#what are we supposed to do with our grief and our pain and our sorrow? where are we allowed to put it?

[gayjaytodd]

just in case you're wondering how bad antisemitism is online by now: my friend had to take down the memorial post she made on IG for her dad and stepmum (who died less than a week ago) bc people were spamming it with "free palestine" and "two less zionists is a good thing" comments

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

My Missing Piece

616!Wanda x 199999!Fem!Reader

Summary: You've lost your wife Wanda. Leaving you alone with your twin boys to try and pick up the pieces. What happens when the Scarlet Witch comes looking for her boys?

Word Count: 10.4K

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, R calls W Mommy, W uses pet names, enchanted strap use, Dom!Wanda, sub!reader, overstimulation, magic restraints, depressive thoughts/episodes.

A/N: Made this forever ago and forgot about it until like two days ago lol. I really liked the idea of this so I hope you guys enjoy~ Also I decided that world 199999 (which was the original MCU world number before MoM turned it to 616) is just a parallel world where no one died :)

Every night after tucking my boys, Billy and Tommy in to bed, I have a bit of me time. Sometimes I watch TV, sometimes I'll scroll through social media on my phone, sometimes I'll write because I was told that was supposed to help with grief, it hasn't so far, what helps the most is when I talk to her before bed, "I miss you Wands...our boys miss you too...of course they love their Mama, but you're their Mommy. You carried them for nine months, you were in labor for just over a day." Tommy was born first 12 minutes ahead of his brother Billy. "You gave so much for our boys and our life here and I wish you had never said yes to that mission after all these years..." I break down, quiet sobs wrack me as I curl up on her side of the bed. It still smells like her.

I let sleep take me as I have the same dream I do every night. Wanda, but not Wanda...some twisted version of her with black fingers, and she just seems off, but she's searching, as if she can see me? She's looking for our boys. Every morning just as she finds me, us, I wake up. Dried tears on my cheeks and my eyes red. The bags under my eyes have never been darker, but I cover them up as I get out of bed to start yet another day without my wife.

The alarm blares through the quiet of the room, jolting me awake from my restless slumber. With a heavy sigh, I reach over to silence it, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Another day begins, much like every other since she left us.

I stumble out of bed, the weight of grief still heavy on my shoulders as I move through the motions of the morning routine. It's a struggle to keep it together, but I have to be strong for Billy and Tommy. They need me, even though every fiber of my being aches for her presence.

As I make my way downstairs, the memories flood back, hitting me like a tidal wave. Wanda was always the light in our lives, her laughter echoing through the halls, her warmth enveloping us like a comforting embrace. But now, there's only emptiness.

I try to push the thoughts aside as I prepare breakfast for the boys, forcing a smile as they bound into the kitchen, their youthful energy a stark contrast to my own weariness. They chatter excitedly about school and friends, oblivious to the pain that lingers beneath the surface.

After they've eaten and headed off to catch the bus, I sink into the solitude of the empty house once more. It's in these quiet moments that the ache is most palpable, the absence of her presence a constant reminder of all that we've lost.

I find myself drawn to her belongings, unable to resist the pull of her memory. Running my fingers over the familiar objects, I'm transported back to happier times, when our love felt invincible, untouchable by the darkness that now threatens to consume me.

But amidst the despair, there's a flicker of something else. A determination, a resolve to keep going, if not for myself then for her. She wouldn't want me to wallow in sorrow, to let the grief consume me. She'd want me to live, to cherish the memories we shared and find solace in the love that still remains.

With a deep breath, I push myself to my feet, wiping away the tears that threaten to fall. Today may be another struggle, another battle against the pain, but I refuse to let it defeat me. For Wanda, for our boys, I'll find the strength to carry on, one day at a time.

The day went by quickly and soon enough the boys were home filling up our home with noise once more,

"Boys homework first or no ice cream!" I call from the kitchen when I hear them start to fight over player one controller.

"Awww but Mama!" They whined.

"So you boys don't want ice cream tomorrow night either I see." I hear them grumble and then the TV go off, the sound of the dining room chairs scraping as I look over my shoulder to see they're working. "There are my good boys." I turn back smiling as I carry on with prepping dinner. Suddenly something feels off. A pit in my stomach starts forming and I feel eyes on me, not the boys though these feel predatory.

I look up and through the window I don't see my own reflection, I see Wanda, the same one I see in my dreams.

My heart leaps into my throat as I freeze, the knife in my hand forgotten as I stare wide-eyed at the impossible sight before me. It's her, but it's not. The twisted version from my nightmares, black fingers reaching out like tendrils of darkness, eyes filled with a hunger I can't comprehend.

I feel a chill run down my spine as her gaze locks onto mine, a shiver of fear coursing through my veins. Instinctively, I reach for the pendant hanging around my neck, fingers brushing against the smooth surface of the purple power stone embedded within. It's a comforting weight, a reminder of the power that pulses through me, but even it feels insignificant in the face of this apparition.

"What do you want?" I manage to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper. But she doesn't answer, only continues to stare, her presence suffocating in its intensity.

Desperation claws at the edges of my mind as I struggle to make sense of the situation. Is this some kind of illusion, a trick of the mind brought on by grief and exhaustion? Or is she truly here, some twisted echo of the woman I loved?

Before I can gather my thoughts, a sudden crash from the dining room snaps me back to reality. The boys, my precious boys, oblivious to the danger that lurks just beyond our walls. With a surge of adrenaline, I lunge forward, grabbing the nearest weapon within reach.

But as I turn back to face the window, she's gone, vanished into thin air like a wisp of smoke. The only evidence of her presence is the lingering sense of unease that hangs heavy in the air.

I rush to the dining room, relief flooding through me as I find the boys unharmed, their laughter filling the room once more. But even as I hold them close, a sense of dread lingers, a silent reminder that darkness still lurks just beyond the edges of our reality.

"Mama is everything okay?" Billy asks as I hold them, kissing the top of their heads.

"I just thought one of you got hurt. I'm happy you boys aren't." I lie to them as to not worry them, but Billy looks at me trying to search my thoughts. "Hey no mind reading little man." I ruffle his hair. "Everything is fine. If you boys are finished you can play one game, dinner will be ready in 15 minutes." The minutes tick by slowly as I finish preparing dinner, the aroma of comfort food filling the air. I glance at the clock, realizing that my boys are engrossed in their game, blissfully unaware of the turmoil swirling within me.

With a heavy sigh, I take a moment to compose myself before calling them to the table. As we gather for the meal, laughter and chatter resuming, I try to push the unsettling encounter out of my mind. But deep down, I know it's not over.

As we eat, the boys share stories from their day, their infectious joy momentarily easing the ache in my heart. I force a smile, savoring these small moments of normalcy in our fractured world.

After dinner, as the boys retreat to their rooms for the night, I find myself once again standing by the window, staring into the darkness beyond. The pit in my stomach returns, the unease settling in as I feel a presence lingering just out of sight.

The room is silent, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of the night. I close my eyes, summoning the courage to speak the words that linger on the tip of my tongue.

"Wanda, if you're out there, if you can hear me, please... don't hide. I don't know what's happening, but I can't face it alone. I need you, now more than ever." My voice trembles with a mix of desperation and longing.

The air remains still, the response elusive. I wait in silence, hoping for some sign, some reassurance that I'm not losing my mind. But the universe remains silent, withholding its secrets.

"Gods I feel like I'm going crazy Wands...how am I supposed to do this without you?" I feel the hot tears in my eyes, streak down my cheeks then suddenly a loud bang from the living room, the sound of a portal. "Stephan? Is that you?" It wasn't uncommon for Stephan Strange to pop in and check on me and the boys. Stephan had lost his love many years ago. Before I reach the living room, I hear the familiar sound of heels clicking on my hard wood flooring. Suddenly I'm standing face to face with the Wanda I've seen in my dreams...."W-Wands?" I questioned,

"A version. I've lost something precious to me and I've come to get it back." I look her over. It's Wanda, but not mine. As I get closer, Her hair is a different shade, her eyes are a little less of an emerald green and more of a sea green, this Wanda has a scar on her forehead, just above her left eyebrow.

"Oh...what has your universe done to you Detka?" I ask softly reaching out and she grabs my wrist with a force.

"It took everything from me." She seethed. "I want my boys back. I'm taking them." She tosses me aside like I'm nothing. Luckily with the power stone embedded in my chest. I push back, barreling back into her. Tackling her to the ground until I'm on top of her and it's then that she notices my stone, "You have the power stone...how? That's impossible. I've seen it kill people that touch it.

"I'm tough that's why my Wanda loved me." I had her pinned and used my own magic to subdue her. "I've been called the Violet Witch here for years. It became my code name."

"That can't be..." I give her a questioning look. "I'm the Scarlet Witch." She tells me, the scarlet witch? Wanda never said anything...? I stumble back off of her, reeling, "The Scarlet Witch." I let out a dry chuckle, "It makes sense, but I can't let you take my boys. If I loose them then That means I've lost my Wanda and them. I might as well die." I tell her,

"Wait so your Wanda is gone?" She asks. I nod,

"She was needed for a mission. I begged her not to go, we had retired from being Avengers 10 years ago when we found out she was pregnant. She told me everything would be fine. She promised me...and then suddenly I have Strange and Parker on my doorstep with Bucky and Sam behind them carry the casket." I feel my eyes blur as I walk over to the scarlet witch, "If you are another her then," I take her hands putting them up to my temples and ease my forehead onto her, letting my memories over the past ten years flood through her mind.

As our minds intertwine, I feel a rush of memories flooding into her consciousness. The love, the loss, the moments of joy and heartache that have shaped my existence since Wanda's departure. It's a whirlwind of emotions, a bittersweet symphony of love and grief that binds us together in ways I never thought possible.

For a moment, there's a flicker of recognition in her eyes, a glimmer of understanding amidst the chaos of her own turmoil. She sees the depth of my pain, the desperation to hold onto the fragments of a life that's slipping through my fingers.

But as quickly as it came, the moment passes, and she pulls away, her expression hardening once more. "I'm sorry for your loss," she says, her voice tinged with a hint of sympathy. "But my pain is just as real. I've lost everything too, and I'll do whatever it takes to reclaim what's mine."

I feel a pang of empathy for her, a shared sense of anguish that transcends the boundaries of our separate worlds. But beneath it all, there's a primal instinct, a fierce determination to protect my boys at all costs.

"I understand your pain," I reply, my voice steady despite the turmoil raging within. "But my boys are not yours to take. They belong here, with me, with their family."

She narrows her eyes, her resolve unwavering. "Then we're at an impasse," she says, her tone final. "I won't leave without them."

I take a step forward, meeting her gaze with steely determination. "Then I guess we'll just have to see who's stronger," I say, my voice echoing with a newfound resolve.

With that, the battle lines are drawn, two versions of Wanda Maximoff facing off against each other in a clash of wills and power. But amidst the chaos and uncertainty, one thing remains clear: no matter the outcome, I'll do whatever it takes to protect my boys and honor the memory of the woman I loved.

Her eyes meet mine, a mixture of pain and longing mirrored in their depths. The tear I wiped away lingers on her cheek, a testament to the shared sorrow we both carry. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken emotions, and for a moment, time seems to hang suspended.

"I... I don't know if I can stay," she whispers, her voice choked with emotion. "But the offer, it means more than you can imagine. In my world, everything has crumbled, and I'm left with nothing but ashes and echoes of what once was."

I can feel the weight of her words, the burden of her grief, and I tighten my grip on her cheek, desperate to convey the sincerity of my plea. "Wanda, you don't have to face this alone. You're not just a version of her; you're your own person, with your own pain. But here, in this universe, you have a chance to rebuild, to find a new kind of family."

She opens her eyes, the sea-green gaze locking onto mine. There's a vulnerability in her expression, a crack in the stoic facade she wears. "I'm so tired," she admits, a raw honesty in her voice. "Tired of loss, tired of fighting. Maybe... maybe it's time for a different path."

A tentative smile plays on her lips, and my heart skips a beat. I wipe away another tear, this time a tear of relief. "You don't have to decide now," I say softly. "Take the time you need. But know that here, you have people who care, people who understand loss and are willing to help you carry the burden."

The room seems to brighten, as if the weight of the universe has lifted, if only for a moment. And in that moment, I see a glimmer of hope, a possibility for healing and connection that transcends the boundaries of our fractured worlds.

"I need to know one thing." She speaks, "Is Vision alive?" my brows furrow together.

"Vision? Who is that?" I ask genuinely confused.

"Wait...how did we meet here?" She asks.

"Oh well we met in Sokovia. We were protesting Stark together at a rally. Your brother flirted with me first and I never let him live that down especially when I married you and he was my best man." I smile at the memory. "Anyways, we were approached by Hydra and experimented on. They had the mind stone and the power stone. You and Pietro were exposed to the mind stone and I was too, but nothing happened unlike you two so they put me in a room with the power stone. It decided my chest was it's forever home. I ended up breaking us out from the Hydra base with the help of the Avengers who had caught word of the base. The three of us joined the Avengers and the rest is history." I tell her.

"So no Ultron? Sokovia didn't fly in the air? What about the Sokovia accords?" She throws question after question.

"No idea what you're talking about love. We carried on doing small missions, taking down hydra and radicals, but the three of us spent a long time training before they let us out doing field work." I tell her.

"Three? Is...is Pietro..?" Her voice breaks.

"Alive? Yeah of course." She falls to her knees and starts sobbing.

"Mommy?" Billy is at the middle of the stairs and the look in Wanda's eyes.

"Yeah baby it's Mommy." Wanda opened her arms and the little speedster found his way into her arms." Her eyes spilling over tears.

"Mama said you weren't coming back." Billy whispered.

"Mama didn't think I was, but Mommy always finds a way back to her boys." Wanda pulls back and looks up at me. "I'm staying...how could I say no when this is just about the most perfect version I could ask for?" I smile and start crying again as Tommy joins us before I can even blink. "Our little quick silver." Wanda smiles hugging the boys, her boys.

Tears of relief blur my vision as I watch Wanda embrace our boys, her boys, with a tenderness that speaks volumes. Billy and Tommy cling to her, their small arms wrapping around her tightly as if afraid she'll disappear again if they let go. And in that moment, I realize that this is where she belongs, with us, her family.

I join them on the floor, wrapping my arms around them all, unable to contain the overwhelming flood of emotions that threatens to consume me. "Welcome home, Wanda," I whisper, my voice choked with tears.

She looks up at me, her eyes shining with gratitude and love. "Thank you," she says softly, her voice trembling with emotion. "For everything."

Together, we sit in the warmth of our embrace, a makeshift family forged from the ashes of our shared past. And as the night stretches on, I can't help but feel a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness, a belief that no matter what trials may come, as long as we have each other, we can weather any storm.

========================

The days blurred together in a haze of longing and uncertainty, each moment tinged with the ache of what could have been. Wanda's presence in our home was both a blessing and a curse, a constant reminder of the love I had lost and the impossibility of reclaiming what was once mine.

I watched her interact with the boys, her smile forced but genuine, her laughter a melody that echoed through the halls. And yet, beneath the surface, I could sense the weight of her own grief, the burden of a past that refused to let her go.

I tried to be strong, to be there for her and the boys, but every smile felt like a lie, every laugh a hollow echo of the joy we once shared. And in the darkness of the night, when sleep eluded me and the silence pressed in like a vice, I found myself haunted by memories of another Wanda, a version of her that existed only in my dreams.

She was so close, yet so far away, a phantom presence that taunted me with what could have been. I longed to reach out to her, to hold her close and whisper words of love and comfort. But she was gone, lost to me in a reality that no longer existed.

And so I forced myself out of bed each morning, steeling myself against the pain that threatened to consume me. I buried myself in the routines of daily life, seeking solace in the mundane tasks that kept me tethered to reality.

But no matter how hard I tried to push her memory away, she lingered in the shadows of my mind, a ghostly specter that refused to be forgotten. And as the days turned into weeks, I began to wonder if I would ever find peace, if I would ever be able to let go of the love that still bound me to her, even across the vast expanse of the multiverse.

My Wanda and I had always had a policy of no mind reading since we could both do it, but this Wanda pokes at my thoughts constantly. Reminds me to smile through telepathy. One morning after a really good dream with another Wanda I can't get myself out of bed. Everything is too much. I know I had told her I'd be fine, but I'm not.

"Come on Y/N. Time to get up." I turn away from her, curling up into a ball further. "Y/N? What's wrong?" She asks.

"Nothing just tired. Just tell the boys I don't feel good. I need a Mama's day. So they can have a Mommy day. Take them out, get them ice cream. Do whatever you want." I grumble.

"Okay..." I close my eyes, letting myself drift back off just needed to see her again.

I don't know how much time has past when I'm being woken up, "Detka...come on wake up." My eyes blink into focus as I look at Wanda sitting above me and smile, forgetting my reality for a moment before my smile drops.

"What?" I ask.

"I dropped the boys off with their uncle for the weekend." I sit up straight,

"You did what!?" I screech.

"I left them with Pietro for the weekend. He was more than happy to have a boys weekend. Something about taking them to the lake?" Wanda mentions.

"He takes them every summer, usually it's a family thing and we all go." I tell Wanda.

"Well I figured you needed a Mommy and me weekend. I want to take you out. I want to get to know you. I already know my boys, but you. You're different, new, you aren't like Vision. You're human." She cups my cheek, smiling and I know it's a genuine smile. "I'm sure you've been feeling neglected and I wanted to try and do this sooner, but the boys were too excited to have me back." She says as I lean into her touch, Gods how I missed her touch. Though her fingers were no longer black her nails seemed to permanently stay black which made me laugh as I compared it to her emo phase which apparently this Wanda had one too.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice catching in my throat. "For understanding."

She smiles, a warmth in her eyes that belies the weight of her own pain. "We're in this together. You don't have to carry the burden alone."

With her words echoing in my mind, I find the strength to push myself out of bed, to face the day with renewed determination. Wanda's offer of a Mommy and me weekend is a lifeline, a chance to rediscover myself amidst the chaos of grief and longing.

As we spend the day together, exploring the city and sharing stories of our pasts, I feel a sense of peace settle over me, a reassurance that maybe, just maybe, there's still hope for a future filled with love and laughter.

And as the sun sets on our day together, I realize that while Wanda may not be my Wanda, she's still a beacon of light in the darkness, a reminder that even in our darkest moments, there's always someone willing to stand by our side, to offer a hand to hold and a shoulder to lean on.

With her by my side, I know that no matter what the future may hold, I'll never have to face it alone. And as we head home, the weight of grief feels a little lighter, the shadows a little less daunting, as we embrace the possibility of a new beginning, together.

When we got back home, I pulled her to the couch, "Time to watch sitcoms." I tell her and her face lights up.

"Dick Van Dyke?" She asks.

"No Detka. I want to show you my favorite this time. It's a more modern one. It's an animated sitcom though is that okay?" I ask, realizing this Wanda maybe never experienced animated and only enjoyed live action ones.

"Of course dorogoya." Her accent popping out sent a wave through me that landed between my legs.

"O-okay good." I say and get 'Bob's Burgers' playing. As the show starts I settle in with a slight distance between us, but she pulls me in against her side.

"Is this okay dorogoya?" She asks looking down at me.

"Y-yeah...of course." I move slight, readjusting to get comfortable as we fit together like two missing puzzle pieces and I let out a sigh of relief, that feels like so much weight is taken off my shoulders.

As the episodes of "Bob's Burgers" played on, I found myself relaxing into Wanda's embrace, the tension that had been coiled tight within me slowly unraveling with each passing moment. Her warmth seeped into my bones, a comforting presence that chased away the lingering shadows of doubt and fear.

With her by my side, the laughter that bubbled up from the screen felt genuine, a reflection of the newfound camaraderie we shared. And as I stole glances at her profile, illuminated by the soft glow of the television, I couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of the moment, the simplicity of just being together.

Her laughter mingled with mine, the sound music to my ears, a symphony of joy that filled the room with warmth and light. And as the credits rolled on the final episode, I turned to her, a smile playing at the corners of my lips.

"Thank you," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. "For today. For everything."

She returned my smile, her eyes shimmering with affection. "Anytime. I'm here for you, always."

I sat there staring at her, getting lost in her eyes so much that I don't even realize that she's leaning in until she's inches from my lips, she stops and I can feel her breath on me, my own hitching,

"Is this okay dorogoya?" She whispers in a husk against my lips.

"Y-yes." I manage out as she kisses me softly at first, testing the waters, but soon enough she's kissing hungrily, like she's starving for my taste now that's she's had a nibble. My fingers find their way into her hair, getting tangled in her auburn locks. One of her hands is on the back of my neck and the other is on my hip, gripping tightly, I can feel her nails digging in.

The world falls away as our lips meet in a fiery embrace, a collision of passion and longing that ignites every nerve ending in my body. Her kiss is intoxicating, a whirlwind of desire and need that sweeps me away in a tide of sensation.

I lose myself in the taste of her, the feel of her lips moving against mine with a hunger that mirrors my own. Our breath mingles in the space between us, hot and heavy with unspoken desire, as the intensity of our embrace grows with each passing moment.

Her hands are everywhere at once, trailing fire along my skin as she pulls me closer, her touch igniting a wildfire of sensation within me. I cling to her desperately, losing myself in the dizzying whirl of pleasure that consumes us both.

Time loses all meaning as we surrender to the passion that binds us together, lost in a world of our own making where nothing else matters but the fiery connection that burns between us.

And as we finally break apart, breathless and trembling, I find myself drowning in the depths of her gaze, a silent promise of more to come lingering in the air between us.

In that moment, I know that this is just the beginning of our journey together, a journey filled with love, passion, and endless possibility. And as we cling to each other in the aftermath of our shared passion, I can't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unexpected twist of fate that brought us together.

"Bed. Now." Her eyes lit up red for a moment. My Wanda had never been dominate, but this Wanda before me exuded dominance. I didn't waste any time getting up the stairs with her hot on my tail as we crashed into the bedroom, stumbling to the bed in a heat of kisses as she took the leading role.

The air crackled with electricity as we stumbled into the bedroom, our lips locked in a frenzy of passion and desire. Wanda's presence was intoxicating, her aura radiating power and dominance in a way I had never experienced before. And as she took the lead, pushing me onto the bed with a hunger that sent shivers down my spine, I felt myself surrendering to the raw intensity of the moment.

Her kisses were demanding, igniting a fire within me that burned hotter with each passing second. I moaned against her lips, my fingers tangling in her hair as I lost myself in the heat of the moment. Her touch was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through my body as she explored every inch of my skin with a hunger that left me breathless.

With each caress, each whispered word of desire, I felt myself falling deeper under her spell, my body responding eagerly to her every touch. And as she claimed me as her own, I surrendered to the overwhelming tide of sensation, losing myself in the ecstasy of our shared passion.

In that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of pleasure and desire where nothing else mattered but the intoxicating connection that bound us together. And as we moved as one, bodies entwined in a symphony of passion, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together, a journey filled with love, lust, and endless possibility.

The sensation of relinquishing control, of surrendering completely to someone else's will, was both exhilarating and liberating. As I basked in the warmth of Wanda's dominance, I found myself embracing a side of myself that I had long suppressed, a side that craved the thrill of submission and surrender.

With each touch, each whispered command, I felt myself sinking deeper into the abyss of pleasure, my mind consumed by a haze of ecstasy that left me breathless and yearning for more. And as Wanda took the lead, guiding me with a firm yet gentle hand, I found myself surrendering to the overwhelming tide of sensation, losing myself in the intoxicating dance of pleasure and desire.

In her arms, I felt safe, cherished, and utterly alive, my body responding eagerly to her every touch and caress. And as we moved together in a symphony of passion and desire, I embraced the freedom that came with letting go, allowing myself to be swept away by the currents of our shared passion.

For in that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of blissful surrender where nothing else mattered but the exquisite pleasure of our connection. And as we surrendered to the ecstasy of our shared desire, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together, a journey filled with exploration, discovery, and boundless pleasure.

"Ah...Wands..." A smack hit my thigh making me jolt and yelp.

"That's not my name Detka." I feel my stomach flip. I call her this all the time. I have for years now, but never in this setting. Another smack and then her teeth find my skin, biting and sucking harshly, marking me.

"Mommy!" I can feel the smirk against my thigh.

"Good girl. Go on. Show me how needy you are baby girl." Her fingers find themselves between my folds as I move my hips against them.

The sensation of her touch sent shivers of pleasure coursing through me, igniting a fire that burned hotter with each passing moment. I arched my back, pressing against her fingers as they explored the depths of my desire, teasing and tantalizing with a skill that left me trembling with need.

"Please," I whimpered, the word spilling from my lips in a desperate plea for more. Her touch was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through my body as she pushed me to the brink of ecstasy.

With each caress, each stroke, I felt myself teetering on the edge of oblivion, my senses overwhelmed by the intensity of our shared passion. And as she whispered words of encouragement, urging me to let go and surrender to the pleasure that awaited, I felt myself surrendering completely to the overwhelming tide of sensation.

In that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of blissful abandon where nothing else mattered but the exquisite pleasure of our connection. And as I succumbed to the ecstasy of our shared desire, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together, a journey filled with passion, intensity, and boundless pleasure.

The sensation of Wanda's magic enveloping my wrists sent a thrill of anticipation coursing through me, a tangible reminder of her power and dominance. I tested the restraints, feeling the firm hold of her magic as it kept me securely in place, my heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and arousal.

"Safe word. Green, yellow, red. Green is keep going, yellow slow down, red is stop." Wanda husked.

"Green, yellow, red," I echoed, committing the safe words to memory as a reassurance of our mutual trust and consent. With each breath, each whispered command, I felt myself sinking deeper into the heady haze of pleasure, surrendering completely to the overwhelming tide of sensation.

As Wanda continued to explore my body with a skillful touch that left me trembling with need, I surrendered myself to the ecstasy of our shared desire, knowing that in her arms, I was safe, cherished, and utterly alive.

And as the intensity of our passion grew with each passing moment, I found myself teetering on the edge of oblivion, my senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of our connection. In that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of blissful abandon where nothing else mattered but the exquisite pleasure of our shared desire.

I don't think there is a place she hasn't marked on me in some way and after hours of edging until I couldn't form sentences she finally let me release. A string of moans ripping through me as the most intense waves roll over me as I drown in them, covered in sweat and her marks.

As the waves of pleasure washed over me, leaving me trembling and spent, I basked in the afterglow of our shared passion, my body still tingling with the echoes of our ecstasy. But just when I thought the intensity had peaked, I felt something pressing against my entrance, a sensation that sent a jolt of anticipation coursing through me.

I gasped, my body instinctively tensing as Wanda's touch ignited a new wave of desire within me. Her fingers teased and tantalized, exploring the depths of my desire with a skill that left me breathless and eager for more.

With each gentle thrust, I felt myself opening up to her, surrendering completely to the overwhelming tide of sensation. The pleasure was exquisite, a symphony of ecstasy that echoed through every fiber of my being as I lost myself in the blissful abandon of our shared desire.

And as Wanda continued to guide me with a firm yet gentle hand, I surrendered myself to the pleasure of our connection, knowing that in her arms, I was safe, cherished, and utterly alive. In that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of blissful abandon where nothing else mattered but the exquisite pleasure of our shared desire.

Wanda soon enough needed more and so did I, "Faster...ha-ah...harder..." My breath hot against her, panting like a dog and that gave her the perfect opportunity to place her fingers in my mouth, gaging me with them, but I loved every second as I sucked on them, moaning against them as I tasted myself on them from earlier.

The sensation of Wanda's fingers in my mouth sent a thrill of arousal coursing through me, a heady mixture of pleasure and desire that left me panting and eager for more. With each thrust, each gasp of pleasure, I eagerly sucked on her fingers, tasting myself on them from earlier.

The taste was intoxicating, a symphony of desire that heightened the intensity of our connection as we moved together in perfect harmony. And as Wanda responded to my pleas with a fervor that mirrored my own, I surrendered myself to the pleasure of our shared desire, knowing that in her arms, I was safe, cherished, and utterly alive.

With each thrust, I felt myself teetering on the edge of oblivion, my senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of our passion. And as we reached the peak of ecstasy together, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey, a journey filled with passion, intensity, and boundless pleasure.

In that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of blissful abandon where nothing else mattered but the exquisite pleasure of our shared desire. And as we surrendered ourselves to the ecstasy of our connection, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together, a journey filled with love, lust, and endless possibility.

As I slowly regained my senses, the cool towel on the back of my neck and Wanda's comforting presence helped anchor me in reality. Her magic gently caressed my mind, offering reassurance and care as I took in the aftermath of our intense encounter.

"Easy, Detka. You're okay," she murmured, and I found solace in the warmth of her embrace. I took the offered water bottle, sipping slowly as she continued to tend to my well-being. The realization that I had passed out from pleasure left me both surprised and amused.

"Thats never happened before," I admitted with a chuckle. "The other Wanda was more of a sub, so I was usually the one in control. Not that I didn't enjoy it, but being on the receiving end is a whole different experience."

Wanda's magic fetched a baggy shirt, and as I recognized it, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. It was a shirt from a concert we attended when we were sixteen, a tangible link to our shared past.

"It's good to know not everything is different," I remarked, smiling as she kissed my temple.

In the warmth of our makeshift cocoon, surrounded by blankets and pillows, Wanda's magic weaving a protective barrier around us, we continued to watch 'Bob's Burgers.' However, my focus was no longer on the show; instead, I found myself captivated by the woman holding me close.

A sudden wave of fear and doubt crashed over me as I wondered if this intimate encounter was just a one-time gesture to alleviate my grief. The fear of being tossed aside after a momentary respite haunted my thoughts, threatening to overshadow the joy we had just shared.

Wanda, sensing my internal struggle, gently addressed my concerns. "Hey, woah, Detka. Those thoughts of yours are the farthest thing from the truth. Do not listen to them. I would never do that to my soulmate," she reassured me, her forehead finding mine in a tender gesture of connection.

"I love you, Y/N," she confessed, her words washing away my fears and opening the floodgates to a cascade of happy tears. "I love you, Wands! I didn't think I'd ever get to hear you say those words to me again," I admitted, clinging to her shirt as I sobbed into her.

Wanda's promises echoed in my heart, a vow to cherish and reaffirm our love every day. She kissed away my tears, each tender touch a testament to the depth of her commitment. "I promise I'm going to say it every chance I get. I'm never going to stop. I'm going to remind you every day how beautiful you are and how much I love you, and I promise I'm never going to leave. No missions. Nothing like that. I'll always be by your side," she declared, her own tears mingling with mine.

In that moment, as we drowned in each other's love, I knew that this second chance at happiness was a gift we would both cherish. And as Wanda whispered, "I love you," over and over, I felt the weight of my grief lifting, replaced by the warmth of a love that transcended time and space.

========

In the midst of my peaceful dream, I found myself enveloped in a sense of tranquility unlike any I had experienced in well over a year. Waking up with a smile on my face I turn my head, looking over I gazed upon the sleeping form of Wanda, her features softened by the gentle embrace of slumber, I felt a rush of overwhelming love and affection welling up within me.

With a playful smile tugging at the corners of my lips, I leaned in closer, pressing gentle kisses along the curve of her neck. Each tender touch elicited a soft moan from her lips, a melody of pleasure that echoed through the stillness of the night.

Lost in the intoxicating embrace of our shared intimacy, I continued to shower her with affection, reveling in the warmth of her presence and the depth of our connection. And as I whispered her name, a soft murmur of adoration, I knew that this moment, this fleeting glimpse of happiness, was a treasure to be cherished for all eternity.

As Wanda began to stir awake, her voice still heavy with sleep, I couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for her. Her words, though tinged with a hint of warning, only served to deepen the bond between us.

"You're playing a dangerous game, kotenok," she murmured, her voice laced with sleepiness.

"Shchenok," I corrected gently, a small smile playing on my lips.

Her eyes snapped open at the correction, surprise evident in her expression. "When did you learn that?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

I shrugged, the memories of our shared past flooding back to me. "I was with her for like 20 years of our lives. I learned most Russian. Also Natasha, she..." My voice trailed off as Wanda's expression shifted, a wave of sadness washing over her.

"Oh my god, I forgot about Natasha. Is... is she alive here?" she asked, tears welling up in her eyes.

I nodded solemnly, feeling a pang of empathy for the pain she must be feeling. Crawling into her lap, I wrapped my arms around her, offering what comfort I could. "You really lost a lot there, dorogoya," I whispered, my voice soft with compassion. "But don't worry, everyone here is safe. We've apparently had it relatively easy here, it seems."

I pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, my heart overflowing with love and gratitude for this woman who had endured so much. "Now you have your loved ones back. You aren't alone anymore, and you won't ever be again. I promise."

==============

As the weekend unfolded, Wanda and I remained entwined in each other's arms, our connection deepening with each passing moment. When the boys returned home with their uncle Pietro, the atmosphere was filled with warmth and affection, a tangible sense of family that enveloped us all.

Pietro's hug was tight, filled with an unspoken understanding that transcended words. In his whispered question, "Did you guys finally connect?" I detected a mixture of curiosity and genuine concern.

With a small nod and a soft "Mmhmm," I confirmed what he already knew. This Wanda wasn't his real sister, just as she wasn't the Wanda I had known and loved for decades. But she was here, she was special, and in her embrace, I found a sense of solace and belonging that I had thought lost forever.

==============

As the following Friday arrived, Wanda and I made the decision to gather our friends and family together to share the details of our new lives. It was a momentous occasion, filled with a mix of anticipation and apprehension as we prepared to unveil the truth about our extraordinary circumstances.

Gathering our loved ones in a familiar setting, we began to recount the events that had led us to this moment, explaining the complexities of our intertwined destinies and the newfound connections we had forged. With each word, we sought to convey the depth of our emotions, the challenges we had overcome, and the hope that now burned bright within our hearts.

As our gathering unfolded, the emotions in the room were palpable, each hug and embrace a testament to the depth of our shared experiences and the bonds that bound us together.

Wanda's first instinct was to embrace Natasha tightly, their bodies trembling with sobs as they clung to each other. For both of them, it was a moment of overwhelming relief and joy, the realization that they had been given a second chance to be reunited with someone they had feared lost forever.

Next was Clint, the stalwart friend and ally who had saved Wanda countless times in her timeline, offering comfort and support when she needed it most. As they embraced, the weight of their shared history hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the trials they had faced and the strength they had found in each other's presence.

In that moment, surrounded by friends and family who had become like kin, Wanda and I felt a profound sense of gratitude for the bonds that had been forged through adversity. And as we shared stories and memories, laughter mingling with tears, we knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, drawing strength from the love and support that surrounded us.

As our friends and family listened intently, their expressions shifting from surprise to understanding, we felt a sense of relief wash over us. To have our loved ones by our side, supporting us through this journey, was a gift beyond measure.

And as we concluded our explanation, surrounded by the warmth and love of those closest to us, we knew that no matter what the future held, we would face it together, united in our shared bond and unwavering commitment to one another.

As the night wore on and the festivities continued, Stephen pulled me aside, his expression grave with concern. "You know what she's done in her universe, right?" he asked, his voice tinged with urgency.

I bristled at his question, feeling a surge of defensiveness rise within me. "Do not start this, Strange," I warned, jabbing a finger in his direction. "If I had gone through what she had, this universe wouldn't even exist. What she did, in my eyes, is child's play compared to the horrors she endured."

My words carried a weight of conviction, a steadfast belief in Wanda's resilience and the sacrifices she had made to protect those she loved. And as I met Stephen's gaze, I saw a flicker of understanding in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the depth of Wanda's strength and the magnitude of her courage.

"She threw a tantrum essentially. Took over a town for a bit and then went on a killing spree to get here. I saw it through her eyes. I know if it had been me, you'd be lucky if America had still been standing," I asserted, a hint of steel in my voice as I tapped the power stone embedded in my chest.

The reminder of the immense power at my disposal served as both a warning and a declaration. Wanda's actions in her universe were a testament to the depths of her grief and the consequences of unchecked power. In contrast, I recognized the responsibility that came with wielding such force, a responsibility I vowed to use wisely to protect those I loved.

As the weight of our conversation lingered, Stephen nodded in acknowledgment, a silent understanding passing between us. The night continued, but the specter of the past and the potential for the future hung in the air, a reminder that even in moments of celebration, the shadows of our pasts were never truly far behind.

"I don't think you understand, my strength isn't superhuman, it's otherworldly. The precision it requires to ensure I don't break everything around me at any given moment is a delicate balance. With one punch, I wouldn't just put a crater in the earth, I'd break it in half," I emphasized, underscoring the magnitude of the power I possessed.

The distinction between superhuman strength and the cosmic force I wielded was crucial to grasp. While others might possess extraordinary abilities, mine was on a different scale altogether, capable of reshaping the very fabric of reality itself. It was a responsibility that weighed heavily on me, requiring a level of control and restraint beyond what most could comprehend.

As I spoke, I could sense the gravity of my words sinking in, the realization dawning on Stephen of the immense power at my command. It was a sobering reminder of the delicate balance between strength and responsibility, a balance that I vowed to uphold no matter the cost.

"I'm sorry, Y/N, I just wanted to remind you-" Stephen began, but I swiftly cut him off, my tone firm yet understanding. "Don't, Stephen. I know you're just trying to help. I don't need the reminder though," I assured him, acknowledging his concern while asserting my own understanding of the situation.

With a nod of acceptance, Stephen backed off, respecting my boundaries and allowing me to return to the comforting embrace of Wanda, who had been engaged in conversation with Natasha and Clint. As I settled back into her arms, the warmth of her presence enveloped me, a reassuring reminder of the love and support that surrounded me.

In that moment, surrounded by friends and family, I felt a sense of peace wash over me, a quiet reassurance that no matter the challenges we faced, we would face them together, united in our shared bonds and unwavering commitment to one another.

As Wanda continued her conversation with Natasha and Clint, her fingers traced delicate patterns on my hip, their touch a gentle caress that spoke volumes of the journey she had undertaken. Once stained with blood, those same hands now exuded a tenderness and compassion that belied the darkness of the past.

Feeling the soothing rhythm of her touch, I couldn't help but marvel at the transformation Wanda had undergone, the evolution from a place of pain and turmoil to one of healing and redemption. It was a testament to her resilience and strength, a reminder that even in the face of adversity, it was possible to find light amidst the shadows.

In that moment, as her touch danced across my skin, I felt a profound sense of gratitude for the woman before me, for the love and forgiveness she had extended, and for the hope that now blossomed within our hearts. And as our conversation continued, I knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, we would face them together, bound by the unbreakable bond of love and understanding that had brought us to this moment.

As the room suddenly filled with the energetic presence of our children, along with Clint's youngest and Kate close behind, my boys bounded into mine and Wanda's arms with cries for help. "Moms! Save us from the monster!" they pleaded, their laughter filling the air.

I chuckled as I gathered them close, feeling their warmth and energy envelop me in a comforting embrace. Glancing over, I caught sight of Kate playfully tickling Nathaniel, the mischievous grin on her face confirming my suspicions.

With a smile, I joined Wanda in rescuing our boys from the clutches of the imaginary monster, enveloping them in hugs and laughter as we reveled in the joy of family and friendship. In that moment, surrounded by the ones we loved most, I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the blessings that filled our lives, each smile and laugh a reminder of the happiness that awaited us in the days to come.

As the boys began to drift off to sleep in my arms, I couldn't help but smile at the sight. "I think it's time to go, my love," I murmured to Wanda, gesturing towards our sleeping sons. Despite their ten years, I scooped them up effortlessly, their weight feeling light in my arms.

A momentary look of surprise flickered across Wanda's face, her gaze lingering on me as she seemed to momentarily forget about my strength. At just 4'11, I was indeed petite for someone with such power, a fact that often caught others off guard.

With a soft chuckle, I gently adjusted the boys in my arms, their peaceful expressions a testament to the love and security they felt in our embrace. As we prepared to leave, I felt a surge of gratitude for the family we had become, bound together by love and the unbreakable bond of kinship. With Wanda by my side, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, united in our shared love and determination to protect those we held dear.

As I glanced over at Wanda, watching the tender expression on her face as she looked upon our sleeping sons, my heart swelled with love and gratitude. The depth of emotion reflected in her eyes filled me with a sense of warmth and contentment, knowing that our family was complete and our bond unbreakable.

In that moment, as we stood together, surrounded by the quiet stillness of the night, I felt a profound sense of peace wash over me. The love that radiated between us and enveloped our children was a testament to the strength of our connection, a bond forged in the fires of adversity and tempered by the trials we had faced together.

As we prepared to depart, I reached out to take Wanda's hand, intertwining our fingers in a silent gesture of unity and love. With a shared smile, we turned and made our way home, our hearts full and our spirits lifted by the knowledge that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, as a family.

===========

Wanda and I are on the couch when she asks, "Do you have photo albums of the boys?" I look at her, peeling my eyes from the TV as I pause it.

"Of course." I get up grabbing several albums of almost everything of their lives. "After we left the Avengers I took solace in capturing moments so we have a lot." I tell her as she starts through her pregnancy photos one of every month. Then the hospital photos of her giving birth. The look of pure happiness and bliss on both our faces as we held the boys. Both of us having skin to skin contact with them. As Wanda goes through the albums she starts crying.

"I missed out on so much because of my magic..." she whispered solemnly. "They went from babies, to 5, to 10 all because of words I said...Y/N...I missed everything." Knowing that Wanda had used her magic to create our boys in her universe and not anything like how we had here made her incredibly sad. I hate seeing her like this.

"How about I show you. Their first words, their first steps, everything." With a gentle touch, I leaned in closer to her, resting my forehead against hers as I offered her a silent gesture of comfort and solidarity. Feeling her fingers against my temples, I closed my eyes and allowed the memories to flow, every precious moment from the joyous announcement of her pregnancy to the bittersweet final days we shared together playing out before her.

As the memories unfolded like a vivid tapestry, I watched as Wanda's tears began to subside, replaced by a sense of wonder and awe. Through the magic of our shared recollections, she was able to witness the milestones she had missed, the laughter and love that had filled our home in her absence.

In that moment, as we shared in the memories of our past, I felt a renewed sense of hope blossom within me. Though Wanda may have missed out on so much, I was determined to make every moment from this point forward count, to cherish the time we had together and to create new memories that would fill the void left by the past.

With a gentle smile, I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close as we basked in the warmth of our shared love. And as the echoes of our memories faded into the night, I knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, we would face them together, united in our unwavering commitment to one another and to our family.

As I looked into Wanda's eyes, feeling the weight of her sadness and longing, I knew that I had to do everything in my power to ease her pain and make up for the lost time. With a gentle touch, I cupped her cheek in my hand, my thumb brushing away the tears that lingered there.

"Everything with them feels too quick and also a lifetime," I whispered softly, my heart swelling with love and determination. "But now that you're here with us, you'll get to experience it all with me. Together."

In that moment, as we shared in our shared resolve to embrace the present and forge ahead as a family, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. No matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, united in our love and commitment to one another.

With a tender smile, I leaned in to press a gentle kiss against Wanda's forehead, silently promising to cherish every moment we shared and to make up for the lost time in any way I could. Together, we would build a future filled with love, laughter, and endless memories, united in our bond as a family.

Once we put the albums away, shut the TV off for the night we headed upstairs. Stopping to look in at the boys sleeping peacefully before heading to our own room, getting ourselves ready for bed. As I climb in, stretching out, Wanda climbs on top of me. I bite my bottom lip, looking up at her. I can see the look she has. I wrap my arms around her neck, gently trying to pull her down. She doesn't budge.

"Did you want something, shchenok?" Between the look in her eyes, the sound of her voice, and her in just a tank top of sleep shorts I'm weak to her completely under her not just physically.

"Want you. Need you." I tell her trying again to pull and when she still doesn't budge. I pout and whine. "Wands...please.."

As Wanda's hands worked their magic, binding mine above my head with a delicate yet firm touch, I felt a rush of excitement and anticipation coursing through me. With each tug of her magic, I was rendered powerless, completely at her mercy as she explored my body with a hunger that ignited a fire within me.

"Behave and we'll see where it goes," she husked, her words sending shivers down my spine as she pushed up my shirt, her lips finding purchase on my chest with an intensity that left me breathless. The sensation of her teeth grazing my skin, her tongue tracing patterns across my flesh, sent waves of pleasure radiating through me, making me squirm and writhe beneath her touch.

As I felt myself slipping deeper into subspace, surrendering to the heady mix of pleasure and vulnerability, I couldn't help but lose myself in the moment, giving in completely to the sensations that engulfed me. With each kiss, each caress, I felt myself unraveling, consumed by the overwhelming desire that burned between us.

In that moment, as I surrendered myself to Wanda's tender ministrations, I felt a profound sense of connection and intimacy that transcended the physical realm. With her by my side, I knew that I was safe, cherished, and loved beyond measure, and as I surrendered to the ecstasy of the moment, I knew that our bond would only grow stronger with each passing day.

Wanda plays with me and teases me for hours and I can't even remember how many times she's pushed me over the edge of ecstasy. As she brought me to another one as she slammed into me with a magic strap-on she'd conjured up, my mind already drowning in subspace, barely able to form words, but one slips out and then a few more,

"Mommy...gonna...ah-ha...ah..." After my words she sped up leaning down to whisper in my ear,

"That's right cum for Mommy like a good girl. Mommy's gonna cum with you. Gonna fill you up and breed you baby girl." As she whispered those final words in my ear, her voice a husky growl of lust and desire, I felt myself shattering into a million pieces, my entire being consumed by the ecstasy of release. With a cry of pure ecstasy, I let myself fall over the edge, my body trembling with the force of my climax as I surrendered myself entirely to the pleasure that engulfed me. Feeling her fill me up completely made my eyes roll back and the only word I could comprehend was, “Mommy.”

In that moment, as I basked in the afterglow of our shared ecstasy, I knew that I was exactly where I belonged, wrapped in the arms of the woman I loved more than anything in the world.

Taglist: @dorabledewdroop

[cherriready]

By order of the King

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader, Helaena Targaryen x Niece!Reader (Possibly in the future), Aegon Targaryen x Niece!Reader (Possibly in the future)

WC: 2.4k

Summary: Amidst political turmoil and family feuds, the only and eldest Velaryon daughter, struggles through a tumultuous marriage arranged for strategic gain that quickly escalates into betrayal and tragedy. As she grapples with grief and tensions mount, she faces heartache and sorrow, she grapples with her future as a looming conflict threatens to engulf her in a web of deceit and fear.

Warnings: Mature themes, sexual content (mentioned and lightly described), power dynamics, toxic relationship, violence and death, incestuous overtones, emotional turmoil, psychological themes, character deaths, ambiguous morality.

If you wish to be tagged let me know :)

Not only was war about to break out, ready to blow everything up — including the Targaryen dynasty. Her damn marriage of convenience was also about to explode.

It was King Viserys, her grandfather, who proposed the marriage between his eldest granddaughter and his second son, Aemond Targaryen. The idea was not well-received by any of the black team's supporters, especially Rhaenyra Targaryen, but having to ensure that her son Luke was the heir to Driftmark, she had to give in and betroth her firstborn and only daughter, her dear baby girl.

Not everything was disadvantageous, since having her younger half-brother married to her daughter would bind and commit the greens to seeing her as the future queen.

Or so they all briefly thought, until the King's death.

"The rift in our family will heal, and we will be more united." This was what Viserys the Peaceful said, with difficulty, as he received Rhaenyra and Daemon, and all their progeny, at court for the first time in six years.

The wedding was held that same afternoon, privately. Only the closest to the king attended the ceremony. His children, his wife, his grandchildren, his nieces, the Hand, and Princess Rhaenys. Shortly after, he succumbed to pain, having to be taken to his quarters where he drank milk of the poppy to be able to sleep.

The Hightowers thought this would benefit their discussion about Driftmark's inheritance the next day. Without the king present, they could declare Vaemond Velaryon as heir to his brother, the Sea Snake, who was still hovering between life and death. And, in a way, they could more freely insinuate the illegitimacy of Rhaenyra's elder children. Killing two birds with one stone.

"Now you are a recognized Targaryen, despite your illegitimate descent, wife." These were the first venomous words Aemond addressed to his now wife for the first time in years. "I will make sure you do not follow your mother's path, that the children you carry in your womb are mine, and no one else's." He murmured, while caressing his wife's dark hair, a certain warmth and delicacy in the act.

"I would never think of it, my prince." She whispered, carefully watching his movements as he circled her.

As if she were his prey.

"Do you know what comes next? What is expected of you on our wedding night?" He asked, tilting his head, once he stood in front of her.

"To consummate our union, to give you an heir."

"Hm." He hummed. "I will not be harsh with you, I will be gentle. Until you ask me not to be."

There was no love between them, not even the slightest hint of the friendship that once existed in their childhood. She would be lying if she said he did not keep his word. He was not rough or harsh with her, but considerate and gentle. The union brought something she did not expect, pleasure.

She felt a lot of pleasure; he gave her pleasure. She supposed it was to keep her satisfied, so she wouldn't seek comfort in another man's arms, thus avoiding the possibility and shame of bastards.

Bastards of a bastard, it sounded ironic.

Once he finished inside her, after making her climax three times, he caressed her face, looking attentively at how her face reflected pleasure and satisfaction. Then he got off her, dressed, and left her alone in her room, without a word.

A few days later, her mother, her brothers, Daemon, and her stepsisters had to return to Dragonstone, leaving her in that place infested with snakes and traitors — without knowing what was to come.

Her grandfather died that very night, and the next day, not even a full day later, they crowned Aegon as king in the Dragonpit, in front of the entire people. Placing the conqueror's crown on his head, wielding his sword to the cheers of the people.

She could only bite her tongue and dig her nails into her skin until she bled, while averting her gaze. Not recognizing her uncle, the usurper, as king.

That night, when her husband visited her chambers to have sex with her again, as expected of him, as had been the case every night since they married, it was she who took control. It was she who set the pace and used him, leaving behind the gentleness he had previously offered her. It was she who began to be harsh.

Their encounters became rough and hard, with no room for frills or romance. After all, that was the only way she had to vent.

They did it, finished, and each went their separate ways.

In less than a month she was already pregnant.

"Blessed be the gods for this good news." Was what Alicent Hightower said upon receiving the news, while taking the hands of her young daughter-in-law. "Viserys would be delighted with this news. Finally, the Seven smile upon us."

"Do you think? I think they mock us." She whispered, tears in her eyes.

She wanted to go home, to find comfort in her mother's arms, who should be the queen of the Seven Kingdoms and sitting on the Iron Throne.

From the day they received the news, Aemond stopped visiting her at night, and she spent hours staring at her bed canopy, caressing her still nonexistent baby bump. The life growing inside her was the only thing she had in that cold place.

How she longed to talk to her mother freely, but of course, writing to her and sending a raven at that time, without supervision, without practically the entire king's small council approving it, could be considered treason. And to think of proposing to visit her, by the Seven Gods.

What a fucking mess.

Days went by, her loneliness grew, her breasts became more sensitive, her aversion to certain smells became more noticeable. Still, the only pleasant company she had and found some comfort in was Helaena and her children.

Beings of light, innocent and joyful.

"How are things with my brother?" Helaena asked while observing the cages in which she kept some insects.

"He usually asks about how I am feeling, how the pregnancy is going — but other than that, we do not... interact. We practically live separate lives."

"Does he not discuss his duties with you?"

"The bare minimum. I only know that today he is leaving for Storm's End, to speak with Borros Baratheon."

"Oh." Helaena said, looking at her with an expression she couldn't decipher.

"What is it?"

"It is just that I feel a storm is coming. I do not know, it is strange."

"But the skies are clear, Hel?"

And the storm came, just as Helaena had said.

The next morning she woke up later than usual, none of the maids who usually attended to her came to wake her, which made her wonder why no one had disturbed her until then. She tried to dismiss the thought, leaning towards the belief that they were simply letting her rest due to the lack of energy she felt because of the pregnancy.

When she left her room to meet Helaena and have breakfast with her, she encountered one of the Kingsguard, Ser Arryk Cargyll, who had been patiently waiting for her, for who knows how long.

"Did Helaena send you for me?" The young princess asked doubtfully, as it was usually not Ser Arryk who escorted her anywhere.

"No, princess." Replied the sworn knight softly. "The queen mother sends me; she is waiting for you to meet her and Prince Aemond in her apartments." He said, pointing out the path they were to take, a fleeting, small, empathetic smile adorning his face as if he were trying to hide something.

"Has something happened, Ser Arryk?" She asked as they walked towards Alicent Hightower's apartments. Uncertainty gripped her, for each time they encountered someone from the court, or a servant or guard, they averted their gaze from the young woman, as if not wanting to reveal something. "Have I been accused of treason or something?" The young woman murmured with a mix of doubt and jest, stopping and looking at the Cargyll twin.

"Not at all, princess." The man replied, shaking his head. "The reason for the audience will be revealed when we arrive, I promise."

"Has someone died, by any chance?" The young woman asked, the question hanging in the air.

Ser Arryk did not respond, simply escorting her to the queen mother's chambers. Where, indeed, she discovered that someone had died.

Her baby brother, Luke. At the hands of her own husband, ironically.

With one hand over her mouth and the other over her stomach, she shook her head, under the watchful eyes of Aemond, Alicent, Otto, Aegon, and Ser Criston. She leaned against the brick wall of the queen's chambers, her gaze passing over each of the people present, her tears welling up in her eyes, and the words unable to pass her throat, where she felt a tight knot.

Alicent tried to approach her, raising a hand to touch her shoulder in consolation. "Oh, sweet girl, this was—" she tried to speak, as she finished approaching her.

The young woman, with a slap, pushed her hand away and took a few steps back to distance herself. Now, with tears streaming down her cheeks, blurring her vision, she clumsily opened the door and briskly set off towards anywhere far from any of them.

Without a fixed direction, she turned every corner she encountered until an overwhelming urge to vomit flooded her, and she ended up clutching a large decorative urn, where she emptied her stomach. Amidst the vomiting and retching, she felt a hand rubbing her back in support.

“No, no—” she tried to speak as she pulled away from the person, slightly dragging herself on the ground, wiping her lips with the sleeve of her dress. “No, please,” she whispered through tears, her eyes closed.

“I do not like feeling sick either.”

“What— Jaehaerys…” she whispered the boy’s name, who brought his little hand to her face and wiped away a tear.

“Does your tummy hurt, Auntie?” asked the little boy, who was kneeling beside her, his head tilted and looking at her with concern. Innocence was all that reflected in the eyes of the usurper's progeny.

“A little, yes. Something did not sit well with me, little one.” The young woman sniffed and tried to smile at the boy as best she could.

“Jaehaerys.” Helaena called to her young son, and seeing how he tried to comfort the princess, she approached them, kneeling in front of the duo. “Why don’t you go play with your sister, hm? I shall stay and take care of her, yes?”

The silver-haired boy looked at his mother and then at his aunt, who was still giving him a small smile, even though her lower lip was trembling. He nodded and looked at the small wooden dragon he had in one of his hands before placing it in the young princess’s hand.

“You can keep it until you feel better.”

“Thank you, little prince.”

“Maybe playing with it will help you.” He murmured before standing up and running towards one of the servants who took care of Helaena’s children.

The usurper’s wife, whom she had adored since childhood, helped her up from the ground, and with an arm around her, while she cried silently, accompanied her to her room, where she broke into almost agonising, pain-filled sobs. Helaena sat at the foot of the young woman’s bed while she cried with her head in her lap, broken with grief.

For hours, the one considered the new queen, with a pure heart and only good intentions, stayed in the same position, doing everything in her power to calm and console her dear one, who was her sister-in-law, niece, and friend, all in one person. She stroked her long hair while trying to offer comforting words; the young Velaryon, slightly younger than her, could only cling to her waist with one arm, while in the other hand she held the wooden dragon that little Jaehaerys had given her. She kept her face hidden in Helaena’s lap, crying and crying, until finally, she fell asleep from crying and sobbing so much.

“Leave. Have you not made her suffer enough?” she thought she heard Helaena say sharply, something that very rarely happened, in the distance of her dream.

She knew that the one who was now definitely her only trusted person in the place had just thrown out her husband, the murderer of her younger brother.

Aemond did not manage to articulate a word to excuse himself when he showed up, merely mumbling under his breath, his gaze fixed on his beautiful wife, clinging to the body of his sister.

Helaena gave him a fierce, defiant look, insisting without repeating her words that he leave, which he eventually did. The slam of the door behind him woke the princess, who turned her head and stared at the door.

“Do not worry, he is gone now,” murmured Helaena, looking at her with sadness and empathy, still stroking her hair.

“I do not know what I am going to do,” whispered the young Velaryon, her voice hoarse from crying so much, as she lowered her hand to her belly, where her baby was growing.

That creature, who was also the progeny of a Kinslayer, the prince with one eye. The person she could most despise at that precise moment.

The mere thought of being responsible for giving him a child, something that was already happening, made her blood boil and filled her with deep disgust for the situation.

And indirectly, a certain rejection, towards her unborn child.

She was condemned to spend the rest of her days with him, bound to him, because of her condition. Because of the son or daughter who had not yet been born, but soon would be.

She was in that position by the decision of Viserys, her late and naïve grandfather. “By order of the king…” she murmured sarcastically, as she felt the tears well up in her eyes again.

By order of the late king, she was in that situation, but that would not stop her from making things difficult for Aemond.

A shadow began to loom over her, just as the war that was about to be declared.

Although, to be honest, they were all screwed.

So royally fucked.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter Map Twenty-Seven

TW: medical stuff, talk of dying, nsfw

The next time you go to see Detective Washington Linda is there. She’s always there, bless, and you think that maybe she could use a change of scenery. “Would you like to get a coffee with me?”

She blinks up at you, as though the thought of being anywhere but by her husband’s side never even occurred to her. You sympathize, maybe even more now than a few days ago. You know that if Tom was in that bed…you would be losing your fucking mind. You try not to think about how real a possibility it could be, with the dangers of Tom’s job. Of how it could be not if, but when.

You need caffeine.

You go to the little café, Linda following a step behind you. You order a super sweet frappe drink that barely masquerades as coffee. She gets a latte.

“So…how is he doing?”

“Better,” she answers, looking into the frothed milk atop her coffee. “Stable, now, thank god. But…when he wakes up, we’re still going to have a long road ahead of us.”

“Yeah,” you acknowledge, understanding all too well. “But he’s strong. And you are too. I can tell. You’re going to make it.”

“We were going to leave LA, you know? That money they found in the car? We sold our house. We were going to start over in the Bahamas.”

“Well, maybe you can still do that? After he recovers? I’ve seen people recover from gunshots really well.” You hope you’re soothing her, instead of breaking her psyche down even more, but in truth you’ve never really thought you were good at this human connection stuff. 

Linda gives you the tiniest of smiles, and it warms you up more than the steaming cup in her hands. “You could be doing anything with your break…Why are you coming to see me?” 

“I don’t take breaks,” you say, leaning over with a smile like this is top secret highschool drama stuff. “Well, not usually.” 

She laughs in a huff. “Well, thank you.”

“I wanna be there for you,” you tell her truthfully, toying with the plastic, icy cup in your hands. “I think you could use a friend if I’m not mistaken?” 

“You’re right,” she nods, looking down into her own brew. “Although I’m sensing you need the company, too? After all, the only person I’ve seen you around here with is Ludlow.” 

Oh….Oh. 

Yeah, you suppose it makes sense that everyone knows by now. Tom is a little hard to miss, and you’ve been pinned to his side since the grocery store shootout. Every piece of you wants to defend him again—from the venomous way Linda says his name—dust off his badge and put him on the pedestal he deserves, but this isn’t about Tom…or you right now. “I’m… sorry,” you say, unsure of what else to provide. You bow to her grief, her anger, her pain, because sometimes that’s just what you have to do.

“Can you just tell me something?” She asks, her sorrow suddenly forefront.

“Of course, anything.”

“Tom…didn’t try and hurt him? Did he? He didn’t help the shooters?”

“Linda… No. Jesus, no. Tom, he…” you rub a hand over your face, forgetting that you’re wearing mascara to work because you feel this new sense of pride and confidence and beauty thanks to the subject of your current conversation. “He tried to help him, just like me. He did what he could. I swear to you.”

“And if he didn’t? Would you still be with him?”

For some reason, and it’s a reason you’ll have to do some soul searching about later on, you hesitate to answer that question. Because you’re not sure. Not sure if you would have blacklisted Ludlow for being involved with Washington’s near death, or comforted him about it—“you did what you had to.”

It’s scary, to give all of yourself when you…fuck it, when you love someone. Push morals and decencies and laws aside for a person. Lose yourself trying to justify their behaviors. You’ve been here, what? A dozen times? With friends, family, lovers. Thinking that if you could just see something in them, some redeemable quality, maybe that would erase all their copious horrible ones. 

So, would you? Defend Tom if he had tried to kill Linda’s husband? You answer with what you truly believe: 

“He wouldn’t. Maybe he would try and fight him. Break something, even. But he wouldn’t kill him, Linda. I know he wouldn’t.” 

She appraises you with something in her eyes that resembles trust, and it makes you wonder what you did to deserve it. “I believe you,” she says, confirming your suspicions about her expression. 

“Look. I know…our boys have had their differences. I know I don’t know the details. What I do know, is that Tom is determined to find the guys who shot your husband. He’s…all in on that.”

You’re surprised when Linda frowns at hearing this. “And what does the almighty Captain Wander think about that?”

Now you’re frowning too, because her skepticism maybe puts some things into perspective for you. You remember what Tom told you, about going around the official channels to get things done. “Honestly? I’m not sure it’s official. I just know Tom is on it like a missile. He’s not going to give up.”

Linda sighs, looking down into her coffee. “There’s a part of me that just wants to sweep all this under the rug and start over. But the other part of me?” She looks up at you, a fierce fire in her honey-brown eyes that makes you feel like you just stumbled on a lioness on the prowl. “The other part of me hopes Ludlow kills them all.” 

***

It’s a long, hard day. The weather is getting colder, although it’s hard to call outside cold right now, especially considering where you’re from, but dropping temps, no matter how insignificant Kansians think they may be, still come with colds and sepsis and lung troubles, even here in sweltering LA. 

It’s easier to get through the shift, though, because you’ve made a new friend, and she’s pretty damn cool. Linda is fierce, loyal, beautiful; you would envy her if it wasn’t for admiration getting in the way. Even better, you just seem to click with her so naturally, the vibes between you are immaculate—you feel like you’ve known her your whole life, and that’s really rare to have with someone. 

You chart with a smile for once, because you really hate charting more than anything else on God’s green earth, but take a pause when your phone vibrates in your pocket. 

Hey, baby, am I still picking you up at 1930, or you gonna be late? 

Your smile sharpens and spreads, warmth flaring up your bones like freshly plugged Christmas lights, at Tom’s message.

I can do seven thirty if you stop distracting me.

But I miss you :(

Oh my god. Now you’re blushing and giggling.

C’mon, you know you’ve been thinking about me all day.

Nope. Forgot your name, actually. Who is this, anyway? 

I think it’s time we give you that spanking.

I can take the bus home….

You know I will stop that bus with my lights and sirens on. 

Fuck u, handsome.

Maybe after I turn that little ass red. 

You roll your eyes, scoffing just as hard as clenching. This man is going to kill you. He’s so goddamn sexy it should be illegal. And he’s making all your dirty little fantasies come true while simultaneously making your heart melt. You shove your phone back into your pocket, determined to go back to work so you can actually get out at the time you’re supposed to, but it vibrates again. 

I’m very serious about pulling that bus over. Don’t even try it. 

Yes, officer. 

Good girl. 

What a dick. You’re absolutely head over heels for him. Asshole.

How the hell are you going to betray his trust and let Julian have his way with you? How are you not going to feel crippling guilt every time you look into those coffee brown eyes? How. Furthermore, is Julian going to want to keep doing this with you? Training you like you’re some sideshow pony? You grimace at the thought. 

It’s wonderful, how when you see Tom all those bad feelings seem to go away—especially since he picks you up in full uniform, those delicious glinting handcuffs strung proud to his belt. You bite your lip when you see him, and he kisses the sting away. 

“Working late?” You ask, shimmying your thumbs into his belt loops and pulling him closer. It’s been long, hard hours without him, and you missed him more than you want to admit. 

He presses you up against the wall, just like you want, and tucks stray, wild hairs behind your ears. “Had a residential disturbance,” he says, “let me make you dinner.” It’s beautiful, how such mundane things sound so sinfully promising through his voice. 

“You are dinner, Officer Ludlow.” Because God, you really have just been aching to lean into this cops and robbers fantasy that he started on that dark highway. All you’ve been able to think about is getting on your knees and undoing this uniform and sucking him empty.  

Fuck Julian, and your job, and everything else when he kisses you with a growl, hands cupping the back of your head and threading through your hair so he can get you closer. He either really likes this feral beast you’ve become, or really doesn’t like it judging by this lip splitting dance of tongue and teeth that leaves you gasping for breath. “Careful, baby, might have to lock you up and keep you all to myself.” 

You do love the sound of that. 

***

You ask Tom to take you somewhere…somewhere high and airy where you can look down on the city of Angels. The city you both protect, with shining colorful lights that fight valiantly against the dark night. Tom holds you in his arms, chin on your head, and you don’t mind that all the shiny bobbles on his uniform poke at you. You feel so safe, right here, even though you’re alone in the woodsy hills of LA, and it’s because he has you securely tucked between his biceps. 

“Something’s going on with you,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “I can tell, you know that?” 

The fine hairs along your spine lift, and you hide your face in his arm, trying with all your might not to start crying like a baby. 

“I’m just scared, of those guys trying to get rid of me…” it’s not a total lie, although it, surprisingly, between Julian’s clutches and Tom’s freedom, is the least of your worries. 

He pulls you closer. “Listen, baby, I’m gonna protect you. I know you’re not used to that, to someone having your back, but I do. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere…not even if you want me too.” 

You chuckle. “Yeah, I know.” 

“I think I should probably ask you out properly, but I’ve been a little nervous.”

Your chuckle turns to confused laughter, and you look up at his sheepish smile. “The unbreakable Tom Ludlow, nervous?” 

“Yeah, that you’re gonna tell me to go pound salt…again.” He tries to smile his way out of that statement, but his eyes droop and the corners of his mouth twitch with the effort of nonchalance. And you are a fucking asshole for trusting Julian and snubbing Tom—that’s all you really know for sure. 

“Will you go out with me?” 

His grin turns authentic, and it scares you how much lighter you feel now that he’s genuinely happy again. 

“Yeah,” he agrees on the soft crown of your hair.

[bullet-prooflove]

Summertime Blues: Dwayne Pride x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989@mandy426@keyweegirlie@luckyladycreator2 @dizzybee03

Ro - Dwayne starts to see you in a different light.

Roses - Dwayne realises your being courted by another man.

Waiting - Dwayne can't stand to see you with another man.

The Storm - Dwayne and you take shelter together during a hurricane.

Crescendo (NSFW) - You and Dwayne spend the night together during the hurricane.

Room At The End of The World - You explain what happened to LaSalle.

Second Fiddle (feat: Douglas Hamilton) - You go to see Douglas in the aftermath of the hurricane.

You haven’t told Dwayne that you’re leaving NCIS, he finds out when he receives an email from your superior notifying him that his new NOPD liaison will be joining them next week. It feels like someone’s punched him right in the chest.

For a minute he can’t breathe, he can’t think, he simply stares at the screen in front of him as the words stare back at him. Everything he didn’t want to happen is now happening and Dwayne is powerless to stop it.

The two of you haven’t spoken since that night, he’s been trapped in a continuous flurry of disaster meetings and you’ve been out in the field helping to put the parish back together. He’s thought about calling you in your off hours but he worries that you’re with Douglas, that he’ll be interrupting.

He feels empty when he returns to the Tru Tone that evening. There’s a vacancy that resonates throughout the entire core of his being as he sits down at the piano, his fingers wandering over the keys. He doesn’t have a tune in mind when he begins to play, he simply chases the notes as he seeks to find a path through the grief that overwhelms him.

One song bleeds into another and then another, it becomes a frenzy of disjointed chords until a warm hand squeezes his shoulder and a voice cuts through the music.

“Dwayne…” You say softly and all of that noise just stops.

“Ro.” He greets you, inclining his head in your direction as you take a seat on the piano bench alongside of him.

“There’s a lot of sorrow in those songs.” You remark as your shoulder brushes against his and Dwayne shrugs his shoulders,

“Don’t have much to be happy about these days.” He tells you as he plays the opening bars to Summertime Blues.

“Do you…” You trail off for a second and he pauses in order to give you his full attention. Your gaze is focused on his hands, those rough musician’s fingers that played your body like a symphony on the night of the hurricane. “Was it a mistake for you? Being with me?”

There’s silence for a moment as his fingertips linger on the keys.

“No.” He tells you as he pulls his hands away from the piano and sets them on his lap. “The timing maybe, but not you, I could never regret you.”

There’s such pain in his voice, it makes your heart ache as he sighs looking down at the piano.

“You must have some regrets through.” He murmurs, busying himself with the keys once more. “Seeing as you’re leaving and all.”

“Ah that…” You say as your hand comes to rest on his, stilling his fingers. “That’s not about regrets, that’s about building a future, our future.”

You hear his intake of breath as his eyes lower to your joined hands.

“I don’t understand.” He says as he tilts his head up to meet your gaze.

“We couldn’t be together if we were still working together.” You tell him, squeezing his hand lightly. “We both respect the chain of command too much.”

“Is that what you want?” He asks you, hope blossoming in the centre of his chest. “To be with me?”

“Yes.” You murmur as you raise your hand to touch his face, your fingertips ghosting along the line of his jaw. “That night, it’s never felt that way before. It felt perfect. It felt right…”

“That’s way it’s supposed to be what you love each other.” He whispers, his lips brushing over your palm before he takes it and guides it down to the centre of his chest. “It’s supposed to be beautiful, like listening to a song and feeling the lyrics right here in your heart.”  

“Have you felt like that before?” You ask him and the edges of his mouth tip up into a smile.

“No.” He whispers as his lips brush over yours. “But I’ve never loved anyone, the way I that I love you.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[genevawrenn]

I am just going to put this at the top : this post is going to be a long vent about missing Technoblade, please scroll on if you do not wish to read.

We are coming up on two years without him.

We are also coming up on three years since I discovered his content.

I thought I was at the point I could watch one of his videos tonight, as I used to often do when I am doing tasks or writing he was always the background noise I used. I remember calling into work when he streamed for the sheer sake of enjoying them while they happened the few times I caught them before...well. I think you know. He was the reason my passion for writing came back to life and I believed I could actually follow my lifelong dream of eventually publishing a story.

But I suppose the part I always forget about grief is the absence of the unique spirit that person brought to your life. I found his content and engaged with it instantly, developing one of the longest running fixations I have had in a good while. The sheer excitement I'd have getting the notification he went live for one of his rare streams.

I don't think it truly sunk in when he announced his diagnosis. I remember discussing it with the irl friend who got me into watching him and both of us laughed, saying he's strong enough to fight off anything.

A few months pass with his rare posts and there was always this tiny little bit of intuition I had where he never told us what severity of cancer it was. Like he was a very private guy, yes, but this seemed extra...odd.

Then I remember the way my heart sunk when 'so long nerds' popped into my notification bar. The dashing of my heart against the floor texting people as I tearfully listened to Technodad tell us the words his son Alex wished for us to hear.

Its been a long two years. Its been great ones, tbh. I found a new passion with QSMP and Hermitcraft after the finishing of DSMP [tho c!Techno will forever remain close to my heart]. I kept writing, with over half a million words in published fics on ao3 and several WIP including 3 original novels.

But the only one I ever wanted to thank for helping me find my creativity again I can't, and I never will be able to.

I miss Technoblade.

I will never stop missing him.

I wish he could have laughed with his friends for many years yet, being silently proud of their accomplishments while he messed with people on the QSMP. I wish he could have had another MCC with friends.

I wish his unique soul wasn't taken from us so soon, as we weren't done following our hero yet.

But the only thing I can do now is continue to speak his tales. The first book I properly publish, the gratitude page is going to be addressed to him. I will continue to tell others about his accomplishments and tell them to go watch his content on his Youtube channel [get him to 17 million!]! Buy some of his merch [when it comes back in stock]! Support his family & friends!

Though he would call us nerds for crying, I think its beautiful how many lives he touched and how many thousands mourned his passing. He was a light all corners of the MCYT sphere and beyond saw and respected, and not too many creators can claim such an honour.

I'll always be a Voice at my core. Even if I spend my time these days as a crow, a huevito, a ferret, a tubling, a doozer and many more, my heart will forever belong to Technoblade.

Please keep creating art and writing in his name. I love scrolling the fanart tags and adore every piece I come across with my favourite piglin in them. Please, please, please keep saying his name. Sing his legends. Make references, continue the jokes, hang out in one of his friends chats and support the people he loved.

Support those who are still here, even if your heart hurts.

It's only painful because we all loved him so much, which is a beautiful type of sorrow.

[radical-revolution]

HOW TO STOP GIVING FUCKS

Be happy, be good, be positive, be optimistic, be successful, be woke, be spiritually enlightened.

Consume the perfect diet. Attract a million followers on Instagram. Live your best life! Rise up the career ladder. Be fit and healthy. Be your greatest self! Manifest your life’s purpose.

Optimise your body's functioning. Release your pain, fear, anger and sadness. Free yourself from doubt. Fall in love with the person of your dreams and live happily ever after and never feel lonely again.

This dream is beautiful but it is literally killing us.

The eternal Soul has no interest in living up to any second-hand ideal of ‘happiness’, however beautiful, dramatic, sexy, compelling. Its terrible and sacred rage boils underneath the entire self-help project. Its cry for authenticity, for Truth at any cost.

Fuck the lie of the ‘perfect life’; it only makes us depressed, anxious, addicted - and actually feeds our shame and self-loathing and sense of cosmic failure.

Our constant striving eventually exhausts us, brings us to our knees. It’s too much work for the poor organism, to be ‘positive’ all the time. The Unconscious is enraged by the lie. And it wants to fucking rest.

But in our exhausted state, afraid even to touch our exhaustion, we turn to medication, energy drinks, drugs, mantras, the gym, more positivity, even toxic forms of ‘spirituality’.

Or we simply lose ourselves in thought. Or we create a new identity as ‘the depressed one’ or ‘the failure’. Or we simply ‘push through’ the exhaustion and just keep busy, and numb.

Keep moving at any cost. Never stop.

Happiness literally can make us unhappy.

Fuck this kind of false happiness. It’s vitally important to make room for the darkness. Your life depends on it.

To create space for the grief, the rage, the shame, the fear and the loneliness. To bring these poor, misunderstood creatures out of hiding and into the Light.

If you do not, they will drain your lifeblood like vampires.

Until you listen…

Be willing to expose your unhappiness! Give a voice to the sorrow, the anger, the fear, the deep loneliness at the core. Break some taboos. Say the ‘wrong’ thing. Shatter the false image.

You may lose followers. You may lose friends. You may lose your job. You will certainly lose your mask.

Change may scare the shit out of you.

Good. It’s supposed to.

Nobody has ever awakened without dying over and over again.

You may lose everything and you may have to begin life again yes but the Soul will rejoice. It has been through myriad deaths and rebirths and it couldn’t give a fuck about protecting itself from change.

The Soul finds change thrilling, life-giving, erotic even.

There is a bigger Happiness that actually embraces even our deepest unhappiness and does not shame it and this is the true Happiness you have always longed for. The Happiness that strips off the mask, destroys false protections, sees our flaws, our vulnerabilities, our deepest sorrows… and accepts and loves us and embraces us just as we are.

Okay. Here is your new spiritual mantra…

Fuck - the mind’s concept of - happiness.

Fuck ‘Namaste’.

Fuck trying to be good.

Fuck spirituality. Fuck bliss and love and light and good vibes.

Fuck perfection.

Fuck fitting in.

Fuck all the gods and gurus and self-help guides who fuel the filthy lie of happiness as a destination and a goal.

Fuck this narcissistic, self-absorbed, shame-based culture that suppresses the feminine and our gorgeous vulnerability and tries to mould us through fear.

Accept it all and fuck it all. Bless it all and fuck it all and love it all. Open your heart to it all! Bless this gorgeously silly human mind with its conditioned ideas and impossible standards and its never-ending attempts to tell us how we ‘should’ be, or what the ‘right’ thoughts and feelings are.

Fuck the lie of happiness that sends so many to an early grave.

Protect the inner child, the one who feels unhappy, lonely, sad, disconnected, sometimes. Stop telling her to be happy, connected, peaceful, spiritual and blissed-out today. She couldn’t give a fuck. She just wants your love.

Drench the sad and lonely inner one with curiosity, understanding. Breathe into her. Let her express herself, each day.

Fuck all the forces of the world that would seek to harm her or silence her.

She is God in form.

And when she asks,

“Mommy, Daddy, do I have to be happy and perfect for you to love me?”

You can reply, without hesitation:

“Of course not my love. I love you exactly as you are. I love your flaws and imperfections and your vulnerable heart. They are all so beautiful to me. It’s okay to not feel peaceful. You don’t have to be happy right now. Let’s be truly Unhappy together…”

Now THAT, my friends, is fucking Happiness.

- Jeff Foster

[winters8child]

It´s been a long, long time

Chapter 54

The hour was late, the tower enveloped in an eerie stillness as I finally made my way back. As I trudged wearily past the dimly lit kitchen, the soft glow of the dying embers casting flickering shadows on the walls, a sudden, deliberate clearing of a throat pierced the silence from behind me. I slowly turned around, my heart pounding in the stillness. The moment Natasha caught sight of my face, her smirk vanished, replaced instantly by a look of deep concern.

"What happened?" she asked, gripping my arms tightly, her eyes searching mine. "I couldn't do it. I was so close, but then I saw that baby... I don't know... I thought I was over it..." I stammered, my voice faltering as Natasha gently led me into the kitchen. She eased me into a chair and placed a steaming mug of tea in front of me, the soothing scent of chamomile wafting up.

"You went after one of the guys, didn't you?" Her voice was devoid of judgment, merely a calm observation. I nodded, bringing the cup to my lips and taking a tentative sip.

"So, you couldn't do it because he has a baby?" she asked, her tone gentle but probing.

"She was so cute," I mumbled, my gaze drifting into the shadows of the kitchen. "She cooed and giggled... her name is Lilly..." She gave me a confused look. "So you saw him with the baby and decided not to do it?"

I buried my face in my hands, the weight of the night pressing down on me. "He wasn't home... but his wife was. I even talked to her. I just wanted justice, but I don't have it in me, Nat."

She gently patted my shoulder. "And don't you think that's a good thing?" she asked softly.

I looked up at her, searching her face for understanding. "Did you ever read my old S.H.I.E.L.D. file?"

"I did, but some stuff was redacted," she replied, taking a thoughtful sip of her tea.

I sighed, the memory heavy in my chest. Staring into my mug, I spoke without lifting my eyes. "I was pregnant when I got the serum, but I didn't know at the time... because they didn't tell me."

"I keep asking myself what my life would have looked like if... if Bucky and I could have been a family. Nothing happened as it should have," I whispered, a tear slipping down my cheek. Natasha took my hand in hers, her touch warm and reassuring. "Tell me about him," she asked softly.

She only knew him as the Winter Soldier, the killer, but not the man he truly was.

I smiled to myself at the flood of memories. "He was the boy all the girls fawned over. He was Steve's and my best friend, but just like all the other girls, I had to fall for him..." Natasha smiled at that and squeezed my hand gently. "He was my first crush, my first kiss, my first... well, you know." I blushed at the memory. "Then he had to leave for the war, and we thought he died... Grief brought Steve and me together, and I feel so guilty all the time... It breaks my heart."

“Don’t get me wrong,” I said, my voice quivering, “I love Steve deeply, more than I can put into words. But there’s this little voice in the back of my mind that keeps telling me this isn’t how it was supposed to be.”

"I'm sorry," I murmured, wiping away the tears that had started to flow as the pain of the past resurfaced.

Natasha’s gaze softened as she gently caressed my hand. “It’s alright; we all have our wounds and demons,” she said with a reassuring tone. A shadow of melancholy crossed her face as she added, “I can’t have children.”

Her voice carried a weight of unspoken sorrow, and a sad smile touched her lips. "There’s this procedure in the Red Room... every Widow has to go through it. It’s just one less thing to worry about," she explained, her voice trembling with the pain of her revelation.

"Oh, I’m so sorry, Nat," I said, my eyes widening with regret. "And here I am, talking about babies..."

She shook her head with a small, weary smile. "It's alright," she said softly. "My life doesn’t exactly scream 'Mom of the Year' anyway." She tried to sound nonchalant, but the words were laced with a deep, hidden pain that betrayed her stoic exterior.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath. “For being my friend,” I added, my sad smile barely concealing the depth of my gratitude.

Natasha wrapped her arms around me in a warm, comforting embrace. “No need to thank me for that,” she murmured, her voice steady and reassuring.

Steve returned from Washington the next day, and his disappointment was palpable—there were no major updates about Bucky. I was sprawled on the couch with Natasha, engrossed in a movie, when I felt a familiar warmth envelop me. His strong arms wrapped around me from behind, and he planted a tender kiss on my cheek.

“You’re back!” I exclaimed, my grin spreading wide. It had only been a week, but his absence felt much longer. When I turned to face him, he sealed his welcome with a gentle kiss on my lips.

“So, any news?” Natasha inquired from the couch on my left, her tone casual but curious.

Steve pulled back and circled the couch, settling down next to me with a resigned sigh. “Sadly, no. It’s all just cold leads,” he said, shrugging as if to dismiss the frustration.

Bucky clearly didn’t want to be found, so I buried my face in a bowl of popcorn, crunching away as a precaution. I needed to keep my thoughts and feelings to myself, lest I let slip something I wasn’t ready to share.

Steve cast a sidelong glance at me, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. “You got something to say?”

I shook my head, my mouth too full of popcorn to form a coherent reply.

“Well, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone so you can catch up on lost time,” Natasha said with a playful wink before getting up and exiting the room.

Once she was gone, I finally managed to swallow the last bit of popcorn. Steve leaned closer, his voice soft but earnest. “Hey, I missed you, you know. Sam’s a great guy, but—”

I cut him off with a teasing grin. “—a horrible kisser?”

Steve burst into laughter, his arms bracing the sides of my body as he gently pushed me back onto the couch. I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down to me, eager to kiss him properly.

He pulled back slightly, scrunching up his face with a playful grimace. “Salty,” he remarked with a grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I can’t have too much sodium,” Steve said with a playful smirk. “So kissing you might just be the death of me.”

Before I could respond, Tony’s head popped over the back of the couch, his expression a mix of amusement and mockery. “That looks like fun. Mind if I join?”

Steve and I sprang apart, our faces flushed with embarrassment. “Stark? Didn’t realize you were here,” Steve said, hastily straightening his shirt.

Tony chuckled, leaning in with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I would have come sooner if I’d known there’d be people fornicating on my couch.” I quickly tried to smooth my hair and brush the popcorn crumbs off my shirt, suddenly acutely aware of how disheveled I looked. “We weren’t fornicating,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant, though my cheeks were still flushed. “Anyway… was there something you needed to tell us?”

Steve’s impatience was clear as he shot a quick glance at Tony, clearly eager to shift the focus back to the mission. “New Hydra research base in Sokovia. Loki’s scepter is rumored to be there, along with a high-ranking Hydra scientist. We go in, take out as many bad guys as we can, and secure the scepter. Bingo bongo,” he explained briskly. “All hands on deck for this one, so get ready.” With that, he headed toward the door.

“I just got here!” Steve called after him, exasperation in his voice. From the hallway, Tony’s voice floated back with a chuckle, “Five minutes should be enough!”

Steve turned to me, eyebrows raised in silent question as he gestured toward our room. “Five minutes might be enough for you,” I said with a wry smile, glancing down at my disheveled state. “I need at least ten to look presentable again.”

Steve’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You look absolutely delicious,” he said, scooping me up from the couch. With a grin, he hurried us toward our room, making the most of the precious time we had left.

Next Chapter

[inquisimer]

Happy DADWC day Mer!! How for Isseya or another character of your choice the following quote from Paladin's Strength by T Kingfisher: "You are not a failure, you know, simply because you can't endure something unendurable."

THANK YOU FOR THE AMAZING PROMPT JACS it screamed grey warden, but especially for the hard choices Isseya has to endure ;-;

for @dadrunkwriting

-

She goes to be alone, after.

There aren't many places free of bother in Fortress Haine, but she finds one, down the steps from the griffons' tower. The breeze off the mountains carries their scent down after her and Isseya stifles a sob into her fist.

She has no right to cry. Not after what she just did. But she cannot stop the tears that pour down her cheeks or the aching burn in her throat. Her sorrow is the only noise--there are no sounds of roosting or grooming from the griffons above, not now that she's doomed them to such a terrible fate.

The grass around her wilts as the Fade responds to her grief and aimless magic spills from her fingertips. She crouches in the tower's shadow long enough for her legs to cramp, the stone digging harsh against her back.

She's too aware of her surroundings not to notice his approach. Padded feet step gently in the grass until his shadow falls over her face. Her eyes are closed against a painful reality, so she only hears him squat beside her, until Calien's gentle, calloused hands are guiding her into a tender embrace.

She stiffens. His comfort is far more than she deserves. She should be strung up; cast out for the darkspawn to take, for the vultures to claw at until her soul gave way to the Beyond and was doomed to whatever void the truly monstrous were damned to.

Calien holds her as she weeps; he does not say anything as her tears soak through his robes. Of all people, she supposes the Antivan Crow understands the grief of the unavoidable. There are things you must do to survive. There are things that break your heart and destroy your soul. Often, these things are the same.

"I'm a monster," she whispers hoarsely. Calien's hood rustles as he shakes his head.

"No more than I am," he murmurs, stroking the gray-streaked hair that spills over her shoulder. "Who handed you the tools?"

"It was a thing of my own creation. You had nothing to do with that."

He shrugs. It's beside the point and they both know it. Isseya rubs her eyes and struggles to sit up.

"How long did you hate yourself," she asks slowly, "after you made a deal with a demon for your life?"

Calien doesn't answer immediately. His silence is thoughtful, and something Isseya is used to. She knows he is not ignoring her, but searching out the words for the emotions she can feel in the way his heart pounds against her back.

"I don't know that I have," he finally says. His hand finds hers and he traces the staff-made callouses on her palm, the scars of a thousand battles and griffon bites over her knuckles. Isseya sobs a laugh, making a fist of the hand he's holding.

"Good sign for me, that."

"It's a Blight, Isseya," Calien says, not uncaring. "Wardens do unforgivable things to save the world. They are less irredeemable when thousands of lives persist because of it."

"And what of the lives ended?" she answers harshly. Calien just shakes his head.

"There is no philosophy that makes a Blight make sense. You know that."

"There is a difference between not making sense and--and this," she says the last word as a sob, gritting her teeth for some semblance of coherence. "This should never have happened. It's as unnatural as the darkspawn, accepted only because we have a veneer of control. We have no choice, but how are we better than them, if this is how we treat our own?"

"Perhaps we aren't," Calien says, a beat later. He tucks Isseya's head beneath his chin; the vibration of his voice against her skull is soothing as she does not deserve. "Perhaps we cannot be better than base, during a Blight. Perhaps we can do nothing more than survive. That does not make us bad, Isseya. It makes us people."

"It's not worth it," she whispers, new tears pricking at her throat. "I'd rather die."

His grip spasms as it tightens around her waist. "You don't mean that."

She does. But she's nothing if not good at concealing the toll this life takes on her, by now. She tilts her head to press a placating kiss at the hollow of his throat.

"No," she lies, leaning her head back against his chest. "But I'd have a place to put all of this guilt if I did."

[emwrites4u]

Silent Support

Trigger Warning! This is a story about miscarriage so if that triggers you I would not read. I want to explore the world of Harry Potter through different things. We all saw our trio come out strong but that doesn’t mean they didn’t face challenges like any adult would.

Hermione Granger faces the heartbreak of a miscarriage, struggling with the grief and uncertainty of how to face her family. Despite the overwhelming sadness, she finds solace in the unwavering support of those closest to her.

The quiet of the Burrow was the worst part. It was always warm here, filled with the sounds of her family’s laughter, the clatter of plates and cutlery, the hum of voices. It had always been her safe place, a sanctuary of love and comfort. But tonight, as she sat by the fire with a cup of tea in her hands, everything felt different.

Hermione Granger, usually so composed and strong, felt small. The weight of her grief was a constant pressure on her chest, as if the sorrow had become a part of her, creeping into every corner of her mind.

She hadn’t told her parents yet. She hadn’t told anyone.

Her body had betrayed her. The miscarriage had come unexpectedly—two weeks after she had finally learned she was pregnant. She had been filled with hope, with dreams of holding a baby, of seeing Ron become a father. But now, all that was gone, and Hermione was left with the emptiness.

The silence in the Burrow was suffocating. It was strange how the absence of noise could feel like such a loud thing. She felt isolated, alone with the weight of what had happened. She hadn’t even told Ron yet, not in a real way. The words stuck in her throat, and she couldn’t bring herself to say them. How could she? He had been so excited. So hopeful. She hadn’t known how to shatter that dream.

The sound of footsteps broke her thoughts, and she turned to see Ginny stepping into the room, a gentle smile on her face.

“Hermione?” she asked softly, her eyes searching Hermione’s face. “You alright?”

Hermione blinked, her hand tightening around the mug. “I—I don’t know. I just… I don’t know how to face anyone right now, Gin. How do I tell them what happened? What if they’re disappointed in me? What if they think I did something wrong?”

Ginny sat beside her without hesitation, her presence warm and steady. “Hermione, nothing about this is your fault. Not at all.” Her voice was soft, but firm, as if she were trying to convince Hermione of something she already knew. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t need to hide away.”

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, the tears threatening to spill over. “But I do. I feel like I’m supposed to be okay now, that it’s just something that happens and I should move on. But I don’t know how to move on. I don’t know how to explain this kind of loss.”

Ginny wrapped her arm around Hermione’s shoulders, pulling her close. “There’s no ‘right’ way to feel, Hermione. You don’t have to have all the answers. You’re allowed to grieve, and you’re allowed to take your time. And as for telling your family—take it one step at a time. You don’t have to do it all at once.”

“I feel so… broken,” Hermione whispered, the tears finally spilling over. “I wanted it so much, Ginny. I wanted to be a mother. I thought… I thought maybe it was my time, you know? But now… it feels like it’s all slipping away.”

Ginny didn’t say anything at first, just held her tighter. “I’m so sorry, Hermione,” she said after a moment, her voice thick with emotion. “I wish I could take away your pain.”

Hermione nodded, her chest tightening as she let herself feel everything that had been bottled up. She had been so afraid to grieve, afraid to show any vulnerability. But in Ginny’s embrace, she didn’t have to hide.

The door opened softly, and Ron appeared in the doorway. His expression faltered when he saw the tears on Hermione’s face, his usual warmth replaced with an unspoken concern. He crossed the room quickly, kneeling beside her.

“Hermione?” His voice cracked slightly. “Love, what’s wrong?”

Hermione shook her head, the words caught in her throat. Ron’s eyes scanned her face, desperate for an explanation. Ginny moved aside, allowing Ron to take her place by Hermione’s side.

“What happened?” Ron’s voice was soft, as if he already knew, but he needed her to say it.

Hermione met his eyes, the pain in her own reflected in his. “Ron, I lost the baby.” The words came out in a rush, but they felt like shards of glass, breaking her apart with every syllable. “I—I don’t know how to face this. How to face you. I wanted so much to give you this. I wanted to give you everything…”

Ron reached out, cupping her face in his hands, his thumb gently brushing away her tears. “Hermione,” he said, his voice filled with both sorrow and tenderness. “You didn’t do anything wrong. We didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not your fault. Please don’t think that.”

She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, feeling the overwhelming weight of the grief she had tried to bury for the past few days. “I just don’t know how to move forward, Ron. I don’t know how to face everyone. To tell them. To tell my parents, to tell your mum…”

Ron nodded, his voice steady, filled with the quiet strength that had always grounded her. “You don’t have to do anything until you’re ready, Hermione. We’ll do it together, when you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere. You’re not alone in this. We’ll face it together, every step.”

Hermione let out a breath, feeling a bit of the heaviness lift. It wasn’t going to be easy, but she wasn’t facing it alone. Ron and Ginny were here, and though the grief was still sharp, the quiet support around her made the pain more bearable.

Ginny gave her a soft smile, gently touching her shoulder. “You’ve got us, Hermione. You’ve always had us.”

The door opened once again, and this time, Harry stepped into the room, his face serious but kind. He had been waiting for his moment, for the right time to step in without crowding them. But when he saw the vulnerability in Hermione’s eyes, he moved forward with purpose.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry said, his voice thick with emotion as he sat beside her. He didn’t need to say anything else. They all understood. They were all hurting, in their own way. But Hermione could see the compassion in their eyes, the unwavering support they offered her.

“I don’t know what to say,” Hermione whispered, a sob breaking through her words.

Harry’s hand gently covered hers. “You don’t need to say anything. We’re here. We’ll be here when you’re ready to talk, when you’re ready to heal.”

Ron nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. “Just know we love you. We’re not going anywhere. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

Hermione looked between her three closest friends, feeling a quiet surge of gratitude. They were her family. They were her support, her strength. And as much as she ached, as much as the loss would remain in her heart, she knew that with them by her side, she could get through this.

It wouldn’t be easy, and the pain would last longer than she expected, but she didn’t have to carry it alone. They would help her face each day, one step at a time.

And when she was ready, when she could finally breathe again, they would be there to help her begin anew.

[namzii-rocks-grief]

Dear "Tesco" John,

I'm so sorry for your loss, lad. My sincerest condolences at this awful time. The loss of a loved one is hard to process, especially when they choose it. And she gave you no reason to be concerned about her wellbeing beforehand, so it must be a massive shock to your system. She was 3 months pregnant with your child, too. And you were the unfortunate one who discovered her hanging. That is an absolute head-fuck, that, mate.

After my "bestie" killed herself last year, I can only imagine how you must be feeling. She hung herself, too, but I was, fortunate, I suppose, that I knew her mental state and the risk she posed to herself. It was her 4th attempt, after all. But when it comes out of the blue like this, it's baffling, to say the least.

All these feelings & thoughts that make us feel uncomfortable & uneasy are crashing against our soul, grinding against our beliefs. We must ride this tide of uncertainty without restraints. A struggle we didn't choose to partake in yet here we are; drowning in an ocean of sorrow and despair, drifting down a fast-flowing river of grief towards a rocky, death-defying, unforgiving waterfall.

Sadness. Anger. Fear. Relief. Guilt. Shame. Denial. Indifference. Abandonment. Envy. Failure.

You're gonna block all that out, though, aren't you? You're gonna hide away from your emotions and suppress how you feel, right? You can not process how you feel, so you will numb your pain.

And so the pattern continues...

When I saw you earlier, you were standing outside Tesco with a can of beer in your hand. You're wearing your brave face. I saw your lip quiver when I asked you about what happened to her. I read in the local news about it; the local friendly, homeless drunk had passed away, but the report surrounding her death was very vague. A 35 year old was swiftly arrested but released as there were no suspicious circumstances. You spoke very matter-of-fact, completely devoid of any emotion.

She hung herself. You found her. You tried to save her but it was too late. Fuck it. It's done, init.

You clearly just want to numb down & forget. And you use illicit drugs and alcohol to do so. You use denial to dismiss your very justified feelings because you've really never been taught how to feel, process, and then let go.

If we deny and suppress how we feel, those feelings manifest physically, emotionally, mentally, fiscally, etc

For you, your trauma manifests as addiction, homelessness & isolation. You're estranged from your family. You have no contact with your children. You are an addict, you're homeless, and you're going nowhere fast.

And so the pattern continues...

You were standing outside Tesco, being your usual friendly self. You've got a can of beer in your hand that you're hoping will last. You're hoping someone will buy you some food & maybe some more beer. You're probably hoping to receive some money donations, too, from the passer-bys so you can buy something a little stronger, no doubt.

I can't afford to buy you any food or a beer today, unfortunately. It's my "cash no flow" week. I'm reduced to using my Tesco club card & Nectar points, 'til the end of the week.

You are a talented artist with big dreams of moving to Japan. Japan, the home of anime, the land of the rising sun where you hope to live & find work where you can create, get paid & possibly inspire others to achieve their dreams.

Yet, you're standing outside Tesco right now. You're pretending that you are okay, as you take small sips from that can of beer that you're clinging onto for dear life.

I've lived up in these there hills for almost 7 years now. I'm from the city, 10 miles west of here. I've settled in this semi-rural town that's becoming a bit ghetto now. History shows us that this little town rose to prominence as an international centre of textile manufacture as it was a boomtown during the Industrial Revolution of the 19th century. It's a hilly little landscape that's got a fascinating history with some strangely interesting people thrown in the mix, and they're from all walks of life.

You were one of the first people I met here. A young, skinny, homeless guy who was trying his best with the rubbish hand he was dealt. You told me how you'd lost your way after your long-term relationship broke down. You, a young guy who had latched on to someone else in the hope of love and had moved into her home. You, a young guy who had planted his seeds without setting his roots prior. So, when the relationship inevitably imploded, you found you had nowhere to go except the cold, harsh streets of this little hilly town. Plus, you are estranged from your mum & siblings due to issues with your step-family so you couldn't ever go back home, in your eyes. Your family ties are fraught with mis-trust & uncertainty, and you've admitted that you've made it difficult for your family as you just push them away, as it's easier for you that way.

And so the pattern continues...

I noticed your sketches for sale on display first. I respected that you had a good little hustle there. And that you recognised your talent but stayed humble at the same time. Once we got chatting, you didn't shy away from your role in your downfall. And you were quick to not place the blame on others. You seemed to put it all on yourself, which was quite refreshing, if I'm honest. You did not seek sympathy from anyone. The way you spoke was just very matter-of-fact. I respected your honesty about the struggles you've faced and the problems you've created by your own refusal to feel. And to take any accountability for your emotions.

You prefer to experience numbness.

I remember not long after we first met that I saw you walking down the main road. You were as high as a kite. It didn't register with you at that time that our paths had crossed earlier in Tesco's carpark even though we had talked, and I had bought you a sandwich. And I remember feeling disappointed in you as we walked by each other. Your eyes were glazed over and empty. By this point, you had shared with me about your Japan dream, and it made me feel sad as I realised then that you'd probably never make it. Your chances were getting slimmer each & every time you got high and/or drunk, even though you've got the skills & talent to be successful.

And so the pattern continues...

You're probably still standing outside Tesco even though they'll be shutting up for the night. You're probably still clinging to that same can of beer. Unless someone has been kind enough to replace it with a fresh one. You're probably still pretending like you're not burning in Hell, too. Still wearing your brave face...

"Like a man should."

Something has got to give, though, lad. You have to make changes if you want your dream to become your reality. You have to allow yourself to feel, no matter how painful it is, then you can let it go. But as long as you carry on suppressing your emotions, the pattern will continue, and you will be stuck in this rut until the day you die.

You deserve so much better, but talent alone isn't enough. There is only one person stopping you from achieving your goals... and that's you. Luckily, you're in control of you, so make the necessary changes and get the help and support you need, then you can thrive.

I sincerely hope it works out well for you. I truly do.

Look after yourself, yeah.

And, good luck.

©️namziirocks

[fantasywriternimzy]

The Dancing Lady

Arthur was riding the night train, returning from Paris to his old town. His business has failed. He was drowning in his sorrow, he couldn't do anything but look out the window, but he couldn't see anything but the reflection of the lights inside. As the train got closer and closer to his stop the pain in his chest grew bigger. What kind of son goes home with bad news for the holidays? 

The train reached the outer skirts of town the train stopped, where the graveyard stood. It was dark, filled with grief. His mother was lying there somewhere too, he didn't know where he didn't make it to the funeral. As he was thinking about her, her lavender scent, her copper locks, and a little too dirty clothes, he saw her. 

At first, he wasn't sure what he was seeing. She looked too eternal, too otherworldly to be true. But the woman was there, filled with light in the darkness, in her pointe shoes, dancing on the graves. Arthur thought he had gone mad, but she stayed there dancing in the moonlight no matter how hard he squinted his eyes or shook his head.

“Have you heard of The Dancing Lady, Sir?” asked a flimsy voice.

“What?” Arthur was so lost in his thoughts he didn't even notice how rude he was or that a kid sat down, next to him.

“The Dancing Lady, Sir.” the boy repeated, “Have you heard of her?”

Arthur was sure the kid was talking about the woman he just saw dancing on the graves.

“No” he gave a short answer.

“People say she was a beautiful ballerina, the most talented one this town has ever seen. And we have a lot of dancers.” The boy was filled with excitement as he was talking.

It was true, Arthur’s hometown was one of the few that had a dancing school. It wasn't as big as the others, but it was good enough for the surrounding towns to send their girls here to learn. 

“She was hardworking and she danced The Nutcracker like no one before! Do you know The Nutcracker, Sir?”

“I've even seen it at the Opera, in Paris.” Arthur said proudly, but on the inside it was another part of him, filled with sadness. One of his richer friends took him for his birthday. It was the most spectacular thing he had ever seen. The kid looked at him with stars in his eyes. 

“I've also seen it, but only on the town square at the Christmas Parade. And between us, most of the girls are not very good. Lisa fell last year, her bow fell out of her hair, it was pretty funny.” The boy giggled. 

Arthur nodded like he knew who the hell was Lisa. 

“Anyway, The Dancing Lady was so hardworking, she got accepted to the Opera, and she was supposed to star in The Nutcracker on opening night! But the night before she was supposed to leave she went to the school to practice more. The old school caught fire that night and she couldn't escape. That’s why my Mama doesn't let me dance, she says it's too dangerous.” 

Both Arthur and the boy looked at the graveyard again. Arthur was convinced that the little kid could also see the glowing woman, dancing around. 

“People say that she never went to Heaven, because God told her that she could not dance there, so she decided to stay on Earth and dance in the graveyard, using the Moon as a stage light.”

The train started moving again and when Arthur looked outside to see the Lady one last time, she vanished.

“Have you ever seen her? The Dancing Lady?” he asked the boy.

“Never, Sir.”

“Alfred, where are you?” a woman shouted in a weak voice.

“I'm here Mama” the kid waved in the direction the sound was coming from.

The lady came in Arthur’s vision and he saw an old woman, who looked way too old to be Alfred’s mother. She was wearing clothes that were too light for the cold and was carrying a big sack on her back. In contrast, Alfred was wearing a big winter coat, too big for a boy his age.

“Do not bother this young man, come, the next will be our stop.” She scolded him while looking apologetically at Arthur.

“But Mama!” Alfred kicked with his little legs on the seat, they didn't even reach the ground.

“I am making soup tonight, come on.” The lady reached her free hand out to the boy.

“I love soup!” the boy’s eyes light up, before taking the woman’s hand and hopping off of the seat. “Goodbye, Sir! Merry Christmas!” he waved at Arthur, before getting off of the train.

“Merry Christmas” Arthur muttered to himself.

Soup. Alfred looked so happy to have soup, it was his favourite, Arthur didn't understand. Growing up, soup meant that they did not have enough money to buy meat or anything for that matter. They only had meat for special occasions, like Christmas or birthdays. His family got it for cheaper from their neighbour who was nice enough to save them some nice pieces after he slaughtered his pigs. 

When he was Alfred’s age, he already knew that. He wondered what it was like to be growing up in the bliss of ignorance as the train reached its final stop.

To Be Continued...

AN: I hope you liked it, I know it's not perfect but I was too inspired not to write this. ^^ (Also forgive me for any mistakes, English is not my first language and I'm a little dr*nk.)

[wordspinning]

Chapter 52

“Ellie, darlin’,” Tommy soothes her, eyes dark and full of sorrow. “Listen to me.” He brings his uninjured hand up to cradle her cheek, and searches her face seriously. “I don’t know where you got the idea that you’re the sole arbiter of my decisions. I love you to death, darlin’, but there were a whole lot more factors that went into that trip than just you, alright?”

Ellie can’t summon the acknowledgement he’s asking for in response, the knot of dread still cinched tight. He forces a thin smile, the kind that looks like it hurts. “Ellie,” he tries again, brow furrowed resolutely. “I woulda been out there one way or another regardless of whatever stunt you did or didn’t pull. Joel and Maria both asked me to come back, I said no, that was my choice. I don’t wanna see you putting it on yourself, you hear me?”

“Why didn’t you— come back?” she asks, quickly approaching an inconsolable level of heartache over this conversation, knowing that there’s no chance he’ll hear her apology, if he even gives her a chance to get it out.

He measures a deep breath, studying her for a moment. “A lotta reasons, Ellie, and they weren’t all good ones. I was angry, and scared, and I felt like I had to be the one to get things done, got tired of sittin’ around, and I’m sorry—“

She shakes her head, clenching her jaw against the next wave of bitter tears. She knows him better than that, knows that for every messed-up reason why he was out there, there were ten valid ones, but she can’t help but believe this is still, somehow, all her fault. “Stop apologizing, it’s my turn,” she summons a weak attempt at levity, hoping to alleviate his worry, and wraps her arms around him, resting her forehead at his shoulder. 

“And I don’t wanna hear it,” he remonstrates her quietly, returning her embrace.

“I’m sorry,” she says anyway.

“Hush.”

He holds her for a long minute, until the tears are coming a little slower, swallowed by the soft collar of his flannel. When he finally speaks, his voice is steady and gentle, resolved. 

“Darlin’, what we had down there— I helped build it, and I want it back. For you, for Gabe and Maria and myself and Joel and everyone else. I was doing what I thought was right. Don’t take on more responsibility than is yours to carry, alright?”

She doesn’t know how she’s supposed to do that, not when his love for her, for all of them, is so utterly terrifying in its potential. But there’s a seriousness in his voice that tells her he’s really asking something from her here, expecting her assent, and she knows she has to try to let this go, for him. She heaves a breath all the way down into the base of her lungs and pulls away momentarily to meet his gaze.

“Okay,” she manages, heartsick over the look in his eyes, worn and weary and carrying the shadows of pain endured for too long. “I just— I’m sorry you got hurt. I didn’t— I don’t want it to happen again.” 

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” His voice tightens just a little, the corner of his mouth twitching in a wounded smile, and they both fall back into a gentle embrace. 

“It isn’t,” she protests weakly.

“It will be,” he murmurs, and Ellie tries to believe him.

“Feel better, okay?” Her voice is smaller than she meant for it to be, tinged with desperation and heavy with grief. She feels the tension in his shoulders give all at once, and his next breath is a little shaky in his lungs. 

“I will,” he says.

She takes it as a promise. 

[likemosaic]

“now  i’ve  got  something  i  want  to  protect.  it’s  you.” Also leaves this here from zenos,

howl's moving castle sentence starters. / @aetheryic

a lover's words, and too sweet for her taste. tsuyu's mouth curls in old habit--though she likes to think she's making good progress in diluting her bitter crone's heart down into something softer for gosetsu's sake, the presence of zenos galvus (yae no longer, she supposes, from what news has come to doma in the time since she's become tsuyu) makes all her old wounds flare: including the deep sorrow of a young woman unloved by all in the world, even her only patron. zenos' clear disinterest in a woman who could not fight him had been better than what she was used to. better than her brother's torment, her husband's drunkenness, her father's resentment.

but the cruelty rises too, unbidden, at seeing his face after all this time. the emptiness in his eyes, not unlike her own. "protect?" tsuyu spits the word, her white hair blowing gently in the wind. her heart hammers in her chest, old fears rising up, but gosetsu stands in the distance. tsuyu knows he would never let zenos hurt her. "perhaps this is the tale you spun to your new eorzean compatriots to gain their trust. but i know the truth of who we are, and the monstrous sickness we carry." she turns her face away, as if disgusted, but mostly it's grief, her mouth a tight line of distress. once, zenos was the most powerful man she knew, and cowering behind him was the safest place she could possibly be, but now? where is his armor, his sword, his cutthroat demeanor? worse, what is he thinking about her? white hair, no makeup, a practical traveler's outfit. pathetic, both of them.

"if you're thinking about assisting with the assassins after my bounty, then do not. garlemald is a ruin, now; those men are merely desperate for money. and gosetsu will continue to cut down however many desperate garlean bounty hunters as he must." she levels her sharp eyes at him. "i doubt you capable of the same. nor do you have any sway in your homeland anymore. we are both traitors to our nation, after all, and have been disposed of as such. it must pain you so." but tsuyu does pity him, and her words aren't entirely mocking. does he have his own gosetsu, she wonders? could he stomach the indignity of being loved, as she has? it's difficult to imagine him so.

[lezandroaraujo]

You’re gonna leave soon but I don’t want to believe it

I may have been young but I knew what it meant, I had to be strong even though my heart was bent

What I can’t understand is why everyone thought I wasn’t old enough to watch you leave,

I may have been a kid but I had to be brave though my tears wouldn’t be hid

You left a daughter to cry in the arms of her child

Why on that day, when the sun was supposed to smile?

It’s supposed to be a happy day, I guess the clouds had another plan

There were no fireworks, all we had was rain, it was like the sky was crying too, sharing our strain

The sky had no hue of blue, only grey on that day

The wind whispered sorrow, as if it too had something to say

Raindrops fell like tears from heaven, each one a silent plea

For the pain we felt, for the loss that was to be

The streets were empty, the world seemed still

As if it too felt the void, the sudden chill

The flowers in the garden bowed their heads low

Even they seemed to understand the grief we couldn’t show

At the end of it all, it left me with a vision so clear

Of how that day will always be, every time it comes near

A day marked by shadows, by memories so deep

A day when even the sky couldn’t help but weep

And every anniversary after, it will be exactly the same

The clouds will gather, the sky will refrain

From showing its blue, from letting the sun shine

As if it remembers, just like I do, that you were once mine

Each year, the rain will fall, the wind will sigh

Echoing the tears and the questions of why

Why on that day, when joy should reign

We are left with sorrow, with an unending pain

[wordsofrowan]

From Ashes to Embers

Chapter 9 - Fate Gives Second Chances

I walk alone through the deserted streets, my footsteps echoing in the emptiness, each one blending with the rhythmic pitter-patter of raindrops. The weight of the Cat Miraculous clutched tightly in my trembling hand matches the heaviness in my heart.

Tikki and Plagg, huddled together in my pocket, seem to sense the somberness that hangs in the air. Plagg, usually the embodiment of mischievousness, now wears a pained expression. His voice quivers as he speaks, his words heavy with guilt. "This is all my fault," he confesses, his tears merging with the rain. "I should've stopped him from leaving."

My steps falter, and I raise my eyes to the stormy sky, raindrops mixing with the tears that stream down my face. "Plagg," I whisper, my voice barely audible, choked with sorrow. "He made his own choice, Plagg. We couldn't force him to stay, no matter how much it hurts."

Plagg's tears continue to fall, his small form trembling with grief. "But he was my Kitten, Marinette. We were supposed to be there for each other, always."

My heart constricts with pain as I turn to face Plagg, my gaze mirroring the depths of my sorrow. "I know, Plagg," I murmur, my voice filled with a heavy sadness. "I know and I’m so sorry, I wish things didn’t happen this way."

I continue my solitary walk through the pouring rain, each droplet a reflection of the tears that fall from my eyes. Thoughts whirl in my mind, replaying everything that just happened, the hurt and confusion still raw within me. The rain washes over me as if attempting to cleanse the wounds left by the shattered unity we once shared.

As I make my way to the hotel, the weight in my heart grows heavier with each step. Just as I reach the front steps, I notice Adrien standing there, his expression reflecting the same inner turmoil that consumes me. From the corner of my eye, I see our classmates rushing out of the hotel.

A black car pulls up beside us, and the door swings open. "Adrien, get in the car immediately. I should never have listened to your friend. This city is far too dangerous," a stern voice commands. I watch as Adrien approaches the car, his hand resting on top of the door, his eyes lingering on us.

"Come on, dude!" Nino calls out. "You have to stay!"

"I'm sorry, Nino. I have to go," Adrien responds, his gaze shifting toward me. "And I'm sorry, Marinette. You fought so hard for me to be here. I wouldn't have minded being stuck here a little longer with a friend like you."

Adrien slides into the car, taking a seat. "My father was right. I should have never come to New York," he murmurs, his words carried away by the sound of the rain. The car door closes, and he disappears into the night, leaving me behind.

A single tear escapes my eye, joining the raindrops that fall around me. First, Chat Noir, and now Adrien. What more would I have to endure? I feel a pair of arms on my shoulders and I raise my gaze to meet Alya's eyes, filled with a mix of sadness and anger.

"What is wrong with you, Marinette? Couldn't you see that he was waiting for you to ask him to stay?" Alya's voice is filled with frustration.

I clenched my fist at my sides, my voice tinged with bitterness, “What do you want from me, Alya? He made his choice what did you expect me to do?!”

Alya's anger flares up, her gaze piercing. "It doesn't matter what I expected you to do! What is Adrien to you? Just a friend or something more? Now is the time to be honest with yourself, Marinette! Do you want him to leave or do you want him to stay?"

"Oh my god! Can you just shut up and actually listen to me? I couldn’t do anything in that situation. Whether he left or stayed, was entirely up. to him, there's nothing I could've done. You keep insisting he's more than just a friend!" I hissed, my voice trembling with frustration, "But he's not! I've moved on, I'm not hung up on Adrien anymore! I have my own life, my own identity, and my world doesn't revolve around some guy. And while we're on the topic of blaming, take a good look at yourself. If you hadn't pulled that stupid stunt back in the museum, maybe we wouldn't be trapped in this mess now. Maybe if you actually listened to me from the beginning then Adrien wouldn't be leaving. But no you're so wrapped up in this idea of me and Adrien being together that you can't see through this stupid fog you've surrounded yourself in."

I let out a heavy sigh, feeling the tears welling up in the corner of my eyes. "You know what, Alya? I'm exhausted. I'm tired of you dismissing my feelings about Adrien and trying to push us together. I can't handle this anymore. I can't handle you anymore."

Gently pushing her arms off my shoulder, I turned away from the girl who used to be my closest friend. The New York City streets stretched out before me, raindrops starting to fall, mirroring the sadness within me. I walked away, each step heavy with the weight of our broken friendship. The rain washed over me, blending with the tears that finally escaped. At that moment, it felt like the world was echoing the ache in my heart.

I treaded through the desolate streets of the city, the intensity of the night weighing heavily on my mind. The relentless rain drenched my clothes, causing them to cling uncomfortably to my body, but my focus remained fixed on the turmoil within me. Each step I took was a testament to the determination that burned within my soul.

As I continued my solitary journey, a flicker of light caught my attention. I turned my gaze towards an electronic billboard, and my heart skipped a beat as the image of Hawkmoth materialized before me. His menacing presence loomed over the city, his voice echoing through the rain-soaked night.

"Ladybug! Chat Noir! I am in New York too," Hawkmoth's image taunted, his voice filled with malicious intent. "If you don't want the party to be ruined, your only option is to hand your Miraculous over to me!"

The weight of Hawkmoth's threat bore down on me, threatening to crush my spirit and shatter my resolve. Rain mixed with my tears as I stood frozen in the midst of the downpour, feeling utterly helpless against the forces that sought to undermine everything I held dear.

The ring in my hand felt like a symbol of both power and vulnerability. It represented the miraculous abilities that had been bestowed upon me, but it also symbolized the immense responsibility and sacrifice that came with wielding such power. The tears streamed down my face, mingling with the raindrops, as despair threatened to consume me.

It was at this moment that Uncanny Valley appeared before me, calling out my name. "Marinette Dupain-Cheng, New York needs Ladybug!" Uncanny Valley's voice resonated through the chaos, commanding my attention.

My voice trembled with doubt as I responded, "I-I'm sorry... I-I-I can't help you. I don't know her!"

“​​Your suit's quantum masking is meant to confuse-” As Uncanny Valley's form shifted and transformed, their disguise fell away, revealing Aeon in her full humanoid form, “-human minds, Ladybug. I am not human!”

Beside me, Tikki and Plagg gasped in astonishment, mirroring my own astonishment at Aeon's revelation.

Aeon continued, their words resounding in my ears, "The Miraclonizer is no ordinary villain. He is an akumatized Techno-Pirate, a creation of Hawk Moth himself. And if Hawk Moth is here in New York, we cannot defeat him without the girl who possesses the power to fix everything.

Doubt crept into my heart as I grappled with the enormity of the situation. Could I truly step into the role of Ladybug without my partner, Chat Noir, by my side? The thought of facing the challenges alone was daunting, and I struggled to imagine a world without him. “I don't know if I can do this... I can't imagine being Ladybug without him.”

"This, I can fix!" she said with a smile. 

A faint smile curved my lips as I extended my hand, offering the Cat Miraculous to Aeon, trusting them with the weighty responsibility it held.

"Okay," I declared, my voice firm with newfound resolve. "Take it. I trust you with the Cat Miraculous."

Aeon accepted the Miraculous, their wings fluttering with renewed purpose. With a nod, they soared into the night sky, disappearing from sight, ready to fulfill their mission.

Left standing alone, a mix of uncertainty and determination swirled within me. Though I still felt the weight of doubt, I reminded myself of the unwavering love I held for my city and the unwavering belief that I could overcome any obstacle that came my way.

"I may not have Chat Noir by my side," I whispered to myself, my voice carrying a hint of determination. "But I am Ladybug, the protector of Paris. I will do whatever it takes to keep this city safe." With that, I called out my transformation and swung through the city. 

It didn't take long for my keen eyes to spot Sparrow, frantically evading a barrage of rockets. Without hesitation, I leaped into action, extending my yoyo to snatch him from the clutches of his pursuers. Once we were safely out of harm's way, my mind raced to formulate a plan.

"We've got to break the object where the Akuma is. I bet it's in his handcuffs. He already had them on at the museum!" I exclaimed, my voice filled with determination as I pieced together the puzzle in my mind.

But Sparrow had more revelations to share. "Something else has changed! He was wearing the necklace Lafayette gave to Washington!"

The realization struck me like a bolt of lightning, and a gasp escaped my lips. "A Miraculous!" The pieces fell into place, unraveling the source of Sparrow's newfound powers.

I heard a soft thud behind us and saw AstroChat and Uncanny Valley appear behind us, their presence adding to our resolve. With a brilliant flash of light, AstroChat transformed back into Chat Noir, his confident stance reaffirming our unity.

"That would explain his power upgrade! Good insight, M'lady!" Chat Noir's words carried a mixture of relief and admiration for Sparrow's keen observation.

Relief flooded through me as I stood before Chat Noir, my loyal partner, my unwavering support. Without hesitation, I closed the distance between us, enveloping him in a tight embrace. With gentle strokes, I wiped away the tears that had welled up in my eyes.

"Don't ever do that to me again!" I pleaded, my voice trembling with a potent blend of relief, concern, and an undeniable affection that bound us together.

Chat Noir's features softened, regret etching across his face. "I'm sorry. I was so afraid to disappoint you that I didn't dare to tell you the truth. I was so stupid."

In that intimate moment, unspoken words filled the air, a silent understanding passing between us. It was a bond forged through countless battles, a testament to our unwavering trust and unbreakable friendship.

With a quiet but resolute fist bump, we sealed our unity, a symbolic gesture affirming our commitment to each other and our duty as heroes. Together, we would face the challenges that lay ahead, safeguarding our city, seeking the truth, and putting an end to the chaos caused by the Akuma.

Hawk Moth's voice filled the air, a sinister ultimatum hanging in the balance. "Ladybug! Chat Noir! If the rocket takes off because of YOU, a world war would be declared! Unless you give me your Miraculous of course! You have five minutes! Tick-tock, tick-tock," Hawk Moth's taunting words echoed through the room.

Time was running out, and the weight of our responsibility pressed heavily upon me. I turned to Chat Noir, determination burning in my eyes.

"The first thing we need to do is seize Miraclonizer's Miraculous. That way, we'll be able to break the spell and free the adults' heroes, and in turn, they'll help us de-akumatize him!" I outlined our plan, my voice steady despite the urgency of the situation.

Sparrow, with his deep voice resonating, interjected, "But we can't get anywhere near him!"

Chat Noir, ever the optimist, retorted, "Nothing's impossible for Ladybug!"

"Lucky Charm!" I called upon the power of my Miraculous, my mind racing as I awaited the arrival of the chosen object.

To my surprise, a keychain materialized before me. Uncanny Valley, observing from the sidelines, couldn't help but comment on the peculiar item.

"So we're supposed to defeat the most powerful superheroes with a keychain? Interesting!" Uncanny Valley remarked, her voice filled with curiosity.

Undeterred, I clutched the keychain, determined to unlock its hidden potential. "Yes, well... as soon as I figure out how to use it."

The pressure intensified as Miraclonizer's countdown continued. Time was slipping away, and we needed a breakthrough.

A sudden inspiration struck me, and I turned to Uncanny Valley. "Uncanny! Can you show me how the Statue of Liberty is built?"

With her powers, Uncanny Valley presented an image of the iconic statue, revealing a crucial detail. "Look! There's a ladder inside the arm that leads to the platform!"

Chat Noir's excitement was palpable. "Awesome! But how are we gonna get inside when there's an army of superheroes attacking us?"

Sparrow and I exchanged a knowing glance. "Doorman!" we said in unison.

With his unique ability of tele-doortation, Doorman could be the key to our success. But there was a problem – he had withdrawn from his heroic duties, driven solely by his own curiosity.

Undeterred, I formulated a plan. I spotted a cardboard box and a newspaper nearby, and I gestured to Sparrow. "Sparrow! Grab a cardboard box and that newspaper and make a wrapped gift box!"

Sparrow swiftly complied, constructing the disguise we needed. Meanwhile, I turned to Uncanny Valley. "Uncanny, unlock the door to the Statue of Liberty with your powers."

As Sparrow and Uncanny Valley took their leave, reverting back to their civilian forms as Jess and Aeon, they captured a final moment of unity in a selfie.

"Dear sir," Jess began, holding the gift box, "we got you a little gift to thank you for our day at the museum! We hope you enjoy the surprise!"

I bid them farewell, wishing them luck as they flew off to Liberty Island. Our plan was set in motion.

In a serendipitous turn of events, Doorman emerged through a portal, drawn by the curiosity sparked by the gift box. His eyes lit up as he read the note. "Kids? 'We know how fascinating you think keys are, so we hope you like this.' Signed, Jess and Aeon! Of course! That's where I should've started!"

He opened the door with his power. 

In the heart of Paris, Chat Noir and I found ourselves inside the iconic Eiffel Tower, our determination driving us forward. We searched for the key that held the power to unlock the hidden safe within the Statue.

"Here it is! That key! The one that opens the safe hidden in the Statue!!" Doorman's excitement was palpable as he grabbed the key and made a beeline for the door. Using his power he made a portal to the Statue of Liberty. We quickly followed him. But there was no time to waste. Chat Noir and I swiftly intercepted him, our focus unwavering. We immobilized Doorman, ensuring he wouldn't interfere with our mission to protect Paris.

"NO!! At least let me see what's inside the safe!" His plea fell on deaf ears as we pressed on, driven by our duty to safeguard the city.

"Only a few seconds left!" I called out, my voice filled with a sense of determination.

Meanwhile, at the Statue of Liberty in New York City, Sparrow and Uncanny Valley soared through the sky, their focus fixed on Miraclonizer perched atop the statue. His presence was a constant reminder of the looming threat we faced.

Back on the stairs of the Statue of Liberty, Chat Noir and I pushed ourselves to the limit, our shared determination propelling us higher and higher.

In a pivotal moment, I managed to seize the Eagle Miraculous from Miraclonizer's grasp. The villain was unmasked, his true identity revealed as Techlonizer, stripped of his malicious powers.

With the Miraculous in my possession, I proclaimed, "I'll take that! SPARROW!" I swiftly threw the Eagle Miraculous to Sparrow, who landed with remarkable agility. Liiri, the kwami of the Eagle Miraculous, materialized before us.

Liiri greeted Sparrow with a playful tone, "Hello, fledgling! All you have to say is Liiri, wings of Liberty!"

Sparrow, now Jess, embraced her newfound power, uttering the transformation phrase with unwavering resolve.

"Liiri-" Sparrow started as Jess reverted to her civilian form, her name hanging in the air, "-Wings of Liberty!"

 Jess transformed into the mighty Eagle, her wings unfurling with grace and strength. The power surged through her, uniting us in our shared purpose. Eagle called out her power phrase turning all of the heroes back to their normal selves. 

As the battle reached its climactic peak, the moon cast its ethereal glow upon Majestia, illuminating her as she transformed back into her true self. Her radiance pierced through the darkness, signaling the restoration of her powers.

At the same time, amidst the bustling streets of New York City, Knightowl emerged from the shadows, his heroic form giving way to his civilian identity. The sight of his return instilled a renewed sense of hope and security in the hearts of the city's inhabitants. They found solace in his unwavering dedication to their protection.

As Techlonizer's menacing ultimatum hung in the air, my heart pounded with determination. Ladybug and Chat Noir stood side by side, united in our refusal to surrender our Miraculous. His demand echoed, but our resolve remained unyielding.

"Ladybug! Chat Noir! This is your last chance to give me your Miraculous!" Techlonizer's voice reverberated, attempting to shake our determination.

With unwavering eyes locked on each other, Chat Noir and I exchanged a silent understanding. Our commitment to protecting Paris and its Miraculous was unbreakable. Together, we responded, our voices filled with unwavering conviction, "Never!"

But time was against us. The rocket, a symbol of impending chaos, loomed closer to the moon, threatening to unleash havoc upon the world. Panic threatened to grip us, but we couldn't afford to falter. We needed a solution, and we needed it quickly.

In a breathtaking twist of fate, Majestia emerged from the depths of space, her presence radiating immense power. With incredible strength, she intercepted the rocket's path, diverting its course away from disaster. Chat Noir and I watched in awe, inspired by her unwavering determination and resolve.

Refocusing our attention on Techlonizer, we launched our coordinated attack. Chat Noir summoned the cataclysmic power within him, aiming for Techlonizer's gauntlets, while Knightowl swooped in to aid us. Our combined efforts left Techlonizer defenseless and bewildered, revealing his true identity as Techno-Pirate.

As Techno-Pirate stood vulnerable before us, Knightowl swiftly swept me off my feet, carrying me to safety. In his strong embrace, I felt a surge of gratitude and reassurance. We were not alone in this fight; we had allies who stood beside us, ready to support and protect us.

With the villain's transformation unraveled, it was my moment to seize. With my yo-yo in hand, I skillfully captured the malevolent akuma, its presence bound by the strength of my will. "Time to de-evilize!" I declared with unwavering determination, releasing the akuma and watching it transform into a delicate butterfly, free from its corrupted state.

The miraculous magic surged forth, its radiant glow sweeping through the city. In its wake, the once-broken fragments of Paris were restored, the wounds healed, and the chaos brought to an end. The city breathed a collective sigh of relief, the harmonious melody of its revived spirit echoing through the streets.

Techno-Pirate, now stripped of his ill-gotten powers, stood defeated and disoriented. Justice had prevailed, and the consequences of his actions awaited him. He was led away, his reign of chaos coming to an end.

The battle had come to an end and the four of us watched as the adult heroes dealt with putting away Techno-Pirate. Eagle turned to look at me and then began removing the necklace. “I should probably give this back.”

I shook my head and held out my hand signaling for Eagle to stop. "Keep it. I know you'll use it well," I said, my gaze meeting Eagle’s. 

Eagle, now revealed as Jess looked over at Knightowl. Her eyes filled with uncertainty, and she voiced her concerns, "I've disobeyed again, which means... I'll never get my weapons back, right?"

Knightowl, whose support for Sparrow had grown, stepped forward, dispelling her doubts. "With the powers of the Miraculous, you won't need them anymore. And I was wrong. My little Sparrow is ready to become a fearsome Eagle," Knightowl reassured her, a glimmer of pride in her eyes.

Gratitude washed over Sparrow's face as she embraced Knightowl. The deep-rooted bond between them was evident, even as Sparrow quickly corrected herself, "Thank you, Mom! I mean, thank you, sir."

Knightowl's response was filled with acceptance and understanding. "It doesn't matter anymore. With this new suit, everyone now knows Sparrow is a female, not a male. And that the legendary original Knightowl and Sparrow are long gone," she explained, removing her mask and revealing her true self.

Her voice shifted from its deep tone to a normal one, a symbolic transformation mirroring her acceptance of her identity. "Maybe it's a sign. That the time has come to embrace who we really are," Knightowl continued, her words resonating with newfound freedom.

Majestia, watching the scene unfold, expressed her gratitude for the inspiration Sparrow had provided. "And even though it still worries us, the only way for you to grow is for us to let you take chances. Thank you for inspiring them," Majestia acknowledged, her regal presence radiating warmth.

Knightowl, humbled by her own misjudgment, humbly apologized. "And please forgive us for misjudging you," she implored, a tinge of remorse lacing her words.

Watching Jess and Aeon, I felt a sense of unity and pride well up in me. Chat Noir, Eagle, Uncanny Valley, and I stood together, recognizing the power of forgiveness and growth. The unspoken bond we shared, forged through countless battles, was reinforced by the collective realization that second chances could pave the way for transformation.

With a shared determination, we raised our fists, our hands colliding in a resounding pound. It was a symbol of unity, acceptance, and our commitment to face the challenges ahead as a united front.

Perched atop the Statue of Liberty's torch, my thoughts swirled with a mix of relief and uncertainty. Uncanny Valley stood beside me, her powers of illusion and memory manipulation offering a solution to our secret identities conundrum.

"Uncanny, what about our secret identities?" I voiced my concern, my voice tinged with a hint of worry. The weight of our responsibilities as superheroes always loomed over us, and the thought of our true identities being exposed filled me with a sense of vulnerability.

Uncanny Valley flashed me a reassuring smile, her eyes brimming with determination. "Don't worry! Once we say goodbye, I'll erase this information from my memory," she assured me, her words laced with the unwavering commitment we shared as allies.

Gratitude welled up within me as I pulled Uncanny Valley into a tight embrace. Her presence had been instrumental in bringing us back together, reuniting Ladybug and Chat Noir as a formidable team. I held onto her momentarily, cherishing the bond we had formed, before releasing her with a heartfelt "Thank you."

AstroChat, reverting back to his regular self, landed beside us, his usual charismatic demeanor shining through. His words carried a mixture of lightheartedness and sincere loyalty as he bid me farewell. "I'll see you back in Paris, M'lady!" he exclaimed, a twinkle of excitement in his eyes.

With a nod, I acknowledged AstroChat's words, acknowledging the distance that would soon separate us. We had a shared understanding, knowing that our paths would cross again, but for now, duty called us to different corners of the world.

As Uncanny Valley and AstroChat took to the sky, their forms disappearing into the distance, I watched them go with a mixture of emotions. Parting ways was bittersweet, yet the knowledge that we had each other's backs gave me strength.

I decided to head back to the hotel. Once I got there I saw the Parisian news was on, and my attention was captured by the familiar voice of Nadja. Her words echoed through the air, highlighting the heroic efforts of Ladybug and Chat Noir in a city far from home. The sight of a magnificent statue, depicting Ladybug, Chat Noir, Uncanny Valley, and Eagle, filled me with pride and a sense of accomplishment.

XoXo Rowan