting together in concern as you reached out to touch his hand, careful and gentle. “You’re hurt! We should get you some water and–”

He interjected, his voice steady and full of warmth. “But I felt you.” His smile widened, a radiance that illuminated the shadows of the garden. “For a moment, I felt you.” The sincerity in his gaze made your heart ache with a fierce mix of love and worry.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly despite your concern, the sound mingling with the cool night air. “Jace, you’re reckless.” But even as you chastised him, you were drawn to the warmth that spread through you at his words. The way he looked at you, with that mixture of joy and determination, made the air crackle between you.

He held your gaze, and in that moment, all worries faded. The pain in his hand became a distant echo, overshadowed by the warmth of your connection. “I’d rather feel pain if it means I can be close to you, even for a second.”

You felt a rush of emotion swell within you, the profound weight of his words settling around your heart. You studied the way his hand trembled, and despite the coldness of his injury, he seemed so alive, so vibrant, and so utterly present.

* * *

As the days turned into months, the whispers of the young prince’s death echoed through the corridors of Dragonstone, weaving tales of sorrow and longing among the castle’s inhabitants. They spoke of the prince who had joined the ghosts, a boy who roamed the halls with an ethereal presence, forever bound to the place he loved.

With each passing twilight, the soft glow of candlelight flickered against the ancient stone, illuminating the memories etched in the walls – moments of laughter, shared secrets, and the bittersweet ache of lost time. The air was thick with nostalgia, a fragrant reminder of the love that transcended life itself.

In the garden where you had once nurtured your dreams and hopes with Jace, the scent of jasmine wrapped around you, weaving its way into the fabric of your being. There, you felt the weight of his hand in yours, a warm and gentle presence that defied the chill of his spectral form. Together, you wandered through the memories of your shared past, reliving the joy and heartache of your fleeting moments together.

Though the world outside continued its relentless march forward, you remained anchored in this sacred space, your heart entwined with his in a delicate dance of longing and peace. The whispers of the castle spoke of tragedy, yet you found solace in the closeness that enveloped you both – a haunting, bittersweet sense of comfort that came from knowing he would never truly leave.

In this realm of shadows and dreams, Jace had finally found the closeness he had yearned for, though it came at the ultimate price. You understood the weight of his sacrifice, the depths of love that bound you together beyond the veil of death. Each heartbeat echoed the promise of eternity, a reminder that love knows no bounds, no finality.

As the moonlight bathed the garden in its soft glow, you closed your eyes, surrendering to the peace that wrapped around you like a shroud. You could feel him beside you, his essence entwined with your own, a flickering flame against the darkness. In this quiet sanctuary, you understood that love, in all its forms, endures.

Jace had always yearned for closeness, a desire that had pulsed in the very fabric of his being. In life, it had manifested in impossible touches, stolen glances, and moments that felt both too brief and too precious to contain. Now, in death, he walked alongside you with a presence that felt transcendent. His ghostly form was not merely a shadow; it was a testament to the love that had forged its way through the veil between worlds.

And so, hand in hand, you embraced the eternity that awaited you, forever tethered to the ghost of the prince who had defied fate for the sake of love. Together, you would walk the ethereal paths of Dragonstone, your hearts united, whispering the echoes of a haunting tale that would resonate through time – a story of longing, sacrifice, and the bittersweet beauty of forever.

taglist: @smurfelle @elliaze @sillylittlepenguin181818 @lustrz-anna @lovelyteenagebeard @misshale21 @cecestea @n4tsha @inspirationquxxn @rin588 @anoravx @bbubbllejisoo

gc lovelies tags: @benjinotes @earth4angels @xxselenite @eldrith @princessbellecerise @bryscorner @v3laryons @vee-mage @softspiderling @swordgrace @hxtd @divinesolas @housetargaryenloyalist @bucksplum @cregan-starks @fyrewept

#jacaerys x reader #jacaerys targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys targaryen #prince jacaerys #jacaerys velaryon #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys velaryon one shot #jacaerys velaryon oneshot #jacaerys velaryon x you #harry collett #house of the dragon

343 notes · View notes

izzystizzys · 5 months ago

Text

There are outsiders inside the Guard headquarters - capital O Outsiders, in Thorn’s mind, whose palms are growing sweaty inside his gloves. There’s a crackle of static across his HUD which temporarily blurs the bright orange markings across Commander Cody’s armour in front of his eyes, and he wonders a little faintly if making a break for it would be worth it.

Maybe if he kicked the Commander in the shin. Emotionally, if not realistically.

General Kenobi hums deeply into his mysterious Jedi beard, and Thorn abandons that line of thinking. It would just mean leaving Thire in charge anyways, a thought he shudders at. Fox has been gone for only eight hours and twelve minutes, and already Thorn wants to spend the rest of his life in the scream closet. He has considerably more empathy for the Marshall Commanders refusal to keep to anything approximating an existent sleep schedule all of a sudden.

“This is a very strange turn of events”, the General remarks, for the seventh time that hour. He’s been hm-ing and ah-ing his entire trip through HQ, making that line of tension threatening to snap Thorn’s spine draw up tighter each time. He’s going to give Stabby a nervous breakdown, at this rate. “As I understand it, Marshall Commander Fox was considered rather severe to the point of disproportionality in his consciousness of duty.” General Kenobi’s face does something very strange. “Even considering the evidence and facts, I cannot picture him assassinating the Chancellor and kidnapping a Senator.”

Thorn can, actually, a thought he doesn’t voice. Assassinating the Chancellor, that is. A good number of the Guard can picture themselves doing exactly that, and Stabby needs to be physically restrained from doing it on a regular basis. He also cannot picture Fox kidnapping a Senator, though, especially that one.

Which is why this stinks to high heaven.

“General”, Cody breaks the awkward silence Kenobi was evidently waiting for Thorn to fill, “Fox didn’t kill the Chancellor - he couldn’t have. He would never -“ The 212th’s wonder boy pauses briefly, searching for something to say that conveys more gravitas than trust me, I just know. Evidently, he doesn’t find it, because he finishes lamely on, “- he just wouldn’t.”

Shows you how much you know, ori’vod, Thorn thinks acidly, with all the pent-up rage of two years’ time watching Fox silently break apart at the seams.

“We will get to the bottom of this, Cody”, Kenobi says soothingly, with the hope for someone who hasn’t been chewed up and spit back out but Coruscant. “I promise, the Jedi are doing-“

A loud banging noise drowns out the rest of Kenobi’s sentence, and then promptly cuts off the rest when part of the ceiling suddenly caves in with extreme prejudice - no, Thorn realizes, that’s the air vent being launched at the ground followed by a dark, blurry shape of long dreads and sandy Jedi robe. Heartbeat thundering in his throat, Thorn barely stops himself in time from unloading his blasters into the stranger and is only slightly comforted by Cody’s equally drawn blaster. Only Kenobi is unimpressed by the turn of events, Jedi space-spidey-senses and all.

“- everything we can”, he finishes dryly, flicking a speck of dust off his fellow Jedi. “Commander Thorn, meet Quinlan Vos. Quinlan-“

“Yes, yes, good morning or afternoon, whatever”, the Jedi - Vos - intercepts. Thorn doesn’t point out that it’s advanced evening dipping into the night-cycle, because it might make him lose his shit for good. “We have a problem, Obes. There’s some creepy shit going on here - Force, all of you need therapy.” That last bit is aimed at Thorn, he’s pretty sure. The furrowed brow definitely is. “And some heavy-duty medical assistance, I’m pretty sure. What the kriff is up with that?”

Kenobi’s eyebrows are steadily inching towards his hairline, and beneath the bucket and general assholery Thorn is sure Cody’s are doing the same. He’s rescued by a sudden chime from the Commander’s com signalling a priority level one message, and Wolffe’s grey armour that pops up.

“Kote, thank kriff I caught you - there’s some seriously weird stuff in the Chancellor’s office, the General said to get Kenobi over here as fast as possible. No sign of Fox, but-“

Which is when Vos decides to pipe up by throwing a comlink at Kenobi that makes Thorn’s chest grow cold with panic, because it should be locked behind several bomb- and thief-proof doors deep in the lower levels. “Right, I might be able to help with that!”

Which is when, to Thorn’s growing horror, the comlink lights up and all he can do is watch numbly as Fox’s voice crackles through.

“-kriffing Sithspit is going on, Thorn, you can’t just send out distress signals and then not answer, was your growth tube kriffing dropped or -“

A loud, familiar wailing sound interrupts Fox in his rant, just as it was starting to get good. Thorn wants to bang his head into the wall. Thorn wants many things.

“MEESA NO MEAN TO IMPALE THE CHANCELLOR ONSA PEN, MEESA SORRY!”

#commander fox #corrie guard deserves better #commander thorn #jar jar binks #clone wars au #inspired by the episode where jar jar and mace go on a mission together #which was the best cw ep in my opinion #tbf it would be much funnier to write them on a months long run from the law buddycop thing #but also i feel sorry for fox’ sanity as is #coruscant guard

380 notes · View notes

theblueflower05 · 2 years ago

Text

Just a Little Taste

A/N: Welp. Somehow my breeding/breastfeeding kinks manifested themselves into a story. I wrote this sky high on painkillers and I am a little in love with the whole premise. @tiredmamaissy -I hope more than anything that you enjoy this. You deserve all of the goodness on this site. Your Masterlist is my personal spank bank lol

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: This story is Filthy. Smut with very little plot. Breastfeeding. Pussy Eating. Slight mommy kink if you squint. Very pregnant reader getting pleasured, because pregnant beings can still be sexual. Aged up!Neteyam

You are responsible for cultivating your own online experience, please do not interact if any of these tags are triggering to you. Minors DNI.

Summary: You’re eight months pregnant with Neteyams child, and after a long day, you both need a little relief. Neteyam x Human! Reader

"Sugar, Honey, Iced Tea

Bumble-bee on the scene.

Yeah, I'd give up my bakery to have a piece of your pie"

- See You Again, Tyler the Creator ft Kali Uchis

Life in the village is always busy. Constantly bustling with life and movement as everyone; human scientist, Avatar and Na’vi alike, rush to keep things afloat.

High Camp is so different then Home Tree had been, the rage of war adding a constant edge to long days and restless nights. You miss the comfort of a slow life, of hazy days down in the jungle. The jagged cliffs of the Hallelujah Mountains still don’t quite feel like home to you.

Still, you go about your daily duties.

Being a Pandoran raised human had always given you a different insight, the two massively different cultures you we’re brought up in clashing and mending to create a skill set that was like no other- it had taken many years of painful trial and error to find your place within the Omiticaya, but healing had always come naturally.

Both holistic and surgical alike. You’d spent years shadowing Mo’at and learning the ancient herbal ways of the people, while well as taking advantage of the many PHD toting scientist back at Hell’s Gate. Medicine had no boundaries, was a way for you to feel close to both sides of yourself. To broach the gap between human and clansman.

You find your skills being needed more than ever. The ever constant raids against the RDA means your hands are rarely idle, forever in movement as you tend to the wounded. Some days you sit in the big Healers Tent with Mo’at and the other Taskarem, and others you’re in the makeshift Medi Bay, which is really more of an Avatar Pod Trailer turned OR, with the handful of human surgeons.

The long hours spent on your feet leave you sore and exhausted, but you have to pull your weight.

Even if said weight is far heavier than usual as of late-

“Y/N” you’re broken out of your thoughts by Max- as he enters the trailer with a holo-tab in hand and a concerned look in his dark eyes “What are you still doing here?”

“I was just finishing up inventory- our antibiotic stock is back way up. Jake was right, those helicopter raids were more than worth it” you’d sorted out the tiny vials of vital medicine by hand, not wanting any to be misplaced or mislabeled.

“You don't think maybe you should head home?” He continues and you sigh.

You miss your tent, and the soft bed of furs that lay inside the secure warm flaps. And the man that waits for you inside of the patchwork leather walls-

“I’m fine” you assure. And really, you are.

It's a fact you have to keep reminding people of.

Yes, you’re as big as a Strumbeast, but you are no less competent. No less able bodied.

Pregnancy is one of the most natural parts of life, a base staple in all’s existence. There are plenty of pregnant Omiticaya women who were expected to play their roles, even as the battle raged outside the safety of the mountain cave system.

It was the nature of your pregnancy that was more…fragile then average. Inside your womb grew a child that would be the first of it’s kind. A scientific mystery: no one had even known it was possible for Na’vi and humans to procreate.

And yet all of the evidence now lies under your shirt. Your stomach round and pronounced, full of growing life.

Full of the love between you and the Olo’eyktan’s eldest son.

Neteyam had left his permanent mark on you. Had part of himself growing inside of you. The thoughts we’re enough to make your knees buckle if you focused on them too hard.

“You’ve been here since 6am, you really should get some rest. Take one of the empty bunks if you want. Have you checked your blood pressure-”

You’re a grown woman. You’re not going to huff and puff and roll your eyes, but fuck, do you want to.

Everyone was so overbearing lately.

Norm and Max we’re constantly breathing down your neck; “The baby has a different growth rate then a human child, we need to monitor the way that your body is responding” Followed closely by Jake who watches you with sharp eagle like eyes and Neytiri, who used to all but ignore your presence, constantly checking in on you throughout the day. Mo’at’s always poking and prodigy, and Kiri almost always has her hands on you in some way shape or form.

You are glad for the support, happy that this baby would be so loved.

But really, you missed being treated like the competent, independent woman you knew you we’re.

“My blood pressure is fine. I thought since we ruled out preeclampsia we weren’t going to worry about it anymore” you know that it’s not going to silence his worry, but still. You can try.

Max goes on one of his science mambo jumbo spiels, and by the end of it you’re waddling out of the lab and back to your hut, annoyed as shit but placating your pseudo father figure all the same. Only a month and a half mor of this and then things could go back to normal.

Everything had just…changed so quickly.

You 're a caretaker by nature. Caring for others is easy, feels right. You’d tucked the much older scientists into bed when you we’re just a pre-teen. Made dinners. Looked out for Spider and the other Sully’s-

And the role reversal still didn't quite sit right with you. Your control freak ways didn't do well with not being the one in charge- you’d been stripped of your title so to speak. You we’re supposed to relax into your new role, enjoy being doted over before the nine month’s we’re over.

You and Neteyam’s shared tent is in the centered in the cave, close to his families, but standing on its own. As private as anyone could get in the busy, close quartered camp. The walls of the hut are familiar, adorned with your combined belongings. Cozy and familiar.

You shimmy free of your confining bra, step out of your cargo pants, then toe off your boots, releasing your swollen sock covered feet with a groan before collapsing into your well loved bed, the soft blankets and familiar scent of your mate lulling you into a deep state of peace.

It’s kind of wild how quickly you can fall asleep these days. Growing a little person from scratch tends to burn a lot of energy and the moment you relax, you’re out like a light.

You don't wake up, even when the horns are sounded for the return of the War Party.

Not when Neteyam makes his way through the camp and enters the tent. He’s wearty, grime covered and hunched over. He only softens when he sees you, tucked safely, into his bed. Your eyes still closed and face still scrunched up as he strips out of his battle band and shin covers. He’s quiet, washing off with the large freshwater basin in the corner before making his way over to his much-missed bed mat.

It isn't until he's crawled under the blankets and wiggled his way as close to you as possible that you begin to stir. His large cat like snout nuzzles into the vulnerable crevice of your neck, chuffing hot breaths against the smooth skin.

You’re not upset at him for waking you up, a drowsy half alert smile stretches over your lips as your hands run up his strong back. Gently working the tense muscles.

He gets so greedy when he comes back from the War runs. He needs to be comforted, to be held and you are all too willing to comply.

Everyone else infantiles you now, and yeah, Neteyam could get a little intense and overprotective, but your relationship had always worked because you were the one person in all of Pandora that babied the future chief.

He was such a sweet man, with so much responsibility on his plate. You loved nothing more than holding him in your arms. Letting him release any and all tension because you had him. You, a tiny soft skinned human, were the barrier between him and the ruthless world.

You’d be such a great mother to his children. His hind brain purrs at the thought. That even through all of the controversy, he knows he’d chosen the right mate. Little and fierce, he hopes the baby is just like you.

“Are you okay?” You ask, tone hushed in the darkness of the tent. The only light coming from the small dying embers of the firepit in the center of the space. Hypnotic shadows dance along the canvas walls and Neteyam's breathing grows shallow as he sinks into it.

The way you smell. The way your heart beats, strong against his cheek. The way your plump body feels so good under his wandering hands. He hadn't been okay, just moments ago. He was delirious, so sick of the fighting that he felt ill with it.

But how could any of those bad feelings exist when he had you waiting for him? Ready to welcome him into your body, your heart, your mind. He doesn't think he could survive without knowing the solace of your love.

“I’m okay, narlor(beauty). Just missed you” he mutters, still trying to dig his face deeper into your skin. He wants to escape inside of you, you chuckle at his futile attempts to mend you both into one entity. His large palms rest against your bloated belly, tenderly and your heart flutters “Missed you both so much”

Being so loved is overwhelming.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

“I missed you, my sweet baby. I missed you all day” you assure him with the words you know he needs to hear. “Our son here thought it would be fun to jump on his sa’nok’s bladder all day. It was like was playing the wokau(pendulum drum) all day long- I spent hours in running back and forth to the bathroom”

Neteyam's laugh is deep and rich. Thoroughly pleased to listen to your stories of your day, eager to hear every minute detail. Desperate to drown out visions of blood and gun smoke with your voice.

“Ah, you have to be nice to your momma, little one” he chastises the bump, raising your shirt over your head, wanting that flimsy barrier gone. His lips trail over the tight skin of your bulging belly as he speaks to his child.

Your son, still safe inside your soft body, knows his fathers voice already. Recognizes that slightly accented cadence, and squirms inside of you happily.

Neteyam usually speaks strictly in Na’vi to your unborn child-

“He needs to know the language of our people, first and foremost”

-he’ll spend hours whispering his mother tongue into your flesh. It always leaves you boneless and shaking. Feeling so special and cared for. Na’vi, though your second language, is familiar to you. You’re fluent in the language- but fuck. The way your mate speaks it is the most beautiful thing. It’s musical, he tells sprawling stories with his colorful words.

There is one English he’s very fond of though. Every time it leaves his plush mouth it makes you grin, sharp. Knowingly.

“Are you gonna be nice to momma, Neteyam?” you question him after a while. His ears quirk, swiveling on his head and his tale flicks once, in obvious excitement.

You know what he’s wanted, ever since he woke you up by nuzzling at your chest. Ever since he peeled off your top and left your heavy breasts bare. Did he think you missed the way his golden gaze would flick to them, eyeing them hungrily.

He needs this as much as you do, but as usual, your sweet boy is too selfless to ask. Won't trouble you with his wants unless you bring it up first.

You reach for his big hand that rests on your belly, and drag it to where you need him. His palm enveloping your tits, the rough callus’s catching on your sensitive nipple just right-

Your pregnancy had been different than regular humanoid pregnancies. Your body worked hard, thrown into overdrive in an attempt to keep up with the fast growing fetus in your womb. You’d started lactating months ago, far earlier then normal. Your breasts firm, full with milk. Ready to feed the child that had not yet come into the world.

At first it had been both painful and embarrassing. You had no child to drink what you were producing and the other breastfeeding women in the tribe we’re hesitant to feed their babies your tawtute(human) milk. Already over emotional due to the hormone change, you’d wept at the fact that you had no one to give what your body readily made.

The fact that you couldn't be a bigger part of your community due to your human heritage, combined with the intense pain that came from having backed up ducts had been too much,

Eventually you’d turned to Neteyam, both your eyes and shirt soaking wet. Begged him to help you. And of course, as always, he did.

It should be awkward, or shameful- but connecting with him on any level is something you cherish. Why would this be any different?

“I’m always nice to you, aren't I, love?” Neteyam gruffs as he gently works at the breast in his hands. Its firm and full of milk, his mouth waters “Do they hurt again?”

“Mhmm” you whine pathetically, and you’re not lying. The skin of your chest is now marred by stretch marks and you’d had to stuff precious, hard to come by toilet paper down your bra all day to keep them from spilling over “They’re so full, Nete”

“Oh” He hums, thumbing at your nipple “Poor momma, I’ll help you. Don't worry” his lips are wet against your skin as he kisses his way to your breast, his tongue peeking out to circle your puffy nipple. A pearlescent drop of milk tops the rosy bud and he groans as it hits his taste buds.

He tells you that you taste good, often. The juices of your pussy, your spit soaked kisses. He’s always been greedy for it, his tongue bullying its way into your holes, desperate for your essence. Your milk is just as delicious as the rest of you.

It quickly goes from kitten licking, wide wet stripes against your pebbled nipple to sucking your big breast as far into his mouth as he could. Careful of his fangs as he gorges himself on your flesh.

He’s loudly appreciative as he suckles on your nipple. Grunting and humming and moaning at the flavor. Your arms come around him, cradling his head to your bosom because it feels so good. Having him this close, knowing that he'd do anything to take care of you. That he truly loved the way you tasted-

Many people thought you and Neteyam would never last. It was lust, they’d claim. Curiosity. A childhood friendship that would fizzle out eventually. Na’vi needed Tsaheylu, it was the lifeblood of all their relationships. Why would the much desired future Olo’eyktan stay with you if he couldn't even properly bond you?

While you couldn't deny that there we’re doubt filled moments that you yourself wondered why he’d chosen you and stayed so loyal to you…you still felt your own form of connection to him. While you’d love to make that sacred bond with him, you didn't feel any less close to your mate.

You never thought that you could be so intertwined with another being.

As Neteyam takes his fill from your breast, you massage the base of his Kuru, firm enough that it makes him hiss. You have no special braid of your own, but he’s always been very free with his when it comes to you.

You can do with as you please. Stroke it. Lick it. Massage it. Hell, he’d even let you touch glowing pink tendrils at the end of it before. Let you feel his exposed nerves, so vulnerable and raw in your hands that he had shed tears as you explored.

Nothing was taboo in your relationship. There was no space undiscovered between you.

Your bodies we’re so very different, and yet you knew his like the back of your hand. All of the strong muscles and hard sinew. The cobalt expanse of his skin didn't have one blemish that you haven't memorized. You could point out his striped pattern in a sea of other Na’vi.

And he knows you right back.

Loves to dig his fingers into your doughy hips, into your pillowy thighs. Your wide ass and ample chest. He loves your form, goes crazy for all of your alien curves. He never cared for your human modesty, he’d wanted to part your ass cheeks and stare at plump of your pussy for as long as he could remember. Wanted to strip you of all of those clothes and just stare.

The fact that he gets to do just that, for the rest of your lives, is his favorite, favorite thing.

You watch him eagerly as he slowly nurses. You can't get enough of the sight of him, his hollowed cheeks, the bob of his throat as he swallows your free flowing milk. He's so strong, his muscles flex in the dim light. All of that strength, and yet he’s so very gentle with you, his rough tongue laving at your sore buds every couple minutes. Soothing and tickling you all the same.

You giggle at a particularly quick swipe, letting out a small squeal as Neteyam’s tongue plays with the flesh in his mouth. His eyes peek open, glittering with mirth and low boiling heat as he meets your gaze. Whin his lips split into a smile, a dribble of translucent white milk escapes. Trickles down from the corners of his lips.

Heat pulses between your legs and you know he can smell how aroused you are.

Neteyam has always been able to turn you on without even trying. A well spoken word, or even a pointed look could get you running your thighs together. All desperate to get him alone and put your hands all over him.

You hate that you cant kiss him the way you want to, your Exo Mask, while necessary to your survival can be suck a fucking menace sometimes.

Your thumb traces his lips, the ones you want pressed against your own so bad. You rub the spilled milk from his chin. Cleaning him up in a way that's so simple, and so beyond erotic.

He breaks eye contact first, like he just can't look at you anymore. His brows all scrunched up, his chest raising and falling rapidly. He releases your sloppy nipple, completely covered in his saliva, and presses his face against the damp skin. Making a sound of distress.

Your fingernails skritch at his scalp, tangled in his many braids “What is it, baby?”

“I wanna fuck you so bad. Eywa, do you even smell yourself, Y/N? So good. I have to-”

“Yeah, yeah, okay” You nod, agreeing blindly. He can have whatever he wants.

“Fuck you hard, though. Gotta pound you. I know I shouldn't but it’ll be alright, huh? Won't hurt the baby?” his face is still buried in your skin, you cant even see his expression as he pleads for your pussy. It makes you so hot.

You push at his chest, needing him to get off of you for just a moment. He’s heavy as shit, a dead weight- doesn't really move until you're pouting and demanding for him to just give you a little space.

Enough that you can wiggle out of your panties and spread your thighs wide for him. Your swollen, sticky pussy on display for your mate.

His nostrils flare, and his thin tail whips wildly behind him.

When he swings your thick thighs up onto his broad shoulders, you let out a low, appreciative moan.

“Such a good boy for momma” you praise him the way the people praise the Great Mother. The cradle of your thighs a sanctuary where you both come to worship.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Welp, I should be finishing up Part Three of First Love/Late Spring or plotting out future installments of The Sweetest Sylaung, but here I am writing nursing filth. Lol I truly have zero regrets, this story was so very self fulfilling(even though it partially came from a request). I hope you guys enjoyed though

As mentioned many times before, requests are currently open. Please send in all that good shit. I could use a good distraction from real life!

#neteyam smut #neteyam x reader #neteyam x human reader #neteyam sully smut #aged up neteyam #Neteyam x pregnant reader

2K notes · View notes

radioactivesweet · 2 years ago

Note

Ok hear me out, what about moon god s/o x Poseidon, its been itching my mind cause of the sea x moon troupe.

What i imagine is, s/o being a powerful god like nyx but rarely appears so only a few gods know or saw them so Poseidon became curious about this mysterious (beautiful) god. Feel free to add more about this!! im just really craving for someone to write this 🥹

Uhhh I like this concept a lot!! I tried to keep the reader's gender kinda neutral, I hope it's fine^^ btw I really enjoyed writing this!

word count: 1.2k

Poseidon often found himself staring at the moon. He couldn't really explain why he would do that - not that anybody would dare asking the God of the Sea what he was doing. Unbothered, Poseidon would stand silenty on the ivory balcony, looking up to that apparently endless sky. Even for someone like him that domain appeared far and full of mystery.

It was a dark night, its only beam being the peaceful and perlescent light emanated by the sleeping moon. He was once told that a god inhabited the moon, far from all other living beings. It wasn't known the reason why the deity ended up there, observing humankind from the satellite. Some believed they refused to get involved with human affairs and chose to live as a hermit instead; others claimed the god was exiled and was cursed to live on their own, bound to live in loneliness; some believed that god to have died long ago, the moonlight being their only inheritance, the memento of a god who existed no more, the reminder of a otherwise forgotten past.

Poseidon, everytime he would look at the moon, would wonder the real story behind it. None of the moon goddesses he knew could give him a response, despite asking themselves the same question - with whom were they sharing their moon? A god, a ghost or nothing at all?

Not knowing made the God of the Sea restless. He wasn't supposed to be this ignorant - it was his duty and right to know the truth. Yet, all he knew didn't make sense to him at all. He couldn't find a reason why a god would choose to abandon their place a seek shelter on the moon; if a deity was trapped on the moon, he would have surely heard of it somehow. It wouldn't have been just a rumour; lastly, gods weren't meant to die, it wasn't their nature. They didn't have an expire date nor any time limits, so it was impossible to begin with. If there really were someone looking down on him from the moon, Poseidon would discover it.

Poseidon spent that whole night reading books and looking for information regarding the legends surrounding that mysterious and mystical figure. There weren't many references and he couldn't even find the name of that god, yet there were reported some events which most likely involved them. A beautiful deity whose melancholic face was reflected on the moon on certain nights, someone wearing a silvery armor while riding a shining chariot across the sky. Also, a powerful god who could conceal the sun and the earth. A god capable of moving the stars and making humans into constellations. A god who could flex the tides to their own amusement - which meant disturbing the God of the Sea too - the moon phases and the sea had always been strictly connected to one another, but the thought of someone directly interefering had never crossed his mind. An ancient deity whose name had been long forgotten and all traces canceled, no statues nor temples left, their believers long dead and turned to ashes.

Poseidon was intrigued to say the least. He couldn't recall even if tried the last time he had felt so interested in someone - maybe last time was when he recognised Hades as his brother thousands of years before? He didn't remember anymore, and it didn't really matter to him neither.

Rumours spreaded fast across the Heavens. It was a matter of days before everybody knew what the lonesome Poseidon was looking for, yet nobody dared approaching him nor suggesting him the information that could have helped him reach his objective. Yet, everybody was curious as to why he was interested in that legend in the first place. Poseidon was used to those lower deities' gossips, so he didn't pay them much care, they were nothing more than a bother and wasn't expecting them to act some other way. He was more interested in what certain gods had to say.

Zeus, despite his prestige, knew no more than him but reccomended talking with the goddess Nyx, whom he was afraid of, much more ancient than he was. Hades and Hermes agreed with Zeus and added some rumours that had been circulating for ages in the Underworld regarding a moon deity who lead the souls of the dead to Hades' domain. Beelzebub clearly remembered studying moon's phenoma and seeing that legendary face. They didn't ask him the reason why he was looking for the god. He wouldn't have answered anyway. Without a single word, he left, approaching his next destination, the goddess all gods feared: Nyx.

He respected the goddess, recognising her value and strenght, but didn't understand the reason why even the almighty Zeus feared - he could only suppose it must have been because of one of his many affairs that didn't end the way Zeus imagined. Poseidon didn't have anything to do with that though, therefore had no reason to fear her.

Nyx knew it all, the story of the human who ascended to the skies and then flew even higher above. That god's name was (Y/n), the vagabond of the stars, the hermit who found a home in the dim light of the moon. Poseidon was satisfied by the answers he had finally found - and a way to reach the moon itself. He was close to his goal.

He had finally landed on the moon. Poseidon had never been there before. It was the first time he got to see the sea he ruled from that perspective. It was a foreign feeling to him. He could almost understand the reason why humans tried so hard to leave Earth and reach the space - it was undescribable. He couldn't even blame (Y/n) for hiding in that timeless place. Poseidon felt as he could touch the stars if he only wanted to. And he was just about to do it, if only a sudden voice hadn't interrupted him.

"I've heard someone was looking for me. I don't receive many guests, so I suppose you must be that person." it was quite, almost a whisper. It didn't surprise Poseidon. (T/n) mustn't have had someone to talk to in a long time.

"You are Poseidon, aren't you? You often stare at the moon, I noticed it." a voice comparable to the music of the spheres, the musica universalis, the harmony between the celestial bodies.

(Y/n) seemed to have no material consistence, one with the stars and the deep blue sky surround them, floating on the ground, detached from the earthly beings. Poseidon almost felt unworthy of being before someone surrounded by such a, otherwordly aura, belonging to a different dimension. On the other hand, he was attracted by that holy creature.

"You are welcome here, God of the Seas." almost as if they had read his mind, (Y/n) reassured him "We all belong to the moon, all beings are made of the same stardust. There are no differences between us."

For once, Poseidon, enchanted and bewitched, couldn't reply. He was part of that symphony too - he could feel it resonating deep into his bones.

The everlasting sea below him, the everlasting stars above him. Poseidon felt whole for the first time in his equally everlasting life.

#record of ragnarok #shuumatsu no valkyrie #ror #record of ragnarok x reader #snv #ror x reader #snv x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #shuumatsu no walkure #poseidon #poseidon x reader #record of ragnarok poseidon #shuumatsu no valkyrie poseidon #snv poseidon #poseidon record of ragnarok #poseidon ror

1K notes · View notes

theetherealbloom · 1 year ago

Text

WHERE DO WE GO NOW? - CH. 1 | 14th Doctor

Chapter One: After All Of The Time, And Give An Actual Try

Summary: An enigmatic old face makes a reappearance, heralding unforeseen events. A mysterious spaceship plummets to Earth, bringing chaos and prompting the Doctor's intervention. Amidst the unfolding narrative, a cute and endearing creature seeks assistance, weaving together elements of mystery, adventure, and companionship.

Pairing: 14th Doctor x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Hurt-to-Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Possible Plot Holes, Vague Background, Aliens, Mild Horror, Violence, Past Trauma, Depression, Anxiety, Timey-Wimey Stuff, Star-Crossed Lovers, Second Chance

Word Count: 12.2k

A/N: Surprise! I love Doctor Who too. I’m a huge nerd, I know tehe. I hope you enjoy this mini-series I have planned for the 14th Doctor! As we know, he is played by the beloved David Tennant who is one of my favorite Doctors ever.

Song: Where do we go now? By Gracie Abrams

→ Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

MILLSON WAGNER STEELWORKS, NORTH LONDON – EVENING, DECEMBER 2023

A UNIT team was promptly dispatched as the spaceship breached Earth's atmosphere, making its way North of London. Both serving as scientific advisors, you and Shirley were on-site where the ship had landed.

While some military personnel were busy extinguishing the flames from the spacecraft and securing the perimeter, preventing you from delving further into the investigation, you found yourself engrossed in studying the ship's scans displayed on the monitor in your hands, attempting to unravel the mystery.

"Miss them, do you?" A voice called out from behind.

You averted your gaze from the tablet, turning to find Shirley maneuvering her wheelchair next to you. Curious, you asked, "What? Who?"

The redhead sported a cheeky smile. "The Doctor, of course."

It was widely known that you had journeyed alongside the Doctor and his myriad companions. Images of their faces flashed in your mind as you reminisced about those exciting adventures. Rose, Donna, the Ponds, Clara... you longed for them. There was a noticeable absence of the Doctor that left a gaping black hole in your chest.

You shook your head, muttering to yourself, "Can't let the Doctor catch a glimpse of me again; the entire universe might just fold in on itself once more. Already me being here is a problem since there’s a possibility he could pop out at any moment. I’m only on duty since I owe Kate a favor."

Shirley hums and responds, "I've read the files, you know. You two were quite the team. Everything that had happened… was in the wrong place at the right time. Still, it could happen, the two of you… together."

You raise your eyebrows at her and offer a small smile while shaking your head, scoffing, "The Doctor was unaware before, and I won't be the catalyst for another cosmic meltdown due to my selfish reasons. Besides... the Doctor doesn’t know I’m still alive and UNIT is already on my arse for even existing on this timeline.”

The redhead emits a sympathetic murmur and pats the side of your thigh, "Wasn't your fault, love. A colossal tear in time and space that dragged you in here... sounds like fate, or destiny even. If anything, maybe it was supposed to happen... like you and—"

The tablet beeps, abruptly halting Shirley's train of thought. You glance at the monitor, furrowing your brow, then hand over the device to her, saying, "You need to see this. I believe there's more to this than we initially thought."

“Now I think we’re making a fundamental mistake. ‘Cause maybe that spaceship was a collision course to start with, but look.” Shirley says while the UNIT soldier looks at the tablet, “At the last minute, it pulls up, then settles. What I’m sayin’ is, that ship didn’t crash. It parked.”

As Shirley presents her observations to the UNIT soldier, you can't help but notice the intensity in her gaze, the lines of concentration etched across her forehead. The soldier queries, "No signs of life?" You step forward, interjecting, "Not yet. But we don't know what kind of life we're looking for."

Suddenly, an unexplained shiver races up your spine, goosebumps breaking out on your skin. A palpable sense of familiarity and the eerie feeling of being observed by someone you know too well. Your expression shifts into a frown, and Shirley catches on, concern knitting her brows. "What? What's wrong?" she asks.

You open your mouth but hesitate, exchanging glances with Shirley and the UNIT soldier. Shirley, sensing the urgency, instructs the soldier to step aside. Both of you retreat to a secluded corner, where she probes, "What happened? You look like you've seen a ghost, dear."

You exhale shakily, "I... I think he's here. He's back."

Shirley blinks, seeking clarification, "You mean..."

"The Doctor. The Doctor, he’s here."

"Shirley, I need to leave, immediately," you declare, attempting to stride away with urgency.

"Wait, hang on a second," Shirley interjects, gripping your wrist and compelling you to halt. "He's already seen you, yeah? Looks like nothing bad has happened and—"

"Nothing bad has happened yet, Shirley. The stars could go out; millions of galactic species could die if we so much as breathe in each other's direction. I can't risk it. I won't."

Tears well up, and Shirley guides you to a stop near one of the staircases, settling herself in her wheelchair. As you take a seat, you rub both hands over your face, wiping away the tears. "I should have died that day."

Shirley remains silent, allowing you to continue as you shakily sob, "I should have died. But I didn't, and I'm still here."

"I lied to him, Shirley. I lied. He... he might never forgive me for it," you confess brokenly. Shirley shrugs, offering, "You won't know unless you talk. And it seems to me that whatever was keepin’ you apart before… is tellin’ you two maybe now is the right place at the right time."

Deep in contemplation of your choices, someone suddenly seizes your wrist, muffling your voice as they pull you close, your body pressed against a comforting warmth.

"Hey, it's me. It's the Doctor," he reassures, and you instinctively push away, allowing some distance between you two. Both of you stand there panting, but he breaks the silence first, shouting, "I thought you were dead!"

Throwing the words back at him, you retort, "I was supposed to be dead!"

"Why aren't you dead?" he demands, and frustration laces your high-pitched response, "Are you bloody serious in asking me that?”

“No. Yes! Argh, I don't know!"

Shaking your head and taking a step back, you declare, "I need to leave."

The Doctor firmly grabs your wrist, halting your escape. "No. Not again."

With determination, you wrench your wrist from his strong hold, shouting, "The universe could collapse! Again! We weren't ever supposed to meet. It was a mistake."

Wide-eyed, the Doctor gazes at you and replies in a breathy tone, "Is that really what you think?"

Paused, unable to respond, you hear his voice in your head, a telepathic whisper so familiar. "You and I both know, that it wasn't a mistake."

Glaring at him, you muster as much resistance as possible, but those big dark brown eyes make it challenging. "That's not fair. Get out of my head," you retort with furrowed brows.

The Doctor whispers your name, barely audible, causing you to flinch and look away. Instead of acknowledging his presence, you pivot to a question, "You regenerated… But why this face? Why are you back?"

"Why do you ask? You don't like this one?" he retorts.

Crossing your arms, you roll your eyes, "With you, there's always a reason for everything."

The Doctor admits, "Must be why the TARDIS brought me to you and Donna."

You regard him with a concerned gaze and tone, "What? You saw Donna, did she recognize or remember you?"

"The fail-safe worked; she just commented about my clothes. She has a daughter named Rose," the Doctor hums, kicking a small piece of gravel on the floor. You nod, "Yeah, I keep tabs on 'em. Making sure they're alright. Even though Donna gave all that money away to charity."

"Do you know why she did it?" The Doctor asks.

"I don't. But I have a couple of guesses," you reply with a close-lipped smile and a shrug. The Doctor brings his gaze to you, and you can already feel the question before he says it.

"I thought you were dead, for fifteen years."

You scoff, "Oh, that's nothing for you, Time Lord and all."

The Doctor throws his hands up in frustration, "Oh, don't do that."

"Do what?" you demand.

"Pretend that it was nothing for me! You were everything to me," the Doctor says, taking another step closer, and you take a step back this time. You look at him with narrowed eyes, and in a low tone, you say, "You and I both know that's not true."

"What happened? Where did you go?"

"You and I both know what happened after Arcadia. I was ready to die. I thought I had served my purpose, what I was made for. I got shot midway through the regeneration process, and I felt it. I felt myself slipping away... I could only see the two suns, and then when I closed my eyes, there was this surge of energy... I couldn't explain it back then, and I can't now. But it was like someone had given me their regeneration energy... but when I looked around, no one was there, and I was no longer on Gallifrey."

The Doctor finishes the sentence for you, "You were brought to Earth."

You nod, "I still have no idea who did it. But now, I can't leave. And all those years, my memories were locked away in that old pocket watch until I met you... and then the stars started to go out once more, and I knew I had no choice… I couldn't stay with you."

"All those years... you were alone, just like me," the Doctor says, and you look away before sitting atop one of the crates by the pillar, sighing, "I need to leave again... planets could disappear and galaxies could collapse at any second, and we'd be back where we started."

The Doctor remains silent as you close your eyes, resting your head on one of the stacked crates behind you. You yearn for him. Every atom in your being longs for his presence, yet every angle you examine seems to present an unsolvable puzzle. Thus, you convince yourself that distancing is the best course for everyone involved. How does one repay a sacrifice of such magnitude?

Then, you detect his approaching footsteps, and he settles comfortably beside you, shoulders brushing as he leans in. "Or... we could finally figure out a way to solve the paradox."

Opening your eyes, you shoot him a pointed look. "Doctor, we're in the middle of yet another crisis. A spaceship just landed, and we have no bloody clue who the hell we're dealing with right now. And you want to solve the impossible with our situation?"

"Who says I can't multitask?" he retorts, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. You lightly smack him on the arm, feeling warmth flood your cheeks. Memories of the carefree early days flash through your mind, recalling lingering gazes and soft touches exchanged. Licking your lips nervously, you release a heavy breath, "One problem at a time. We have another alien on the loose."

The Doctor takes that as a win, a calculated risk, with the universe as a potential consequence. He's never demanded anything, and for the first time, he yearns for something for himself. He envisions it — hope — the prospect of finally rewriting the ending you both desperately desire.

The sonic clicks and buzzes as the Doctor conjures a holographic screen, displaying the schematics of the spacecraft that recently landed nearby. He retrieves his glasses from his coat pocket, donning them as he peruses the screen. Pressing a few buttons, he zooms in on the bottom part of the ship before highlighting the drive.

Frowning, your eyes narrow as an unsettling weight settles at the pit of your stomach while reading what's on the screen.

"Too good for us now?" Shirley remarks as she rolls up in her wheelchair. The Doctor briefly glances at her, nodding, and casually greets, "Evening."

Shirley smiles knowingly as she looks between the two of you. "Doctor. I see you and my colleague have talked. Has galaxies and universes collapsed yet?"

The Doctor hums, "Mmmm, not yet. Soon maybe, if I could get her to kiss me."

You smack him on the shoulder a little harder this time, and he yelps out, "Ow!" Making a face at him, you retort, "Oh, sod off!"

The Doctor gives you a cheeky smile while Shirley chuckles next to you. She then looks at the holographic screen on display, and the Doctor brings his focus back to the problem at hand, saying, "That’s a double-bladed dagger drive, damaged by laser fire which means we’ve got two sets of visitors at war with each other."

He glances at Shirley politely, "Nice to meet you. Did you get the heat readings on deceleration?" Shirley chuckles and clicks her tongue, "Oh, I got everything." She unfolds her tablet to give to the Doctor, who presses a button on his sonic screwdriver to close the holographic screen. Taking the tablet, he begins to analyze the readings as your colleague introduces herself, "Shirley Anne Bingham, UNIT Scientific Advisor number 56."

The Doctor sounds delighted, saying, "Oh! I was Scientific Advisor number one."

Shirley smiles, "No, I know. I’ve read the files. I’m gonna get a bonus just for meeting you."

The Doctor makes a face, not used to humble praise. "Oh."

Shirley then asks, "But why are you hiding away? We’re on the same side and it can’t be ‘cause of her now." She looks at you, and you also turn your attention to the Doctor.

He slightly groans and inhales sharply before replying, "It’s all a bit mad, Shirley. I don’t know who I am anymore."

Shirley crosses her legs in the wheelchair and says matter-of-factly, "Well, you look like the Doctor to me."

The Doctor shrugs, "Well, exactly. The one in the skinny suit. After that, I wear a bow tie. After that, I’m a Scotsman. After that, I’m a woman."

Shirley frowns, "But that’s your future. You can’t know that. It’s forbidden."

The Doctor replies, "I regenerated. And she became me."

Both of Shirley’s eyebrows rise, and her eyes widen as she says, "You got your old face back?"

The Doctor replies with a resounding pop, "Yep."

"But why?" Shirley asks, and the Doctor sighs, "Well, that’s what I’m worried about."

He then inhales deeply before continuing, “Because, besides this lovely stubborn woman right next to me,” you pinch the bridge of your nose briefly as he continues, “I've got this friend called Donna Noble. She was my best friend in the whole wide universe. I absolutely love her as much as I love this one right here.” The Doctor pulls a face and pouts, puffing out a breath as his thick eyebrows furrow, he says, “Oh. Hmm. Do I say things like that now?”

Shirley smiles at him while commenting, “Sounds like a good thing to say.”

You mumble, “I’m not used to this.”

“But Donna took the mind of a Time Lord into her head. I had to wipe her memory to save her life. If she ever remembers me she will die. So what happens next?” The Doctor said with emphasis and leaned closer to you and Shirley, “I get this face back, and the TARDIS lands right next to her. I turn around, there’s her husband. A spaceship crashes in front of her. That led me here to my other best friend in the whole wide universe, my Time Lady who I thought was dead for many years. It’s like she’s drawing us in.” The Doctor finishes, and you and Shirley give each other a look, processing everything he has just said. Especially you, who was processing the fact he called you his. You and Shirley blinked a few times before Shirley said, “What? She’s making it happen?”

The Doctor shakes his head, “No, she’s got no idea. She’s so ordinary. She’s brilliant. She’s got this beautiful daughter. She’s happy. Is she? Hmm.” He pauses before saying in a lower tone, “But the universe is turning around the two people I love the most again. I don’t believe in destiny, but if destiny exists, then it's heading straight for Donna Noble and quite possibly the love of my life right next to me.”

You blink in surprise, opening your mouth to try and say something, maybe correct him, but nothing comes out, so you sit there, mouth gaping next to him like a fish while Shirley has a toothy grin as you say to the Doctor, “Okay, I’m still not used to whatever this is… and I don’t think I ever will be. You’re kind of freaking me out a little, dear.”

The Doctor grins, “Ooh, are we doing pet names now darling?”

You rub your right eye, feeling a migraine beginning to form, “I… What the hell is happening? You sure you’re alright? Last time you regenerated into this form you had a high fever and you were… completely out of it.”

The Doctor scrunches his nose and sniffs, “I feel great. Fantastic even!”

You purse your lips, observing the Doctor from head to toe, and then focus on his eyes—those warm, inviting brown eyes. Softly, you remark, “You've grown.”

The Doctor returns your gaze, his lips forming a quirked-up smile that reveals a dimple. "Just a little bit, yeah."

Shirley interjects, steering the conversation back on course, “You said it was also heading for Donna. What for?”

The Doctor responds with a swift, “I don’t know.” Shirley replies with an, “Oh.” The Doctor continues, with deep emphasis, “But she can’t remember. I won’t be the one who kills her.”

Shirley nods, and the tablet in the Doctor’s hands beeps. He looks at it, saying, “Right. There’s no sign of a pilot, but that’s not an automatic drive, so you should look for–”

“Ma’am,” a soldier interrupts, cutting off the Doctor. He slinks back into the shadows, and you and Shirley listen to what the soldier has to say. “We found the escape pod. No sign of life, but we’re moving out to secure the site.”

Shirley quickly replies, “Good work, soldier. Go get it.” Dismissing the soldier and watching her walk away, the Doctor moves to stand, removing his glasses and putting them away, ready to follow the soldier. But Shirley raises her hand and says to him, “Uh, yeah, yeah. Not you two, mate. I’ve got this. Off you pop. Bye-bye.”

Shirley begins to roll her wheelchair away, leaving the Doctor and you confused. The Doctor then calls out to her, “Waited your whole life?”

To which Shirley throws a look over her shoulder as she responds with a smirk, “You wish.”

The Doctor looks at you, and you look up at him. He turns his hand, palm up, waiting for you to take it with your hand. You glance at his hand and back to his eyes; he sees the uncertainty swirling through your gaze.

The Doctor speaks gently, “I know you aren’t ready and you’re scared… but I know you’re brave. And the universe listens to the brave. C’mon, it’s time to be brave again.”

You release a shaky exhale, swallowing the lump in your throat and dismissing the rational urge to walk away from him. Taking his hand, he tugs you along, pushing his legs into a run with you, hand-in-hand.

He thrusts the exit door open, utilizing his sonic screwdriver with his other hand on the back of the UNIT truck, the chains rattling as the trunk hatch pops open, pulling you with him to settle at the back of the truck.

As the UNIT truck pulls away, you see Shirley waving you off, and the Doctor gives her a small salute while you offer her a faint smile.

CHISWICK, LONDON – EVENING, 2023

You constantly poked your head out to see the stars, in case anything had changed. The Doctor held your hand, squeezing it every time you did, quietly reassuring you that whatever you faced, you'd do it together.

Arriving in the residential area, a long street lined with cars and now multiple UNIT trucks and soldiers running around, you could hear Donna shouting, “Oh, what the hell is it doing in my shed? Get out of my garden!”

The Doctor ran towards the sound of her voice, and you followed him. Reaching Donna's home, the Doctor pounded on the door, “Let us in! Let us in!”

Sylvia glared at the Doctor as she briskly walked towards him, but he exclaimed happily, “Sylvia! Oh, Sylvia! So nice to see you again. Could you let us in?”

Sylvia angrily whispered, “You said that if she sees you again, she will die. Well, no. If – if she remembers me. That’s slightly different.”

You heard and saw Donna through the stained glass yelling from down the hall, “No such thing as spaceships? We’ve got a bloody Martian in the shed!”

Sylvia angrily said, “Just get out of here, now.” But the Doctor knelt down to peek through the mail slot to see all the commotion, finding a small white fluffy creature with big eyes. “Oh, wow. He’s so cute,” the Doctor mumbled. With no other choice, he used his sonic to unlock the door as Sylvia told Donna, “Don’t look! Don’t look. It doesn’t exist.”

As the Doctor walked down the hall, with you trailing behind him, Sylvia whirled around to slap the Doctor. He grunted and groaned, “Here we go again.”

“It’s that man!” You recognized Rose say as Donna pointed at the Doctor, “Oh, it’s the skinny man!”

Sylvia continued to try and gaslight Donna, outstretching both her arms to block both of you, “He’s not there! You can’t see him. And there’s no monster. Oh, for the love of God, none of this is real!”

You and the Doctor ducked down and crawled to the creature to help assist them. In the middle of all the shouting and noise, you saw Shaun Temple appear, saying, “Hey, hey. Dad’s home.”

Everyone stood at a standstill, wide-eyed and unsure of what to do next. After a pause, Shaun commented with a small smile, “Something smells nice.” Sylvia smiled, “Tuna madras.”

“Meep, meep.”

As you and the Doctor sat on the floor, he carefully wrapped Meep’s injury in his hands with medical tape, while you quickly assessed if the Meep had any more injuries. Sylvia spoke to Donna, “We should think about infection. I mean, I think this man should deal with this beast, and we can leave him alone and go back to mine.”

Donna pulled her arm away from Sylvia and gestured around the Meep, “Never mind. Never mind about the ferret from Mars.” She gave you and the Doctor a pointed look as she growled out, “Who the hell are you two?”

You looked to the Doctor for help, and he stumbled over his words, “I– um. What was it?” He looked to Shaun who replied, “A friend from Nerys.” To which the Doctor promptly agreed, “That’s it.”

Donna scrunches her nose and says, “Nerys. Well, now it all makes sense. That viper in the nest.” She continues and points to the Meep, “I’m not going anywhere. We could sell mad Paddington for a million quid.”

Everyone reacted, giving Donna a pointed look and a noise of disagreement, “Woah!” Donna tried to justify her comment by saying, “You fill the fridge!”

The Doctor’s expressive eyebrows furrowed, and he asked Donna, “What did happen to all your money?” Donna got defensive and threw back, “Why are you so interested in us? Everywhere you go, there you are. Now you got this woman with you,” She gestured to you, “are you sure you’re safe with him, darling? Is he forcing you to be with him? Did he kidnap you?!”

You blinked wildly at Donna, “Uh, no– I’m good. He’s my partner.”

The Doctor smirked at you, “Ooh, I’m your partner?” To which you narrowed your eyes at him, “Quiet, you.” He pouted but continued to finish wrapping the injury of the Meep, then the Doctor said, “There is one person missing. I used to know your grandad, Wilf.”

Donna shook her head, “He’s not with us anymore.”

The Doctor had a somber expression as he nodded, “Right. Course. He wasn’t young; he was—” His lower lip trembled as he admitted, “I loved that man. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Donna shook her head, emphasizing, “He’s not dead.” Sylvia shot the Doctor a sharp look, “You idiot.”

The Doctor gaped at them, and Donna continued to share, “He’s in sheltered accommodation. He’s 94. He can’t manage the stairs.” Shaun took over, saying, “We were lucky. We couldn’t afford it, but this offer came along.”

Rose smiled, painting a vivid picture, “It’s amazing. He’s got this room, like a cottage and a garden, and it’s almost free.”

“Run by that lot in the middle of town? UNIT? This woman in charge, Kate, she says he’s an old soldier, she’ll look after him.” Shaun said, and the Doctor's face lit up, “Right. I know her. She’s looking after Wilf. Brilliant. Brilliant.”

Shaun tilted his head as he looked at you, “You look very familiar… Weren’t you with Kate as you were helping with the accommodations for Wilf?”

Your lips pinched together as you nodded, “Yeah, I work with UNIT. I check on him regularly; he’s wonderful.”

“Meep, meep.”

You and the Doctor turned to the fluffy white creature in front of you, and the Doctor’s eyebrows raised as he inhaled sharply, “Yes! The Meep. I promise I can help him get home. Then you’ll never have to see me, or well, the both of us ever again.”

Rose looked at the Doctor and gave him a questioning look, “You’re assuming he as a pronoun? Hmm.”

The Doctor took it in stride and nodded, “True. Yes. Sorry. Good point.” He quickly turned to the creature and asked, “Are you he, or she, or they?”

The high-pitched voice of the Meep responded, “My chosen pronoun is the definite article. I am always the Meep.”

The Doctor’s expression shifted to one of understanding as his thick eyebrows raised and he nodded, “Oh. I do that. But you were shot down. Who wants you dead?”

You tilt your head, captivated by the Meep's explanation, “The Wrath Warriors. They cultivate Meepkind for our beautiful fur. But then the galaxy said, ‘No more fur. It’s wrong. So the Wrath Warriors slaughtered their livestock.”

The Doctor crosses his arms, a thoughtful expression on his face, and leisurely leans back on the couch, letting his back rest against it, “You’re a fashion victim.”

A collective groan escapes from all the humans in the room, “No.”

The Doctor quickly mumbles an apology, and the Meep continues, “Now, they will hunt me down till there are no Meeps left.” The Meep sniffs, “It breaks both my hearts.”

You and the Doctor exchange surprised glances, both of your eyebrows raised. The Doctor shares with the Meep as he gestures to both of you, “You got two hearts? So do we.”

Donna quickly catches onto the Doctor's revelation and frowns, “You’ve got what?”

Sylvia tries to downplay what the Doctor just exposed, stammering as she speaks to Donna, “No. He means it like a metaphor. Like two minds. Do you?” You and the Doctor shake your heads, but suddenly there’s a pounding at the door.

“Open up!”

“Well, what the hell is it now?” Donna exclaims, her frustration evident as she wonders why all these strange anomalies keep happening. The Doctor pushes himself up, and you assist him with his navy blue coat as he puts it on. He continues addressing everyone in the room, “Ah, good. The soldiers! They can give us a lift.”

As he goes to answer the door, leaving you with the Meep and Donna’s family, Rose can't help but ask, “Are you two…”

Your cheeks feel flush, the tips of your ears turning warm, “Yep.”

Just as Donna is about to make a cheeky comment, you hear the Doctor slam the front door shut, loudly informing you all, “I think we need to run. Woah!”

Suddenly, an explosion rocks the backdoor, causing everyone to hit the ground with a collective yelp. You and the Doctor peek to look at the new visitor; arthropods, with a tough chitinous exoskeleton. With their external skeleton acting as a skelo-shield they had formidable strength. Their eyes were like large red lights. Seeing the Wrath Warriors enter while saying, “Wrath, attack formation! Surrender the Meep!”

UNIT soldiers burst in from the main entrance, their voices echoing down the hallway as they shout instructions to each other. The distant hum of gunfire and the vivid flashes of lasers light up the space, creating a chaotic symphony that fills your senses.

Donna, caught in the middle of the sudden onslaught, shouts in confusion and frustration, “What the hell is going on?”

The Doctor deftly manipulates his sonic screwdriver, adjusting its settings. He turns to Shaun and inquires, “Where’s your car?”

Shaun, bewildered but cooperative, responds, “Uh, five- five doors down.”

“Excellent.” The Doctor nods. He pivots, activating the sonic screwdriver to generate large, rectangular force fields. The blue glow emanating from the force fields reveals a recent upgrade, and you can't help but smile, commenting, “Nice upgrade, love.”

“Thanks, dearest. Help me move this, won’t you?” The Doctor passes the sonic to Donna, who handles it with familiarity. You and the Doctor work together to slide the force field into the first section of the hallway, dodging blaster shots as you go. Once in the living room again, you take the sonic from Donna, creating your force field with the Doctor’s scientific instrument. The Doctor observes you with admiration, and together, you slide the final force field into place, sealing off the area where the Wrath Warriors were firing from.

Immediately, the Doctor issues a commanding directive to the Noble-Temple family and the Meep, “Upstairs! Up, up, up, up, up, up, up, up, up!” They follow the urgent order, shrieking as they ascend the stairs, sandwiched between the force fields that shield them from the relentless onslaught of gunshots and laser fire.

“Come on, Meep!” The Doctor encourages, executing an energetic dance of hopping and flailing arms. The Meep responds with a whimper, “No.” Undeterred, you and the Doctor persist, the Doctor continuing his lively hopping routine, insisting, “Come on! That’s it.”

You guide the Meep up the stairs, the Doctor closely behind. A reassuring hand rests on your back as the trio ascends. When you're halfway across the corridor, a deafening explosion erupts from behind. The Noble-Temple family screams in fear, and you're thrown to the ground. However, the Doctor reacts swiftly, his strong arms wrapping around your waist to break your fall. In a protective move, he cushions the impact with his body, leaving you on top of him.

You swiftly roll off him, your palms hitting the floor as you propel yourself upward. Grasping the Doctor's hand, you haul him to his feet, both of you swiftly turning around to confront the aftermath—a colossal, gaping hole now occupying the space where a window once stood. Donna's cry of agony echoes through the room, "My house!"

Despite the devastation, there's no time for dwelling. The Doctor urgently directs everyone, gesticulating emphatically, "Upstairs. Upstairs, upstairs!"

Observing the Wrath Warriors soaring menacingly through the breached window, and amidst the symphony of gunfire and laser blasts echoing from the stairs, you and the Doctor deftly ascend to the third floor. With a swift motion, he lowers the ladder leading to the attic, urgently urging everyone, "Up we go! Fast as you can."

The entire group efficiently ascends to the attic. Positioned beside a robust brick wall connecting attics along the street, you and the Doctor huddle close. The Doctor showcases the device in his hand, proclaiming, "This is a sonic screwdriver. And if it's good at one thing, it's resonating concrete." He flips it in one hand before activating it, causing vibrations to ripple through the mortar.

Shaun interjects, "That's not concrete. That's mortar." Donna, in her familiarly exasperated tone, sighs and quips, "Thank you, Bob the Builder."

With a determined push, you and the Doctor dislodge the bricks, prompting them to cascade down. Donna crouches beside the Doctor, complimenting, "Skinny minnie, you're not bad."

The Doctor grins at Donna, "You think?"

However, Sylvia intervenes, frowning as she guides Donna aside, firmly asserting, "No, she doesn't. Now move."

"Come on. Five houses down," the Doctor grunts, effortlessly moving aside a box brimming with Christmas decorations. He takes the lead, guiding the family through the interconnected attics.

Traversing through these loft spaces, you witness the chaotic scene unfolding outside, with laser beams and gunshots punctuating the air. Explosions resonate in the distance as you navigate the makeshift route, carefully descending a staircase. Along the way, you stealthily pass by someone deeply immersed in sleep on a couch, oblivious to the turmoil around them.

Upon reaching a door, the Doctor jostles it open, revealing a view of the black cab parked a few meters away. Amidst the cacophony of gunfire and distant shouts, the Doctor extends his hand and requests, "Can I have the keys?" Shaun promptly hands them over.

As the Wrath Warriors advance with their menacing backs turned, the Doctor swiftly swings the door open, directing the family and the Meep into the sanctuary of the black cab. Positioned in the passenger seat, you observe the Doctor deftly using his fingers to check the pulse of a fallen UNIT soldier. Abruptly, a Wrath Warrior pivots, growling, "Meep located. Stop the Meep!"

Evading blaster fire with nimble agility, the Doctor slips into the driver's seat, swiftly igniting the engine and propelling the cab into motion. The Meep whimpers, "Help! Save the Meep!"

As the Doctor skillfully navigates away, Donna exclaims, "Oh my God!" Shaun pivots within the cab, jubilantly stating, "You did it!" Meanwhile, Rose chimes in, "We're alive," and Sylvia expresses gratitude, "Thank you."

"Meep, meep."

While the Doctor keeps a vigilant eye on the side mirrors during the escape, there's a discernible shift in his tone, "Either we've escaped, or we've got things very, very wrong."

UNDERGROUND PARKING GARAGE, LONDON – EVENING, 2023

The Doctor skillfully maneuvers the cab, smoothly parking it in an underground garage. A contemplative furrow graces his forehead as he steps out of the vehicle. With an attentive courtesy, he opens the passenger door, gesturing for you to alight from the cab. Simultaneously, he opens the back passenger door, facilitating the exit of the Meep.

The Doctor deftly extracts a barrister's wig from the depths of his coat, perching it atop his head with an air of theatrical flair. Meanwhile, the Meep positions itself purposefully in front of the cab. In a tone of authoritative declaration, the Doctor announces, "This court is now in session."

With a swift motion, he retrieves his trusty sonic screwdriver, and it emits a distinctive whiz as he proclaims, "Intercept teleport!"

The Meep emits a piercing shriek, swiftly retreating a few meters behind you and the Doctor. Donna, emerging from the cab, questions, "What the hell are you doing?" The Doctor, with an authoritative air, responds, "Silence in the court."

In the blink of an eye, two Wrath Warriors materialize just across from you and the Doctor. You stand there, massaging your face with your hand, as he adopts a menacing tone and declares, "I’m invoking Shadow Proclamation protocols 15, P, and 6. Under my jurisdiction, there will be no violence until such time I deem it fit and proper. Is that understood?"

The Wrath Warriors nod in compliance, dutifully stowing away their weapons to their sides. The Doctor, brandishing his sonic, gestures towards the taxi, asserting, “Now, exhibit A. The taxi. No scorch marks. Donna, can you confirm?” Donna swivels around, inspecting the taxi behind her, and nods, “Um. Yes, no, nothing.”

You arch your eyebrows, interjecting, “We were hit by plasma bolts, but there isn’t a mark.” The Doctor affectionately kisses your forehead, remarking, “Clever girl.” You duck your head, feeling a slight warmth in your chest and cheeks. He proceeds, “And that soldier in the street. He was unconscious, not dead.” Pointing at the Wrath Warriors' guns with his sonic screwdriver, he continues, “Exhibit B. Those guns are stun guns. Is that correct?”

The right Wrath Warrior nods, “The guns apply a mild and harmless neural anesthetic. For the record, my name is Sergeant Zogroth.” The left Wrath Warrior adds on and says, “And I am Constable Zreeg.”

The Meep interjects from behind you, its large ears folding to the side, “But the evil Wrath Warriors want to kill the Meep.”

“The only ones out to kill were the soldiers with the swirling eyes,” the Doctor asserts, gesturing in a circular motion with his sonic, his eyes widening to emphasize his point. “Were they coming to hurt you, the Meep? Or save you?” The Doctor eyes the furry creature suspiciously.

“If I may speak,” Sergeant Zogroth says, and the Doctor promptly replies, “Address the court.”

“The story of the Meep is a tragic tale. Their planet basked in the light of a living sun. Until one terrible day, the sun went mad,” Sergeant Zogroth began, his voice laden with the weight of the narrative. Constable Zreeg chimed in, “A psychedelic sun.”

Sergeant Zogroth continued, “Its radiation mutated all of Meepkind into cruel beasts who live for conquest.”

The Doctor's face lights up with realization, "The eyes. That's solar psychedelia." Sergeant Zogroth adds, “It renders them as maniacs.”

“The Meep army captured the Galactic Council, beheaded them, and ate them,” Constable Zreeg revealed, sending shivers down your spine. You and the Doctor exchange a grimace at the horrifying revelation. “The Wrath Warriors were summoned. And we fought across the stars, a long and awful battle,” Sergeant Zogroth continued with a somber tone.

“Meepkind died rather than surrender. And now, only this one survives. Their leader, the most cruel and despicable of all,” he added, pointing to the Meep, who responded with a plaintive, “Meep, meep.”

The Doctor, adopting a composed stance, interjects, “Now. Let’s be fair. It’s your turn, the Meep. Witness for the defense. So, what do you say?” The Doctor crosses his arms, and you observe as the Meep's innocent visage transforms into something more sinister and monstrous.

The Meep's sharp teeth are bared as it growls defiantly, "Oh, to hell with this!" With a swift motion, it brandishes a weapon, declaring, "Exhibit C!" The Meep takes aim and fires, bringing down the two Wrath Warriors, their bodies collapsing to the ground. You, the Doctor, and Donna quickly rush to the fallen foes. The Doctor, during the action, removes his barrister wig. The Meep, in a sinister tone, adds, "No stun guns for me! Just die!"

Shaun leaps out of the cab, urgently shouting, "Donna! Donna, don't!" Despite his plea, Donna remains fixated on the fallen warriors, her concern evident. You find yourself beside the Doctor on the ground as the Meep triumphantly declares, "And here they come! My soldiers of the psychedelic sun!"

Suddenly, a convoy of UNIT vehicles arrives, accompanied by soldiers with their distinctive headgear, forming a protective perimeter around all of you. Their authoritative voices ring out, "Obey the Meep!"

Donna, her maternal instincts flaring, turns to Shaun and passionately commands, "Get out! Get Rose out!"

Shaun swiftly maneuvers to the driver’s seat while Rose and Sylvia settle back in the taxi. However, the UNIT soldiers, now under the control of the Meep, have you all surrounded with no clear escape.

“I don’t need to pretend, for I am the Beep of all the Meeps,” the Meep declares, grinning menacingly with its sharp teeth.

Sergeant Zogroth emits a final groan, his parting words being, “Sergeant Zogroth regrets retirement from active duty.” His eyes dim, and his body goes limp. Donna, disgusted, confronts the Meep, saying, “I was right. You are a monster.”

The Meep revels in Donna’s anger, taunting, “And you believed every word I said. You stupid woman! With your weird child!”

Donna, ready to confront the Meep for insulting her daughter, stands defiantly, retorting, “Oh, don’t you dare!”

The Meep, relishing the confrontation, points its weapon at Donna, threatening, “Oh, I dare!”

You quickly rise, positioning yourself in front of Donna, raising your hands in a protective stance. Simultaneously, the Doctor moves across the floor on his knees, hands raised, pleading, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! But— Last-minute evidence! Me.”

He emphatically points to himself and exclaims, “Why are there two more two-hearted species on this planet? Unless we are part of a strategy by the Wrath Warriors to outfox you? If you kill me and her and fail to take this family hostage, you’ll never find out, will you?”

The Meep hums, then commands the soldiers, “Bring them!”

The Doctor stands animatedly, “Good! Now, look, I can suggest a much better way off this planet than a double-bladed dagger drive. ‘Cause that thing is gonna—”

His sentence remains unfinished as he is abruptly knocked out by a UNIT soldier. The Meep cackles triumphantly as the rest of you are ushered into the back of a truck, alongside the unconscious Doctor.

On the truck's floor, the Doctor lay with his head resting on your lap, his unconscious form a testament to the challenges you faced. Your fingers moved soothingly through his untamed, spikey hair, offering a quiet comfort amid the tension.

Donna observed the scene, her curiosity getting the better of her. "How long have you two been together?" she inquired, attempting to place where she might have encountered you before.

"A good number of years," you replied, choosing to keep the more intricate details to yourself, considering the Doctor's timeless nature.

Rose, equally intrigued, posed another question, "Are you two married?"

A snort escaped you. "Nope. I don't think he wants that with me if I'm being honest."

“Why?” Rose pressed on.

Your gaze drifted, and you sniffed softly. "I’m all sorts of wrong for him. And sometimes, it scares me. The emptiness I see in my eyes,” you admitted, vulnerability seeping into your words. Your eyes lingered on the Doctor as you continued, “The Doctor is brilliant. He is truly brilliant. After all he’s been through... he deserves everything good and more… more than me.”

As your confession lingered in the air, the Doctor began to stir awake, bringing a momentary hush to the truck. His eyes fluttered open, and a low groan escaped him as he gradually sat up, settling next to you.

Donna eyed the Doctor with suspicion, her narrowed gaze fixed on him. "Who are you?" she questioned, her tone demanding answers.

The Doctor, still feeling the effects of his earlier unconsciousness, touched the back of his head with a wince. "I’m just passing by," he nervously replied, attempting to deflect her inquiries.

Undeterred, Donna redirected her attention to her mother, Sylvia, and pressed on, "Do you know him?" Sylvia, in an attempt to conceal any familiarity, shook her head, responding, "No."

Donna, frustrated and puzzled, continued, "You act like you know him. Ever since he arrived, it’s like—" She heaved a heavy sigh, abruptly halting her train of thought. "I’m so stupid!" she declared, voicing her self-reproach.

Shaun quickly reassured his wife, "No. No, you’re not."

Donna shook her head, lost in contemplation. "We could be living somewhere far away from here. Monte Carlo. Switzerland." She then turned to her daughter Rose, who sat beside her. "And you— And you’d be safe, Rose." Donna pulled Rose into a comforting side hug. "It’s all my fault. Gave away that lottery money."

The Doctor, unable to resist his curiosity, interjected, "Why?"

Donna shot him a glare. "Because. There are places out there where people are in danger. And in pain. And fear. And I could help. Just felt the sort of thing he would do." Her words hung in the air, revealing a sense of duty and compassion that drove her actions.

Abruptly, the truck jolts to a stop, resulting in the Doctor colliding with one of the crates, eliciting a pained groan. You swiftly move to assist him. The truck door swings open, and a stern voice commands, "Out!"

MILLSON WAGNER STEELWORKS

NORTH LONDON, – EVENING, DECEMBER 2023

The UNIT soldiers briskly led you towards the heart of the steelworks, where the Meep's spaceship had strategically landed.

"It didn't choose the steelworks by accident. It came here to be mended," the Doctor remarked as the group neared the spacecraft. The Meep made a grand entrance, seated on a makeshift throne of steel carried by a procession of UNIT soldiers. With its menacing teeth and booming voice, it declared, "Hail to the Meep!"

A hypnotic chant echoed through the steelworks as multiple officers joined in unison, "Hail to the Meep. Hail to the Most High. Hail to the Meep. Hail to the Most High."

"Human scum, behold my vessel to the stars! Far beyond your tiny, grasping minds," Beep the Meep declares with an air of arrogance. You respond with an eye roll of annoyance, and the Doctor shakes his head while humorously interjecting, "I name this ship the Delusions of Grandeur."

Beep the Meep growls in protest, "Meep."

"You can't fire those engines. Not from here. A dagger drive gets its energy by stabbing down. It would extract, ooh, five square miles? The whole of London town burnt as fuel," the Doctor explains, his tone serious and concerned.

Rose, wearing a frown, adds, "But that's nine million people."

"A great day for Meepkind. And the start of a new reign of terror as the Meep return to the stars for revenge. And feasting. Now, activate the initializers," the Meep commands, its voice dripping with malevolence.

A disciplined UNIT soldier swiftly responds, "Initializers activated."

The low hum of the spaceship's engines reverberates through the steelworks as the Meep grins with an evil glint in its eyes, proclaiming, "Brandish the gravity stanchions."

"Gravity stanchions brandished," announces a focused UNIT soldier as the prongs of the spacecraft forcefully dig into the ground.

"Calibrate the flight deck," the Meep commands with a sense of authority, intensifying the tension in the air.

A disciplined UNIT member announces, "Flight deck calibrated."

The Meep, perched on its steel throne, commands, "Take the prisoners on board! Then I’ll decide which one to eat first. Hail to Meep!"

The rhythmic chant of the hypnotized UNIT soldiers fills the air, "Hail to the Most High! Hail to the Meep!" while the Meep indulges in a sinister cackle, reveling in its delusions of grandeur.

The liftgate slams shut, transporting you to a different floor. Thoughts of subduing the UNIT guards swirl in your mind as the lift grinds to a halt. As the gate creaks open, Shirley appears, wearing a mischievous grin. "Evening, boys."

With swift precision, she activates a concealed device beneath her wheelchair, firing two darts at each soldier. The tranquilizers swiftly take effect, rendering the guards unconscious.

"You've got weapons in your wheelchair," the Doctor exclaims, eyeing Shirley with a mixture of surprise and admiration. She glances back at him, a knowing look in her eyes, and responds, "We all have. You've got your girl to thank for that. Come on." With a nod, she leads the way, wheeling herself confidently through the complex.

"Right. You lot, the family, you can get out through that door," Shirley says, gesturing towards the exit on the right. She then turns her attention to you and the Doctor, her tone more serious, "You need to get to the engine control. But the port side’s guarded, and there's no way around it."

A quick exchange of glances between you and the Doctor precedes his question to Shirley, "So what do we do?"

With a confident smirk, Shirley retorts, "I don’t just fire darts, mate." She spins her wheelchair around, revealing hidden capabilities. With the push of a button, two missiles activate and blast through the wall, creating a makeshift path forward. The unexpected firepower leaves you and the Doctor momentarily impressed.

Shirley swiftly directs the family, "You lot run. I’ll fight them off at the lift."

The Doctor tightens his grip on your hand, leading you through the large breach in the wall. The chaotic, metallic environment of the spaceship's bridge unfolds before you. With his trusty sonic screwdriver, the Doctor deftly manipulates the controls, unlocking the gate to the engine control room. As the door creaks open, the two of you step inside, ready to stop the ship from taking off.

The Doctor removes his coat and hangs it on one of the pillars as the ship's system voice declares, “Dagger drive systems initializing.”

In a sudden burst of energy, Donna enters the control room panting, "That's enough… running. Blimey."

The system voice abruptly announces, “Chamber deadlocked.” Panic sets in as the only exit seals shut, leaving the Doctor frustrated. He slams his hands on the door, exclaiming, “No, no, no, no! I told you to go—just don’t!”

Frantically, he moves about the room, urging, “No time. I’ve got this. We’ve got it. We’ve got it. You stay there. Don’t move, Donna!”

The Doctor and you scramble around, pressing buttons and flicking switches, racing against time as the system voice declares, “Star launch in five minutes.”

Climbing up one of the pillars, the Doctor instructs you while you squat on the other side to manipulate hidden switches. Suddenly, the system announces, “Deadlock sealed.” A flicker of discomfort courses through both of you as the ship's mechanisms react.

“It’s been deadlocked,” you groan, and Donna questions, “What’s that mean?”

The Doctor replies swiftly, “It means, we can do it by hand.”

You move to the far end of the ship, and the system voice chimes in again, “Maxifold bisecting.” A glass pane wall starts dividing the room, separating you from the Doctor and Donna. “You can stay on that side Doctor, I—” But then the Doctor rolls under the glass just before it seals, protesting, “Oh. No, no, no, no!”

“Double dagger drive installed and initiated.”

You can feel your eye twitch as you look at the Doctor standing next to you. “Okay, okay. Okay, we can do it with half the room. That’s fine.” The Doctor tries to reassure himself and you look at him wondering why he had to end up on your side of the room.

“Let me help.” Donna insists and the Doctor is quick to disagree, “No! You can’t get involved.”

Donna looks at the Doctor with a glare, challenging him and the Doctor tries to steady his resolve, “You can’t!”

It's then your turn to shoot him a pointed look. The Doctor groans and pants in frustration before finally surrendering. He instructs Donna, "Switches, the top ones, the blue ones, flick them all down."

Donna diligently follows his directions, swiftly flicking the switches down, while you navigate to a different section of your side of the room to spin a dial a few times. Despite your efforts, it proves futile, and you slump down in disappointment. The Doctor, leaning defeatedly on a pillar, somberly admits, "We've run out of time."

“Ignition in 230.”

The Doctor sighs with a heavy burden on his shoulders as he confides in Donna, "If there was anything else I could do, but there's one thing left."

"Well— Well, then do it," Donna urges, her tone laced with desperation. The Doctor, however, looks down in shame, prompting Donna to insist, "Hurry up and do it! What are you waiting for?"

Pushing himself off the pillar, the Doctor strides over to the glass partition separating Donna from the two of you. "I think… all that coincidence was heading here to save London from burning. 'Cause the three of us can stop this ship. Together."

Donna gasps in realization, "Oh."

As you rise and move towards the glass, locking eyes with Donna, you declare, "But it will kill you."

Donna sharply inhales, and responds easily, “Okay.”

The Doctor’s voice cracks as he says, “You’ll die.”

Donna's lower lip trembles, her eyes reflecting the imminent crisis, as she says, "My daughter is down there."

"Ignition in 180."

Tears well up in Donna's eyes, and her voice stammers with fear, "And it's not just Rose. It's nine million people. Who cares about me?"

The Doctor responds swiftly, his urgency palpable, "I do. We both do."

Donna takes a deep breath, mustering courage, and asks, "But why?" She pauses, gathering her thoughts, and continues, "I'm just no one."

The Doctor's expression shifts to one of anger, his eyebrows furrowing as he yells, "No, you are not!"

He takes a few steps back, the weight of the situation evident in his sob and scream, "Why does it have to be this?"

"Entering the final sequence."

The Doctor looks at Donna with a somber gaze, defeated, as he utters the words that trigger Donna's memories, "Westerly. Pelican. Dreams."

Donna is desperate as she says, "I don't— Look, I don't care what it is. All right. Just— just go on and do it, will you?"

"Ignition in 150."

"Tornado. Clifftops. Andante," the Doctor says.

"Get on with it!" Donna shouts.

The Doctor continues, "Grief. Fingerprint. Susurration."

Donna's eyes light up as she begins to remember her adventures, "Oh."

The Doctor and Donna utter the last few words in unison, "Sparrow. Dance. Mexico. Binary. Binary. Binary."

A golden glow emanates from Donna, the metacrisis shimmering through as she regains her memories once more. You and the Doctor press your palms against the glass, witnessing her transformative moment.

"Ignition in 100."

As the glow dissipates, the Doctor anxiously asks, "Are you alright?"

"Ignition in 90."

Donna pants, sighs, and sweeps her bangs away from her eyes as she glares at the Doctor. Inhaling deeply, she says, "I gave away my money."

"Ignition in 75."

The Doctor looks at her, puzzled, "Right, but—"

Donna, expressing a mix of frustration and anger, interrupts, "I gave away all my money. And do you know why, Doctor? I gave it away to be like you. So I could be kind. So I could be nice. So I could be helpful— I—"

Donna releases a frustrated growl as the system voice continues, "Ignition in one minute."

Moving her face closer to the glass panel, Donna continues, "I had a subconscious, infracutaneous, retrofold memory loop making me act as soft as you and give away 166 million pounds!"

"Ignition in 50."

The Doctor, wide-eyed, nods in agreement but attempts to refocus on the urgent matter, "Yes, Donna, but— Destruction of London?"

"Oh, I'll show you destruction, mate," Donna declares, intertwining her fingers before flexing them to crack her knuckles.

"Ignition in 40."

You and the Doctor observe in awe as Donna moves around the control panel with ease. "I'll triple-drive the particle manifesto, overstep the umbilical feed, vindicate the cyberline, and roast the hyperfeeds! Like this!" Donna exclaims, spinning the dial on the lower left of her.

The Doctor navigates about half of the room, deftly flicking switches while instructing, "Maximise the stressfold links!"

"Channel up the booster drive!" Donna commands, pressing a few buttons.

"Inculcate the plexidrones!" You chime in, flicking a few more switches.

"And shatterfry the positrons! Oh yes!" Donna exclaims.

"Twenty, nineteen..."

Donna interrupts, asking, "How long have I got to live?" as she switches off a few controls.

"...sixteen, fifteen..."

All three of you simultaneously answer, "Fifty-five seconds."

"Thirteen, twelve, eleven..."

"The best fifty-five seconds of my life!" Donna exclaims.

"Seven, six, five, four..."

"Because I get to do this!" Donna proudly announces, turning around and simultaneously flicking off several switches.

"Three, two— Ignition halted."

You three watch as the panel flies off the wall; the countdown has stopped, and Donna proudly states, "Donna Noble is descending."

"Ignition reverse. Ignition reverse."

"It’s working!" The Doctor's voice resonates with exhilaration as the tangible effects of the reversed dagger drive unfold before your eyes.

However, your joy is cut short when you notice Donna beginning to falter. Panic sets in, and you urgently cry out, "No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no!"

Swiftly, both you and the Doctor move in unison to catch Donna as she descends, cradling her fragile form in your arms. Donna sighs, her expression reflecting a mix of exhaustion and relief. The Doctor reassures her, "We did it. She’s fine. She’s safe. You saved her."

Donna smiles weakly, and you add, "You saved them all."

In a moment of introspection, Donna questions, "Why did this face come back?" She turns her gaze towards the Doctor, who responds with a sigh, "I don’t know."

"To say goodbye," Donna asserts with a soft smile. She then shifts her attention to you, saying, "Oh, the Stargazer. I’ve missed you."

"I’ve missed you too, Donna, every day," you confess, and the Doctor emits a thoughtful hum.

"Good fun, though," Donna remarks, her chuckles mingling with yours and the Doctor's. The lighthearted moment takes an abrupt turn as Donna's eyes flutter closed, her entire being going limp in the arms of her two closest companions.

A collective sob escapes from you and the Doctor as you sit there, cradling your best friend, a bittersweet mixture of victory and loss filling the air.

Abruptly, the door to the engine control room opens, revealing a cadre of UNIT soldiers with swirling, hypnotized eyes. The air tightens with tension as one of them declares, "We have orders to kill you."

Undeterred, the Doctor retorts defiantly, "Do what you want. This ship isn't going anywhere. You were beaten. By the DoctorDonna." The soldiers, rifles at the ready, cast ominous shadows in the confined space. You resign yourself to the impending threat, feeling the Doctor's protective instinct as he positions himself to shield you.

In a surprising turn, the psychedelic light emitted from the soldiers' eyes screeches and hisses, dissipating into nothingness. Bewilderment echoes through the room, and you join the Doctor in uttering a perplexed, "What?"

Even one of the soldiers can't help but question, "What?"

Donna, roused from her unconscious state, adds her own disoriented, "What?"

The Doctor, his voice tinged with disbelief, softly utters, "You're not dead."

A collective sense of confusion lingers, and Donna, now fully awake, queries, "But how?" as she steadies herself.

After a brief pause, Rose's voice resonates through the intercom, "Can you hear me? Mum? Doctor? Star? I think it's safe for you to come down now."

Donna responds, perplexed, "Rose?"

The Doctor's eyes widen with a sudden epiphany, "Too much power for one person, but you had a child, and the metacrisis passed down. A shared inheritance."

Donna grins, “It was always there. Shining out of her.”

“And she chose her own name,” the Doctor adds.

“Oh, the shed! The shed was her memory of the TARDIS. The toys! Every creature we met, she remembered as a toy,” Donna says with a glint in her eye.

You gape, suddenly realizing, “We are binary.”

“She’s not. Because the Doctor’s—”

The Doctor interjects, “Male.”

“And female,” Donna finishes.

"And neither. And more," Rose says, her voice carrying a warm smile through the intercom.

Donna rushes down the stairs, her steps echoing in the cavernous steelworks. Rose meets her halfway, and they share an emotional hug, Shaun joining in the embrace.

You and the Doctor follow suit, descending rapidly to the ground floor. Sylvia awaits, and as you approach, the Doctor wraps her in a jubilant hug. He inquires, “Happy now?”

Sylvia responds with a radiant smile, "My father would be impressed. I have no higher compliment." Laughter of triumph fills the air as you and the Doctor proceed to the nearby control center.

Shirley deftly maneuvers her wheelchair towards you and the Doctor, offering her unique perspective. She addresses the Doctor with a sly grin, “There’s a word for you, Doctor. And that word is jammy.”

The Doctor responds with infectious enthusiasm, “Jam on toast.” He decisively slams a button, activating the intercom. With authority, he speaks into the microphone, “Calling the Meep.”

The Meep's defiant voice crackles through the speakers, “You forget I still have my ship. And if I have to explode the engines and rupture this world and damn us all to hell, then I will!” A shared glance between you and the Doctor follows, and he graciously hands you the task of flicking the crucial switch.

With a resounding click, the Meep’s cockpit is ejected into the sky, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of the Meep's distressed shrieks. You and the Doctor gaze upward, drawn into the spectacle unfolding against the canvas of the vast night sky.

“There you go.” The Doctor points with a wry smile, observing the Meep’s cockpit deploying a parachute against the cosmic backdrop.

You feel the Doctor's reassuring grip on your waist as he pulls you into his side. Together, you look up, transfixed by the celestial display. The stars twinkle above, and in that moment, you choose to hope and believe that nothing universe-ending has transpired yet.

As the sun ascends on the horizon, casting a warm glow over the scene, the Wrath Warriors stand sternly with the imprisoned Meep, forming an uneasy tableau. You step forward, addressing them with a heavy heart, "Sergeant Zogroth and Constable Zreeg gave their lives, alongside many Earth soldiers."

The Wrath Warrior, resolute in the face of the aftermath, declares, "Their names will be included in the litany of crimes as the Meep atones in prison for 10,000 years." The Meep, defiant in defeat, mutters, "Oh, I will escape and have my revenge. So you beware, Doctor and Stargazer, because there’s one more thing."

With a determined stride, the Doctor moves closer, inquiring, "Which is?"

“A creature with two hearts is such a rare thing. And to have two of your kind here… Just wait till I tell the boss,” the Meep retorts, an ominous promise lingering in the air. The Wrath Warriors and the Meep vanish in a teleportation, leaving a sobering aftermath beneath the morning sun.

The Doctor, caught in contemplation, mumbles under his breath, "Cryptic. I hate that." He takes a deep breath, turning his attention to Donna and Rose with a sense of urgency, "But… we’ve still gotta fix you two. ‘Cause the metacrisis might have slowed down, but that thing is wrapped around your cortex."

Donna, with an eye roll and a knowing nod, quips, “Yes, we know.”

Rose adds confidently, “We know everything, thanks.”

Donna, in her typical nonchalant manner, shrugs, “And you know nothing. It’s a shame you’re not a woman anymore. ‘Cause she’d have understood.”

Rose, crossing her arms, asserts with confidence, “You’ve got all that power, but there is a way to get rid of it. Something a male-presenting Time Lord will never understand.”

Donna, ever pragmatic, advises, “Just let it go.”

The unity between mother and daughter becomes evident as Rose takes Donna’s hand, and together, they release the accumulated metacrisis energy. Shaun interjects with a grin, “Like I said, mate, how lucky am I?”

Rose, with a joyous laugh, concludes, “After all these years, I’m… finally me.”

CAMDEN MARKET, LONDON — MORNING, 2023

Shaun skillfully navigates the vehicle, bringing the group back to Camden Market in London. Earlier, you had informed Shirley about the intention to bid farewell to the Doctor and Donna before returning to headquarters. Shirley responded with a nonchalant, "Sure..." accompanied by a discerning look, rolling away from you in her wheelchair.

The Doctor maintains his characteristic chattiness as he informs Donna, "And UNIT has a splendid insurance policy for damage caused during an alien war. While they sort that out..." Approaching the iconic tall blue police box, the TARDIS, the Doctor gestures towards it, saying, "One last trip?"

"Uh, don’t you dare," Sylvie interjects with a pointed look. Donna, casting puppy eyes at both you and the Doctor, laments, “Do you know, I would love to.” She then takes a sharp inhale, sighs, and adds, “But… I have got adventures of my own, bringing up this one.” Donna points her thumb towards Rose.

“Can I see inside?” Rose asks the Doctor curiously, taking a step toward the TARDIS. Donna, however, swiftly moves her away, cautioning, “No. No! No. No.”

Rose sighs, and Donna playfully waves her finger, “No. Because summat will go wrong, and you’ll end up on Mars with Chaucer and a robot shark. And that’s actually happened, hasn’t it.”

The Doctor gives a sheepish, “Oh, yeah.”

“But I was thinking, we could go and see Wilf?” The Doctor suggests to you and Donna.

Donna then says, “Now that is cheating.”

The Doctor pouts, “Just a suggestion.”

“I mean it, don’t you dare.” Sylvie says, and Donna sighs, “But imagine his face, Mum. Oh, he would be so happy. All those secrets Grandad kept for years. He— He thought I’d never remember. And to see the Doctor. One last time.”

The Doctor and Donna make a puppy face to you and Sylvie, urging you to join them. Sylvie relents and gives in, “Oh, all right. But one trip. That’s all. Just one.”

The Doctor turns to unlock the door with his key while Donna laughs with glee, “One tiny, little trip. That is a promise.”

Donna turns to you and the Doctor and gasps in excitement, “It’s like the old days. Just me, the Doctor, and the Stargazer. Together.” She then turns to her family, “Is that all right?”

“Yeah, of course it is,” Shaun says confidently with a huge smile.

“Well, a lot of husbands would worry. You know, me, in a box, with another man.” Donna jokes, and Shaun shrugs and shakes his head, “Yeah. But not him.”

The Doctor looks somewhat offended, but then Donna shoos him to go inside, “Come on, space man.”

In the quiet aftermath, with Donna entering the TARDIS, the Doctor notices the unsure expression on your face. He whispers to Donna to go ahead, and she complies, leaving the two of you alone, behind the TARDIS, sheltered from prying eyes.

With a gentle gesture, he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. He cups your face with both hands, his smile revealing dimples that carry the weight of countless adventures. “The stars haven’t gone out.”

Your raised brows betray a hint of skepticism, “Yet…”

The Doctor locks eyes with you, his deep dark brown orbs conveying understanding. As tears well up in your eyes, you break the silence, your voice a fragile whisper, “You have no idea how bad it gets. How scared I am that all of this is temporary and I lose you… and I can’t have you.”

“Hey. Hey, hey. None of that,” he reassures, his gaze unwavering. “So far, everything has been leading me back to you. And when the time comes to face it… we’ll fix it… together. I can’t lose you again. Not ever again.”

His words linger in the air, a vow shaped by the quiet resilience of a Time Lord who has navigated countless challenges across time and space. You respond with a nod, sealing the unspoken pact, and tenderly kiss his wrists. In return, he draws you closer, planting a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

“When this is all over,” he declares, “we’re getting married.”

“What?” you screech, caught off guard by the unexpected revelation.

“We've waited this long. I’m not spending the rest of my how many years without you,” the Doctor insists, his eyes earnest.

“Is this a proposal?” you inquire, a mixture of surprise and delight in your voice.

“If you want,” he smirks, playfully nonchalant.

On tiptoe, you reach up to kiss the tip of his nose, a tender acknowledgment, “We'll see.” The promise of an unwritten future hangs in the air, held by the shared understanding that time and space will unfold their stories together.

THE TARDIS

The Doctor guides you inside the TARDIS and closes the door behind him and both of you are in awe of the major changes of the entire TARDIS. Huge curved white walls with round circles that glow with lights and many ramps that lead to different corridors.

The Doctor hangs his coat on one of the railings as he grins and laughs, “Whoa!” He begins to run around all the ramps with the energy of a little kid as he shouts, “This is amazing!”

“It changed! Oh, you clever thing! Look at that!” The Doctor laughs as he finishes his lap around the new interior of the TARDIS. He runs over to the console and smiles, “It’s got this!”

He pushes a lever forward, and the lights within the TARDIS shift to a vibrant orange, casting a warm glow. Your gaze is drawn upward in awe as the ambient hum of the time machine resonates around you. Running your fingers along the railings, you can feel the TARDIS responding, and you affectionately murmur, “Hello, sweet thing. I missed you too.”

Amid the luminous atmosphere, the Doctor darts around the console, engaging with switches and buttons on the refurbished device. Donna, observing the transformation, remarks, “It’s still a bit nippy.”

The Doctor protests, “Oh, come on!”

Undeterred, Donna concedes with a grin, “All right…” Her expression changes as she admires the surroundings, “It’s gorgeous!” Laughter bubbles up from both Donna and the Doctor, who joins in the jubilation, bouncing excitedly.

“It’s cleaner. And it’s grown,” Donna observes, her laughter echoing through the TARDIS.

Making your way to the console, you overhear Donna questioning the Doctor, “But I— I still don’t get it. I mean, the TARDIS can change all right. But what about your face? Why did it come back?”

“Does there have to be a reason?” the Doctor muses, and Donna, with a snort, retorts, “In your life? Yes!”

With a nonchalant shrug, the Doctor remarks, “Well, I’m stuck with it now.” He continues exploring the console, fidgeting with excitement, and comments, “Oh, this thing is brilliant. It’s even got a coffee machine!” Glancing at you and Donna, he inquires, “You want one?”

You shake your head, “No, thank you, darling.”

“You’re kidding,” Donna says with wide eyes.

“With cold milk, yeah?” The Doctor deftly presses a few buttons, and Donna, smiling, says, “Well remembered.” To your delight, a white cup materializes with coffee and cold milk.

He carefully hands the cup of coffee to Donna who says, “Thank you very much. Careful. It’s how I lost my job. Dropped a coffee in the computer.”

To which the Doctor just hums and moves to flick a few more switches around the console as you lean on a railing, to listen to him say, “I really do remember, though. Every second with you. I’m so glad you’re back ‘cause it killed me, Donna.” The Doctor clicks another switch as he continues on, “It killed me, it killed me, it killed me.”

"We can have more days, can’t we?" Donna inquires, her tone laced with a mix of hope and curiosity. Her eyes reflect a desire for a future filled with shared moments. Continuing with optimism, she suggests, "I mean, why is it such a big goodbye with you? Why is it one last trip? ‘Cause you could visit. With my family."

The Doctor, absorbed in examining a screw, listens attentively as Donna paints a vivid picture of ordinary yet precious moments. "We could do outrageous things, like have tea, dinner, and a laugh! And Rose’s school play. Well, maybe not that. She can’t act. She’s terrible. I don’t know how to tell her. But the point is, you’ve been given a second chance. You can do things differently this time."

Encouraging him to embrace change, Donna suggests, "So why don’t you do something completely new and have some friends?"

The Doctor contemplates the idea, responding with a hesitant "Maybe. Yeah." Donna chuckles, savoring the simplicity of their current moment. "Mmm. Like now," she remarks, lifting her cup as if to toast. "Here we are. Having a coffee."

Before the Doctor can respond, Donna's accidental spillage disrupts the calm, eliciting a gasp from her. "What’s gonna go wrong—" Her sentence is abruptly cut off as the spilled coffee interacts with the TARDIS console, resulting in sparks and flames.

With urgency, Donna questions, "What’s happening?" The Doctor, swift in his actions, ushers both you and Donna away from the unfolding chaos. The TARDIS groans and whines as its engines protest, and the cloister bell rings ominously in the background.

"We could end up anywhere in time and space," the Doctor confesses, a tinge of uncertainty in his voice. As the atmosphere fills with anticipation, you brace yourself, thinking, "Here we go again."

TAGLIST:

#14th doctor #14th doctor x reader #14th doctor x fem!reader #fourteenth doctor #ethereal writes #doctor who 60th anniversary #60th anniversary #catherine tate #doctor who special #david tennant #14th doctor x fem reader #doctor who x reader #donna noble #doctor who

381 notes · View notes

biscuitboba · 8 months ago

Note

Hii, do you have some zolu/luzo ff rec??

Hii!!, uhh i have over 100 zolu/luzo fics downloaded YES OF COURSE, i'll try and list down some (many) fics with one chapter only cuz i'm not sure if i can stop recommending if i include multi chaptered fics... (But if you want some rec for the multi chaptered fics just let me know!! Ohh and maybe some ongoing fics?)

This is gonna be a very long post😭🙏

Bleed like an Idiot by Augment [13k words]

Rating: Mature (for mild gore/torture)

Something something about their fear of disappointing/failing each other, the perfect amount of angst, so good

Not that Luffy wouldn’t die for each and every one of his crew, and he knows, though he will make sure it never ever happens, that they would die for him. But to supersede Zoro’s dream like this, that makes Luffy feel so hideously guilty it locks up his lungs, and his jaw, and he can’t speak, touch Zoro, anything.

The salt & the sea by novks (thychesters) [25k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Modern setting, reincarnation au. Zoro being the last person to regain his memories (of his past life) and luffy being lowkey annoyed by it lol

It’s like with Nami, hitting him full force, but it’s so much more than that as the reality of it all comes crashing down around him. Zoro, his (first mate, first friend in this world of pirates, first crew member and first one he swore an oath with), his—he isn’t even sure what to call him. There’s too much but too little to describe him.

Zoro. Zoro, who—no, no, no offense to Nami—should have been first. Zoro, who’s a constant, and he’s practically vibrating with the need to reach and touch him, make sure he’s really real. His tongue darts out to wet his lip as he steps forward, crowding into his personal space and finally grinning because I found you!

Luffy wants to call him an idiot, because it figures he would get lost finding his way home.

But Zoro just blinks at him, flushes, one eye still framed by a familiar scar and says, “Oh, sorry,” and makes it so much worse when he says, “Do I know you?

Of First Mates and Duty by Whatev3rs [14k]

Rating: General Audiences

Zoro's bad at feelings, but he is trying ok!!

“First mates… we devote our lives to our captains. Our entire beings. We live for them, breathe for them. And they expect us not to fall in love?” He smiles, small and knowing.

Zoro’s eyes widen and he sputters, trying to muster a response. The man only laughs more.

Being a good first mate was easy enough for Zoro. That is, until the… feelings.

If I Had to Give a Reason by MiniPandaBuns [5k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Tooth-rotting fluff, Zoro and his view of luffy, #feelings, love confession, idiots in loveee

“I wonder what you see in him.”

"Too much." He'd say. "It's endless. All of my reasons can't be condensed into words."

I love him simply because he exists. Because Luffy is Luffy, limitless and free.

Inseparable on the face of Impossibility by the11thhour [25k]

Rating: Not Rated

Luffy is taken by some bad guy, his boyfriend and family (crew) to the rescue! #superworriedzoro:(

A fun trip to a new island takes a turn for the worse when a mysterious group of pirates cause trouble and Luffy goes missing. The crew led by Zoro embark on a mission to get their captain back while his vivre card burns away.

When the Dew Falls Up by louluna [10k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Time travel au, there are two zoros!!

As the bright light enveloped his body, Zoro knew his day had gone to absolute shit.

New year's kiss by grimsoul [4k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Post wano, the title is pretty self explanatory i guess.. fluff, very sweet!!

Luffy didn’t understand back then but the couple seemed so happy. Kissing someone to strengthen a relationship must have really worked.

It’s been long since that time so Luffy had almost forgotten about it. But then as he sails again now with his crew—the title of an Emperor latched to his name, their journey getting closer and closer to the One Piece, to his dream—a new year approaches them.

Found in the Crack of Your Palm by The_Furthest_City_Light [11k]

Rating: General Audiences

#luffybeingsuperdemisexualatzorofor11k (personally demi luffy is my favorite headcanon of him!)

Zoro’s hands are big, thick and knuckly and covered in calluses from his swords. He has a strong grip, too, and strong muscles because he trains them to be strong.

None of it explains the way Luffy’s body lights up when Zoro clasps the back of his neck, like every nerve is alight and trained on the palm cupping the baby hairs at the back of his skull. His stomach knots over itself and he wants to eat everything in Sanji’s kitchen. Zoro’s skin is a little rough and sweaty from fighting and warm.

Zoro is close, his forehead nearly butting Luffy’s and Luffy couldn’t move if he wanted to, trapped there by the closeness and the touch that makes him aware of Zoro’s skin against his in a way he’s never been before.

Zoro’s eyes bore into his, digging deep into Luffy and dragging out—something, buried in the base of his spine. He feels like the earth is tilting, and freefall seems like it might be fun.

the moon asks a question by d_s_writes [1k]

Rating: General Audiences

A very short fic, but can't stop thinking about the rest of strawhats and their idea of love vs luffy's, like- he really gagged me here😭

Zoro doesn’t understand—how can he feel all the things that the others had spoken of, yet none of it the same time? He felt that each of their versions of love were merely motions of love, rather than love itself.

He doesn’t get it. Love has never been a word, or a sense of belonging, or any of those things. He had only ever really thought of love when he looked at Luffy.

OR: An investigation of the lives and loves of the Strawhat Pirates.

Robin knows by leopardgeckoz [3k]

Rating: General Audiences

Oh moment for both zoro and luffy but especially for the oblivious captain

In which Nico Robin has always known how her captain and first mate feel for one another, and the scenario's in which the rest of the crew discover it.

Alternatively

"Every passing hour of Luffy's silence drove Zoro further and further into madness. He wanted Luffy's smile, his laugh, his chatter, but his captain had spent the better part of the day on the complete opposite sides of the ship as Zoro. Out of sight, but most certainly not out of mind. If anything, his absence plagued Zoro's even more."

step 1: die by swordsmans [11k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Roronoa zoro and his unstoppable self destru sacrificing tendency for his one and only captain (featuring sanji!)

After two years with Ivankov, Sanji knows something about Luffy that Zoro does not.

ship to wreck by novks (thychesters) [9k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Zoro and luffy but from nami's perspective?? Mutual pinning and luffy's oh moment

Nami is the first one to notice something is amiss, but then given her current competition is Luffy and Zoro, it isn’t surprising.

“Do you love Zoro?” She doesn’t bother beating around the bush. Doesn’t bother with easing into it with any metaphors or small talk, one of which Luffy would have little interest in, and the other of which would go over his head.

He stares back at her, and for a split second she feels like she’s gone and shoved her foot right into her mouth. Something flickers through his eyes, but she doesn’t have time to fully study it before his features shutter again.

Luffy tilts his head. “Of course I do.”

Part of her wants to cheer, shout aha! because she knew it, dammit, but then he proceeds to barrel right over that.

“I love you too,” to which she freezes, and then: “And Usopp, and Sanji, I guess. You guys are my friends.”

She wants to scream.

But Patience Boasts by Augment [9k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Ughh i love the way this fic portray zoro and sanji's dynamic… anyways, lowkey wingman sanji!

Sanji and Zoro have very different love languages.

Kizuna by YokoHogawa [5k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

#nakamaship, basically

Usopp carefully watches Luffy over the sandwich he is biting into, and he can’t help but worry.

Sanji has an anxiety problem.

Something wakes Zoro at the crack of dawn.

Half a step (into the sun) by TheOctopusofWriting [29k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Demon prince zoro, that's it, that's the point.

Zoro was the exiled prince of an island of demons. He spent the first portion of his life wandering from island to island without any place to really call home, that is until he follows a boy in a strawhat out to sea and finds the home he'd been looking for

to cut your teeth on love by freckledshoulderblades [10k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Smth smth the bond between captain and first mate...

Zoro meets Luffy and gives himself over wholeheartedly the instant Wadō is placed between his teeth again. Luffy meets Zoro and decides in a heartbeat that Zoro is his

Take Me Out to Sea by MiniPandaBuns [3k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audience

Just them being all sweet and wholesome<3

Luffy and Zoro take a pleasant little swim together, despite the fact that Luffy can't swim and Zoro told him no. Many times.

He just can't refuse his Captain. Even if he does, Luffy still wins, because he's just Luffy and that's how it goes.

everybody wants your time by dwaal [3k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Uhh abo au, omega zoro and alpha luffy, jealousy, bonded mates, making out, y knoww~

An unclaimed omega on the seas can be a liability. It's commonplace for captains to bite any of their crew to prevent any incidents, but the marks are usually temporary.

Zoro is intensely aware of this, as Boa Hancock proceeds to make herself at home on the arm of his captain's chair

it's an ambush! by tuhituhi [3k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Zoro meeting his bf's brothers for the first time!

Luffy's middle name should be B. for Blindside the way he's constantly taking Zoro off guard. Or maybe the D. stood for Devious, or Devil- any of them would fit, considering the Situations this man has put him through. OR

Zoro meets Luffy's brothers. Was he expecting this? Technically. Was he prepared for this?

Not in the slightest

end of summer (now i know) by taka0 [2k]

Rating: Mature

Just luffy being very sappy (and a tiny bit horny) about his zoro<3

Luffy loves all of Zoro while they lie in a hammock.

Ocean theology by swordsmans [40k]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Reincarnation au, yearning and devotion, symbolism-

“Zoro—”

“Did you know?” he repeats, desperate, and Luffy just looks at him. And he wonders, then, how much of this has been preordained—how much of this is real, how much of this is him. How much of what he’s felt since they were wedged side-to-side in a shitty wooden boat on the East Blue has actually mattered, and how much has been the universe pressing him down into the mold of someone else's heart.

And then Luffy is gripping his horns, bringing his forehead down to meet his, repeating, “Zoro? Zoro?” like his name is a mantra, like he’s gone somewhere far away and gotten lost on his way back.

And Zoro blinks at him, then, and sees both of them at once—both of them—and he grips Luffy’s face in his own hands (claws) and presses his lips (violent, full of teeth) against his. Because this is who he has been waiting a thousand years for, the brightest and most beautiful of them all, the one thing he could never have—could never see, not if (Luffy, Joyboy, Nika) had made different (worse) choices—the thing that could never thrive in the darkness, just like he could never (has been unable to for centuries) survive without it—

let thy sword be thy tongue by queerweather [14k]

Rating: Mature

Sword language, sword personification, swords- zoro not being so normal about his captain, whats new?

It’s strangely exhilarating, imagining himself on his knees in front of Luffy, blindfolded. Like he really is getting executed this time. All of Zoro’s senses stand at attention and his mouth fills with saliva.

The flat of Kitetsu’s blade presses cold against Zoro’s cheek. “Zoro,” Luffy scolds. “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

Hindsight is twenty-twenty, and Zoro is not afraid of Luffy handling his swords; Zoro is afraid of how Luffy handling his swords might unravel him.

The only animal by batman [10k]

Rating: Explicit (sexual content)

It's about roronoa zoro and how he pines for his captain

It wasn't until Kuraigana that he realised how the world had split into two kinds of touch: swords and hands.

Luffy's hands.

(In a stolen week between islands, Luffy touches Zoro again.)

Sunward bound by iffervescent [13k]

Rating: Explicit (sexual content, top zoro)

Ace luffy & sex positive luffy!!

Zoro's a pirate bounty hunter, which means he's used to going after the pirate he wants and getting them. Except this time the pirate he wants is his captain and now he has no fucking clue what to do.

Expressions by Leoporidae_Lagomorpha [2k]

Rating: Explicit (sexual content, top luffy)

Them being disgustingly in love whats new?, sexy times (plot what plot)

Monkey D. Luffy knows, that despite popular opinion, Roronoa Zoro is a man of many expressions.

hanabi | 花火 by narramin [8k]

Rating: Explicit (sexual content, top luffy)

Just the captain and his first mate being silly while enjoying their date in wano (eventual smut)

firework /ˈfʌɪəwəːk/

noun

plural noun: fireworks

• a device containing gunpowder and other combustible chemicals which causes spectacular effects and explosions when ignited, used for display or in celebrations.

• a display of great skill or energy.

Luffy and Zoro finally reunite in Wano, visit a gambling den and go on a less than traditional festival date night.

a tale of two gods by grimsoul [6k]

Rating: Explicit (sexual content, top zoro, implied switching)

Sun of God x God of death. a fiery tryst between two gods

“Ne, Zoro, come with me,” Luffy said, giggling, pulling him closer. “You’re going to be a part of my court.”

Contrary to what most people believed, hell was a rather cold place. Zoro had been quite used to it, the lack of light, the vast glaciers, his body no longer as fragile as it was eons ago, and so a simple touch like this from Luffy, from the sun, made him feel like his flesh was scorched—melting away easily like winter in summer’s heat.

They were close, so close that their foreheads were almost touching, and despite the burn of it, Zoro didn’t push him away. He smirked, his one eye glowing just as red as Luffy’s.

“Don’t decide something on your own, idiot.”

running just to keep my hands on you by nevermordor [6k]

Rating: Explicit (sexual content, switching)

They are so competitive in pretty much everything lol

The thing they do is kind of like a game, because Luffy likes games, but it’s also kind of a competition because Zoro can’t not turn anything and everything into a competition. It doesn’t have a name and there are only two rules, because more than two would just be making things boring and overcomplicated.

1. Whoever takes out the most guys in a fight is the winner

2. Whoever is the loser has to do whatever the winner says

“Why’s it gotta be a whole game and stuff," Luffy says. "That’s gonna take too long.”

“It makes sex more fun," Zoro explains. "You gotta win it, you gotta earn it. Like anything good in life. Like pirate king or greatest swordsman.”

Luffy considers this.

One on one by EclecticIsMyMiddleName [6k]

Rating: Explicit (sexual content, top luffy)

Post canon, domestic married luffy and zoro my beloved… they are so in love?? It's sickening

Zoro's just trying to get ready for the day, but Luffy has other plans

Prayers Carried on Waves Reach the Sun by anarchycox [8k]

Rating: Mature (sexual content, switching)

Sun god luffy & demon zoro ftw

Luffy is the sun god, Nika. Zoro is a demon. And his boyfriend. They make it work. On earth the Thousand Sunny is the ship of worship for the sun god, the crew Nika's priests. When they call for help, Luffy and Zoro go to their aid.

Luffy decides they should stay a while, and Zoro loves him enough to do so.

Being human is a pain and stupid, but for his Luffy, he'll endure it.

Ok i need to stop here cuz it's getting way too longgg, but i'm just so ill about the two of them sorry not sorry😭😭

#zolu #luzo #monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #one piece #fics recs #honestly whats stopping me from recommending over 50+ fics??#self preservation!#also uhh to anon... reminder to read the tags before reading the fics!!#also is zoluzo an actual tag?

220 notes · View notes

dream-your-own-way · 17 days ago

Text

Tom Riddle || “sundays are for missing him”

summary: once hopelessly in love with Tom, reader is now left with nothing but memories of their love, and their special Sundays together. Reader! Narration basically. She’s reminiscing.

Warnings: none really, slight mention of toxic relationship (it’s Tom), sad ending :(

Pairing: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

On Sundays I miss him a little extra. They used to be reserved for us, you see? It started as a tradition back at school when we first got together, we’d spent Sundays glued to each tohers side from morning till after dinner time. There were no other friends, no knights, no duties. Just us. We would study, explore the grounds together, read against a tree by the Black Lake (he’d glare at anyone who dared to even came close to where we were sitting). Most of the warmer months were spent there, with my head on his lap as he read whichever book held his obsession for the week, and other times we’d switch, his head on my lap as I read the latest murder mystery book I had recently bought. And of course, the bloody genius he was is, would always solve the murder before the end of the book (though my fondest memories were of us both trying to solve a particularly hard one together) His handsome face frowning is we’d gotten it wrong, furiously claiming that his ending made much better sense - or his lips would curl up into a smug victory smirk if we’d gotten it right, then we’d share a victory song. His head always stayed on my lap for much longer after finishing the book.

On the colder months, we usually spent it at the Room of Requirement, exclusive to us at the time when no one else was aware of its existence. Whenever we stepped into the room, it’d transform into a beautiful and cozy flat looking space, with a big, green, canopy bed at the center, in front of the big fireplace, sporting a luxurious green comforter and several pillows (my doing which always seemed to annoy him whenever we had to stop making out and sweep the pillows onto the floor). On the left side, behind a screen, a decent sized bathtub took up room, where we’d spend hours relaxing and cuddling. A large fluffy rug covered the right part of the room, where a plush green velvet sofa and a couple armchairs sat by a large bookshelf filled with many books, manuscripts and trinkets, next to it a small radio playing 30’s and 40’s music, sometimes pausing to broadcast news about the wars (muggle and Wizarding). On the left side of the room, two work desks were placed in front of one other and, as always, a large stash of sweets piled up neatly on my own desk.

There, we’d spent hours and hours reading, chatting, making love and studying. It was almost as if we had our own home together inside the castle, in there were truly a couple, certainly arguing like an old married one, and hungry for each other as if we were newlyweds. A million secrets, promises of love, sweet nothings and plans were shared in our lovely sanctuary.

After graduation, our tradition continued. I moved in with him quickly to his family’s ancestral home, a manor in the muggle village of Little Hangleton. When he turned 18 he had been able to claim he was the son of the recently deceased Tom Riddle Senior (the similarities between him and his late father were undeniable, even to the old stuffy muggle lawyer) so the inheritance passed on to him, including the manor. But there we had grounds to explore, a small lake at the edge of the property to relax by and make love without the fear of being discovered. It was truly heaven on earth, until he started to change. Until the horcruxes they changed him. The love of my life gone in what seemed to be a blink of an eye (though in truth were many months of tears and heartbreak on my part) and what remained of him simply a dark shadow of the man he used to be. Promises of loved turned into indifference, coldness and empty looks. No proposals, no rings, no weddings, not even ‘I love yous’ were exhanged near the end. Just silent tears on my side of the bed, and impatient sighs once he heard them.

Now, after all is said and done, I can only look back at those memories with fondness and longing. Unable to stop missing the man he once was. As he vanished on a foggy April night to an unknown location in the country of Albania, I find myself in America 10 months later, left with a newborn son who has his father’s eyes, and the memories of what once was.

A/N: Omg!! This is the first fic I’ve ever posted on here! This is based on my script if I ever manage to shift (lol) also inspired by So Long London, by Taylor Swift. English isn’t my first language. Hope you enjoyed :) please be kind. Grammar corrections welcome, just hit me up on my dms :)

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x reader #voldemort #harry potter #lord voldemort #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x oc #Tom riddle smut #Tom riddle angst #I love him #tomriddle

80 notes · View notes

alicentflorent · 5 months ago

Text

The build up to blood and cheese should have been framed the same way as arryk’s assination attempt on Rhaenyra. We knew he wouldn’t kill Rhaenyra but we still had the suspense of her alone getting ready for bed, at her most vulnerable and cutting between Rhaenyra in her chambers to Arryk getting closer, no one noticing him aside from mysaria but is it too late to for her to get the message across? Then he actually makes it to Rhaenyras chambers ready to execute her and we still feel that moment of fear in our guts when he makes it into her room.

Where was that writing with blood and cheese? We see two idiots strolling round the castle bickering in an almost comical sense, walking past the king and his personal guards, clearly never getting close to being caught or even having to avoid or kill any guards because there weren’t any. We don’t see helaena or the babies until cheese turns around with a knife to helaena’s neck, and I get it was meant to be shocking but it fell flat because of the build up. Why didn’t we see helaena telling her kids a bedtime story? Tucking them in and showing them affection getting herself ready to sleep near them? It would have been a build up to “oh no they aren’t going to hurt helaena and the kids are they?” As well as giving us some content of helaena being a loving mother and actually interacting with the son she’s about to lose just like Aegon got a scene showing his love towards his son. If they didn’t want to make it obvious who they would end up going after they could have showed each of the targtowers and Alicent, perhaps we see Alicent say goodnight to her grandchildren and her daughter (like she does in the books, even if they removed her from the event they itself could keep the part where she says goodnight to her grandchildren every night) and then she gets back to her chambers and it’s framed to look like b&c find her room first when it then turns out to be criston and we cut to helaena turning round to find two men in her room, maybe we see Aegon stumble off drunk alone and in no fit state to defend himself, he is the only other person who fits a son for a son right? But they find his own son first, then lastly we do Aemond in his room/the castle and we think maybe they will get him? But then he sneaks out and we cut back to helaena and the children. All these scenes of Alicent and her children, each alone, could have co-existed and added to the mystery and build up and as for blood and cheese’s castle tour? It should have been them walking through the secret tunnels because again, it adds suspense and doesn’t have the frustrating lack of guards on duty and also sometimes no dialogue is better and their scene is perfect example. Not knowing anything about them adds to suspense and they don’t end up coming off as laughable rather than terrifying.

All in all I would have stayed true to the books but even the way the show chose to portray it could have been leagues better if they cared about utilising the greens in the build up instead of trying to do a heist movie parody.

#house of the dragon #team green #helaena targaryen #alicent hightower #aegon ii targaryen #blood and cheese #aemond targaryen #hotd meta #cannot believe the parent trap plot that we laughed at for being stupid was built up better than blood and cheese

131 notes · View notes

hadesrise · 2 years ago

Text

meet the addams.

previous part.

summary ➳ the bat family meets the addams family

pairings ➳ jason todd x addams!male reader

warnings ➳ fluff, strong language, pet names, hesitant bruce, weapons, typical addams family behavior ( homicide, dark humor, weird, etc ), jason and reader being a simp for each other, the addams being wholesome as always, implied reader’s atheism (i think the entire addams are atheist tbh), mention of torture

author’s note ➳ wow, hades updated !! shocking, i know. i'm sorry for the long hiatus and inactive, i wasn't okay and it was difficult for me to write when my mind was in such a messed up state. mental health can be a bitch, you know :D i'm trying to recover, and went back on writing again. hope this was a good comeback.

Letting his family meet you hadn’t crossed Jason’s mind at all until that very day when his annoying older brother caught him by the ice cream truck buying a dark chocolate and a mint chocolate flavored ice cream.

Dick was on officer duty patrol in undercover civilian clothes that afternoon, walking around the streets of Gotham in hopes of catching some shady business going around the city or just someone doing a simple act that goes against the law, being a good police officer that he is. Though, instead of seeing criminals like he assumed he would, his most rebellious little brother dressed in bad boy-ish clothes as usual buying ice creams caught his eyes.

He was supposed to walk right past since there really is no reason to approach Jason, but seeing him sit down next to a mysterious, old fashioned, well-dressed, expensive looking guy in all black with sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose and give the dark chocolate flavored ice cream to? Now, Dick certainly can’t walk past without knowing about you because he’s a little shit who just can’t help but stuck his nose into his brother’s business. That and, well, he also found you really cool. There’s not a thing in this world that can stop Dick Grayson from wanting to befriend someone who seems cooler than the Dark Knight himself.

So, in all his glory, Dick approached Jason with his usual charming smile dancing across his lips.

“Oh, god...” Jason groaned in annoyance as soon as he spotted the grinning male, rolling his eyes. Peace seems to never be an option whenever he takes you around the city for simple walks.

“Jason, are you uttering your all father’s name religiously or simply as an expression as of the moment?” Your elegant yet soothing, deep voice speaks out a sentence composed of well thought words and syllables, innocent curiosity behind the gentle tone.

Dick takes a mental note that your way of speaking sounded similar to the way humanity used to speak centuries ago, when everything was still old-fashioned and technologies hardly ever existed. It made him feel like you came from the past, as if he was witnessing the existence of a time traveler. Stopping in front of you two, he gives you a charming grin as soon as your eyes catches his. A hint of curiosity and wonder flashed within them behind the dark shades of your sunglasses before they were gone in an instant, replaced by a questioning look instead.

“May I help you?” You simply asked, but Dick doesn’t fail to notice the sudden drop in your previously soft tone and the piercing, calculated gaze holding wariness as well as subtle suspicion.

“Sorry, I’m Dick Grayson. I was curious about the person Jay’s hanging out with, I couldn’t help myself but approach.” He elaborates himself while trying his best to ensure he wasn’t a threat through body language, relaxing his figure. “I’m sorry if I freaked you out a little.”

Recognition flashed in your face, brows raising only barely to show subtle surprise, “Jason’s older brother. The name’s (Y/n) Addams. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” You smiled, and even something just as simple as that looked graceful in Dick’s eyes.

Somewhat unsurprisingly, you were enchanting to look at as everything you do or say was captivating. How Jason managed to pull you was beyond him.

“Nice to meet you too,” He says back with a soft smile.

Even though his little brother hasn’t introduced you yet to their family, at least you seemed to know about them. Hopefully, nothing unpleasant has been said, but Dick doubts Jason would hide his trauma from you, considering how he was leaning to your side now subconsciously, as if being away from you will bring back awful memories.

He was worried about his practically traumatized-for-life little brother living alone, but it appears he didn’t have to worry at all.

“What are you doing here, Dick?” Jason more of grumbled, annoyed that your date has been interrupted. Almost automatically, one of your hands move to settle itself on his thigh to give it a gentle and soothing rub to ease his growing annoyance, while the other held your dark chocolate ice cream that you had begun eating with clean manners. He relaxed in an instant after feeling your touch.

“I think you should introduce (Y/n) to our family, Jay.” Dick suggests with enthusiasm that didn’t match Jason’s, not really answering his question. “They would want to know who you’re going out with. We can all have a dinner together!” There was excitement shining in his eyes as he shrugged his shoulders, trying to remain nonchalant despite his body language practically screaming excited.

Your lover groans, “Why the hell do they have to know who I’m going out with?”

Amusement crosses your face as you smirked, licking off the small bits of ice cream that got on your lips. “I wouldn’t be opposed to that. I’m certain my family will be more than happy to meet them.” Jason gives you a look, to which you responded with an innocent smile. “Oh, mon amour. What could go wrong? I have been looking forward to meet your family, but you’ve never considered to bring me there. It’s a little concerning how you seem too hesitant to let them meet me.” You pout, feigning sadness.

Your lover widens his eyes, panic appearing in them as he gripped your hand that was on his thigh after realizing what you were implying. “That’s not what it looks like, babe! I just don’t want you to meet them ‘cause they can be a bit unbearable. Bruce is the worst person you could ever meet,” He scrunched his nose. “It’s not you I don’t want them to meet, it’s them I don’t want you to meet. There’s a difference. You’re never the problem.”

You chuckled at his quick attempt of elaboration.

Jason feels his cheeks redden at how deeply elegant and amazing your laugh sounded; it never fails to make his heart go haywire even after all this time. You manage to effortlessly make him fall in love with you deeper and deeper every day without even meaning to.

“Worry not, darling. I was just teasing you. I’m far from upset.” Reassuring him, your hand gently cups his cheek to rub the skin comfortingly. “Let me meet them once you’ve gotten rid of your doubts completely, my Jason. It isn’t necessary to rush.” You then let go of his face to push some of his hair away from his forehead before leaning back to continue eating the ice cream.

Dick witnessed a starstruck smile spread across Jason’s lips in an instant, the way his expression was so soft when looking at you, how his emerald eyes that usually held pent-up rage towards the world sparks brightly in love and adoration.

Huh. He’s never seen his brother this happy and content.

Maybe you are Jason’s one true love.

“Dick,” Jason calls out after watching you eat your ice cream with a barely hidden happiness. You looked happy to meet one of his family even though you haven’t said anything, and he was willing to throw away his pride if it meant making you happy.

“Hm?” Dick hummed, smiling when Jason glanced at you and looked back at him.

“Tell the others.”

That was all he needed to let out the excitement he was holding in, beaming at you two. “Right away, little bird!” He doesn’t waste a time to pull his phone out of his pocket, “I’m going then. It was nice meeting you, (Y/n). I’ll text you when!” He waved his hand and walked away, already dialling Bruce’s number.

Jason watched him go incredulously. “Did he just come here to convince me to introduce you?”

You chuckle under your breath, “Perhaps. Your brother has sorted out his priorities well.” However, a frown appears on your lips when you turned to Jason. “Do you genuinely feel comfortable letting my family meet them? We could always cancel, mon amour. There are many other fascinating activities we can bother ourselves with.”

Jason felt his heart swell at your gentle tone and concerned eyes, making him feel loved in many different ways. You don’t even realize that you’re slowly healing his troubled heart with simple things like this. He already knows you love him more than the Guillotine itself (which is a really big deal since nothing except him could ever beat your love for it) as you’ve always told him before, but the way you treat him, talk to him, and look at him just adds so much weight on your words. You don’t just tell him you love him — you show it in the most perfect, best, casual ways.

Intertwining his hand with yours, he brought it up to rest on his chest, hiding how overwhelmed he was with the love for you. “Like what, sweetheart?” Faint amusement laced his tone as he already knew the answer.

“Like slicing or shooting criminals, of course.” You winked before bringing your intertwined hands to press a kiss on his knuckles.

Jason laughs, and you admired the way he threw his head back to let the sound escape. “Knew you would say that!” He wheezed, before calming down to kiss your knuckles just like you did to his. “But it’s really fine, (Y/n). I want to introduce you and your family to mine.” His expression then turns apologetic, “ ‘m sorry if it seemed like I was keeping you in the shadows.”

You shake your head and leaned in to capture his lips in a peck, a gesture to let him know you didn’t mind. “If you were keeping me in the shadows, we wouldn’t be having a date out in the open where any of your family can see me. Don’t be apologetic, chéri. I’m nowhere near upset.”

Letting a smile break out, Jason leans in to kiss you more longer this time before pulling away.

Just like that, you both sat on the bench and ate ice creams in comfortable silence, holding each other’s hand.

Dick, Tim, Damian, Barbara, Cassandra and Stephanie all stood in front of the Wayne Manor with barely contained excitement, waiting for the infamous Addams family and Jason to show up.

Dick was mainly looking forward for his family to see the side of Jason no one had ever seen before, Tim was occasionally standing on his tiptoes to see if any car was nearing, and Damian was keeping himself still but his body practically trembled with excitement due to being a fan of your vigilante persona for a long time. Barbara had a smile on her face with a hint of nervousness, while Cassandra and Stephanie talked to each other to calm their nerves.

Even without research, the Addams family was quite the celebrity family in Gotham because of their richness that seemed to tie with Bruce Wayne, but moreover, they were rather infamous for being “weird” and gothic as those experts for minding businesses that aren’t their own paparazzi claimed. The Wayne family didn’t really need to dive into the deepest parts of internet in their computer; one newspaper — with the front cover of five people with gothic outfits standing in front of the big ass almost-castle-house — dedicated entirely to the weird family already helped.

Only thing they needed to research about was you, and surprisingly, it wasn’t hard to find information about your vigilantism — which is how all of them realized not only was Jason dating the person Damian idolizes more than his own father, but also the one who brutally tortured and straight-up dumped Joker into Arkham Asylum. Needless to say, it kinda made sense to them that Jason’s dating you, though Bruce wasn’t pleased.

The gates being opened to a black limousine caught their attention, making Cass and Steph break their conversation to watch the car drive closer before eventually stopping in front of them. A butler, who took them by surprise due to his seemingly inhuman looks similar to the Frankenstein monster, got out to open the door.

A man wearing a black suit with white stripes was the first to come out of the limousine as he smiles cheerfully at them, helping his wife to step out. Cassandra’s jaw dropped at the beautiful woman with black, long and silky hair who gives them an enchanting, almost hypnotizing smile.

Next to step out were a boy wearing black and white striped shirt and a girl who had her hair braided on two sides. The boy gave them an all too adorable friendly smile, but his sister only held a blank face as she observed each of the Wayne members. Finally, Jason got out together with you, all of them noticing your intertwined hands.

Your lover raised his brows, “Why are you all here?”

“Well, Bruce said we didn’t have to, but we wanted to welcome you here.” Dick shrugged, nodding at you. “Good to see you again, (Y/n).”

“Likewise, Dick.” You smile. “Greetings, ladies, gentlemen. The name’s (Y/n). This are my parents Gomez and Morticia,” Your parents greet them with a nod and friendly smile. “And my siblings Wednesday and Pugsley.” Pugsley waves his hand, enthusiastic to meet Jason’s family, while Wednesday crosses her arms above her chest and simply nods without a word.

Dick was grinning at your siblings because of their adorableness, not even the slightest bit bothered by Wednesday’s lack of emotion. Cassandra and Tim were gawking at Gomez and Morticia, how they seem so perfect and gorgeous, not only each on their own but together as well. Stephanie and Barbara beamed at you while Damian observed Wednesday and Pugsley, but there wasn’t any hint of malice or bad intention in his eyes — just curiosity. The Addams family sure are good looking individuals.

“Uh — hi,” Tim was the first to speak out of the Wayne’s, awkwardly waving his hand because of the fact he felt as if the Addams were ethereal beings due to their beauty. “You... You all look beautiful. I’m surprised.”

Wednesday’s brows raised as you tilted your head slightly to the side, looking confused. Morticia and Gomez exchanges a glance from not knowing what to say, while Pugsley smiled nicely at Tim despite the truth of being called beautiful feels like an insult. Yours and your family’s reaction immediately worried the Wayne children; none of you seemed pleased or happy with the compliment Tim gave, in fact, you kind of looked offended.

Seeing his siblings getting worried that they might’ve done something wrong, Jason clears his throat to catch everyone’s attention and successfully did so. “What he means is you all look deadly and loathsome. He wasn’t trying to offend you in any way, he just isn’t used to our ways of compliment.” He elaborated with a genuine look, and his siblings looked taken aback that he seemed really calm and gentle with you and your family. Jason have always had anger issues; his rage was explosive everywhere he goes and the main victims of it were criminals, but sometimes it was directed entirely at Bruce because of their unpleasant history.

He was never known as a calm person even in the family. Always seemed on edge, like a walking bomb that’s ticking every second, unknown by people how to stop it from exploding so suddenly. However, as Jason stands with you holding your hand tightly, his entire demeanor was almost completely different from what his family was used to. He was as calm as a wind that caresses the Mother Nature so softly in fear of disturbing her and as gentle as anyone who holds a little kitten in their hands — there was no ticking time bomb, just a soft man caring and pouring his heart and love out to his awesome lover. Jason looked comfortable around you and your family, extremely to the point that he hadn’t noticed practically calling himself an Addams. It made his siblings’ hearts swell with happiness.

“Oh,” Morticia sighed in relief, and even just that felt and looked so heavenly. “We’re sorry, my dear. We weren’t aware of that. I was afraid you found us tolerable.”

Tim chuckles, not really knowing what to say. He was visibly confused, though from what he was able to pick up on, negative comments seems to be taken as positive ones in your family. While most of them were confused just like Tim, Damian quickly understood how compliments worked within the Addams and smirked fondly.

Dick finally gathers his thoughts to clear his throat, “Well, let’s go in now, shall we?”

As your family nodded in sync, you turn to Jason while fixing your collar with the empty hand. “Love, do I look menacing? I have to look presentable when meeting your father. I despise looking good.” You stated, checking your outfit and trying to fix where you found unpresentable.

It’s rare to see you fidgeting and uneasy, making Jason smile. He knew you lose your composure only when it comes to him and it made him feel so loved, appreciated, and important. “You always look menacing, babe. Could scare off any children that passes by.” He compliments, bringing up your intertwined hands and kissing the back of yours.

The corner of your lips twitched up, squeezing his hand back as amusement and adoration shows themselves on your expression. “That’s very lovely. This is why I loathe you.”

The flirting between you and Jason was so natural that even Damian wasn’t affected by it — he’s mostly disgusted and cringed out when people flirt in front of him, but for some reason, Jason flirting with you didn’t bother him at all. Perhaps, because it isn’t a modern type of flirting where couples show disgusting amount of PDA or say things halfheartedly just to make their partner feel good, but rather, it’s one that uses old-fashioned yet romantic language which truthfully comes from the heart. You and Jason flirt with respect for each other, where neither of you objectify nor sexualize the other.

There was a clear unspoken understanding between you, which was shown in just this little flirtatious moment. The way you show your love for each other might be old-fashioned and out of ordinary in this modern day, but it’s honestly more romantic than any of the modernized ones.

“You two always flirt,” Wednesday spoke as she swiftly turned around to meet yours and Jason’s eyes. “It would’ve been more perfect if you were holding a human heart and giving it to each other.”

Barbara, Cassandra, and Stephanie all widened their eyes at her opinion — is she telling you to kill someone, take their heart out, and give it to each other to show your love? That wouldn’t be a romance anymore; it’ll be a dark romance.

However, you only shrugged your shoulders while Jason chuckled in amusement, as if that comment was as normal as seeing trees and nature everywhere. Neither of you were even concerned with what Wednesday said. “There’s precisely a possibility of that occurring, though it’s not yet now.” You responded calmly, as expressionless as Wednesday but slight amusement littered your tone.

The others tensed at your statement with the exception of Damian, who only smirked in pride, as they all remember the news of Joker getting dumped into Arkham Asylum by a vigilante that isn’t Batman. Like mentioned before, Joker was in a really bad shape when he was quite literally thrown into the Asylum, very visible signs of torture coating his body everywhere.

When Bruce visited, it was worse than how the media portrayed it to be. Tongue cut off, fingers broken and two missing, heavily concussed, several cuts along his face and body, and bruises covering most of his body parts. Worst of it all was that Joker didn’t seem like himself anymore; he does laugh — never had been a time when Joker didn’t laugh — but it wasn’t his typical laughter. All the mockery, self-confidence and cockiness weren’t there. Instead, fear and paranoia filled the laughter Bruce was so used to hearing. It was so uncharacteristic and very unlikely of Joker.

He’s finally put behind bars for good, but how the fuck can a vigilante absolutely destroy the Joker? He was indestructible yet you managed to break him so bad that his insanity got flooded with immense fear rather than the urge to kill everyone and everybody for no reason.

And as they stand in front of you now, none of them can even imagine how such a gentleman like you could’ve broke him completely. You seem so respectful, sweet, gentleman, and lovely that it’s almost impossible to believe you were the one who did it. But everyone should always expect the unexpected, right?

“Dick,” Jason’s voice snaps the oldest boy out of his own thoughts as he nods his head towards the door. “Let’s go in.”

The Grayson only hummed, turning around to open the door and gesture inside with his other hand, bowing a little to show respect. Morticia and Gomez smiled pleasantly and brightly, touched by his manners as they enter. Wednesday followed next with a usual expressionless face, and Pugsley said “thank you” first before entering, then Jason pulled you along with him at last. The door closed behind Damian who was the last to enter.

“Welcome,” Bruce immediately greeted as soon as all of your eyes met his, and your parents doesn’t hesitate to smile respectfully and kindly at him.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wayne.” Gomez steps forward with his hand extended to shake Bruce’s hand before gesturing to his wife standing beside him. “She’s my wife Morticia and these are my children. Perhaps, you already know about (Y/n)?”

Bruce’s unreadable gaze shift from your father to you, attempting to figure out your characteristics by just looking. However, despite the nervousness you’re feeling, you didn’t fail to compose yourself and appeal confident with the usual emotionless expression on your face. Your gaze sparkling darkly under the light made him feel uneasy somehow, as if you knew all of his dirty little secrets and his entire characteristics as well as personality and attitude without analyzing that much.

Truth be told, you heard Bruce’s attitude from Jason when he opened himself up to you. Your Beloved was extremely traumatized by what happened with Joker that it affected the way he saw the world; it should’ve been that way too with Bruce because he’s Jason’s adoptive father — yet what really happened was the complete opposite.

Bruce may not have had an ill intent of dismissing or ignoring what happened to Jason, but to continue living like Joker didn’t kill his second son made him unlikable on your list. You’re a very respectful person as Gomez and Morticia didn’t raise you to be an awful entity, and you would never want to go against your lover’s adoptive father — although, that does not mean you accept his morals.

Hiding the unsettled feeling building up in his stomach, Bruce attempts to smile at you and shake your hand. “So you’re (Y/n). I’ve only ever heard once about you.”

Only the corner of your lips twitched, a barely formed smile appearing as you shake his hand, eyes still piercing through him like a dagger. “And I’ve heard a lot of... things about you, Mr. Wayne.” The calculative tone in your voice set an alarm within Bruce’s head and he would’ve pulled his hand away from your grasp if it wasn’t for his conscious mind forcing himself to calm down. “Be not afraid — You’ll see no judgement here.” You gave him a pointed look.

Jason quickly goes behind you and wraps an arm around your waist, the soft look on him being noticed by everyone present in the room. “Babe, let’s have dinner first. You’ll absolutely love Alfred’s cooking. They’re hella tasty.” He compliments, winking at Alfred who stood at the side. Alfred smiled with gratitude.

Bruce notices the way a small bit of light shine on your dead-like eyes as soon as you looked at Jason. “Well then, may we?” You shift your soft gaze from Jason to Bruce as you tilt your head slightly to the side.

From then on, the peaceful dinner began with mainly your parents and Bruce sharing thoughts about their own children while the others watch with a smile as Damian starts a conversation with you, the one he idolizes the most. It’s surprising to see Damian being really talkative — for the first time ever, he was being an actual child, asking you questions after questions with his eyes sparkling in joy. Not wanting to ruin this seemingly precious moment for Damian, everyone just decided to listen and chime in only once in a while when they feel like it. You were extremely patient with Damian the entire time he was bombarding you with questions, answering all of them without getting annoyed.

Jason felt relieved to witness the dinner going smoothly.

Truth be told, he was secretly worried about it turning into a disaster due to your vigilantism — Jason knew how Bruce felt about you after realizing you were the unnamed vigilante that nearly killed the Joker, and he thought Bruce would bring it up right away soon as dinner started. Luckily, he didn’t. It made Jason sigh in relief and relax on his seat, smiling as he watched you talk with his siblings.

However, perhaps it was too soon.

“(Y/n), how long have you been a vigilante?”

Jason immediately froze at Bruce’s question. The chit-chatting within the dining hall quickly falls into silence as everyone, too, froze — except the Addams family, who were still eating calmly and quietly, unbothered.

You first swallowed the food you were chewing before wiping your mouth elegantly with a napkin and not even hesitating to meet Bruce’s piercing eyes. “Since I was a child, Mr. Wayne.” You answered simply.

Bruce leans on the table, taking it slow. “Why did you become one?”

You felt Jason squeezing your hand under the table, as if to say you don’t have to answer everything. Though, you still did. “One of our ancestors was a vigilante, although he was hanged alongside his wife’s burning body when a rumour spread that she was a witch. He’s quite the legend within our family, you see.” Dick, Stephanie and Barbara’s jaws dropped. “I could say I was inspired by him. Although the sole purpose of my vigilantism is to bring justice to those who were rejected, neglected, and ignored by our unpleasantly ridiculous, worthless justice system.”

Feeling nervousness radiate off of Jason from how he squeezed your hand even more strongly, you gently hold and knead his hand to give him relaxation. After he stopped squeezing and slightly calmed down, you readjusted his hand so your and his fingers would intertwine with each other. You could feel him staring, but you never avoided eye contact with Bruce.

“To bring justice...” The Billionaire trails off meaningfully, as if it was something he wasn’t expecting to hear from you. “Was that your way of bringing justice?” The sharpness in his tone clearly gave everyone an idea of what he’s talking about.

However, despite the tension thickening and Bruce’s eyes narrowing in judgment, you kept your composure with an expressionless face, nerves surprisingly as calm as water flows. There wasn’t anything you were feeling at the moment, just the patience you need to deal with Jason’s shallow-minded father.

“I’m most definitely certain yours and my understanding of justice varies.” You immediately responded without missing a beat. Bruce’s eyes pierced through you, but your (e/c) eyes were much worse. It was reading him thoroughly, looking into his soul, his mind, feeling as if you knew everything.

“Though, I must admit for everyone’s knowledge, just so no one is left unaware — I tortured Joker not to seek justice for my lover, but to feed my vengeance and urge to revenge.” Your dark eyes glinted in amusement under the lights as the confession slips from your mouth with no restraints, like you’re just talking about nonchalant things. That’s not the only thing that made a cold shiver run down everyone’s spine; it was also the way your supposedly expressionless face completely shifted for the first time only to form a dark, prideful, egotistical look, accompanied by a smirk which obviously stated you weren’t regretful.

Now, there’s no way Bruce would take it lightly.

Sensing the events had turned out more worrisome, Jason tries to tug on your intertwined hands. “(Y/n), sweetheart, we should—”

Your cold gaze avert towards him, and it softened only a bit. “Apologies for interrupting you, my love, but leaving our dinner without finishing them would be disrespect to the person who cooked them for us.” You placed a gentle kiss on the back of Jason’s hand to assure him. “Worry not so much. Your father and I are only getting to know one another.”

As soon as your cold and piercing eyes returned to him, Bruce immediately feels an unsettling feeling in his gut as his heartbeat quickens. He could see it’s easy for you to deal with him or this kind of confrontation — the dangerous thing he noticed about you is that you never lose composure and patience regardless if the situation at hand benefits you or not. The only time you’ve probably ever lost your collectedness was with Joker, whom you actually had every right to get absolutely livid at. You love Jason more than words could ever tell, Bruce can easily see that, but your actions not lining up with his morals made it difficult for him to accept you willingly.

While the Addams simply minded their own business by continuing to eat, the others couldn’t find it in themselves to act like there was no tension rising in the air. They knew this confrontation was coming, but witnessing it unfold before their own eyes isn’t easy. Most of them had to swallow the lump that formed in their throat, with Damian being the only one who isn’t nervous in the slightest.

“Mr. Wayne, I have a deep understanding of your morals and the regulations you’ve set in this home... how none of your family is allowed to kill criminals.” You stated with a smile that was barely visible, though respectful nonetheless. However, it instantly vanishes. “But I must remind you one thing — just because you believe your morals are correct does not make it righteous in any way.”

That certainly struck a core in Bruce.

“We, humans, are incapable of finding the correct morals that all of humanity would agree on. You may believe your morals are absolute and there could be a wonderful soul who has developed the same belief as you, but it would never be everyone.” Your hand gracefully gestures to the people in the dining room to emphasize your point before it comes to rest on the table as you intertwine it with your other hand. “You see, humans are not humans without distinctive differences, and pushing your own standards on others likely causes more harm than it should help put them in control.”

The way you’ve said every word with such grace and elegance was nothing but fascinating as everyone found themselves suddenly voiceless. Your every gesture and movement showed an exquisite manner no other human beings were blessed with, alongside your use of sophisticated language that silently told your high level of intelligence. Other than that, Bruce was speechless from how much your words contained truth and wisdom only a philosopher has. He had never seen nor met someone so wise as you.

Perhaps, that’s why you’re so intimidating — every bit of your intelligence and attitude is your very own power no one else could ever have.

Taking a deep breath, Bruce clears his throat to find his voice and meets your eyes. “Are you implying I should accept how different yours and my morals are?”

“Precisely,” You answered without hesitation, sipping the wine Jason had poured for you when the dinner started. “My morality is concerned with the victims, not the perpetrators nor myself. Your morality is concerned with your inability to control your murderous urges when committed.” Bruce inhales sharply, making your eyes glint since he proved you right.

Gomez and Morticia smile to themselves as they felt proud of how you’re always able to point out things others usually don’t or can’t. Despite your brutal honesty, there is clearly respect within the way you speak to Bruce, which is why neither of them stopped you from defending and proving yourself. Helping you was not in their options; they knew you can handle yourself perfectly fine with the number of times you’ve put people in their place physically or verbally.

“(Y/n), baby... It’s okay,” Jason quietly attempts to stop you, knowing those words were intentionally spoken to strike a nerve in his non-biological father.

He knew how your blood boiled when you found out Bruce didn’t kill the Joker because of his ridiculous morality. He can still remember the way your eyes always darkened at even the slightest mention of Batman or Bruce Wayne. It took two years for you to overcome your wrath on the billionaire before you went after the Joker.

Before you could respond to your lover, Bruce caught your attention again with a simple question — “Why did you do it?”

You look back at him, seeing him staring at you and waiting for an answer. The corner of your lips lifted. “Well, wouldn’t we do anything for love?” Bruce's brows raised at the warm look on your face, not knowing your face was capable of making such expression. “No one hurts my soul and live freely without heavy consequences.” You shrugged, looking heavily smug.

Wednesday scoffed, “You should’ve just put a curse on him. It would have saved you all the trouble and exhaustion.” She looked at you as if what you did was the most incorrect thing in the world.

“No, should’ve electrocuted him!” Said Pugsley with a grin. “It didn’t make me insane when Wednesday did it to me, but it could break his mind.” Everyone’s face shifted into a look of shock at the sudden revelation.

“Now now, children.” Morticia interrupts, “What (Y/n) does to his enemies should be decided by him and him only. You don’t decide for (Y/n).”

“Well, Joker hurt Jason and he’s our brother. Nobody hurts my brothers and lives.” Wednesday responded immediately with empty eyes seeking vengeance, stabbing the steak with a fork and making Dick, Tim and Stephanie flinch.

You threw a knife at her with a single flick of your wrist, just narrowly missing her face, stabbing the wall behind her. She doesn’t flinch and instead gives you a look, which you ignore and reach for another knife to cut your steak with. “Manners, Wednesday. If you wish to stab something, search for someone that would be worthy of it, not a supper.”

“You missed on purpose,” Wednesday complains, annoyed.

You sarcastically smile, “Perhaps, I wouldn’t intentionally miss again if you’re respectful towards a supper.”

She glared, “Miss again and I’ll dump you in a paint full of pastels.”

You just rolled your eyes at her tactics while Jason bursts into laughter, knowing how much you and your family hate pastels. To the Addams, pastels and joyful people are the most insufferable matters in the world. There’s nothing you all hate more than that.

His father and brothers couldn’t believe what happened in front of them. None of the Addams, even Jason, cared that you just threw a knife at Wednesday. In fact, your parents were far from concerned as they only watched with warm smiles on their faces, because truthfully that was just you and Wednesday bickering. It’s nothing serious although others might disagree.

“Apologies for our children, Mr. Wayne.” Morticia says casually after Wednesday had returned to eating her dinner, making Bruce turn to look at her. “They’ve always bickered even when they were just a child. (Y/n) and Wednesday in particular, they liked to attempt burning each other alive ever since hearing the story of one of our ancestors who got burned at the Salem Witch Trials. Children love those stories, you know.” She places a hand on her chest, right above her heart, smiling at her children.

“Wait, hold on— You tried to burn each other alive?” Dick was the one who questioned what everyone couldn’t find their voices to ask about, too shocked and horrified that attempting to kill each other seems so natural and normal within the Addams family.

“Yes, for the record.” You answer without looking up. “Being burned alive is classified as the most painful, agonizing way to die, which is why it had been the perfect punishment for those who were accused of witchcraft in 1692 and 1693. My sister and I were intrigued to see whether this was a fact or just merely false information, so we would always attempt to burn each other in hopes of discovering the truth.”

“Funny thing is, they never did.” Jason cackles as Wednesday shot him an unamused look. “(Y/n) still wishes he could die being burned alive, though.”

The corner of your lips merely twitched in a soft smile as you kissed the back of Jason’s hand affectionately, eyes closed. “Have I ever mentioned I want you to do the honor?” You say with such a loving and adoring tone that Jason felt his heart swell, knowing this is somewhat a proposal that only an Addams would understand.

It was a traditional Addams way of showing they love the person rather than wrapping it up in just three words that rarely comes from the bottom of one’s heart. You would die for him, and only he could bring your ultimate demise, no one else. You were offering him your heart and soul, as well as life, permitting him to hold and treasure it for the rest of your lives. It was an implication that you would dedicate your life to him with nothing in return — you will do everything for him. It’s easy to kill — you’ve nearly done it with the Joker — but it’s not easy to live and die for him, but you will and you would.

Feeling overwhelmed with all the love you endlessly give and show, Jason couldn’t help but hide behind his empty hand in an attempt to hold his tears in, always being emotional whenever he gets the love he doesn’t think he deserves. But he does. You’ve never failed to show him he deserves everything you offer. God, how did he even end up with you? You’re so good to him, so loving and giving, Jason didn’t even expect you’ll be like this back when you two were just strangers building friendship. Jason can’t let you go anymore, and he would never even if you asked him to. He loves you just as much as you love him, although yours seem bigger than his.

The Wayne family witnessed Jason, the usually insufferable Todd who thrives off of violence, cry at the mere love and affection his lover gave. Jason was crying because you reminded him of how significant he was to your life. The big bad wolf, the ruthless Red Hood, the boy who had an immense thirst for vengeance, the boy whose blood is filled with utmost rage towards the world, was crying at the simple showcase of love.

And that’s how Bruce — no, his entire family — knew they failed to love him enough.

But they don’t have to make it up to him anymore. They can’t, because you’re already showering him with love and adoration and appreciation and everything he deserves. You did everything what they were supposed to do — what Bruce was supposed to do.

“Oh, mon amour...” You let go of his hand to gently hold his face with both hands, kissing away the tears that overflowed from his eyes. Jason stayed still, relishing how good you are, how soft you treated him as he gripped your gentle hands. Once you’re done kissing his tears away, he buried his face into your chest while wrapping his arms around you, embracing tightly. You kiss the top of his head, caging him in your arms as you gently run your fingers through his hair.

Jason closes his eyes within your embrace, inhaling your calming scent mixed with a cooling hint of cologne. It’s funny how you’ve always associated yourself with death and darkness, yet for Jason, your mere presence is a light at the end of the tunnel that makes him alive every day. “Thank you, (Y/n)...” He murmurs into your chest, barely audible, but heard by you nonetheless.

You gently scratch his scalp, not caring about your meals and attention solely focused on your lover. “For what exactly, chéri? I have not done anything for you to give me such gratitude, at least not that I remember. I have only been attempting to drown you in my love and affection, haven’t I? Are they worthy of your gratitude?”

He chuckled, “You know damn well they are.”

You tilt your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “Even so, do you truly believe it’s significant for me more than just your presence?” Jason slowly looks up at you, his mesmerizing eyes meeting yours, before shaking his head quietly. A satisfied look crosses your face at that, “There you go. It isn’t difficult to figure out now, is it?” Jason shakes his head, burying his face into your chest once again.

As you continue to comfort Jason, Damian stares at the sight with a weird look. “Todd is extremely quiet when he’s around (Y/n). It’s... weird.”

Dick nudged him, “Hey, let him be. Jay’s probably just very comfortable with him.”

“It’s still weird, though.” Tim insists.

Barbara and Stephanie watched with smiles while you kiss Jason’s forehead, too willing to accept you despite finding your family quite strange. People have different traditions and cultures anyway; they figured yours are just too extraordinary and unusual that don’t fit society’s standards. Being different doesn’t matter when it’s clear that you love Jason too much, in your own special way.

Cassandra glances at Bruce, who seemed to be in deep thought. “I don’t think you have any other choice but to accept him.” Her voice snaps him out of his thoughts, “Look at them. They’re very much in love. More than in love, I’d say. It looks like they were meant to be with each other. Like destiny’s the one who wrote them together.”

Bruce looked at the two of you, who obviously saw nothing but each other in your little world.

“Besides, he basically called bullshit on your morals. And you know all too well he’s beyond right.” Cassandra smirks, “I hope your pride doesn’t get in the way of welcoming a new member, dad.”

Bruce sighed.

Well, it’s inevitable that you’ll be a member one way or another. Cassandra was right about that, and although he didn’t want to admit it, Bruce knew he accepted you the moment you stood up against him. It’s not always there’s someone who is brave enough to speak up against the Bruce Wayne.

Though, he may have to teach you not to strangle literally every single person who mess with Jason.

2K notes · View notes

mountkennedie · 2 months ago

Text

Siren

Prince Caspian x mermaid!reader

Summary: Caspian goes on a late night stroll and gets intercepted by a mermaid

warnings: none

The reader has long hair, other than that, there aren't any character descriptions

A.N. I have been thinking about this so much over the past few months omg

Being a prince, Caspian had many responsibilities. But being a human, he needs to escape from those duties from time to time. What seemed to calm his mind the best was a late night stroll of the coast of Cair Paravel.

Due to the full moon, the sands glitter in a way no gem could ever replicate. He thought the only thing that could compliment the beauty of the sparkling sands was the illuminated water. Just standing there, Caspian felt the stress lifting off his body. The salty sea air was always something he was a fan of. The feeling of its breeze through his hair only made the entire scene that much better.

There were some rocks along the coastline. He would normally not pay them any mind. However, when an unusual sound emitted from them, his head whipped around. His eyes scanned to find a pair looking back at him.

He drew his sword immediately, pointing it at the creature. "Who are you," he questioned. All sorts of things can exist in the lands of Narnia, and anything that would be out at such an hour is one of suspicion. Especially one that already had its eyes set on him.

The creature shied behind the rock. From a different angle, she peered back at him. The moonlight glazed her skin in an ethereal glow, and before the prince realized, he had taken a few steps towards her. "Call me, Y/n."

Her voice was smooth and soft. He felt himself begin to drift away in it. He took yet another step closer, now only a yard or two from the rock she hid behind. With grace and caution, she climbed the large stone until she reached the top. She rested on her forearms, now at eye level with the prince.

Caspian's eyes took in the new view of her. She wore nothing on her upper half, relying solely on her flowing hair to cover her frame. His breath began to shallow, never in his life had the prince seen a woman in such an ease of wardrobe. He used his extensive self-control to bring his focus back to her eyes. And her eyes were another pool to fall into. Everything about this mysterious woman was holding him captive, and he could not figure out why. Nor did he want to put up any resistance.

"And yours?" She spoke once again in a voice of velvet. He almost didn't register that she said anything at all.

"Hmm?" He hummed. In any other context, he knew it would be rude to simply hum instead of coming up with the words to say what he meant. But in this moment, his brain was taking on more and more fog with every second he was near her. He was not focused on being the well-mannered prince as he always was.

The woman smiled, "Your name, dear sailor."

"Oh, yes," his voice was breathy. The smile she provided him only worsened his condition. The fog in his mind had crept to the rest of his body. He hadn't even realized he was up against her rock. "Caspian. And I'm not a sailor, I'm a prince." Every word that he could conjure came spilling from his lips. He wanted her to speak again, smile again, anything. It was astonishing how quickly she had gotten him under her finger.

"A prince." She maintained her smile as she reached a hand out and touched his chest. "I would have thought as much. You wear the finest of leathers." Her hand stayed on his chest. And he made no effort to remove it.

He hummed again in response. He wore a smile on his face that proved how removed he was from sanity. She moved her hand up over his heart, his hand came and met her there. The warmth of his palm sealed her to him.

"Would you like to see the rest of me, dear prince?" She spoke in a whisper. He only nodded in response. She smiled once again and lifted her tail out of the water. She allowed herself to wrap a bit around the rock to make sure the moon made her scales shimmer.

He gasped, and she looked back at him. At first, I was nervous that she had scared him off. But he only stared. His eyes soon traveled back up to hers, and his pupils were completely blown. She knew she had him.

"You are most beautiful," his voice was airy. His breath steadied, and his eyes were trained on hers. With her other hand, she placed it on the right side of his face. He leaned into the touch and, for a moment, allowed his eyes to shut.

"As are you, dear prince."

How it happened was simple. She held onto him as she descended the rock. Held his hand from the shallow water, deeper and deeper. Until the water was too high for his feet to hit the bottom. And before she dragged him to the depths, an idea of mercy came to mind. He was a prince and a handsome one at that. Maybe something could brew between them. So she kissed him and filled his lungs with the new ability to no longer rely on air. Then, drug him down underneath the waves.

#prince caspian x reader #king caspian #king capsian x reader #narnia #narina x reader #prince capsian #mermaid reader #siren reader #the chronicles of narnia #mountkennedie #ben barnes

62 notes · View notes

profound-imagination · 2 years ago

Text

Something That We're Not - Xavier Thorpe.

Y/N has a secret, she also has feelings for a boy that doesn't have feelings for her but she's prepared to sacrifice everything for him and her friends, as well as revealing her secrets.

A/N - Maybe a little angsty, but I don't think there's any trigger warnings, took some liberties with Y/N's powers.

W/C 2.5k

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

How you'd ever been allowed to attend Nevermore you weren't sure, a school full of Sirens, Werewolves and Vampires but no Fae, no one like you. No half breeds. Books and films would depict your kind as light and goodness but in reality it was much darker, there was no ethereal glow that you carried, no beautiful wings like an angel, wings yes, but you could will yours in and out of existence and they were hard and leathery, like a bat. When you use your powers your eyes would turn black, your front teeth would elongate into fangs and the veins under your eyes would darken, much like the depiction of vampires in the popular show Vampire Diaries. No, there was nothing beautiful about being Fae. So you let them all think you're a witch with the magic you possess.

You had settled into Nevermore well enough after the school had reopened and had been taken in by an unlikely group of friends. None of them knew what you could do, what you were capable of, so the focus of everyone's attention remained on Wednesday Addams. A morbid girl who never had much to say, unless she had something to say, you liked that about her. Her best friend Enid had bounced up to you on the first day and announced you were adopted by their group. Her boyfriend Ajax was nice enough, always shared his joints with you and looked at Enid like she'd hung the stars just for him, you liked that for her. Xavier Thorpe was a bit of a mystery, he could make paintings and drawings come to life but there was something about him that convinced you he was capable of much more, he and Wednesday flirted between the lines of friendship and something more so you settled into life as a fifth wheel.

As the weeks went on, a tiny little spark of something started in your chest when you looked at the artist or when he smiled at you, or when he silently handed you a book he'd just finished that he thought you'd enjoy. The spark caught on fire when he'd taken you to his art shed and showed you the corner he'd set up just for you, fairy lights hung around it, a big comfy chair and fluffy blankets and all the books you could ever ask for. "I get the feeling sometimes the school is too loud for you, I see you flinch away from the noise, I thought you'd like some quiet place to escape to." He was right, the school was too loud for your sensitive hearing but you weren't about to tell him why. You smiled at him and nodded. "Thank you, Xavier." He smiled back and nodded as he handed you a key. "You're welcome here anytime, as long as you don't mind me painting here as well." Your fingertips brushed his as you took the key from him. "It's your place, Xav. I won't ever complain about you being here."

It wasn't long after that when the Normies started disappearing, you knew the signs, you knew what was taking them, the Fae, but how could you tell your friends without telling them how you knew, Wednesday had jumped headfirst into the investigation and so you laid clues for her to figure it out, left books where she'd find them that would give her the information she needed and you stayed quiet, playing the dutiful friend, listening to her theories while silently pining for the boy that was pining for her. You spent your evenings in the shed with Xavier, pretending to read at this point while you watched him over the top of your book, he'd caught you staring more than once and smirked back at you.

It was a Friday evening and he was practically bouncing when you entered the shed. "Two things to tell you!" Was how he greeted you, you laughed at him and placed your bag down next to your chair. "Okay! Spill it Thorpe!" He beamed down at you. "The first one I need to show you!" You nodded and smiled at him as he walked towards a covered canvas and pulled the cover off. Your breath caught in your throat. It was you, sat in your cosy chair, hair in a messy bun on top of your head, much like it was now, a book in your hand and you had a small smile on your face looking at the pages, the yellow lights of the room bathed you like an angel. Then it hit you, he'd used colour, he'd painted you in pastel colours, his usual style being charcoal drawings or earth tones. Movement dragged you out of your trance as he came to stand behind you, his hand bringing the painting to life, you turned a page, and looked up, the small smile on your face turned into a brilliant grin, you assumed that was you looking at him. Tears filled your eyes as you turned and threw yourself into his chest, your arms wrapping around his neck. "Thank you, Xav, it's beautiful, you made me look beautiful." You sniffled into his chest. His long arms wrapped around you. "I just paint what I see." He murmured into the top of your head.

"So what's the second thing you had to tell me?" You asked as you pulled yourself away from him. He grinned down at you. "Wednesday let me ask her to the Rave'N and said yes!!" You felt your smile falter for half a second and your heart that had just been soaring crashed and burned. You plasted a fake smile on your face. "That's great, Xav! I'm so happy for you!" He was still grinning like a fool. "Who are you going to ask?" You shook your head. "I think I'm going to give it a miss, I'll probably just sit here and read, too loud." He opened his mouth to argue with you but Wednesday burst through the door and the pair of them were off to investigate some lead she had found for her investigation. A lone tear slid down your cheek as you looked at the painting of you one last time before you covered it with the sheet again.

A week had passed since the shed and Enid had tried dragging you and Wednesday dress shopping, this year's theme being "Royal Ball" meant the girls would be in need of ball gowns. Enid was outraged that you'd decided not to attend, even Wednesday was unimpressed. "You mean I have to endure this particular form of torture alone?" She'd asked you. "You'll be with Xav, Wednesday, you'll be fine." You sighed at her and she didn't meet your eyes. "Actually before we head into Jericho I have something to show you both." You told them as you dragged them towards your dorm room. The two girls stopped in their tracks when they saw the two dresses on mannequins in your room. "Where did you get these?" Enid gasped, you shrugged. "I made them…for you." Enid to a step towards the dress that was clearly made for her, a pale pink gown with a silver snake that twisted up the bodice and around the neckline, an ode to her boyfriend. "You don't have to wear them or anything, I'm sure there will be nicer ones in town." You filled the silence, it was Wednesday who broke it. "No." You turned to look at her, you'd been too busy watching Enid to notice that Wednesday had moved closer to the black gothic gown you had made for her. "It's perfect." She breathed, a look of wonderment on her face.

You'd caved and sat with the girls when they got ready that weekend, helping them both into their gowns. "Have a wonderful night, you both look resplendent." You told them before you left. "Don't you want to see Ajax and Xavier?" Enid had asked innocently, you smiled at her and shook your head, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in your chest at the thought of Xavier turning up for a date that wasn't with you and headed out to the shed.

You fumbled in the dark for the light switch in the shed. The first thing you noticed was the canvas in the middle of the room, it was another painting of you, this time you were in a gown of sage green, spring flowers embroidered all over it, your hair was cascading down your back and over your shoulders, a beaming smile on your face. Then you noticed the big white box on your chair, two smaller boxes sat atop it, and a note.

"Enid and Wednesday told me you made them dresses, you deserve a dress too, even if I didn't make it. I'll save you a dance. Please don't leave me hanging. Xav."

You placed the two smaller boxes next to you and opened the biggest one, the dress from the painting was sitting in it, it was more beautiful than you could've imagined. He bought you a dress. He wanted you there. You opened the other two boxes, in one sat a pair of delicate heels, the other was jewelry and a pair of ear plugs that looked like another piece of jewelry it all perfectly complimented your dress, so you caved and there in the shed, you got ready to go to a ball, using your magic to do your makeup and tidy up your hair.

You stepped into the Rave'N about an hour after it had started, it was beautiful, you felt beautiful, all you wanted was to find Xavier and thank him for the dress and for always seeing you. You'd done two loops of the dance before you realised he wasn't there, neither was Wednesday. You found Enid and Ajax making out in a dark corner and left them to it without interrupting. Your heart felt like it was in your throat. He wasn't there, he'd left you hanging. Your hand subconsciously rubbed your chest where that uncomfortable feeling settled again and you headed towards the lake to sit in peace and feel sorry for yourself, you'd made it halfway when you ran straight into Xavier, Wednesday close behind him. "Y/N?" He asked, his eyes looking you up and down, you watched the realisation hit him, you'd put on the dress, you'd gone to the ball, for him and he wasn't there. Wednesday pushed him to the side before he could say anything. "Have you ever heard of the Fae?" She asked, the question took you by surprise and you shook your head. "It's the Fae that are taking the Normies and I think Xavier and I just caught their attention." She told you as she headed back towards the school, leaving the two of you behind.

"Y/N" Xavier said your name again as he reached out to grab your wrist. "Please don't." You asked him weakly, tears were filling your eyes. "I really need to stop believing in boys who paint me pretty pictures huh?" He flinched at your words and you sighed, wiping the tears from your face. "It's fine Xavier, don't worry about it." He pulled you back to him. "I hurt you." He stated and you shrugged. "Not intentionally, it's my fault really, I caught feelings and I shouldn't have." His eyes widened. "Did you really not figure that out, Xav?" He shook his head dumbly. "It's okay, honestly, I was never planning on acting on it or telling you, I see how you look at Wednesday. I got caught up in the dress, the ear plugs and the paintings and I read them wrong, you were just being a good friend." You pulled your wrist out of his grip and walked away as he called your name over and over.

Something had gone terribly wrong. Well several things. There was no comfortable friendship with Xavier anymore, you'd ruined that by telling him how you felt, you no longer went to the shed, he no longer made flirty comments at you or had the easy banter that there was before and all of your friends had picked up on it. Then the worst of them, the night the Fae attacked. You were woken by Bianca barging into your dorm, telling you to leave and explaining what was happening after you refused. You had assured her you would but instead you dressed quickly and clambered onto the balcony of your dorm. You willed your wings into existence and stretched them, flapping them a couple of times after having them hidden for so long and took to the sky, if you knew your friends, if you knew Wednesday, they'd be in the center of all of this, meaning Xavier would be in the middle and in danger. Your ears strained to hear your friends over the commotion as you flew closer to the quad. "Wednesday!" Your blood stilled, that was unmistakably Xavier calling for her, panic evident in his voice.

Perching on the roof overlooking the quad you saw your friends all but backed into a corner, all beaten, all bloody, Xavier stood in front of all of them, one arm cradled to his chest, clearly broken. Wednesday was less than a step behind him, Ajax covering Enid with his body. They wouldn't survive this, they didn't know how. This was it, they were going to see you for who you truly were, you didn't have a second to think as the Fae raised the bows they were armed with and took aim at your friends. You dropped from the ledge and landed In front of them, back to the Fae, wings flared, eyes locked onto Xavier's as one by one the arrows found a home in your wings and your magic pulsed out from you, knocking the Fae back and down, you'd bought only a few minutes, it would have to be enough.

"You all need to go." You told them as calmly as you could. Xavier was staring at the blood dripping down the wings he didn't know you had, Wednesday looked like she was piecing two and two together, Ajax was the only one who listened, dragging Enid with him. "Wednesday, break the arrows and take them out of my wings, quickly!" She nodded once and got to work. "Xav-" you started and he shook his head. "You're one of them?" He knew the answer but he asked anyway. You didn't get the chance to answer. "She's a filthy half breed!" One of the Fae spat from the floor, desperately trying to pull itself up. You met Xavier's eyes again. "I'm not wanted anywhere." You flinched as Wednesday was making quick work of removing the arrows. Xavier tracked your hand as you moved it to place it on his broken arm, he watched as his healed and yours broke. He watched as your hand pressed against the deep gash on his head and one opened on yours, Wednesday came back into view and you did the same for her, taking the worst of her wounds. "Go!" The Fae were on their feet again. "Wednesday!" She got the message, grabbing Xavier's arm and dragged him with all her might the same way Ajax had gone with Enid.

The last thing Xavier saw before Wednesday dragged him out of view was you, turning and limping towards a battle he wasn't sure you'd survive.

#wednsday addams #wednesday #xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x reader #ajax petropolis #enid x ajax #enid sinclair #wednesday netflix #xavier thorpe imagine

2K notes · View notes

clanwarrior-tumbly · 11 months ago

Note

Hi there! So i hope you dont mind me requesting the BB league elite four members + Kieran with a disabled reader who used to be a former BB league elite four member themself (Romantic for Drayton and platonic for the others)

So basically, the reader used to be the fifth ranked member of BB league elite four but after Kieran became the BB league champion, they lost their rank to Crispin and now is the sixth ranked member. Though, they dont have any hard feelings and still see the elite four members as their friends

the reader had an accident when they were younger and now uses a wheelchair to move around. They have a gardevoir who they raised since she was a ralts and now helps her trainer with stuff (so maybe there’s something the reader needs but it’s on the top shelf, Gardevoir will then just use psychic and bring it down for them or maybe the reader wanted to try walking with a cane, if the reader fall, Gardevoir will catch them with psychic) and a Hisuian Braviary to help them get to places in the terrarium (if some hisuian pokemon still exist in this generation, who’s to say that Hisuian Braviary still exist as well)

With permission from the director, Gardevoir was allowed out of her ball to help the reader which then leads to a misconception where people think the reader is a psychic type trainer due to Gardevoir and Hisuian Braviary, when in fact they’re not. They are actually a ghost type trainer but they never bother to clear the misconception bc its funny to see people’s faces when people see their ghost type team.

Hope you have a lovely day/night btw!

- 🪷 anon

Oooh in regards to Hisuian Pokemon, I have a hc that they are extremely rare and got isekai'd to the present via space-time distortion bubbles (like opposite of how Porygon and Johtonian Sneasel were transported to Hisui)

Anyways these hcs sorta took off on their own haha, so they're under the cut!

.....

Drayton

Despite being wheelchair-bound for most of your life, that never stopped you from joining the BB Elite Four and becoming the fifth ranked member practically overnight.

Around that time, you and Drayton were dating, and during his champion days, he always tried to make time for you and put his duties on the backburner.

He knows you value your independence and will only help you out with stuff if asked.

But usually it's your two psychic types that assist you. They don't battle much, but rather work as your medical support Pokémon.

Gardevoir, a sweet lass you've raised since she was a Ralts, uses Psychic to retrieve things for you that are just a little out of your reach in the store.

One good days, you could walk around with a cane...but if they turn bad (ie your chronic pain acts up) she'll use Heal Pulse as a temporary remedy.

She also pushes your chair around in case your arms get tired, taking you around to accessible spots.

Director Cyrano gave you permission to let her stay outside her pokeball 24/7 so she can properly work.

You also have a Hisuian Braviary--who literally travelled across time and space to meet you--that flies you around the Terarium, letting you climb on their back while their talons securely hold onto your folded chair.

With those two often out and about, there's a common misconception about you being the Elite Four's psychic specialist...when in reality you have a ghost type team.

Many challengers find that out the hard way when they clear your trial and send their ghosts against you....only for you to reveal your own ghostly duo that hit back twice as hard.

Drayton loves watching your matches from the sidelines and laughs every time he sees their shocked faces.

He even proposed an idea that your team should remain a mystery up until the moment of battle.

All is well until Kieran comes along and dethrones him, which demotes you to the sixth ranking member..while Crispin takes your spot.

It wasn't exactly a position you liked, since it's on the cusp of disqualifying you as an elite member.

But you weren't mad at anybody over this...if anything you had to make sure Drayton didn't get too mad at Kieran.

Eventually, though, he learns that he could spend more time with you and has less responsibilities on his plate (ofc he's still petty, as we all know during Indigo Disk).

Despite his lax personality, he wants to do all he can to support you and defend you from harassment.

This man would definitely find excuses to carry you around.

"Oh why don't cha give your Pokémon a break and let me help you over here?" He suggests and you end up accepting his offer, letting him carry you from your wheelchair to the sofa in the club room...which is literally five feet away.

Still, you let him do what he wants.

Plus getting to cuddle is a nice bonus.

Kieran

You once knew him as this sweet shy kid who used to be scared of your Hisuian Braviary, always asking if they're gonna hypnotize him.

"No, Kiki..they just help me get around places."

"...a-are you sure? Because they're starin' at me kinda weird.."

"That's how they normally are."

Plus he (like many students) falsely believed you had a psychic team when you're actually the Elite Four's ghost-type specialist.

He admired that "element of surprise" you brought to the table and dreamed of the day he could challenge you himself.

But one trip to his hometown and back later...he's suddenly the Champion, a shell of his former self, who only sees Pokémon as tools for battle.

You wonder what happened to him, although apparently he had a bad falling out with some exchange student and took his angst out on everyone at BBA.

Getting you knocked down to the sixth rank was something he never really apologized for.

Despite that, he didn't tolerate people who talked shit about you, your ranking, your medical condition, or why your Pokémon get to roam more freely than their own.

"At least [y/n] is still out there training their team every day. At least they're turning their hardships into strength. What's your excuse?"

"I-I didn't mean any offense, Kieran! Listen, I'll apologize to them and-"

"Oh, you will...after we have a battle so I can assess your strength. No potions. No moves that boost attack, speed, or defense. If you lose, you resign. You have one hour to prepare."

Sometimes, you're not sure if he's genuinely looking out for you...or if he just wanted an excuse to bully club members around.

While he's aware that Gardevoir and Hisuian Braviary are mainly your medical support 'mons, he still thinks they can always try out battling.

"They could be the ones who help you climb the ranks again [y/n]. Surely you're tired of being in last place, aren't you?"

Yet the advice he believes is helpful is usually unwarranted half the time.

You could just be casually talking to a friend about how your opponent out-sped you and/or used Light Screen/Reflect...

Only for Kieran to barge into the conversation with "well maybe you should've taught Braviary Tailwind/Defog..but I guess you don't have the time for that" or something passive-aggressive that just makes you both uncomfortable.

Your psychic types are honestly annoyed by his new attitude..and you're just disheartened by how he acts around Drayton now.

You and him dating never bothered Kieran before, but now he just glares at your bf 24/7 and scoffs loudly if you're talking about anything except battling.

Despite everything, you knew he was going through something difficult, so you tried not to take his words to heart. You still saw him as a friend.

Someone who was just misguided in his ambitions.

After his humbling defeat and adventure into Area Zero, he comes back with extreme guilt, with you being the first elite member he apologizes to.

He especially feels shitty for distracting your psychic types from doing their jobs properly with his constant nagging to battle them.

But you forgive him, thanking him properly for all the times he's stood up for you.

And you do end up taking some of his unsolicited advice.

You invite him to a friendly double-battle when he returns from break and brought out Braviary and Gardevoir, using Tailwind and terastalizing one of them into a ghost type.

It turns out that whenever they're not working, they battle in perfect sync.

Crispin

In the beginning, this chef boi wondered how your two psychic types help you with your daily life, and you just explain everything as simply as you could to him during a picnic.

"So Gardevoir pushes me around, retrieves stuff I can't reach, and helps me manage my pain. Braviary just flies me around the Terarium....any questions?"

"Just one......do you use Braviary because the taxis here don't accommodate your wheelchair?" He assumes, already starting to fume. "How outrageous! That's not-!"

"Calm down, Crispy..they do. I'm just saying that I'd rather fly with Brave most of the time. It's not only convenient, but more fun for me."

"...o-oh, right. Sorry for getting all fire-up back there.." He gushes.

After learning how hard they work, he absolutely wants to make sure they're fed well everyday! Snacks alone won't sustain them. He knows this for sure.

So he's always cooking them up something, often wanting their opinion on the meals and sandwiches: are they too spicy or not spicy enough?

The same goes for your ghost types, too (especially if you have a Chandelure, Ceruledge, and/or Skeledirge on your team).

But after Kieran becomes the new champion and Crispin takes your rung on the League's ladder..he feels really awful and constantly apologizes for pretty much replacing you.

He should feel good about climbing closer to the top, but he doesn't, as he cried over the possibility of you hating him forever or resigning from the club because of him.

When you confronted him, he tried blaming the onions.

But your Gardevoir--one of the most emotionally-intuitive Pokémon out there--saw through his lie, and you had to reassure him he was still your friend.

You kept telling him you weren't mad....until you almost got mad fr because he wouldn't stop asking if you were 100% sure of that.

To prove it you, your psychic pokemon, and your ghost team all split one of the spiciest sandwiches he's ever made.

By the time it was finished, you were convinced you just learned the move Flamethrower.

Yet seeing that bright smile return to Crispin's face made it worth the agony.

Lacey

She loves hearing that you have a Gardevoir (or just cute ghost Pokémon in general).

If you have a Mimikyuu on your team, that's a plus in her book.

But regardless, she's the first to give you a warm welcome into the Elite Four, explaining the criteria and tests you had to pass in order to be accepted as a member.

Yet even outside of battle, she quickly discovers that your ghosts are still mischievous at best--always playing pranks on her fairies with moves like Phantom Force, Shadow Sneak, Astonish, and Poltergeist.

Ofc they never mean any harm, but when she hears Whimsicott squeal in fright, she's quick to come to its rescue and scold the perpetrator.

If you have a Gengar, it just laughs and mocks them both until it hears you roll up like "that wasn't very nice, y'know...apologize to Lacey and Whimsicott right now, please".

Even if it's a little defiant, a glare from Gardevoir or Hisuian Braviary is enough to make it relent and apologize.

Speaking of whom, seeing an ancient variant of Braviary did frighten Lacey upon first meeting them (especially with their hypnotic-looking faux flaming "eyes").

But over time she grows to like them, seeing how obedient and gentle they are with helping you get you around the Terarium.

If you have any decal on your chair, she'll suggest adding a few more things to make it "cuter". Like stickers of fairy types or a soft pillow for your back.

When you get demoted to the sixth rank in the League, she bought you those exact things to cheer you up, feeling bad that things turned out the way they did

But you expressed zero grudges towards anyone and appreciated her kindness.

Her Granbull always offers his tummy to you should you wanna rest somewhere--even though this makes Braviary a little jealous bc they're supposed to be your favorite resting spot.

Their rivalry is amusing, but Gardevoir often has to come to her fellow psychic type's rescue.

Meanwhile you're just sitting back and snickering at their banter, while poor Lacey begs you not to encourage this behavior.

Amarys

When you both first met, you found her personality rather off-putting, assuming she was doubting your capabilities of being an Elite Four Member despite passing all the tests.

She never seemed happy for you, her face always blank.

Growing up, a lot of people have pitied you, given you odd stares, or thought you would've given up being a Pokémon trainer...and some even asked outright insensitive questions about what happened to you--and seeing how Amarys acted kinda brought some of those ugly memories back to the forefront.

But once she realizes this, she apologizes straightaway for giving you such a bad impression, clarifying that she fully believes in your battling abilities.

Since then, you've formed a better friendship with her.

She asks you respectful questions about your wheelchair (ie if it's made from any strong alloys, how well it gets you around the Terarium's biomes, etc.) and how Gardevoir and Hisuian Braviary aid you in your daily life and listens well.

Learning that you actually battle with ghost types despite the misconception circulating around the school wasn't too surprising.

If anything, Amarys believes that was quite strategic on your part.

It's no wonder you have a lot of victories under your belt.

Even after getting demoted to the sixth rank, she's impressed you're still able to bounce back from such defeat..and that you didn't hold it against Kieran or anybody.

She believes he could learn a lesson or two from you and not take his loss against Florian/Juliana so hard...but knows that's not her place to speak.

#clanask #lotus anon #pokemon x reader #pokemon sv x reader #pokemon scarlet x reader #pokemon violet x reader #indigo disk x reader #pokemon drayton #pokemon kieran #pokemon crispin #pokemon lacey #pokemon amarys #gardevoir #hisuian braviary #disabled reader #headcanons

261 notes · View notes

oharaslove · 6 months ago

Text

HI LOVIEESS!! Hope you enjoy this preview of my first series!! For some reason I love the concept of soulmates (bwoah, some reason, I know why, but let's stay mysterious for a while, haha), so I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it and thinking about it.

word count: 900 summary: What happens when someone who believes no one can love him meets a person who only desires to love and be loved? disclaimer: All the events of this story happen after Spiderman Across the SpiderVerse (more info in Chapter 1) warnings: MiguelxSpider!Reader (also latina), soulmates, eventual smut? (still debating this, not because I don't want to, but my abilities to do so), eventual angst, fluff, injuries, talks about death (I'll update as I go on)

Also, I'll be putting songs in some Chapters, or all of them if I can find music that I find fitting (Even though I am trying to stick to Sleep Token). Anyway, the song to start it all:

𝙋𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬

Earth-928B

Spiderman 2099, Miguel O’hara, the leader of the SpiderSociety, one half of a whole. Nobody knows it, but he possesses an indelible mark in his body. For many, only a simple birthmark, for him, a constant reminder that there is someone out there who is his supposedly other half. The idea so stupid he stopped thinking about it, constantly at least, after he learned the truth about his biological father, Tyler Stone.

In this Earth, in the year 2099, equal to the downfall of the “heroic age” where there were lots of superheroes, it was also the debacle of soulmates. There was an era where everyone was destined to meet the “love of their lives” and live happily ever after. Each person was assigned a match at birth, that was supposed to be their half, together being and feeling complete, represented by a distinctive mark. Only the children of soulmates could posses this “power” or destiny, or as Miguel liked to call it, a curse.

As time went by, the people of Nueva York and all Earth-928B grew tired of waiting for that special person, and as a consequence soulmates started to disappear. For Miguel’s disgrace, Conchata and Tyler Stone were soulmates, which is part of the reason why he hates them so much.

The mere idea of having someone destined to be with him repulsed him. He isn’t opposed to having a family, hence why he took the other Miguel’s place, but after losing Gabriella, he doesn’t trust himself. He isn’t capable of loving again, trusting someone, or so he thinks.

There isn’t a reason why he thinks the universe (or universes) would give him someone to love him unconditionally. Miguel thinks that if his soulmate really exists, they will be like his mother and Tyler, destined to be apart, a love that never was supposed to happen, it would be a mistake, like HE is, in his mind.

Furthermore, he is Spiderman, he has a duty. Not only does he have to keep Nueva York safe, but also prevent the Multiverse from becoming shambles. There is no time to care for someone, there is no time for love. “With great power comes great guilt”, a phrase he will never let down. He knows what he has to do, he is aware of the power he possesses. There is no time to mess around, and there is definitely not a second a day that he can waste trying to find someone who would, NO, will definitely hate him, doesn’t matter if they were bonded together or not.

Even though he tells himself this every sleepless night, there is always a part of his heart or mind that yearns for comfort, for love, or at least, someone who can understand him. He knows it is impossible, or at the very best, improbable, given the fact that his so-called soulmate is probably only a regular human, so she will never understand, but deep in his consciousness, there is hope. Everytime he saves someone he believes he is a step closer, but there is always disappointment. So he drowns himself with work, trying to forget, trying to erase the idea that he was born to belong to someone, but instead fate gifted him with loneliness on this Earth, and in many others.

Earth - 129

Y/n Y/Ln, the only Spiderwoman of Earth-129, the other half of a whole soul. Since you have memory, everyone has told you how important the weird shaped mark you had in your body was. It meant you had a soulmate, like almost everyone in your universe. Soulmates in your universe were sacred, as in Miguel’s, only children of soulmates could possess soulmates, but as the vast majority married and had kids with their own, most people have them.

Obviously, your parents were each other’s soulmates, and you had the opportunity to hear how much they cared and loved each other. As you were growing up, you couldn’t wait to meet your other half, the person who was supposed to understand you like no other, to love you unconditionally.

When you were born, unfortunately, your mother died, which caused your dad great pain. In your Earth, soulmates can feel each other’s pain and strong emotions, so your father felt how your mom slipped out of his grasp. He had hope they would leave this life together, as he didn’t know life without her, but fate had other plans.

Even though this broke your heart, you never stopped looking for your soulmate, and your father never stopped encouraging you.

Now, in your twenties, 28 to be precise, everyone your age you know has met their soulmate. Friends, cousins, everyone!. Your friend was worried for you, he even started to think that something bad happened to your soulmate, because of the weird shape your mark has, but you still have hope.

You’ve never been with anyone, so you don’t know how love feels, well, romantic love, but you know you have a lot to give. You can’t wait for the day you meet him. Every time you save someone during your patrols, you hope that it gets you closer to getting to know your soulmate. But you haven’t had luck yet. You only wish for your friend to be wrong, and your soulmate is somewhere on this Earth. One of these days, you'll meet him, you feel it.

Well, he isn’t on your Earth, is it darling?

Hope you liked it!! Let me know what you think!!

TAGS:

@oscarissac2099 @cupcakeinat0r @greensagephase

#miguel x you #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #spiderman #oharaslove #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 #soulmate au #soulmates #spider reader #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel o hara #soulmate miguel o'hara

70 notes · View notes

yoonia · 8 months ago

Text

the bedroom hymns ● chapter xvi

⟶ Chapter summary | The many layers of mysteries that are present in the home castle are beginning to feel daunting. But the biggest mystery of all may have been about your magic. After your last encounter with Yoongi and finding yourself in a predicament which further questions the secret behind your family’s magic, you try to find ways to find your own solutions to grow stronger, to gain control of your magic, only to constantly being face with one obstacle after another.

⟶ Author’s Note | It took me a while to finish this part, so forgive me for my absence. I’m splitting what was supposed to be the filler in chapter 16 into two separate chapters because there’s going to be a lot of information dump happening and I don’t want to confuse everyone. So please don’t be surprised with the short chapter(s) coming. Thank you for your patience and have fun reading! [Ps. This is highly unedited so I’m sorry if there’s any mistake]

chapter xvi. respite

Quite some time has passed since the first time you began using the magic portals, long since you have arrived in this castle and learned about the existence of magic in this realm, and you are slowly beginning to notice the changes happening with your body.

It seems to you that the more you are using the portals, the easier your body becomes affected by their magic. Just as how you seem to be getting more sensitive to the flow of magic that is a part of the portals.

Returning from Grimm had costed you quite a predicament. Once again, the journey had drained your energy that you slept through the night and nearly woke up late the next morning after your return. Even the palace maids who have been tending to your needs since the day you came to the castle had become so concerned, thinking that perhaps you have gone ill.

It wasn’t until later in the evening when you figured out the reason why you have been feeling a deep fatigue coursing through your body each time you returned from your excursions. Not until the moment the royal physician was brought to see you after a full day of being listless, with barely any energy for you to have a meal.

The royal physician took his time examining your body thoroughly, yet once he deliberated his assessment, you were quickly taken by surprise, not expecting to hear him talk about your mana and how it had everything to do with the reason why you were feeling sluggish and drained.

“It seems to me that you have exhausted your mana. Have you perhaps been using it excessively as of late, Your Highness?”

“I—no, not that I recall. I haven’t done much but study with my tutor and keep myself busy with royal duties,” you simply answered as you laid back against the pillows, refraining from admitting openly that you hadn’t even begun training on how to wield your magic, much less to start getting to know about it at all.

You had no idea how much most of the people within the home castle have learned about you, or if any of them ever knew anything about your previous life at all. Particularly about your life back at The Citadel, back in the human realm where magic didn’t exist. You also had no idea if there was anyone within the castle who may have learned about the family’s magic and the responsibility that had been placed upon you to protect the secret behind the magic.

A part of you wished that you could have said something about it. Because maybe then you could find someone to help you solve the things you had wished to know. To find someone to confide in.

Someone who belonged in the castle, who was trusted by the King himself, instead of confiding to a member of the mercenary army suspected to pose a threat to the empire.

Shaking your head, you forced yourself to stop thinking about this—to stop thinking just how dependent you were becoming to the handsome and mysterious stranger that you probably shouldn’t trust—just as the royal physician shared with you another theory while being oblivious to your trailing thoughts.

“Then perhaps your body is having problems adjusting to the castle. The magic barrier that His Majesty, The King, has placed here is quite strong. It must have been draining your energy as you come in contact with it, or—” the physician stopped himself as he deliberated the issue further while rubbing at his chin. But then he suddenly started shaking his head, as if brushing away those thoughts with his lips curling downward in displeasure.

“No,” he began wondering to himself, brushing away whatever thought crossing through his mind as he murmured, “I doubt that His Majesty’s magic would feed on your mana. The barrier surrounding the castle would require a power source, but I can’t see anyone else other than His Majesty who would be powerful enough to provide such energy.”

That can happen? You couldn’t help but wonder. Has your father’s magic been feeding on your mana?

But that sounds—so terribly wrong.

Just as these thoughts continued to run rampant in your head, a faint tingle ran through your forearm while you were being examined, and you couldn’t help but remember how similar it felt to the sensation coursing through you whenever you walked through the magic portals.

Had it really been the reason? Have you been right for thinking that perhaps the magic portals have been draining your mana, your energy, feeding off your magic that had been lying dormant within you?

Is this why Father had insisted that I only use the portal only once a day and not more, and to not stay any longer than the time limit that he had given?

Or had it been the other way around? What if it has always been my mana which activated those portals, while the keys have only been the medium to help open the doors?

Clearing his throat, the royal physician brought your attention back to him as he gently reassured you, “I will leave you with some remedy and a special potion to help strengthen your mana and help you rest for the night until your body recovers enough. I will also leave a list of nutritions that could be added to your meal. It may help you heal faster if your body receive the proper sustenance needed for your recovery. I shall leave it in the hands of your personal maids so they could hand them to the royal chef.”

Your mind was still stuck in his previous comment and your own assessment of the condition that you found yourself in that you barely paid attention to his words, although you were still able to answer him with a soft murmur, “Thank you, Sir.”

The physician said nothing else after. “In the meantime, please don’t strain yourself too much, Your Highness. You have quite a delicate constitution which may require a lot of care,” he inquired, before softly adding, “I am sure that His Majesty would prefer that you take care of yourself well until he returns home.”

You said nothing other than gratitude to the royal physician as he made his leave, allowing you some privacy and enough time to have your much-needed rest. Yet the silence that you were left with couldn’t stop you from spending the night wondering, thinking back to everything that he said; about your mana being drained without you realising it.

Looking down at your hands as you kept them rested on your lap, you slowly opened your palms. There hadn’t been enough books in the library that could have given you any clue on how to make use of your mana and practice your magic.

You could only figure this out simply because you had tried to look. Out of all the magic books that you had been digging into in the library outside of your tutoring hours, you had found little to nothing that was written about any magic that may conjure portals. At the very least, nothing that seemed similar to the magic that your father had cast in these portals.

And there had been nothing other than the old scriptures you found about ancient fairies and their ability to move between space and time that sounded similar to those portals. Although there were mentions of these ancient beings traveling to many different parts of the realm, even crossing between realms.

But what if there was something in those scriptures that could explain about the source of your father’s magic? Had there been something in those texts that you had missed?

That night, as you slowly drifted into sleep under the effect of the potion that had been given by the physician, you made a promise to yourself to return to those scriptures and learn more about the magic that was written in them. You fell asleep that night feeling hopeful, determined to find the roots of your father’s magic.

Perhaps, with a little more digging, you would find the reason why he had left you with such a huge responsibility of keeping this magic as a secret, while setting things in motion to have you venturing into those portals and to walk across the parts of the world hidden behind them so blindly.

Perhaps, you could also find the answer to one of the biggest secrets that he has been keeping from you and everyone else for years.

The secrets about your mother.

“I might have to show it to you to prove it…”

Yoongi’s voice echoes through your mind as if it bounces against the invisible walls standing all around you.

The words that he gave you seems to have been engraved in your memory ever since the day you met him in Grimm, and they keep haunting you both in your dreams and during your waking hours. It has been a couple of days since, yet it still feels like yesterday when you parted ways with Yoongi in the dark forest of Grimm.

Since then, you have been overcome with a deep feeling of regret.

The regret for not being able to have more time to spend with him. The regret of not being able to catch his sight, to be completely helpless as you watch him getting swallowed under the thick foliage, held back by fear that had a tight grip in your chest.

And you also feel the regret that always comes to haunt you whenever you recall about the offer that he made that day. When he reached out to you, offering to assist you in learning more about your magic. You hate thinking that you might have missed out on a chance to figure out your magic.

But it couldn’t be helped, after all, when your father’s voice—repeating the same words and warnings about how important it was to keep the family’s magic a secret—kept echoing through your head while you were staring at Yoongi’s extended hand which he offered you that day. You had felt the itch to reach out to him, to accept his hand, even if it was only for the sake of feeling the gentle touch of his fingers on yours instead of actually having him help awaken the magic that was lying dormant inside you.

Yet you just couldn’t do it.

And now you are left with the constant wonderings—all the what ifs and what could haves—while the long list of regrets that are still lingering with you becomes the reason why you keep seeing in in your dreams.

The dreams are never the same.

In one dream, you recounted the moment you refused his offer. Only this time, you had stepped away from him at the tavern, choosing to end your time together earlier than what you had intended to so you could escape his attentive eyes. In another, you haven’t even heard the same words spoken by Yoongi before his image vanished right in front of your eyes.

But there was one particular dream that appeared so vividly that you continued to see it even during the daytime, taking over your idle mind with his presence as if you were taken back to that moment, when you sat right across from him with his deep, unwavering gaze locked on yours.

“I might have to show it to you to prove it…”

You never truly understood what he meant by saying those words, but in this dream of yours, none of it mattered. And your father’s voice hadn’t been there to stop you from leaning forward at the table to give him your rapt attention. Your mind was also silent, and the thunderous sound of your heartbeat faded away when you spoke to him,

“How?”

“Give me your hand.”

Time seemed to remain still as you reached out to him, giving him your hand. You barely touched the tips of his fingers when something magical happened; as a bright sparks of silver dust light up between both of your hands, with specks of blue dust erupting the moment you made contact with his skin, and the same tingling sensation that you had often felt from the portals came surging through your arms before settling inside your chest.

Before your mind could ever make sense of what was happening, the light only grew brighter, and everything faded under its blinding glow which later pulled you away from the dream. And as you slowly woke up, finding yourself lying on your bed alone, nothing else remained from the dream, except for the tingles running across your skin which took their sweet time to fade away.

Stepping out of the treasure room, you clutch the golden pocket watch in your palm, feeling victorious that you finally have it in your hand.

You had come to the treasure room right before your afternoon lessons with your tutor, hoping that you would be able to find anything that might be useful for your next trip through the portals. Your father had been right, after all, that the treasure room may provide you with anything that you may need to support your daily activities while you adjust with your new life at the castle.

Like a pocket watch, for example.

Something that is so small and simple, yet crucial for the sake of your safety while you are out there, roaming through any foreign land that the portals are taking you.

Why have I never thought of this before?

You cannot help but wonder as you look down at the ticking watch in your hand, regretting that you didn’t think of getting one in the first place. It could have saved you a lot of trouble if you had.

The last couple of trips you made had been risky, as you kept cutting it too close to the time limit that had been given to you by your father, only missing merely minutes or even seconds before the portal started closing behind you after you slipped back through.

You had nearly gotten into a bigger trouble when you returned from Grimm, almost missing a toe when you barely managed to return to the portal before it closed on you. You blame it to your impulse need of chasing Yoongi into the deep forest when you started to feel like he was slipping away from and disappearing for good.

It was after that incident when you finally learned your lesson and decided that something needed to change. That you would need something to hold onto which may help you to keep up with the time, instead of simply relying on the signs of dusk as a reminder to let you know when it was time to return home.

The idea first came to you after observing Lord Gordan, the royal aide and the head butler of the castle, while he was working on his duties. You had often seen him pulling out a golden watch from the pocket of his suit to help him tell the time, and wondered if it would be something that you could make use of.

After receiving the royal physician’s approval to return to your daily duties this morning, you feel like you are ready to embark on another adventure. With this golden pocket watch in your hand, the magic necklace that had been passed down to you from your late mother, and the dagger hidden under the skirt of your dress, you feel as if you are unstoppable, ready to face anything that may come to your path as you walk through the portal later once your tutoring hours are over.

Now if you only could just find a way to calm the restless thrums of your heartbeat inside your tight chest, then everything would be well. That is all that you could only hope for, at the very least, as you make your way to your tutoring lesson.

Because what better way to find answers other than to gain them straight from the people who are in charge of teaching you everything that is needed to learn as the heir of throne? Who else would know the answers you need, other than your tutors?

“You want to—” Lady Laurel carefully repeats your question. She is looking slightly wary to even voice it out loud, even if it is just the two of you in the library that her voice is lowered when she continues, “—practice using your magic?”

You have only been away from the library for a couple of days while you were resting, only keeping contact with Lady Laurel by corresponding through letters and the books that she had left behind through your personal maids for you to read.

Today would be the first day that you are back with your daily lectures. You could tell from the moment you saw Lady Laurel sitting by the study desk in the library as she waited for you to arrive that she had a lot of things planned out to keep you busy for the day.

But you have come up with your own plan when you marched your way to the library.

For weeks now, Lady Laurel had filled your private lessons with lectures about the fairy tale land to get you to know this new realm a lot more. So far, you have learned about its history, about the kingdoms and the people, even the non-human beings that you may find should you ever have the chance to visit those lands—elves, fairies, werewolves, even human mages—and you have heard about the real events that are the makings behind all the tales known and shared in the human realm.

During those long weeks, Lady Laurel had also been teaching you the basic knowledge of magic; the types of magic that you may encounter and each of their origins, the history behind them, and the ancient spells that have been written in the textbooks that you have found in the library during your solo studying.

She was also the one who first taught you to find a way to identify your mana.

She had mentioned how it would be helpful in the future should you start using your magic, as you would have become familiar to the mana flowing inside you by the time you begin your magic practices. If only she knew with what you have been doing once you were done with her lessons, how you have been using the theories that she had taught you into practice once you were left on your own.

There has been nothing much that Lady Laurel could teach you in her lessons other than the ability to reach within, to feel the presence of your magic and have a good grip on it, to recognise it as a part of yourself instead of something that simply appeared in your body overnight. But your solo practices that you have been doing in the shelter of your bedchamber had taken it a step further, enhancing it until you could make use of it to recognise and then respond to the magic that exists around you.

Just like the way you had used it to respond to the magic in the portals and to recognise Yoongi’s inner mana.

Yet that is just as far as both of you could get. You could tell that there are restrictions that your tutors would need to follow when they are guiding you through your lessons. Because not once had she ever tried to do more; whether it was to help you unleash the magic inside you, nor to use it by conjuring the magic for a purpose.

But you want more. You have been ready for more. And after your last encounter with Yoongi, you have gained the courage to express your desire to learn how to properly use your magic more actively. To learn how to expel its powers and make use of it for your own benefit.

And that is exactly what you said to your tutor the moment you joined her at the library’s study area, as you were taking the seat right across from her as you usually would during your tutoring hours.

Keeping your eyes on Lady Laurel, you try to gauge her reaction. Even from the moment you had first thought of bringing this up to her, you had expected to have an intense response from her, and for her to straight up refuse your request.

And you have been prepared to deal with whatever the outcome may be, knowing that you are not going to back down that easily.

“Yes, that is exactly what I said,” you answer her with your chin raised, feeling determined about taking the next step into learning how to use your magic. “I want you to teach me how to unlock my magic and help me practice using it, instead of just trying to feel it. Because I already know that it’s there, lying almost dormant inside me without me knowing how to use it to protect the people who are dear to me, which is something that I want to be able to do.”

These thoughts have been running through your head for the past few days while you were being holed up in your bedchamber under the royal physician’s restrictions. The feeling of want and the deep curiosity you have to know more about your magic, to be able to reach within yourself so you could somehow wield it so that you could make good use of it, has been growing stronger that you can no longer deny it.

That need had been lingering in your thoughts that it was almost impossible for you to remain idle during your bedrest, and you had then taken the risk to secretly try to find ways to unlock your magic on your own.

You just couldn’t help it, after all. When you had nothing else to fill your time with aside from watching the scenery outside of your windows and reading the pages of your books, until neither could easily calm the havoc happening inside your mind. So you stole the short chances you could get between the hours you were given to rest under the heavy medication and the constant flurry of lady maids coming and going into your room as they attended to your needs.

Using the vivid images of your dreams, the basic knowledge of magic that you learned through your lectures, and the small facts about your magic that you learned from Yoongi as your guidance, you had spent your quiet nights trying to get in touch with the magic that was believed to be coursing through your body.

You tried everything you could; from using your necklace to see if it could bring out the mana inside you, to copying Yoongi’s action which you saw in your dreams, by placing your hands together to see if it could bring out your magic.

But no matter how hard you tried to concentrate and tried to cast your magic out through your fingertips, nothing seemed to be happening. Nothing more but a surge of energy crawling its way from your palms, through your fingers, stopping at each tip, before they vanished into your veins.

And you continued to try, until there was nothing left but the exhaustion rolling through your body and the missing warmth of Yoongi’s hand which your body seemed to have memorised from that day and what you are now craving to feel the most.

Having to openly ask your tutor for her help had been your last resort, knowing that she has her limits to what kind of guidance that she could offer you in learning about magic. Yet you had every reason to harbour some hope that she would somehow comply with your request.

Oftentimes, whenever you would try to inquire about any specific theories to learn about during your lectures, Lady Laurel would have embraced it—she has always loved your curiosity and your eagerness to learn—and grabbed any chance that she could have to share any knowledge about the realm that you were still struggling to understand.

This time, however, she seems uneasy to hear your request. Not because she is reluctant to teach you about magic, as she has been doing so ever since the first day she started her lessons. What seems to make her reluctant about this is the fact that you are asking her to help you learn about your magic.

With a remorseful sigh, Lady Laurel leans forward in her seat. Reaching out across the desk, she places a gentle grip on your wrist. “Your Highness, I’m sure that you are curious to learn more about your magic,” she begins with a polite smile, “But His Majesty had specifically inquired—”

Before she can finish her words, you immediately cut her off.

“I know what my father said”—as you have repeatedly said each time I tried to bring this topic up before, you silently wonder with a frown—”but His Majesty has yet to return, while here I am, feeling like my soul is slowly being sucked out of my body without understanding why. Maybe if I could control my magic, things will be different and I’d know how to prevent something like this from happening again.”

Through the letters that you have been exchanging with your tutor, you had explained everything that the royal physician had relayed on you about your condition.

At first, you simply mentioned about your draining mana in your letter to try and ask for her opinion to see if this was something that could possibly happen. Without mentioning the secret doors and the magic portals in your letter, you questioned her if there was anything that you may have come in contact with which might be able to drain your mana without you ever realising it.

The response that you were given with hadn’t been enough to answer your curiosity. But there was something in her letter which caught your attention, when she explained in a rather plain sentence—

“There are certain elements that have been built all over the castle, each one imbued with His Majesty’s magic. Perhaps, with His Majesty being gone, these elements have been trying to find a new source of energy. I have highly suspected that your magic might be similar to that is of the King’s, which made it possible for the energy around you to mistakenly drain your mana to fill whatever they are lacking.”

“You know very well the reason why I would have to refuse taking over your magic training, Your Highness,” Lady Laurel regretfully says as she pulls back. You hate how genuine she seems to be as she is saying all of this, about the regret of not being able to fulfil your wishes, as she is being held under the King’s orders.

It wouldn’t be until later when you notice the unspoken words hidden perfectly in her response, that she isn’t refusing your request because she isn’t capable of doing so. Because she is capable. But she is also bound under your father’s rules when it comes to your lessons.

“All I can do without His Majesty’s guidance would be to guide you to become in tune with the mana that you have inside you, preparing you for the actual training that you are about to have under the King’s guidance himself,” she continues, and just like that, she turns to pick up the guidance textbook and the set of candles that she would use during these sessions, ready to start another one of her practices that she has been introducing you as of late. “We can continue to do that today and see how far ahead we can go this time. The last time we did—”

Once again, you cut off her words before she could finish talking. “The last time we had our lesson, you were helping me identify my mana and how to channel onto it so I could feel its flow inside me.”

And to recognise it without exposing your magic form. Something that you have caught on after a while and seems to be one of the main tasks given to her when your father passed down the duty of tutoring you while he is gone. But you say nothing of this.

After all, if you are trying to convince her to change her mind and sneak behind the King’s orders to fulfil your wishes, the last thing you should do is to show her that you have figured out all of her cards—the little tricks that she had played to skirt around the subject of your magic.

You may never figure out the reason behind all the secrecy about the family’s magic, or why your father would prevent anyone from helping you in unlocking your magic without his presence. But oddly enough, the more you think about it, the more you understand why your father would take such measures.

The magic that he uses to create the portals wouldn’t have been a regular kind of magic. You can tell that it is something special, something that your father has treasured for a long time, even before you ever came into the world.

But would your magic be anything similar to what your father has, just like what Lady Laurel previously claimed? Would you be able to create your own portal one day to find your own escape?

As if answering your question, Lady Laurel gently speaks to you, “I know that you are curious, and the lessons that you have been getting so far no longer seems to adequate to your needs, as you have gotten enough of the basic knowledge that you could gain in such a short amount of time. All I can ask of you is for you to be patient for now. His Majesty will be returning soon, and he will be able to guide you with your magic and answer a lot of your questions.”

As much as you hate backing down, you realise that you have no other choice—at this moment, at least—but to give up, and follow your tutor’s advice.

“I suppose, I can be a little more patient,” you finally say to her with a sigh.

Your acceptance seems to please her, as a smile grows on Lady Laurel’s face. She beams as she rings the bell to summon the maids for a serving of tea and snacks to accompany your lesson, just like always. And while in waiting, she continues to set up all the books of magic that she would need for your lesson, followed by lighting up the set of candles that she has laid out in front of you.

“Let’s continue with our practice on your focus today,” Lady Laurel says to you as she returns to her seat while gesturing you to keep your eyes on the flickering flames. The same way that she has always guided you during your focus training.

This practice might be far off from helping to unlock your magic, yet you still have to admit that this practice may have been quite helpful so far. Because it was through this practice that you had inadvertently figured out one of the skills that you have developed ever since you started learning about magic.

The skill which allows you to trace and identify others’ mana; be it within a person or a place.

The same skill that you revealed to Yoongi the last time you were together.

As you try to empty your mind and focus on the flickering candlelights, the dejected feeling that came over you earlier is slowly being lifted when you remember that this day is still far from ending, and you still have other tutors to turn to.

So you try to make it through the end of your lecture, doing your best with your simple training, Even if it only means that you will be walking out of here in the afternoon with sharpened focus. Perhaps it might be able to help you later by preventing you from falling asleep too soon if you ever decide to try to unlock your magic on your own again.

99 notes · View notes