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damneddamsy · 1 month ago

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second sight | cregan stark x oc (part vii)

a/n: today on the fluffiest of Stark fluff, Claere goes on a vacation, Cregan rides a sky-cat of a dragon and nearly dies

The brisk winds howled through the open window like a mournful cry, and outside, from the distant courtyard, the sound of Luna's thunderous roar cut through it all—less of a roar to strike fear and more of a longing cry for her rider. It was a sound that used to evoke awe and power toward the open skies; now, it only underscored the emptiness extending between the Lord and Lady of Winterfell, and everything else.

Claere sat by the ledge, uncaring of the chill that bit through her thin gown, her chin resting on her arms. She watched Luna far away, the great white dragon shifting, discontented, wings twitching with the desire to take flight. Her violet eyes shimmered, tears welling at the corners, though none fell. Being a Targaryen meant that a dragon was more than a mere beast. To her, Luna was everything—a best friend, a daughter, a sister, a mother, a reflection of her soul in flesh and flame. Blood from her blood, fire from her fire, they were bound in a way that no human could ever understand.

The ache inside her mirrored that of her dragon. They were both grounded now, for nigh on a week, bound by the silence and influence of Cregan’s absolute command.

Cregan noticed her before he spoke, lingering in the doorway, watching as her delicate frame seemed even smaller against the vastness of the window. She was morning mist, exquisite and evasive, even in her sorrow—more so, perhaps, for the sadness that clung to her like a delicate veil. The faint sunrise caught the tear-stained glint in her eyes, the pale sheen of her skin, her braided silver hair framing her face like a crown of misery.

His heart wrested into itself. He had seen her like this once before—when she had been a stranger to him, when he first tried to coax her to eat, to bring her into the warmth of his home. It felt like a lifetime ago, though the same sadness hung over her now, albeit for different reasons.

Silently, he approached, his footsteps careful on the stone floor. He didn’t announce himself; he knew she’d sensed him long before he arrived.

"Good morrow, love," he greeted her softly, voice low, though he received no answer at first. He undid his cloak to lay it behind a chair. "Slept well?"

She didn’t turn, didn’t flinch, as per usual, her focus fixed on restless Luna below. The chill seemed not to touch her.

Cregan’s gaze shifted to the tray laid out nearby, a modest feast meant for two. He had hoped to tempt her with familiar comforts, a simple offering to break the silence between them.

“I thought we could break our fast together,” he ventured, a hint of hope in his tone.

"I’m not feeling up to it." Her voice was quiet, a mere breath against the wind, but there was no malice in it—only exhaustion.

"Don't punish your appetite for your temper with me," he advised, reaching across the table to caress the back of her head. "Dreamy girl."

She leaned her head away. "I do not have a temper."

He chuckled. "Very well, your grace."

He moved beside her, unbothered by the refusal, his eyes drifting to the spread of food laid out. A variety of her favourites: ruby apples from the capital, freshly churned butter spread over oat bread, honey and blackberry jam, all carefully selected for her. He gave a slight smile and plucked a little lemon posset from the tray, a rare luxury, one of the few delicacies he knew she held fondly from her days in King’s Landing.

“Do you remember this?” he asked, placing the pastry near her. “I had it recreated by the cooks—increasingly annoyed them until they got it right.”

For the first time, Claere turned her head, her eyes falling on the delicacy before flicking to him. The vaguest spark of something—amusement, maybe—crossed her features, but her words were far from sweet.

“Sweetsleep this time, my lord?” she asked, her tone laced with the sharp edge of memory.

The barb of her accusation cut deep, reminding him of the last time—of how he’d slipped the essence of nightshade into her drink to help her sleep, of the guilt that had haunted him since.

But he indulged her grudge, forcing a wry smile to his lips. “I'm afraid it's only lemon and cream, some sugar,” he said lightly, leaning into her. “I have learned better than to drug a dragon to sleep.”

"You're a funny man," she said, surly.

"I try my best."

She said nothing more, but to his relief, she reached for the candied slice of lemon over the posset, without hesitation, and scooped a small serving into her mouth. She chewed slowly, turning back to the window, still impassive, though her silence felt less hostile than it had in days.

Delighted, he plucked a few cranberries and placed them on her plate, slathered a thick layer of jam over the bread and urged it to her mouth.

She squinched, turning away. "I'm no whingeing babe."

“There are worse fates than having me as your meal steward,” he teased, bringing the bread closer.

“Eat it yourself, if you’re so proud of it,” she muttered, pushing the bread back to him.

Cregan dropped the bread onto her plate with a quiet huff and brushed the crumbs off his hands with exaggerated impatience. She gave him a sidelong glance as he walked to the chair beside her, pushing his own plate away.

"I won't eat either then," he declared, settling into his seat with a resolute frown.

Claere sighed, casting him a brief stare, her sweetly obvious annoyance softening, though just barely.

“Stubborn northerner,” she mumbled under her breath, her fingers resuming their idle tracing of the stone ledge.

Cregan leaned back, arms crossed, watching her with wary purpose, a flicker of a smile barely contained at the edges of his lips. “If we both waste away, who’ll keep the lords at bay? Or shall we leave Winterfell to your dragon's mercy?”

Her eyes flicked to his, a fleeting vulnerability cracking through her cold demeanour. She said nothing, but after a lengthy pause, she reached for the jam bread, biting into it without looking at him. Bite after bite until it disappeared.

Stifling his laughter, Cregan joined her side by the window, his arms resting on the ledge beside hers, though his gaze remained fixed on her rather than the courtyard below. He couldn’t help but observe her closely—the delicate lines of her face, the way the sun caught in the silver strands of her hair, the way her lips pressed together, lost in thought. She looked better, eyes alive with violet lustre, healthier now that she was sleeping again, but the distance between them had only grown.

Cregan’s gaze drifted down, his hand instinctively reaching for her side, a gentle brush of fingers over the fabric where he knew the wound lay beneath. He lifted her tunic just enough to check the bandage, his fingers ghosting over the bare skin, where pale scars were knitting around the bruised edges. She barely flinched, but he felt her inhale, the subtle tension rippling through her at the touch. He could see the bruises fading, the wound healing, yet something in her still seemed fragile to him—like glass forged too thin.

For a long moment, he simply rested his hand there, his warmth seeping through to her skin. Soon, he replaced his touch with his lips, pressing it there, as if chasing away the pain.

“It’s mending well,” he murmured, more to himself than to her, though his gaze never left her face.

He reached out, almost hesitant, brushing a loose curl from her temple. That distracting, unfamiliar, sweet perfume wafted from it; he always wondered what it was. No flowers or fruits of Westeros had borne that scent.

“You know,” he began, his voice gentle, “I only forbade you from flying north of the Wall. The skies beyond Winterfell are still yours.”

She remained quiet, her fingers tracing the rim of the weathered stone beneath her arm, but her eyes stayed on the horizon. The thought of Luna still lingered in her mind, but so did the fear—the fear of what would happen if she gave in if she let herself ride again, let herself be consumed by the thoughts of what lay beyond the Wall.

She let out a sigh. “What good is flying if it only starves her more?”

“We have an abundance of harvest. Luna’s hunger won’t tear this place apart,” he countered softly. “But your silence might.”

Claere’s lips parted, a breath of disbelief escaping her. She glanced at him momentarily, the softness in her gaze returning—wounded but filled with love she couldn’t voice.

Her slender hand lifted, fingers spreading open as if cupping something fragile, something long gone.

“When Luna hatched,” she began, her voice distant, “she was small enough to rest in my palm. I used to carry her with me, perched on my shoulder like my little protector, curled into my hair while I slept, watching over me.”

Claere’s eyes shifted to the woods beyond, where Luna prowled like a moving mountain, her growls echoing to the castle. She extended her arm toward the dragon, her fingers curling slightly as if trying to hold that immense creature from afar, to fit her once more into her hand. A wistful smile ghosted across her lips, barely there.

“But she grew… and too fast. By the time I was six, she was larger than Syrax, with white wings wide enough to block out the sun. I never spent a day apart from her. Not once.” Her voice lowered, and she dropped her hand. “And now…”

She trailed off, unable to finish the thought. It hung between them, the significance of their distance bearing down on Cregan.

He watched her, his brow furrowed, discomfort knotting in his chest, wishing for an answer he could not seem to give. There was a pain in her words, a longing he couldn’t soothe with talk of duty or love. She had always been more than a wife or a lady to him; she was fire itself, unbound and untamed. But that fire was darkening, flickering behind her impassive mask.

He could not tell her what he had seen in her sleepless nights—the agonies that had hollowed her, leaving her a shell of the woman he once knew. The hysterical way she used to tear at her hair, crying out in the darkness for things she would not speak of in the light. No, he couldn’t bear to tell her those things. Not now, when she was finally starting to pull herself back from that abyss. It was better she stayed in the dark about his fears.

Cregan straightened, unwilling to let this silence continue. He needed to act; to pull her from the depths she seemed to be sinking into once again. He had been a Lord long enough to know that sometimes it was better to take action when words failed.

“I think…” His voice was measured as if considering his words carefully. “I think perhaps Winterfell has kept you in its guard for too long. A change of scenery might be what you need.”

Claere glanced at him. “A change of scenery?”

He nodded, meeting her gaze with quiet resolve. “Castle Cerwyn. It’s only a few hours on horseback. The old Lord Cerwyn was a second father to me, and his son—well, he’s closer to a brother. It’s a smaller hold, warmer, quieter. We could ride there. Bring Luna with us. Let her stretch her wings over something other than these walls.”

There was a pause, and then, in a softer tone, he added, “And it might help you find some peace… beyond what the Wall takes from you.”

Her lips thinned, not quite a smile, but there was no outright refusal in her eyes. She turned back to the horizon, watching Luna flap her mighty wings below. They could nearly feel the snow and winds she buffeted out from so far off.

“Castle Cerwyn,” she repeated, the name sounding foreign on her tongue. “I wonder what awaits me. More Northern lords suspicious of my sanity and dragon?”

“A kind hearth,” he said simply, his tone warm but insistent. “A quieter place to breathe, to think. And Wolfswood meadows wide enough for you to fly as high as you wish, without fear of where you’ll land.”

At the mention of flying, Claere’s eyes sparkled. He saw it—the briefest spark of yearning. She still longed for the wind, for the liberation that came with it, but it was evident something plagued her, something more than just Luna’s hunger.

Cregan’s hand lingered on her arm, his thumb grazing the edge of her sleeve, and though she didn’t turn toward him, she didn’t pull away either. Her gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon.

“Luna’s not the only one who’s gone too long without a proper meal,” Cregan rasped, his voice low and wanting, fingers gently sliding down to capture hers. His grip was firm but familiar, and his thumb stroked over her palm.

Claere let out a soft sigh, her brow furrowing as if she wanted to resist him, but her grip instinctually softened.

“You’ve gone past bearing, husband,” she muttered, trying to conceal the betrayal in her own hand that curled around his fingers.

Cregan leaned in closer, pressing his shoulder to hers, nudging softly. “A few leagues southwest of Castle Cerwyn,” he murmured, “is the Bay of Ice.”

Claere’s brow quirked ever so slightly, but she said nothing.

He continued, undeterred, his thumb still tracing circles on the back of her hand. “The waters are full of sealife… the kind Luna would love.” His voice was tempting, playful even. “I’d wager she’s never tasted anything quite like it.”

“She likes her meals well-cooked,” Claere replied, still distant, though her lips twitched upward. “She’s no sea dragon of Driftmark.”

“A dragon’s appetite has more range than we think, my princess. Fish, seals; they’ll do for a feast. You need only give her the chance.”

Claere turned to him, raising her brow. “You mean to tempt me with seafood, Lord Stark?”

Cregan grinned wide, his hand leaving hers to brush against her cheek, gently tucking it around her waist. “I mean to tempt you with the skies. And perhaps a bit of seal for Luna. The fresh air might do more than you know, then perhaps you’ll remember why you belong in the sky, not grounded here.”

Claere’s lips tensed, torn between her anger and the pull he had over her. “You’re more unreasonable than I imagined.”

“Possibly,” Cregan murmured, brushing a kiss to her temple, “but you’re still here.”

Claere exhaled, her resistance weakening as her fingers brushed the edge of his leather armour, her head leaning into his touch. She didn’t want to give in, but his warmth had a way of unravelling her walls. The thought of Luna and the open skies tugged at her, the hunger of her dragon like a quiet whisper in the back of her mind.

She finally turned her head, her gaze locking with his. “You’d risk the wrath of my dragon for a taste of the sea?”

Cregan smiled. “I’d risk far worse for you.”

Or perhaps he had spoken too soon.

The King in the North had faced many fears in his life, but nothing quite like the trepidation that settled in his gut now. He had vanquished his foes and withstood the bitterest winters, but the thought of mounting Luna—akin to her ancestor, Balerion the Black Dread—wore at his composure. He had never been afraid of beasts, direwolves or bears, yet here he was, feeling less a man and more prey in her amber gaze.

Luna was massive, far larger than he had truly reckoned. From a distance, Luna seemed a marvel; up close, she was a force of nature, a leviathan of Valyrian legend, a living mountain. Her scales glimmered pearlescent, like snow itself, but the beauty of her glistening hide belied the danger in every shift of her sinewy muscles, every glint of her amber eyes. Her wings were half-furled, like banners of war, and her teeth—gods, her longsword-like teeth—could rend the gates of Winterfell if she chose.

Cregan had seen Claere mount the beast with the same effortless grace as a songbird landing on a familiar branch, but now, standing before her, the very idea seemed mad. When he had agreed to ride on Luna to Castle Cerwyn, he had imagined it to be a piece of piss. But such was the conceit of Northmen; if he backed away or failed, he would never let himself live it down.

"Lykiri," he rasped under his breath with a palm stretched out, the one word of Valyrian he had committed to memory, praying it held the same calming power as when Claere said it. Perhaps Luna would smell her rider on him and go easy.

The dragon rose to her lasting glories, a low, thundering growl vibrating through her chest, and Cregan felt it in the marrow of his bones. She lowered her mighty head towards him, her crown of spikes and horns juddering, her jaws unhinging just enough to reveal rows of gleaming, deadly teeth. An inferno awakened from within her throat, ready to engulf him.

He could nearly hear his instincts begging him to turn and flee, sprint for the cover of the trees, and curse himself for ever stepping near this thing.

But he stood rooted in place, blood rushing wildly in his veins. Whether it was his pride or his love for Claere that anchored him, he wasn’t certain.

And then, from behind him, that voice—gentle but commanding, laced with a soft, knowing giggle.

“Lykiri, Luna. Laehossa ynot,” Claere said, the sound flowing from her lips in flawless Valyrian, like an old cradlesong soothing an anxious child. Be calm, Luna. Eyes on me.

The influence was instantaneous. Luna’s growl ceased, her jaws closing with a quiet snap, and her massive form seemed to settle into the ground, though her beady eyes still lingered on Cregan with wary regard.

“Bisa daor sagon ēza,” she murmured. This is not your enemy.

Claere approached her dragon with graceful ease, stepping in front of Cregan as if to shield him from any lingering suspicion Luna might harbour. Her dragon-riding leathers, much like the ones he had seen on her queen mother, were regal and sleek—grey furs and blue, tailored to fit her form, with high collars and silver fastenings that gleamed in the cold light. The cloak billowed behind like her own wings, a living emblem of her Targaryen bloodline.

"Gōntan ao bōsa syt nyke tolī, gevie Luna? Ēza ñuha valzȳrys ivestragī ao merbugon?" Her voice was soft, the words lilting and musical, almost tender. It was as though she spoke not to a beast but to a dear friend, a sister. Did you miss me too, beautiful Luna? Has my husband let you starve?

Luna’s growls turned into gentle rumblings, deep in her chest, as she drooped her massive head toward Claere. The dragon’s enraged eyes quieted, and her nostrils flared in recognition as she nudged her rider, a deep, affectionate sound escaping her throat.

"Issi ao sȳrkta sir," she whispered. You are healing well.

Claere raised her hand to Luna’s snout, fingers tracing the sharp ridges of her scales, and in response, Luna’s wings fluttered, that sent a ripping tide through the air.

Cregan stood there, awestruck. His wife, no taller than one of Luna’s fangs, looked like a mere speck of snow in front of the dragon’s mountainous form. Yet, in Claere’s presence, Luna preened like a giant kitten under her mistress’s touch. As Claere’s fingers journeyed down the spikes along the dragon’s throat, inspecting the long scarring wounds, Luna roared in what Cregan could only describe as bliss. He had never seen such a creature so utterly tamed, so devoted.

"Ssh," she shushed, giggling. She rested her forehead against the dragon's hide, breathing slowly. "Ivestragī īlva sōvegon arlī, ñuha riña." Let us fly again, my girl.

That smile Claere wore—for all his jokes and sarcasm, she had never smiled at him like that. Not before the Wall's shadow had held her prisoner or the morning after they'd made love. It was especially for her pet. He found himself growing jealous of that beast.

“She won’t bite,” Claere called out to him over her shoulder, amusement bright in her eyes. “Unless you give her reason to.”

“You don’t inspire much confidence, love,” Cregan grumbled, eyeing the dragon’s teeth again.

Claere tilted her head, the corners of her mouth lifting in that happier smile. “She knows you. She just doesn’t understand why you’re still standing there like a frightened little doe.”

“I'm no doe or little,” Cregan countered, though the firmness in his voice faltered under the pressure of Luna’s stare.

“You seem like a man who wants to run away,” Claere teased and held out a hand to beckon him. “Come close, wolf. She won’t let you mount her from there.”

Cregan’s brow furrowed as he stepped cautiously toward Luna’s side. The dragon shifted, her enormous wings stretching slightly, causing a gust of wind to blow through the woods. Her amber eyes locked onto him, and Cregan could swear they were measuring his worth.

“You are certain she won’t eat me?” he asked dryly, not quite hiding the edge in his voice. “She’s been starving for a week, and I’m just the right size for supper.”

Claere laughed, palming her mouth, a sweet dulcet that was full of life, he swore a winter rose stood to bloom by her feet.

Cregan eventually stood beside her, too late to question his choices, and the towering beast dwarfed him entirely. Claere had already started to climb up the ropes and nets affixed to the saddle on Luna’s back with the practised grace of someone who had done this a thousand times.

He, on the other hand, felt immobilised, staring at the sheer size of the creature he was about to mount. If the gods were real, now would be the time to give him hope.

“Do you need a hand, Lord Stark?” Claere called down, her voice still holding that sweet laugh.

“I can manage,” Cregan replied sternly, though as his hand grasped the first rope, he doubted his words. The first Stark to ride a dragon, he thought. He would not make a fool of himself.

It took every bit of his strength to pull himself up the ropes, feeling Luna’s immense heat and powerful muscles shift beneath him. The dragon made a thrumming sound—half-growl, half-sigh—and Claere stroked her, speaking softly.

“Luna, jaelagon,” she nearly sang out. Luna, wait.

Finally settling behind her on the saddle, Cregan exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I didn’t think I’d survive long enough to make it up here,” he muttered, his voice thick with relief.

Claere turned about to face him, her silver hair catching the sunlight. “She likes you, though I’m not sure why.”

“Perhaps because I’m keeping her friend well-fed,” he quipped, his arms instinctively wrapping around her waist as Luna began to rise, wings readying for flight.

She laughed softly, a sound he didn’t often hear from her. “Maybe. Or perhaps because she knows I’d never let her eat you.”

Cregan’s grip tightened as Luna crouched, her wings stretching wide in preparation, leathern scales creaking like taut sails. The ground seemed to tremble beneath them, but Claere was unfazed, completely at ease atop the creature that could so easily rain ruin and destruction over cities. Cregan, meanwhile, could only marvel at her fearlessness, this strange and beautiful woman who, for all her quiet rage and somber smiles, steered a force of nature with nothing more than a whisper.

“You look as though you’re debating jumping off,” Claere teased again, turning her head slightly to catch a glimpse of his tensed face. “Still uncertain?”

“Aye,” he muttered, not entirely making a jest. “But I trust you.”

Her violet eyes softened, and the distance between them bridged for a brief moment. He pressed his lips over her ear, kissing her deeply.

And with a sharp Valyrian command—"Sōvēs, Luna!"—Luna leapt into the sky, her wings beating against the cold air. Fly, Luna!

They scaled up higher and higher, the icy winds biting at Cregan's face as the ground became a distant blur below. The sheer speed, the strength in every beat of Luna’s wings, made his heart thunder. He understood in that moment what it truly meant to ride a dragon. It was more than flight—it was dominion, unchallenged and absolute. The Targaryens didn’t just ride beasts—they commanded the very essence of freedom itself.

Beyond him, Luna let out an explosive roar that echoed into the heavens, a cry not of fury but of pure exhilaration. It reverberated through his chest, drowning out everything but the sound of the wind tearing past them.

And in front of him, Claere—his ever-composed, lady wife—was not the woman bound to Winterfell or its solemn halls. She became unrecognizable. Wild, untamed, she moved with Luna as if they were one. He could see the sheer ecstasy in her, an exuberance that was unburdened by duty, unchained from her past.

Claere twisted her head back to him with a grin, her silver hair whipping across her face. “Still believe you can handle it?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, she twisted a rein around her wrist and leaned forward, and Luna suddenly plummeted. The world spun in a violent spiral, clouds swivelling as they dived. His grip tautened, and a growl escaped his throat—half terror, half awe.

“Claere!” he roared, though the rush of air stole his voice.

But there was no fear in her. She simply laughed along, steering Luna suavely.

His stomach lurched as they hurtled toward the earth, but just as quickly, Luna swooped, her massive wings spreading to catch the wind and slow them to a smooth glide. Cregan couldn’t stop himself. The shout of fear turned into something else—an uncontrollable whoop of excitement that burst from his lips. This was living, this was it. He threw back his head, letting out a deep, throaty laugh, adrenalin flooding his veins.

Still breathless, Luna glided the clouds at a leisurely pace, and Cregan curved his arms around Claere's midsection, holding her closer.

"I think I’d rather be on a horse next time,” he breathed into her hair, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed his words.

Claere twisted in the saddle, her smirk full of mischief. “You sound much braver with both feet planted, my lord.”

He barked a laugh, despite himself. “You scared the sense out of me.”

Her smile only widened, and for a moment, as they drifted across the sky, she seemed like the girl she might’ve been if things had been different—before duty, loss, and impressions. It struck him, how young she truly was, how young they both were. Six and ten, nine and ten. Merely children who had grown too fast for expectations. But that was the way of their world—of power, of society, of tradition, of ambition, of titles—that weighed heavy long before they could even begin to understand them.

Luna tilted her wings gently, and they coasted toward the golden horizon, irrevocable souls entwined with the wind.

The snow had melted by the time they neared Castle Cerwyn, the old stone fortress standing strong against the sprawling landscape. The castle, though smaller than Winterfell, carried the same powerful significance—an imposing sight against the bare, snow-swept hills. The black-and-silver banner of House Cerwyn—a crowned sword on a dark field—flapped fiercely in the wind.

Cregan’s eyes darted to the men waiting in the courtyard, their breath misting in the frigid air, and at the forefront stood Lonnel Cerwyn, tall, dark and broad, his thick furs making him look even more massive. His pale eyes, like chips of ice, were locked on them, his bearded face twisted into what looked like a permanent scowl.

As they dismounted, Luna’s massive form cast a shadow across the courtyard, her silver-and-pearl scales glinting against the sky. The dragon huffed, her breath steaming as she lowered her head, watching the newcomers with predatory eyes. Lord Cerwyn, his gaze moving from the dragon to Claere and then back to Cregan, strode forward with conscious steps, not wanting to agitate the beast.

“You’re late, Stark,” Cerwyn barked, his voice booming across the courtyard, rough as the northern cold itself. "Thought you’d flown off south, or maybe you’ve forgotten how to ride anything with four legs."

Cregan smirked as he helped Claere down from Luna’s saddle, although she didn't need it, his hand briefly resting on her lower back. She lingered near the dragon, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings as she edged closer to Luna’s side for comfort.

"No dragon's taken my wits yet, Cerwyn," Cregan said, unable to suppress a laugh. "I had half a mind to see if your lot’s finally learned what manners look like."

Cerwyn’s scowl deepened for a heartbeat, then cracked as he let out a deep laugh that could have shaken the very walls. He seized Cregan in a bear hug, slapping his back with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs.

"Manners, eh? If you’ve brought them with you, they’ll freeze before they reach the hall!"

Cregan chuckled, pulling back. "Some things never change. You’re still uglier than pig shit."

"Aye, but at least I’m not riding dragons, you mad cunt." Cerwyn’s grin widened as he looked past Cregan to Claere, his gaze gentling a fraction.

Turning his attention to her, Cerwyn’s mirth faded into something more respectful, though his northern bluntness remained. He bowed before her and shot her an exaggerated wink.

"You’ve made quite the entrance, Your Grace. No Targaryen has set foot in these halls—until today. Castle Cerwyn is all yours."

Claere, standing beside a rumbling Luna, felt the weight of his gaze. She inclined her head, her fingers briefly grazing the dragon's hide for comfort.

"Lord Cerwyn," she greeted quietly, her voice even, but there was a reluctance in her stance. "It’s an honour."

Cerwyn’s eyes flicked to Luna, the massive beast dwarfing the entire castle, and then back to Claere. “An honour? No, my lady, the honour is mine.” He took a step closer, his tone shifting to high earnest. “And I thank you for the Glass Gardens. Your gift will feed not only Winterfell but all of us in the hard seasons to come.”

Claere dipped her head in a bare curtsey, her eyes flickering with uncertainty, though she spoke evenly. "The North will need all its strength, Lord Cerwyn. Winter is coming."

Lonnel regarded her for a moment longer before turning back to Cregan with a knowing grin. “You never cease to surprise me, you gruff bastard. So how did you manage to charm the princess with all your brooding?”

Cregan crossed his arms, raising a brow. "Hardly a charm—more like persistence."

Lonnel snorted, amused. “Wore her down, did you? Poor lass.” He glanced at Claere, who gave a small, almost imperceptible smile.

Cregan chuckled, but his gaze drifted briefly to Claere, sensing her unease in the bustling courtyard. She stood poised but quiet, her hands occasionally brushing Luna’s scales as though seeking solace from the dragon’s proximity.

“Come on, then,” Lonnel waved them toward the castle gates, his grin widening as he added in a low tone, “before the snow buries us all.”

As they moved forward, the men of Cerwyn’s hall bowed deeply to Cregan, murmuring their respects with “Lord Stark,” while their gazes flickered in curiosity toward Claere. She received more nods and soft murmurs of “my princess” and “my lady” than she ever had at Winterfell, though the gestures only seemed to accentuate how out of place she still felt. She bowed her head in return, her hands folding neatly at her waist, but her silence remained. Cregan kept her by his side, not pressing her to speak, knowing well enough that she would adjust on her own time. For now, she was still the strange Valyrian witch of the North, standing tall and composed despite the swirl of hesitation beneath.

“We’ve plenty of meat and wine,” Lonnel added, clapping Cregan on the shoulder once more. “Though if you’re lucky, Stark, I’ll keep the jests about you riding the White Dread to a minimum.”

As the sky darkened above the Wolfswood, Cregan and Lonnel sat beneath the shelter of towering pines, just at the edge of a wide valley. Their breath misted in the cold air, and the sounds of the night around them blended into a quiet symphony of rustling branches and distant wolf howls. The hunting had long been set aside, and now they sat by the fire, its flickering light casting shifting shadows against the trees as they lifted their horns of ale, hands near-freezing in the brisk night.

Lonnel took another swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze shifting to the horizon beyond. He shook his head, casting a sly glance at Cregan, his mouth tugging into a smirk.

"By the gods, Stark, you’ve gone and done it. Brought dragon's blood into your hearth. Tell me—what’s the princess like when that fire isn’t blazing for the rest of us to see?” He leaned in, his grin turning wicked. “Or does it blaze on, even in the dark?”

Cregan chuckled, leaning back against the trunk of a tree. "You’ve always had a filthy mouth, Lonnel. But she’s more than what you’d imagine."

"Oh, I’m imagining plenty." Lonnel laughed, his voice rich with mischief. "I see her there in Winterfell, all young and radiant. You’re telling me that’s what you bed at night? No wonder you’ve got that weary look in your eyes. Must take all the strength you’ve got, mounting a dragon till the dawn.”

Cregan shot him a playful glare. "Weary? I could still break you in half before you took a step. And I’d gladly do it too if you keep going."

Lonnel grinned, shrugging as he raised his horn of ale. "It’s her that keeps you on your toes, eh? Taming a woman with Old Valyrian fire in her veins… Gods, I can’t even get my own wife to listen to me, and Arelle's nought but Northborn. What chance do you have against dragon’s blood?”

Cregan shook his head, his expression softening. "There’s no taming her, and I’d be a fool to try. She’s wilder than the wind… and I wouldn’t want it any other way."

"Wild like the wind,” Lonnel mused, scratching his chin with a grin. “Or a storm? What’s it like, then? When it’s just the two of you?”

Cregan’s gaze shifted to the flames, reflective, an unknowing smile growing on his lips. Any mention of her only expanded his chest three times its size. "It’s quieter than you’d think. In those moments, it’s as if everything falls away. The world itself. She’s entirely… Claere. And she’s mine."

Lonnel raised an eyebrow, his grin easing to something softer, more genuine. "So the wolf’s got a heart, then, under all that steel and duty."

"Mind your tongue before I remember we’re only friends."

Lonnel snorted, draining his horn with a nostalgic shake of his head. “Friends, aye. But I remember when we were hardly more than lads. Drunk on bad ale and worse decisions. Gods, do you remember that girl?” He leaned in, smirking. “The one in Torrhen’s Square? Tall as a sapling, golden hair?”

Cregan laughed, rubbing his face, caught off guard. “Alannys.” He shook his head with a groan. “She took one look at us, decided I was the taller one, and sent you packing.”

“How tragic for Alannys,” Lonnel quipped, a wry grin forming. “She wouldn’t have handled both a Stark and Cerwyn in one night, I tell you that. Good thing I saved that coin for... Malia? Mylla? Fuck if I know.”

Cregan chuckled, raising his horn in a mock toast. “To bad ale and worse decisions.”

"And those poor girls who survived us." Lonnel laughed, clinking his horn against Cregan's. They let out a deep sigh in unison, leaning back. “Look at us now—wives, babes, duties. Gods, we’ve come far, Stark.”

"Too far, some would say.” Cregan’s smile faded, a sense of gravity settling in. “You took us in without question, Lonnel. For that, I owe you.”

Lonnel waved a dismissive hand. “You’re a brother to me. The gates of Castle Cerwyn open for you, whether you come with a pack of direwolves or a damned dragon. You know that.” He paused, his gaze falling on Cregan, more intense. “But you must also know why the whispers reached me before you did. The North listens, Cregan. And it’s hearing a lot more than just the flapping of dragon wings.”

Cregan’s brow furrowed slightly, but he stayed silent, letting Lonnel continue.

“They say she’s been to the Wall more times than any crow has seen. They say she’s witnessed what no man should and kept it all to herself. Dark things, ancient things. And if it all comes back for her…” He let the words hang, heavy between them. “What will you do?”

Cregan’s jaw tightened. “I’ll do what I’ve always done.”

Lonnel chuckled, shaking his head. “Stand and fight, aye. It’s what we were raised to do. But this storm you’ve brought to your door, Stark… it doesn’t just take the one who called it. It takes everything in its path.”

Cregan stared into the flames, thinking about all that had passed in the recent weeks. “She hasn’t told me all of what she’s seen,” he admitted, his voice lower. “But it haunts her. It pains me to see her like that, Lonnel. That’s why I brought her here—to find some measure of peace.”

Lonnel eyed him, more serious now, then took a long drink, the mood sinking as the fire crackled between them. “She’s not just Lady Stark, Cregan—not just your wife. And you’ve more than love at stake. If whatever comes for her… you’ll fight back, I know it. But she’s a crown. And crowns bring war.”

Cregan’s eyes flickered, his face hardening as he looked into the fire. “The North has always known war. It's nothing new.”

Lonnel exhaled a bitter laugh, though his gaze didn’t soften. “Not this kind of war, my friend. Not one that comes from the dark beyond the Wall… or from the throats of ten grown dragons beyond the Reach.”

Cregan’s gaze hardened, resolute. He would not yield his wife for anyone or anything, kin or foe.

“Then let them all come.”

The sunlight felt like a rare gift upon Cregan's skin, the warmth cajoling him into a state of near-sleep as he lay across the tough leather rug, between the tall grass, his head pillowed on Claere’s lap, a contented smile playing on his lips as her fingers worked through his hair, weaving small braids with deft movements. Beneath his closed eyelids, the sun burned faint patterns, flickering with each shift of the sparse clouds above. Her voice wafted over him, soft but clear, painting tales of the Bay of Ice, of the frigid, salt-bitten wind, and of Luna hunting seals over those frozen waters.

"They think she swallowed a star," she told him, laughing, a fingertip tracing the length of his nose.

This was paradise. Perhaps it had found him before his deathbed. He hummed along, not truly listening.

He caught faint fragments of her words, the sweet dulcet of her voice rising and falling like a ballad, as she described House Wull’s hardy folk, their eagerness for Luna’s fire to melt the icebergs so they could fish the rich waters beneath. He felt half-lost in the weave of her tale, lulled by the warmth of the sun, the distant clicks of insects, and her fingers threading through his hair like strands of silk.

In a flash, his head slipped from her lap, his neck cricking at an awkward angle. He straightened, rubbing at the spot with a hiss, only to catch sight of her, already cradling a small brown hare, her touch gentle as she brushed its ears and stroked its belly. The sight of her, intent on the little creature, was enough to coax a grin from him.

“Another one for the cookpot then, my lady?” he teased, his voice low and affectionate.

Claere barely spared him a glance, scowling. “Don't be daft.”

Cregan chuckled, leaning back on his elbows as she continued fussing over the hare, her fingers tracing its paws as if in reverence.

“Strange, though,” he said after a moment, his tone more curious than jesting. “What exactly turns you from meat?”

She looked down, her expression thoughtful. “I realized very young that all the world is a balance. Give and take,” she replied with quiet conviction. “My dear dragon's appetite is ample enough; I’d rather give back than take more myself. With her takings are my denials.” Her eyes softened, a shadow of memory flickering there. “I’ve stayed away from it ever since.”

He tilted his head, struck by the dignity and care in her words, considering her. “And what of your tourneys, then? The royal hunts on your namedays? A fine feast without a kill—well, some would call it unseemly for a princess.”

She gave a light shrug, almost nonchalant. “I never had any such thing.”

The words hung there, simple but sharp. She didn’t look at him, her gaze fixed on the playful hare. And he knew better than to pry—the silences of her brothers in her presence, absence of her queen mother's well-wishings, the vacant gestures from her kin, all spoke of a girl with Targaryen blood, Valyrian heritage, truest claim left with the least, yet no more than a shadow in her family’s regard. She’d been raised like an instrument, a spare, the uncelebrated princess, a piece on a board she was never meant to play.

Breaking the silence, Claere spoke, her voice barely above a murmur. “Your namedays must’ve been different.”

Cregan felt a bittersweet smile tug at his lips. Anything to divert his pity. He let the memories flood back, the good ones.

“Different, aye," he sighed.

Claere let the hare hop off her lap, which then refused to run off, waiting on its hind paws by the edge of the mat.

“I was gifted a direwolf pup once, all fur and bluster. Only two weeks in, it was off like the wind. Ran as far as its legs would carry it the first time I made it wear a collar.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “It never came back.”

She laughed under her breath, a soft sound like water slipping over stone. “I should have guessed. But I could find you one if you wish it,” she offered, almost teasing. “The kennel master’s raising a whole pack of them now. They’re all tremendous, close to soldiers.”

He tilted his head back, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Another collar and another beast bound to run?” he teased, the light in his eyes warm. “Or perhaps I’ll forego wolves and settle for that dragon I was promised.”

“If you dare to face it,” she said, eyes narrowing with playful challenge. “The next clutch is yours for the choosing.”

His laughter rolled through the quiet woods, deep and warm. “So, you’d spoil me not just with Winterfell’s fiercest fire, but with her hatchlings too? You know, I think this northern air has made you a touch reckless.”

Her eyes glinted, playful, leaning closer as she matched his tone. “It’s only fair that I spoil you in turn,” she whispered, her voice silken, carrying through the hushed trees like a spell.

"Oh, my love, you've spoiled me very much."

He hummed, pleased, and then, without warning, pulled her close and rolled her beneath him on the soft leather rug. The breath left her in a misty gasp, her gaze meeting his—startled, but not resisting. His weight was grounding, solid and warm, and for a moment, the world narrowed to the space between them, the drift of his breath, the quiet crackle of the leaves around them.

Her gaze flitted as his hand moved to the hilt of the Valyrian dagger he carried, her gift to him from the time before, offered with silent promises of protection. He unsheathed it slowly, the blade glinting, and her eyes traced its movement, following as he held it between them.

“With this. A rare gift,” he murmured, “from a rare woman.”

His words were low, each syllable drawn out as he slid the dagger to the bow at her bodice, poised at the silk ribbon’s edge. With a slow, deliberate twist, he dragged the blade down, the tip of it sharp but light against her skin as the fabric came undone. Her breath hitched as she felt the cool brush of metal taunting her, each tug loosening her defences. The fabric loosened and gave way under his touch, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that matched his own.

“And now, sweetling,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear, voice rough, yet unhurried, “how would you rescue yourself from me?”

He moved the knife lower, its edge trailing over the delicate fabric, a promise and a threat wrapped in tenderness. "Hmm?"

She gave a shiver, yet her eyes held his, and there was no fear there, only a steady defiance. His breath was warm against her ear, his voice a low rumble as he traced the knife along her bodice, a feather’s weight skimming her skin. But her gaze never wavered, the faintest glint of mischief sparking in her eyes.

In one swift motion, Claere twisted beneath him, and with a deft manoeuvre, caught him off balance. She rose, bashing the knife from his grip and flipping him onto his back with a victorious grin, sitting astride him.

Cregan gave a low laugh, a touch winded, staring up at her in bemusement. “You think to best me?”

Her mouth curled, fierce and gleeful. “Seems I already have.”

His hands slid up to cradle her face, and then he drew her into a gruff, enticing kiss, all hasty lips, quiet moans, his warmth a balm against the long palls she bore. She softened in his arms that scuffed into her back eagerly, her fingers trailing down his jaw, meeting his fervour with her own, as though she could draw every bit of the strength and surety he offered.

He paused, breathless, the dominating weight of her against him stirring him upright. With a steadying exhale, he pulled back, eyes still locked on hers, and reached to loosen his cuffs, the sound of each metal clasp a whirr of intent as he shrugged off the coat of plates, carelessly letting it slide off.

But when he looked up, it was her watching him, her loosened bodice held against her chest. Her gaze was calm, unguarded, a touch of wonder damping her expression as if she were seeing him in a new light, yet holding some invisible line between them. Cregan let his hands fall to his sides, sensing her hesitation, yet unmoving in his resolve.

“You think to leave me bested, then, after all this?” he murmured, his voice a teasing rumble that chased away the last shadows between them.

She raised a brow, lips curving. Her arms dropped, letting her bodice fall loose from her chest.

“Consider it a reminder of who you are dealing with.”

He laughed and leaned back on his palms, his candid gaze holding hers. “Then come closer, and let me be reminded once more.”

Even with the amicable airs of Castle Cerwyn, sleep evaded Claere like a wary shadow. She would lay awake, eyes tracing patterns from the night sky in the darkened ceiling, her mind tangled in dark memories and half-formed fears. More than once, Cregan stirred beside her, sensing her wakefulness. He’d gather her close, his hand soothing circles along her back, murmuring in that low voice of his.

“Sleep, love,” he’d say and kiss her hair. “It's all gone. You're far beyond it. I have you now.”

She’d push her face into the crook of his neck, his heartbeat steady under her cheek, grounding her, though the shadows still lingered.

Another night, he left and returned with a fur-lined blanket warmed by the fire, wrapping it snugly around her. He traced a thumb along her temple and cheek, eyes full of a patience that was, to her, an astonishment. Be it anyone else, they would have left her to find her own peace.

“I’ll stay awake for you, keep the shadows at bay,” he promised, half in jest, half earnest.

She reached out, her fingertips brushing the curve of his lips, a gesture that was as much for him as it was for herself. "Thank you."

A small smile lifted her lips, shy but true, feeling for once as if the weight on her shoulders had lessened, just a touch. In this moment, she knew she loved him—loved him with a depth that ran deeper than duty or bond. His patience was a balm, his nearness an anchor; it healed wounds she’d long since stopped tending to. And though she rarely gave voice to the feeling, it surged within her now, filling the cracks she had long since accepted.

In his presence, she realized, she was safe.

By the fourth morning, a softened tranquillity had woven through her—delicate, a return to herself. Breathing in the cool air of Castle Cerwyn, letting the scents of moss and pine fill her lungs, she felt her apprehension slip further away here, watching Cregan exult with his old friend Lonnel. She saw a side of him she’d never truly seen—unburdened, joyful—as if the duties that weighed him down in Winterfell had been cast aside, lightened in this place.

The aviary, her newfound haven, beckoned to her like a sanctuary of life and song. She spent hours among the birds, marvelling at the late Lord Cerwyn’s collection: songbirds that trilled melodies, fierce hawks, regal eagles, white doves, and her favourite—a grey parrot that greeted her with a soft hum whenever she hummed first. It was the gentlest of welcomes, and for a while, she felt just a nobody wandering among the trees.

"A lovely voice, Your Grace. I've only ever heard tell of it,” came a voice from behind her.

She turned, startled, to find Lonnel Cerwyn leaning against the aviary gate, a faint smile playing on his lips. She dipped her head in acknowledgement, still unused to strangers’ easy familiarity, and now hesitantly drifted along the cages, learning the birds.

As Claere continued to walk beside the cages, she sensed Lonnel’s presence still at her side, solid and patient. His eyes followed her gaze across the rows of birds, some chirping softly, others watching her back with colourful, attentive eyes.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence, “you’ve taken to our feathered friends, then? I wouldn’t have taken a Targaryen to like things caged. Would’ve thought you preferred creatures of… larger wingspans.”

Claere smiled, her gaze lingering on the hawk perched within, its fierce stare mirroring her own restraint.

“You’re not wrong, my lord. I believe they belong to the skies.” She paused, turning to look at him. “They’re creatures of flight; seeing them locked away feels strange. Wouldn’t they serve better if trained?”

Lonnel hummed, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Ah, but trust’s a hard thing in the North, my lady. We cage what we cannot lose. They might turn loyal, but even a hawk can strike when cornered.”

Claere’s gaze drifted to a small thrush flitting nervously in its cage, and her voice softened. “Even so. Let a creature soar; you might find it follows because it chooses to. Lock it away, and all you see is its shadow.” Her fingers grazed the bars thoughtfully. "It's why Luna never lived in the dingy lairs of Dragonmont. I left her to fly free wherever she wanted."

Lonnel studied her, a flash of understanding passing between them. “Perhaps we Northerners hold onto things too tightly,” he said.

Lonnel hummed thoughtfully, reaching into a cage to coax a hawk onto his glove. "And one of those beautiful things is Violet. Violet's been a hunting guide of mine for years."

She watched as he gently lifted Violet, her wings extending wide.

But as they unfurled, a sudden vision struck her: flashes of white feathers shifting into silver scales, the hawk’s call blurring into Luna’s roar. She could see it: a thousand wildlings pouring over the Wall, spears in hand, flames burning, their faces darkened under the thick coats. Another flash—the great walls of Winterfell loomed over her, blood staining the stones, and in the fray stood Cerwyn, his hands red and his pace relentless, sword in hand, facing a shadowed foe.

She blinked hard, the vision dissipating as quickly as it had come. Lonnel was watching her, the hawk calm in his grip.

"My lady?" he called, a tension lacing his tone.

Claere steadied her breath and lifted her gaze to him, her hand immediately reaching up to press against his cheek, her fingers cool against his warm skin, as if she were grounding herself. She didn’t know what part of the future she’d seen, if it was his, his children’s, or some fate destined for the next generation. But her heart trembled with the significance of it.

“Keep your heart steady, Lord Cerwyn,” she said as if speaking to him across time itself.

Lonnel’s face flickered with surprise, but he didn’t pull away. He only held her gaze, a silent promise passing between them, however one-sided it was, a confused understanding.

And then, with that quiet exchange lingering like the last note of a song, she withdrew, leaving him with the young hawk in hand, her footsteps retreating along the path of the aviary.

The grand hall of Castle Cerwyn was smaller than Winterfell’s, yet it brimmed with warmth, a soft familiarity that softened the edges of the North’s rugged chill. The hearth crackled with thick logs, filling the space with a heat that seeped into the bones, banishing the crisp cold outside. Long trestle tables bore the evening’s fare—a hearty venison roast glazed with honey and herbs, cheese pies, oatcakes with dried fruits, dark bread still steaming, and pitchers of spiced ale that filled the air with a fragrant bite. The scents were rich and earthy, consorting with the soft murmur of voices and laughter that filled the space.

Arelle, Lonnel’s wife, was glowing despite her swelling belly. Her hand rested protectively over her babe, the big smile on her lips a mere instinct. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders loosely, framing a face alight with contentment as she looked to Lonnel, who seemed unable to take his eyes off her. Their gazes would meet across the table, exchanging silent fondness, and Cregan found himself observing them with a stifled smile, reminded of his and Claere’s own shared moments. He had been fortunate enough to find something like that in his own time. Patience truly was a virtue.

Cregan reached for Claere’s hand beneath the table, a gentle squeeze. She bent her fingers between his, holding him tighter, squeezing back.

For the first time in weeks, they were somewhere uncomplicated, unburdened by towering walls and solemn silences.

Conversation flowed as if from a babbling brook, Lonnel regaling them with tales of old hunts and mishaps, each story coaxing a rare smile from Claere. Then, Arelle leaned forward, her eyes bright with anticipation.

“My lady,” she said, almost shyly. “Lonnel mentioned you were… quite exceptional with the harp. I’ve longed to hear you play ever since.”

Cregan felt his chest tighten, a flicker of worry crossing his face. He knew Claere’s songs were steeped in her visions and dreams, dark prophecies veiled in melody. But before he could speak, Claere interfered.

“It would be my pleasure,” she said, her voice gentle yet trusting.

Cregan’s worry ebbed as quickly as it came, replaced by admiration. She always surprised him. He’d seen her hands coax Luna's fires to life, and wield the delicate tools of her garden, and, now, he was about to see them breathe life into a song.

A harp was brought forward on the dais, its golden strings gleaming in the firelight, and Claere’s long, delicate fingers traced over them with an intimacy born of instinct. She began to play a soft tune, one that filled the hall like a lullaby, each note like a petal floating through the air, softening the stillness. Her melody was warm and peaceful—a rare sound from her, as though she was offering a glimpse of a world unburdened.

Her sweet voice, smooth as silk, joined the harp, and the words she sang wove into the room like a spell:

"In fields of frost and towering trees, a heart’s true kin awaits in peace..."

As her voice wove through the hall, soft and lilting, Cregan felt the world fade around them. Each note hung in the air, heavy with a sweetness he recognized as his own. Her words fell like secrets meant only for him, and as her gaze met his, a smile played at his lips, slow and sure. She was singing for him, he realized, in this open hall, like an unspoken vow carved into the heart of the North.

His chest swelled, a fierce, undeniable warmth sweeping through him. Every hardship, every moment they had faced together—the bitter nights, the bone-chilling dawns, the weariness—all of it had led to this calm, boundless love. Here she was, with a song that spoke of him, binding his heart to hers before the world as if none but they two could hear it.

Cregan held onto this moment with almost reverent care, a part of him feeling almost foolishly lucky. She was his, this woman of fire and prophecy, and though she bore shadows in her past, here and now, her voice was for him. And he knew, with all the steel and sinew of his being, that he loved her more deeply than he could ever say.

And he should've known, what he had been conditioned to consider beyond all this newfound devotion, that not all good things last very long.

As Claere's song drifted in the air, the hall doors opened, and the castle's maester entered, his face grave beneath the dim candlelights. He crossed the floor to Cregan, extending a parchment sealed with the unmistakable black wax of the Night’s Watch.

“Dire straits, Lord Stark,” he intoned, his voice respectful but heavy with urgency.

Cregan’s hand tightened around the parchment, breaking the seal as he read its contents. As he did, the lightness in the hall seemed to drain.

When he looked up, a murmur passed through the hall as all eyes fixed on him. He hesitated, then addressed his audience, his voice collected but cold. “A word from the Wall.”

Lonnel, his face creased with confusion, asked, “Wildling attack?”

“Worse.” Cregan’s voice was sombre, his face darkening. “They’ve overrun the garrison at Queensgate. A chieftain who calls himself Sylas the Grim led a force of three thousand through the breach.”

There was a ripple of reaction in the room. Claere’s hands stilled on her harp, her gaze intent. She’d heard stories of wildlings crossing the Wall, of skirmishes and raids, but this was different. This was an army. And this Sylas—a man none of them had known even existed—had crushed a garrison with ease and marched past the castles.

The maester’s voice interrupted Cregan’s grim revelation. “Sylas is bound southward, with his war band tearing through the lands of the Gift.” He paused, glancing at Claere. “They say he’s sworn himself to find the one who rides the snow dragon.”

Silence filled the hall, as heavy as iron.

“He rides,” Cregan declared, almost as if the words could summon the reality, “for the Dragon Queen of the North.”

A silence fell over the room, tense and laden with foreboding. Cregan stared at Claere, her face unreadable, yet he knew her mind was already spinning, parsing every implication, every thread of what this could mean. Lonnel’s earlier warning hung between them, and it felt as though every word had foreshadowed this moment. That grim prophecy that now took shape before them all. You’ve brought the storm to your door, Stark. It'll take everything in its path.

The carefree laughter, the warmth of the hearth, the taste of ale—all felt painfully distant now. War had reached their doorstep, a shadow from beyond the Wall. She had brought her dragon, and the storm had followed. And with it, the delicate peace they’d found here, so fragile, slipped through their fingers like the last light of day.

*gasp* storm's a-comin'... and it's coming for our girl. only a few chapters left! thank you for reading and keeping up!

a question for my loveliest people: what do you think is Claere's sun sign or moon sign? What about Cregan's?

[ taglist: @pearldaisy , @thatkindofgurl , @theadharablack , @cherryheairt , @beingalive1 , @oxymakestheworldgoround , @tigolebittiez , @cosmosnkaz , @lv7867 , @piper570 , @danikasthings , @acsc8 , @justdazzling ] -> thank you for your endless support everyone!

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jeoncasino · 4 months ago

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Prospects | teaser |

Tired of life and all it had to bring for you, things take a turn when you find out two of your friends start to take a liking to you. With newfound emotions and a whole lot of drama, what happens when they start competing for your love?

Pairings: JJK x fem! reader [x KNJ]

Genre: college au, love triangle, friends to lovers, fluff, angst, slow burn, eventual smut.

Tags: rich! jjk, law student! jjk, dark hair! jjk, sweet! jjk, jealous! jjk, needy! jjk, obsessed! jjk, but also dom! jjk, slightly toxic! jjk, english major! knj, boy bsf! knj, co-worker! knj, husband material! knj, brown hair! knj, sweet! knj, jealous! knj, sad knj:(, everything’s so complicated and everyone’s in denial, jk's love language is physical touch and acts of service, jk has mommy issues so he's too attached to oc, joonie is so sweet i feel bad for him, gguk will try everything in his power to make oc his, ggukkie lowkey hates joonie lol, my characters are flawed don’t expect them to be perfect.

Warnings: jealousy.

⋆ †₊ Series Masterlist

Minors do not interact.

“So, what are we having today, Mr. Jeon? Will you get me a cookie again?” you teased, looking up at him from behind the counter with those captivating eyes Jeongguk couldn’t get enough of lately.

He smiled sheepishly. “You know you owe me eight bucks, right?”

You gasped. “Hello? You literally beg me to take your cookies!” Pointing a finger at him, you both laughed. Just as he was about to defend himself, a stern voice interrupted.

“Y/n, I can take over if you’d like. Go on your break now.” Your shift manager, Namjoon, appeared beside you, pushing you aside with his hip in a friendly manner, trying to lighten his previous tone. After apologizing to Jeongguk and saying it was your duty to follow your manager’s orders, you left.

Jeongguk was immediately irritated. This wasn’t the first time Namjoon had come between you two, always trying to distract you and take you away from him whenever he had the chance. It was obvious that the man you called your best friend didn’t plan on staying friends forever, and the only one who couldn’t see it was you. The funny part? Jeongguk didn’t know why that bothered him most.

Both men, irritated by each other’s presence, exchanged heavy, intense gazes. Namjoon spoke first. “Your order?”

Jeongguk leaned over the counter, gripping the edges so hard his knuckles turned white. “Pull this move one more time, and I’ll get you fired,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Mr. Jeon,” Namjoon mimicked, “I’m just trying to take your order.”

Jeongguk fumed. “Cut the act, Namjoon. You know you hate that she likes me, even after you’ve tried to throw dirt on me just to get a chance,” Jeongguk stepped back. “Which, by the way, is nonexistent.”

And just like that, Jeongguk broke the moment and walked out of the café.

Author: what do we think what do we thinkkk, yall liked it yall hated it lmkk. if any of you are interested in joining the taglist for these series also lmk!!

This is a work of fiction. The scenes, characters and events depicted are purely fictional and not intended to represent real-life procedures or individuals. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Do not use this story as your own.

@jeoncasino 2024 ©

#jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #bts x fem!reader #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts fic

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maidenborn · 3 months ago

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Detective Love-struck!

Shoto x reader in which Reader discovers a love letter in her locker, and recruits deku to help her. fem reader, maybe oc deku and shoto idk, reader has an older brother, first little fanfic thingy, I haven't written in god knows how long don't burn me at the stake plz

Word count: 1,707

When you were younger, stupider and shameless, you and your only friend Shoto, would play detective during your free time together. At the age of five, you and your comrade had already solved ONE case, the infamous 'who stole older brother's motorbike?!' case, which you and shoto apparently 'took credit for' or whatever that means. Despite how much you swore to your brother how you and Shoto knew where it was before the police. And how you tipped the cops off with your super secret telepathy quirk that no one but shoto knew about.

He responded with a, "well if you're so smart why don't you figure out where my old 3DS is?? by the way, you don't have telepathic powers, forehead." You'd clench your fist every time that cursed nickname left his lips, but anyways, you accepted his challenge, walking away cursing him with the most vulgar name you could think up, telepathically of course. you swear you heard his breath stifle in shock as you stomped off, coincidence? I think not.

Your winning streak of problem solving ended with anger at your rivals, the police down the road, when they refused to let you into the station after you relentlessly demanded that they let you see the files of fifty year-old unsolved homicide case. The next day you sulked to Shoto during lunch, who stared at you with that blank stare he always does."you tried to break in again?" An accusation?!?!?!? The tipping point.

You fake-angry threw your paper cut-out detective badge, that you and your best-friend made during arts and crafts, with all your strength, only for it to slowly flutter to the ground awkwardly. That day you announced your retirement from the force. Claiming all the hard thinking was giving you wrinkles, that only caused shoto to look more confused, tilting his head to the side. "Wrinkles?"

"On my forehead." You huffed.

Your interest for the antics of detectives on tv and corny live-action crime thrillers died off as your ambition and hope to become a real life pro hero ignited, as did your connection with Shoto, even if you started to see him less frequently as the years of your childhood passed by. It was a blessing that you managed to land a place in class 1-A alongside your companion. Your bond reinvigorated, grew stronger as you were reunited with the boy, the lingering figure of his father, Endeavour had dissipated, granting the boy a newfound freedom. You found yourself spending almost all your free time with him now, way more than you ever did when you were kids. And you were grateful for it. So very grateful.

Now, both you and him had matured, albeit not a lot since you were both fifteen, but in a fifteen year olds eyes, it was a lot. The boy's once chubby cheeks now had a more slim-chiseled appearence. His head of hair was the same length, perfectly split down the middle, not one stray hair misplaced on either side. His eyes were more narrowed and stern, still fronting that blank look that his eyes always held. However hard his stare was when he looked at others, he'd never dare look at you with that coldness, whenever he caught himself glancing at you his creased brow would almost immediately flatten. His gaze defrosted into liquid, a softness so delicate and reminiscent of the early days of your relationship. The days where he'd follow you around, craving the warmth of your presence, your smile, you, and everything a five year old brat could offer. In your case, it was friendship.

You and him were two peas in a pod, Detective Shoto and his partner, Sometimes in class you'd daydream about playing detective with him, like how you used to, but you guess you both were a little too old for that now. Besides it's not like there was any mysteries to be solved in the halls of Yuuei.

Not until today.

"a love letter!?!? oh wow!" Deku shrieked a bit too loud for your liking. His whole body shook as he held onto the straps of his backpack. A few students lingering around the halls looked towards the commotion.

"Yeah but shhh!" You leaned closer to the boy pressing your finger to your lips harder and harder. " I don't want anyone to know, it's embarrassinggg! What if they're messing with me? I don't even know who wrote it! I don't wanna get my hopes up you know..." You mumbled that last part, your finger silencing yourself made it hard to talk. You've never been popular with the male species, only ever receiving confessions as jokes from more popular, less disliked, boys. Not that you minded all that, you had a best friend after all, and he was a boy! You were considered popular and you were liked by him!

You tossed your head about to shake the thought of Shoto to no avail. You felt you cheeks heat up. "Can you read it out to me? Maybe they gave a clue as to who they are!" Deku ignored the redness in your face, chalking it up to nervousness. Yeah, you were nervous alright, nervous about what Shoto would think. He's always been relentless in the pursuit of your attention, you couldn't help but wonder how he would react to all this. Would he be mad? No why would he. He has no reason for all that.

You take your time reading out the letter you found in your locker, looking up to meet Izuku's eyes after every sentence, waiting to see if he caught on to any hidden meanings written in-between the lines of the confession. You'd read the letter countless times, scanning over every word to no avail. Only deciding to drag Deku into your conundrum as he was walking past. Whoever had written the letter gave no clue towards their identity. It was just a confession. No 'can you meet me behind the school later today?' or ' will you go out with me? Just an ordinary love letter. Apart from the last section. At the bottom of the paper read a slightly threatening, ominous quote:

"I'll set your heart alight. "

The words made your chest tighten, but not in a good way. It gave you a funny feeling in your stomach, such a normal letter ending so strongly, you were kind of unsettled. "Don't you think that last parts s'a little odd?" You mentioned after finishing up reading. "Kinda sounds like a threat to me." You suddenly gasp, "What if our undercover lover is a villain! They could be plotting to kidnap me ..or worse!" Due to recent events, everyone had the possibility of kidnapping looming over them.

" Umm.. I doubt that a villain could sneak into Yuuei, especially now. I think it was maybe just an attempt romance." Deku chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.

"No I seriously thi-

"Yn. Midoriya." Shoto Todoroki stood behind you. You hadn't even noticed him sneaking up on you, whether it was his intention or not, he scared you straight.

"Oh! Hi Shoto!" You calmed yourself, turning your head to make eye contact with him. He only grew closer to you, taking the eye contact as permission to get closer. You could feel the air get hotter as he lingered next to you, reaching his head forward so he could peek at what you were holding so tightly in your hands. His eyes offering no insight to his current emotion whatsoever.

"What is that?" Tilting his head. Suddenly embarrassed you smushed the paper into your chest, crinkling it. "Uhhh.. I got a letter! I don't know who it's from though. Not that it matters." You shrugged. Nice, the nonchalant approach.

"What kind of letter?" He strained his neck for a moment longer before backing up. Face still, ice cold. You sighed at his retreat. Anxiety welling up in your stomach, 'why the hell am I so paranoid for?' You thought.

You were about to dodge the question when Deku asnwered for you, "Its a love letter! From someone unknown, we're actually trying to figure out who it could be from!" At that you crumpled in defeat. Thanks a lot Izuku. Why the hell are you trying to cover it up so much anyways? Huh?!? Your inner monologue accused you.

"Oh." He stepped back even more, No longer feeling his warmth, the hall seemed a whole lot colder without him so close, you urged to scuttle up to him, Only to turn to see Shoto preparing to leave.

"Would you like to help us Sho?" You offered, not wanting him to go so soon. Leaning at the hip towards him, head tilted down, eyes looking up at him.

"No thank you. I have to go, Goodbye Yn, Midoriya, good luck." And at that he started to walk away. You rushed to find something to say, deciding to just let him go, offering a small, "Bye Sho." Along with Izuku's cheery goodbye. 'Was something wrong? Did I do something wrong?' Your spiralling thoughts were soon interrupted by Deku," I wonder what that was all about." The look on Izuku's face mirrored yours, laced with confusion, only less angsty than yours.

"he's probably just busy with assignments or something, wants to get ahead." You chirped, lightening the tension.

"weird of him to turn down an opportunity like this though, he's usually all over this kinda stuff, he's a real hardcore theorist sometimes!... don't tell him I said that."

"oh really?" you jest. Tension dissolved, nice. As if you and him weren't attempting to solve murder mysteries during break time a couple years ago. The memory returning to you, you can't help but feel a little sad.

A couple moments of silence and then, "Ive got it! we could track them down through their handwriting!"

"yeaahhh... but the letters printed!" you retired the letter from your iron grip with an obnoxious groan, provoking a handful of glances from students passing by. "good idea though." You shrink into yourself a little, eye twitchy as you try to disappear through sheer willpower.

"the culprit has thought this out really well.."

"Yeah.. no clues or anything. Apart from the curse at the end."

"Yeah."

AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH PLZ LET ME KNOW IF YOU ENJOYED THIS IM WORKINT ON A PART TWO!!!

I don't rlly know how to write stories like this, perchance ill turn it into a mini series or something

part 2

#shoto x reader #mha #my hero academia #todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki #shoto todoroki x reader #AAAAAAAH FIRST FIC HELP #reblog please #mha x reader #PLZ LET ME KNOW IF U LIKE IT #Feedback plz I crave attention #also if there's any errors with spelling or punctuation plz ignorw #todoroki imagine #mha todoroki #mha deku #izuku midoriya #mha shoto #maidenborn

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jeonsweetpea · 6 months ago

Text

Moonstruck (15) - Final Chapter

Werewolf & Vampire Hybrid!AU, Supernatural!AU | Hybrid!Jungkook x Hybrid!Reader | Werewolf!Taehyung x Hybrid!Reader (ft. BTS)

genre: angst, e2l, supernatural, thriller, slow burn

rating: mature

description: Heavy decisions fall on you when Taehyung throws you one last curveball. Do you say goodbye or do you stay?

word count: 10.2k

warnings: contains SPOILERS!!! Multiple POV changes, compulsion, mention of blood, mention of death, it’s very angsty, the ending is bittersweet – pls understand i poured my heart into this and it’s okay not to like it or comment about it, i tried to cover all plot holes :)

a/n: This is the final chapter of my series Moonstruck. I’ve been writing this story on and off for YEARS, so if you’ve stuck around this long, thank you! I’m aware people might be upset at the ending and that’s okay! My OC isn’t perfect and the point is she chose her own happiness for once. Please be kind, as I plan to write an epilogue in the future that can also be read as a stand-alone (with all the werewolf smut a reader could dream of lol).

Moonstruck Series Masterlist

“Let me go to Jimin. Please.”

Her voice was frail, broken, desperate. You caved into her pleas, seeing as she was in no condition to fight. Whatever happened between her, Jimin, and Jungkook must’ve been brutal. It’s amazing she was still standing, but as she limped towards her lover, her legs gave way from exhaustion.

Still, she persisted and crawled the remaining distance to hold her dying boyfriend in her arms. You walked over to them, finding the moment tender and beautiful despite the circumstances.

“Don’t worry, I’ll fix everything,” she said, smiling through her tears. Jimin could barely utter her name, but she shushed him. “Save your strength.”

She pulled out an artifact from her pocket that you recalled from your studies and gasped.

“Is that…?” you started to say. She didn’t answer you and looked up towards the sky. You followed her gaze to see streaks of shooting stars across the velvet night sky.

“Tonight’s a meteor shower,” Ari said, as if she was anticipating it. “A celestial event will fix everything.”

You tore your gaze away from the sky to see blood dripping from her nose onto the circular artifact. From what you remembered, it was called an Ascendant. Combined with the blood from a Choi witch and the cosmic power of a celestial event, a portal to a prison world was possible.

“No. You’re not serious!” you exclaimed.

“It’s the only way to save him,” she said, running a hand through his hair with a fond expression. “To save us.”

“So what? You’re going to live out the rest of your days with someone who doesn’t even love you?! He’s going to die over and over. That’s not a way to live.”

Prison worlds were just that — a hell with no escape. Death was a pleasure one wasn’t able to experience there. It was a place for banishment, home for the worst of the worst.

Ari looked you dead in the eye. “He’s my first love. I intend to be his last.”

In this moment, you knew this was your best friend talking and not some demented evil version of her. She was dying because Jimin was dying and if she wanted to be tethered to a prison world the rest of her days, who were you to stop her?

Almost as if she could hear your thoughts, she added, “I’ve done too much to be forgiven for. Let me go.”

She deserved it. She deserved to rot there with him. So you weren’t going to deny her wishes, only prolong them. You bent down and swiped the Ascendant from her hand, holding it hostage.

“No.” Your voice was unwavering. She stared at you aghast, like you committed the most terrible sin.

“[Y/N]!”

“You want to abandon all the problems you exacerbated? No. I’m tired of this bullshit. If anyone gets to run away from this mess, it’s me. Now you better give me a solution…” You held the artifact high, threatening to smash it into smithereens. “Or else.”

“Stop, stop!” she begged.

“I’m waiting. The meteor shower will be over soon. Tick. Tock.”

She glanced down at Jimin, reaching her hand up to his neck to grab the amulet. With a forceful tug, she yanked it off him and handed it to you.

“Here! This will solve everything. I promise!”

You took the amulet from her, your eyes watching her every movement in case she tried to pull something. “How?”

“I sense someone trapped within it. Someone who has an energy signature similar to you… I’m not sure, but I think it’s your father.”

Your entire body froze. “How is that possible? How do I release him?”

A faint click sound captured your attention. You lowered your hand and stared at the Ascendant, watching the gears rotate into place, the cosmic energy from the meteor shower beaming straight into it. A relieved smile graced Ari’s features as she closed her eyes.

“No, wait!” You were too late. A bright flash temporarily blinded you and once you opened your eyes again, Ari and Jimin had vanished, leaving behind only a burned Ascendant.

Mora Miserium…

Ari’s words rang loud in your ears, though you had no idea what they meant.

However, the amulet was still in your hand. You dangled it in front of you, paying attention to its alluring glow. It seemed to shine brighter the closer it was to your face, like it was attracted to something. You realized your moonstone was reacting to it, so you placed them near each other, igniting a burst of energy that knocked you backwards. Groaning, you sat up to see a figure manifest before your very eyes—a ghost you never thought you’d see again as your eyes flooded with tears.

“Dad…?”

“My little miracle… come here.”

You stumbled while getting up and rushed into his warm embrace, crying your heart out.

“Where have you been all this time? I missed you so much. I lost my best friend and—and—” You hiccuped from talking so fast. He held you by the shoulders. “I know, sweetheart. I know. I was in your necklace. Trapped, actually.”

“But how?”

“Nevermind that. I’ll take Jungkook to the infirmary. You go release the professors, Hoseok, and Jiwoo. I’ll explain everything.”

You obeyed your father’s instructions, releasing everyone from their cages in the underground cellar. Everyone was quick to ask you what was going on, the noise unbearable. There were too many questions, apologies, concerns — the chaos finally stopped when your father appeared after dropping Jungkook off.

“[F/N]...” Jin and Yoongi embraced your father tight, afraid it was a dream. Once they released him, Hoseok and his sister gave an awkward introduction but were friendly nevertheless.

“Where the hell have you been?” Yoongi asked, giving him a punch in the arm. Your father, quick with his reflexes, caught his fist.

With a soft smile, he replied, “In [Y/N]’s moonstone,” Jin dropped his jaw so wide that it almost made you laugh. “I know, I know. It’s a lot. But let’s heal the injured first. I took Jungkook to the infirmary and patched him up. [Y/N]?”

“Yes, Dad?”

“Heal Namjoon. I know he’s treated you awfully and you don’t have to forgive him—”

“But he was compelled,” you said, finishing his statement. “So everything that’s happened… isn’t his fault. I’ll heal him.”

You bit your wrist, devoid of the pain it usually brought and lowered yourself to Namjoon’s limp body on the ground. You lifted his head gently, placing your wrist on his mouth and making sure he was ingesting it.

“He’ll be fine after some rest,” you said, standing up.

“Thank you, [Y/N],” Yoongi said, though you didn’t bother sparing him a glance. “I know I should’ve told you about releasing Hoseok but—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” He nodded in understanding and you turned to your father. “Dad, what are we going to do? Jungkook and Taehyung’s lives are linked.”

“What?!” Everyone aside from you and your father was stunned. God, you needed a newsletter or something to keep them all up to date.

“Yeah, yeah,” you said with a dismissive hand gesture. “I’ll explain that later but for right now, I need to unlink them because if one more bad thing happens, I will turn off my humanity again. What can you tell me about Mora Muserium?”

He seemed astonished by the mention of it. “That’s an ancient artifact witches use to remove dark magic and have it contained. I was traveling the world to find it for you, hoping it’d remove the dark magic and help you regain fertility.”

You glared at him and he cleared his throat.

“I know,” he said, scratching the nape of his neck. “Father of the year right here. I should’ve told you the truth.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t find it.”

“No. I had to find an alternative. There was a witch who gave me the moonstone but said its powers only activate if a werewolf sacrifices his soul.”

“Oh my god,” Hoseok said, placing a hand on his heart. “You were willing to stay inside the stone for the rest of your life if it meant [Y/N] could have children?”

He nodded while giving you a fond smile. “Anything for my little girl. She deserves a life with her needs fulfilled.” Your dad suddenly snapped his head in Hoseok’s direction. “But then you killed her.”

Hoseok held his hands up in surrender while Jiwoo stood in front of him, her protective nature taking over. “Hey. He was manipulated into doing so to save me.”

“Still. The moonstone is useless now for fertility,” your father huffed.

“Can we please get back to the Mora Muserium?” you said, wanting to pull your hair out from frustration. “We don’t have much time. Taehyung died with my blood in his system and will need to drink it again to complete his transformation. If not, he’ll die and take Jungkook with him!”

“How did their lives become linked?” Jin questioned.

“The night of the banquet we drank some alcohol that Ari gave us.”

“It must have been dark magic. If we can get the Mora Muserium, we can use it to absorb the dark magic out of Jungkook and sever the connection.”

“Great. But where can we find it? What does it look like?”

“I think I’ve seen it before,” Yoongi chimed in. “It looks like a sand clock of sorts. Like an hourglass.”

“Yes. But the one I was looking for was sold to a private collector,” your father informed.

“I’ve seen it…” The groggy voice came from the floor. Jin rushed to Namjoon’s side, helping him sit up. Aside from the dried blood from his nose, his wounds had lightened and were in the process of healing. “Jimin’s parents. They own an armory full of artifacts. I saw one that looked like an hourglass the day I helped him get the White Oak stake.”

“I’ll go. Tell me the address,” your father stated. “I’m taking Jungkook with me.”

“What? He’s knocked out and needs time to recover.” Your protest fell on deaf ears.

“It’s the least he can do for you. Besides, it gives me time to get to know him. A little heart-to-heart.” He patted your head. “Don’t worry. I’ll wait for him to wake up. You go take care of that bite wound and rest. All of us should rest.”

Jungkook’s Point of View - 12 Hours Later

I woke up in the infirmary sore as hell. Sitting up only exacerbated things, the pain surging through me like fire. My torso was wrapped in bandages and my arm was in a sling. The battle with the bitch witch would’ve gone sideways if Jimin didn't intervene. I barely made it out with my life.

“You’re awake, boy.”

The voice was gruff, unfamiliar. I saw a silhouette from behind the privacy curtain, but I didn’t feel threatened. I could tell he was a werewolf from his scent.

“Who are you?”

He pulled back the curtain, revealing his face to me. He was far older than me, with streaks of gray in his hair. His stern expression intimidated the shit out of me, but after giving me a once over, his eyes softened and his forehead creased with wrinkles of concern.

“I’m [F/N]. [Y/N]’s dad.”

“Oh,” Shit. This was not how I envisioned meeting him. “She has your eyes.”

A soft chuckle came out of him. “I get that a lot.” He pulled up a chair to sit by my side, the smell of cedarwood filling my nose. “Look, I know a lot has happened around here. I’ve been trapped in that damn moonstone for months.”

I looked at him in horror. “You mean the necklace [Y/N] has? That means you’ve seen…”

I trailed off, but he seemed to understand what I was getting at. He waved his hand in a dismissive manner, his face twisted in disgust. “Yes, yes, there’s a lot I did not wish to see but anyway… not the point. Honestly, part of me wants to strangle you for hurting her.”

I knew my time had to come sometime. Better him than someone else. I closed my eyes and braced myself.

“But…” He continued, “You and my daughter have been through hell and back. You protected her. Thank you.”

I opened my eyes, trying not to exhale in relief too loudly. “I always will.”

“Do you love her?”

“I do.” My response was so fast; it sounded automated. I noticed [F/N]’s eyes narrowing at me, like he was searching for doubt.

“Why?”

If I took too long coming up with an answer, that would only make me look ingenuine. I spoke from my heart, keeping my voice steady even though he looked like he could tear me in half at any moment’s notice.

“For the first time in a while, I feel like I can think clearly. The sire bond was like a crutch that made it impossible for me to distinguish my own feelings from [Y/N]’s,” I said, watching for his reaction. He nodded for me to continue. “Now that it’s severed, I feared I would stop loving her. That it was all an illusion. But that’s not the case. I know I love her. So much that it scares me…”

“Even if she’s infertile?”

“I already knew about that. It does not affect how I feel.”

“What about Jimin?”

I’d be damned if I saw that wretched vampire ever again. He manipulated everyone, especially me. Like an idiot. “What about him?”

“You chose to believe his words over my daughter’s. I want to know why.”

He might as well have broken my other arm. I fought the urge to throw up. What did he want me to say? That I was an idiot, that I was manipulated, that I was doubting her because I was a coward? “I don’t know.”

“Answer me.” He was telling, not asking. But I was stubborn.

“I said I don’t know.” I did know, of course. However, I didn’t want to shoot myself in the foot. Anything I said would sound like a pathetic excuse.

“Gonna take it to the grave? You don’t have much time left.”

He laughed at my stunned face, as if mocking me. “What do you mean?”

“Your life is linked to that other wolf’s. [Y/N] mentioned something about the night of the banquet where you drank liquor.”

Taehyung. Fuck, fuck, fuck! No wonder that bastard was so elated when I returned. That must have been why I blacked out after clawing him. Though my body was already on the verge of collapsing from the constant battling.

“Anyway, I’ll get straight to the point,” [F/N]’s said as he stood up. “Taehyung died with my daughter’s blood in his system thanks to you. That means he’s in the middle of transitioning to becoming a hybrid.”

“But it’s incomplete…” I whispered. He nodded, crossing one arm over the other.

“He needs to drink her blood one more time after coming back to life to become a hybrid. If not, he will die. Which in turn means you will die.”

“I gotta see [Y/N].” I practically ripped the covers off me with my good arm, swinging my legs off the cot. However, he placed a firm hand on my shoulder.

“You’re in no condition to leave.”

“She’s going to do whatever it takes to save me, including saving that son of a bitch. He’ll be sired by her, which is what he wants!”

“Yes, but would you rather be dead than see him sired by her? Think straight for a second. We have a mission.”

“What mission?”

“We’re going to go artifact hunting and I need that compulsion ability of yours to succeed. Then I’ll consider letting you see my daughter.”

Of course there was something else. There always was.

Your Point Of View - 12 Hours Later

You slept like a log. Your body was worn down, weathered by the stress and trauma the universe kept sending your way. The only reason you woke up was because your sharp ears picked up the sound of digging. At first, you tried to ignore it. But it was consistent and your curiosity got the best of you.

“Put your back into it,” Yoongi said, sitting on the snow criss-crossed. Jin huffed and set the shovel aside.

“This would go a lot faster if you helped!” He turned around to see you appear out of nowhere. “Ah fuck! Oh my god, [Y/N]! You scared me.”

“Sorry. You woke me from my sleep.” You stared down at the wide chasm he dug, the body inside instantly recognizable. “Is that…?”

“Yes. It’s Sunghyun,” Yoongi said. “We wanted to give him a proper burial.”

“I’ll help,” you offered. Jin and Yoongi gave each other a look but said nothing. Jin handed you the other shovel, giving you a gentle smile.

“Thanks.”

“Where’s Hoseok and his sister?” you asked.

“Still sleeping,” Yoongi answered.

“And my dad?”

“He went to find the Mora Miserium with Jungkook.”

“Namjoon? Taehyung?”

“Infirmary. Taehyung’s chained up in the caves. Jungkook really fucked him up; he’s still knocked out,” Jin said, releasing a grunt as he dug.

There wasn’t any more conversation after that. Once Sunghyun’s grave was filled, Yoongi used a piece of wood as a makeshift headstone until he could get a proper one. He had etched Sunghyun’s name into it with a pocket knife and you all said your prayers.

“He saved my life,” you said, taking out the amulet from your pocket. “Especially with this. I wanted this buried with him but the risks…”

“He’d understand,” Jin said, reassuring you. “He wouldn’t want the wrong person to get their hands on it. We can frame it or you can keep it.”

You stared at the amulet in your hands, contemplating what to do with it. Then your eyes lit up as you took your moonstone necklace off. Last time the two pendants touched, there was an explosion. But what if this time…

“Can you fuse the two necklaces together? I think they’re connected.”

Jin cracked his knuckles. “Easy peasy.”

He chanted some words in Latin, moving his hands in the air around the two pendants as you held them. Then with one final snap, the stones fused together to create a double moon necklace. Jin grinned at his work and then proceeded to help you put the necklace back on.

“It suits you,” Yoongi remarked. The three of you headed back towards campus, the snow crunching beneath your feet. “I’m sorry.”

You stared at the professor, shaking your head. “Please don’t.”

He stopped walking, so Jin followed his example. You sighed, halting your footsteps as well.

“I’m sorry too,” Jin said.

“I don’t want to hear apologies. I just want this to end. Okay?” You interrupted them before they had a chance to say more. “I know. You released Hoseok because you love him. And you recorded my sessions because I don’t know, documentation? It’s fine.”

The two men couldn’t bear to look at you, so they opted for looking at the ground instead.

“How do you intend for this to end?” Yoongi said, his voice soft, as if you could be set off at a moment’s notice. “Do you… have a plan?”

You dropped your shoulders, not realizing how tense they were. “I don’t know. Dad gets the artifact, we sever the link, Jungkook gets to live.”

“And Taehyung?” Jin said, trying not to sound nervous. “What about him? Will you give him your blood or…”

He trailed off, but you filled in the blanks pretty easily. “Let him die? That’s what you want to know. You’re my professors… Why should the decision fall on me? Haven’t I been through enough?”

You scoffed, shaking your head in frustration.

“I can’t do this right now,” you said. Yoongi and Jin let you walk away, not having the heart to stop you.

Namjoon’s Point of View

Vampire blood was one thing, but hybrid blood? It accelerated my healing three times as fast. I was pretty much back to normal after a good long rest. Hoseok and his sister woke up fifteen minutes ago, keeping me company in the infirmary. We played a game of cards while catching up.

And boy, did I have a shit ton to catch up on. Truth be told, my memory was fuzzy ever since the night Jimin and I went out in search of [Y/N]. I remember him being so eager to help; I thought it was sweet. But I lowered my guard too easily and paid the price. He whacked me in the head with something hard and next thing I knew, I was tied up.

Hoseok was able to piece things together from there and I quickly changed the subject, asking about him and his sister. It was admirable how everything he’s done was for her. For [Y/N] too. He was simply trying to protect everyone, and though his execution was poor, he had good intentions.

“So… Yoongi, huh?” I asked. Hoseok dropped the cards on my cot, retracting himself into a shy ball. His sister giggled when his cheeks reddened.

“He’s all my brother talks about,” She lowered her voice to a funny octave, mimicking Hoseok as best as she could. “I miss Yoongi. I wanna be with Yoongi. I’m Yoongi’s vitamin.”

I let out a hearty laugh, feeling a weight off my chest for the first time in a while. Hoseok whined at Jiwoo’s teasing, and she patted his head while smiling.

“Do you think [Y/N] will ever forgive me?” I asked. Hoseok stared at me like I had insulted him.

“Forgive you? Dude, I killed her and caused her to never be able to have children again. She’ll forgive you.”

“She’ll forgive you too,” Jiwoo assured. “You were being coerced. You didn’t want to kill her.”

Two knocks came from the door. We all glanced up to see [Y/N] step in, her head hung low.

“Am I interrupting?”

I could barely hear her, but Hoseok answered with a quick, “No, you’re not interrupting. Do you need us?”

“I… I want to talk to Namjoon.”

I was gobsmacked to the point where Hoseok and Jiwoo gave me a look, as if they were telepathically asking me if it was okay.

“Yeah, yeah, come over. Would you two mind giving us some privacy?” Jiwoo was quick to leave, but Hoseok gave me a gentle squeeze on my shoulder first. Once the siblings closed the door behind them, [Y/N] stood in front of me without moving. She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, her eyes pointed to the ground.

“Sit down,” I said, trying to sound like a gentle giant and not an authoritative douche. She finally made eye contact with me and then in the blink of an eye, her arms were around me. My body stilled. “[Y/N]?”

“I… I want my friend back,” she said, voice slightly shaky. My muscles relaxed and I hugged her back tightly, wanting her to know I was there for her.

“I’m here, I promise,” Poor girl was trembling. “You can cry. Let it all out.”

She did. First it was small sniffles, which gradually became much louder sobbing. I held her close, rubbing soothing circles on her back. I wanted to tell her so much, apologize for everything, but only after she was ready to hear it. I didn’t care how long she needed to cry; I just wanted to be there for her.

“I think I’m ready to talk now… I have a lot to ask. A lot to say.”

She was sitting at the foot of my bed now. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

“You’re you?” I couldn’t blame her for being cautious. I taught her as much. “You have to be you… Jimin is no longer a part of this world, so the compulsion must’ve worn off.”

“Did you…” I trailed off, but she shook her head.

“Ari took him to the prison world with her.”

“Whoa…” I didn’t know what to say other than I shouldn’t be surprised. Those two deserve each other for eternity.

“You really thought I’d kill him?” Her words were sharp, laced with offense.

I sat up straight. “No, I just didn’t know what happened to him. Once he was gone, it was like my mind felt clear. Like I had control again. I know you wouldn’t kill him unless it was out of self-defense. Actually, even if it wasn’t out of self-defense, I wouldn’t have blamed you. No one would have.”

She bit her lip, a nervous habit of hers when lost in deep thought. “The only person I’ve ever killed was my childhood abuser. It still haunts me. That weight of taking someone’s life is soul-crushing, Joon. Even if he deserved it.”

Her shoulders drooped as she said the next part. “What do I do about Taehyung?”

Ah. That was a very good question indeed. He’s done unforgivable things, his intentions stemming from obsession. Obsession over her. His past record with his last love interest wasn’t any better either. That wolf was dangerous.

“What do you want to do about him?”

She scoffed, as if she knew I would say that. “I don’t know. That’s why I came to you. You’ve killed countless supernatural beings, humans too. Why do I have to decide?”

Valid point. I was a hunter first, headmaster second. But she was only a student, my apprentice, still a kid in my eyes. Always a fighter, never a killer. “Once the link between him and Jungkook is severed, you don’t have to give him your blood. He’ll die of natural consequences. It wouldn’t be your fault.”

“But he’d suffer.”

“Isn’t that what he deserves?”

“You thought Jimin deserved a second chance. Are some people not redeemable?”

“It sounds like you want him to be.”

She covered her face with both hands. “No. I just—he’s a student. And it’s because of his love for me that this got so out of hand. It’s my fault…”

“Stop. None of this is your fault,” She dropped her hands, a sad pout on her lips. “I’ll do it. I’ll put Taehyung out of his misery, so you don’t have to. It’ll be on me.”

“You’re the headmaster. You took him in. You think… he deserves to die?”

“I think he deserves what you think is fitting. Because he’s the one who wronged you. But I’m more than willing to make the hard choice for you if you choose to do nothing.” She hopped off the cot, pacing back and forth in the room. I removed the covers off me and swung my legs off the edge of the bed. “Hey… you don’t have to save everyone.”

That got her to stop. “But I do… my blood is cursed to do so.”

“Listen, I’ve tried to save everyone. Every student. I see so much potential, it’s overwhelming. But some people can't be saved no matter what you do and that’s okay.”

I stood up, but my legs stumbled clumsily. [Y/N] caught me and swung my arm over her shoulder.

“See? I’m a natural at saving others.”

It was good to hear her make a joke, even a small one. I smiled. “Ultimately it’s up to you. I’ll support whatever you do.”

Your Point of View

You set Namjoon back on the cot, joining him as you two dangled your legs off the edge. Well, yours dangled while his feet stayed planted on the ground.

“There’s only one thing I know for sure…” you said. Namjoon placed his hands in his lap, awaiting your answer. “When this is all over, I have to do what’s best for me. And that means—”

“You have to leave.”

It felt like deja vu of your previous conversation where he said he was letting you go. Except this time, you were choosing it yourself.

“Yeah… you actually gave me the idea first. I realized you were right.”

His tone shifted to a more grave one. “I’ll be honest. I probably said many things to you while I was under Jimin’s influence. I don’t remember much after he knocked me out while we went out searching for you. Bastard tied me up and waited until the vervain was out of my system to compel me. Stole my ring too.”

“But…?”

“But…” He sighed. “I made a promise to you and your parents that I’d always look out for you except it’s not healthy for you to be here anymore.” He placed his hand on your own, squeezing it gently. “You were always the right person, but this is the wrong place. I have to let you go because you deserve peace.”

“Namjoon…” You already cried your heart out once, so you refrained from tearing up again. His gaze on you was affectionate, protective, but also solemn.

“I’ll get all the stuff ready for you to graduate early. Anything you need, I’ll do it. Just know you are always welcome here.”

Shit. It looked like he was about to cry. You’ve never seen him like this, so you did the only thing that might bring him some comfort.

“I love you, Namjoon. Thank you for taking care of me all these years.”

He let out a small wheeze from trying to reply to you while keeping his emotions in check. “I love you too. And I’m sorry for everything.”

“I know. But I have a way you can make it up to me.”

Taehyung’s Point of View

I woke up to find myself chained. Not only were my wrists and ankles bound, but there was a collar around my neck too. The chains clinked when I charged forward, but I didn’t get very far since they were attached to the wall. A hole in the ceiling allowed some sunlight in, but it did little to stop the cold winter air. At least someone put me in sweatpants before confining me here.

I wracked my brain to remember my last memory. Ah. Right. I was clawed to death, which was extremely gruesome and sucked ass. However, it would be worth it. She was worth it.

Were my methods unorthodox? Yes. A bit insane? Absolutely. But when you’re in love, you do stupid things. We should have never broken up, but I was overly jealous and she was a stunner. She could have any guy, so I had to do whatever it took to make her choose me.

I wanted her to keep choosing me. Hell, she could use me for all I cared. For sex, for comfort, I would always be down. At first I gave her space, but that was my biggest mistake. A new wolf enrolled into our campus and became my roommate. Little did I know he would soon become my biggest threat.

The human hunters I paid did a splendid job attacking Jungkook. However, it seemed Mother Nature wanted me to work harder because that damn sire bond saved his life. While he was being an ungrateful sired jackass, I was longing to switch places with him. It was my ultimate goal, my desire, to be sired to [Y/N].

So when I caught Park Jimin masturbating to Jungkook’s pictures, the alliance was formed. He’d get Jungkook, I’d get [Y/N]. Little did I know, that vampire bastard was going to double-cross me. A lot of things went south, but it didn’t matter. The end result was what was most important.

I had finally got a taste of her blood. Sweet, delicious, rich liquid crimson. I closed my eyes, licking my lips at the memory. My plan was finally coming to fruition.

And the best part? It was fail-proof. Dying with her blood in my system was step one. Step two was drinking it once more after resurrecting to complete the transition into becoming a hybrid. If she didn’t give it to me, I’d have to force her hand.

Honest to god, I didn’t plan for my life to be linked to Jungkook’s. That night at the banquet, I originally wanted to be linked to [Y/N] as a means to be closer to her. Who knew things would work out in my favor?

If she didn’t give me her blood, I’d die and that means Jungkook would die. This was great. Victory was within my reach; I could smell it.

Well, actually I smelled something else. A saccharine scent I knew all too well. Opening my eyes, I saw a figure approaching in the distance past the iron gate bars.

“[Y/N]...”

My smile was so wide that it hurt my cheeks. The large gauze on her neck was a beautiful sight to see. I hoped she remembered my bite for the rest of her life. The memory of pinning her down, the way she wiggled beneath me trying to escape — it made me hard. If I wasn’t chained, I’d claim her as my own and abduct her for my own twisted needs.

When she opened the gate, I writhed against the chains like a feral beast. She hesitated at first but then entered, leaving enough space between us so she’d still be out of reach.

“You’re such a fucking tease, I’m tired of being the nice guy. Get over here and release me,” I snarled. She didn't respond, so I kept going. “What? Are you mad I drank your blood? That I’ll be sired to you?”

I knew I had won at this point. I couldn’t help but be smug, wearing a proud smile at my soon-to-be victory. She simply shook her head at me.

“I’m not mad. I pity you. Things didn’t have to be like this, Tae.”

“I agree. You should’ve chosen me. I wish…” My voice was losing its venom. I almost winced in pain as I said the next part. “I wish you could love me again.”

Her eyes softened a bit, like I chipped away a piece of the strong front she always put on. “Maybe in another life, we could’ve been happy together. But you had to go and orchestrate a murder. Work with hunters, a psychotic vampire, and a corrupted witch.” She ran a hand over her face, sighing loudly. “You’re in the middle of transitioning into a hybrid.”

“I know, I’m over the moon,” I said, enlarging my eyes to show her my excitement. I probably looked insane. “Even if you didn’t choose me, I chose you. And I’ll be yours even if you’re not truly mine. I still won.”

“That’s what you think. You need to drink my blood once more or you’ll die.”

“I know,” I said quickly, anticipating that tidbit. “You’ll give it to me soon enough.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because…” This was it. This was my moment! “I linked my life with Jungkook's. So if you don’t give me your blood, he’ll die.”

I let out a hearty laugh, but it quickly faded upon seeing her stoic expression. Why was she so calm?

“Okay, I’m confused,” I said. “You’re supposed to be devastated.”

She took another step forward and I almost tried to kiss her, desperate for her to be closer.

“There’s no easy way to say this,” she said. “So I’ll just tell you. I already knew about your life being linked to Jungkook’s.”

I’m sure confusion was etched into my features. What the hell was she talking about?

“Ari told me. Before she and Jimin were sent to a prison world.” Okay, not even I could predict that. Was I next? I wrestled against my restraints at the fear of being banished. I didn’t want to be away from her. “Calm down. I’m not sending you to one; it’s impossible without Ari’s blood anyway.”

I relaxed and stopped moving, so she continued, “It’s true that I would’ve cried at the thought of losing Jungkook and letting you win. But Ari left me with one last gift before she left.”

That bitch was lucky she went to a prison world because I had half a mind to burn her at the stake.

“And what was that?”

“She found my father. You see, he was trapped in my moonstone necklace after making a deal with a witch. In exchange for his freedom, the moonstone would be imbued with magic strong enough to grant me fertility. Of course, it would only work if I hadn’t died.”

She lowered her face closer to my level.

“I managed to release my father from the stone and ask him about some strange words Ari told me. Have you heard of the Mora Muserium?”

I shook my head. “You know I don’t know what that is.”

“Well, the Mora Muserium is an hourglass that can remove dark magic from people and store it. The spell Ari used to link your lives used dark magic.”

I processed what she was saying, my mind racing a mile a minute. She wasn’t possibly insinuating…

“The dark magic tethering him to you has been removed, Tae. He and you are no longer linked,” she revealed.

My face stiffened, the smile on my face I once had disappearing altogether. This couldn’t be true. My plan was fail-proof! “No! You’re lying! You’re fucking lying! He and I are connected forever! If you kill me, he dies! Do you really want to risk that?!”

“Tae…” she said, her tone full of pity. It angered me more. “It’s true. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s not!” I was shouting at the top of my lungs. “You are sadly mistaken if you think I’m going to fall for your scare tactics! I don’t believe it one bit! Prove it!”

“After they removed the dark magic from the linking spell, my dad snapped his neck. Jungkook’s out cold while you’re… not.”

I dropped my jaw as I fell to my knees. “No…”

She got down on one knee, matching my level once more. “Jungkook will come back to life soon. But you won’t be here to see it.”

“So what? You’re going to kill me?” I spat.

“No. First your eyes will bleed. Then your body will be consumed in the most unimaginable pain you’ve ever felt. Like pure acid running through your veins, eating you alive inside out. It’ll be as painful to watch as it is to experience and lasts a long time before death finally consumes you.”

“You’re kidding me…”

“I’m not. I can’t bear to watch you suffer for that long so… someone else will put you out of your misery.”

She stood up and turned towards the gate. I narrowed my eyes to see a male figure approaching. He had a shotgun in his hand and a tool belt around his waist. The stench of vervain and wolfsbane from it was gag-inducing, and it made me sweat nervously too.

“Namjoon…” I muttered. He looked at me like I was trash. When I tried to reach [Y/N]’s hand, she had already stood up and walked over to the headmaster.

“Are you sure about this?” Namjoon asked. [Y/N] bit her lip but nodded slowly. My heart sank to the ground. “Leave it to me. Go. You don’t want to see this.”

She marched forward towards the exit, determined not to look back. Namjoon stood in front of me, pointing the shotgun straight at my chest. I looked him dead in the eye, slowly rising to my feet.

“Sorry it had to end this way. But you did this to yourself, Taehyung.”

“Some headmaster you are. Killing your own student.”

“[Y/N] was the one who asked me to do this.”

“No! Stop lying! She would never!”

I tried to run towards the gate, her back still in view as she walked away rather slowly. I knew deep down, she didn’t want this.

“[Y/N]! [Y/N], please! You’re going to just walk away? Even though you know you can save me?! Are you that heartless?!”

*BOOM!*

Fuck! My shoulder was stinging with pain from the poisoned bullet. I groaned in agony but remained standing, reaching out for her.

“[Y/N], please! I don’t want to die! All I ever wanted was—”

*BOOM!*

My left leg was fucked. I fell down to the cold ground, desperation being the only thing helping me stay conscious. She had covered her ears this time, but I knew my voice would reach her.

“[Y/N], I love you…” I breathed. “Even in my twisted, messed up, obsessive way. I love you and I just wanted you to choose me for once. For once…”

I heard Namjoon’s footsteps and him cocking the gun in preparation for the next shot. I tried to crawl away.

*BOOM!*

Now both my legs were done for. I cried. Wailed. Screamed as I laid on my back. I didn’t want to die, not unless it was for her. Not because of her.

“[Y/N], I’m sorry! Please… please don’t let me die. You’re better than that… you’re better than me… you’re different!”

The cock of Namjoon’s gun let me know my time was up. I closed my eyes and waited. I guess I finally lost.

“Wait, don’t shoot!”

Your Point of View

The words left your mouth without you realizing. Namjoon froze and Taehyung opened his eyes, seeing you run towards him. In a matter of seconds, you placed yourself in between him and the professor with your arms spread in a protective stance.

“Don’t kill him,” you begged.

“[Y/N], are you sure?” Namjoon asked. You looked over your shoulder to see Taehyung try to sit up.

“Stay down!” you shouted at him. Taehyung obeyed and laid as still as a wooden plank. “Don’t fucking move or try anything. I already regret this.”

You bit your wrist and bent down to the ground, forcing it into Taehyung’s mouth. His eyes widened in alarm, but he drank your blood nevertheless. Once he had his fill, you felt his emotions skyrocket — particularly joy.

“Stay still and stay seated until I tell you to move,” you commanded.

He sat in a criss-cross position, his smile beaming with pure bliss. “You love me. I can tell. I can feel it.”

“Shut up!”

You stood up and Namjoon slung his gun over his shoulder. “You want him alive?”

“I… I don’t know.” You were shaking and pretty soon close to hyperventilation until Namjoon centered you, reminding you that you were in a safe space.

“It’s okay. I’m not judging you,” He put his hands on your shoulders. “Talk to me.”

“I… I thought I was doing the right thing. He’s fucking insane, but at the same time… I thought about my childhood abuser. How I shoved him off, how he fell, how he was begging for me to call for help — but nothing was done. I let him die. He deserved it, but that was such an easy way out. He should’ve been rotting in jail or at least atoning for his sins. I didn’t want to do the same thing to Tae.”

“Breathe… breathe…”

You took a deep inhale and then let out a slow exhale. “This time I know about my blood and its healing properties. I couldn’t let him die… I thought I could, but it felt wrong. God, what’s wrong with me?”

Namjoon placed a finger to his lips. “Shh. No more talking down to yourself. You want to save him, then save him. It’s your blood. Now… you mentioned atoning for sins. Do you have something in mind for him?”

You turned your head to the side, seeing him stare at you with such an intensity that it made you self-conscious.

“Yeah… what are you going to do with me, oh great sire?” He was taunting you, but you didn’t let it deter you.

“I’m going to compel you to forget me.”

“What?! No. I refuse. Don’t do that, please. My love for you is the only thing that keeps me going. I can’t—”

“Taehyung? Stop talking.”

He had to oblige. Namjoon let go of you, crossing his arms over another.

“You’re absolutely sure this is what you want to do?”

You gave him a small smile. “Yes. Because maybe if he didn’t love me, didn’t know me, then he’d be different. He’d be able to focus on himself, finding himself.”

You then tilted your body at a 90 degree angle, startling the man in front of you.

“What are you doing? Why are you bowing?”

“I need your help. Please.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, waving his arms around and forcing you to stand up straight. “Anything for you. You don’t have to beg.”

“After I compel Taehyung, I need you to help him start a new life. He’s going to be a newborn hybrid. Please take care of him in my stead.”

“I will, I promise. Look… I’ll wait outside the cave while you say your goodbyes.”

You gave him your thanks and he left, the last sound being the creaky iron gate closing behind him. Then you walked over to Taehyung, who was crying softly.

“Taehyung… stand up. Let me look at you.” He got to his feet right away and you shoved your fingers in his bullet wounds, extracting each bullet out with skill and precision. Taehyung couldn’t even scream until you told him it was okay, so he stood still and endured. Once you were done, you held his face with both hands, wiping his tears away with your thumb. “What do you want to say? Tell me.”

“That I love you s-so much.” He closed his eyes, embracing the warmth of your hands. “Don’t make me forget you.”

“I have to.”

“But you love me too. I know it, don’t lie to me.”

“The sire bond is complicated. It heightens every emotion. You’re confused.”

His eyes fluttered open, a fire burning in his gaze. “I have never been more sure of anything in my life. You align my soul, [Y/N]. I’m incomplete without you. Please…”

You stood on your tiptoes to press a tender kiss on his forehead. He shuddered beneath you, wishing this moment could last forever.

“I need you to live your life and find yourself. As much as you say you want to be sired, I’d be withholding your freedom and that isn’t love. It’s abuse.”

“I don’t care. I don’t mind it. Not if it’s you.”

“Shh…” You put a finger to his lips, staring deep into his eyes.

“No. I don’t want to say goodbye. Please.”

Your pupils dilated as your compulsion ability kicked into gear.

“You will forget about me and your love for me completely. You’re going to live your life and do better, work on yourself, love yourself, understand that this is a second chance at life. Don’t waste it. After I uncuff you, you’re going to walk out of the caves and listen to Namjoon, who will help you learn how to be a hybrid.”

You worked quickly and removed his restraints. He walked out of the cave like a zombie, and you almost wanted to pass out from the stress. It shouldn’t have been that painful, but it was like you ripped off the biggest band aid. Taehyung had burrowed himself into your heart and despite your best efforts to extract all remains of him, he’d left a permanent scar.

The sire bond with Taehyung, although short-lived, had set your emotions in flux. The intensity of his love for you was very real, the ache in his heart when he was begging you to not erase his memories cut you deep like glass. After you compelled him, it felt like someone sawed your heart in half.

Letting someone go was never going to get easier, but you had one more person to talk to. Another bandaid. Another heartbreak.

Jungkook’s Point of View

I wished [Y/N]’s father had given me a warning. After placing my hand on the hourglass thingy, black smoke (which I assumed was the dark magic) formed inside. Professor Min had to ask, “How do we know if it worked?” before her dad snapped my neck so fast, almost as if he had waited his entire life to do so.

Even though I was going to come back to life, it didn’t make it hurt any less. All I could see was darkness. No sound, no sight, just unbearable loneliness. But then I saw a light in the distance and ran towards it.

The first thing I saw once I opened my eyes was her. She was caressing my head, running her hand through my hair. Her smile was kind, but her eyes were empty. Almost as if she was forcing herself to be present when she didn’t want to be. Still, she was goddamn beautiful.

I noticed the gauze on her neck and sat up immediately. “Are you okay? Your neck…”

She waved her hand in a dismissive manner, forcing me to lay back down. “I’m fine. It’s mostly healed anyway, take it easy. You just came back to life.”

I realized I was in my dorm room. Taehyung’s things had been cleared out already, so my side was the only one that had personality to it. I cringed seeing the mess of clothes, posters, and towels on the floor. I would’ve cleaned up had I known she would be here with me.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I died,” I gave her a soft smile as I reminisced about the memory. “Do you remember it?”

“How could I forget? That’s how everything started. The hunters killing you, me giving you my blood, you being sired… you hated it.”

There was a playfulness in her speech that made me chuckle. “I did. Oh, it was humiliating.”

“Yeah, so awful,” she said, playing along. “You hated me.”

“Well… I don’t. I haven’t for a while… and don’t think I ever truly did.”

Her eyes widened a bit and she rubbed her palms on her thighs anxiously. “It’s okay if you did. We were put in an uncomfortable situation.”

“No… it wasn’t.” I sat up with my pillow propped against the headboard and rested my back on top. I leaned forward and grabbed her hand. “I shouldn’t have been so mean back then. I let my pride get in the way. I’m sorry.”

She turned her head to the side, trying to hide her embarrassment. “Why are you apologizing now? We’re past this. Silly.”

“Because you deserve it. You deserve to hear that you were right. About everything. About… him.”

She finally looked at me, slowly retracting her hand, but I held it tightly. I feared if I let go, she’d disappear for good. Something about her hollow gaze earlier left a sinking feeling in my chest.

“If you’re going to apologize, then be specific.” She sounded exasperated and I wondered if I should’ve said nothing.

“I can sit here and blame Jimin for it all. Like how he kissed me, manipulated me into believing I enjoyed it. I can lie and say he’s the reason I didn’t believe you when I should’ve. But I won’t.”

“What’s your point?”

My voice started to crack as tears welled up in my eyes. “I’m a coward. I was scared. The sire bond ending terrified me. I thought you wouldn’t love me anymore, so maybe I pushed you away. Wanted to find an excuse to hate you, paint you like the villain you never were. I blamed you for things you didn’t do and I was wrong for it.”

No response. She only stared at our hands, so I intertwined my fingers with hers.

“Please say something,” I begged.

“While I waited for you to wake up, I read Sunghyun’s notebook. He was in love…”

“With you?”

“No. With us. He always rooted for us to be together. In his notes, he put down how much we belong together.” I saw how she was taking in quick breaths to calm down as tears formed in her eyes. “I’m sorry to disappoint him.”

“What are you talking about?”

She stared deep into my eyes, a grave expression on her face. “I’m leaving. Namjoon’s going to help me graduate early.”

“Well, where are you going? I’ll join you.” She shook her head before I finished my response.

“No. Jungkook, I’m leaving everything. Everyone.”

I held our intertwined hands against my chest. “No. Take me with you. Please.” I kissed the back of her hand, trembling so much that I thought I’d throw up.

“I can’t. I need to heal, I need space.”

“Then do it. I’ll give you all the space you need. Just don’t make this a goodbye.”

She pulled her hand away from me, using enough force so that I couldn’t stop her. She got up from her seat and turned her back towards me. Her fists tightened as her foot tapped the floor anxiously.

“I’m letting you go, so you can live your life. Just like I did for Taehyung.”

I’ve never moved so fast in my life. I scrambled to get out of bed, forcing her to turn around by gripping her shoulders.

“What is that supposed to mean? Isn’t Taehyung dead? Huh?” I shook her once to get her attention when she remained silent. “Answer me!”

“I gave him my blood.”

Her words sent my emotions into overdrive. Anger, jealousy, confusion were all fighting for dominance. “What?! Why on earth would you do that? That bastard deserves to be six feet under for everything he’s done!”

She pried my hands off her shoulders like she was repulsed to be touched by me. “Because I could! I have the ability to heal him so how could I just let him die?! I didn’t want his death to be on my conscience!”

“It wouldn’t have been! He would’ve died anyway!” I placed my hands on my hips. “So what, he’s sired to you now? You know damn well he isn’t going to turn 100 times to break it.”

“What does it matter?”

“It matters a whole damn lot, [Y/N]. He’s won. He wanted you and now he’s got you. And what’s worse is that you don’t seem to mind,” I ran a hand down my face, forcing a laugh at the ridiculous situation, but I was truly dying inside. “He’s tried to kill me, he’s lied, he’s backstabbed you, he was obsessed over you. He—”

“Chose me,” she said, interrupting me. “Despite all of it, he’s chosen me time and time again. I let him live because I wanted him to know I chose him at least once.”

“Do you love him?” I sounded so pathetic, but I had to know. Her silence was eating me alive. “Answer me.”

“If Taehyung had died… I would’ve been destroyed. I couldn’t carry that burden of knowing I could’ve saved him. If anyone were to die by my hands, it should’ve been Jimin.” Her eyes darkened, but I could sense the fury within her. She appeared calm on the surface, which made her even scarier in my eyes as she told me the next part. “I’m not sure if you know this, but Ari took her and Jimin to a prison world.”

“No… I didn’t know,” I breathed.

“So let me ask you this. If Jimin was here right now and I was about to kill him, would you let it happen?”

My arms slowly fell back down to my sides. My mouth was dry as I tried to form a response, but nothing came out. I felt heavy, anchored to the ground and immobilized by her question. Jimin deserved to die just like Taehyung did. I knew that. Why couldn’t I say anything?

“Do you love him?” she asked.

“No.” I didn’t sound convincing, but I meant it.

“See Jungkook? You say you don’t love Jimin, but you would save him too. Despite all he’s done. I can say I don’t love Taehyung, but I saved him anyway. Whether we want to admit it or not, we loved them in some capacity. Maybe not in the way they craved, but we did care for them.”

“Fine. You made your point. But what now, huh? Taehyung’s sired to you.”

She held her hand out in a stop motion. “I’m not finished talking. Taehyung’s… not sired to me. Not anymore.”

The relief that washed over me was overwhelming. “How?”

“I compelled him to forget about me.”

I didn’t need a sire bond to know what she was planning to do next. Fortunately, I was quicker than her and pinned her to the bed with my hand covering her eyes.

“Jungkook?”

“Please… please don’t do it,” My vision was blurry again with tears. “I know what you’re planning to do and I’m begging you to change your mind.”

She could easily overthrow me, but instead she reached her hand up to caress my face, smiling even though she couldn’t see me. “You know me so well…”

“Of course I do. After everything how could I not?”

“Then you understand why I want to do it.”

“No. I don’t. Is this my punishment? Do you wish for me to suffer?”

“Not at all.”

“I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you if I have to. Please let me love you, please… I’m sorry.”

I was crying so much that a tear fell onto her cheek. She didn’t wipe it away and I leaned into her touch, kissing her palm once.

“I want you to be able to live your life without being weighed down by me. The burden of everything, the trauma bonding—it’s not normal.”

“We’re not normal. Nothing about our lives is ever going to be normal. Maybe it’s not supposed to be.”

“You deserve a clean slate. To start over.”

“What’s the point if you’re not by my side?”

She sat up on the bed, but I didn’t remove my hand from her eyes. “I won’t erase everything. You’ll still remember me, but only as that girl that had a crush on you. How we sparred together sometimes. You won’t remember loving me.”

I gritted my teeth, wanting so badly to shout, but I knew I had to remain calm. It’s hard when you’re a blubbering mess though. “Erasing even a single memory of you is a crime. Each moment was a stepping stone that led me to you. There’s no point in compelling me to forget because my heart will yearn for you and only you.”

“Baby…”

“Without your love, I’m nothing. So please… stay with me. Hold on for a while longer. Let’s heal together.”

She slowly took my hand off her eyes and I let it happen. Next thing I knew, she grabbed me by my shirt, kissing me fervently, so desperate like she was afraid I’d disappear. It was ironic because all I could think about was keeping her close in case she’d vanish first.

I never broke our kiss as I pushed her down onto the bed, my body on top of hers. The way we melded together was perfect. I was made to hold her, to love her, and I wanted to show it. We were both crying because I tasted the saltiness of her tears as I kissed her.

There was no changing her mind. She knew it, I knew it. This was our goodbye kiss. So I prolonged it as best I could, caressing her face and kissing her deeper than before.

Then it happened. She caught me by surprise and flipped us around, her body now on top. My eyes opened like a stupid fool and she put her face right in front of me. Another tear cascaded down as her pupils dilated.

“You’re going to forget the fact you ever loved me. I’m just the girl who had a crush on you and trained with you, nothing more. I want you to live your life freely. If we ever cross paths again, don’t approach me. When I’m ready, I’ll come to you and you can decide then if you’ll have me. You’ll remember then. I love you, Jungkook.”

I blinked once, then twice, and my room was now empty. Sitting up, I wiped my tears away and reached my hand into my pocket. I pulled out a small, dried vervain flower and it burned when it came into contact with my skin. Compared to what I’ve been through, this pain was nothing. My moonlight had left me, fading away for good.

Until our next encounter.

a/n: Again, thank you for reading Moonstruck!!! I cried while writing the ending, I hope I made you feel something too. I do have an AO3 if you'd rather show support over there. Much love! 🌙💗

#jungkook #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #bts fanfiction #hybrid jungkook #moonstruck #my scenarios

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sehtoast · 4 months ago

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A Future For Three (Homelander x OC)

hurt/comfort, ambiguous s4 ending, relationship road bumps, ryan butcher, ben being the better parent, pathetic homelander, spidersona oc | Fic Directory

Benjamin has done all he can to point Homelander in the right direction. Between plans for usurping power and parenthood, nothing has gone quite well. At least the bug will be there to help put out the fires.

Not even the crunch of rubble can pull his eyes away from the splotchy screen that spells out his failure in big, bold letters.

The silence between them is so very loud. Louder than the ringing in his ears, louder than the news anchor’s dismayed voice as she reports Neuman’s death. It’s only when those red, web-patterned shoes stop beside him that he dares flit his gaze anywhere else.

Within a single day, he’d lost it all. Ryan ran out on him, then Benjamin did the same…

“You’re not being a father, you’re being a fuckin’ bully,” the bug had spat, fists clenched at his sides.

He can still see the way they both looked at him. Ryan’s eyes full of indignance, Ben’s full of heartbreak and disappointment. The bug had bailed him out of his messes so many times now. Talked to him about parenting, tried giving examples from his own upbringing on what to do and what to say, lectured him about patience and understanding. But how?

How can he do any of that when all the boy seems to want is a better father?

“It’s not a matter of dads,” Ben whispered to him so very long ago. “You’ve both taken care of him. He’s got love for you both, but it’s not a competition, y’know?”

But he never listened. He never learned.

“Thought you wanted space… after…” he blurts, voice hoarse and thin. He gestures vaguely to the destroyed penthouse. His eyes fall to the crumbled remains of Atlas.

It’s like looking in a mirror.

“I did, but…” Ben squats down, one hand snaking through his hair while the other lands atop his bent knee. “I also told you I’d always take care of you.”

Homelander tugs Ryan’s book bag closer.

“Look at me, Johnny.” Ben whispers.

He hates the rimming of tears in his little spider’s eyes more than anything. He put those there, didn’t he? Took everything too far, was too cruel, said all those horrible things to rile up his fans…

He barely registers the arms looping under his knees and around his back to lift him to the couch. Benjamin murmurs something about him deserving better than sitting on the floor, but it sounds warped– messy and discombobulated as if they were underwater. He lets Ben guide him, lets himself be coaxed to rest his head atop the bug’s lap and away from the sights of his failures. He’d complain at the sound of his eagle epaulet puncturing the leather of the couch, but it was already destroyed anyway.

Just like everything else.

The tears start again. The sobs quake, the shivers rattle him, and he gasps for air that simply won’t fill the void.

“I’ve got you, pumpkin.” Benjamin coos, fingers stroking through his hair. “S’gonna be alright.”

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” Homelander sputters. Why can’t I do anything right?

“Mm, a lot, honestly…” The bug sighs, thumbing his cheek with a tenderness that conveys nothing but love behind such a devastating statement. “But I’ll keep ya.”

He hates the way that makes him cry harder. He hates the way Ben holds him through it all. It’d be so much easier if the bug would just throw him to the curb already. Toss him aside, tear away one last shred of humanity from his used and abused heart. One last anchor to remove him from that which he can never escape.

But it isn’t that simple. It never will be.

By the time he’s devoid of any more tears, Benjamin still comforts him. Still promises him an eternity. Still shows him love.

“We’re gonna go down to my place, okay?”

“Why?” He croaks. His head throbs when he lifts it.

“I don’t want you sleeping in a big mess like this. You deserve a little better than that.” Benjamin pinches his cheek but the usual smile doesn’t spread across his face at the act. Homelander’s drained. He’s got nothing left inside but the hollowness of his own misery and the weak shimmer of hope sown by his little spider.

So he lets Ben carry him through the halls like some sort of wounded child who’d skinned their knees and couldn’t do it himself. Not that there was anyone of consequence in the tower left to see it. Not after he’d given the order to do away with them.

Another thing Benjamin begged him not to do.

He’s like a compliant mannequin as Ben strips him of his suit and all of the accompanying dust it’d gathered. He expects to be kicked to the couch by the time he’s sporting just his briefs, but exile is not what fate has in store for him. Instead, he gets to be tucked under fuzzy blankets and held close. Benjamin’s breath kisses the nape of his neck and an arm slings over his midsection.

In his own arms, he still clings to Ryan’s bag. He can’t take his eyes off the photo of him and his son that sits atop the nightstand. He’s got the boy’s cheeks pinched between his gloved fingers, both of them smiling brightly. In his hands, Ryan holds the carrier with their milkshakes. He remembers the moment Ben took that photo. How happy they all were…

“I texted him.” Ben murmurs. “Let him know we’re here for when he gets back.”

He pulls the bag closer.

“Listen t’me.”

Homelander’s gut drops for the millionth time. What could possibly be coming? The end of their relationship? Reprimands he can’t escape? Will it hurt?

“We need to have a serious talk later about everything, okay?”

Oh god…

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, but I need– we got a lot to work on, y’know?”

He thanks whatever god there may be for the clarification.

“And I need you to understand something. I love you. But that doesn’t mean you can hurt me all the time.” Ben’s voice cracks with cries that threaten to spill. “I don’t ever wanna get to the point where I can’t come back to you. I fuckin’ love you, but I’m scared you’re gonna push me too far away someday and I can’t–”

The arm around his body curls tighter.

“I can’t imagine anything else but you. And I don’t want to. I know you’re trying, and I know it’s hard and it’s all gone tits up these last few days– that this was all your dream, but please…”

Ben’s face presses to his nape and he can feel the wetness of tears. Those are his fault, too. The pit of shame in his gut opens wider. The guilt grows stronger.

“Please save room for us in your dream.”

#homelander #homelander x oc #homelander fanfiction #the boys #Homelander x reader #x oc #x reader #antony starr #the boys fanfic

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codfanficedits · 1 year ago

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One fucking mistake - Full version - Ending two.

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader - She/her pronouns being used - Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!OC

Summary: Simon lost you after making a mistake on a mission.

Wordcount: 12655 | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: cussing, swearing, grieving, angst with comfort, conversation, mentioning of memoryloss, therapist, depression (and the nasty kind), funeral.

A/N: Full version of the fic. This is the happier ending.

I didn't proofread and English isn't my native tongue, so please let me know if there are mistakes.

AO3 Link ~ Full version ending one.

One fucking mistake.

That was all it took for life to take you away from him. Simon hated himself, flat out hated himself. He was the one he asked you to go on this mission with him. Simon was the one who double checked your gear, giving your bulletproof vest some little tugs to make sure that it was secure. Simon had been the one to beg you to come on this mission with him. After all, you had been the best thing that had happened to him, and what better way to keep you safe than to keep you close to him at all times?

Another sip of whiskey when he tries to drown out the memories of that mission.

Simon had promised himself to keep you safe, safe from the world, safe from the enemy, safe from himself, and he had failed. He had failed you so badly. If only he had listened to you when you said no the first time, if only he hadn’t pouted and tried to bribe you into coming with him. If he wouldn’t have done that you’d still be next to him.

Another sip of whiskey while he tries to forget his own screams when he lost you.

Simon would give everything in his power to turn back time, to accept your first no, to kiss you on your nose and to take that mission on with someone else. He would sacrifice the whole taskforce if that meant he could have you back. All of them, with his bare hands if he had to. But he knew it wouldn’t make a difference, he knew he couldn’t change the outcome, so the only thing he could do was punish himself for his mistakes.

When he finishes his glass of whiskey he wants to raise his arm to order another one. A large hand on his arms stops him.

“You’ve had enough, Simon.”

Captain fucking Price.

“I’ll fucking decide when I’ve had enough.” Simon barks. His anger redirecting to John, angry that the captain approved you going on that mission with him. It was his job to care for his soldiers and Price had clearly failed you and him.

Price’s hand grabs a handful of Simon’s hair. “Get a fucking grip on yourself, Simon.” His voice is a low hiss, almost intimidating. “That’s a fucking order.”

A stare off starts, Simon doesn’t want to back down, no, Simon wants someone to be punished for losing you. And Price refuses to be that person.

“I get that you’re grieving.” Price starts.

“Oh do you now?”

“Simon.” A soft sigh follows Price’s lips. “I do, but this is not the way to deal with this.”

Simon stays silent, of course he knows this is not the way to deal with it, but it is the way that feels good, the way that makes him forget about you. The way that makes him forget about the guilt that he feels.

“Come on.” Price orders him. “Let’s get you back to base.” The hand that had been gripping on his hair makes its way back to his neck, and with a firm hand he guides Simon off the barstool, back to the car.

It is a quiet, but tense ride back to base. Neither of the men want to break the silence.

Eventually Price bites the bullet.

“We’re worried about you, Simon.” He begins. “I am worried about you.”

“I don’t need your worries or your care.” Simon spat back, all he wanted was you back.

“You need something. Something we can’t give you.”

“What are you implying?”

“Simon.” It’s a soft sigh. “Maybe it would be for the best if you took some time off, yeah?”

No. Simon had already lost the person he cared most about, he couldn’t stand losing his job too, even if it was temporarily.

“Not a chance.”

“But, Simon I thi-“

“I said not a chance.”

Price let out a sigh, he knows better than to argue with a heartbroken, grieving soldier, but Price also knows he can’t allow this behaviour to continue for much longer. Simon is becoming a liability to the team, to himself, and he needs to prevent that.

The both of them don’t say a word until they reach the base again. But even then the tension was thick between the two of them. Without saying a word Simon got out of the car, taking large steps to avoid any form of communication with Price, not in the mood to talk anymore.

Simon reaches his room quickly and when he closes his door behind him, he gets overwhelmed with this insane amount of guilt. He had already lost you, and it felt as if everything was slipping between his fingers.

Simon falls to his knees, praying to the Gods that you’re safe and that you will return to him soon. His prayers are raw and desperate, begging for the universe to stop the cruel trick it’s playing on him.

He doesn’t get up when the door creaks open and Soap gets in. Price had told him what had happened, and Soap wanted to talk to his friend, but the sight of a grown man on his knees, begging the universe to bring someone back is a difficult thing to watch.

“You’re praying again?” Soap eventually mutters. “How raw are your knees?”

“Fuck off!” Simon snaps at him.

Soap can only shake his head. “I don’t think you’re truly mean.” He answers. “You have sad eyes.”

And with those words Simon is left alone again. His whole life smelled like you, and it would take time. Undoing you from his blood.

He crawls to his bed, on his knees, tears streaming down his face when he is once again reminded that you’re not here with him.

He doesn’t even bother with taking off his clothes as he crawls under the covers the two of you used to share every night. And he starts to think about another universe, one where he has found you again, where the two of you fall in love again, were the two of you stay together and have the happiest life together. And he loves, loves, loves you. Simon realizes that if he could have done it again, he would have loved you better, but he could not have loved you more.

The feelings of guilt and grief have started to feel so familiar that is has become comforting enough to fall asleep.

And when the morning comes, and Simon is once again reminded of what life has taken from him, he starts to understand why people smoke until their lungs are black, why people drink the night away or why they throw themselves off buildings.

His mind didn’t register the warm water of the shower anymore, everything in life started to feel dull, the warmth of the sun no longer hitting his skin, the smell of lavender no longer reaching his nose, even food started to taste as bland as he felt.

Simon dreaded going to debriefings, the stares he would get, full of compassion, it made him sick to his stomach, they all thought that they knew what he was going through, but no one really knew how he felt, and he was not about to share it with anyone.

He was the last to join, and as expected all the heads turned towards him when he walked in, taking his usual seat. He despised the looks his teammates gave them, and he refused to meet their gazes, his eyes focused on the paper before him.

“Simon.” Price starts.

“Ghost.” He corrects.

“I’m sorry.” Price clears his throat. “Ghost. We’re going back to that mission whe-“

“Why.” His voice is sharp.

“We’re going to search for a body.”

Simon can feel his heartbeat in his ear, and he can feel his face getting red. He doesn’t want to search for a body. Because not having a body meant you were still Missing In Action. It meant that there was still a chance you would come back to him, it meant that if he prayed hard enough, you would return to the place where you belonged. His arms.

Finding your body would mean that you would be Killed In Action, it would mean that he would need to find a crowbar and pry the pieces of God of out his body, a punishment for being abandoned. Finding you would mean that he had to accept that his mission had killed you, and he wasn’t ready to face that.

“No.” His answer was short.

“It has been three weeks.”

“I don’t care!” Simon slams his fist on the table to power up his words.

“We’re going and you can either join us or stay here.” Price gives him the choice.

And Simon doesn’t know what to do, because he wants to stay in the bubble he had created for himself, he wanted to believe that you would just show up, as an early Christmas present. And if he went to look for you, he’d know for certain you would never come back.

But he couldn’t let the other find you. It would be a betrayal towards you, he had sworn to protect you, he had already failed at that, the least he could do was bring your body home himself.

“I’m coming.”

His teammates look up, slightly confused, all of them had expected him to stay on base.

“Are you sure?” Soap breaks the silence.

“Do I have to repeat myself, sergeant?”

“Of course not Lieutenant.”

But Simon zones out quickly after that. His mind wandering towards the upcoming mission. Bringing you home. How would you look when he found you? Would you still be as pretty? How would your face look? He was worried, worried he’d find you with a terrified look on your face. Worried he would find you half dressed, your innocence taken away by the enemy. All he could be was worried.

He doesn’t even register his teammates getting up and leaving the debriefing room.

“A word.” The stern voice of his captain snaps him out of it.

“What.”

“You can’t go on like this, Simon.”

“Ghost.”

“No. I’m talking to you as Simon.” Price answers. “I’ll allow you to go on this mission, as I understand how important it is to you, but after we’re back.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’m your captain and you listen to me.”

Simon can feel the muscle under his eye twitching, he hated it when Price reminded him that he outranked him, but he knew Price wouldn’t back off if it came to a standoff, although Price did seem like a sweet man, he had a lot of bark in him when needed.

“Yes captain.”

“When we’re back, I want you to take some leave, get some professional help. I can’t watch you drink yourself to death every night. I can’t keep covering for you to our higher ups, Simon. You deserve better than this.”

No, no, no. Simon felt as if he deserved exactly what he was given, after all, he had been the one to drag you along on that mission.

“If you say so.”

“Now, go prepare yourself. I can imagine it is going to be tough to get back there.”

Oh it was. Just the mere idea of going back to the place where he lost you was enough for Simon to get his stomach to churn. But he needed to go, he owed it to you, he owed it to himself.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.

The words repeating themselves as a mantra inside his head. His heart dropping to his stomach when he has to wear a bulletproof vest again, the memories of him tugging on yours flooding his mind. Your innocent smile, the pout when you reminded him he had to do the dishes when the two of you would come back, a part of the deal he had made with you so you would come with him on that godforsaken mission. He can still feel the sensation of your skin under his knuckles when he playfully brushed them against your cheeks. Simon was desperate, he felt like he was drowning. In pain, anger and self-hatred, and you had always been his lifeline, helping him stay afloat. And now you were gone, by his doing and it takes everything in his being to not drop to his knees and wail. God, God, God. He missed you, your smile, your skin, your hair, your scent. Your eyes. He missed your eyes, they spoke a thousand stories and he was ready to read every word.

If only he could go back in time. But he can’t, instead he has to walk to the same chopper that flew the both of you to a mission, but only brought him back.

He closes his eyes and rests his head against the back of the chopper, after he has taken a seat, begging the universe to let him wake up from this horrible nightmare.

Simon knows he needs to find you now, alive and well, it would be his only chance to have you back again. He doesn’t want to find your body, he doesn't want to be met with the aftermath of that mission. No, no, no. He wants you to sit on a piece of rubble, patiently waiting for him to come pick you up.

He can’t accept your fate, because it isn’t fair. It wasn’t fair and it never, ever will be fair.

Right now you’re still Missing In Action, and right now he still has the chance to have you again.

It’s a horrible sight for the rest of his team, they know they want to help, but Simon pushes them all away, every single one of them gets shut out, no matter how hard to try to just be there for him. He wants you, and no one else is allowed to get close to him. Even with the skull mask on, and his eyes closed, they can all tell he is not doing well. But how does one console a grieving soldier that doesn’t want to be consoled?

Soap opens his mouth to say something, anything. He can’t stand his friend being in so much pain and he wants to know if there is something that he can do. But Price stops him, because Price knows how it is to grieve over someone he knows will never come back. Price knows that the feeling, how intense it may be in the moment, will eventually fade into something lighter, a feeling that is there, yet doesn’t weigh down on his chest so much.

And Simon doesn’t know, Simon doesn’t realise how much his coworkers, his friends are struggling with him. He doesn’t know how much they miss you too, how much they want you to sit on that piece of rubble when they arrive. They want you to, for your sake, for their sake, but most of all for Simon’s sake.

It is quiet when the chopper touches the ground, no one dares to get up first. No one wants to be the person to bring the bad news.

Price eventually decides that it is up to him. He is Simon’s captain after all, he was your captain after all. His eyes scan the area in front of him.

God, let you sit on that piece of rubble.

But you’re not, of course you’re not, and Price feel stupid for even allowing himself to have this bit of hope.

“Let’s go look for a body.” An order from his low voice.

Simon gets up from his seat, clinging on to the idea that it is all a big prank, a big joke, and that you are still on that piece of rubble, a payback because he bribes you into going on that mission.

It feels as if his legs are going to give out when he sees the area covered in rubble, dirt and pieces of the building you’d been in.

He needs to hold on to something, something to keep him steady while his body wants to shut down as his mind begins to flood again with the memories.

A flash grenade.

A fucking flash grenade had separated the two of you, and he should have seen it coming. He should’ve seen it happen, he should have protected you, but he didn’t. He can see the husk of the flash grenade stick out from between the debris, as if the universe is taunting him. He remembers being blinded, a loud ringing in his ears, and you were nowhere to be found. He remembers calling your name, yelling your name, screaming it, but he never got a response. He remembers that cold, sickening feeling when he tried to radio you, but he didn’t hear the radio, or you. He remembers a grenade going off near him. He remembers running there, hoping to find you, but you were never there, and he had to go back to the chopper empty handed. He remembers how the air suddenly became painful to breathe when you weren’t waiting at the chopper for him. He remembers how he had to make the choice to go back.

He remembers. He remembers. He remembers. He remembers.

A sudden wave of nausea waves over him, and he is just in time to pull up the mask and the balaclava, retching out sour vomit when it becomes too much. The guilt, the fear, the anger making their way up from his stomach.

He cleans his mouth with a sip of water. Simon can’t forget he is still a soldier, and he needs to be strong, for you, for himself. And when he feels like it is okay again, he joins the others, picking up large pieces of debris, hoping to find a sign of you, a little giveaway that you’re still very much alive and kicking.

He works hard, the desperation showing through his movements as he lifts up piece after piece. But you’re not there, all he finds is disappointment and the confirmation that his worst fear is becoming a reality. It is starting to become dark and Simon knows that they have to return back to base soon.

“Ghost.” Price calls out from the field.

“You might want to see this.”

But Simon doesn’t want to see this, because he knows that this can’t be good news. Simon knows from the tone and voice of his captain that if they have found you, you’re not alive.

His steps feel heavy, as if concrete is tied to his feet while he makes his way over to Price, stopping in his tracks when he sees your dog tags and the ball chain wrapped around his hand. The look in Price’s face tells him enough. They have found your dog tags, but not you.

You’re not coming home with him.

No, no, no. This couldn’t be, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You had to come home with him. At this point it was no longer about you being alive, it was about you coming home. He wanted, no he needed to see your pretty face one more time, he wanted to tell you that he loved you one more time.

Simon made his way over to Price, he needed to see if they were really your dog tags. They had to be someone else’s, they shouldn’t be yours, they couldn’t be yours. Dear God, anyone’s but yours.

They were yours.

Of course they were yours. He recognized them from afar, his vision getting blurry from the tears when he looked at the shiny metal. His mind was racing and he couldn’t think.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He couldn’t think.

You had to be here, you just had to be. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the stinging pain of the glass shards on the floor. Raking his hands through the debris, tossing away concrete, stones, glass, everything to try and find you.

The leather on his gloves is strong, but not as strong as his love for you and it doesn’t take long for his blood to stain the broken pieces of building he was touching. He had to find you.

You had to come home to him, you just had to.

He can feel a hand on his shoulder but Simon ignores it. He just needs a little longer, he just needs a few more minutes.

“Simon.” The low bass in Price’s voice makes it impossible to ignore him. “We need to go back.”

“No.”

“It’s an order.”

It breaks Price, seeing his best soldier suffer like this. And Price himself doesn’t want to think about your fate. He hopes you’re still buried under all that rubble and debris, he prays that your dead body isn’t taken by the enemy, because he too knows how disgusting men can be.

“We have to go back.” Price usually doesn’t repeat himself, but he’ll make an exception, just his once.

Simon gets up from his knees, knowing that if he leaves now, he has to accept your fate, his fate, the fate of the relationship the two of you had.

“But.” Simon tries to protest.

“Don’t.” Price sighs. “It won’t get easier over time. Rip off the bandage, boy.”

Simons knows it is for the best, but by God did it hurt, he didn’t want to leave you, he didn’t want your status to be changed to Killed In Action, no he wanted you to be Missing In Action until the two of you reconnected again in the afterlife.

Simon holds out his hand, wanting to hold your dog tags. The only thing he is bringing home today.

He holds them the whole flight in the chopper, this thumb caressing the metal, memorizing the way your name is marked on the cold metal. He brings them to his lips, kissing them through the balaclava, hoping that you’ll feel his kiss in the afterlife.

Simon, Price, Soap, Gaz, they all know this can’t go on any longer, they all know this is breaking Simon, the infamous Ghost crumbling down at the loss of his beloved.

“A word.” Price doesn’t waste any time when they’re back to base.

“I know.” Simon sounds defeated as he follows him into an empty briefing room.

“This can’t go on like this, Simon.”

“I know, just.” Simon doesn’t want to talk, but he has to. “Just let me stay on base until the funeral is over.”

An empty casket.

Price would’ve denied anyone else, he would’ve told anyone else that the army wasn’t a babysitter, but he couldn’t deny the broken soul in front of him. He couldn’t risk losing his best soldier because he had sent him home too early.

“Of course.” Price finally answers. “But I want you to go to therapy when you’re on leave.”

Therapy. Simon finds it a filthy word. Because therapy would mean that something is wrong with him, and the only thing wrong is your death.

“I promise.” You would’ve wanted it for him.

Price had never expected Simon to agree so quickly, but he is glad Simon doesn’t put up much of a fight, although it worries him slightly.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Price warns him.

A faint smile forms on Simons lips. “The dumbest thing I ever did was bringi-“

“Stop.” Another order from Price. “You’re beating yourself up.”

“But it is my fault!”

Silence, because the both of them know that you still would’ve been alive if Simon hadn’t begged you to come with him. The both of them know that you would still be alive if you wouldn’t have gone on that mission. But Price could never tell Simon that, he could never bring his best soldier down even more.

“Get some rest.” Price orders. “I’ll make sure that.. that..” He struggles to find the words, but it’s clear what he means. He will make sure that you’re put to rest as soon as possible. Your empty casket into the ground, your dog tags the only evidence that you ever existed.

It is the worst day of Simon’s life. The flowers, the suit he is wearing, the people surrounding them. He had dreamed of the day this would happen, but you wouldn’t be gone, you’d be getting ready to marry him, and by God, every time he thinks his heart is ripped out of his chest, the claws of life dig deeper and rip out the remaining pieces of his love. And he catches himself looking for you, even though he knows you won’t arrive.

But his love for you is still inside of him, and he carries you wherever he goes.

Simon knows he has to speak, his final act of love towards you. You deserve it, even though your body is not here, you deserve to get a proper burial. But it’s hard, too hard. The worst part of that love is that he remembers it, walking around everyday thinking that he is going to die in the universe that you loved him in.

He clears his throat, heads snapping into his direction as he tries to brace himself. It’s easier to treat this as a mission. Saying what he needs to say, keep his voice from breaking and getting out.

His eyes shift to the empty casket on the left, and without his permission his vision starts to get blurry and his goddamn heart starts to ache again. God, God, God. How he wished the two of you could’ve met as kids, because he knew you would’ve loved the softer version of him.

Simon looks down at the paper before him, the little speech he wrote to honour you, but he can’t read it through his tears, so he has to speak the words from his heart.

“Since you happened, I’ve never been the same.” Off to a great start.

“I don’t know what’s more tragic, that I keep looking for you wherever I go. Or that you’re never there, and I promise you, someday, somewhere, we’ll be together again.” Fuck, he can’t keep his voice from breaking.

“Whiskey was easier to swallow than the fact that you aren’t coming back.” He is becoming a mess, for all to see. His feelings on display as if it were in a museum. “I’ve learned that I can drink too much and forget the night before. But I’ve learned I can’t drink enough to forget the people I’ve loved and lost.”

A sob interrupts his speech.

“I don’t know what to say to you, except that it tore the heart out of my body saying goodbye to you.”

He has to get out, he needs to breathe fresh air, he wants the grief in him to be replaced by the scent of fresh flowers and sunshine. Who knew losing his lover could turn a hardened soldier into a sobbing mess?

Someone hugs him, but he is too far gone to even register it. Those same arms, same hands guide him to his seat, and his mind is empty when he listens to the rest of the wake.

And now he is sitting in a comfortable chair, a therapist in front of him. Simon still doesn’t know why he accepted it. After all, he still believes that he should suffer from what he has done to you. If you didn’t deserve to live, why would he?

He filters out her voice as he concentrates to the ticking noise of the clock. These appointments feel like a waste of his time. But so does rotting in bed, so he keeps telling himself you would’ve wanted this for him, for him to seek the help he doesn’t feel he deserves.

71 days. The last time he saw you was 71 days. And for those 71 days he feels like an empty shell of an human. And the worst part? Your shirts no longer smell like you, he had to throw out your leftovers, the mold covering the food you had prepared, but he had tried to cling on to it for as long as he could.

71 days, and your voice is a mere memory, it sounds different on the video’s he has from you, and he is ashamed that he can’t remember the real sound anymore.

What would you think of him? God he hopes you can’t see him from the afterlife like this, a goddamn mess, the last time he took a shower must’ve been a week ago, and if he doesn’t go to his therapy session, all he does is, well, nothing. The time he has on this earth is waisted by staring at the wall, hours on end. Just staring, and when his mind is done beating him up for making the mistake of asking you to go on that mission with him, it’s just turned off.

A waste of space, a waste of oxygen, a waste of everything. A pathetic excuse of a human being.

“Simon.” The voice of his therapist snaps him out of it. “Are you okay? I’ve been talking to you for minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He grumbles.

She doesn’t believe him, he can feel it, and he can’t blame her, after all, most sessions are filled with an awkward silence, he doesn’t want to talk, and she learned that asking her questions gets her nowhere.

His mind wanders to your funeral again, how the empty casket is haunting him, how the nightmares about you being cold, dead and alone are haunting him, how even when he sleeps, he finds no peace from his mistake.

He can hear his therapist sigh, her long nails tapping on the clipboard, and it’s fucking annoying. He wants to tell her about the flashbacks, how he keeps relieving the mission, how he keeps replaying the last minute with you, he wants to, but he can’t. It is his secret, his punishment.

His therapist clears her throat. “Well, our time is up. Is there anything you’d like to discuss before we call it quits?”

“No.”

“Alright, see you again next week then, same time.”

With a scoff he gets up from the chair, ready to go home to embrace the darkness of his bed again.

The days are starting to look the same, they melt together in a blur of grief.

He lays in bed, unless he really has to get out. A quick visit to the bathroom and back to bed he goes. When he is unable to ignore his rumbling stomach, he orders some takeaway, just to eat it on the couch, the empty cartons starting to flood the place. But he doesn’t care, not in the slightest, he doesn’t care when he can see the mold on the little pieces of food left in the pizza box.

He doesn’t care when he can smell himself whenever he gets into the bedroom again, he doesn’t care when he rewatches the same show for the fifth time, not a care in the world when his screentime is over sixteen hours a day. He doesn’t care when he stops answering texts, he doesn’t care when calls are met with a loud sigh, annoyed that they’re interrupting the game he was playing.

Simon despises the days he has to go to therapy, it is the only day in the week where he has to get up, shower, wash his hair and brush his teeth. It is the only day of the week where the rotten air from home is replaced by fresh outside air, and he hates it, the comfort of his home being ripped away, just like you got ripped away.

His legs bounces while he sits in the waiting room, he still feels as if he doesn’t belong to therapy, while he knows that there is something wrong, he doesn’t want to admit it, he doesn’t want to accept the help.

He frowns when he gets called in by someone else than his usual therapist, but he goes in anyway.

“Where is she?” He asks bluntly as he goes to sit down in the same comfortable chair he always sit in.

“Who?”

“My usual therapist.”

The woman in front of him frowns. “She didn’t feel as if she was booking process with you, so she asked me to take over. Didn’t she tell you?”

Simon can only shrug, truth be told, he never paid enough attention to even remember anything from those sessions. “Could be.”

Her lips press together until they are a faint line and Simon can tell he doesn’t like her one bit.

“Let me introduce myself.” She continues. “My name is Sarah, and I’m…” He zones out within seconds, pushing her voice to the background.

“Simon!” She has a fucking sharp voice.

“What.”

“I’m talking to you.”

Simon raises an eyebrow, this is the first time a therapist has been this direct to him. “Right.” He mumbles. “Continue.”

“Did you get anything I just said?” Sarah asks him.

“Well, your name is Sarah, and..” His voice dies out. “That’s all.” He adds with a sheepish tone.

“Why are you here, Simon?” She asks him, as she holds the clipboard to her chest.

Because my captain asked me to.

But he stays silent, just shrugging as she asks him that question.

“Do you even want to be here?”

Simon frowns at the second question, of course he doesn’t want to be here. “No.”

“Then why bother coming anyway?”

Because you would’ve been so disappointed in him if he didn’t at least try. But Simon knows that what he is doing isn’t even close to trying at all. It is just easier to lie to himself that he is trying.

“Because..” His voice his hoarse.

Because he wants to get rid of that feeling of guilt, that is weighing him down on his chest, the feeling that keeps him up at night, being so heavy that he worries that he’ll suffocate in the matrass if he acknowledges it. Because he wants to deal with the grief that came with losing you, because every little thing outside of the routine that he has created for himself reminds him of you. Because he wants to be happy again, but just the mere thought of it feels like a betrayal to you.

Because, because, because.

But the words leave him, just like he left you there to die by yourself, and the thought of that tightens his chest, his ribs suffocating his lungs and it feels like he can’t breathe. Short burst of air leaving his nose when he tries to wipe away the image. That familiar feeling again, a panic attack waiting in the shadows of his mind.

God not here, not now.

But Sarah doesn’t react, she doesn’t try to talk him out of it, instead she just lets it happen, observing how he handles it.

His hands pressing against his temples. He doesn’t want to think about you, about leaving you, he doesn’t want to be confronted by his mistake.

Deep breath in through your mouth, exhaling out your nose.

He remembers the advice you gave him, you’d walked in on him having one as he sat down on the shower floor. He tries to remember your voice, your face when you said it to him. But he can’t. Fuck. He can’t.

He loves you, so why is he forgetting it? Why is your face becoming a blur. Why is your voice different in every memory.

Deep breath in through your mouth, exhaling out your nose.

The panic dies out after a few deep breaths, guilt popping up like the mushrooms do around autumn.

“Why are you here, Simon?” Sarah repeats the question.

“Because I can’t live like this anymore.”

“Like what?”

A scowl forms on his face, he hates feeling this vulnerable, it makes him feel weak and he still feels as if he should overcome this with ease. “Living in my own filth because I can’t be bothered to actually live.”

“Why can’t you be bothered to actually live, Simon?”

For fuck sakes, he hates how many questions she is asking, he hates how it forces him to think about things he doesn’t want to think about, things he has crammed away in the shadows of his mind.

“Because I don’t deserve it!” His voice is louder than he wanted it to be, but part of him hopes it scares her off, that it makes her stop asking questions.

But it doesn’t, Sarah doesn’t bat an eye.

“Why do you feel as if you don’t deserve to live?”

Because you didn’t get to live.

“Because I killed her, I begged her to come with me on a mission that killed her. I am the reason she is no longer walking on this earth. She said no the first time and I’m a selfish asshole for taking her with me!” God it feels good to get that off his chest.

Sarah stays silent, and the silence causes his words to float in the air.

“She said yes herself, right?” Sarah eventually says. “Why are you holding yourself accountable for that?”

“Because she said no the first time. And I bribed her with doing the dishes.” He spat out.

God he hated how Sarah would let his answers linger in the air, it meant he had to think, think about what happened, think about his answers, think about how actions, how it affected everything.

How he would never give himself peace.

“Because I keep wondering how life would’ve been if I had accepted her first no, I wonder how I would be if she wouldn’t have gone with me. Because. I. I. I.” Simon starts to stutter, the words flooding out him, things he had kept hidden to rot inside of him.

“Because I know that she would’ve been alive if it wasn’t for me.” A tiny voice for a big soldier.

“You can’t change what happened, Simon.”

Of course he can’t! Fuck, it annoys him. “I know.” He grits his teeth.

“Do you think she would want you to live like this?”

Fuck, a cold sensation running over him, his stomach feels as if it is doing summersaults.

“No, no, I don’t think so.” He eventually admits. Of course not, you would only want the best for him, you would’ve wanted him to move on, to make something out of his life. Oh God, you were always so sweet, so innocent, and he, he took you away from this world.

That same feeling in his chest again, he presses his eyes shut.

The image of that fucking flash grenade sticking out of the debris again. Haunting him, taunting him.

As the tightness in his chest gets worse, he can’t stop the hot tears falling down.

Fucking weak.

“Simon.”

“Simon?”

“Simon!”

Sarah’s voice brings him back to reality, but not just enough, flashbacks running through his mind while he tries to feel the fabric of the chair under his fingertips.

“Tell me what is happening, Simon.”

Short, quick breaths, the tightening in his chest becoming worse, and worse.

“Simon? Tell me what you’re seeing, right now.”

He wants to open his eyes, he wants it to stop, but this is the clearest he has seen you in weeks. He doesn’t want to lose this, even though it hurt like something he has never felt before. He wants it to stop, but he doesn’t want it to end.

“The mission.” He mutters.

Silence again. He hates how Sarah lets him struggle with his emotions, his feelings, and he wants his old therapist back, whatshername, who would fill up the silence so he wouldn’t have to.

“I keep replaying the mission in my head.” Simon adds.

“Tell me.” Sarah commands. “Walk me through what is happening.”

“It always starts the same.” He begins. “Always.”

“How does it start?”

“We’re waiting for the chopper. We’re both wearing a bulletproof vest, and I make sure hers is safe. I tug on it a little, a few times actually. I would brush the skin of her cheeks with my knuckles.” It is a whisper, but it is a start.

“And then we move to the chopper, she is sitting next to me, and all I see is her beauty. It was supposed to be an easy mission and she is talking, talking about how she will let me do all the dishes she can find, she is teasing me about having to wear an apron while I’m doing the dishes.” His breathing is starting to get more controlled.

“It was supposed to be an abandoned area.” Simon continues, his hands gripping the armrest of the chair. “I let my guard down, we were joking too much, laughing too hard. The enemy must’ve heard us. And then, then, then.”

“Stop.” Sarah says. “Put the film on hold, and tell me what you see.”

“I see her, the sun high on the sky, a smile on her face, not a worry in her eyes. And then I spot the flash grenade. And I want to warn her, but it’s too late.” Simons starts.

“Okay.” No it’s not okay.

“Can you put yourself in the image?”

“What?”

“Put yourself in the situation, standing alongside yourself and her.”

Silence again.

“Can you do it, Simon?”

“Yeah.” He mutters, feeling awkward, but he can, standing next to himself and next to you.

“Is there anything you’d like to say to her?”

His heart starts to race again. Yes, yes, yes! There are so many things he would like to say to you, so many things that he wants you to hear, but that will never reach you.

“I. I. I want to tell that I’m so, so sorry.” He begins. “I want to say that I should’ve listened to her, that if I could do it all over again, I would do it differently.”

He holds back a sob.

“I want to tell her that I will always love her, that she will always be a part of me, no matter what happens, no matter how old I grow, no matter who comes in to my life, she will always matter.” The raw words leave his lips, dragging the heavy feeling from his heart with them, leaving him able to breathe for the first time in months.

“Can you hug her?”

What a stupid question. But he can, and he does, he presses his eyes shut and hugs you, and although it is in his imagination, it feels real, for him it is real. The version of you that got one more hug, tells him that he is forgiven, and it brings a little bit of peace to him.

Simon finally opens his eyes again. “God.” He breathes.

“How does that feel?” Sarah asks.

“Better.” He admits.

“Good.” Is that a smile on her lips?

“Are you going to be able to handle being alone?” Sarah breaks the silence.

“Yeah.” And for the first time it does feel like he is able to handle being alone. For the first time he wants to go outside, to breathe the fresh air. Hell, he even wants to grab the bin and clean the house.

He wants to live again.

243 days.

God it has been 243 days. And while his grief for you is a token of the love he holds for you, life is moving on, Simon is moving on. He no longer spends his days and nights in his bed, instead he goes out, out in the open, out to visit a coffee shop, a bookstore, the park.

He treats life as if he had died and had begged God for a second chance, taking in every detail of the beauty of life.

243 days. He has missed your birthday, you have missed his. But don’t worry, he took a cupcake to your empty grave and sang for you. You still visit him in his dreams, and while he still wakes up missing you, longing for you in his bed, he is grateful to have you visit him even if it is through his nightmares and dreams.

He no longer has therapy sessions with Sarah, although they have helped him a whole lot, he is okay by himself, the flashbacks no longer taunt him and when this mind wanders back to that day, he can put himself back in the narrative, telling you that he loves you, that he wishes life could have been different.

Simon even went back to work, not to his full extend yet, that is a little too much, just yet. But he is getting there, and he hopes that you’re proud of him.

The grieving has become easier over time, and with it came a little bit of guilt, for the longest time it felt like he was forgetting you.

But he is not. You’ll always have a spot in his heart, he can never really forget you. Although he can only remember your face from the pictures and video’s, he remembers you. Although your voice isn’t the same in every dream, flashback or video, he still remembers you. You left your mark on his heart and he won’t get rid of it.

Simon takes in the ambiance of the little coffeeshop that he is in, waiting for his date to arrive. Sophie had been a nice girl, she isn’t you, obviously she isn’t you, and it took him a few weeks to get used to it. He stopped looking for you in her eyes, and while she will never leave such a mark on him as you did, she is pretty amazing. Simon told her upfront about you, how you always be a part of his life, through his work, through the apartment he shared with you, through him. And Sophie was okay with that, Sophie had no intention to replace you, no Sophie knew that she could live alongside Simon’s love for you.

A smile breaks out on his face when he spots here, a little wave following quick.

“There you are!” Happiness in his voice.

“Yeah, sorry I’m late.” You were never late.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m glad you’re here.” She kisses him on his cheek after those words.

And it took him a while, but he can smile after the small gesture, it no longer feels like a betrayal towards you, after all, he would’ve wanted you to move on too, it is only fair that he allows himself the same.

His eyes soften when he smiles at her, it was like a tug at his heart strings that he had long ago thought were cut.

“Going back to the taskforce.” Simon eventually says.

That piques her interest. “For long?”

“Nah, it’s for a birthday party.” Simon shrugs.

A little bit of an awkward air lingers around the both of them, neither of them sure what to say next. Sophie wants to ask if she can come, but she respects his space too much, she respects the walls around him too much to just barge in and demand he takes them down. Besides, the base is the only place where she hasn’t stepped foot in to replace you.

On the other side of the table is Simon, wanting to invite you, but worried that he is just using her to drive out the memories of you, worried that his teammates will think that he is getting over you way too quick. Worried that people will judge the level of love he has for you.

“So,” Simon clears his throat. “It’s Soap’s birthday, and we’re celebrating tomorrow evening.”

“And I know we haven’t been dating for long, but maybe, maybe you’d like to come?”

A deep breath. No reaction.

“Yes.” Sophie smiles while she talks. “Yes, I would like that. I’ve heard a lot about them, can’t wait to finally meet them.”

A smile tugs around his lips. “Good, good.”

“So, I’ll pick you up around 7ish, and I’ll drive us to base. Just wear something casual, they’re soldiers, so don’t expect anything too fancy.”

Even after 243 days he can’t help but feeling like a traitor, inviting another woman to the base the two of you used to serve at.

Sophie smiles at him, her worries melting away at his relaxed demeanour.

“8ish.” She repeats. “I’ll make sure to be casually dressed.” She presses a kiss on his cheek again. “I have to get back to my work, but it was nice to see you in my lunchbreak.”

Simon lets out a sigh when he is all alone in the coffeeshop again. Oh how life went different than he had hoped, but he was content. His eyes take in the scenery once more.

You would have loved it here.

He puts his car into park while he waited for Sophie to get out of her apartment, his leg bouncing against the steering wheel, he could feel himself getting nervous, as if he would bring Sophie in to your territory. As if he would take away the final thing on this mortal earth that was only yours. Simon tried to push those thoughts away when he saw Sophie leave her house, a bright smile on her face. He could see that she had tried to dress casual, but it was a little too perfect to be casual, and it warmed his heart.

She kissed him when she entered his car. It was endearing to him, all feelings of guilt being pushed to the side when his lips touched hers.

“You look amazing.” He complimented her. A soft blush forming on her face. Her hand rested on his knee when he started the drive. It was quiet and he still wasn’t used to it. You, his teammates, his captain, the lot of you would always tease him about his bad driving skills. But not Sophie, she was missing out on the inside joke.

“It can be quite rowdy on base.” Simon warned her.

“That’s okay.” She said with a faint smile.

“Good, good.” He muttered.

A soft squeeze on his knee, and a smile formed on his lips.

Simon tried to focus on the road, pushing away every single thought inside of his mind. He shouldn’t feel guilty for moving on, he shouldn’t feel guilty for bringing his new girlfriend to his base. He shouldn’t be so nervous about his teammates meeting Sophie.

He shouldn’t. But he was.

A deep breath emerged from his lips when he parked the car on the base, taking in the atmosphere.

“Ready?” He asked.

“Ready.” She nodded.

When he exited the car, he took in his base, the memories of you flooding in again. Sophies hand in his shook him out of it, and he smiled at her.

He let in the commotion, the rowdy, loud cheering happening all around.

“Simon!” Price calling out over the parking lot. “We have something you should see.”

244 days.

You finally can remember it all. How Simon begged you to come with him on this mission, something he could’ve done by himself easily, but he tried to sweettalk you, bribe you, just anything so he wouldn’t have to go alone.

And you fell for it. How could you not? After all, he promised you he’d do the dishes, and you hated doing the dishes.

You remember Simon double checking your gear, softly tugging on the bulletproof vest to make sure that it was safe and secure. He always made sure you were safe and secure, no matter what happened, Simon had made it clear that you were his number one priority. You, and you alone.

The moment of eye contact that follows after always makes your heart flutter, the little lines next to his eyes when his lips tug to a smile, it is enough to make your stomach do a million summersaults. The moment you smile, and the little apples of your cheeks start to rise, he brushes his knuckles against the sensitive skin on your face. The callouses on his knuckles was something that you always enjoyed feeling, a little routine before a mission. Something you always held dear.

It didn’t matter that he was wearing his mask on the chopper flight to the area you had to scout. You could see in his eyes how much he was smiling every time you added something on the list of dishes, the fine lines around his eyes, the sparkle in his eyes.

A gasp. “I’ll let you even wash the food dish of the cat.”

“Lovie, we don’t have a cat.” His voice sounds amused.

“Nuh uh, I’ve been feeding the strays that live just outside the base.” You protest.

“Fine, fine, fine.” It isn’t even a real protest, Simon would do anything to make you happy.

“AND.” Your voice sounds happy, as if you just got the best idea ever known to man. “You have to wear an apron.”

“An apron?”

“Yeah, I still have a pink one.”

“Fine.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah, but I’m wearing nothing underneath it.” Simon snickers.

“Deal!”

“And, you can only look but you can’t touch.” He adds.

“But that’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, lovie.”

Life indeed wasn’t fair.

Because the next thing you remember is a white flash, ringing in your ears and a lot of stumbling. A lot of pain when you tumbled down the stairs. You can remember Simon calling for you, screaming your name and you want to react, but your body doesn't allow you to.

Another loud noise, and you realise that a grenade must’ve gone off when you’re getting covered by debris.

It is dark when you wake up again, the sensation of someone tugging on your ankles is waking you up, your body hurts and you’re disorientated, your eyes flutter as you try to stay awake, as you try to grasp what has happened. The men towering over you speak a language you don’t understand, and frankly, there is nothing you understand at the moment.

Who are you? And why are you here?

One of the men pulls you up, his hands under your armpits as he drags you away, your skin is grey from the dust and debris and as your eyes finally focus you can see the fear in the eyes of the people around you.

You desperately try to remember, your brain knows there is something hidden inside, something that would explain all of it, but you can’t. You can’t seem to find the key to the door inside of you that hold all the information you need.

Your dog tags get caught on a pole of metal sticking out of the rubble, and you groan a little when it cuts off your airflow, even if it is for a brief moment. Neither you or the man carrying you realise how important those dog tags are. But of you are just focussed on getting you out of there.

Another groan when the ground gets more uneven, sharp pain being unbearable with every bump. You try so, so, so hard to stay away, but your body tries to protect you against the pain, and before you know it your eyes start to roll back, and it gets dark again.

When you wake up again, you’re in a bed, stripped of your belongings, but a variety of bandages around your limbs, a woman speaks to you in a hushed tone, but you can’t understand the language they’re speaking. A soft groan leaves your lips as you try to speak, but your throat is dry and everything hurts.

Later, you learn that you’re taken in by the local villagers, who have been tormented by the war for the longest time. The same war you and Simon participated in, the same war where you were convinced you were on the right side, only to learn that there are only losers when it comes to war.

As the universe continues your injuries start to heal, and while you still don’t speak a word of their language, the villagers are nice to you, almost as if caring for you is just what they need to take their mind of the running war in their area. You know something is missing, you can’t remember your name, age, your life, Simon. Nothing. Not an ounce of recognition when they show you your torn up uniform. Not an ounce of recognition when you hold up a mirror in front of your face.

Not an ounce of recognition when the local men are shouting against each other, and while you can’t make out what they’re saying, you know it is about you, the way they point and glare, the way they call you a fucking filthy Brit. The other half of the group of men is a lot more quiet, they plead, and you can only imagine it is for your life, yet you do not fear for it.

What is a life worth if you can’t remember it?

But they let you live, and while you’re not sure why, you end up being thankful for it. At night you always end up dreaming about the same things, it is almost like clockwork, either you dream about yourself, walking around a maze, which seems to be without end, a skull mask in the middle of the maze. You always, always wake up whenever you find the mask.

The other dreams is about a faceless man, tugging on the bulletproof vest you wore when you were found, his knuckles brushing against the apples of your cheeks. He tries to shield you before the white flash goes off, but your dreams never reveal his face to you.

One time they dragged you back to the area where they had found you, a black chopper had landed nearby and you could make out that they wanted to know if the men rummaging the area seemed familiar to you.

But they didn’t. Four tall men, and while they wore the same uniform as you, none of them rang a bell inside your mind. You shook your head, implying you didn’t know them, no matter the matching uniforms. Not even the heartbroken screams from the masked man could crack open your memories.

Looking back, when the dreams started to come, you knew you recognized the mask one of them was wearing, it was the exact same as you would always find in the maze, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember the face beneath it.

Slowly, but surely small glimpses of your life started to seep into your mind again, droplets of memories coming back. The smell of oatmeal brought a snippet of your childhood back, the memories of it being breakfast, and secretly feeding a spoonful to the dog.

With every little dot you could connect to your former, came an explanation to the people around you, with a lot of gestures, and some drawing, you could get your point across.

The smell of lavender brought you back to the house of your grandma, the strong scent always lingered in her house, and if you pressed your eyes shut and let the sun settle down on your skin, you could go back to that time.

While you peel off the skin of an orange you’re hit with a new memory, your breath hitching in your throat as your mind slowly makes the memory clear. You’re peeling an orange, a large hand holding on to your thigh as you peel the fruit. “Thanks lovie.” The gruff voice sounds so clear when you remember it, as if he is in the room with you and you know that it is someone important to you, as your body warmed up when you remember his voice.

But you just remember his voice, and not his name.

It would frustrate the living shit out of you, knowing that there is so much more memories hidden away in you, and you just can’t seem to remember them. You know that there is so much more to you, yet you’re unable to discover your own secrets.

When you’re stargazing, late at night, a new memory pops up, the masked man laying next to you in the grass, while the both of you look up at the stars, in the corner of your eye you can see him takes his mask off, the balaclava being pulled up to his nose, before he leans over and presses a kiss on your lips.

The realisation dawns on you, and while you can’t remember his name, it is clear that he is important for you, that you are important to him, and a cold feeling comes over you when you realise you let him slip between your fingers just because you didn’t recognize him. A knot in your chest as you try to remember who he is, who you are, why you were wearing the uniform. Panic taking over when your mind can’t answer your questions. The knot in your chest spreads through your body and soon you find yourself unable to breathe. Short, desperate burst in which you try to suck in as many air as you can.

Deep breath in through your mouth, exhaling out your nose.

Fuck.

You remember, you remember walking in on him having a panic attack, you remember kneeling down to him, telling him to take a deep breathe in through his mouth, exhaling out his nose. You remember. You remember walking in on Simon.

Simon.

A loud sob leaves your mouth and your hand claws at your chest as you remember. You remember all the kisses, the three squeezes on your shoulder, or your bicep when he couldn’t tell you he loved you but still wanted you to know, you remember all the late evenings and lazy mornings.

Oh you finally remember.

Your loud sobs wake up the people who had cared for you, they’re worried and you can’t yet explain if the tears are from happiness or agony. But it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter because you finally remember. You could be described as hysterical when you point to your old uniform, back to yourself, trying to tell them that you DO remember, that you DO know who you are.

And never had you imagined how easy it would be to go back to your old life. You’d learn that you would be considered missing and killed in action for more than eight months now.

Eight months. You had missed 244 days of Simon’s life, and he had missed those days in yours.

The ambassy was kind enough to listen to your story, your fingerprints confirming your identity. K.I.A flashing the screen when they pull up your information. And you want nothing more than to go home, to feel safe in his embrace again. You’re not allowed to call him, since the two of you aren’t married he isn’t your legal contact person, and you have to wait, but you’ve waited 244 days, how much more will a few more hours hurt?

God, how you have missed him, with the returning memories, the feeling of longing for him also came back, and right now the only thing you wanted in life was to hold him again, to feel him again, to be his again.

The rest of the trip goes by fast, your mind can barely cope with the returned memories, let alone process what is happening when they put you back on a plane to your base, but you can feel the excitement, the love, oh you can feel it all.

Just like you can feel the dread seep into your bones when you see him, holding another woman’s hand.

Your old teammates cheer when they see you, and you’re overwhelmed by the familiar feeling washing over you, all the successful mission you’ve celebrated with them, all the losses you have encountered and overcome with them. They’re your family and you’re so grateful to see them again.

But someone is missing.

Price drags him along, and your heart stops when you see him. Simon.

Your smile fading away when you see him holding hands with someone else, a woman you’ve never seen before. Fuck.

He has moved on and you can’t blame him. You’ve been gone for more than eight months, and you’re so, so, so proud that he has overcome this. You’re proud that he didn’t let himself rot away, give up on life. But by God, does it hurt.

His eyes widen, pupils dilate when he spots you, long strides to meet you as soon as possible and you can see his hand letting go of hers, but she holds on, even if that means that he kind of drags her along.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

She finally let go off his hand.

Two.

One final steps and his lips crash on yours, kissing you with an intensity you’ve never felt from him before. His hands all over your face, fingers entangled in your hair, his lips hungry for a taste of you, a taste he thought was long forgotten, but he now remembers and so desperately craves. It’s a goddamn messy kiss, and it feels as if the both of you are fifteen again, and this is your first kiss ever, but you don’t mind, you would rather have fifteen million of these kisses, than never kiss him again.

Eventually he has to pull back, a reminder for the both of you to breathe. He presses his forehead against yours.

“I even washed the cat dishes.” A soft whisper and enough to break to ice, to make you smile again as you wrap your arms around him, the woman behind him catching your eyes. God, she looks miserable, but you can’t blame her.

Simon follows your gaze, letting go off you, almost as if he has been caught doing something bad. His throat feels dry as he looks from you to Sophie, he loves both these woman, but the way he loves them is different. The atmosphere in the air shifts, and a certain amount of awkwardness fills the air, the joy surrounding you dying down quick.

Price clears his throat. “I’m sure you all have a lot of catching up to do. The briefing rooms are empty.” Not a very subtle hint, but all three of you get it. Simon is the first to move, taking your hands in his, holding on tight, afraid he will lose you again if you slip between his fingers. As the three of you walk towards a briefing room you look towards your right, the woman next you has her head bowed down and you can see a mix of emotions on her face. You want to reach out, say something to her, but what can you possible say to her to make this easier?

The tension is thick in the air when you reach the briefing room. “Can I have a word with you, Simon?” Sophie asks, it is the first time you’ve heard her voice, and she sounds sweet. Simons eyes shift to you. “In private.” She adds, that same sweet voice now holding a sharp tone.

His eyes meet yours again, almost as if he is asking you for permission, and you nod. They both go into the briefing room next to the one you’re in, and you sit down on a chair, being as close as possible to the wall, you know you shouldn’t eaves drop, but you need to know what they are discussing.

“Listen.” It’s Simons voice. “I never thought this would happen, Sophie.”

Sophie.

It’s a lovely name, she seems lovely, the whole situation is just fucked.

“No one thought this would happen, but what matters is what you’re going to do, Simon.”

You perk up, ear pressed against the wall, hoping to God you can make out what he will answer. It stays quiet and all you can hear is your own heartbeat thumping in your ears.

And in the other room Simon doesn’t know what to do, what to say, he stares at the woman in front of him, knowing full well that the love of his life is sitting in the room next to them.

Truth be told, he had loved Sophie, he wouldn’t have been with here if he didn’t. But his love for Sophie always was paired with the loss of you, he knew he wouldn’t never loved her the way he loves her now if you never went on that mission with him. He knows that the love he felt for her was his heart trying to replace you.

“I..” But it is hard for him to say it, it is hard to break a person while only thirty minutes ago the both of them were on their way to meet his teammates.

“You’re choosing her?” Sophie’s voice is far from amused.

“Yes.” Simons begins, nervously fidgeting with his hands. “But you have to understand, it’s not an easy thing for me to do.”

“It’s not easy for you to do?” Sophie’s words are laced with venom, and you can understand why. You’re the ghost of his past, while she should have been the ghost of his future, and there you were, suddenly showing up, taking away the relationship she thought she had.

“Do you have ANY idea how this is for me?” Sophie continued. “I’ve BEEN there for you, Simon! I’ve sat with you while you cried about her, I’ve let you tell countless stories about her.”

“I know, and I’m so-“

“I’m not done yet.” The words are spat out. “I’ve been to her fucking empty grave! Asking for fucking permission to be with you! I’ve sat there, telling her how I’ll never replace her, but live alongside her fucking ghost. And now you just toss me to the side as a fucking used up doll?”

Simon is taken aback by the, for him, sudden outburst. He had been so caught up with his own healing process, his own grieving, that the thought of it weighing down other people never occurred to him. “You went to her grave?”

“Yes! I’ve learned how to fit myself inside her shadow, I’ve seen you look disappointed whenever I was a little late, or when I would kick out my shoes at the door, I’ve seen you compare me to her the whole goddamn time and this whole relationship I’ve been competing with someone we both thought was dead!”

“I didn’t knew you felt this way.”

“Because you never fucking asked, Simon, because it has always been about you and her and me, and never just about you and me.”

“That’s not true.” He protests. “Maybe in the beginning, but I’ve learned to love you for you.”

“Then why are you looking at her like that, huh?”

“Because.” Simon takes a deep breath, he knows he has to rip off the bandage, it isn’t fair for Sophie to continue this, he knows where his heart lies, and while it was with Sophie, the moment you came back into the picture, the floodgates within his heart had been opened and his love for you is pouring out. “Because it will always be her.”

“I don’t blame you Simon.” Sophie’s voice starts to crack. “But sometimes I wish we never met each other.”

“Don’t say that. You’re an amazing person, pretty, smart.”

“Oh cut the bullshit.” Sophie hisses. “I’m all that, yet I’m not enough for you to choose me. I helped you grieve over someone who would always be your number one choice. I had been warned by my friends and I so desperately wanted you to be different. But I guess you are just a simple man after all.”

And those words stung Simon, more than he would ever realise, he hated how much of a cliché he had become. Yes he had thought he was fully over you, and yes he had thought he could’ve moved on, but now that he had to choose between Sophie and you, it was clear as day who he loved more.

“I wish I could’ve been something more.” Sophie’s words are a soft whisper.

“And for someone else you will be.”

After that there is just silence, two ex-lovers looking at each other. One over the moon because his lost lover returned to him. The other heartbroken after she realised he never fully choose her.

“Do you want me to bring you home?” Simon asks, realizing he had been her ride.

“No. I’d rather walk.”

“Don’t be stubborn, let me either bring you home or pay for your cab.”

“I’ll fucking manage, Simon. I don’t need your pity after you took out my heart and stomped on it.”

Sophie is still pissed, but neither you or Simon can blame her for it, and part of you wished things could’ve been different, part of you wished you had died that day, that he could’ve fully moved on from you. But that part is small, tiny and crumbled up hiding in your brain as you feel guilty.

You can hear someone stomp past the door of the room you’re sitting in, and the door slowly creaks before you see Sophie. It’s an awkward silence, you’ve clearly been caught listening to them, and you can see the light reflecting the tears on her cheeks.

“No matter how mad I am at Simon.” Sophie begins, and you brace yourself for an outburst. “It isn’t your fault.”

You had expected her to be angry at you too, but she isn’t.

“I’m sorry.” You mutter. “You never deserved any of this.”

A soft smile breaks out on Sophie’s face. “I didn’t.” She agrees. “But I’ve learned some things about myself, and when the sadness is over that will be worth something.”

You smile back at her, in another life the two of you could’ve been friends, but not here, not in this life. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For keeping him sane.”

“It wasn’t easy.”

“He isn’t easy.”

Sophie laughs and a bit of the tension melts away between the two of you.

“Just.. Simon is a good guy, no matter how much I wanted to strangle him.” Sophie starts. “But he cares about you, a lot, more than he can ever care about himself or someone else. And you care that much about him too, I can see it in your eyes, in his eyes. It wasn’t a coincidence that the universe brought the two of you together.”

“Thank you.” Sophie’s words are warm, and you can see why Simon had loved her. “I hope you find your Simon.”

“I will. I might even hang out on the base a little longer and get myself a colonel or something.”

The both of you can’t help but chuckle at her comment.

“I hope life will treat you well.”

“I wish you the same.”

After that she turns around and walks away, and you can’t help but stare. Sophie had handled it better than you would’ve done, and you can’t help but admire her for that.

Simon pops his head through the open door. “I’m not easy?” He snickers.

“Don’t be like that.”

He steps into the briefing room, closing the door behind him. “You’re not mad?”

“For what?”

“For dating Sophie.”

“Well, I would be lying if I said that it didn’t tear my heart out when I saw you holding her hand.” You admit. “But I’ve always told you that I wanted you to move on in case I passed away earlier than you.”

“Fair, but I can’t help but feel as if I betrayed you.”

“You would’ve betrayed me if you would’ve let yourself rot away in bed.”

You can’t help but look up as he stands before you. “I’ve missed you.” He whispers as he leans closer.

“I’ve missed you too.” You murmur back before he presses his lips against yours.

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thewhitewitch-bitch · 21 days ago

Text

In Astris Supra (Chapter 5: Circulus Insutus Fato, Portas Abditas Resera)

Agatha Harkness x F!OC

Read it on AO3

October 1710

There is no amount or combination of words sufficient enough to capture the true horror of war. Even those who avoid the front face of conflict are subject to the cruelty and tragedy that befalls men at arms. There is heartbreak, sorrow, and a pain so immense that it blankets the battlefield and all that surrounds it like a straitjacket, constricting everything until it chokes both sides of the conflict and creates suffering.

I had not truly known suffering like that. Not even when I left Salem behind in pursuit of a nobler calling, one that would hopefully allow me to one day return to Agatha Harkness and offer her a solution. At the time, I could only assume that she had remained in Salem, carving out her own place in the town and wreaking havoc on those who dared to get in her way. From what I could gather, based on the cries of newsboys from Boston to Philadelphia, the Witch Trials had come to an end, the town nearly destroyed by their own paranoia. It made me wonder just how much influence Agatha had gained in just a few short months, made me try to recall if I could have had the opportunity to see the signs of her inevitable descent into power mongering.

But I couldn't. No matter how hard I tried, I could not bring myself to think that she had done so willingly. The love that I had for her remained, despite my best efforts to suppress it. At night, I dreamed of the days we spent together, when there was no barrier between us, no coven driving a wedge between her and her potential for good. Those memories would bring on what ifs that were as blissful as the feeling of her touch on my skin. What if we had left Salem before her mother had found us out? What if I had told her of my love for her before it was too late? What if we could have been happy simply being together, with no magic to get in the way?

"Lots on your mind this morning, eh, Ms. Stuart?"

My thoughts were abruptly cut off by the voice of the man I was traveling with. Looking over at him from the back of my horse, I smiled wistfully and nodded. Dr. Rupert Kingsley was a rather handsome and kind young man, who came straight off the boat from London proper, with wide, dark eyes and light brown hair the shade of molten bronze. Had my interests been aligned with his, I likely would have married him as soon as the opportunity presented itself, but he was well aware that our paths were parallel to each other, never meant to cross but rather to guide each other to the right destination. So, as a talented young physician, with no ward or servant, he accepted me as an unofficial student and permitted me to travel with him as he moved from Boston northward along the coast of the colonies and into the wilds of French-controlled Acadia.

"There's always a lot on my mind, Dr. Kingsley. Today though, the thoughts are just a tad bit louder than usual." I replied, tightening the grip on my reins. My gaze fell from the doctor to my hands, buried in the black mane of my mare.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Rupert said solemnly, "But I'm afraid you're going to have to silence them. There's no place for loud thoughts on the battlefield. If you want to be a doctor, and I know you do, you have to calm your mind and senses. Leave no room for distractions, they only lead to mistakes, and mistakes lead to death."

"Of course."

We did not speak again after that, instead allowing the silence to be filled by the beat of our horses' hooves beneath us as we urged them forward to a lively trot and continued on the path northward. It had been a week since we had crossed into Acadia, and with Lieutenant-General Nelson on the move with nearly 2,000 men intent on laying siege to the French at Port Royal, we had little time for dawdling.

The troops were meant to make landfall at their destination any day now, a cohort of doctors and their associates not far behind. From there, it was simply the task of removing the French, an objective that had proven surprisingly difficult for the British forces as of late. But the British were unwilling to cave, which was why Dr. Kingsley thought it the perfect opportunity to 'break me in' to the world of mortal medicine. I was thankful that he remained blissfully unaware of my magic, the late nights spent practicing healing spells on wounded animals or patients that had come into his Boston office seeking extended treatment.

In combination with his medical prowess, I found that my magic was sufficient enough to reduce treatment time by nearly half, even with the most basic of spells. And while my power continued to fluctuate with the phases of the moon, I came to the discovery that at different phases, my spells reacted differently with the wounds and diseases they came into contact with. During a dark moon, I might be able to stop a person's vomiting with a simple digestive potion, but the same potion would have no effect on a patient with the same symptom if the moon was waning or it might make matters worse if administered during the full moon. Trial and error, as crude as it may sound, was the only way I was able to make any headway. The results of said experiments were all jotted down in a small black leather book that was tucked in the belt around my waist, a protective rune hidden just under the cover, making it impossible for anyone but myself to read its contents.

Kingsley thought nothing of it, mostly because he didn't know that I had anything to do with sudden improvement or worsening of conditions amongst his patients. I intended to keep it that way for as long as I could, or at the very least until the end of this war that Queen Anne was so insistent upon waging.

We trotted onward, surrounded on either side by pine trees and fog, dense and chilling in the early autumn air. The sun was hidden behind a heavy layer of gray clouds, the smell of petrichor hung over us warning of the impending autumnal rains that were sure to hit the shore at any time. The encampment for doctors and their associates was just past the bend in the road ahead, supposedly nestled amongst the pines beside the sheer cliffs of the Acadian shoreline. The not-so-distant sound of crashing waves roared and receded in its powerful, natural rhythm as we trotted on.

As we moved to the right of the road to take the bend, I felt a sudden presence, ancient and dark, reaching out to me from within the darkness beneath the trees. I tugged on the reins, bringing my mount to a halt as I scanned my surroundings. Under my breath, I muttered, "Mater divina me defendat hodie."

A seductive chuckle echoed in my ear, though I couldn't tell what direction it came from. My head began to swivel back and forth, trying to find the source, only stopping when I came face-to-face with a woman dressed in hues of black and green. The cloak she wore seemed to fade into wisps of smoke as she stood not but five feet from me, a crown that appeared to crafted from fossilized thorns and obsidian resting atop the hood she wore. She had an entertained half-smirk upon her darkly painted lips, her eyes deep brown as the earth as they met my hazel gaze.

"Prayers aren't going to get you anywhere, princess. Not here, at least." she said with a bit of a laugh. My horse snorted and began to spook, shuffling away from the woman with a frightened snort. Not wanting to agitate her further, I slid from her back and let my boots land softly on the grass, keeping the reins in one hand as I tilted my head at the woman before me.

"You seem... familiar to me, and yet I know I've never seen you before in my life."

"I get that a lot."

There was a change of the light for only a moment, but in that brief time, I saw that the attractive face of the woman in front of me had changed. The lower half of her skull was exposed, no sinew or flesh to cover it, no blood or muscle to keep it living and the exposure spread down to her throat, where her esophagus sat nestled between two walls of cartilage. Just as quickly as the change appeared, it reverted back, and recognition hit me like a wall of stone.

"Lady Death." I whispered.

She smirked again, "In the flesh."

I should have been terrified, scared to... well, death. But there was something about her that told me there was no need for fear. She wasn't here for me. So why was she standing in front me now?

"Why reveal yourself to me?"

She shrugged and began to circle me and my horse slowly, "There's something about you... you're important. And as much as I hate having Lunar witches walking around, you need to stick around for a while."

"That’s not an answer."

"Are you sure?"

I glared at her. She continued to smile back. When I wouldn’t relent, her grin dropped and she rolled her eyes.

"You do know that most Lunar witches don’t live longer than a century, right?"

"I’m aware I’m on a doomed path.” I replied, trying to mask the slight tremble of my voice with a sharp edge, “A Lunar witch comes around maybe once every three hundred years. They never live long enough to teach the next one. Though I know you’re well aware of that."

"And yet, here I am, telling you that you’re the odd woman out."

"Why? What do you have to gain from my survival?"

Death scoffed at me, as if the whole concept of existence was amusing to her, "Nothing, actually. I'll lose more than I gain with you in the picture. But greater forces in this universe seem insistent on keeping you alive, so alive you’ll stay for now. But I must say, I'm looking forward to checking in on you over the next few centuries."

I paled, there was no way to hide it, "What do mean?"

"You're going into war, Aislin!" she exclaimed, as if it weren't obvious, "My favorite stomping grounds! We'll be seeing a lot of each other, I wager. Though I'm sure you'll be sick of me soon enough."

She stopped her circling and looked to me full on, the intensity of her earthy eyes feeling as though they could bury me beneath the soil with just a hard enough glance. The around me seemed to shift, the petrichor smell growing steadily stronger. With a final smile, she offered me a sultry wave and said, "Te veo."

And suddenly, I was alone in the clearing.

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

The doctors that had been summoned to serve did not take kindly to women in their presence. Of course, they had to tolerate the caretakers who sacrificed their white linens to the spatters of blood and fragments of flesh, but to have a woman stand among them as a student of the art, was far less palatable. After all, women had no place amongst the respectable ranks of surgeons and physicians, nor did the Iroquois healers who offered their services as their own warriors joined the British forces gathering on the coast, though given the choice, I'd have taken care from the Cayuga over Charles Cromwell any day.

Kingsley found me as I led my horse on foot through camp aimlessly with my saddle pack and bedroll tucked under my free arm. He had taken no notice of my sudden absence, nor had he been subject to a surprise meeting with Death herself, but simply kept on riding to camp, claiming his large-framed tent and a much smaller one beside it.

"Ah, did you get lost, Miss Stuart?" he asked me with a charming grin, "Or were you simply taking in the scenery?"

"A bit of both I suppose." I answered honestly. I took my horse to the hitching post and tied her there, allowing her access to the trough and a bale of fresh hay before turning back to the young doctor. "Have I missed anything?"

He shook his head, "Nothing at all. Lieutenant-General Nelson won't make landfall 'til midday on the 'morrow, at which time we'll board a smaller vessel and cross the channel to wait for incoming wounded and dead. I should warn you though, this siege may take weeks, months even. You still have time to return to Boston-"

I held up a hand to silence him, sending a sharp glare his way, "As much as I respect your offer, Rupert, I simply must decline. Despite the maliciously loud whispers I've heard about this camp already, I am most certainly needed here, so here I will stay. I do not shy away from the sword when it is flashed in my face."

Kingsley's grin softened in understanding, a small nod rocked his head back and forth, "Spoken like a true fellow of medical academia, Miss Stuart. I suggest you take the evening to study, and if you're so inclined, I'd write to your family. Simply because we bear the caduceus, it does not mean we are immune from cannon and gun fire. You'll find all you need for the night in your tent."

Overhead, the skies finally broke, the satisfying drip of rainfall pattering against the trees and the waxed canvas tents. A few of the horses snorted in discontent but continued to eat away at the hay in front of them. As the heavy drops landed on our shoulders and heads, chilling us to the bone, we gave each other a silent farewell and retreated beneath the cover of our tents for the night. While I had no doubt that Kingsley's tent boasted all the necessary equipment he would need for operations and examinations, not to mention cigars and cheap liquor to numb his mind to the horrors incoming, mine was much reserved, containing only a camp bed with several woolen blankets, a pair of white cover aprons, and a small bedside table with a pair of lit candles.

Rupert must have placed the small stack of parchment on the table, along with an inkwell and quill. There was no way the other doctors would have extended such kindness to me, not when they didn't even want me there. Heaving a loud sigh, I dropped my bedroll and saddle pack onto the ground at my feet. I slumped onto the camp bed and let my head fall into my hands, my interaction with Death replaying over and over again in my mind.

She had told me that I was important, though at the moment, I couldn't possibly see how. And the way she had looked at me, as though I were a fresh piece of bloodied meat and she was a ravenous wolf... it was unsettling, though I suppose she always intended to be.

"Oh, Divine Mother, what have you gotten me into?" I whispered, so softly that even I could barely hear myself. I dropped my hands and let my eyes wander back to the parchment on the small wooden table. I don't know how long I sat there staring at it, but by the time I had come to the conclusion to write, the gentle shower outside had increased to a torrential downpour, the weight of the water pounding against the roof of the tent as I dipped the quill into the murky black ink. As I took hold of the topmost sheet, I paused, wondering if sending a letter would make any difference. But then I thought of her, and the doubt melted away. I put the quill to the parchment and began to write in my most elegant script.

Darling Agatha,

I hope that this letter finds you in suitable spirits after we departed on such egregious terms. Not that I fear for your well-being; I know you are certainly capable of taking care of yourself. I write to inform you that I have undertaken a task most unbecoming for women of our talents and station, serving as the student and assistant of one Doctor Rupert Kingsley of Boston. We, in response to the request made by the British Crown, have joined a cohort of other physicians and surgeons at a posting in Acadia, not thirty miles from the French stronghold of Port Royal, and are awaiting the order to cross the channel to provide medical assistance during the attempted siege of the fort.

Having not heard from you in well over a decade, I am certain that you did not intend to seek me out again, and in truth, I was hesitant to write. But I am told that we, like the soldiers who will march onto the shore, will be subject to the shock and awe of war, and at the risk of walking into the next world without having settled the grievances between us, I found the courage to pen this letter.

You may no long care for me, you may no longer wish to think of me, but I think of you often. And I shall be thinking of you on the 'morrow, when cannons roar overhead and the blood of dying men coats my hands. I shall be thinking of the days we spent in the peaceful solitude of the forest, relishing in the quiet hours that we spent together. I shall be thinking of you not as someone I once knew, but as someone I know and care for. For a witch should never abandon her coven and I, in my own anger and fear, have abandoned you.

It is my hope that upon my, with any luck inevitable, survival, that we may cross paths again, and I will once again be able to relish in peace with you as we once did. Until then, I shall think of you, darling, and hope that you think of me.

With all my love,

Aislin Stuart

I set the quill down and folded the parchment carefully once the ink had dried. Muttering a simple sending incantation, I lifted the letter to the candle on the left and let one corner light, before repeating the gesture with the candle on the right. I gripped the parchment tight between my fingers as the flames inched closer to my hand until I could no longer hold it. As I released my grip, I whispered, "Agatha Harkness."

The ashes scattered in an invisible wind, drifting beneath the canvas walls of the tent and carrying my message to wherever she was. I lay back on my bed, and started at the roof in the eerie quiet, only drifting off to sleep when thunder finally began to roll in.

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x oc #agatha harkness x reader #marvel cinematic universe #rio vidal

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blooming-violets · 8 months ago

Note

My headcanon for frat peter is that he joined one after gwen dies to distract himself and as a bandaid fucks everything that movies and gains a reputation oc / reader is his best friend very similar to dancing on my own ik but anyway she tries supporting him but peter is really unhealthy and she leaves for a while how do you think peter would feel about the hole she leaves behind cause she used to basically do all his emotional heavy lifting on hard days

He acts like he's fine. He's learned not to show his emotions especially around the guys. They were never big fans of her, anyway. It takes him about two weeks to finally notice that she's gone. It happens the day he's set to touch up his blonde roots. Usually he heads on over to her dorm, sneaking into the women's bathroom, while she does his hair for him. During those times are when he typically feels more free to speak his mind. They shared a lot of heart to hearts over those moments of the two of them, giggling alone in the bathroom, while he enjoys the feeling of her fussing over his hair. He feels the weight of the world leaving his shoulders for a short time whenever she's around.

This time, though, she doesn't come when he calls.

All his texts go unanswered. At first, he's worried she's hurt. He immediately thinks the worst. It's in his nature to assume that the people he loves will end up dead. Taken too early. It's not until he sees her walking around campus he's able to feel a sense of relief.

He jogs up to her, big, cocky grin on his face, and falls in step next to her. He expects her to open up like usual. Expects her to play along with his teasing. When he only receives a cold shoulder and the silent treatment, he reacts with anger.

Peter's been so angry lately. He's been struggling to feel many emotions but anger is one that always seems to make it through his closed off walls. They say that anger is a massive part of the grieving process but it's one he hasn't been able to shake.

They get into a huge, blow out fight in middle of campus over how he treats her now vs before and how he let's his friends treat her like shit. She's sick of his behavior and only using her whenever he needs something. It's never the other way around. Peter no longer shows up for her like she does for him. She can't take their one sided friendship anymore. This isn't the Peter she grew up loving.

It draws a crowd. People are watching them like they're today's entertainment. It ends with her crying, running back to her dorm, and Peter cursing out the crowds and stalking back to his frat house.

He mourns her loss in his life like he mourned for Gwen.

Denial.

It was her fault. She was being stupid. He had done nothing wrong. So what if his frat brothers teased her from to time. It was her fault she couldn't take a joke. He turned a blind eye to their behavior. He let them get inside his head. He didn't need her. He had lines of women waiting to throw themselves at his feet. What was the loss of one, stupid, annoying girl he knew as a kid? According to his brothers, she refused to put out, anyway. It was no loss to him. He didn't need her.

He buried his hurt by sleeping around more often than usual. A new woman every night. Sometimes two in the same day. He even slept with her best girl friend just to extra piss her off and get back at her.

He wanted her to hurt as much as him.

Anger

He was already the king of anger. He felt its power invade his every pore. It lived deep in his bones and consumed his every waking thought. He was getting into multiple fist fights every week. Not even as Spider-Man, just as Peter Parker.

He fought his frat brothers, he fought guys at the bar, he fought dudes on the street, he even fought his own reflection in the mirror. That one left him covered in blood and surrounded by shattered glass. He needed stitches to close up the wound. He couldn't stand the sight of his own face. He despised the man who stared back at him.

He didn't know this person. He didn't know Peter anymore.

Maybe she was right. Maybe had lost himself.

Bargaining

If he could just see her again...

If he could just see her one time. Hear her voice. That's all he wanted. He could watch her anytime he felt like it. He could overhear her talking to friends whenever he spied on her. He was Spider-Man. He was the master of stealth and shadows. But that wasn't enough. He wanted her voice to be directed at him. He didn't care what she said to him as long as she was talking. All he wanted was a fraction of her attention.

He would trade it all to get her back in his life. Just one conversation. That's he wanted. One, little talk just like old times.

She refused.

He couldn't blame her. He was a destroyer of lives. Anyone he touched crumbled around him. Whether they were killed in a plane crash, shot in the street, fell from a building, or were shoved away...they all left him in the end.

It was his fault. It was always his fault.

Depression

When he lost everything, he used to turn to sex. Now the thought of touching a woman who wasn't her only made him sick to his stomach. Alcohol was too risky. It fucked too much with his emotions. Made him reckless.

Pot was the cure.

It calmed him. Made him forget for a while. Allowed him to just relax and zone out.

He stopped going to his classes. Stopping talking to his brothers. Stopped answering his texts. It was just him, a strong joint, and the quiet of cave of his bedroom. In here, he could wallow in peace.

Peter Parker was not someone who could be trusted in the real world. He deserved to be locked up like an animal. No one needed him. He was better off alone.

This was where he would stay. In the dark. Where he belonged.

Acceptance

The state of his hair told him how much time had passed. It was back to brown. Greasy and unkempt. Shaggier than he typically liked it but he didn't care enough to get it fixed. The only person he ever wanted to touch his hair again was her.

And she deserved an apology.

He had been reading about grief online. There were five stages, so the internet says. There is no specific time period for each and they can jump between the stages whenever they feel like. He liked to hang out in the anger stage more often than the others. It was where he felt most at home. At least he understood anger. Anger made sense to him. Smoking helped quell the raging beast. That was a vice he didn't want to give up. Not yet. He wasn't ready for that step.

The world was an angry place and he fit right in.

But he was learning where to put that anger. It didn't belong on her. That was misguided. She had done nothing wrong. All she had ever done was love him. Anger was okay as long as it was placed in the right direction. He knew that now. Spider-Man could use anger to his advantage. Bad guys deserved anger. His frat brothers deserved his wrath for how they treated others. He, himself, deserved the anger. But not her.

And he needed to make amends. Even if she didn't fully forgive him, he needed to try, because she deserved to hear it, and he deserved to say it.

All it took was one text. After months of no contact. One text and she replied.

Coffee. 9am. Just the two of them.

One, little talk...just like old times.

I LOVED THIS!

It is very Dancing On My Own coded. I think what some people don't fully grasp in that story is that Peter was severely grieving through the later half of it. Gwen died because he couldn't catch her in time. He lost the love of his life because he wasn't good enough at the ONE thing he was supposed to be good at. He fully blames himself for her death. Do people not realize how seriously fucked that would make someone?? I think that's why I like to write dark!Peter so much. Because TASM Peter would be dark after that. He would not be normal. He would not be able to go back to being friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. It would ruin him. We saw that in NWH. It's still eating him alive like a decade later. The college days of Dancing On My Own took place a year after Gwen's death. The boy is fucked up.

Grief makes you do stupid things. Anger and reckless behavior is part of grief. Obvious that doesn't mean that it's okay but to completely write someone off as a monster undeserving of love just because they're hurting doesn't sit right with me. Not that you did that, I'm just going off the comments and complaints I've gotten on the fic that always low key piss me off.

And maybe I'm just not the greatest writer so that didn't come off as well as I wanted it to in DOMO but I tried my best haha. Maybe I shouldn't have ended it where I did and allowed them to grow a bit more after but I really thought that kind of stuff would just be assumed by the reader because it made sense in my head that that's how grief and healing and forgiveness go. But no one lives in my head but me so that's my fault for not executing my intentions properly!

I lovelovelove exploring grief and the different places it can take a person. Grief/depression/anger/angst are my favorite topics. Always have been since I was young. Like how Peter in this story feels most comfortable hanging out in his anger, I feel most happy in my angst and darkness. Sad people sometimes do bad things. Hurting people sometimes hurt other people. Even people they love very much. Does that make them completely incapable of change? Does that make them forever unlovable or not worthy of forgiveness? Sometimes people think too much in black and white and forget that the world is full of all sorts of grays.

Not that this was even about DOMO and I'm completely going on a tangent I know I'm so sorry haha but it's close enough to domo because it's dealing with Peter's grief and hurting of a close friend.

Here's some of my favorite pages from my favorite children's book (Michael Rosen's Sad Book) that talks about grief and the loss of someone you loved very much that's meant to teach children how to better understand their sadness and hurt and that even if you do bad things sometimes it doesn't mean that you are a bad person who doesn't deserve love and forgiveness:

ANYWAY

I just wanted to say that I love this and I love when people come to me with headcanons. That's what fandoms are supposed to be about. We're all supposed to be pestering each other 24/7 with our ideas and creating stories together and collaborating and building shit that we all love. Always send me your ideas. No matter how unhinged you might think they are bc I'm sure I've got equally as crazy ideas to play along with you!

#asks #headcanon #tasm #tasm headcanon #tasm headcanons #peter parker #andrew garfield #tasm x reader #tasm peter parker #tasm peter #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter parker x reader #peter parker headcanon #dancing on my own extras #dancing on my own #tasm fic

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shimmeringpinksunflowers · 2 months ago

Text

Prismo the WishMaster as your boyfriend

First off, just a fact, chillest dude in all of Ooo

Like, if you guys broke up (not that you would, but-) he would be the kinda guy you would actually be friends with

Because he is confined to the time room, dates are limited

A lot of indoor dates; home-cooked food, board game nights and, of course, watching movies (or alternate realities on his TV)

The man always has your favourite snacks at hand (and most other things for that matter)

Honestly, your presence brightens up his day

Like, he could be having the most boring/hardest day at work, but you sending a quick check-in text really makes his day

Once you two start getting more serious, I can see him using his powers to spoil you (which probably is a violation of the rules, but oh well-)

Oh, you saw a dress you wanted that was out of your budget? Magically in your closet

You wish you could style your hair a certain way? Bam, new doo by the morning

There's a book you're dying to read that hasn't been released yet? it's now on your bedside table

on that note, with your consent, I think he would like to use his powers to play dress up with you, as long as you're both having fun, and it's not just you treating him like your personal tailor

And as nice as it is to have a cosmic sugar daddy, please reassure him that you like him for him, and not his powers.

Like, this man deals with crippling loneliness, you gotta let him know that you're there for him too

Maybe you can't give things to him like he gives you, but you can be there to listen to him vent or just say sweet things to him (COMPLIMENT THIS PINK STRING BEAN)

This man loves your praise

he barely gets enough recognition for his job, so please tell him you love him and that he's a sweet boyfriend

you automatically get an invite to all of his parties (but understands if you don't want to go)

if you make him anything home-made, dude is going to treasure it

like, he would make a whole ass room just to put the things you give him in it

Has defiantly used the pick-up like: "if everything around me is a dream, then you're the most beautiful thing I've ever dreamed of"

Guy can be suave in his own dorky kind of way

He also likes cooking for you

he does it with zero powers, he just wants to make something for you

his cooking isn't always the greatest, but he does get better over time, you just gotta stomach it for a while til his trial-and-error phase ends (spoiler alert: it never does)

And, this goes without saying, but he makes you pickles

one time he made a special batch for you, with a note that said 'for my sweet pickle'

He's also tried to write you a song on his banjo

he's got spirit and it's the thought that counts anyway

I also see him having the love language of quality time (He's in a time box, I don't think he has much of a choice)

If you stick around long enough, he will give you a guest room

He will occasionally ask you for feedback about his stories

oh, and it's totally obvious when he's written characters that remind you of you two a little *too* much

If you are a writer or an artist, he would love to know all about your stories/OCs

or if you're a creative at all, would love to know more about your work

Super supportive (again, will use his powers to get you the most expensive materials)

If you guys are serious, he will introduce you to jake, assuming you didn't meet jake earlier at his parties or just because Jake just dropped in to say hi

Has defiantly told Jake about you at some point

So when you introduce yourself to him, Jake defiantly embarrasses Prismo about it

"Oh, so this is the girl you've been telling me all about?"

you guys have a dinner planner. It avoids having the same talk about what to have for dinner every night

After some time, he does decorate his time room a bit more

It's still minimal, but now there's a plant and a bookshelf or something

Is the kinda guy that's shy about dancing and singing, until a few drinks, and then he's doing karaoke like it's no one's business

Not the kind of guy to raise his voice

like, even if he was mad at you, would never do that. i see him responding in short sentences if that's the case

He's a god, you're a mortal, y'all definitely have existential conversations

But he's also so chill that they never feel depressing

Even though the relationship may be a bit strange to navigate because of the whole God/Mortal thing, you wouldn't have it any other way

He may be a God, but you are his Heaven

This is my first time posting headcanons like this, hope you all enjoyed it. If you want more or have a specific scenario you want me to write about, don't hesitate to ask (I'm always looking to sharpen my writing skills)

#prismo #prismo the wishmaster #prismo adventure time #prismo fionna and cake #adventure time fionna and cake #fiona and cake #prismo x reader #adventure time #adventure time x reader #adventure time fanfic #x reader #adventure time headcanons #sfw #prismo headcanons #prismo the wishmaster x reader

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wandabear · 1 year ago

Text

EVERYTHING WILL BE OKAY [CH 6 - finale] - WANDA MAXIMOFF X F!READER

ㅤㅤㅤ Summary: Y/N proposes to Wanda and she says… no. That’s when things get complicated, too much.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x f!reader | Natasha Romanoff x oc ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ Jules is portrayed by Adelaide Kane. Here.

ㅤㅤㅤ

CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX - finale

ㅤㅤㅤ

authors note: Please, listen to Hard to Concentrate - Red Hot Chili Peppers and enjoy this fluff as fuck really melting finale. ✨ Could make you puke. ✨

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤCHAPTER SIX

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Waking up had been more painful than she'd expected, especially when there was nothing but an empty spot on the bed next to her.

ㅤㅤㅤ Despair hit her, sitting up in bed and trying to remember everything about last night. Fear made her freeze, did she imagine everything? Was it just a dream? ㅤㅤㅤ

All those thoughts vanished when the door opened. That adorable brunette entered smiling with a breakfast tray in her hands, closing the door with her powers.

ㅤㅤㅤ

“You were really tired, huh. Morning, detka.” Wanda greeted and set the tray to the side of the bed, leaning down to kiss her lips. And finally, Y/N felt her soul return to her body as if struck by lightning. ㅤㅤㅤ

Y/N's incredulous look said it all. “Morning.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

“How are you?” Wanda sat next to her and took Y/N’s hand, as if she knew what was happening. Reminding her that she was really there by her side, forever.

ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ

“Can't believe you're here.” Y/N sighed, completely in love. “And kinda my ribs hurt a little too.”

ㅤㅤㅤ

They shared an adorable laugh.

ㅤㅤㅤ “So, tell me everything that has happened in these five years...”

ㅤㅤ Y/N sighed. “Well, it all started when you disappeared from the face of the earth...”

ㅤ They both chatted for a while while having breakfast, Y/N told her how she managed to control her powers, despite the pain she felt everyday, she had this huge responsibility. How despite her attempts to keep everything okay, Jules distanced herself by taking a more vigilant and vengeful path. Y/N told her everything that happened in the Compound, how they tried to keep it in order but the world was no longer the same. It was cold, hard and a little more lonely.

ㅤ ㅤ

They finally turned on the TV to see what was happening in the world outside of that beautiful bubble. All the newscasts were talking about the most important event in the history of humanity. They talked about how the Avengers had brought back the fallen, how people went out to celebrate outside their homes, but also how people desperately protested the loss of their homes.

ㅤ ㅤ “Thank you for everything you have done for me, for everyone.” the brunette rested her head on Y/N's shoulder. She knew that Y/N was happy but also worried.

ㅤ ㅤ

“You know I would go to the end of the world for you.” Y/N smiled and kissed Wanda’s forehead. ㅤ ㅤ

“I love you, Y/N.” the sokovian turned to see her, kissing those lips, brushing her nose against hers in a highly romantic and adorable gesture.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Love you, Wands.”

ㅤ ㅤ

They both smiled, getting lost in that warmth until Y/N's phone started ringing over and over again. Sighing in defeat, Y/N took her phone and saw that she had several missed calls and some texts. Especially from Natasha.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Fuck.” Y/N growled.

ㅤ ㅤ

“What is it?” Wanda asked curiously, frowning.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Real world calling us back.” Y/N turned to see her, caressing Wanda’s cheek gently. She didn't want to leave that little world that together they began to build, but they had to. “Are you ready?”

ㅤ ㅤ

Wanda smiled with tenderness, kissing her forehead. “Have we ever been? Let 's do this, detka.”

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

The sound of the metal doors opening and some beeps caught her attention but she did nothing. The raven-haired woman just kept sitting, with her eyes closed trying to meditate. But all she could hear was the clink of metal, nature too far out of reach.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Meditating or chatting with someone telepathically? Ready to run away.”

ㅤ ㅤ

That raspy and definitely hot voice made Jules open her eyes, finding a beautiful and clearly hurt Natasha Romanoff in front of her Containment Module. A cell technologically prepared enough to keep her locked up for a long time.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Meh… I managed to have this nice chat with a puffer fish but it was too far away. She said that if she managed to talk to a whale soon, she would let me know.” The brunette scrunched her nose. “These walls around me don't allow me to do anything. Didn't you bring a seed by any chance?” Jules teased and arched an eyebrow.

ㅤ ㅤ “Nope, I had my breakfast in the compound early.” Nat kept her arms crossed and a frown, clearly pissed off. “They barely let me pass with what I'm wearing, that's saying a lot.”

ㅤ ㅤ “Yeah, I figured.” Jules got up from the ground, moving closer to the wall that separated them.

ㅤ ㅤ “I see that you've discovered your true powers.” Nat whispered, trying not to feel sorry for noticing that collar on her neck, preventing the inhuman from using her powers. Just like they wanted to do with Wanda that time.

ㅤ ㅤ

“It was pretty interesting to find out.” Jules smiled sadly. She just kept watching the redhead, seeing that nothing had changed, absolutely nothing, Natasha looked like that last time in Wakanda. “Many changes, as I said before.”

ㅤ ㅤ

“I've seen it all, I've seen where you've been all this time.” The black widow narrowed her eyes and using Stark technology on her watch, she showed some videos where Jules was ruthlessly murdering human traffickers.

ㅤ ㅤ

Jules rolled her eyes. “Is it safe to talk here? Cause I want my lawyer.”

ㅤ ㅤ

Natasha walked over to the wall and looked at her watch one more time, which began with a countdown. Suddendly that angry and serious look completely disappeared.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Look, Stark is sugarcoating Ross while communications are failing and cameras aren't recording-” Before Natasha could continue, Jules cut her off.

ㅤ ㅤ

“I have done terrible things.” The inhuman said really sorry, she knew very well that Natasha was good at faking it, especially for the cameras and for Ross. “Ever since I lost you, and I don't want it to sound like an excuse, I… I have been a very different person.”

ㅤ ㅤ

Nat sighed. “Hey. I get it. I know what it is.”

ㅤ ㅤ

“Nat…” Jules took a deep breath, her lips twitched. “I have murdered people. As you saw there… You changed for the better, I changed for the worse.”

ㅤ ㅤ

Natasha didn't say anything, she just watched as Jules's brown eyes filled with tears.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Bad people. Murderers, human traffickers, cartel people. Every one of them is gone. All that you see there? It's true.” She sniffled. “I wish I could have stayed the girl you knew, so… pure and good.” Jules wiped away the tears that fell down her face. “But I couldn’t… I’m sorry.”

ㅤ ㅤ

“I lost you.” Jules just started crying. “I lost you and I didn't tell you that I loved you! All this time… I just watched you die.” She just shrugged. “A-and everyone tried to move on, but I couldn't, I couldn't. And I couldn't tell you that I loved you, all these years… I loved you.”

ㅤ ㅤ

Completely devastated, Natasha placed her hand against that wall, shedding a tear. “I'm sorry I left you. I’m so sorry, Милая. ”

ㅤ ㅤ

“I love you, Nat.” She put her hand against the wall too.

ㅤ ㅤ

“I love you, Jules. Я люблю тебя всей душой.”

ㅤ ㅤ Smiling through tears, both of them simply kept their hands together that way. Wishing they could have each other, be able to hug and caress each other. But that was the way things were.

ㅤ ㅤ

“I missed how good you looked with braids.” Jules teased and both laughed.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Don't try to flirt with me right now.” Nat smiled sadly. “We shouldn't have left Norway.”

ㅤ ㅤ

“You know that was impossible for both of us. You would never do that and neither would I.” Both of them finally moved away from the wall, returning to their starting places. “They may lock me up here for a while… The government is not going to forgive me easily. You have to go, be safe.”

ㅤ ㅤ

“Yeah, about that…” A small beep sounded on Natasha's wrist, the countdown was ending, there was only one minute left. The redhead looked at Jules again, now a bit more worried.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Listen carefully. Nick used his contacts to delete all information and videos involving you over the past few years. There’s nothing that binds you to that, except yourself. You can accept what you did and stay at the Raft forever, or you can accept it and do better, with us.” Natasha said quickly, seeing that the cameras were still off.

ㅤ ㅤ

Jules frowned in disbelief. “What?”

ㅤ ㅤ

“Senator Nadeer is coming for you and Y/N. With just footage of what you did, she can make Y/N fall as well. Ross was working for her.”

ㅤ ㅤ

“But it wasn’t her, it was just me! I did it!” Jules screamed.

ㅤ ㅤ

“We know… but that's the way it is. Nick says you owe him one and one day he will ask for something. He needs you and your abilities.” Natasha sighed. “The only thing Nadeer can accuse you of is helping Steve years ago, and that's nothing.”

ㅤ ㅤ

Jules babbled like a fish out of water, not knowing what to say. “Natasha, even with that, I don't think they'll let me go easily.”

ㅤ ㅤ

“We saved half of the universe, of course they will forgive you.” The redhead stared into her eyes, begging Jules to please stay by her side. “We can go, if you want… I just want you this time.”

ㅤ ㅤ

Jules smiled tenderly and sadly, her heart skipping a beat. “Like going back to Norway?”

ㅤ ㅤ

“Go back to Norway or some place where you feel comfortable.” The black widow said desperately, seeing how there were only thirty seconds left. “Just us.”

ㅤ ㅤ

Jules thought for a moment. “Do you think Fury is going to let you go?”

ㅤ ㅤ

“I definitely need a vacation after being dead for five years.” Natasha smirked one last time. “We can make amends together. Now just put on your best sad face, okay? I'll say some ugly things for the cameras, but you understand why.”

ㅤ ㅤ

Jules just sighed and nodded. When the countdown ended, Natasha just opened her eyes showing her coldest gaze and the hardest words she's ever said.

ㅤ ㅤ

Y/N walked hurriedly with Wanda by her side. They both went through that enormous door on the Capitol, where one of the most important hearings was taking place. Her best friend was there in ordeer to to face a committee headed by Senator Ellen Nadeer, who was highly outspoken in her distrust of Inhumans and the threat that she believed they posed for their society.

ㅤ ㅤ

They sat next to Natasha, who was sitting with her arms crossed watching everything.

ㅤ ㅤ

“How are we doing?” Y/N whispered.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Cross your fingers if you believe in higher beings.” Nat sighed. Many of the senators agreed to pardon Jules, but Ellen Nadeer was willing to send her down the darkest pit on earth.

ㅤ ㅤ

“I would like to know what you want to accuse my client of?” Jennifer Walters stood up and asked, though one of the senators quickly made it clear that this was not a trial.

ㅤ ㅤ After half an hour where everyone seemed to give their point of view that this woman should be forgiven as Bucky Barnes or Sam Wilson were, Senator Nadeer quickly testified that Julia Hale had committed atrocities in these five years, and that the inhumans or the enhanced people were extremely dangerous people for this planet.

ㅤ ㅤ

The room was filled with whispers and shouts, until one of the senators asked for silence. With a smug smile noticing how Y/N and Wanda shifted in their seats, Ellen Nadeer then asked again to play the evidence she had about what she was saying.

ㅤ ㅤ

But all they saw was video footage of how Y/N and Jules saved those people in Puerto Rico, or footage of many avengers fighting the battle for Earth. Nothing to incriminate them.

ㅤ ㅤ

“What is this?!” Senator Nadeer exclaimed in anger. “This is not the evidence!”

ㅤ ㅤ

“What does it mean? I have helped Steve Rogers, yes. I admit it, but you gave pardon everyone who did… What other evidence do you have against me?” Jules leaned in, using her mic. Y/N and Wanda looked at each other without really understanding what was happening.

ㅤ ㅤ

Natasha just smiled.

ㅤ ㅤ

Senator Nadeer rose from her seat, pointing at her. “I know you did something, you freaks of nature!”

ㅤ ㅤ

One of the senators interrupted her quite annoyed, taking the floor. “Senator, do you have actual evidence to prove what you're accusing Ms. Hale of?”

ㅤ ㅤ

“I had.”

ㅤ ㅤ

Of course, that confession made all the senators exclaim, annoyed and shaking their heads. The room erupted with whispers and disapproving shouts.

ㅤ ㅤ Senator Jessica Oppenheim shook her head and then adjusted her glasses, fixing her gaze on Jules, who rose from her seat. “Is there anything else you want to say about these accusations, Ms. Hale?”

ㅤ ㅤ

Jules swallowed, knowing that what she would say would change everything in her life, but it was only fair and she had to pay for what she did. “I protected this country and this planet a thousand times over. I'll keep doing it all my life.”

ㅤ ㅤ

And she would pay for it, working for good people.

Nodding, Senator Oppenheim agreed. She watched her colleagues who did the same.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Ms. Hale, on behalf of the United States Intelligence Community…” The senator smiled kindly at her. “I'd like to offer you our sincerest apologies.”

ㅤ ㅤ

In the room some whispers were heard again, especially from Y/N who along with Wanda couldn't believe what they were hearing. Completely smiling.

ㅤ ㅤ

“You have been a loyal agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. all these years, even risking your life trying to contain the bomb that could have created chaos in Puerto Rico with Agent Y/L/N. The process that you both lived through has been a sacrifice that we value.” Jessica Oppenheim smiled one more time.

ㅤ ㅤ

Y/N sighed and closed her eyes, remembering that moment. Many years ago.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Shh, everything will be okay.” The taller woman comforted her friend, placing a small kiss on her forehead. She could see how the timer was decreasing. ㅤ ㅤ “I don’t want to die, Y/N/N.” Jules sobbed against her friend’s chest. “I know I should be brave as I was trained, but I don’t want to die right now.”

ㅤ ㅤ

“I know, honey. I know.” She closed her eyes, tears fell down her cheeks. ㅤ ㅤ

“I’m so scared.” ㅤ ㅤ

“It’s okay, sweetie.” Y/N cupped the face of her best friend in her hands. She tried not to break even more, tried to be strong for both of them. After all, this was the end. “I love you, you know? Everything will be okay…”

ㅤ ㅤ

“Sacrificing your humanity, becoming inhuman, and now risking it once more to get half the universe back.” Another of the senators added, moving closer to his mic.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Your mother has been an amazing S.H.I.E.L.D agent, just like your grandfather, who was a Howling Commando, and we don’t forget that sacrifice.”

ㅤ ㅤ

Although there were some faces surprised by this revelation, Y/N only smiled. She was one of the few people who knew.

ㅤ ㅤ

Jules nodded, moved. “Thank you, ma’am. I've never wanted to use my grandfather's card, but it's good to keep that in mind.”

ㅤ ㅤ

“The Y/N, Dugan and Hale names have always been synonymous with service and trust. We'd like to offer you a full pardon.”

ㅤ ㅤ

“Thank you, Senator.” Finally, people in there started clapping and the brunette just nodded, gladly. She didn’t feel that she deserved it, but she knew that the best way to redeem herself was by doing good and not being locked up.

ㅤ ㅤ

“How did that happen?” Y/N smiled and turned to see Natasha, who was just trying to hide a smile from the side when she saw how Senator Nadeer along with Ross exploded in anger.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Fury.” The redhead just winked at her.

“So, what’s the job?” The brunette whispered while she saw how Y/N and Wanda laughed with Clint, waiting for the drinks at the bar at Tony's party. Yelena and Kate were together, laughing at those who were already drunk.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Fury needs us looking into this.” Making sure no one was around, Natasha whispered, showing her a file.

ㅤ ㅤ Jules frowned. “What is this?”

ㅤ ㅤ Without further ado, she opened the digital file and after a few seconds closed it completely, remaining silent. Her gaze fell on Natasha, who was watching her in the same way.

They both knew there was something wrong.

ㅤ ㅤ

Skrulls. Infiltration. Government.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Natasha, is this real?” Jules whispered concerned. “You knew about this?”

ㅤ ㅤ

“Just a few knew.” Natasha sighed. “Some of them are going all rogue. He needs allies for this, Fury doesn't want any avenger.”

ㅤ ㅤ

The brunette sighed. “Just an inhuman that no one knows.” Jules shrugged. “Well, I’m in.”

ㅤ ㅤ

Once they noticed Wanda and Y/N coming back with some drinks, they both kept up appearances. They didn't want them to worry, especially with the wedding so close.

ㅤ ㅤ

“You never told me your grandfather was Dum-Dum Dugan.” Natasha said, trying to be heard in that bar. The four of them were sitting at a table apart from the other avengers, celebrating at one of Tony's parties.

ㅤ ㅤ

“You didn’t know that?” Y/N said surprised as she left two pints of beer and two cocktails on the table, one for each of them.

ㅤ ㅤ

Jules rolled her eyes, taking the cocktail. “I never bragged about it. Grandpa met my abuela when he was on a mission. One night stand stuff.”

ㅤ ㅤ

“Ha. You fucked the granddaughter of one of Steve's friends!” Y/N laughed so hard, that Natasha had to nudge her.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Detka!” Wanda tried not to laugh.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Hey!” Jules groaned and punched her shoulder too. “I felt like everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D would see me as taking everything for granted. The only ones who knew were Fury and Hill, after a while I told Y/N.”

ㅤ ㅤ

“Look at you, VIP bitch.” Y/N smiled smug.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Well, you used my VIP card very well.” Her best friend joked and drank some of that cocktail.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Yeah, good old times.” Y/N rested her head on her beloved Wanda's shoulder for a moment, seeing how far they had come together. Wanda took her hand and they both intertwined their fingers, finally revealing the rings. ㅤ ㅤ

“What’s that shiny thing over there? It's burning my eyes.” Smiling, Jules nudged Natasha so she'd see it too. “I'm glad you two are doing so well.”

ㅤ ㅤ

“Me too.” Y/N looked at Wanda tenderly and kissed her cheek.

ㅤ ㅤ

Of course everyone in the compound was happy that they could finally be together, everyone kept reminding them how beautiful and happy they looked together. Especially Bucky, he was a secret shipper.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Thank you for the chance.” Wanda whispered, smiling happily.

ㅤ ㅤ

“You're welcome, if you break my sister's heart again I'll make sure you get seeds coming from your ass for life.” Jules intervened just to annoy them, making them laugh.

ㅤ ㅤ

“That was really violent.” Natasha frowned, a bit amused.

ㅤ ㅤ

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, completely unnecessary.”

ㅤ ㅤ

“I felt kind of intimidated.” Wanda commented, holding out her fist for Jules to bump into it.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Yeah, right? Sorry, I'm sorry, I think jail changed me a bit.”

ㅤ ㅤ

They all shared a laugh and a nice chat before getting up to dance together, finally being happy.

“Ready for the most important day of your life?” Natasha asked Wanda, who just sighed and looked at herself once more. Wanda was wearing a beautiful white dress, quite soft and elegant. ㅤ ㅤ How not to be ready? She was about to take one of the most important steps of her life. After several weeks of their return, Y/N and Wanda's relationship had become much stronger, more than ever.

ㅤ ㅤ Y/N proposed to her again and this time, Wanda tearfully said ‘yes’.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

Now the two of them together with Yelena left the room going to the garden. ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

“I am.” Wanda smiled, taking a deep breath. Natasha stopped before they went out into the garden, handing her something.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Wait, you’ll need to wear this…” The redhead approached, carefully put a quite adorable tiara of red flowers on Wanda's perfect hair. “Done, looks perfect.”

ㅤ ㅤ

“Really good.” Yelena nodded, smiling.

ㅤ ㅤ

“What is it?” Wanda frowned, not understanding why the change. But seeing the kind of flower it was, she widened her eyes. “Is this-”

ㅤ ㅤ

“Paeonia tenuifolia from Sokovia, before it… was destroyed, you must wear this little crown in your hair.” Yelena handed her one of the candles. “Carry a candle in your hands and wear something red. Sokovian tradition.”

ㅤ ㅤ

“That means I have to do it too.”

ㅤ ㅤ

Y/N's voice made Wanda turn around quickly, scared.

ㅤ ㅤ

Of course, she didn’t want Y/N to see her before, it was something essential that people always asked in the sitcoms that Wanda watched since she was a little girl.

They couldn't see each other before the wedding.

ㅤ ㅤ

Y/N smiled widely, standing in front of her. She wore a traditional sokovian scarlet garment around her chest and shoulder, besides the gorgeous white dress. “Not bad, huh? Look at me, I look good!”

ㅤ ㅤ

“Y/N…” Wanda gasped. Those big green eyes showed how amazed she was.“Why are you here? Don’t look at me! Why are you wearing-”

ㅤ ㅤ

“This is not a conventional wedding, sweetie.” Y/N muttered quickly as Yelena lit the candle, for both of them to hold her together. “It’s a… well, it's part of the Sokovian tradition, right?”

ㅤ ㅤ “Yes, but- Detka… H-How did you know about this?” Wanda stammered, trying not to cry from how moved she was.

ㅤ ㅤ

That was one of the most beautiful and important things that someone has ever done for her in her whole life.

ㅤ ㅤ

“We spoke with many Sokovians who live in the city, to make it special... they told us many things about traditions. Natasha helped me a lot in that, plus five years alone.” Y/N laughed nervously, especially when Natasha helped her fit that garment well. They were now ready to go through the gate into the garden. “One of them said that your friends should kidnap you and I'll go after you, but with so many avengers at the wedding I think it’s gonna be complex. Even if I know I can kick some of them.”

ㅤ ㅤ

“I can’t believe you’re doing this for me.” Wanda finally reached out, ready to kiss her but Yelena got in the way.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Save those kissy lips, Wanda Maximoff, we're not so sure about breaking all the rules. No kissing until the wedding.”

ㅤ ㅤ

“It's totally worth it.” Y/N laughed. “You look amazing.”

ㅤ ㅤ

“You look beautiful.” Wanda grinned broadly.

ㅤ ㅤ

They both settled next to each other, waiting for Natasha to open the door.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Such a power couple.” Y/N took a deep breath, seeing the door. “According to what this Sokovian professor told me, he explained that we should take the candle safe to the altar and-”

ㅤ ㅤ

“Take them together all the way to the altar, going to those who we love the most to give us their blessing. If they throw us a flower... it means yes.” Wanda answered with a look and a sweet smile. “My parents did it that way.”

ㅤ ㅤ

“Are you sure of this?” Y/N turned to look at her once more. Oh, Wanda looked wonderfully beautiful.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Wanda Maximoff, would you make me the happiest woman one more time, and marry me?”

ㅤ ㅤ

“No… I… I’m sorry.”

ㅤ ㅤ

“Why?”

ㅤ ㅤ

“Because I just don’t want to! Or what? are you going to force me to say yes?”

ㅤ ㅤ

This time, Wanda turned to see her and smiled widely. Her green eyes filled with tears of happiness. “Completely.”

ㅤ ㅤ

Nodding, Y/N gave the signal to Yelena to open the door. And Wanda never expected what awaited her on the other side.

ㅤ ㅤ

In front of them, an altar with many flowers and very beautiful arrangements, thanks to Pepper.

ㅤ ㅤ

All of her friends were sitting, waiting to see them walk down that corridor together. Smiling. Tried not to cry when Jules started to sing that song with Kate playing Wanda's guitar.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Hustle, bustle, and so much muscle. Cells about to separate, now I find it hard to concentrate. Then, temporary this cash and carry. I'm stepping up to indicate the time has come to deviate.”

ㅤ ㅤ

Wanda took a deep breath and they both began to walk together holding the candles, very slowly.

ㅤ ㅤ

‘And all I want is for you to be happy and, take this moment to make you my family, and finally you have found something perfect. And, finally you have found…’

ㅤ ㅤ

The sweet and deep voice of Jules accompanied them at every step. ‘Death defying this mess I'm buying, it's raining down with love and hate. Now, I find it hard to motivate. And, estuary is blessed but scary, oh. Heart's about to palpitate now, I'm not about to hesitate and…”

ㅤ ㅤ

Y/N sighed deeply, trying not to cry. That song was just perfect. She swallowed and continued with her soon-to-be wife under the gaze of her closest friends.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Want to treasure the rest of your days here, and give you pleasure in so many ways, dear.” ㅤ ㅤ

ㅤ ㅤ Y/N and Wanda turned to see each other for a moment, stopping halfway.

ㅤ ㅤ

“And, finally you have found something perfect and finally, you have found…” ㅤ ㅤ

At that moment, Jules stood in front of them with Natasha, throwing flowers at their feet. Unfortunately, Pietro wasn't there, or her parents, but Wanda knew that each one of them was her family now and forever.

ㅤ ㅤ

ㅤ ㅤ “Do you want me to show up for duty? And, serve this woman, and honor her beauty and, finally you have found something perfect… And, finally you have found yourself, with me…”

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

At that moment, each of their friends began to throw flowers down the hall, giving them their blessing. Every one of them, even Bruce with that big cast on his arm.

ㅤ ㅤ

“Will you agree to take this girl? Into your world… And now, we are as one.” Jules took the place of the bridesmaids, next to Natasha.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

ㅤ “My lone ranger, the heat-exchanger, is living in this figure eight. Now I do my best to recreate and, sweet precision and soft collision, oh. Heart's about to palpitate, now I find it hard to separate. And, all I want is for you to be happy and take this woman and make you my family. And finally you have found someone perfect And, finally you have found...”

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

They finally made it to the altar, where they placed that candle in front of them. The flame was still more alive than ever.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

“All I want is for you to be happy and, take this woman and make you my family and, finally you have found someone perfect and finally you have found… yourself.”

ㅤ ㅤ

Playing the last few chords, Kate and Jules smiled and wiped away their tears before settling into their respective places. It had definitely been one of the most beautiful moments of their lives.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

“Thank you Kate and Jules for that beautiful song for the brides.” Sam smiled and stood in front of that altar. “We're here to celebrate the love of Wanda Maximoff and Y/N Y/L/N. They gave me the honor of presiding this wedding, thank you so much.”

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

“Two lovebirds.” Sam cleared his throat and adjusted his tie, especially when Bucky just waved just to annoy him. “That they have traveled a very long road, rocky one but showing us that it is really worth falling in love.”

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

They both looked at each other for a moment, trying not to cry so many times. Perhaps the hardest job they had ever had as avengers.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

“Would you like to start with your vows? Y/N?” Sam encouraged her with a wink.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

Y/N took courage and a deep breath, looked next to her, seeing that Jules and Yelena were next to her as bridesmaids. They both smiled and nodded. “You can do this.”

Nodding, Y/N smiled happily and turned to take Wanda's hand.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

“Wanda Maximoff… I don’t know how to start, but I’ll do it with my heart and not my head. Sometimes I'm not very good at thinking, but I think I'm good at feeling.” She cleared her throat. “Everyone is waiting for me to say ‘I do’, but I think... I know I wanna say ‘I will’. I will take your hand and stand by your side everyday, as we did so many years ago, always together.”

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

Wanda pursed her lips and felt how her tears finally began to fall, not caring too much about her makeup.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

“I want to be with you in your moments of happiness, success, laughter and love.” Y/N said from the bottom of her heart, those vows that really came from her and not a long list impossible to remember. “But I also want to be with you in moments of sadness, sorrow, and let you know that you will never be alone. I hope those are few, I pray to any god that is near... Not you, Thor.”

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

Everyone laughed between tenderness, happiness like Jules and Thor who didn’t stop crying together like babies. Natasha just tried to stay strong but Clint was falling too.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

“I promise to encourage your compassion, I promise to nurture your dreams, I promise to fight your fears with you, not for you, but next to you. I promise to be your partner, not just possessing you but also working with you to always do better together. There’s no perfect love nor am I looking for that, I am looking for us to work together on this unique love everyday.”

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

Of course, after that, no one could hold back the tears and Wanda's vows were coming next.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

“Do you, Y/N Y/L/N take Wanda Maximoff to be your wife, to cherish in friendship and love everyday, and for as long as the two of you live, to trust and honor her, to love her faithfully, through the best and the worst, whatever may come, to remember your love for each other and the reason why you came together with her this day?”

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

“Yes, I do.” Y/N finished saying that and took the ring that Jules and Yelena gave her, to put it on Wanda’s finger.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

“Oh my god, okay, that was beautiful.” Sam sniffled and then he turned to see Wanda. “It’s your turn, Wanda. Make us cry already.”

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

“Okay, here I go.” The sokovian giggled then cleared her throat. “Before you, I never truly believed in love. I lost my parents, I lost Pietro, I lost my best friend and I lost my country. Today, surrounded by the people who love us, I choose you to be my wife.”

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

Wanda smiled through tears. “Years ago the pain was present in our lives when I made the biggest mistake, losing you for fear of losing you and I don't want to do it again. I am proud to be your beloved and to join my life with yours, now in this way. Detka... I vow to support you, inspire you everyday, and love you always forever. For as long as we both shall live, I will be by your side, Y/N Y/L/N.”

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

Wanda tenderly scrunched her nose when she saw how Y/N was excitedly waiting for her words.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

“You're my one and only today and every day. I promise to be your partner, best friend, lover and wife. I promise to honor, love, and cherish you through all life's adventures. Wherever we go, we'll go together, detka. That’s a promise.”

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

When Wanda finished her vows, of course they both had to take a moment to dry their tears. Y/N just sighed deeply, trying to stay strong.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

Sam smiled and finally asked. “Do you, Wanda Maximoff take Y/N Y/L/N to be your wife, to cherish in friendship and love everyday, and for as long as the two of you live, to trust and honor her, to love her faithfully, through the best and the worst, whatever may come, to remember your love for each other and the reason why you came together with her this day?”

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

“Yes, I truly do.” The sokovian took the ring that Nat and Clint gave her and put it on Y/N's finger carefully, finally intertwining each other.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

“So I declare you wife and wife, you can now kiss each other and bond forever in front of those who love you.”

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

Didn't have to say more because they joined in a passionate and beautiful kiss, finally smiling, finally meeting each other once more. Despite the fact that everything started in a different way, time always put everything in its place. And just as promised, they were together forever, living endless adventures together.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ

here goes some amazing and lovely people tags ✨ : @wandsmxmff, lonewalker17, tsmeanobody, dark-hunter16, lattayhottay16, natashaswifeu, silverockmusic, kacka84, emeraldevan! @sunsol-22 @dparker0 @imnotasuperhero @pawiie @whyischoosingnamesohard

Okay, I know, this is probably the most disgustingly cheesy fluffiest thing I've ever written but that song means a lot to me!

I tried to research some nice wedding traditions, trying to give them something interesting and something that meant to Wanda after losing her country. The girl always dreamed of that, a nice happy ending like a sitcom, I'm all in with that.

I must say that I saw videos of Adelaide Kane singing and I said: this woman-

I swear... I'm gonna write pure angst next!

Hope you enjoyed this story, this is one of the most important to me. Thank you for being here!

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader

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sanyu-thewitch05 · 1 year ago

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1000 follower special!

So I decided to make this huge headcanon post for Yandere ocs(since my Yandere stories are part of why I got so many followers). I’ll probably do a part 2 later. Thank you to everyone who took the time to read my pieces of writing.

Yandere Jock🏈🏉

Brad is horny. He will literally beg you to let him have sex with you.

Luckily he does have every contraceptive and pregnancy prevention medicine possible.

A new oral birth control comes on the market, he gets it for you. You want to get an IUD? He makes an appointment.

As you get further in the relationship, eventually he will get therapy for himself because he got sick of seeing you so embarrassed whenever he tries to fight other guys who look at you back in your college years.

Thankfully said therapy changes him for the better.

Pre-therapy Brad would’ve been happy that you got pregnant and wouldn’t even think of an abortion.

But with therapy, when Brad finds out you’re pregnant, he immediately asks if you’re ok, do you want the baby(Cus if you don’t he’ll pay for the abortion and take care of you afterwards)

If you choose to keep the baby, he’s putting his marriage Pinterest boards to use.

If you thought bridezillas were bad, then you haven’t met Bradzilla.

“I can’t stress my fiancé out with all the wedding stuff! She’s pregnant and I can’t risk her and babies health!”

He makes sure everything is perfect and even buys a new house for you and the baby.

Brad waits on you hand and foot. Literally watches all the Instagram reels for baby hacks.

Yandere Vampire🦇🩸

Nos feels guilty about the wedding.

He literally tries to make up with your grandma and family.

Let’s just say you had to pull your grandma and every male relative off Nos.

Nos’s family treats you wonderfully.

They even help you through your vampire pregnancy.

Meanwhile, your family eventually accepts Nos and tolerated what he did to you.

Nos is rich af and he treats you like he is.

Even though you’re married, you’re going on midnight dates.

You are wined and dined.

He even cooks meals for you

Nos makes strawberry sorbet mixed with blood of your choice.

He is definitely a kiss man. Literally loves kissing your cheeks and neck.

Nos does apologize for scaring every boy away from you. You had to understand it was so he could marry you and your village wouldn’t be destroyed silly-

Guides you through being a vampire and even helps you get powerful enough to be in the sunlight.

Which pleases you greatly because you loved your village’s summers.

Yandere Werewolf 🌕🐺

The switch between Aaron’s personality when he’s a human vs a werewolf is like night and day.

The minute Aaron goes back to normal and sees you, NAKED, in his cave….oh boy…

“Aaaahh! I’m sorry I glanced at your body!”

You almost start to miss the werewolf him. Almost.

Aaron’s semi traditional values kick in and he immediately proposes and starts wedding plans so it will look like the baby was conceived AND born in wedlock.

The good side is that with marrying Aaron you get the amazing villa out in the French countryside surrounded by beautiful flowers.

The bad side is that Aaron has free reign to control his werewolf abilities.

And that’s when his shy personality becomes more dominant.

I mean you find it hot, but the amount of body hair he sheds makes you irritated.

At least he takes good care of his hair and washes it. And he goes through the effort of waxing and shaving his legs just to appease you(take that body standards!)

He gets even hotter when living in the woods because he lets his hair grow out.

Aaron even lets you pull his back length hair during sex.

He’s also a great father. He will chase and play with pups while you rest up.

Your children love their papa and mama. Aaron lets the pups climb on his hair.

Aaron also teaches you how to breastfeed, change diapers, etc.

He actually took a parenting class before he got bit.

Aaron also took care of you during the pregnancy. Literally snuggled, gave you food, took you to appointments, fed you prenatal vitamins. He even acted your body pillow.

#yandere male #Yandere jock #Yandere vampire #yandere werewolf #male ocs #1000 followers

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laylajeffany · 9 months ago

Text

Grant Us Peace, Forevermore | Chaos Universe OneShot for @endofn1ght

Summary: Wednesday and her fellow Raven (OC/Emiliana) engage in witchcraft, looking for additional peace after the horrific events of the past year continue to weigh on them. WC: 4.9k (part of layla's <5k challenge that barely makes it lol) Rated: E

Note: New Lovely Thorns content coming in the next day or so, for now enjoy revisiting another OC from the Chaos universe as @endofn1ght prompted Chaos-verse Wednesday with Emiliana doing witchcraft. Thank you for all the support and forcing me to analyze some of my work in ways I hadn't previously thought about. This is part of my less than 5k writing challenge of prompts that I'm only allowed to work on at my place of employment when my free time is actually free (was a little less than usual over the last week which is why this took so long).

Set between Wednesday's birthday at the end of Chapter 31 and the start of the epilogue; end of semester / late April-ish at Nevermore - enjoy!

Wednesday kicked the final bit of gravel on her way up to the front porch of one of her favorite places. Emiliana’s cottage looked somehow smaller in the late spring; with everything finally green, the large shade cast from centuries-old woods dwarfed the structure considerably. Augustus slithered down her wrist, excited to enter the home, irritate Piper and greet his favorite turtles. The windows were open on the front, and she assumed likely the French doors on the back. Glad that Emiliana was letting in fresh air, as sometimes the house took on a more powerful odor of stale cigarettes when it was just her home for a while, Wednesday was surprised to have to knock – that she hadn’t heard her coming.

The door opened, revealing a frazzled looking Emiliana. It wasn’t terribly out of the ordinary to find her hair tangled and in just her long, black skirt and too-loose tank top, but she looked particularly greasy that afternoon. Wednesday bit back a sigh instead of a hello as she considered she’d need to shove her in the shower before they did anything productive to relieve the nagging sensation swirling around in her gut. “What is the day?”

Struggling not to smile, Wednesday regarded, “It’s Thursday.”

“I have not gone mad, then. I hate it when you do this – you send me into mild cardiac arrest. You are unharmed?”

Nodding, Wednesday stepped in as she closed the door – spotting a mess in the kitchen, a sink filled with unwashed dishes, a pile of laundry on the sofa, and the floor of the living room covered in remnants of a spell. Her entryway altar was a disaster and Piper was nowhere to be seen – probably avoiding the chaos. She watched as Emiliana struggled to place Wednesday, and tried to read her energy at the same time. She wondered if Emiliana could sense just how unease she truly was.

“I attempted to call and text all morning. I finished working with Aunt Larissa on the proposal for the new council duties, and she doesn’t want me to start anything new until next week. Enid has physical therapy and then her rehearsal. Mother is working with the Doves on oaths, father is entertaining Fangs that are in town, Josie is doing real administration, and you know I simply can’t be bothered with the Nightshades.”

“I am your last resort, then,” Emiliana crossed her arms, her expression mostly playful.

“No,” Wednesday argued. “I just know that you prefer your alone time unless it’s scheduled and was explaining why I’m interrupting…” She looked around at the mess. “This.”

The older Raven gave a chuckle, tugging Wednesday to her and placing an obnoxious kiss on the top of her head. Augustus immediately tore off in search of the yellow and white snake he longed to bother. “You are the one person who can always interrupt me, little bird, regardless of how it fazes my mental state. I am afraid we will have to take most activities upstairs or outside as it is a touch of a mess in here…”

Wednesday popped a brow. “Just a touch? Em – go shower. You’re gross.”

She gave a little cackle into her smoker’s cough. “Indeed, I am. The week has flown by, apparently. I shall see you on the other side of clean,” She didn’t fight the direction, and took to the bathroom with a small salute.

Once she disappeared, Wednesday hurried to start picking things up. It was far from her responsibility, but as Emiliana had picked up so many of the pieces of her life that spring, it hardly seemed enough or like a burden to care for her. Realizing the laundry on the couch wasn’t to be folded, Wednesday rolled her eyes and stuffed it into the washing machine, then moved to unload the half-full dishwasher that Emiliana had been taking things out of instead of putting them away throughout the week. That didn’t take long, and she made haste to reload and run a cycle there, too.

She was sweeping salt away from her to put in a jar after getting the majority of the spell on the floor picked up when Emiliana came out with her wet hair curling into ringlets. She opened the French doors, as hoped, and wondered, “Might we start with music?”

Tilting her head a little, Wednesday decided that was more than appropriate. Her goals for the late April recovery period were to get back to some of her long-abandoned hobbies, and starting a spell session with Emiliana by playing her favorite instrument would be a remarkable way to return to it. Playing music had once been one of her only ways of settling her spirit, and to play with a fellow Raven would be helpful.

She moved it to the end of the couch, wishing Thing were there to turn the pages as Emiliana set up a collapsible music stand for her and placed the selection she wanted there. “I have been composing something I shall play for you after this warmup, and perhaps you can come up with the strings to match?”

“I confess, original music content hasn’t been my forte over my studies, but I would be willing to try,” Wednesday agreed with a small shrug. Emiliana slipped onto her piano bench, wiggled her fingers, and counted them down twice before starting the melody to a famous duet.

Wednesday came in on the third line of music, her bow sweeping over the strings as her fingers moved in time up top. She couldn’t help the smile that came over her features as she got into it – the old habit returning, a swell of joy filling her from the outside in.

The first selection was about eight minutes long, and as it wrapped, Emiliana clumsily dashed over to Wednesday, hugging her tightly. “I love you.”

Grinning into her shoulder, Wednesday gave something like a nuzzle. She considered what she knew about the other Raven that had impacted them – how David Bowie’s music had been the soundtrack of her life. There was something distinctly soothing about music to someone so dark-coded as they, and she wondered if Goody had preferences as well, even if they were liturgical.

“Play me your new song?”

Nodding, Emiliana returned to her favorite place, closing her eyes and squaring her shoulders before letting the ivory keys take her away. She started, playing mostly minor chords – a haunting tune that Wednesday knew just what to do with, instinctively after the first repeating section. She jumped in – natural ability filling the air with cello sounds along with the piano.

It went on – the two playing in harmony for nearly twenty minutes. As they managed to come to a close without a single line of verbal communication, Wednesday was the one to get up first. She tugged Emiliana’s wrists, leading her to the back porch, where they sat on the swing together in silence.

There weren’t words needed between them – the energy spoke volumes. Emiliana kicked back, letting the swing rock. They both lost time – but not in a dangerous way, as they swung back and forth, back and forth until –

“Em? Oh! Hey, Wednesday!” Josie appeared, wearing a pair of athletic pants and an old reptile rescue organization t-shirt, her hair up in a high ponytail. She leaned down to push a kiss on Emiliana’s temple. “I tried to get a hold of you earlier, I figured you might be in the ether. Did you still want to do spring foraging and grocery shopping…?”

Emiliana opened and closed her mouth. “I am afraid I was not aware of the day. What is the time?”

“Going on four-thirty…I finished a meeting and swapped duty with Larissa for Sunday – I’ve got things to do at school then, regardless – I might as well be required to be there. I am so cool to just have turtle time if you -”

“I would still like – and require to, head into the forest. My stores are woefully low. Might we bring a small bird with us?”

“Yeah,” Josie smiled with teeth. “Provided she wants to? Wednesday – I’m not sure what your intentions were here?”

“To spend time with another creature of the dark,” She spoke in earnest. She wasn’t upset with it being Josie who disrupted the moment – but she certainly wasn’t ready to give Emiliana over to her fiancée. “My mother is out of birch – we could collect and distill some – if you’d be willing to go that far into the woods.”

“Whatever you need. The evening is mine now – we can go for a gathering walk, get groceries, eat something – then I am content to leave you two alone after for a bit before we’re ready to wind down for the night.”

Wednesday hurried in for a basket and her boots, while Emiliana insisted it was more than warm enough to be barefoot. Standing on the back porch with Augustus back around her shoulders from where he’d been snuggled in with a half-consenting Piper, Wednesday watched her big sister figures sharing a kiss in the middle of the grass before disrupting them with a hard stare. Josie giggled and pulled her to be between the Ravens, one arm around either of them. They walked a familiar path deeper into the woods behind the cottage, while Josie filled them in on the latest with just two weeks left in the semester – she was busy, but it seemed like the warming weather had behavior incidents down and she’d been largely able to accomplish her work during the daytime hours, instead of being constantly disrupted. Wednesday was distracted by wildflowers, tapping into her unique botany abilities she’d learned to mimic, discovering that a few could very well be useful in potion making with Emiliana. The red aquilegia was particularly interesting, but she warned Emiliana thrice about not attempting to eat it – as the toxicity would prove for a long and challenging evening.

Josie rolled her eyes when she produced a knife from her boot to peel back birch bark. “I find it interesting you’re still keeping a knife on your person, given all the recent trouble that’s caused you?”

“Maybe I just never learn,” Wednesday said with a shrug. “The consequences didn’t relate to having it on my person-”

“Only because Emiliana and I tampered with a crime scene,” Josie sighed. Wednesday felt a strange twist in her stomach. “I’m just saying, Wednesday. I…I’m not saying to walk around unprotected, just…I don’t even know what I’m suggesting. I just don’t want you forget what you’ve been through.”

“Believe me, I couldn’t if I tried,” Wednesday grumbled, picturing the woman’s biological father in a pool of his own blood. The inability to forget was half the reason she’d come to Emiliana that day in the first place.

“Alright,” Josie pulled her close. “I won’t nag.”

Emiliana snorted in a yeah right sort of disbelief and Josie slugged her a little before gesturing to some wild berries.

The foraging walk went on until nearly five-thirty, where Josie pushed a fruit pouch on both of the Ravens before getting them ready to go to the store. Emiliana tried to argue that she wasn’t the one with blood sugar regulation problems, but Josie told her the last thing she needed was scurvy from a week straight of eating noodles and broth.

They loaded into her SUV and Wednesday apologized to Augustus, who was disappointed they weren’t heading out of town to the pet store to get some of the live tiny mice he was fond of killing before eating fresh. Realizing she’d never been grocery shopping with the two women before, Wednesday should’ve been less surprised at just what a scene it was, with Emiliana’s need to touch every piece of fruit or vegetable before putting it in the cart, and asking Josie to read every label on packaged foods that caught her eye. Understanding why Josie usually just helped her with a delivery order, she found herself exercising patience before finally making it back to get started on a late dinner.

Grateful she’d done the dishes so that it was one less thing to do before she got overly hangry and acted out on it, Wednesday enjoyed the simple dinner of warm sandwiches and the fresh fruit and vegetable cut up before Josie finished up and a knock at the door revealed her best friend, who was going to take her out for a drink while Emiliana and Wednesday did their...whatever they were going to do together.

Wednesday eagerly sorted the foraging materials and she and Emiliana set to work cleaning her altar, putting her stones and other items to charge in the moonlight in a basket before smiling at Wednesday when she plopped beside her. “Alright, my little witch, what are you thinking?”

“Something for peace,” She whispered, finally confessing what she really needed with her fellow Raven. “Enid and I…let’s just say – the nights are challenging. I’m not sure how long she is going to be tortured by memories. She’s already had the worst of the feeling removed by the twins, and still, each night at the witching hour…”

“Less you say,” Emiliana sighed. “I am unsurprised. I doubt that I could even attempt to fall asleep at all under the circumstances. Much as I might like to be under a weighted blanket, I do not like to be in an enclosed area, considering what she went through.” She shivered. “My parents used to lock me into the small powder room when I was tearing off and…well, let me just say – I understand. I think…it is not even peace you are looking for. More like certainty.”

“Either way,” Wednesday sighed. “If you can think of a blessing, a potion, or a spell that will help, I will try it.”

Emiliana wiggled her fingers, reaching for a spell book in her native language. She tried to read the contents but sighed and gave up after several minutes, flopping back dramatically on the meditative carpet, mindful of her head. “Wednesday, confessions of truth. It is getting worse.”

“What is?” She asked gently, looking at Emiliana out of the corner of her eyes.

“I am afraid…I am afraid I may be losing more skills. It is common, with a brain injury, regression, or worse, a total loss of a previously mastered skill. But you know I used to be able to at least read decently in French! Now I can hardly manage. Everything looks like squiggles.”

Frowning, Wednesday bit her lip. She really didn’t have any advice to offer. “Would you like me to read to you?”

Emiliana had the base of her palm pushing against her closed eyes. “How am I to read wedding vows if I cannot even read familiar spells?”

That was an entirely separate problem – but that one, Wednesday had a solution for. “You don’t need to read anything. You’ll speak from the heart. And – if you do prefer to have something prewritten, so you don’t slip up, I will help you memorize it. You will give Josie lovely vows, okay? Don’t worry about that.”

When Emiliana didn’t immediately respond, Wednesday frowned, stretching out on the floor beside her. “What are you worried about, if that was just a mask?”

“I feel perpetually like I burden,” Emiliana confessed. “I just do not want this marriage to be a trap for Josie to take care of me.”

Thinking about how other people probably thought that about herself and Enid – but they didn’t see just how Wednesday could show up or be there for her, because it wasn’t anyone’s business, she gave a hug to Emiliana’s shoulders. There were other people in the world who surely struggled with similar problems, but only they knew how uniquely different they were. What it was to be and love a creature of such dark, always striving for light…

Emiliana hugged her in return, and she could feel her crying. “Sometimes I want to take you and hide us away in the countryside and just forage and do potions and spells and meditations forever.”

“Josie would miss you too much, Emi,” Wednesday promised. “I was with her, when you were not. Believe me, she loves you more than you even understand. She takes care of you in different ways as one of her expressions of that love, not in spite of it. You are not a burden. It is to be without you, that is her burden. Hey,” She sat up a little, pulling her fellow Raven up. “Let’s make a peace altar, for both of us. For all we want to ask of the universe.”

“The universe does not want us to have peace, Wednesday! That is half the point of our curse, and you know it!”

“Want doesn’t always get,” Wednesday quoted the myriad of adults in her life who’d long warned her about always having things go her way. “We’ve defied the dark before, and we’ll do it again. Don’t be pessimistic.”

Emiliana sighed, looking up, then to the side. She frowned, sitting up and looking at Wednesday. “When did you become the hopeful one?”

“I had no choice, Em,” She spoke, thinking about that awful night that sent Enid screaming in the middle of almost every night since. “I had to have hope. And I’ll have hope today, for both of us if you can’t find it on your own. I’ll ask for it for you. Come, help me,” She said, closing the book. They didn’t need it. They’d do their own spell, their own way – with her intentions shining through the dark that was clouding Emiliana’s vision.

Heading out to the back porch, she lifted a small, homemade tarp (she loved the way that Emiliana made it her own, lining the silver with black, celestial fabric, and putting a clear vinyl over the top). Beneath it, she took a water carafe, willed with water that she blessed under the recent moon. Bringing it in and sitting at the altar, taking the trunk full of Emiliana’s stores and the basket from their walk, Wednesday watched as she wiped at her cheeks, but started to take out potion ingredients, her little picture labels likely coming in handier than ever.

“I am recalling, somehow,” Emiliana rolled her eyes even as the left one twitched. “Acorns, are for luck.”

She held up a jar full of those that were dried and collected likely from the fall, full to the brim. “Well, add fifteen and hope for peace, then,” Wednesday agreed simply, watching Emiliana line up three rows of five, watching her double count to be sure before setting them into a bowl. She looked at Wednesday, waiting for her to go next.

Reaching into the basket of their yield from the woods, Wednesday removed a blackthorn blossom, placing it with the acorns. “For warding off negative energy.”

Emiliana found a little bit of a smile, apparently finding her approval of Wednesday’s method, lifting a piece of bark. “The city was removing the trees with Dutch Elm disease in the winter. I took a sample, and Holly found it was actually not completely affected, so – I saved the healthy part…As Elm…um, it…helps to balance…?”

“The heart,” Wednesday finished, smiling herself, squeezing Emiliana’s hand.

“Four pieces, then – with a lucky knife. Perhaps…” She took on a serious expression, that also offered Wednesday an out. “Are you yet ready, to open my summoning chest, retrieve your own?”

Shaking her head, she made it clear – Wednesday was not ready for that. “Not yet. Perhaps, come fall – we could do a purification ritual under the harvest moon.”

“Excellent thinking. Add it to your mental calendar, then. I happen to have one…” She lifted up her hands, wandering over to the basket of tools on the tall shelf by her altar. “I once used this to so very carefully remove a hook from one of those babies over there – when Josie and I found him,” She gestured to the tank of turtles. “She says it is a lucky knife.”

She chopped her bark with even slices, tilting her head, inviting Wednesday to make the next choice.

Taking a glance through her many jars and small, homemade sinch-sacs, Wednesday found a dried, pink flower. “Hollyhock. Useful to personal growth.”

“Hm…” Emiliana’s left eye wandered for a moment before she pulled it back, blinking and reaching for a bag. “Mint – for energy. Goodness knows this grows everywhere I don’t want it to out there. I need Holly to spend some time with me,” She mumbled, dropping in seven leaves.

“Pennyroyal,” Wednesday took one from the basket. “For harmony, tranquility.”

“And finally, the liquids.” She took a basket off the shelf, putting lavender and sage oil out, before looking at Wednesday with a sigh, then – sudden watery eyes yet again. “I am so happy to have a partner in the dark to do this with.”

Wednesday gave her a half a smile before headbutting her. “Would you like to grind or smash?”

“Oh, grind, please. You,” She passed her a mallet, “Smashy girl.”

“Always,” She said gleefully, taking the acorns and elm sticks and rolling them into one of Emiliana’s homemade altar cloths, placing it all on a silicone mat and taking it outside, giving them a good few playful whacks before going to town – not letting them stand a chance against the depths of her unrestrained violence.

Once they were more into a powder, Wednesday brought the folded cloth back to Emiliana, who was grinding everything else together with a large mortar and pestle. She let Wednesday add the newly crushed ingredients and continued to grind it all together before Wednesday prepared a simple setup for their spell and blessing.

She carefully selected runes from Emiliana’s collection, placing one of her homemade shell symbols in the moon water she poured into a small simmering cauldron. “Peorth, for luck.”

Emiliana nodded, drawing three Ogham Staves, that Wednesday was sure she hadn’t used at least since the Solstice break at home with her mother. “Hm. Ironic, is it not?”

“Ura, for spiritual healing, Duir, for strength, and Sail, for balance? It sounds exactly like what we need. Put them on the meditation plane.”

Emiliana set it all up, rolling out a clean scarf, putting the three Ogham Staves in a row, placing the dry ingredients in front of them. She added six candles, a photo of Enid and Wednesday, and one of herself and Josie, then as many crystals that gave positivity that Wednesday imagined she had at the cottage. Satisfied with her spread, she crossed her legs and took Wednesday’s hand, lighting the candles with a wave of her own. “Would you like to give your intentions?”

“I acknowledge, the break in traumatic events that we are presently being allowed – from the universe. I express, my gratitude for it – as I am not sure how we could have continued to cope. But – the ramifications of all that took place, continue to haunt us. I implore, peace – positivity – light. I must be able to be more present and grounded, I must be able to provide comfort to my beloved who needs me most at the current time. Em?”

“I recognize,” She could hear her swallow, “My privilege in position, in wealth, in relative health. But I also feel a sense of futility – that I am not able to give enough to my own beloved, and that I am taking more. I implore – peace, positivity – light. I ask for these things to be stable. I must be able to give as much of myself as is given to me.”

Feeling their intentions were matched, Wednesday spoke in verse, letting a natural sense of rhythm and rhyme take over.

I seek both light and peace, I request that this darkness cease. I need a positive force that can bring Something good to this endless spring. I require a flame from the eternal fire, To help me be a healer and inspire. I ask this, for the only one I adore - Grant us peace, forevermore.

Emiliana spoke a familiar blessing in French, and Wednesday smiled at her as she finished, pouring their dry ingredients into the pot, while Emiliana added the oils. They stirred together, focused on intentions, before Emiliana lit the flame in the fireplace and put the small cauldron on her hook. Cleaning up just a little bit from the spell – it wasn’t a terrible mess, they passed the time while waiting for the potion to brew, about three hours.

Not realizing how much time had passed, Wednesday felt her cheeks heat up when her mother opened the cottage door with Enid, finding Emiliana and Wednesday in the middle of a very dramatic tarot reading for her Beanie Babies. Enid managed to take a picture before suggesting they head home as it was going on her late snack and bedtime, and she wasn’t one to skip her routines.

Feeling just a little bit irritated that she wouldn’t be able to see the potion through to the end, Wednesday let Emiliana scoot both members of the party out to the front porch before she located Augustus from where he’d been antagonizing her own snake, putting the boy around Wednesday’s shoulders, and tugging her close. “I will mind the potion and bring it to you tomorrow morning with an appropriate color tie and charm.”

She hugged her in return, feeling a strange pit of emotion as she held onto Emiliana’s thin frame. She turned her cheek against her bony collarbone, looking to the side, staring at the fire. Wednesday knew her intentions were clear when creating the potion, but…she wasn’t so sure if it would hold up or prove effective.

As Emiliana embraced her long, it seemed like…sometimes – that homespun magic was all an illusion; the potions and spells sometimes felt like nothing more than a placebo effect. Perhaps it really was, and the magic of it all was belief and pluck and –

“You are thinking over, little bird.”

“I know,” She whispered, still clutching onto her.

“You have proved, time and again – you are very strong, very powerful.”

“At a cost. I don’t think that potion will cause anyone to be hospitalized.”

Emiliana’s fingers tangled under her braids as she pulled her back to look her in the eye. Her left one was twitching like it wanted to be shut for the night. “Do not estimate under the power you have,” Emiliana warned.

Nodding – not sure how to do that, but knowing Emiliana’s misused idioms were wise, she accepted her obnoxious kisses to her cheeks before taking her backpack and the Beanie Baby blackbird and scorpion from the floor, tucking them inside, seeing all the missed messages on her phone that had caused her girlfriend and mother to have to walk over to collect her. Giving a wave to Emiliana, Wednesday accepted next her mother’s hand to her shoulder before letting Enid envelop her in a warm greeting.

“Sorry for interrupting your Beanie Baby tarot reading. That looked really fun! Did you get anything good out of it?”

Wednesday hid a dramatic sigh, contemplating on the fairly neutral cards she’d drawn that night. “Nothing life-changing, for the better or worse.”

“Well, we’ll take that, too,” Enid let go and slipped her fingers between Wednesday’s, practically skipping along the solar-powered little garden lights that illuminated the path from Emiliana’s cottage to the Addams house.

Wednesday had made a potion to give her hope that night. The irony of it was – the only reason who’d ever given her any reason to chance that sensation in the first place, despite her chipper-looking demeanor on the trail, was the very reason she needed it, and would likely be hysterical in just six hours.

Trying not to think over as they made it home, ate her usual pre-bed snack and followed her established routine with Enid, Wednesday tucked in beside her. Enid was cuddled on top of her chest like usual, obviously exhausted from her day – and had slipped to sleep in minutes.

She’d sought out Emiliana for the very same reason that her fellow Raven had spoken the quiet part out loud – when she struggled with her reading. Sometimes – the weight of the dark, even if there was no vision, no promise of horror from the universe, was simply too much. To be understood in a way that such a microscopic percentage of Outcasts had ever truly been cursed…

There was a light from the nightstand an hour and a half later as Wednesday wanted to take her mother’s sleeping potion, but also didn’t want to be too out of it when Enid woke up in short time. Reaching for her phone, she examined the picture Emiliana sent; her potion was in a small bottle, with white-dipped twine, tied around the neck, a small bird charm of promise adhered in wax. There was no text attached to it, just the picture of the potion.

It looked beautiful in the light of the still-burning candles and Wednesday sighed, putting it back, adjusting herself around Enid’s sleeping form as she rolled onto her side with a snore. She considered the poem she’d spoken in verse over the potion, willing the universe to grant her a few hours of peace before she’d be woken up to provide it to her traumatized girlfriend.

#fanfic #wednesday 2022 #Chaos for the Fly #CftF One-Shots

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