#what to grow in a kitchen garden

[robinsnest2111]

just saw a recipe video for a cake that looks just like a cake my late grandma used to make and now I got tears streaming down my face oops

[greenkait]

My hot pepper plants are only now just starting to bud like crazy 😩

Fingers crossed for a warm fall in Canada so I can actually harvest them🤞🏻

[novelcain]

I will never forget the day my former boss looked me dead in the eyes on my orientation day and said: I'm a great judge of character. I can tell that you're an extrovert.

Me nervously laughing because every time I had interacted with this man I was masking my ass off to get this job and most certainly was NOT an extrovert but also didn't want to somehow risk my new job by saying otherwise: Yep! You got me!

[luvsupa]

“SHALL WE RESUME, MY LADY?”

tags: heianera!sukuna, trueform!sukuna x fem!reader, kissing, servants are bullies :(, BLOOD + KILLING, smut-ish (?), ANGST, readers called little one, my lady, my queen, sukuna lovessss reader but doesn’t wanna show it.

w.c: 1.8k

a/n:ITS BEEN LONG SINCE I WROTE PART 3 FOR SUKUNAAA, so pls read (part 1 + part 2) to understand this :p (or don’t 😔)

-part 1 was my first ever story so pls don’t mind the terrible writing 🤕

+ likes and reblogs are appreciative!!

for weeks now, since your intimate encounter with sukuna in his chambers, his words have echoed relentlessly in your mind:

“you belong to me, mind, body, and soul.”

unable to shake his haunting assertion, you find yourself lost in a fog during your duties, drawing the king’s scorn for your clumsiness—pathetic, he silently judges.

you’ve been desperately trying to avoid sukuna, feeling his ominous presence lurking near the servants’ quarters, dangerously close to your room. each night, you pretend to be asleep, hoping he won’t enter.

uraume and the other servants and concubines have noticed your distraction, their whispers and spiteful glances intensifying your growing distress.

just as you’re lost in your thoughts, walking towards the grand kitchen, you feel yourself being harshly pushed—nearly losing your balance. you turn to face the two brunettes who always accompany sukuna in his chambers.

“look at her,” one sneers, her voice dripping with contempt. “she looks even more pitiful than usual. you’d think she’d try harder, especially with tomorrow’s annual gift-giving ceremony.”

your heart drops, and you feel the blood drain from your face as the realization hits you—you had completely forgotten about it. shit.

the other brunette catches your expression and smirks, leaning closer.

“oh, you did not know?” she mocks, her eyes glinting with malicious pleasure. “did you truly forget? lost in your own little world? pathetic. do not think sukuna-sama has not noticed your incompetence. if i were you, i would be prepared to face his wrath tomorrow.”

before you can respond, the brunettes walk away, laughing cruelly amongst themselves. fear grips you as you stand there, contemplating the consequences of your forgetfulness. this time, he might seek to end my life.

sukuna spared your life once before, but now? you’ve truly done it.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

morning arrives, finding you sleepless and anxious, having spent the night wrestling with decisions on what gift would appease the king of curses. regret gnaws at you—you could have been better prepared.

if only you had listened to uraume’s instructions, you wouldn’t be scrambling now to please sukuna.

a loud groan escapes you, not just from lacking a suitable offering but from the impending threat of losing your life in front of everyone.

your thoughts shatter as your door creaks open. uraume enters, carrying a basket laden with ceremonial attire.

“sukuna-sama will return soon from his mission,” uraume states matter-of-factly, approaching your bedside and handing you the basket. your gaze fixes on the black and gold kimono. “in the meantime, prepare your gift for our king,” they remind you, prompting your heart to skip a beat. you nod gratefully as uraume exits the room.

you linger, captivated by the elegance of the wooden basket. slowly, an idea begins to take shape.

i hope this idea will work…

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

you hurriedly slip into the black and gold kimono uraume handed you, the fabric draping elegantly over your curves as you smooth out its silk folds.

grabbing the basket, you rush out of your room, navigating through the crowded hallways filled with servants, concubines, and guards all preparing to present their gifts to the king.

anxiety grips you as the chatter rises, signaling the ceremony may have already begun. finally reaching the garden, you drop to your knees, swiftly gathering orchids, red camellias, and wisterias.

heart pounding, you carefully arrange the brightly coloured flowers in the basket, leaving space for more. glancing around the vast garden for inspiration, you freeze as you spot a familiar figure in the distance, surrounded by guards and soldiers.

shit.

your pulse quickens as sukuna approaches the estate. you force yourself to calm down, needing clarity to finish your task.

turning to the fruit garden, you ignore the dirt on your kimono as you hurriedly gather peaches, oranges, and pomegranates from the trees, arranging them neatly in the basket.

with your last-minute gift finally perfected, you hope he will at least appreciate the effort. as cheers and applause erupt, signaling sukuna’s arrival, you hasten back to join the line of gift-givers, heart still racing with fear.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

the ceremony unfolds in a chamber unfamiliar to you, far larger than sukuna’s usual domain, filled with hundreds and hundreds of servants seated on comfortable cushions, rows of expectant faces awaiting the ceremony’s commencement.

as you wait nervously, you glance around at the lavish offerings others have brought—paintings, gleaming gold jewelry, fine silk robes, ancient artifacts, perfumes, and oils. in contrast, your basket of fruits and flowers seems painfully simple.

whispers and snickers ripple through the crowd, directed at your low-value gift, almost insulting to the king, as the laughter grew louder and more pointed. the embarrassment increases, now overwhelming you.

“silence.”

his voice cuts through the room like thunder, instantly quieting the chatter as all heads bow. only you remain defiantly gazing at sukuna from his elevated throne. he looks magnificent, his towering frame draped in a dark cotton robe that accentuates his scarlet eyes—those unsettling eyes that draw you in despite your fear.

“do you consider yourself more worthy than others to not bow?”

his voice pierces through you, shocking you out of your thoughts. you hadn’t realized you were staring at him so openly. a nearby servant nudges your head down forcefully, a silent command to acknowledge sukuna’s authority.

uraume then signals the first row to approach sukuna with their gifts. as he settles into his throne, one of his lower eye fixates on you with a chilling intensity, reminding you of the difference of ground upon which you stand.

the two brunettes, who supposedly despised you, were the first to present their gifts. all eyes watched as they offered lavish amounts of gold and diamonds to sukuna. you couldn’t help but notice the satisfaction that spread across his face, a subtle amusement evident as he casually placed the gift with one of lower arms behind him.

they took their places on either side of his throne, making way for the next in line. as the line shortened, your turn approached rapidly.

you watched with nervous anticipation as sukuna accepted one of the servants gifts— the beautifully sculpted artifacts and golden treasures—

slash!

the servant’s head was cleanly severed, a loud thud echoing through the room. gasps filled the air as the shock spread through the assembled crowd. some of the seasoned servants were used to sukuna’s impulsive acts, but this was the first time you had witnessed such brutality. blood splattered across his face, yet he remained unfazed, awaiting the next offerings.

you covered your mouth, stifling a scream of horror. the fear of becoming the next victim intensified as you compared your gift to the high valued gift he had just received.

how could he appreciate your offering if he did not enjoy the artifacts?

you were on edge, continuously hearing numerous slash and thuds that kept racing your heart. his gaze seemed to linger on you, intensifying your dread.

unaware that it was your turn next, you suddenly found yourself on the elevated floor, your gift clearly visible to all below. laughter erupted among the watching servants, their anticipation of your downfall.

you felt all four of his eyes fixated on you, observing your trembling form, your eyes flickering nervously as you struggled to stay composed. stepping cautiously over a puddle of blood, you nervously approached his throne.

with trembling hands, you presented the basket of flowers and fruits. below, the two brunettes knelt, their mocking laughter ringing in your ears.

sukuna silently observed the basket, his large hands delicately holding the tiny fruits. he plucked out peaches, pomegranates, and oranges with two hands while the other two hands carefully examined the flowers, bringing them to his nose to inhale their earthly fragrance. then, to your surprise, sukuna’s lips curled into a mischievous smile.

“little one,” he said in a low velvety voice that sent shivers down your spine. “you surprise me.” 

the crowd exchanged puzzled glances, uncertain of how to interpret sukuna’s unexpected reaction. the two kneeling servants looked up at sukuna in disbelief, their faces turning pale as they realized their own gifts, despite their value, had not elicited such a response.

sukuna carefully placed everything back into the basket, then lifted a ripe peach to his lips. his intense gaze locked onto yours as he took a deliberate bite, savouring the sweetness. loudly humming at the sweet taste.

unexpectedly, two of sukuna’s free hands reached out and gently grabbed your waist. you squealed in surprise at the sudden contact as sukuna swiftly spun you around, placing you on his lap with your back is against his chest. his third hand delicately tilted your chin, looking up towards him.

“‘kuna…” you began, mindlessly calling him by a forbidden nickname. but his lips cut off your words in a hungry kiss. the taste of peach lingered on his lips, blending with the sweet intensity of the moment. his kiss was fierce, brimming with a raw passion.

sukuna’s large hand snakes up to the crevice of your neck, and to your surprise, another mouth formed on his hand, trailing down to suck and kiss a sensitive spot on your neck. a soft moan escaped your lips, muffled by his kiss, and he grinned at your reaction.

the brunettes stared up at the two of you with utter jealousy, never having received such intimacy from their king. the entire room gaped in shock; they had never witnessed the king of curses succumb so readily to a mere servant.

sukuna then pulls away, leaving you dizzy from the closeness. his presence seems to envelop you, making you feel intoxicated by his mere touch. with a gentle touch, sukuna adjusts your slouched posture, his hands holding you firmly against his broad chest. leaning down, he kisses your ear softly.

“you will judge which gift is worthy,” he begins, his closeness making your head spin even more. “if anything displeases you, I will take care of it,” he murmurs, hinting at even more slashes. another hand snaking up to your neck, softly applying pressure to restore your stability.

if anything you feel a rush of arousal.

“i will obey your every command, my queen. i am yours to command,” he declares softly, causing you to whimper in response. gasps fill the room as they witness the king of curses submitting himself to you.

“shall we resume, my lady?”

[joedirtymadre]

Your First Fight

Headcanon 🫶 (Pls send more requests)

LUFFY + ZORO + SANJI + LAW + ACE + SABO

LUFFY

“I don’t get why you’re so mad at me,” he said as he watched you pace around the room. “Are you serious? I asked you to stay behind on the ship, because you know this island is known to be a common Navy stop! All I needed was to grab some herbs and plants for the garden and who do I see rocketing into the middle of the plaza?” You asked, knowing damn well who it was. “Me…” he replied softly. “Exactly! I asked you to stay behind and watch the ship with the others! Why can’t you do the simplest of tasks?” You yelled. “So what if I left? I got bored, and why are you trying to tell me what to do?! If you want me to remind you, I’m your captain! You listen to me!” He yelled back.

“Well it obviously doesn’t look like it, since you were hurling at max speed into a Navy base island without a care in the world! Grow up! I asked you to stay behind because we had others who needed to stock up on supplies, which means you had to stay behind and make sure we’re not discovered or the ship isn’t hijacked!” You yelled. “We would have been fine! We always escape, so why are you so mad at me?” He asked. “Just because it hasn’t happened doesn’t mean it won’t. Plus I asked you to do something and you just ignored it,” You replied. “Well if you want to boss people around so much, go find your own ship. Maybe you’ll be a better captain,” he said coldly as he walked out of the bedroom.

ZORO

“Hey stop!” You called out to your boyfriend. You were both currently lost… or he was lost, you knew where to go, but Zoro wasn’t listening. “Zoro, I told you a billion times that the ship is the other way,” you said. “I know where it is! You don’t need to babysit me, I’m not a little kid,” he sighed. “I’m not trying to,” you said. “Well it feels like it… like I can’t take a break,” he grumbled. “Ok… but why are you so upset? I’m just giving you dire-“ he cut you off. “Because you’re always doing this!” He shouted as he stopped and looked at you.

“Huh?” You asked. “You’re always… suffocating me. I can never have a moment to myself, ever since we started dating. It’s like you’re a leech and I can never get rid of you for 5 seconds,” he groaned. “Oh…” your voice cracked. “I didn’t m-mean…” you trailed off. “Wait… (Y/N), I didn’t mean all that. I’m just-“ you cut him off. “No… it’s fine, I understand… You just want some space…I’ll head back to the ship, I’ll see you there,” you said as you turned on your heels and ran towards the ship. “(Y/N)!” You heard as you continued to run off.

SANJI

You slowly approached your boyfriend, excited to help him with whatever he needs. “Hey!” You smiled. “Hi beautiful, how are you?” He smiled back. “I’m great, so what are we making today?” You asked. “Nami-swan asked if I could make her some fruit tarts so I’ll be preparing that for her,” he smiled. “Mind if I help? If you finish quickly we can go-“ he cut you off. “Sorry (Y/N), but I’d hate for this to be messed up. It’s better if I do it alone,” he explained.

“Oh… but I normally help you in the kitchen, why can’t I help you with this one?” You asked, confused. “To make sure it’s perfect for my Nami-swan! Plus, you still haven’t mastered certain techniques, and I’d hate for this treat to not be perfect for my beloved Nami,” he swooned. “Seriously?” You huffed. “I didn’t mean to offend you my love, I was just answering your question,” he replied as he began preparing the dessert. “Ok fine, I’ll get out of your way. Maybe your beloved Nami will come help you out in the future,” you said coldly and began walking out of the kitchen. “(Y/N)! Hey! Wait!” He called out, but you continued to your bedroom.

LAW

“(Y/N) you’ve been at that for the past 6 hours, it’s time to take a break,” Law said as he watched you continue to try to fix the electrical issue that’s been causing problems with the motor. “But I can’t just stop now… what if the motor stops when we’re trying to escape from someone?” You asked, feeling frustrated by the uncooperative wires. “Come on, maybe you need some fresh air. We’ve been ducked at this island for a whole day and you haven’t even looked outside to see it,” he sighed. “Well I’m sorry that I’m trying to fix your ship!” You huffed. “That’s fine, but you need a break,” he said.

“Well I don’t want a break, what I want to do is fix this stupid thing!” You groaned. “And I really don’t need someone breathing down my neck when I’m trying to do something!” You added. “I’m just trying to look out for you, but if you’re gonna act like this then I’m leaving,” he said softly and headed towards the exit. “Good, maybe I’ll finally be able to fix this,” you glared as he walked out.

ACE

“Come on babe, are you really still mad at me?” Ace asked as he followed you to your bedroom. “What makes you think that?” You asked as you tried to shut the door in his face, but he quickly stopped it and stepped in. “That’s why,” he frowned. “Just making sure to close the door behind me,” you said as you gave a tight smile. “Come on, what’s the big deal? I’m sorry I left without telling you,” he said as he tried to hold you. “You just don’t understand,” you huffed as you brushed off his embrace. “Then tell me,” he said as he sat on your bed.

“What if you died?” You said bluntly. “Well… that’s being optimistic…” Ace said awkwardly. “I’m serious, what if you died? You really left without me knowing, and sure you made it back safe, but what if next time you’re not so lucky? And I end up finding out my boyfriend died in the middle of the sea, and I couldn’t even say goodbye to him…” you said softly. “Ok, ok… well I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left. Even though you know I’ll always be safe. So, forgive me now?” He smiled. “No, because you’re not taking me seriously!” You groaned. “Why are you still mad at me? I said, " I'm sorry, don’t worry so much!” He yelled back. “I worry because I love you, but if you’re so dense, then just get out! I don’t know why I even put up with you. When it obviously shows how little you care about my feelings!” You shouted as you pushed Ace out of your room. “Wait, (Y/N) I’m sorry! Let’s keep-“ but you cut his words off with the door.

SABO

“Sabo~” you cooed. “Yes (Y/N)?” He replied. “I’m bored, can you please put the book down for a second and let’s go walk around the island or grab something to eat?” You asked hopefully. “Not today, plus you know we’re not supposed to be venturing out when he has to be on duty,” he explained. “I know, but we both get and hour break from standing guard and you’ve been spending each break reading. Can’t we do something, the two of us? Together?” You added. “Why? We’re spending time together right now,” he rolled his eyes.

Your eyes fell to the floor, “Alright,” you said softly as you headed back to the base. “What’s wrong?” Sabo called out. “Nothing, just gonna head inside,” you replied. You heard footsteps behind you, “What’s wrong? Tell me,” he said as he grabbed your arm. “Sabo we’ve been here for 2 weeks and you don’t want to do any normal couple stuff with me? Not even for an hour?” You asked. “(Y/N) you know-“ you cut him off. “Yeah I know, I also know how hard it is to have a relationship in our positions, but that didn't stop you from asking me out… Plus… I’ve seen you go out with Koala on a few occasions, you didn’t seem to have an issue with the rules then,” you glared. He quickly released your arm. “Hold on, you’re misunderstanding that (Y/N). You know Koala and I-“ you cut him off once again. “I know, but it doesn't mean you’re off having fun with another girl. While your real girlfriend is stuck here watching you read a book,” you said softly before turning on your heels and heading back towards the base.

[kitkatscabinet]

Don't feed him he'll come back (3)

Simon riley x neighbour reader

summary: The ghost that lives in your apartment block is a solitary man, people tend to stay out of his way, giving him a wide berth. You can't help but think he seems a little bit lonely, cue pestering him with bad jokes and food.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: making out, alcohol consumption.

Part 1 here, Part 2 here.

You start the next day riding the high of the previous night. You feel ridiculous, you’ve had relationships before, had been in love before, but the butterflies that stir in your gut whenever you so much as think of Simon put anything you’ve ever felt to shame.

It’s a little pathetic, you haven’t even kissed him. Not to mention you’ve no idea how he even feels about you. Simon’s an incredibly difficult man to read, where you wore your heart on your sleeve, Simon kept his cards incredibly close to his chest. You knew he at least held some affection for you, otherwise he’d never tolerate you dragging him from his apartment into yours. Something that feels dangerously like hope swells in your chest when you remember how tenderly he’d tucked you in and you desperately tried to stamp it out.   

Casting your mind back, you attempt to pinpoint exactly where along the path you’d fallen so thoroughly and irrevocably in love with the mysterious neighbour that scared the shit out of so many tenants. Was it when you’d first seen his face? 

No that wasn’t it, although, Simon was one of the most stunning men you’d ever seen. You’d been speechless when he’d revealed his face, something you’d been teased for relentlessly, his cocky smirk appearing in the subject of your dreams. 

It had to have been before that though, because even if Simon was the ugliest man alive, you’d still love him. 

Perhaps it had been when he’d first sat down across from you at the small kitchen counter, large bulk and dark clothing incredibly out of place against the backdrop of your colourful and plushie-filled apartment. It was the first time you’d ever seen him nervous, or rather the first time you could tell he was. But for all that he initially seemed out of place, seeing him in the sanctity of your home made your heart sing with affection. 

(Though a part of you acknowledges that your heart has belonged to Simon Riley from the moment he laughed at one of your stupid jokes, it just took a while for your brain to catch up to what your heart already knew.)

You’d never meant to fall in love with the neighbour who’d reeked of loneliness, loneliness that you’d unfortunately recognised and silently vowed to do your best to alleviate. You’d never intended for your feelings to bloom and grow into a garden that now centred around Simon Riley.  

But they had. They had and no matter what you did you knew they weren’t likely to be stomped out any time soon. 

Knocking on his door that night you try to douse the disappointment that fills you when he doesn’t answer. It wasn’t often that Simon was called away so abruptly that he didn’t even have time to let you know but it still happened occasionally. Sending him a swift text you wish him a safe deployment and sign it off with a new joke you think he’d appreciate. 

The days pass much the same. You wake, think about Simon, send him a text and continue about your day. Although you're used to the radio silence it’s like the acknowledgement of your feelings makes the worry and restlessness ten times worse. 

When the three-month mark hits with no indication that Simon has even seen your texts, your worry starts to turn into an all-encompassing panic. More than once you’d been so distracted that you’d made a mistake at work, earning the concern of your coworkers and friends as you were unusually out of it. 

You want to reassure him but you can’t even reassure yourself. What if he was dead? Would you ever even find out? You weren’t family, there would be no obligation to let you, a random stranger, know. Is this how you were doomed to spend the rest of your life, wondering what had happened to your beloved Simon?

Another two months pass and you’re nothing short of a nervous wreck, your dreams and waking thoughts filled with awful scenarios of Simon being tortured, dying or dead. You can’t sleep, can’t even bring yourself to cook, because it reminds you so painfully of him. 

The perpetual state of simply not knowing starts to become too much to bear and you’re on the brink of doing something truly desperate when you run into your landlord. You’re on good terms but he’d not exactly someone you’d ever gone out of your way to speak to. Now, however, you were practically tripping over yourself to catch his attention, not even bothering with small talk. “Have you heard anything from Simon?”

The man’s confusion is palpable and it takes a few minutes of stilted and baffled conversation before he discerns who you’re asking after. “Ah, the man with the mask,” he gestured towards his face, “he terminated his lease a few weeks ago, odd really, still had half a year left.” The conversation may have continued for a little longer but you didn’t hear, your responses filtering through on autopilot. 

The soft material of your quilt against the bare skin of your arms, signifying your return to the safety of your bed, is what finally snaps you from your dazed stupor. All of the frantic worry, concern, fear morphing into an apoplectic level of sheer fury. Because Simon was apparently fine. Not only was he fucking fine, he was doing the one thing you’d never thought him possible of, ignoring you. 

He was fucking ghosting you. 

They say there are five stages of grief. You’ve completely skipped over denial and are stuck on anger, bargaining and acceptance won’t happen and you refuse to let yourself be depressed. Thus, anger it is, and boy is there months of pent-up rage. 

Work becomes central to your life, the only thing stopping you from completely crashing and burning, Icarus falling from grace, punishment for falling too hard and too fast for what was unattainable. 

You work yourself to the bone just so you can sleep at night without the visage of brown eyes and soft ashy curls infringing on the corners of your consciousness. It’s not sustainable, you know it, your friends know it and your boss knows it. You must look destroyed too because you don’t think your boss has ever encouraged someone to take a break in her entire history working for the company. 

It only takes one day of rest before the anger-fueled agitation thrumming through your veins has you pacing relentlessly, your nails are chewed down to stubs and you think you may actually hurt someone if you don’t do something. It’s a bit of a Hail Mary, you know, but you still let out a scream of irritation when none of your friends are free to get blind on a weekday for an impromptu night out. Still, it’s a minor setback and one that your agitation-fueled self won’t be put off by. 

Your room is a mess, clothes strewn out all over your bed and floor as you try to find the sluttiest thing you own. Bingbong meows discontentedly as you shove him off a pile of your tops and you simply scowl at the little fat fuck that usually brought you so much joy. However, you do give him goodbye kisses when you finally amble out of your front door and call an Uber.

To your dismay, the man driving you is chatty, even when you give short, terse answers that could not be more clearly a screaming invitation to leave you the fuck alone. He throws you hungry looks in the rearview mirror that makes you want to pull your skin off. You may have dressed to get attention but not from this kind of creep. The car barely rolls to a stop before you jump out, booking it double time to get yourself double parked with some drinks. 

You’ve sequestered yourself at the edge of the bar counter, away from the crowd but still close enough to call for drinks on demand. It’s about five drinks in, sculled far too fast for you to keep up properly when you sense a man slide into the seat next to you. Dark hair, blue eyes, devilish grin and when he opens his mouth a delicious Scottish accent flows out. The complete opposite of Simon. 

Perfect. 

“Buy you a drink?” You were never one to turn down free drinks, especially not from handsome men, not even when your heart still screamed for Simon. Firmly pushing down all thoughts of puppy brown eyes you flash your own version of a flirty smirk, turning to face the man so your knees brush his. 

The conversation flows so naturally that for those few moments suspended in time, you really do forget about Simon. It’s clear that both of you are simply searching for some carnal relief and that knowledge helps you to release your last few inhibitions. Just when you contemplate sliding off the stool and leading him away to a dark corner to have your way he slips up and mentions his team. 

“Team?” You croak, a mixture of disbelief and dread building. 

“Aye, me taskforce. Am in the military.” He must see the way the corners of your mouth are now downturned, your left eye twitching slightly as your mind once again flits toward the blond man who had stolen and then shattered your heart. “Bad experience with a military lad?” There’s no hostility in his tone, just genuine intrigue and you allow yourself to relax once more, focusing intently on his baby blues. 

“Two actually” you snort exasperatedly, chest panging a little at the thought of your deceased brother. Swallowing, you regained your nerve, stepping between his spread legs and loosely swung your arms around his neck. “Best not make it a third yeah?” you whispered against his lips, liquid confidence flowing in your veins after far too many cocktails. 

A moan reverberates in your chest, caught by Johnny’s, he’d told you to call him Johnny, tongue as his warm hands pulled you to sit on one of his thighs. The muscled flesh grinding upwards and causing you to yelp, your hands grabbing onto his shoulders to stabilise yourself. Somewhere the logical part of your mind, the part dulled dangerously by spirits, is screaming that you’re still very much in public but the heartbroken and horny part wins out as you continue to make out with the Scottish stranger built like a god. 

His mouth attaches itself to your neck and your eyelids flutter shut as your hands move to tangle in his hair, tugging harshly to ground yourself from the onslaught of sensations Johnny’s providing your pent-up body with. 

Just as one of his palms slips below your shirt you’re suddenly being ripped off the man with a surprising gentleness that you don’t have much time to ponder on before you’re shrieking as you watch Johnny get punched in the jaw. 

The alcohol has thoroughly distorted your vision and the dim lighting doesn’t help but the fire in your veins is doused with icy despair as you quickly recognise the large bulk of the man who’d just laid out poor Johnny. The tattoos covering his arm and that goddamn skull mask were simply unmistakable. 

“Simon!” Your shrill voice is joined by Johnny’s own pained and confused groan as all three of you struggle to assess what’s just happened. 

“Wait, Johnny?” Simon sounded equally as confused, though his chest was still heaving in… anger?

“You know each other?” You cross your arms defensively, drunk brain trying to catch up on the turn of events. You refuse to look at Simon, instead staring at Johnny as he pulls himself up and you wait for an explanation. 

“Teammates” Johnny spits out a little blood and you can’t help the somewhat hysterical laugh that bubbles forth. 

Teammates. 

What were the fucking odds? Of all the attractive men and women frequenting this specific bar you almost shack up with one of Simon’s presumably closest friends. The evil vindictive part of you screams to go through with it anyway, though given Johnny’s sudden wariness and dawning horror as he connects some sort of mental dots you doubt that would be happening. 

Huffing, you turned from the two men and gathered your belongings as quickly as possible, hoping to make a hasty escape in the confusion. Hoping to escape before Simon could see you cry. 

Whatever deities existed seemingly weren’t on board with your plans and your attempt to skirt around Simon is instantly thwarted as he firmly but gently grabs your bicep. 

“Let me go,” you curse the way your voice wavers traitorously even through gritted teeth and you wince when you realise you can’t even bring yourself to say your name. Simon remains silent and if anything his grip even tightens a little, as if he were afraid you would slip through his fingers into nothingness. Incredibly audacious of him considering what he’d put you through these last few months. 

“Simon lad, I’m sorry, I dinnae ken they were-” Simon cuts off Johnny’s apology with a wave and curt nod that’s very clearly dismissive. Johnny, the traitorous bastard that he is, simply smiles, bids you farewell and then leaves you to deal with the brute that broke your heart. 

Stubbornly you refuse to face him, even when his gruff voice begs you multiple times. Evidently, Simon gets tired of your refusal and forces your eyes to focus on his with a forceful, guiding hand on your chin. Equal parts dismay, arousal and anger wage war in your body at the action and you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste the metallic rust of blood. 

The silence is damning and though his grip loosens it remains cupping your chin and sliding up to caress your cheek. He’s wearing that stupid skull balaclava and as such you can only see his eyes. Those godforsaken pools of weariness and tenderness that threaten to pull you in until you drown in them. His thumb gently caresses your lip, still swollen from Johnny’s machinations and you force yourself to speak, to display your hurt before he somehow worms his way back into your good graces. 

“What? What could you possibly want from me Simon? Haven’t you done enough?” There’s a vulnerability, a defeatedness in your voice that you hadn't meant to let slip but the man catches it, you know he does. Because though you hate to admit it, at this point, even after months apart, you think Simon might know you better than you know yourself. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s a pathetic notion and when he doesn’t elaborate it causes you to finally wrench away. You barely make it over the threshold of the exit when suddenly Simon is there once more, crowding into your space with the desperation of a man starved. His arms wrap around you like a vice, trapping your back against his chest. 

“Please.” His voice is a hoarse whisper carried away by the wind, just for your ears. “Please, I know I fucked up, please just let me explain.” His body shakes a little against you and you stand there in the cool night air fighting an internal battle. Simon Riley hurt you. 

Hurt you far greater than any man or woman had ever managed. 

And yet. And yet. 

You still loved him so much it burned. 

“Ok.” Your voice is croaky, reedlike and thin as your mouth moves without your brain’s permission. 

“Ok?” Simon’s head darts up from where it had been resting against you, voice watery and full of childlike hope that you find yourself nodding. 

“Ok. But you only get one chance.” Simon all but goes boneless against you, apologies and thanks spilling past his lips like wildfire but you interrupt him before he could go too far. “Not here, my apartment,” you don’t particularly want him in your space, but you can’t do this in public either, “until then just… don’t speak.” Your voice cracks towards the end but neither of you acknowledges it, standing in strained silence as you wait for your ride home. 

Simon’s eyes burn holes in the side of your head but once again you refuse to look at him, staring out the window into the darkness of the cityscape as you try to mentally prepare for what’s about to come.

Tags: @innercollectivecomputer @cooliofango @pertinentpostmortem @ghostslillady @domaniquessidehoe2 @ilovehyperfixating @pauphs @skotchi @bunnyreaper @tokusho @ohworm-writes @penismonkey @daisychainsinknots @taman-a @guess-whos-now-a-mood @leclercdream @justarandommom @iwannabealocalcryptid @dd122004dd @actuallyhiswife @alexisv15 @perfectus-in-morte @waves-against-a-cliff @fog-sama @juvenillia

[myfandomrealitea]

I know there's a lot of advice for handling things like depression and its so fucking easy for people to say "just do this and you'll feel better!" and I hate that, I fucking despise it, but I'm also gonna throw in my two cents about what is personally helping me get out of bed some days and genuinely, not kill myself.

Its taking care of nature.

Seriously. It sounds stupid and some days it feels stupid, but I put up bird feeders because I live in a semi-rural area where human activity is decimating the local bird population and options for safe feeding. So I put up bird feeders. And now I have like 83 different birds flocking to my garden on the daily and screaming at my window if the feeders are empty. And I've seen generations of baby birds brought to my garden by their parents because this is where the food is.

And I researched what plants and flowers were native to my area and I spent like $5 on a few different seed packets and sprinkled them around the grass and the sad empty flowerbeds and the lawn because the bees have nothing to eat and that's awful and it turns out wildflowers will fucking GROW the moment you look away, but now every spring and summer my lawn is a pretty little multi-colored bug haven.

And I've even gotten the chance to save a few little bug lives because of it. I've taken in cold-shocked bees and given them a warm little tupperware to recover in. I've fed bugs sugar water to get their energy back to take their food home. I've given dying bugs a sheltered, safe place to spend their last moments.

I planted a veggie garden. And I know I'm very lucky in that I have the space to do that, but also, you can grow a lot of things indoors. My friend has literally the smallest apartment you can imagine but she grows chives in her bathroom and grows five radishes at a time in a pot in the kitchen. Literally five. But it makes her so happy every single time she pulls them up or trots off to the bathroom to snip some chives.

I pick trash up every two weeks. The pick stick was like $4 online and I just put the bag out with my bi-weekly trash pick-up and its disgusting but but nobody else is gonna do it and I've only got finite time on this earth. If nobody else is going to pick up that can, I will. Because some innocent wild animal doesn't deserve to get hurt by human ignorance, and I deserve to walk home and see pretty flourishing nature instead of depressing discarded trash like I feel like most days.

I've left water out for the wildlife and watched hedgehogs, local dogs on their walks, squirrels and all sorts stop by to take a drink, because humans are fucking selfish and we're making something as basic as water so hard to access for anyone but ourselves, but I can fix a little bit of that just by putting out a bowl. Sometimes I don't even have to remember to fill it because the rain will fill it for me, and its kind of like nature's way of saying "you're helping me so I'm going to help you out too." Which is neat.

Like most days I do not want to be living on this earth but my god earth did not get a choice about us living here, and we're ruining it, and it actually feels so good to help stop and un-do a little bit of that destruction.

And you don't even have to try everything I do. If the only thing you've got the spoons to do is buy one bird feeder and you only remember to fill it once a month, its still something. That once a month could mean the difference between starvation and a full belly to a bird.

Again, none of this is obligatory and I'm not saying at all this is some magical cure for depression, but personally these things are things which are helping me slowly find things to keep getting out of bed for and things to feel a sense of self worth and satisfaction over. I feel better both in and about myself when I feed the birds, when I see the bugs in the garden, when I pick up the trash.

If its something you haven't considered yet, it might be worth a try.

[perfectlyoongi]

HUSBAND!YOONGI who asked you to marry him without a ring or planning, just the desire to be yours forever motivating Yoongi. you were about to go to bed, tired from another long day of work, but when he looked at you, focused on your night routine, arranging things for the next day, Yoongi realized that was a vision he wanted to have for the rest of his life; Yoongi's words came without hesitation, spontaneous, carrying with them all the hope and desire for a full life by your side. “let’s get married. i can't bear to spend another day with the fear of losing you. i want this life we have forever.”

HUSBAND!YOONGI who at your wedding, at the end of the day under the sunset, pulled you away from all the guests and said private vows just for you. at the ceremony Yoongi was nervous, too eager to hurry up the ceremony and finally have you forever and ever, and, as such, his vows were beautiful, yes, but brief; however, when the day was ending, when dancing and laughter occupied all the space, Yoongi gently held your hand, taking you to the garden, pouring out his soul in the form of simple words. “i promise to love you. not as i love you now, or as i loved you yesterday, but as i will love you tomorrow and the day after, for i continue to fall in love with you constantly and my love will never diminish, only grow.”

HUSBAND!YOONGI who sits in the kitchen with a guitar and serenades you. whenever you were cooking, cleaning the kitchen, or simply working, Yoongi would take his guitar to the kitchen and embellish your tasks with a gentle melody echoing through the room, the music that your husband played for you comforting your heart and making you smile every time Yoongi decided to accompany his guitar with his sweet voice. “i wrote a new ballad with you in mind. wanna hear it?”

HUSBAND!YOONGI who likes to be the little spoon when you take a nap on a sunday afternoon. Yoongi liked to have you in his arms, to have the feeling that, in a way, he was protecting you from the world and that he contained within you all the essence of your soul that made you so unique, so beautiful; however, Yoongi wasn't going to deny that he also liked to feel held, to have your hands around his body in a warm blanket of pure love and tranquility. “do you want to take a nap with me? i wouldn't mind being held now... because… i need you, to... you know. please?”

HUSBAND!YOONGI who adopted a dog on your first anniversary. Yoongi would be lying if he said he hadn't been thinking about a family with you since the day he told you he loved you — it was stronger than him. you made Yoongi dream, dream about things he never thought he wanted, things he never thought he was worthy of wanting; you were magic for Yoongi, an eternal source of dreams and hope and he just wanted to repay you — a dog, an animal that would keep you company when he was away, an animal that was capable of loving you almost as much as Yoongi, almost. “i don’t know what magic you have in you, but i just want to continue to grow with you and make our relationship grow. this dog is the beginning of our family.”

HUSBAND!YOONGI who reads you books out loud when you are tired or sad. Yoongi asked you to lay your head on his lap and choose the book he would read: poetry, fantasy, even plays he was capable of reading and interpreting for you if it meant you resting and laughing for moments; there were entire hours of nothing more than your husband's melodious words filling the room, various tales and stories coming to life through his voice while you closed your eyes and let yourself be carried away by the narrative recited by Yoongi. “if i read you shakespeare and look at you while i read the love dialogues, does that count as a confession from me to you?”

HUSBAND!YOONGI who loves you unconditionally for years and years on end, the feeling that was planted in Yoongi's heart only growing with each moment shared with you without ever withering or losing a single fragment. as if linked by the oldest constellations, your love was constant, long ago idealized by the universe itself with traces of stars and magic making your relationship lasting in each lifetime. “i don’t want to stop dreaming about you. i don't want to stop loving you. you are the only reality for me and i only exist with you by my side.”

[inkskinned]

you get used to it, but it's tiring, because they need you to understand your own life as a series of goalposts. what college are you going to, what's your major going to be, whatcha gonna do with that, oh where will you settle down, when can i expect grandkids.

for the longest time my goals have been so blurry that they track into each other, their undefined edges slipping quietly back into the soft night. today i want to be a writer; tomorrow i will want to be a doctor, later i will wish i took that law school free ride. how the fuck do people just know what they want to do with their life?

where do you want to be in five years? i want to be alive; which is a huge step for me. ten years ago i would have said i want to be asleep and meant i hope that i'm dead by then.

but i want a yellow kitchen and a stand mixer. i want a garden and a fruit tree (cherry, if i can make that happen) and a big yard for my dogs to play in. i want to come home and read poetry out loud to someone and have them close their eyes to listen. i want a summer watergun fight. i want to make snowmen. i want to be the house to go to for halloween. i want my life to settle around me in a softness, for it to lay down gently. if i am very, very, very lucky, i want to travel; finally go someplace overseas.

of course i don't know what i want to be doing professionally. what i actually want to be doing is curling up beside my dog, settling in to read. i want to be making myself a cup of good coffee.

i can't answer the other questions. whenever people asked me what do you want to be when you grow up, i used to say i hope i'm happy.

i hope i'm still kind, five years from now. i hope i never get jaded and mean. i hope i have stayed in therapy. what do you picture yourself doing? when will you actually be an adult about this? why are you so afraid of being ambitious?

am i not ambitious? the other day i rearranged my furniture which doesn't quite fit into my apartment. i watered my plants. i'm going to try to propagate a cherry seed. my five year goal is to spend more time laughing. to lie down in a patch of sunwarm moss. to relax for a minute. to close my eyes and think oh thank god. this is why i stayed. this is finally it.

[milkweedman]

Oregano update. Took an hour or so but i got all the stems. Need to tie them up and hang them to dry, probably. Tired though.

Also got some of the strawberry patch. Theres still quite a bit there, but someone left some old hanging baskets next to the dumpster and i wanted to take some strawberries with me, since im the one who planted them in the first place. Obviously theyre only hanging there temporarily. Not sure if i should trim the runners... i guess so, ive never put strawberries in hanging baskets before.

More handspun linen blanket work. Feels super nice, even though theres lots of, idk what it would be called but bits of undesirable vm that ought to have been threshed out. When im finished ill give it multiple good beatings and thrashings that should soften it up, and then im hoping to dye it with some oregon grapes.

I actually have a whole ton of dyestuff ive been collecting in the freezer that i need to turn into dye, bc im moving very soon and i dont want to be bringing bags of frozen berries and pits and peels with me.

Also gonna go harvest this in a minute--its a horrifically overgrown patch of oregano, and i read a few days ago that you can get a dark, almost black dye out of the dried stems. And i dont even like oregano as a spice, so... just gonna get the stems.

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Overindulgent father Astarion who tells his children they’re allergic to any kind of jewellery that isn’t made of the highest grade Dwarven crafted gold. 

It’s not even because Astarion might have a certain aversion to silver, no, he just raises his children to have standards, thank you very much. 

And it doesn’t end with shiny things, oh no… 

The Ancunín brood is known to be dressed in perfectly woven cotton, silk and soft leather clothes, no matter the occasion.

They’re seen playing with expensive toys, reading artfully illustrated books that certainly belong behind thick glass, not in children’s sticky hands. 

There’s even talk that one of the children is not as naturally inclined to music as his parents claim him to be, surely his lyre must be enchanted—the instrument certainly looks extravagant enough! 

And then there’s always this air of effortless haughtiness surrounding the Ancunín children whenever their nannies and servants are parading them through town as if they were perfect little dolls; objects to show off the wealth their parents acquired in quite the mysterious ways. 

So, it’s no secret that Astarion and Tav are pampering their children—some might say they’re even spoiling them rotten. 

And maybe they are, especially Astarion.

But he doesn’t see why he should raise them any other way, nor does he want to.  

When it comes to his children, Astarion has his own standards, and as long as Tav agrees with him nothing really matters. 

Because, these people, they don’t know anything about the Ancuníns. 

They don’t know that it’s not unusual for Astarion to wash out dirt and mud and strawberry stains from comically small finery, leaving behind only the memories of a day spent playing in the garden, chasing after ducks, picking flowers, lazing in the sun…

That any holes and tears the children’s clothes might suffer are quickly mended, making them look as good as new in no time. 

Nor do they know that Astarion doesn’t mind fashioning a brand new dress to match that of a favourite doll, either. Or to embroider a pretty vest with the likeness of that stray cat the children seem to adore, although their father would rather they don’t touch the mangy animal. 

No, those people know nothing at all...

“Not tired!” Astarion’s youngest cries; the vehement denial of her father’s earlier accusation is cut short by a telltale yawn.

The room still smells of fragrant lavender oil and peaches even when the bath water has already grown tepid, just one or two degrees above what Astarion would consider too cold to be enjoyable. 

Amused, he raises an eyebrow at the protesting toddler before he lifts her out of the copper bathtub with little effort. 

By now, he knows every step of this game.

“Tut-tut, my dear child, what did mama and I say?” Astarion kneels, quickly wrapping a soft towel around the child to keep her warm. “We only tell lies outside of this house.”

Unfazed by her father’s gentle scolding, the girl crosses her arms that haven’t yet lost their puppy fat across her chest, reminding Astarion a little too much of a very displeased Tav. 

Suppressing a sigh, he leans back to consider the pouting child, wondering what could possibly be upsetting her this time—the list is growing longer by the day, after all. 

“What’s the matter, dear?” Astarion asks gently, hoping it’s something easily fixable as it’s growing rather late. 

“Want apple!”

Decades ago, Astarion might’ve rolled his eyes—he knows exactly which stupid apple the child wants, it’s been haunting him all day—but once he started to treat his children’s problems as if they were his own, his life has grown somewhat easier. 

“Why, let’s get an apple on our way to bed, then. Would that be alright, Your Highness?” 

The girl promptly nods her head, allowing Astarion to pat her hair dry before dressing her in a clean night dress. 

She rests her cheek against her father’s shoulder as he carries her first to the kitchen to grab a fragrant apple and a knife, then to her bedroom where they settle on the cosy window seat, just like they do every night.

Soft moonlight is pouring through the windows; the child giggles at the way the knife’s blade is catching the silver light as Astarion peels and cuts the apple into even pieces.

“Here you go,” he finally says, giving the slice of apple one last examining look before surrendering it to the impatient little hands reaching for it. “A sweet treat for my little sweet. Doesn’t it taste so much better when we don’t eat it off the floor, darling?” And when it’s not crawling with ants…

The appeased toddler nibbles at the juicy fruit as Astarion carefully combs through her still-damp curls. 

Her hair’s getting long, he notices, knowing that taking care of it will become more time-consuming each day. 

Once, Astarion would’ve thought this task tedious, brushing out hair that’s not his own, oiling and braiding it for no other reason than knowing his children enjoy him doing it. 

But that’s why he loves doing it in the first place, he supposes.

Astarion can tell by his toddler’s heartbeat that sleep is about to claim her. 

The half-eaten slice of apple is still clutched in her little fist as he cradles the child to his chest, slowly rising from the window seat to put her to bed. 

He’s just about to lay the child down that the fruit drops to the floor, his daughter’s tiny hand clutching at his shirt instead.

“Thank you, papa,” she mumbles, more asleep than awake.

Astarion pauses.

He breathes in the clean, yet unique scent of the little girl that is forever engraved in his brain, the same way he knows under which exact constellation she was born. When she took her first steps, what her first word was. Soon, he will have to memorise her favourite colour, and what she likes to eat when dirty apples won’t be that appealing anymore. 

By now, Astarion knows this game by heart, knows that with every year that passes, he has something new to learn about his children.

And sometimes he wonders what it’s like to grow up with clean bed sheets and full bellies. Sleep filled with naught but warmth and happy memories. Ever open doors and tears that are dried by tender kisses. Living in a house where mistakes and anger are welcomed, safe. 

He wonders what it’s like for his children to know that their father’s love comes without conditions. Not now and not ever. 

Sitting down on the bed, Astarion holds his youngest a little closer to his chest, unwilling to let go of her, yet. 

He’s often accused of spoiling his children when most people can only just grasp the very surface of his love for them, the bare minimum of what he feels for his one and only, precious family. 

These baseless accusations are as unimportant to Astarion as the people voicing them.

He’s raising his children to have standards, wants them to take their father’s love for granted, to accept nothing less but pure devotion.

It’s the only way Astarion knows how to love them, the only way that comes most naturally to him. 

Astarion looks down at his little girl, now fast asleep, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. 

After all these years—all these children—he’s still in awe watching them sleep in his arms as if no harm in the world could ever befall them.

And it won’t—not if Astarion can help it. 

“No, thank you, my heart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against the crown of the toddler’s head. 

When it comes to his children, Astarion holds himself to the highest standard.

[greenkait]

Zucchini evolution - 1 week 🥒🔆💦

Each year since I started my green journey I’ve challenged myself to grow something new, and see first hand the resiliency of nature in my local environment.

My raised garden bed is primarily clay - and currently home to a pretty large anthill. I maintain peace with the insects by leaving their corner colony alone, and supplement the clay with store bought soil when I plant initially, but beyond that all I do to the earth is weed and water when needed and wait 👀

Which means I’m VERY excited to have both my new crops for 2023 - garlic and these beautiful zucchini’s, doing well!

While our grow and harvest may still be small scale, a lot can still be done on a tiny budget with the help of our incredible planet! 🤩

[fatal-thoughts]

A Lovely Exchange

p2 here

Telemachus x Servant! Reader

Synopsis: Telemachus already fights off his mother’s suitors, but what if he manages to become one? To… one of the palace’s servants?

warnings: slow burn, flustered Telemachus, puppy love, assault, threats

A/N: This is fluffier than what I usually write, but I couldn't help it. I love him sm wtf

Part 1 of ???

You went about your routines as usual—watering the garden, cleaning the halls, fixing any imperfections in the palace, and even helping other servants when needed.

It wasn’t unusual to see you wandering around the palace; after all, you were the queen’s favorite assistant.

No one really knew why or how you and the queen were so close, not even you. But you knew there were both benefits and drawbacks to it.

Including being a target of the 108 suitors now living under the same roof as you.

As much as you wanted to continue your duties as usual, they never failed to hinder your responsibilities.

You were heading toward the palace dining room. Though it was the last place you wanted to go, you had to pass through it to reach the kitchen to prepare something for the queen—who also refused to set foot in there.

So far, so good, until you stepped into the hallway. The once loud and distracted suitors were now eyeing you.

You swallowed nervously, the lump in your throat growing, but continued forward, treading slowly so as not to attract more attention than you already had.

You made it to the end of the hall, believing you were safe, until you felt someone grab your wrist and pull so hard you almost lost your balance. You looked up and saw one of the queen’s most persistent suitors: Antinous.

The man had a proud smirk on his face as he looked down at you, still holding onto your wrist. He’d made multiple attempts to converse with you, all of which you declined, so you weren’t entirely surprised that he’d resorted to these measures.

"Ah, well, if it isn’t the lovely slave herself.”

That pissed you off.

You knew you couldn’t do anything about it, but if you could, you’d have slapped him by now. Instead, you jerked your arm away from him.

But that didn’t stop him. He grabbed you again, this time by the arm, with a much tighter and more painful grip, making you gasp in pain.

“Whoa now, where do you think you’re going? You don’t think you can just run off that easily, do you?” he taunted, leaning closer to your neck, his voice low.

“We want the queen, and since she’s unavailable, I guess we’ll have to settle for you.”

You glanced behind you, noticing all the men in the hall staring at you with intense gazes filled with hunger, desire, and thirst.

Frightened, you hurriedly tried to break free from Antinous’s grip. He chuckled softly, holding you tighter and pulling you closer. You struggled with all your strength until, finally, he let go. But it wasn’t because of your effort.

His gaze had shifted—he was no longer looking at you, but at something, or someone, else.

Backing away from him, you looked behind him and saw none other than the queen’s son, Telemachus.

He was gripping his sword, pointing it at Antinous.

“Leave her alone.”

You were surprised, to say the least. You and Telemachus had never really spoken. He usually avoided you whenever he ran into you.

You never understood why. Every time you saw him, he’d dash away like a startled deer.

But now, here he was, standing in front of you, holding a sword to one of the suitor’s neck.

Antinous raised his hands sarcastically, a smug grin on his face as he glanced between Telemachus and you.

“Alright, I’ll leave her be, little wolf.”

He walked past you, but as he did, he whispered, “Don’t think I’m done with you yet, slave.”

You recoiled instantly as he let out a shameless laugh.

You and Telemachus watched him walk away, and then you quickly exited the dining hall.

Catching your breath, you adjusted your hair and robes, trying to calm yourself. No suitor had ever approached you with such aggression before, and now Antinous had gone to these lengths? It was terrifying.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you realized Telemachus was still standing in front of you, staring at you like a deer caught by a hunter.

You raised a brow, confused. Did he see something?

“My prince, are you… alright?” you asked, still somewhat shaken. After all, he did just save you. Maybe he was in shock?

“Shit, shit, shit, shit—” was what was running through Telemachus’s mind as he stood there.

He hadn’t really thought he’d get this far. All he saw was you in danger, and his instincts had taken over.

But now that he had actually saved you, talking to you afterward wasn’t part of the plan—if he even had a plan.

He was practically begging the gods that you wouldn’t notice the inconvenient pink hue on his cheeks because that would only make things worse.

He had gone to such lengths to avoid you, to ignore you, to ward you off—foolish attempts, all of them—and now here you were, standing right in front of him.

He waited for you to tell him that you knew. Knew he admired you, probably too much.

His lips quivered slightly as he stared at you, unable to stop himself. Come to think of it, he’d never noticed how beautiful you were up close. The shape of your nose, how perfectly it fit your face. The look in your eyes, with the soft tint of color. And your lips, how pretty they looked, even when they smiled just a little.

“Fuck, I’m staring,” he muttered under his breath, snapping out of his trance.

Which you definitely heard.

You tilted your head slightly. Was he okay? Had Antinous done something to him?

No, he was just a nervous wreck because his childhood crush was standing right in front of him, and he was so not prepared.

If Athena was watching him right now, this was definitely not a battle she had prepared him for.

With a silent, desperate cry, he cleared his throat, trying to make the situation less embarrassing than it already was.

“I-I’m fine. How are you?”

…

Seriously? THAT’S the best you could do?

He stared at the ground, trying to mask his shame. Maybe if he couldn’t see you, you couldn’t see him either, right? Zeus might as well strike him down with lightning.

He was about to punch himself when he heard something.

You were… laughing?

He looked up to see you covering your mouth, short giggles escaping your lips.

Was it bad that he found them so pretty?

Eventually, you calmed down.

“Thank you, my prince, for saving me back there. Truthfully, I wouldn’t know what to do if you hadn’t come to my aid. So, thank you.”

You bowed your head, expressing your gratitude.

“How can I repay you, my princ—”

“N-No! It’s fine, please! I don’t need anything. You’re safe, that’s all that matters. I wouldn’t want anything bad happening to you, so just…”

And now he was rambling.

Nice going, Telemachus. Might as well confess to her right here and now, right? Just go for it!

Before he could continue his spiral, both of you noticed a familiar silhouette approaching. As she got closer, you immediately recognized her.

And she did not seem pleased.

“Queen Penelope! Forgive me, I was delayed on my way to the kitchen. I’ll quickly fetch your meal as you requested—”

“No, it’s alright, Y/n. You are not the one I am concerned with.”

Her gaze shifted sharply to Telemachus, her eyes almost piercing through him.

The boy’s soul nearly escaped his body when he saw the way his mother looked at him.

“Son, come with me.” Penelope turned and walked away without another word.

Telemachus glanced back at you, taking in your beautiful presence one last time.

“I…”

“Quickly, Telemachus.”

If there was one thing he didn’t want to do, it was anger his mother. He feared her more than any god.

“I’lltalktoyoulaterbye!” he blurted out as he hurried to catch up with her.

That… was something. For a first impression, it wasn’t that bad, right?

Right?

Ah, shit.

He followed Penelope as they walked through the halls, still unsure of where they were headed, but he kept his pace with her.

Eventually, they reached the palace garden. A place where Penelope liked to unwind, where Telemachus often rested, and where you, conveniently, loved to work.

The queen sat beside the marble fountain, and Telemachus followed suit. A comfortable silence fell between them as they enjoyed the peaceful moment. It had been some time since they’d spent time together, and both of them treasured even the smallest moments.

“You like her, don’t you, son?”

…

Wait… WHAT?

So, what do you think?

[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : MORE THAN WORDS : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Logan Howlett x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff and a bit of angst

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: Pregnancy, Emotional Angst, Brief Mention of Fear of Abandonment, Discussion of Uncertainty About Parenthood

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: You find out you're pregnant with Logan's baby and confide in your sister Jean, unsure how to tell him. With her support, you eventually tell Logan, who’s initially shocked but reassures you he’s not leaving, and the two of you commit to facing the future together.

Based on this request

THE SKY OUTSIDE WAS SOFT WITH THE EARLY LIGHT OF DAWN, casting a warm glow through the large windows of Xavier's School. You stood in the kitchen, gripping a mug of tea between both hands, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take a sip. The steam swirled up, almost hypnotic, but your mind was far away from the present moment.

You were pregnant.

Logan’s child was growing inside you, and the weight of that realization felt like an anchor pulling you deeper into your own thoughts. How could you tell him? His life had been filled with so much pain, loss, and isolation. What if this wasn’t something he wanted? Or worse, what if this was something he couldn’t handle? The questions swirled around in your head like a storm.

And then there was Jean—your sister. She would know what to do. She always did.

You needed to talk to her.

~

You found her in the garden, seated on one of the stone benches with a book resting in her lap. Her red hair glistened in the sunlight as the soft breeze carried the scent of flowers and freshly cut grass through the air. You stood there for a moment, watching her, wondering how to even begin.

She glanced up before you could even make a sound, her green eyes immediately softening as she saw the turmoil on your face. “Hey,” she said gently, closing the book and setting it aside. “What’s going on?”

You sat down beside her, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, feeling the weight of the unspoken words pressing against your chest. “Jean, I—I need to tell you something, but I don’t know how to say it.”

Her brow furrowed slightly, concern creeping into her voice. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes focusing on the ground as if it held the answers you were searching for. “I’m pregnant, Jean.”

There was a pause. Silence hung in the air between you for what felt like an eternity before Jean spoke, her voice soft with surprise. “Pregnant?” She turned to face you, her hand gently resting on your arm. “Oh my god… does Logan know?”

You shook your head quickly, the thought of that conversation sending a fresh wave of anxiety through your veins. “No, he doesn’t. I haven’t told him yet. I don’t know how.”

Jean’s face softened, and she squeezed your arm reassuringly. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. Logan loves you. He’ll understand.”

You scoffed lightly, not because you didn’t believe her, but because you didn’t know if Logan knew *how* to deal with something like this. “Jean… he’s been through so much. I don’t want to bring more chaos into his life. He already has enough of that.”

Jean sighed, her eyes thoughtful as she considered your words. “I get it. Logan’s life has been hard—harder than most. But this isn’t chaos. This is something beautiful, something new. You’re not throwing him into more pain. You’re giving him a future.”

You looked at her, biting your lip. “But what if he doesn’t want it? What if this… if I… if we’re not what he needs?”

Jean paused, letting the question linger in the air. She tilted her head slightly, her gaze filled with understanding. “You won’t know until you tell him. But you can’t carry this alone. You’re not alone in this.” She brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “And Logan isn’t the kind of man who would just walk away from something like this. He’s been fighting for a family for years, whether he knows it or not.”

You nodded slowly, her words sinking in, but your heart was still racing. “How do I even start? How do you tell someone something like this?”

Jean smiled gently, trying to ease your fears. “There’s no perfect way. Just tell him the truth. Be honest with him, and let him process it how he needs to. You’re both in this together, remember?”

The thought gave you some strength. Together. You and Logan had always faced the world together, no matter what. Maybe this would be no different.

“I’m scared, Jean,” you admitted, your voice a whisper.

“I know,” she said softly. “But you don’t have to do this alone.”

You gave her a weak smile, feeling some of the weight lift off your chest. “Thanks. I… I just needed to hear that.”

She leaned in and hugged you tightly. “You’ve got this. And if you need me, I’m here, okay?”

You nodded, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Now came the hard part.

~

You found Logan later that day in the garage, working on one of the old motorcycles. The sight of him, rugged and focused, usually made your heart skip in that familiar way, but today it only heightened your nerves. He wiped the grease from his hands with a rag, looking up when he noticed you standing there.

“Hey, darlin’,” Logan said, his voice low and gruff, though his eyes softened when they landed on you. “You okay? You’ve been quiet all day.”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what had to be said. “Can we talk?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, immediately sensing something was up. “’Course. What’s goin’ on?”

You walked closer, feeling your heart pound in your chest. There was no turning back now. “Logan… I don’t really know how to say this, so I’m just going to come out with it.”

He set the rag down, giving you his full attention, concern etched in his expression. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m pregnant,” you blurted out, your voice barely above a whisper.

The words hung in the air between you, and you watched as Logan’s face went blank for a moment. His hands stilled, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, you feared the worst—that this was too much for him, that he would shut down or push you away.

But then his brow furrowed, his lips parting as he struggled to find the right words. “You… you’re sure?”

You nodded, biting your lip nervously. “I found out a few days ago. I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you.”

Logan stared at you, his intense gaze searching your face for any sign of doubt. Slowly, his hand reached out, resting against your stomach, almost as if he needed to feel it to believe it. His fingers were gentle, the contrast to his usual gruffness catching you off guard.

“You’re havin’ my kid,” he muttered under his breath, almost like he was trying to wrap his head around it.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your eyes fixed on his face, watching for any sign of how he was feeling.

There was a long pause before he looked up at you again, his expression unreadable. “How long have you known?”

“A few days. I wanted to tell you sooner, but… I didn’t know how you’d react.”

Logan’s hand stayed where it was, his thumb unconsciously stroking your skin as he took in a deep breath. “I’m not gonna lie… this is a lot. I wasn’t expectin’ it.”

“I know,” you said quickly, feeling your heart race. “I didn’t expect it either. And if you’re not ready for this, I—”

“Stop,” he cut you off gently, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that took your breath away. “This is… hell, I don’t know what this is. But I know one thing—I’m not leavin’ you. I’m not walkin’ away from this.”

You blinked, surprise flooding through you. “Logan…”

“I’m not good at this stuff,” he admitted, his voice rough but steady. “I ain’t ever had somethin’ like this. But I want it. I want this with you.” His voice grew softer, more vulnerable. “I don’t know how to be a father… but I’ll try.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you let out a shaky laugh, overwhelmed with relief. “I don’t know what I’m doing either, but we’ll figure it out.”

Logan’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as he rested his chin on top of your head. His embrace was solid, unyielding, as if he were silently promising that he would be there, no matter what came next.

“We’ll figure it out together,” he murmured, and for the first time that day, you believed it.

🏷️: @twinky-wink @fidgetingbee @astarions-girl-dinner @layladestiny8 @birdy-bat-writes @h0n3y-l3m0n05

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[astrxq]

The Prince Among Spirits

jacaerys velaryon x ghost!reader

words: 16k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, he saw you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He took a breath. “Lonely? Why–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who were you?

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

And so, he began taking walks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, he heard a familiar voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Until next time, young prince."

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You. I was hoping to find you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the night, as always, gave no answer.

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he had no choice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[lilacgaby]

‧₊˚ to kiss or kill.. a vampire?‧₊˚

you've been a vampire for as long as you can remember. you were going through your day, or night, routine as normal when a noise startles you. a man, katsuki bakugo to be exact, was standing at your door. though, he can't seem to remember whether he's supposed to kill or kiss you...

★pair. knight(?)katsuki x vampire!reader. tags. fem!reader, fantasy!au, vampire!au, amnesia trope, memories, kissing, hugging, dates kinda, blood, daggers, stakes. wc. 2k.

noteღ. i love the memory loss trope but its hard to write it in a way that doesn't seem like lazy(???) idk how to say it, also happy halloween to all who celebrate!

embedded deep in the forest, vines growing over the bark of the trees, the sun not visible from the impressive manor you called home.

a lake so deep you couldn't see the bottom, the moonlight the only thing reflecting off the darkness of the water.

it was quiet, quaint. only the animals as company for such a faraway place.

you roamed freely around your garden, tending to the black rose bushes and cutting the thorns to an appropriate length. feeding carrots you only grew for the deer and bunnies that had grown used to your presence, seeing the generations of them rest and birth, a consequence of being immortal.

your outfit was dark, camouflaging you against the night sky, the only time you were able to go out. you'd grown used to it, comforted by the night sky and sleeping critters around you.

but a crunch of grass snapped you out of your relaxation. the tuft of blond hair you'd spotted alarming you.

your pot of water was now splashed onto the floor, your red eyes were widened and pupils like a cat as you moved out of vision. vision of whoever was trampling into your long uncivilized manor.

it was a man, donning expensive yet ripped up fabrics and cloths, a beaten up satchel, and bright hair that stood out against the night sky.

you couldn't help but notice though, that he had red eyes just like yours.

he must be a vampire, you reasoned, moving closer to investigate the man who was unmoving at your door. you popped out from behind him. “who are you and why are you here?”

he jumped, seemingly not expecting you to be behind him. “i'm.. lost. i can't seem to find my way. or.. remember what i was doing here.” he turned to face you, his figure towering over yours, his eyes on you. “you don't remember anything? is it possible that you've been hit with a strong spell?”

you kept talking while looking over at his complete attire now, noting the royal emblem on his chest.

“it's possible.. i don't remember what i do exactly.” his red eyes kept boring into you, striking you with a sense of familiarity, though you couldn't place from where. “well, you can stay here for the night. i have spare rooms.”

his eyes widened slightly, his eyebrows raising. “really, you're inviting me in? what if i was a vampire?”

“well, no need to fear one of my own.”

his mouth went agape when he realized. “you're a vampire.”

“yes. does that change anything?”

“i.. guess not.” a hand went to the back of his neck, his eyes averting as he looked up in thought. “it's just surprising. i think.. i feel a connection to the word. to its meaning. i must have been- sorry be- a vampire. don't you agree?”

“let's talk more inside. if you are a vampire as you believe, we'll die if we're outside another hour...” you left it open ended as to ask for his name.

“katsuki. call me katsuki.”

“well katsuki. welcome in, don't suck my blood or something.” you joked.

as he followed you inside, he awed internally at the extravagance of your mansion. it definitely was the home of a vampire, as all the windows were closed and barricaded.

“i haven't had many guests over for a while.. so. excuse the mess.” he followed you as you showed him the different parts of your home. he passed by the kitchen, so gorgeous that he felt upset when you noted how you only used it to make food for the animals outside. you showed him your bedroom, which only housed a single, heavily padded coffin.

you went upstairs finally, your mansion was huge so he began to notice the ache in his feet. when you arrived in your lounge area though, he felt a pang in his head as he eyed a dagger. a silver one.

memories flooded into his head at once, making him hold his head in discomfort.

words. so many replayed in his mind though they were incoherent. sights of blood, of one of those very daggers in his hand, a stake in the other.

“ėřīdɯǎʌ ħ ʇ ľļ ʞ”

he couldn't understand it at all, the visions in his mind were playing and flashing right after another.

training, studying vitals, the word vampire. why did it seem so familiar?

“katsuki. are you okay?” your hands were on his shoulders now, your face of concern went unnoticed by him, his eyes were only laser focused on the sharp fangs of your mouth.

“i–. i– um. i don't know what the fuck happened to me.” he admitted, he still felt weak from the confusion revelations that had unfolded in his mind.

“maybe.. you should head to bed for the day. i have a bed for you in here.”

you took his hand, he almost pulled away, he didn't know why it still felt so bloody. why it felt like he was holding an unseen weapon in his palm. but he let you comfort him slightly anyways.

you laid a towel onto his forehead, closing the door with a, “goodnight.”

you left him resting with his thoughts as you continued your chores outside.

it was obvious he wasn't a vampire like he thought. he wasn't nocturnal like you. the sight of the blood bags you had left cooling in a safe him feel queasy, and he could touch metal just fine. he found himself tracing the details of the dagger in your living room mindlessly, enthralled with it. it felt just as familiar as your eyes did. he was sure it would feel just as right in his hand, he moved to pick it up when-

“what are you doing?” you asked sleepily. your attire from yesterday was gone, replaced with casual clothes that didn't seem to fit you. “..i just got curious.”

he stared at you. the crimson of his eyes confusing you to no end, but you let it go with a sigh. “well, stop messing with that stuff. like seriously.”

he took your warning. but the strange memories never went away. though, he noticed that they'd only really pop up around you.

he'd gotten to know you in the couple hours of the first day he spent with you. your favorite color, food before you turned, your true age, your favorite flower.

and you'd gotten to know the vague things he remembered about himself in exchange. how he grew up in a village, how he remembers training hard everyday to become a knight, how he grew up with the next in line for the throne.

you'd traveled around the forest with him, showing him some of your favorite spots. pointing to nearby towns and taverns, warning him to stay away from spots where werewolves would roam frequently.

you'd gotten him a new wardrobe of clothing that happened to match yours. black button downs and slacks with red accents, something that suited him perfectly, was what you had gifted him.

he tried to gift you things as well. it was unfortunate that his gift for cuisine went wasted on you, who couldn't eat food. he picked you flowers from different regions of the forest you wouldn't venture to. dandelions that he insisted you'd blow out together, red roses that paired perfectly with your black ones, and baby’s breath sprinkled tastefully in between.

the words grew less scrambled over the days of which he spent with you. it'd been a month of living with him at this point, and your life together had become routine. the pangs where he'd keel over for seconds in real time, but hours in his mind happened more frequently too. the same visions of blood on his hands, a dagger identical to the one displayed in your home would always be there. but additions of a torch in his hand and a dagger would change. the memory would change, which confused him.

he'd be lying if he said he didn't like the calm nature of your life together. the tranquil feeling of feeding the bunnies and deers alongside you, the rushing sound of the lake as you sat side by side admiring it.

the feeling of your skin, cold to the touch, on his body that seemed to run too hot.

your open-minded nature, the lingering loss of your presence he'd feel when you were gone.

though, he now could hear some parts of the sentence quite clearly.

“k– the vampire.”

as he laid around on one of the many couches of your manor, petting a black cat, he pondered on what the last word could be. he knew it could only be one of two words, he wasn't dumb.

to kiss or to kill. but what reason was he given to kill you? you'd been nothing but amazing to him, welcome and open when he was vulnerable. the only thing you'd been strange about– the only thing he felt he wanted.

was to hold the dagger in his hand.

he laid the cat onto the side of the couch before standing up. it was like an invisible force was leading him away, taking him right to his object of interest that he had been so hyper aware of since the day he arrived.

every step he took was like a piece of the puzzle being put into place.

he was hit by a memory loss potion while he was out on patrol.

patrol for the kingdom, where he served as a knight. however, after many vampire hunters had gone missing in this part of the forest..

he had been sent out here.

he opened his satchel that he'd thrown into the corner. affirming his thoughts, a dagger, identical to the one on the stand was in it.

next to it was a stake, and a torch with an ignition next to that.

he stood up, the final words given to him. but it didn't feel as good as he thought it would.

“kill the vampire.”

because the order was to hurt someone who'd grown so dear to him.

…

was it wrong for him to continue acting like nothing was wrong? maybe. but he couldn't help but still continue to be enamored by you, even if it was wrong.

the stereotypes, the horror stories he'd been fed of vampires. as he held you close to him in the comfort of your coffin, he didn't know what to do anymore.

as he guided you to the lake, he wasn't sure of what he would do. he had his satchel with him now, yet he still held your hand in his.

“are you leaving?” you asked, unknowing of the war taking place in his mind.

“no. i just, wanted to bring it along.”

“oh. okay.” you'd shrugged, unfazed by his words. he felt his heart bleed, bleed because you trusted him so much, but also tugged towards his sense of duty.

you'd sat together again, his body facing the same lake that had guided him to you. he felt your gaze on his face, he squeezed his palm into a fist.

“what's wrong?” you asked, your voice low, you held the long sleeves of your black outfit as your eyebrows scrunched in concern. “you've been acting weird.”

“i.. my memory. it came back.”

your eyes shot up, before a small smile came over your face. “really, that's great katsuki. so,

what were you doing out here?”

the words lingered in the air, his eye painstakingly moving to look at you. his mouth was held open for a second, seemingly speechless as he tried to tell you. he finally, just let it slip. “i was supposed to kill you, [name].”

you stilled, he continued to explain. “it all happened once i saw the dagger. it eyed me, and i eyed it. it seemed so familiar, your eyes did too. until it all came back.” he took a sharp breath and continued.

“men, vampire hunters of the kingdom specifically, went missing around these parts. i was sent here to find the vampire and kill them. but i was ambushed along the way by a witch who hit me with a spell.” his hand moved to his satchel, you stayed unmoving as you absorbed his words.

he held the stake and dagger in his hands respectively, the materials that would kill you if pierced glistening ominously in the moonlight. the same moonlight that encapsulated you two.

“i thought it over. a lot. thought about what i wanted, no. what i thought was right.” he gripped them tightly, holding them up.

you closed your eyes, as you heard the words, “goodbye.”

but death, the feeling of wood piercing your heart never came. the splash of the water was the only sound heart by you, who had tearfully looked to face him.

“what?” was all you could helplessly utter, as he kneeled to sit in front of you:

“..i don't want to kill you [name].” he moved to hold your hand, cold as ever, against the beating heart of his chest. “but i'd like to kiss you, honestly.”

you let out a shaky laugh, a tear falling down your face as you sighed in relief. “i think i'd like that too.”

as the last bubbles burst at the surface of the lake, he tilted your head forward, holding your chin in between his fingertips as he gently kissed you. only the grass between your bodies bore witness to the newly born relationship forged by trust ignited.

the full moon now faced you two. he held your hand tightly, encaging you with the broad of his body.

he saw the moon start to slip away and picked you up, taking you to the bedroom you'd gifted him and laying you by his side.

he'd turned practically nocturnal too from these past weeks, the desire to be by your side fueling him.

so as he laid with his eyes half lidded, looking at you in the dim candlelight of the room, he held you impossibly closer.

he wanted to spend an eternity with you. maybe he'd truly cast his old life aside and become a vampire alongside you.

that thought rocked him to sleep that night, your body like a puzzle piece next to his.

who knew all you'd have to do to kiss a vampire is cast your old life aside?

tags. @k0z3me @darhinadadragon @maddietries @exoticrasin @lavendarstarz @hisonlyobsession @i-the-fluffo @uy242c @cookielovesbook-akie @frosted-flakes @irenne-stans @kemziicore