#something something my mother's rage is lit within me

[minsyal]

Until the End

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

SPOILER WARNING!! This has A LOT of spoilers for the next season of the show.

Summary: Aemond informs his wife of his impending battle. (Sorry if it’s kinda bad, just an idea after I read the book and I mean, he’s dreamy in a troubled kinda way.)

“A fortnight, then.”

Flame-lit logs crackled within the stone hearth, answering her words like a captivated audience. The murmur of gossiped tripe ached in her bones the same way it had since the beginning of her husband’s family affairs.

“I thought it right to tell you.” He replied with mixed emotion in his tone.

Ignoring him, she focused herself on the fiery embers as they rose upward, disappearing beyond the chimney’s base. Shades of bursting orange and flickering crimsons cast dramatic shadows across the contours of her warming skin. A rose blush crept onto her cheeks, and yet she pulled her shawl further around her shoulders.

“She is pregnant.” It would have been a question if not for the glaring truth of it all strewn upon his face. “Heavily pregnant.”

There was a distinct hesitance in the words that passed his lips next. He wondered if she had known all along; perhaps he had not hidden his affairs to the extent of his thoughts. Anyone with eyes or ears would have known. Yet, he had convinced himself that out of everyone it would not be she who held disbelief in his alignment.

“My love,” his words died as her anger erupted and flowed slowly from the tenseness of her shoulders.

“Do not.” Bitter as a soured fruit, her words were cut from her tongue. He opened his mouth to speak but was hushed by her calm rage. “If those words should ever leave you again, you will not have a tongue. I have dedicated myself to you, my life, my cause, everything.” She wouldn’t meet his eye. “You have no right to speak to me in such a manner. So, I only implore you for this and this only. When is the child due and will it be you who claims it as your own?”

Their relationship had never been a tumultuous one. Often they sailed upon smooth waters, their portage was met with clear skies and an outlook on the vast openness that was their journey together. But something was always lurking just below its surface. While his anger came in outbursts and pointed attacks, hers was more subtle and subdued. Her ferocity slithered beneath her exterior, only showing itself in passive quips, sharp words, and the intense avoidance of her gaze.

In truth, she was never more than a passing glance. Her beauty was outshined by that of her mother or even that of her grandmother. While desirable, she was often overlooked in a room of people. She was an always present individual, even if it were only physical and not of heart and mind. Countless times she was given grandiose offers for her hand by the endless barrage of scrambling lords who wanted to better their position and house’s prestige. Countless times she would hear whispers of their denials and the subsequent mild rage that seethed from the men’s bodies who were often more than twice her age. Even those who had attempted to court her mother in her blooming years had thought it right to do the same to her, expecting a different outcome. But it was their mistake, for they did not realize she was promised to another.

“I cannot give you information I do not have.”

His fingernails, though cut short and clean, dug crescents into the palms of his hands.

“Then you will contest it? You will deny to me in this instant that her child is yours? You will tell me that you have not taken her to your bed?”

“I can tell you whatever you would like to hear, my love. But I cannot promise the truth to my word.”

“Then I do not wish to hear it.” She sighed, but in a way that oozed resentment opposed to one of defeat. “Leave me.”

The weight of his stare pushed harshly against the vibrancy of her being. It swirled around in the air like smoke and ash, threatening to envelop her whole and take her to darkness. “I will not.” He defied her demand, standing firm just steps away from where she had positioned herself to watch the burning wood that warmed the room.

“You will do as I demand and leave me.” His steps were heavy as he drew closer, halted by her speaking once more. “Leave me.” The veins of her neck were strained, pumping blood viciously to her face causing it to blush a shade of pink. Yet, she continued to not meet his eye.

Even when he laid his hands upon her shoulders and shook her body wholly, she flouted her vision and expelled him from her line of view. He gripped her frantically, grasping at her upper and lower arms as he searched her for a semblance of the woman he knew.

“Look at me!” He repeated, growing more and more discontented. The pupils of his lilac eye vacillated from a pin-prick to an endless abyss. “I command you to look at me!”

It was almost childish. The two of them battled in distinctly different ways. He let his anger bubble to the surface and spill from his edges, while she preferred to not give people the satisfaction of seeing her hurt. They were both terribly flawed in their processes.

“Look at me!” He was yelling now.

“You cannot command anything of me.” She refused, choosing to focus on the golden clasps of his tunic that had been marred in dried brown blood. Whose, she did not know, but the sight of it left a poor taste upon her tongue.

“I can. You forget your place in the hierarchy.” His gloved fingers burnt against her skin. “Allow me to remind you,” he lowered his chin to rest upon her shoulder where his words vibrated from his chest to hers, “I am your lord husband and you are my lady wife. I am prince regent, my word is law.”

She could feel his resolve softening slightly as the steady beating of her heart and the softness of her breasts soothed his rugged rage. She could give in. She could allow him to coax her back to the ground where his iron heart kept him planted to the solid surface. There were many things she could have done and she chose the worst of them. All the hurt he had put her through was festering in her stomach, twisting and turning her insides in a wild rage. He had killed her brother and cousin, waged war against her mother and step-father, and kept her concealed within the Red Keep until they could be sure of her alignment. To top it all off, he had defiled her trust in him as a partner. He had taken another woman to bed.

“You cannot command anything of me as your command comes from your false claim to the throne.”

A crack in her voice was the only emotion in her words.

“You wear the conqueror’s crown yet have conquered nothing except for a common whore.”

He pushed himself backward in a way that did not use her body to project him so. Her feet remained planted and firm, unswaying in the storm that brewed in his chest.

Thundering and electrifying below the surface, he writhed in the sheets she had laid out before him in the bed he had made himself. He aimed to hurt. Taunting was his warfare and striking words were his blade.

“At the very least, my Alys can bear me children whereas you have failed at your only responsibility to me.” He took a step backward and composed himself, lifting his jaw and peering at her from the top of his cheek. Only when she finally brought her eyes to his did he turn it back down to stare down the bridge of his nose. “A fortnight, then.”

He turned on his heel and left his wife alone with her thoughts. If he had stayed a moment longer, he would have seen her shoulders tremble and her hand coast along the bodice of her gown. All the pain of his words was on display in her glassy eyes. All the rejection of his movements slowly burnt the bridge that connected them.

On day thirteen she remained locked in her chambers, hiding amongst the quilted sheets of her bed. No handmaiden or guard dare bother her and any movement on her behalf would have been reported to the prince who lingered on the grounds.

She only saw the moonlight on days twelve and eleven, waking from fitful dreams to an empty bed. Aemond had not warmed her sheets for months, constantly gone to battle and in the arms of another.

She emerged from her silken cocoon on day ten, wrapping herself in a black shawl before lingering in front of the fire for the remainder of the day. Homely sounds of her nieces and nephews pattering feet, her grandmother's anxious words, and the general organized chaos of the castle were ghosts in her ears. The room where she stayed now was not home. It was a prison. At first she thought it loving of her husband to take her to safety, to conceal her away from the battles. But the longer she remained, the more she grew to resent him.

On day nine, she was served a brothy soup that smelled of fresh thyme and flavored oil. It settled uncomfortably in her stomach and the heart of her meal was left in the bowl to chill in the midnight air.

It wasn’t until day eight that she finally stepped back into the land of the living where nothing had changed from the way she left it days prior. A guard noted her exit and promptly left, likely gone to alert the prince of her movements. A handmaiden, no older than she, guided her through the corridors, careful to not lead her in the direction of her husband’s new chambers.

“My lady, the prince requests you join him in his study.”

She continued past the guard who had been sent to summon her, her feet carrying her in the opposite direction.

The gardens were mild and temperate with summer flowers in bloom that seemed to cascade like waterfalls down the sides of the castle’s old stone walls. Colors of vibrant blues and pearlescent white were sprinkled about, contrasted by the brilliant deep green of the growing ivy.

Her handmaiden kept two steps behind her, occasionally picking a fallen leaf or petal out of the dress’s train. Otherwise, the two walked in a calming silence until she returned to her chambers for the remainder of the night.

On the seventh day, a sennight until her husband's battle, she woke to a bouquet of fresh heliotropes. They were all shades of purple, some amethyst and others deep like obsidian. She did not need to ponder long who they had come from. They were the same flower that adorned the Red Keep’s great hall on the day they wed. Eternal love was symbolized in the flower’s petals, but the definition of eternal seemed to end in the sheets of Harrenhal.

On the sixth day, she again spent her time awake in the middle of the night. Her room in the Holdfast overlooked some of the gardens where only guards patrolled at this late hour. However, she was not in the Holdfast. Dragonstone had become her new home. She sat in the window, a velvet shawl draped over her shoulders, bathing in the moonlight. There was vastly more to see here. From her perch, she could see the grounds below, a small village, and the empty ocean that reminded her of her father.

She wondered what her mother was doing. After being locked within the Red Keep, she lost all contact with the outside world. Any news of the war was only fed to her though eavesdropping either on maids or her cousins. It was rare for her to think about the consequences of her family’s actions, but with nothing else to distract her, her mind wandered. When she arrived in Dragonstone it got worse. All news of the war stopped as if everyone had been instructed to keep it a secret from the princess.

She thought back to the day she was told she was to marry her cousin. Her mother had taken her into the gardens and walked with her for hours. The two walked endlessly through the ivy and wisteria, eventually making their way into the less traveled pathways. Rhaenyra told her that she was betrothed and from that day forward she took her duties as a wife very seriously.

Until the day Rhaenyra and Laenor left for Dragonstone, she was counseled by the Queen, her grandmother and soon-to-be mother in law. Alicent had taken to the girl like her own daughter. She instilled a deep sense of duty and honor into her moral code, encouraging her to age with grace and the makings of a royal. The young girl enjoyed her time with both her mother and grandmother, but especially the moments she spent with her future husband.

Deep in her heart, she knew the days of married bliss were mere memories she had built with rose-colored glasses. She wondered if they were ever truly happy together.

On the third day, she emerged from her chambers clad in a gown of black and gold. Thick brocade fabric formed soft pleats that barely grazed the ground beneath her feet as she walked. A necklace of gold and sapphire laid delicately against her collarbone. She was tired of playing the part of a broken woman. Whether she liked it or not, she was the first born daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon. Laying down in defeat was not an option on the table.

Again, the prince regent called for his lady wife. Again, she did not heed his request, instead making her way through the halls of Dragonstone where she would eventually find herself standing at the edge of the cranberry bog where small pink flowers swirled together like a sunset sea. Come autumn they would be red fruits, ready to flavor the season.

“You have been avoiding me.”

The voice jostled her from her thoughts.

There, no more than ten feet back, stood her husband. He wore his usual attire, blackened leather with sleeves that came to his wrists. Platinum blonde hair was less tame than usual, wild strands framing his face in a delicate yet dangerous way. The sun glistened against his sapphire eye, matching the way it did against her necklace.

A simple nod in agreement was all she gave. It was easier to turn her back to him and let the past consume her.

“My,” he stopped himself. “I want to talk.”

“Then talk. Nobody is stopping you.”

His body pressed into hers in an intimate way it had not in ages. Long steps drew him near and the warmth of his waist was pressed into her side as he found his footing in the grass. His arms were latched behind his back with one hand cradling his other’s fingers.

“I remember the first time we properly met as betrothed children. You were a child of eight and I, nine. My mother had just denied a proposed betrothal between Helaena and Jacaerys.

My mother proposed a union between us. We were the leftover children, naturally we suited one another. You had just returned from the godswood and we were made to dine together.” The smallest smile tugged at his lips. “You hated every minute of it.”

“As did you.”

“I knew my duty was to you, to be a good husband for you, but I did not know you. Then you moved here. I had tried writing to you on multiple occasions, but the words never came to me naturally. I knew what to write, but without emotion it felt disingenuous. I wanted to be genuine.

However, at nine, I cared little for marriage. I wanted to be stronger, a better swordsman. I wanted a dragon, a true symbol of Targaryen power.

When Laena passed and we met again in Pentos, you were a different person. A year older and entirely different. You were the only one in your family to stand by my side when I was injured. I remember the way you screamed at your brother, telling him it was over and that violence was not the way. The sound of your screaming still rings in my ears as I tried to stop the bleeding. I can still feel your trembling hands as you tore the hems of your dress to give me the fabric. I can see the way your brothers seethed at the sight of it all.”

A breeze brought off the cliff side rustled the ruching of her gown. It had been many years since she thought back to that day. As a child of nine she was far beyond her years of maturity. Some would tell her she was the perfect bride for her husband-to-be. Calm in temper, she would tame the other who was constantly on edge.

“They loathed me for years afterward. My step sisters never quite forgave me.”

“And yet, you remain by my side.”

She laughed bitterly, tucking her chin to her chest as she angled her head away from him. “And yet, I do.”

Hesitancy was not a trait carried by the prince regent. In fact, there had rarely if ever been a time in which he had not displayed a self-assured attitude in every aspect of his life. But in that moment, with an outstretched arm, he hesitantly placed his ungloved hand to the small of her back.

A burst of uncomfortable tension crawled beneath her gown, spreading to her sides and shoulders in a crushing wave. She stiffened, eyes cast downward to the grass. It was only when his fingers, long and nimble, began to rub small circles of familiar softness. He had often done this since their union. Especially so when in the unforgiving presence of her step father and mother who grew to regret agreeing to wed the two.

“Do you regret it?” Aemond asked, his focus now shifted to the side of his wife’s face. He could see the turmoil in her creased brow in the way her eyes squinted and lip upturned. “For even a moment?”

The answer came with a surge of relief and confusion.

“No.”

How could she not regret it, he wondered. For all that he had put her through: the separation from her family, the loss of those closest to her, the grief of miscarriage, and the pain of intense heartbreak stemming from his adultery. He had stolen the comfortable life she lived from her and crumpled it beneath his shoe the moment she was promised to him.

A part of him wanted to shake her as he did a week prior. He wanted to scream and demand a reasonable answer as to why she does not resent the relationship. Every fiber of his being was set aflame with confusion.

“No?” He repeated. The hand placed on her side grasped at her waist to turn her body in his hold. Only when the tip of his finger coaxed her chin from her chest did she meet his gaze.

Wetness pooled at the rims of her eyes, clawing through her lower lashes to stream down her sunken cheeks. She was not one to cry. Even after the loss of her first, she did not publically shed a tear. “No.”

Aemond felt his betrayal, then.

The feeling bubbled in his stomach, churching uncomfortably in a wild whirlpool of emotion. It threatened to come up his throat, leaving long gashes of red hatred in his body. Each tear she shed was like a hole burst in his chest. The iridescent droplets were reminders of his sacred vow broken.

He choked on his response, leaving her an open stage to speak.

“Please, do not choose her over me. I have lost all, I cannot lose you too.”

Whatever was left of his heart shattered as he found his eye glassy, blurring with the same salted tears as hers.

He suddenly pulled her close, his hand smoothing down the back of her head to bring her to his chest. Horrible sobs racked through her body causing her shoulders to quake as his hands desperately tried to soothe her. “Never, my love.”

~*~

“I sent the whore away.” Aemond walked with purpose, coming to stand before his wife who was seated at a table with a steaming cup of tea. His fingers were latched behind his back.

It was two days until his battle was set to take place.

A slight nod was given, gradually turning into a full one as his wife placed her cup down onto the table. “That’s… good. That is good.”

Bile still rose in her throat every time she thought of the woman. Older and more mature than she, Alys Rivers was her name. A common bedwhore from Harrenhal was her occupation and she bore no name of any relevance as she was a bastard. What had been so enticing about her that he would break his sacred vow?

“Your happiness in the situation is lost on me.” The seat across from her was filled with Aemond’s presence as he quickly filled the empty space.

“No.” She interjected. “I am very happy. Truly.”

The storm of emotion in her features said otherwise.

“But something still ails you.”

She got lost in the plumes of steam that rose from her cup, floating into the stagnant air as if being pulled up by strings. “It is nothing. A simple insecurity, not a problem to breathe life into any longer.”

“It is my infidelity, is it not?”

Looking like a child who had been caught out of bed, she folded her hands in her lap and stared at her husband.

“She is a witch.” Aemond stated as if it were a common thing. “She has visions; she sees things in the clouds and flames. I cannot explain it. She used potions to cause my eye to wander.” Holding his wife’s gaze, he slumped his shoulders and let his back arch to rest his forearms on his thighs. “I should have been stronger. I should have seen through that witch-” he grew angrier but she was not sure if it was in truth, “that whore’s facade. I should not have let myself cause you, my beautiful wife, any pain.”

His head slipped into his palms, forehead cradled and fingers tangled in his platinum locks.

“How am I to know your words hold truth?” She watched as Aemond shook his head.

“It was a lapse in my rational judgment. I will always return to you, my love.” In a low strained tone he breathed his words. “She means nothing to me.” But his unwillingness to use her name, Alys, made her doubt his statement.

It did not take long for his wife to thrust herself from her seated position and move to kneel at his side. Her dress collected dust as she lowered herself to peer beneath the curtain of hair that blocked his face.

“She is not our problem now.” Assuring words were what his wife needed to hear, not him. But she could not resist the way he pulled at her heartstrings. “We will move forward together. The war will end and we can find peace in our lives. I am still young, we will find a way to bring healthy children into our lives.”

Conflict, she found, was not a flattering color to bathe in. There was nary a time that the Targaryen dynasty did not partake in one form of insanity or another. It was written in their fates to continually live in turmoil. Even those that tried to keep peace sprouted seeds of distress in their descendants or amongst their people.

Aemond and the princess were no exceptions.

They had wed hastily but were able to get through the evening without a duel or death. Viserys II’s health was failing him. Though able to walk still, he struggled in his everyday life. The princess was sent from Dragonstone to Kings Landing where she had a quick ceremony that her direct family did not attend. This attributed to her feelings for her husband. She found comfort in his presence. He was there when others were not.

Her life felt as if it were out of her control. From the moment she was brought into her cruel world others were planning her future and she was locked in her gilded cage. With Aemond, she felt like she was in control. Though the truth in that could be debatable.

They laid together that night for the first time in many and possibly the last. Memories of brighter times had been shared as they basked in the afterglow, lit by only the moon. He had more scars than she remembered. While still lean and pale, cuts of bright pink and burnt auburn were spliced across his torso. Distinct claw marks were marred into his shoulder blades, reminders of his infidelity.

It was almost as if they could talk to her as she counted them in the moonlight. Aemond had turned in his sleep, his back to her. Displayed like an open canvas, she couldn’t help but find her mind shrouded by hurt and anger again as the name burst into her ears. Alys Rivers, the whore, the bedmate, the bastard, and the woman who caught her husband’s wandering eye. She cringed as she tried to picture her. Surely she at least had wrinkles. There had to be a flaw to her appearance. As hard as the princess tried, she could only picture a woman of beauty.

Lost in her insecurities, she had not noticed that Aemond had turned over and now studied his wife’s face as it twisted and contorted. He knew what was troubling her. Instead of lying, telling her that Alys was a horrid woman, he said nothing and took her into his arms. Crushing her in his embrace, he held her like it would be the last time he could. He memorized her shape, her smell, her warmth and her love. His eyes closed and he rested his chin atop her head.

“I love you.” He whispered into the night, unsure if she heard him or not as her chest rose and fell like a metronome keeping a beat. “I love you.” He repeated, holding her tight as he willed himself to sleep knowing what was to come the next day.

~~~*~~~

“Stay.”

Her hand caught his as he made his way toward Vhaegar, dressed in his charcoal armor. The helm was down, concealing his face within.

“Aemond, please.”

The full grasp on his wrist halted him in his tracks. The beast let out a low grumble, growing impatient as its rider stood motionless on the cliff side. A gentle breeze blew in, bringing with it salted air that watered her tongue.

“I will return.” Assurance in the face of death was just words on the breeze, taken far away before they could drop like seedlings and plant themselves in her mind.

“Whole and alive with a beating heart or in memory?”

His hand, though covered in a thick leather glove, came to rest upon her cheek. The other pulled the visor of his shining helm up to reveal his contrasting eyes. “Do you doubt my abilities, my love?”

“Not for one moment.”

His palm pressed against her cheek, lingering longer than he intended as she leaned into his touch. Lashes fanned across her skin, fluttering softly as her lips pressed into a fine line, holding back whatever emotion was within.

“I will return. I vowed to protect you, until my very last day. That day will not be today.” Though he could not press his lips to hers, he drew her in close, holding her firmly against him. “Wait by the ocean until the sun dips below the horizon. I will be here by your side the moment the world is cast into darkness.” He held her back, staring deeply into her eyes. “I promise, my love. I will return.”

She cried as he turned and mounted Vhaegar. Tears streamed from her reddened eyes as he waved her off with another proclamation of his return. Even the frightful blasts of warm summer air could not dissuade the constant river that bled onto her cheeks.

It was late when her sobs ceased and the whisper of prayer died on her lips. The protective light of the day had fled from the sky leaving her cast in darkness and broken promises. Her knees had formed deep grooves in the fine sand where they landed hours before. Fists full of earth could not move the clock backward. Aemond was lost to the wind.

Grief kept her going in the deep midnight hours as she gazed into the distance where Westeros lied. Every speck in the sky had her heart beating faster than before. Each turned out to be nothing. It was only when the morning came and the world continued forward that she moved from her spot. The tide had brought water in around her thighs, soaking her dress through.

She ached like nothing else in the following days. It was as if she could feel every wound her husband had endured. Her dreams were haunted all the same. Blue eyes stared at her through the misty haze that rolled in. Aemond filled her thoughts. At night, she could see him in the darkness looming in the corner of her room.

Word of his death eventually made it to Dragonstone. Mention of his Alys occupying Harrenhal was floated by the guards. How he had brought her to the battle, kissed her passionately, and died in the skies only posed as daggers thrust into her heart.

It wasn’t until years later that Aemond returned to Dragonstone, to his wife. Though, she did not greet him on the beach. She met him in the crypts, sealed away in stone tombs left to collect dust.

She had died of a chill in 133 AC, taking her final breaths on that same sandy beach.

Although not by his doings, he had kept his promise. Brought back in a box of black and red sealed tight with dark metal, Aemond was laid to rest at his wife’s side.

I will return.

#Aemond Targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #house of the dragon imagine #hotd spoilers #aemond fanfiction

[witchwretch]

☽    let me go ahead and tell you, i’ll be very angry if you say you’re sorry. i’m not sorry.

the  gore  splattered  across  her  face  is  not  their  own.    the  singe  to  the  fingertips,    though,    is  arguably  the  only  possession  libby  has,    nothing  stolen  or  borrowed  about  the  energy  that  storms  beneath  their  skin.    she  crouches  before  wanda  now,    trembling  with  madness  and  with  power  that  has  only  just  been  tapped,    only  just  been  triggered.    in  truth,    the  shake  of  the  witch’s  hands  are  partly  borne  of  fear,    too.    i  am  filth,    i  am  rage,    i  am  combustible  and  endowed  with  great  ire.

❝    i’m  not  sorry.    ❞  if  there  was  room  for  apology,    it  would  taste  like  girlhood  lost.    it  would  feel  as  tangible  as  an  empty  room,    her  mother’s  back  as  she  left.    but  with  that  fleeting  apology  comes  back  ‘round  the  fury.    their  anger  hides  the  worst  of  it:    a  metastasizing  ache.    libby  lifts  tear  -  blurry  vision  and  a  locked  -  tight  jaw,    cracking  teeth,    to  @nexusbeing​  before  them.    ❝    i’m  angry.    ❞

#nexusbeing #[ ＷＲＥＴＣＨ ] ❛ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘮𝘦 / ANSWERED. #something something my mother's rage is lit within me #something something tearing my mother from my bones #whatever they're hot (literally she lit some fuckers up huh)

[lvrdrafts]

Rescued by Love Part 4

★ Summary: Your brother Steve always hated you after your mother's death and when he finally gets the family's empire he is ready to sell you off to some toxic marriage but will the knight and shining armor save you or make it worse?

★ Pairing: Bucky x f!Reader

★ Warnings: Arranged Marriage

★ Genre: Angst/ Fluff

Masterlist

The living room was bathed in the soft glow of the television as you settled onto the couch, trying to find some distraction from the world outside. The sound of a show's opening theme filled the air, but it was interrupted by the ringing of your phone. You picked it up, seeing Sam's name on the caller ID. Curious and a bit surprised, you answered, your voice a mix of confusion and warmth. "Hey, Sam."

"Hey, I... I just wanted to call and say I'm sorry for your loss," Sam's voice carried a gentle tone, as if he was choosing his words carefully.

Your brows furrowed in puzzlement. "Loss? Sam, what are you talking about?"

There was a moment of hesitation on the other end of the line, and then Sam spoke softly. "Your father's passing. I know it might be overwhelming, and I wanted to reach out."

Your heart seemed to skip a beat, the words not quite sinking in. "Wait, my father... passed away?"

There was a pause, and then Sam replied, his voice understanding. "Yeah, the funeral is tomorrow. I can't tell if your messing with me right now or not"

The shock and disbelief coursed through you as you tried to process what Sam was saying. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. "I... I didn't know."

Sam's voice held empathy, and he responded gently, "Wait- actually?"

You swallowed hard, your voice catching in your throat. "No, Sam, I had no idea. Bucky, he went on a business trip for a month, and I've been... I haven't been allowed to leave the house."

There was a somber pause on the other end, and then Sam said "What-what do you mean Bucky's not with you? He's here right now, with Steve, making arrangements for the funeral."

The weight of the situation bore down on you, the reality of your isolation and the secrets that had been kept from you leaving you feeling even more adrift. Your tears began to flow freely, and you managed to stammer, "I... I have to go, Sam."

"Take care," Sam's voice was soft, filled with understanding.

As you ended the call, your heart felt heavy, and the weight of the situation seemed almost suffocating. Alone in the dimly lit room, you leaned forward, your face in your hands, allowing your tears to flow. The television's flickering light seemed distant and inconsequential compared to the storm of emotions that raged within you.

After a few moments of collecting yourself, you reached for your phone again. There was one person who might be able to guide you through this tumultuous time – Matt Murdock.

"Hello?" Matt's voice came through the line, a calm and steady presence on the other end.

"Hey, Matt. It's me," you greeted, your voice carrying a mix of weariness and determination.

"Ah, I was wondering when you'd call. How can I help you?" Matt's tone was empathetic, as if he could sense the weight of your burdens.

Your heart felt heavy, the desire for liberation clashing with the reality of your circumstances. "I... I need your help with something big. My father passed away, and I've been isolated at home. Bucky hired bodyguards who won't let me leave. And now I want to divorce him."

A thoughtful silence hung in the air for a moment before Matt spoke, his voice filled with understanding. "I'm sorry to hear about your father. And as for the divorce, that's a significant step. I can definitely assist you. We'll need to navigate the legal aspects, especially given your current situation."

Relief washed over you as you realized you weren't alone in this daunting journey. "Thank you, Matt. I really appreciate it. I... I want to regain control over my life."

Two days passed in a mix of tension and anticipation. The weight of your impending actions sat heavy on your shoulders as you waited for Bucky's return from his supposed business trip. The isolation that had cloaked you seemed to grow even more suffocating, the silence of the empty house echoing your thoughts.

Then, the door finally swung open, and Bucky stepped inside, his presence a blend of weariness and something you couldn't quite place. Steve trailed behind him, his features etched with a mix of determination and cold detachment. The air seemed charged with unspoken words as they both entered the room, their gazes meeting yours.

"Bucky," you greeted him, your voice carrying a mix of emotions – frustration, sadness, and something else that had been building within you.

He looked at you, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes before being replaced by a guarded expression. "Hey."

Steve's gaze remained fixed on you, a coldness that seemed to permeate the air between you all. It was as if the unspoken truths that had been kept hidden for far too long were about to surface, ready to shatter the fragile semblance of family.

"You're back," you stated, your tone tinged with an edge that betrayed the turmoil within you.

Bucky's jaw clenched, his eyes briefly meeting yours before flicking away. "Yeah. Business trip was... intense."

You took a deep breath, a surge of courage propelling you forward. "Bucky, I know."

His gaze snapped back to yours, a flicker of surprise mingling with caution. "What do you mean?"

"The funeral. I know about it," you stated firmly, refusing to back down.

Bucky's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing as if calculating his next move. "How...?"

"Sam called," you said, your voice steady. "He told me about Dad's passing. And about the funeral that both of you conveniently forgot to inform me about."

A heavy silence settled in the room, the tension palpable. Steve's cold demeanor remained unbroken, his gaze like ice as he observed the exchange.

"I didn't want you to have to deal with it," Bucky finally spoke, his voice tinged with sympathy.

You scoffed, a bitter chuckle escaping you. "So, you decided I didn't deserve to know, right? Just like everything else?"

Bucky's brows furrowed, his expression a mixture of frustration and guilt. "It's not like that. Please I don't want to see your hurt, its fucked up but you mean-"

"Isn't it ironic you don't wanna see me hurt yet you hurt me all the time?" you shot back, your voice rising with each word. "You've controlled my life, kept me isolated, and now you're making decisions about my own family without even telling me."

Steve's cold voice cut through the tension like a blade. "You're better off not knowing, Y/N."

His words ignited a fire within you, fueled by years of resentment and the determination to reclaim your agency. "No, Steve. I'm done being kept in the dark. I'm done being treated like a pawn in your twisted game. I'm getting a divorce you piece of shit"

"You better not," he hissed, his voice a venomous whisper as he took a step toward you, his fingers reaching for your arms with an intent that sent shivers down your spine.

Fear clamped its icy grip around your heart for a moment, paralyzing you. The shadow of past trauma loomed, threatening to engulf you once again. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in as Steve's fingers tightened on your arms, his grip threatening to crush your spirit as it had for years.

Before the fear could completely consume you, a flash of movement caught your attention. Bucky, faster than you could anticipate, stepped between you and Steve, his stance protective. His strong arm shot out, intercepting Steve's grasp, and with a force that surprised you, he pushed Steve back making him hit the wall and fall on the floor.

"Steve, go this is between my wife and I not you" Bucky says coldly and Steve walks away with blood dripping down his nose. "Lets talk" Bucky says with a cold expression but past that you see a flicker of pain.

@cjand10 @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @marvel-ous-miss-maisie @hereticdance @kentokaze @bruher @tupperwarefullofdirt @unaxv @learisa @emerald-writes @aya-fay @stinkerbelle007 @scifinerd1818 @paarthurnax59 @vickie5446 @almosttoopizza @kandis-mom

#bucky x reader angst #bucky barnes x reader angst #mob bucky x wife reader angst #mob bucky x reader angst #james barnes x reader #james barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #steve rodgers sister reader x bucky #mob steve x reader #winter soldier x reader #angst x reader #mob bucky au

[suicide-bullet]

reader is religious, euronymous fucks her woooo!!!

fem reader + oc, if u want a specific description request pls! corruption kink, degradation kink, praise kink too, pet names, name calling, blasphemy, freaky smut, cheating, hair pulling, dom!euronymous, sub!reader, stranger to lovers.

y/n walked into the unfamiliar store, her blonde curls bouncing with every step. her short, black mini skirt riding up, as she adjusted her leather jacket. her crucifix lay on her chest, bouncing atop of her breasts. for a religious girl she certainly showed a lot of skin, as her mother would say. the bell rang, the long haired man at the counter spun on his feet. she stood to the left of the store, flicking through the albums.

she looked around, spotting many upside-down crosses, making her grimace. y/n walked towards the counter, giving the man a smile. euronymous looked her up and down with a sly smirk, "you sure you're in the right place, little lady?" that same smirk soon turned into something else, when he spotted that necklace. she rolled her eyes, "i'm looking for an album for my boyfriend. it's his birthday tomorrow."

euronymous stared into her soul, a mix of anger and jealousy spread across his face. why did he like this girl? she was just one of those 'egotistical god whores.' he wondered how she felt about the churches, something inside of him urging to ask.

"he mentioned a name, scorpio or something." she fiddled with her black-painted fingernails. euronymous raised his eyebrows at the small girl, "scorpions?" she nodded, her eyes lit up. "yes! that was it, thankyou." euronymous chuckled, "your boyfriend is a fucking poser." her eyebrows knitted together, "what?" she spat. "you fuckin' heard me." he spoke slowly, rage clear in his voice. his eyes longed on her chest, on that necklace. "you one of those goody christian whores?"

she stayed quiet, he leaned forward. "you deaf or somethin? answer me." he demanded, making her knees buckle. "i'm not a whore." she snarled, igniting a fire within him. "don't fuckin' talk to me like that." y/n scoffed, "you can't tell me what to do." she remarked, he grabbed her by her hair, pulling her behind the counter, in front of him. he grabbed her necklace, holding it in his clutch. "you're a good girl, hm? a saint, an angel." he spoke, looking into her brown orbs. "yes." she whimpered, looking up at him.

he could smell her from beneath him. mixtures of floral, cocoa and vanilla. on the other hand, he smelt of cigarettes, cologne and strangely blood. "then why are you here? can't you see? i'm a satanist, baby." she grimaced yet again, "you need jesus." euronymous grabbed her neck, "why you always got a fuckin' attitude? your boyfriend doesn't fuck you hard enough, is that it?" y/n shook her head, "my boyfriend fucks me just fine."

"oh, sweetheart. he fucks you? your little god wouldn't be so happy about that now would he?" euronymous teased, she pouted her lips, tears pricking in her eyes. "maybe you need to repent for your sins, i can help you with that." he grabbed her waist, rubbing against the soft skin, his lips latching on to her neck, she let out a quiet moan. "no, stop. this is wrong, i, i don't even know you. and, and i have a boyfriend." euronymous continued, she didn't fight it, letting out whimpers as he travelled down her neck.

a pool of slick formed in her underwear, as she smashed her lips against his. his hands cupped her face, he bit down on her lip, making her them fall apart. his tongue entering her mouth, her own fighting for dominance. "atta' girl." he mumbled, wrapping her legs around his waist, holding onto her thighs, placing her onto the counter. his hands groped her skin, ripping her black fishnets. "fuck." y/n moaned, her bangs sticking to her now sweaty forehead. he smirked, rolling her skirt up onto her hips, looking down at her deep red, lacy thong. "such a good girl, all for me." he gently moved her thong to the side, dipping a finger into her wetness.

"fuck, you're so wet already. jesus." he blasphemed, his thumb circling her clit. she moaned out in pleasure, reaching her arms out to land around his neck. her nails scratched up and down his back, making euronymous groan. he shoved two fingers into her aching hole, making her let out a downright pornographic moan. "shit, oh my god." euronymous smirked, "there's no gods in here, baby. just me." he curled his finger inside of her, hitting that sweet spot that made her toes curl, and her eyes roll back.

"shit, please. please. i need you." she begged, her hands tangled in his hair. "say it again. say my name, euronymous." he said, she whimpered. "please, euronymous. i need you." he rubbed her clit, driving her over the edge. "awh, that's just not gonna cut it, sweet girl. what do you need? use your words." he teased, she groaned. "your cock. please." she pleaded, and he smiled.

he unbuckled his belt, unzipping his black jeans. she moved a hand down to her pussy, he immediately swatted it away. "no, you fucking slut. stop. do i have to tie you up? hm?" she shook her head, "good girl." he pulled his dick out of his underwear, stroking it a few times, precum coated the tip. he then ragged her hair, making her yelp. euronymous bent her over the counter, guiding his dick towards her cunt, dragging it between her folds. "euronymous, please." she begged again, he slapped her ass, slipping into her hole. "fuck, you're so tight." she moaned out, his length filling her up.

he instantly began moving, drilling into her pussy, giving her no time to adjust to his size. "oh my god!" she screamed, as he roughed the flesh of her thighs, before his hands gripped her hips violently, for sure leaving handprints. "yeah, that's right bitch. i'm your god." he groaned out, one of his hands gripping onto the necklace, pulling it. she felt an unfamiliar feeling in her stomach, one that her boyfriend could have never given her. "shit, fuck. euro- i'm close." he pounded harder into her, abusing her pussy. "don't fuckin' cum till i say you can." he commanded, she whimpered and whined. "shut the fuck up!" he yelled, gripping onto her hair.

tears pricked her eyes, sobs racked throughout her body. "oh you gonna cry? you think that's gonna make me feel bad? shut up and fucking take it, whore." she gasped, he slapped her ass again, as she felt a knot form in her stomach. "please, i can't! s'too much!" he felt his own orgasm taking over him, as she clenched around his dick.

"fuck, go ahead, baby. cum for me." euronymous insisted, his dick twitched inside of her, as they came in unison. he groaned into her ear, kissing down her neck, leaving multiple hickeys. "good girl, you were so good for me." he whispered sweet words into her ear, rubbing his hands over her waist and hips. he pulled his clothes back on, before pulling her panties back up, and pulling her over his shoulder. "what are you doing?" she managed to whisper-yell out. "m' gonna clean you up." he responded, she sighed softly, as he lay her down on the basement couch.

he wet a flannel, cleaning her thighs up, his cum still oozing down them. he grabbed one of his t-shirts for her to wear, ushering her to stand up, so he could slip it over her head. he sat lay down next to her, his head on her chest, listening to her heart beat. "you did so well, sweetheart. i'm so proud of you." he spoke, reaching her hand up to his lips, gently kissing her knuckles.

"y/n, where are you?" the two heard a voice shout from upstairs, "you can't fucking leave me, you bitch!" he continued. euronymous' eyebrows knitted together, his jaw clenched. "you just let that cunt speak to you like that?" y/n shrugged, a frown visible on her face. "no, fuck no. you're a sweet girl, y/n. i wont let anything happen to you, okay? you're not going anywhere with him, ever again." euronymous stood up, "ronymous' baby, where are you going?" y/n questioned, following after him.

she stopped in her tracks, hearing the yells of her, now ex, boyfriend, and the yells of euronymous. let's just say, her ex never stepped foot in that store again.

i love writing for euronymous, pls send requests!!!

#euronymous #euronymous x reader #dead mayhem #mayhem band #øystein aarseth #sid vicious x reader #mayhem fanart #corruption kink #degredation kink #like #female reader #rory culkin #rory culkin x reader

[morganas-pendragons]

Fruits Of My Labor | Aemond Targaryen

I was blasting Fruits by Paris Paloma when I wrote this and came up with this idea in the shower. This will contain MAJOR MAJOR MAJOR SPOILERS FOR WHAT WILL HAPPEN IN HOUSE OF THE DRAGON. IF YOU DON’T WANT SPOILED, DO NOT READ IT. I did change two things in this as compared to Fire and Blood. 

Enjoy! I’m excited to see what you guys think. This is my first time writing for this universe other than for Jaime Lannister! 

Edit: This literally took me over a week because having a full time job is so time consuming lol 

You should have known better. You were a true born Velaryon, a daughter of the sea and a fearsome dragon rider. You were smart. Fierce. Deadly. 

But you were also a child. A child who had lost her older brother and sister and mother. 

Your cousins. Your life. 

Your family had been your livelihood for so long that you didn’t know how to live without them. Your mother’s comfort, your sisters compassion, your brothers steadfastness, your father’s loyalty. 

You’d take them in all their faults for even a moment if it took your focus off of what fueled you when they were no longer around: Your anger. 

And oh.. you were so prone to your anger. 

***

Blood and Cheese 

When word got back to you about the atrocities committed against Helaena Targaryen, you were furious. Fuming. It had been a long time since someone had been able to provoke you to such rage. 

You understood, and yet you didn’t. A son for a son. Did Rhaenyra not give any considerations to her half-sister? Aegon may be the subject of her ire, but Helaena Targaryen had done nothing to provoke being witness and victim to such levels of cruelty. 

You couldn’t imagine it. So you made Rhaenyra imagine it for you, while your mother stood in the back of the room and bore witness to the dragon fire that lay deep within you. 

  “The gall you have..” You murmur, drawing Rhaenyra and Daemon’s attention where they stand by the fireplace. “Do you realize what you just did?” 

  “They took my son.” Rhaenyra snaps, harsh and cold, the eyes of a grieving mother staring back at you. “Which is something you could not begin to fathom, seeing as how your betrothal ended so abruptly.” 

Oh. That’s wonderful. So now she’s going to use Alicent breaking off your betrothal against you as well? 

  “No, no I didn’t. But at least my children would have been legitimate,” You snarl. Daemon steps forward to intervene, as he always does when it comes to Rhaenyra, but you slamming your fist against the painted table stops him in his tracks. “Did you even consider the ramifications of this, Rhaenyra? Jahaerys was innocent!”

 “The Greens took Visenya and Lucerys from me. They killed my children. It is only fitting that retribution be paid through the loss of their own son!” 

  “Helaena will never be the same again because of what you took from her! You took your vengeance upon a girl who did not deserve it. She was sweet. Sweet, and good, and loved by the commoners. One of my dearest friends.” You jab your thumb at Rhaenyra angrily, eyes lit by the firelight of the candles around the painted table as the two of you stand off against one another. “You took her child away and ruined her. Whatever blood falls upon us now? That’s on you.” 

Rhaenyra is left to hear one final curse before you flee the room, Daemon’s hand resting upon her shoulder to prevent her from following you. 

Things are never quite the same after that. It’s only days later that Meleys is paraded through King’s Landing and your mother’s body lay broken and unmoving after the Battle of Rook’s Rest. 

There’s no one left to temper your anger. 

So, for the rest of the war, that is what fuels you. Your anger and your grief. 

If it gets the job done, who cares what it does to you? 

Anger always wins. 

***

The last time you saw Rhaenys Targaryen, she’d bid you goodbye with a kiss to your forehead and tucked her favorite cloak around your shoulders. It had always been two sizes too big.

She’d whispered affirmations about your future and how proud she was of you in your ear before she walked out the main doors of Dragonstone to Meleys.

You never saw her again.

***

She died less then 24 hours later.

Rhaenyra was the one who told you about Aemond’s involvement in it.

He’d played a hand.

He’d killed your mother.

***

You spent the days following your mothers death weeping, clutching the fabrics of your favorite cloak she often wore when you were a child in trembling fingers. You mourned her presence. Her comfort. You often wished you could join her just to be free of the Dance. 

To be free of him. 

You were a child, and children are impressionable. That was why you loved him. Even when you truly, deeply loathed him for all the pain he caused you and your family. 

  “My Lady? Are you well?” 

You don’t hear your Lady in Waiting call for you from across the room. There you sit beside the window, frail and well beyond your years, eyes cast upon the waters outside the castle while you linger inside the recesses of your own mind.

The Dance of the Dragons ended a long, long time ago. 

You are the only living survivor.  

Your memories are far more pleasant to live in because they are in all of them. Your family is not reduced to the ghosts you now know them as, but are flesh and blood and so very, very real. 

  “Forgive me, Theah... I was just remembering.” 

  “Remembering what?” 

You smile sadly. Something lingers in your eyes as you meet her gaze - she’s so young and so eager to live a life she hasn’t had the opportunity to greet yet - and you see the same lingering within her own that calls to you. It’s familiar. 

It was the same thing that drew you to Aemond. A desire for adventure, for freedom, for life. 

And well... The Dance kept you confined to your duties and kept you from being able to pursue it. 

  “Remembering a better time, sweet girl.” 

*** 

You remember it vividly. Watching from the scorched beaches while Daemon and Aemond take to the skies above Harrenhal, otherwise known as the God’s Eye, to engage in a fearsome battle neither will emerge from. You know it in your heart of hearts. 

A more innocent part of you that still lingers deep inside aches to go to him. To make him see reason, to convince him to surrender to Daemon and Rhaenyra and just... stop. 

To just let it go. The Green’s haven’t been able to do that once since the Dance started, to submit to the succession of Viserys the First would mean abdicating the throne. 

Otto would never let it stand. His lust for power and influence over Alicent had gotten Aegon the throne and plunged the realm into war over the true successor of the Iron Throne. 

The battle descending from the clouds above you is beautiful, in an incredibly tragic and devastating way. 

Daemon and Aemond are locked in a terrifying battle as they plunge from the clouds, Caraxes and Vhagar desperate to bring the other down first. You watch the dragon’s stomach be torn open. The other ripped at the throat. You can’t bring yourself to look away. These two had been friends once. 

You know there’s nothing you can do to prevent what is about to happen. They both brought it upon themselves. Aemond Targaryen brought this painful, agonizing end upon himself with his involvement in the Dance. 

Your breath catches as Daemon rises from his saddle and lunges across the gap to drive Dark Sister into Aemond’s other eye. There’s nothing you can do. You weren’t even permitted the ability to take part. 

The commoners had seen to that themselves.  They'd mercilessly killed all the dragons who remained in the dragon pit. The numbers were dwindling, growing fewer and fewer as the Dance progressed. Four had fallen. Tyraxes, Morgul, Dreamfyre, and Nightshade. 

When Rhaenyra wailed over the death of Joffery - barely a boy, thrown from Syrax for trying to flee to the dragon pit and rescue his birth right - you were simultaneously crying over the agonizing pain that seared through heart, body, and soul at the loss of your dragon. 

By that time in the Dance, you’d lost nearly everyone within the Blacks. All that remained was your father and Rhaenyra, who were at odds anyway. They had been ever since Rook’s Rest. 

Was this your curse? The last of your House, destined to outlive all the others? Is this what the fruits of your labor as the youngest child of House Velaryon had gotten you? 

It’s over before you realize it. 

This was where they fell.

***

  “What time could have been better? You spent so much of your life engaging in war. You are practically a veteran to it,” Theah absently remarks from your bedside. “I do not envy you. War is-” 

  “Debilitating. Agonizing. Crippling.. suffocating. War tore my Houses apart at the seams and took away everything and everyone I loved,” You interject. “I was thinking about when I was barely a woman grown, not longer after being betrothed to Aemond Targaryen.” 

  “Anything specific?” 

It’s always something specific with your memories with Aemond. They usually take you to the same two places: A little run down shack on the cliffs above the sea, not too far from Driftmark. 

The other is a field of endless wildflowers. 

  “The first time Aemond ever took me away on dragon back was not long after he’d claimed Vhagar. We’d disappeared in the middle of the night from the guards posted outside my door, and I’d guided him back to Driftmark to this little house my mother spent a lot of time in before she married my father. It was very out of the way.” You twist the ring on your finger as you speak, the fading memory of your mother’s face flashing in front of you as you do so. The ring is the last thing you have of Rhaenys. “We spent the night there. I told him I wanted to do it forever. That I wanted to leave behind duties and obligations to experience something I never really got to have. Not like my sister and brother did. My mother doted over me far too much.” 

  “And what was the thing you never got to have?” 

You smile wryly. “My freedom, sweet girl. As I am sure you well understand.” 

Theah goes quiet for several minutes. She was brought to you by Aegon the Third not long after the two of you had met. Once he’d read his mother’s last testament - found in her former chambers in the Red Keep after her death - and found your name written within, he’d sought you out and gave you a Lady in Waiting. It had been freedom for Theah. Being your Lady had gotten her away from the brothels. 

You’d thanked both Viserys and Aegon profusely after that. She may be the only soul left in this world sympathetic to your plight.  

You’d never anticipate them traveling from King’s Landing to Driftmark to see you.

  “Did you think it would last? Your betrothal?” Theah asks. 

 You did. Aemond didn't. He knew the Targaryen customs, he knew his duty. He knew Aegon didn’t want to marry Helaena. 

Alicent had also seen how much you meant to her son.

And that could not stand.

  “I would’ve burned down the world to hand its remains to Aemond Targaryen if he’d asked me to,” Something shifts in your gaze then, something cold and hard and unyielding that most have not seen in you before. It was something you’d only learned to embrace during the Dance of Dragons. “And then he betrayed me.” 

Theah furrows her brow in confusion. “What did he do?” 

Lucerys’ innocent face replaces that of your mother. Another soul lost to the war so many years ago, the first of many. Lucerys’ death had been what catalyzed the beginning of the Dance. 

All at Aemond’s hand.

  “He killed my sweet, innocent cousin. He killed him. Then he played a hand in killing my mother and I never forgave him for it.” You shrug. “That was the beginning of the end for something we’d never get to have anyway.” 

***

The minute Rhaenyra received news about Lucerys, you were quick to have the Maesters write a note that you would be hand delivering to Aemond yourself. You would not give him the satisfaction of being able to speak to you in person after the atrocity he’d just committed. 

Poor Luke. He was a boy. So good, so innocent, desperately trying to do his duty and do right by his mother. 

He wasn’t a warrior. He was a child. 

And Aemond had killed him anyway. 

You leave the note pierced through the center by one of your daggers inside of the shack overlooking Driftmark. When Aemond bursts through the door several hours after fleeing Storm’s End, he finds it and frantically opens the letter to reads the words written upon. 

Aemond, 

You have brought what follows the death of Lucerys upon yourself.

Kesan ilimagho līr iksin dōrī  āzma ezīmagon bisa vys.  Se kesan daor ilimagho ao skori aōha hoskagon maghagon aōha ropagon. 

He swallows the knot in his throat and presses his forehead to the paper.

I will not mourn that which was never born into this world. And I will not mourn you when your pride brings your fall. 

Aemond wishes he was brave enough to tell you like he did in this little house on the cliffs all those years ago. 

But just like the dreams of things that will never come to pass, his harbored desires for you die as he flees the cliffsides to Vhagar. 

The house on the cliffs is never occupied again. 

***

You know when you do find what little remains of him that this is what he wrought. There was nothing to be done. 

Nothing, you think, as you remove Dark Sister from Aemond’s other eye and throw it into the water. 

You don’t unchain him. His body will be found years later still confined to the chains that held him to Vhagar’s saddle. 

It’s... quite fitting, really. Aemond Targaryen - the one who sought freedom - dying confined to both his physical and metaphorical chains made quite a lot of sense. 

The thought of it almost made you smile, despite the tightness in your chest. 

You had wept profusely for your mother. For Laenor, for Laena. You refuse to give Aemond that same satisfaction, despite that part of you from your childhood that still wants to chase him forever. 

The childlike spirits of you and Aemond Targaryen run far away together in a field of wildflowers. Far away from war, from pain and suffering, and.. happy. You’re happy. 

Oh how you wish you could be there. 

You grimace and bend down to cup water in your hands. The air is thick with smoke and difficult to breathe in, but you’re more focused about keeping yourself together then falling apart as realization falls upon you. 

Aemond is dead. 

You should be fine with it. He hurt you irreparably. 

So why does looking at him hurt? Why does thinking about all the things you should’ve gotten to do, to be - as his wife, Aemond would’ve let you be anything you wanted if it meant you were free of your duties and obligations as a Velaryon - cut deeper then the sharpest knife? 

   “I would’ve brought this entire country to its knees for you,” You murmur. The water at your feet is tinged red now. The dragons corpses had been settled in it long enough to stain it red. “But you never could have done the same thing for me.” 

It will be quite some time before either is pulled from the water. You are quick to leave - unable to do so on dragon back, since almost all the dragons have been killed by now - by horseback to Driftmark. You and your father are the last Velaryons, and he had made it clear you were to not be directly involved on the fronts of the war anymore. 

It didn’t mean you wouldn’t send Alicent a parting gift first. 

***

  “Were you there when the Dowager Queen died?” 

  “Oh no, but I sent my regards. She got what she deserved. You reap what you sow.”

The regard in question: Aemond’s sapphire eye, taken out with your own fingers, and his sword - both recovered from the body that you left chained to Vhagar. 

You hadn’t been present for most of what happened after the God’s Eye. You’d gone straight back to your father in Driftmark, where he forced you to remain until the end of the war. Corlys was not about to let anything else happen to his family like it had Baela, Rhaena, Rhaenys, Laena and Laenor. 

He’d pass peacefully in his sleep some years later. 

When Alicent Hightower died around the same time, you lit a single candle and placed it in your window. You didn’t mourn her. You hoped she was suffering the same way she’d allowed you and your family to suffer. 

The flame flickered out, and the last of House Velaryon stood. 

*** 

Someone else has entered the room. You’re not sure who, given that your chambers are mostly off limits, and Driftmark is scarcely occupied these days. You pay no mind to it when Theah stands in the midst of your conversation to go and greet your guests. They must be important if your guards let them pass. 

It was only recently that you’d been declared unfit to rule Driftmark. It was never supposed to be yours anyways, but with the lack of heirs and the death of your House, it had gone to you anyway. 

With your passing would also be the end of House Velaryon, never to be remembered as anything other than the House dragged into the darkness with House Targaryen after effectively tearing each other apart. 

  “My dearest one,” Your eyes snap open. It’s been so long since you’ve heard that voice. “The years have been kind to you. You look peaceful.” 

  “The years kept me from you, Mother.” You whisper. “Especially when I needed you most.” 

Rhaenys is the one you keep seeing, both in your waking and dreaming moments. It’s cruel. It’s cruel knowing she’s the only family member to appear to you when so many others could be the the ones to guide you home. Out of this darkness and into the waking light. 

It would be so much better where you were going. 

  “I have waited so long for you to come home to your family.” Rhaenys murmurs, and you find yourself unintentionally leaning outward in search of her touch when her hands extends toward you. “I’m sorry to have left you behind.” 

It didn’t matter. You had sought vengeance for your mother’s death once and for all when the list of living Targaryens dwindled and left so few alive. 

No one ever did find out who poisoned Aegon the Usurper. 

In the corner, Theah stands frozen at the sight of who lingers in the doorway. “Your Grace,” She murmurs in shock, clearly unsure of what to do. “This is a most unexpected surprise. For both Targaryen brothers to be here-” 

Aegon the Younger holds up a hand. He’d only just recently been granted the time to read his mother’s last testament. After being present at the time of her death, it had taken decades for him to gather the courage to even go near the document she’d left behind for her sons. 

That was why he’d let Viserys read it first. That was what led them here. 

  “My Hand and I have come to express our thanks to the last Lady of House Velaryon,” Aegon remarks. “As our mother had asked of us. According to her last testament, she is also the last survivor of the Dance of Dragons who fought on the front lines of the war. We wish to extend our gratitude for all she's done since.” 

Behind her stands Rhaenyra. She’s the same age as she was when she was killed by Aegon, wearing your favorite hairstyle and dress that you’d thought always complimented her so well. You want to think her stare of longing is directed at you. 

It’s not. 

She’s looking at her sons. 

  “My boys. My beautiful boys,” She whispers, coming to stand beside Rhaenys. “Tell them I’m proud of them.” 

So you do. You tell Viserys and Aegon that you can see their mother, as clear as the last time you ever saw her, and that she is sorry for all the suffering they endured during The Dance of Dragons. That she’s proud of who they became and how they honor their family. 

You miss the single tear that falls down both faces at the confession. 

*** 

  “It’s coming.” Viserys the Second murmurs, crossing his arms over his chest as both he and Theah watch you from the side of the room. Aegon is quietly murmuring to you from your bedside. Ever since you’d told the brothers that their mother was proud of them, Viserys had known deep within him that you were not long for this world. 

  “What?” 

  “The end.” 

Aegon feigns a warm smile as he squeezes your hand. “Our mother spoke highly of you, My Lady,” He whispers. “I hope now that you can find some peace of mind.” 

You don’t answer him. You’re too busy reaching, reaching, reaching for your mother’s hand that you’ve so longed to ache for the last several decades that have passed since the end of the Dance. 

  “My love.” A whisper echoes in your ear as you sigh softly, the rise and fall of your chest slowing as Aemond slowly appears in your peripheral. He’s still the same age he was when he died. “Come home to us. Let me make it right.” 

A single tear rolled down your cheek.

  “Can we go to the wildflowers?” You whisper. “And the cliffside overlooking the ocean?” 

  “It’s beautiful here. There’s no pain. No pain, anger, no blood, no suffering... No obligations to our duties.” Aemond extends his hand. “Your mother is waiting for you in the house on the cliffside. A field of wildflowers awaits us. There’s so many to choose from. Come home.” 

  “Aemond...” 

  “I’m ready to love you the way you always desired. I just never knew how. I do now. And I regret every moment that has passed since I cast you aside.” His eye softens. There’s something about him that just seems... gentler. It’s an odd contrast to how you knew him when he was alive. “Come home.” 

Hm. You’d thought that the fruits of your labors over the last decades had rotted and died, leaving you with nothing. No legacy, no heirs, no one left to remember your name. There had been no point to all the fighting for you because you’d lost anyway. There was never a war to be won because it was always going to be lost. 

The Dance of Dragons had effectively torn apart House Targaryen at the seams. 

Maybe your fruits were ripe and you just didn’t know it. You know that all the people you love are waiting for you. That the current king on the Iron Throne knows you well - because his mother had taken careful care to write about you in her last testament - and his brother holds you in high regard. That your Lady in Waiting knows your story and all the horrors that fall upon it. About how you endured and survived, how resilient you became, how you spent the rest of your days ensuring people would not forget the name Velaryon. 

Your last wish for Westeros was to make sure people remembered. Not your name, but your mothers name. Your fathers name. 

They deserved the credit and legacy far, far more than their headstrong daughter driven by the anger that came from duty. 

  “I’m coming, Mother.” You whisper once again, eyes falling closed. “I’m coming, My Love.” 

Your hand falls limp in Aegon’s. No one will admit it, but something dies in both of Rhaenyra Targaryen’s sons that day. They’d had so much still to learn about the mother they barely remembered. To have someone who knew her first hand and had cared deeply for her had prompted them to pursue a relationship with the Heir to Driftmark. 

You knew their story, their mother, better than they ever would. 

   “The Realm has lost quite a woman today,” Viserys murmurs, swallowing the knot in his throat as he presses his hands to Aegon’s shoulders. Theah can’t help but shift uncomfortably. She feels like she’s intruding on a private moment she cannot comprehend. “May the Seven bring her the peace she was never able to find in this world.” 

When the Silent Sisters tend to your body, a single crown sits upon it at completion. 

People would know the Heir of Driftmark died today. 

And so the last of the Sea Snake’s line would cease. 

#Aemond Targaryen #Aemond Targaryen x Reader #House of the Dragon #HOTD #GOT

[cain-speaks]

🍑 𝘼 𝙎𝙄𝙈𝙋𝙇𝙀 𝙁𝙊𝙐𝙍-𝙀𝘼𝙍𝙀𝘿 𝘽𝙊𝙔 🍑|| Wukong's Mom AU

» russian girl (jenia lubich) « 0:53 ──〇──── 2:36

╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝❀╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗ AUTHOR'S NOTE ╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝ ➤ This is a oneshot involving @journey-to-the-au's Clover + Marshal Liu! ➤ This is hurt/comfort. ➤ death to SEM bro. ➤ TRIGGER WARNINGS include angst, hurt/comfort, self-deprication, minor injury, referenced identity theft, referenced framing, and referenced manipulation. ➤ Word count: 1,372

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

❝ I am just a simple russian girl, I've got vodka in my blood .❞

The guards are none too gentle as they throw the boy into the holding cell, making him cry out as his skin splits on rough stone. The pain is immediate, proving to him that what's happening is real—that the mighty troop of Huāguǒshān truly believes Clover poisoned their beloved King.

"W-Wait!" Clover cries, righting himself as quickly as he can. "Wait, please—!"

He reaches out to the guards, faces that had once looked on him with kindness and friendliness, only to recoil when one snaps at him, long fangs bared threatening. The boy, unfamiliar with such displays, especially from anyone on the mountain, tucks his arms close to his chest and scrambles backwards until he's pressed firmly against the wall. But even as he's out of reach of fang or claw, he can't escape their eyes.

Wrath, regret, disappoinment. Did he prove them wrong? Or prove some of them right?

"You're lucky it's us that were ordered to escort you and not Xīnshù," a mousey brown-grey male—Cypress—spits out. "If she had, I doubt you'd have made it here."

The male beside him, Pecan, scoffs. "You've an atrocious amount of gall, poisoning our King. And during a festival, no less—"

"I didn't!" Clover cries, surprising even himself at the sheer desperation that pours out of him. "I didn't do it, I'd never do it! The mountain..."

Is all I have, he wants to say. But his throat closes and he can't get the words out, try as he might. Cypress and Pecan shake their heads, closing the door and locking him into the cell.

As they turn to leave, Cypress pauses. Then, over his shoulder:

"We should have chased you out the moment you arrived, Sì'ěr."

And then Clover is alone.

Again.

The holding room is dark, barely lit by a single torch Pecan left behind. It's cold and wet and it smells like dust, like it hasn't been used in... forever. If he focuses hard enough, the four-eared macaque can get whiffs of a copper tang, making his stomach turn. So instead he buries his face into his knees and wraps his arms and tail around his legs, trying to calm himself.

You can explain. They'll understand. It wasn't me, it was—

...his own grandfather.

What had Clover done wrong? What had influenced his grandfather to... to trick him, to trick the entire troop (the one he was sworn to protect)? And why did he let Clover take the fall? Surely he didn't do it on purpose? They were family, after all; as far as blood went, they were all they had left of each other. That had to mean something.

But that smile before unconsciousness had claimed him... Clover has never seen his grandfather so happy before.

A storm of emotion lights him up inside. Rage at having been framed and tricked, grief for what he could lose, fear of what will happen if he can't convince the troop it wasn't him.

What are they thinking right now? He wonders, hot tears building in his eyes. Does Miss Xīnshù feel validated? Does she think I'm a monster? What about the queen mothers?

And then his stomach drops.

What about Pear? Mulberry, Apple, the rest of his darling friends so lovingly dubbed the Fruit Troop? What was Rin-Rin thinking? Was she worried, and if she was, for what? For him, or for her daughter, who was so often within his grasp? What... what about—

The door opens and Clover clamps his hands over his ears, waiting for the screech of stone grinding on itself. Only it never comes, at least not at the intensity he was prepared for, as if the person opening it was taking great care to avoid any unpleasant sound. But considering it's certainly not hush-hush that Clover is down here (and the only one, too), he can't imagine who'd grant him such generosity.

As a familar figure appears, silhouetted by the corridor behind them and illuminated in the dim torch light, Clover understands.

"L-Liú," Clover gasps, scrambling to his feet. He hurries to the front of the cell, hands wrapped tightly around the bars despite how it irritates the scrapes. "I'm so glad you're here."

Marshal Liú doesn't reply. He enters the room in silence, the door closing behind him. Neither does he spare Clover so much as a glance as he pads to a few more sconces and lights them. When Liú finally approaches the cell, he presses his back to the wall beside it, arms crossed. His face is pinched, eyebrows drawn together and nose wrinkled in a thinking expression. The quietness of it all is unnerving, almost suffocating for the boy. But he keeps silent, not daring to break it.

"The troop is furious," Liú finally says. Clover feels his heart pound anxiously. "Xīnshù especially, considering little Blueberry's birth."

"...I know," Clover murmurs, ears pinned.

"And to make matters worse, Wisdom and Courage have been poisoned, too."

Clover's ears immediately perk, eyes wide as fear settles into his body.

No, no, no, he couldn't have—I couldn't have... He didn't...

"Thankfully, they seem to just be asleep. Beng reckons they'll wake in a few hours," Liú continues, and the four-eared macaque can't help but suck in a deep breath of relief.

They're alright. They're going to be fine.

But is he?

Liú steps in front of Clover, then squats, meeting his eyes.

"You understand how bad this is, Clover," Liú says. "The queen mothers and the King are unconscious, save for a single clone, and you were seen both giving Wùkōng tea and giving the mothers fruit. Somehow."

The two lapse into silence with Clover trembling, tears threatening to escape him again.

Liú slowly raises a hand to cover one of the boy's, holding it gently. "No matter how we look at the evidence, you're responsible, Clover."

A sob breaks loose; he can't help it. Clover knows how bad this looks for him, knows that the odds are not in his favor. The amount of people undoubtedly on his side are barely a fraction of Huāguǒshān and no doubt will lose their power when faced with Xīnshù and the Wùkōng clone.

"I didn't do it," Clover sobs, pressing his forehead against the bars. He bends until he's nearly kowtowing, though he refuses to move his hands from Liú's. "I didn't do it. Please believe me."

Liú make a soft noise—a gentle grunt meant to soothe infants, and Clover would perhaps be embarrassed if it didn't work so well.

"I know," Liú soothes. "I know. Rin-Rin and I know you didn't." His free hand snakes through the bars and cradles Clover's face, careful of his ears, and raises his face.

Clover sputters and uses a sleeve to messily wipe his face, shaking. "I'm so sorry," he weeps, eyes shut tight. "It's all my fault. I-I'm so stupid! I'm not even smart enough to g-get my stupid powers under control! M-Maybe if I did, I could've stopped all this!"

And I'd know if Grandpa was really lying to me the whole time, he adds within his thoughts, his teeth biting into his tongue at the wave of anger that bristles down his back.

"Stop that," Liú coos, gentle. "It's not your fault, Clover. I know it's not. You're..."

Clover barely notices the pause, too caught up in all his feelings. But when a second hand cradles his face and pulls him close, his forehead barely ghosting against Liú's, he's granted a brief moment of confused reprieve.

"Liú...?" He asks softly, noticing the wet sheen in the marshal's eyes with a prick of concern.

"You're my boy," Liú whispers, voice cracking. "And in a few days, we'll catch who really did this and you'll come home."

Clover sniffles, fighting off tears once again, and laughs a little. "And Rin-Rin won't let me leave."

"And Rin-Rin won't let you leave," Liú confirms, laughing a little too.

So the two sit there, cooing softly to each other and wiping away tears and fears alike.

And when Liú has to leave, Clover keeps his chin up.

I'm not alone, he thinks.

Blue eyes flash before his mind's eye, and a determined look settles on his face.

And I won't lose to you.

❝ So I dance with brown bears, and my soul is torn apart .❞

#cain speaks #[ 🧨 ] #cain writes #[ 🩸 ] #xiyouji #journey to the west au #jttw au #wukong's mom au #if it's kinda choppy near the end i'm sorry BGBHFD vocab is hard #story is also hard #tear the liu/clover found family out of my cold dead hands #i made up some guys cause uhh filler? #idk #uhh my excuse for clover not being like “y'all it was SEM!!” is bc he still has a sense of loyalty to him #+ he's questioning himself so he doesn't want to get SEM in trouble if he's wrong #hope we enjoy!!

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (8/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 2318

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: On their way back from the beach, Aemond and Arianwyn are confronted by their four furious cousins.

Warnings: Violence.

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3, @trap-house-homiecide

The Tunnel

"It's me."

In all her life, Arianwyn had never heard Aemond's voice like that. He did not shout, nor raise his voice, but his words were powerful and sure. It was the voice of a Prince.

For years, he had spoken so softly – hesitantly, as if afraid of how others would react to his words. It was not an unfounded fear, not with how Aegon, Jace, and Luke had treated him for so long. Nevertheless, something about hearing him like that set Arianwyn's heart pounding, as it had when she watched him mount Vhagar less than an hour before.

The others in the tunnel were not as moved by this change in the Prince, however.

Their cousins stood in front of them in the torch-lit tunnel, blocking their only route back into the castle. Baela took the lead, Rhaena only a step behind her, with Jacaerys and Lucerys at her back. None of them bothered to conceal their anger.

Though Aemond was not intimidated, Arianwyn was. The two of them were outnumbered, and from the looks on her nephews' and sisters' faces, resolving this peacefully would not be easy.

"Vhagar is my mother's dragon," Baela growled, clenching fists.

Aemond was quick to reply, "Your mother's dead. And Vhagar has a new rider now."

Arianwyn was taken aback by the bluntness of his words. Was this not the same boy who, earlier that very day, had tried to comfort a grieving Luke? But before she could interject, Rhaena stepped in front of her sister.

 Her cheeks were red, and Arianwyn could see her hands shaking with rage. It was easy to pity her; they had just buried their mother this morning, and now another piece of her had gone. But her anger, however sympathetic, was misguided – Vhagar had chosen to accept Aemond, and they would remain bonded until one or both of them were dead.

"She was mine to claim!" Rhaena shrieked.

"Then you should have claimed her!" Aemond shouted back. He tilted his head to his nephews with a look of utter contempt.

"Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride," he sneered. "It would suit you."

And Arianwyn understood.

Aemond's rising anger was not in response to that which now faced him, at least not entirely. This was a more dangerous rage, one that had been simmering beneath the surface for years, well hidden under his meek façade. Like the Fourteen Flames of Old Valyria in the days preceding the Doom, the fire within him was ready to burst.

Arianwyn did not have a chance to see how the boys reacted to the words, for before she could even turn her head, Rhaena surged forward. She crashed into Aemond, both hands splayed on his chest, trying to shove him to the ground. But she was much younger, and much smaller than him. He grabbed her forearms and, with ease, sent her careening into the sand on the tunnel floor. Arianwyn leaned toward him, gripping his shoulder to pull him back.

Before Aemond could react, Baela, too, stepped toward him. She swung her fist with all her might, hitting Aemond squarely on the chin. With the impact of her surprisingly strong blow, he reeled back, crashing into Arianwyn and taking them both to the ground.

The wind knocked out of her by the impact from both above and below, and having inhaled some of the sand kicked up by their fall, Arianwyn began to cough as she struggled to regain her breath. Aemond quickly scrambled off her and shook her shoulders to try and aid her.

"Aria?" he asked, desperation in his voice, "Aria, are you okay?"

The fire inside him grew into a towering inferno when she could only continue to cough in response, weakly shaking her head. He whirled back to his cousin, lumbering toward her and raising his fist. He brought the blow down hard on her temple, sending yet another of Daemon's daughters into the dirt. He had not noticed Arianwyn behind him, reaching out to stop him as she frantically shook her head "no."

"Come at us again, and I'll feed you to my dragon!" he bellowed, confidence again surging as he felt, for the first time in his life, like one of the heroes from his books. He was a dragonriding Prince, valiantly defending the honor of his noble Lady.

But that feeling was short-lived. Jacaerys ran forward and landed another blow to Aemond's cheek. The hit was weaker than Baela's, and while Aemond remained on his feet, he was forced into a defensive stance as his nephew continued his assault.

The Prince dodged the next two blows simply by leaning back. When Jacaerys swung again with his off-hand, Aemond took the offensive. He stepped backward and, catching the younger boy off-balance, swung his leg out to trip him. Having not received as much attention in their lessons with Ser Criston Cole, Jacaerys crumpled immediately.

At his brother's cry of pain when he hit the ground, Lucerys, at last, joined the fray. His wild shouting gave away his approach – before he could lay his outstretched hands on Aemond's throat, the older boy sent him face-first into the sand with a single punch.

Arianwyn watched in horror as they fought. She finally caught her breath and, pulling herself to her feet, shouted with a rasping voice, "Stop! Aemond, please!"

Her plea only served to distract him. When he turned to her, Jacaerys seized the diversion and barreled into Aemond from behind, tackling him to the ground. Then, with his opponent reeling from the impact of his forehead against something hard amongst the sand, he knelt over his uncle, swinging his fists over and over again into his face, torso, and legs.

As Aemond lay prone, Baela and Rhaena joined the beating, kicking and hitting his sides as hard as they could. He was entirely at their mercy, granted not even a heartbeat to recover from one blow before he was struck with the next.

Arianwyn's heart tightened. Her anger began to freeze her veins. Then, without thinking, she ran toward Rhaena, screaming as loud as she could. She had never been trained to fight. When the boys were in the yard with Ser Criston, she had watched from the wall with the King and Helaena, so disinterested in the swordplay below her that she invariably allowed her mind to drift.

She regretted that now, wishing she had some idea of what to do next when she slammed into her half-sister with enough momentum to push her away from Aemond – what she could do to free him from his remaining attackers. But she did not know. So instead, she acted on instinct, hands firm on Rhaena’s shoulders as she held her in the sand.   

"A dragon is not a toy one can steal," she said, "Vhagar chose Aemond, and you cannot change that." Tears sprung to her eyes as she beheld the hatred in her sister's eyes. They had met for the first time that day, though they had barely spoken. For years, Arianwyn had dreamt of meeting the girls, hoping that despite Daemon's feelings towards her, she and Laena's children could be friends. Sisters, even.

How swiftly that hope died.

Rhaena struggled beneath her, clawing at Arianwyn's face and neck as she fought to free herself. Seeing her little sister trapped, Baela abandoned her assault on Aemond to assist her. She threw herself over Arianwyn's shoulders and neck, pulling with all her might.

As Arianwyn felt the arms close around her throat, she raised one of her arms to try to pull Baela off her. But in doing so, she gave Rhaena the chance she needed to escape. Her youngest half-sister pulled herself across the sand to Lucerys, content to merely watch as Baela – who had been trained to fight – used her considerable skill to restrain Arianwyn, who could only watch as Jacaerys continued to attack Aemond.

But now that he was free of most of his assailants, Aemond could finally fight back. Once more kicking out a leg, he pushed Jacaerys off him and began to stand. As he knelt in the sand, he caught Arianwyn's steely eyes. At the sight of her tears, and blood leaking from the scratches that ran across her face, neck, and chest, the firestorm in his heart focused into a single, white-hot flame.

Lucerys again ran forward to defend his brother, but Aemond shot out an arm and grabbed him by the neck. The young Prince pounded at the arms that held him, desperate to escape the fingers tightening around his neck. But it was to no avail.

Keeping his grip on his nephew tight, Aemond reached behind him, searching the sand for the rock that cut his forehead. At last finding it, he gripped it in his fingers and stood, raising the rock above Lucerys' head.

 "You will die screaming in flames just as your father did!" He screamed, with all the buried rage from the torment of years past and his current fury at Arianwyn's helpless state ringing through his voice. He turned to Jacaerys, the image of a winged pig flashing in his vision. "Bastards."

Still scratching at his captor's arms, Lucerys sobbed, "My father's still alive!"

Aemond was surprised, given how the boy had wept for his true father. He released his grip on Lucerys' neck and let the hand holding the rock fall to his side. Then, with a mischievous grin, he tilted his head as he stared down Jacaerys. "He doesn't know, does he, Lord Strong?" he sneered.

Jacaerys did not respond. Rather, he reached into his sleeve and unsheathed a blade. Not a dagger or a shortsword, but a single-edged ceremonial blade, likely one of Lord Corlys' treasure, grabbed by the boy on his way to the tunnel. With the confidence that came with being the only combatant armed, Jacaerys took an offensive position.

"Jace!" Rhaena called for her cousin, her face pale as she realized just how far this had gone. Arianwyn tried to yell for Aemond, but Baela brought her hand over her half-sister's mouth, smothering the words.

As Jacaerys moved to attack, Aemond pushed Lucerys away. Jacaerys swiped at his uncle with his blade. Aemond dodged. Once. Twice. The third time he swung, Aemond brought the rock down on his head, striking the same place he had been wounded himself. The knife clattered into the sand as Jacaerys fell.

Aemond stood above his nephew, bleeding and bruised, but victorious. He raised the rock again, ready to strike if needed, and glared at Baela.

"Let. Her. Go," he hissed.

Baela released Arianwyn, but Aemond could not see it. Nor could he see Lucerys crawl through the sand to grab his brother's blade.

Jacaerys, unwilling to accept defeat, had thrown a handful of sand into Aemond's eyes. He screamed at the pain, bringing his free hand up to try and shield himself – too late.

Arianwyn wailed, unable to form words as she watched in horror. Lucerys leaped up, the steel of the blade gleaming in the firelight as he swiped for Aemond. For his exposed face.

At the precise moment Aemond dropped his hand, the blade struck.

It bit deep into his cheek, through his eye, and across his forehead.

The blood spilled hot and fast.

Aemond screamed as he fell, bringing his hand up to the wound, but he could not stop the blood pouring through his fingers.

While the others stood, frozen with shock, Arianwyn ran to him. She slid through the sand to reach him, bringing her hand up to his.

"Let me help, let me help," she whispered, pressing her hands to his eye – if it was even still there. Aemond could only groan as unimaginable pain washed over him. As she felt the blood seep over her fingers, warming the chill in her blood, she began to scream. "Help us! Please, help us!"

Only moments passed before the sound of clanking armor filled the tunnels, answering Arianwyn's prayers. The voice of Ser Harrold Westerling, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, harshly broke the silence.

"Cease this at once!" he ordered, though the battle was surely ended.

Jacaerys held tightly to his younger brother, the bloodied knife abandoned at their feet. Rhaena and Baela clung to each other, trying to avoid the sight of the blood. Three guards followed Ser Westerling, one moving to check on the girls while the others attended to the young Princes.

Only Westerling himself approached Aemond and Arianwyn, kneeling on the Prince's right. The face of the fearsome knight blanched when he beheld the sight. Arianwyn's face was flushed nearly as red as the blood that still flowed over their hands, and her eyes were wide and wet.

"I don't know what to do," she whispered weakly, pressing her forehead against Aemond's. His eyes were glazed over, his mind growing distant to avoid the searing pain.

Ser Westerling grimaced. "I know," he said. "But I'm here now." He laid a large, armored hand on the girl's shoulder. "My Lady, I need to see what's been done to the Prince." He glanced toward her blood-soaked hands.

"No!" she shouted. Arianwyn knew precious little about medicine and healing, but she knew that to let a wound bleed freely was to invite death. She would not let Aemond bleed.

"My Lady," Westerling spoke softly. He had protected these children all his life. He had watched them grow together, as inseparable as the Seven themselves. "I know you are trying to help. But I need to see so I can tell the Maester what's happened."

Reluctantly, Arianwyn nodded. When she pulled her forehead from his, Aemond leaned toward her, desperate for her touch. But she continued to draw back, only removing her hands when she was fully standing. Barely conscious himself, Aemond's hand fell quickly, revealing the gruesome damage.

"Gods be good."

Next Chapter

#aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond one eye #aemond imagine #aemond fanfiction #aemond x oc #house of the dragon aemond #house of the dragon #hotd

[that-stray-bird]

The Outworld Melodia

Sorrows and ideals come to light, while the troubled one's soul remains unbright. Lost in an uncharted world from the past, the regret's shadow forever to last.

Warnings: mentions of abduction, bomb threats, lack of sleep, reader having some family issues, robbing, chasing, teleporting, nightmares, passed away people, someone dying, angst, rain, and some comfort for Kunikida.

Chapter 5

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The city was shrouded in mist. The distant blaring of car horns in the city's center reached your ears while dimly lit shopping signs adorned the buildings, catching your eye. A group of doves, pecking at the sidewalk for crumbs, scattered into the air as you walked through them. You carried your violin on your back and held a phone to your ear, tears streaming down your cheeks like a furious river.

"Mom! I'm serious! Why can't you listen to me once in a while?!" you screamed since it was your mother on the other side of the phone line. "I just want a week of peace without those two ruining everything!" you declared. "(Name)! Calm down! You're overreacting!" your mother started from the other side.  

"Overreacting! You let those two do whatever they bloody want, but once I want something. I'm suddenly the bad guy! Those halfwits are literally breaking more laws than I have ever broken a single house rule!" you said. "I don't want to spend time with those criminals. Why are you forcing me to tolerate them?!" you yelled. "They're your siblings. They might misbehave once in a while, but they’re your family,” your mother gave the same excuse you had heard a thousand times. 

"Step-siblings! And they're not my family. They've been nothing but a thorn in my ass ever since you brought them into the house with that man, and when they literally break the law, you don’t even properly discipline them. You let them go with a measly warning and then do whatever their father tells you to do!” you said.

 “You are a sad excuse of a mother!” 

"(Name)! You come home right now! You're grounded!" your mother said with frustration.

"Exactly! Every time I express my feelings, I get punished, while those two brats get ice cream after breaking some poor kid's toy." you flailed your arms, and tears welled in your eyes. "This is why I can't rely on you for anything!" you yelled at her and ended the call before she could respond.

Stopping in your tracks, you took deep breaths, but then you kicked a trash can and cried angrily. You covered your eyes as the tears forced themselves out of your eyes. 

When did your own mother become so distant from you? When has she started valuing the feelings of stranger's children over yours?

You wiped your tears away with the sleeve of your jacket and tried to calm the storm of emotions raging within you. Crying openly in the middle of the streets was not something you wanted to do, so you steeled yourself and tried to continue your journey back to your apartment.

Someone suddenly bumped into you. "Hey!" you yelled, glaring at the hooded person.

"Sorry," the hooded person mumbled and quickly walked away. You took a deep breath, trying to control your frustration, but then you noticed that your phone and wallet were gone.

"Hey!" you yelled with increasing anger as you realized that the hooded person was the one who took your belongings. The hooded person quickly sprinted away, and you gave chase, fully aware that losing your phone and wallet to a robber would only add more to your troubles.

You chased the hooded burglar to an empty street corner. They momentarily vanished from your sight, but when you rounded the corner, you were astonished to see the burglar standing at the dead end, their hands glowing with an eerie blue light. They made a motion with their hand, and a large portal materialized. You nearly rubbed your eyes to see if you were dreaming, but it was very clear that you were not dreaming or imagining things. The portal was real, like something out of the movies you’d seen. 

Despite your shock, your determination to retrieve your belongings overcame your hesitation. You charged at the burglar, shouting, "Hey! Give me back my things!" and tackled them. Unknowingly, you pushed them and yourself into the portal, and you plunged through the blue vortex. As you fell, your voices merged into terrified screams until you both landed hard on the forest floor.

Groaning in pain, you pushed yourself up from the grassy ground, feeling a throbbing ache in your arms and legs. As you struggled to regain your bearings, you noticed the burglar getting up and fleeing. "Hey! Get back here!" you yelled, but your numb legs prevented you from giving chase.

Sitting on the grass, you patiently waited for the feeling to return to your legs. You glanced down at your phone, which you had managed to snatch back from the burglar's pocket during the chaotic portal tumble. Unfortunately, the burglar still had your wallet. 

“What the hell?” you uttered when you noticed your surroundings. 

You were in a forest even though you clearly remember being in a city. The forest was shrouded in darkness, and unsettling, unnatural sounds emanated from the shadows, like something beastly was lurking nearby.

You gasped when you heard something rustling, and then you saw a sinister sight: a gnarled tree with black, malicious eyes and fangs protruding from its bark. Its roots and twigs writhed toward you, no doubt prepared to snare you. Overwhelmed with fear, you screamed, and suddenly, all turned black.

—

Gasping awake, your heart pounded against your chest as you stared at the ceiling. Soon, you realized you were lying on your futon, safe in your familiar dorm room, and that it was just a bad dream you just saw. 

Letting out a fatigued sigh, you ran your fingers through your hair, scratching the back of your head as you got up from your bed. Your eyes stung from dryness, and you groggily made your way to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Unwashed dishes lay scattered around the sink, a chore you had been meaning to tackle but struggled to find the time and energy for. In the corners, a collection of clothes and dust had accumulated, leaving your place in a less than pristine state, quite unlike its usual cleanliness.

The turmoil in your head began to subside as you poured a glass of water and took a painkiller to address the persistent morning headache. You couldn't pinpoint the exact cause of these headaches, but your best guess was your irregular sleep patterns. Lately, you've been struggling to maintain a healthier sleep schedule.

As your mind cleared, you couldn't help but think about the dream when it came back to you. A realization dawned that it wasn’t just a random dream but a memory, the haunting memory of how you ended up in this world, separated from your own. 

Fortunately, there was no tree monster to eat you when you fell from the portal that day; you were just left to fend for yourself in those woods. 

You then had been trying to track down the burglar, especially once it became clear that they possessed the unique ability to traverse between worlds. The motive behind their robbery remained a mystery, but you were certain that finding them was the key to helping you return to your own world. 

It's just been challenging since you didn't dare to ask for the agency's help. They didn't know you were from a different world, and you were too afraid to find out how they would react if you told them, so finding the burglar had been a quiet project for you. Luckily, you had some people who knew and promised to keep a lookout. You should ask them later if they have found something new. 

Your phone vibrated, and you took it out to see it was a message from Dazai. Sighing, you looked into what he had to say, knowing he had something mischievous in his mind. 

"Hey, (Name). When you're awake come to the agency," - Dazai had written. 

"Why?" - you typed. 

"Just come. I have something to show you =) " - Dazai replied with a smiley emoji. 

You closed your phone and began preparing for the day. You knew that arguing with Dazai could be exhausting, and he had a way of being persistently annoying when it came to you joining his shenanigans, so it was just easier for you to say yes and see what he was up to. 

—

You walked into the office and spotted Kunikida, Atsushi, and Dazai engrossed in a conversation and working on something. You had heard they were working on an abduction case, so it piqued your curiosity even further what Dazai wanted. "Good morning," you greeted them with a sleepy tone as you approached.

"Morning, (Name)," Atsushi greeted you with a warm smile until he noticed your fatigued appearance, which prompted his concern. "Are you okay? You look very tired," he inquired.

You stifled a yawn and replied, "I just had a rough night's sleep. It's nothing to worry about."

"You know, you would get more sleep if you lessen your nightly violin sessions," Kunikida said while focussing on typing on his computer. "I could then start doing some gigs again, but then you would start scolding me for working less in the agency," you stated, then glanced at Dazai. 

 "Anyway, Dazai, what is it that you wanted to show me," you glanced at the brunette. 

"We were discussing Kunikida's affection for his meticulous planning and his vision of the ideal woman," Dazai said with a mischievous grin. "As a lovely lady yourself, perhaps you could share your thoughts on his dream lady?" He then revealed a section from Kunikida's notebook, which he likely pilfered.

Kunikida stared at Dazai, startled and clearly annoyed. "You bastard, when did you swipe that?!" he exclaimed.

You looked at Dazai disappointed. "Dazai. I don't think it's nice to make fun of — Oh!" your eyes widened when you finally comprehended the words in Kunikida's notebook. "See. I told you it was something interesting!" Dazai said as he let you take the notebook from his hand and read it thoroughly. 

"Dazai, you bastard!" Kunikida said as he tried to strangle the bandaged man. Atsushi looked at the scene concerned while you closed the notebook, having read enough. 

"Kunikida," you said, making him freeze and give you his attention.

"With all due respect. You have the right to your preferences and types in a partner, but..." you said, making him nearly flinch from your tone of voice. "Is it really that too much?" he questioned. "No! No!... but..." you winced, and Atsushi grimaced at your obvious failing attempt trying to be nice about the whole thing. 

"I think if you want to have chances in the future, don't show this to your potential partner," you handed the notebook back to Kunikida.  

Kunikida appeared nearly defeated, Dazai was snickering, and Atsushi regarded you with a sympathetic gaze. You awkwardly patted the taller man on the shoulder. "Uhm... don't take my words too seriously. I'm sure you'll find someone perfect for you one day," you tried to sound comforting, though it might have come across as insincere.

"She's right, but what's regrettable thought is this..." Dazai took out a newspaper. You looked over to see a picture of Kunikida. "You should have picked sexier eyeglasses. If you ended up in the news," Dazai then looked at Kunikida. "These are so lame," he grabbed Kunikida's glasses, "Hey!" Kunikida protested. 

Dazai then put the glasses on himself. "Only a natural flamboyant person like me could pull off wearing them," he said. He then struck a little pose. "What do you think, (Name), Atsushi?" he asked."You look good," you said. "Not bad," Atsushi added. 

Kunikida was quiet for a moment, most likely thinking something. He then looked like he had a realization. "What's the matter?" Dazai asked, and Kunikida took his glasses back. 

"Let's go. I know who's behind this," Kunikida said. 

"Oh dear..." Dazai sighed and then turned to you. "Ah, (Name), I almost forgot. I was supposed to ask if you could take care of a few things while we're away and look after our latest guest." He handed you a parchment. "She's a victim we rescued from drowning yesterday," he added as you read the note.

"Yeah, sure. I can handle that," you replied.

"Thank you~" Dazai teased with a grin and stood up. "I knew we could always count on you for extra help."

"Yeah, yeah... be careful," you said as they left to investigate Kunikida's suspect.

However, you were curious about the thing Dazai asked you to do. 

—

Later in the evening, after cleaning up your place and making a place for a guest, you placed a cup of tea on the table. "I'm sorry for the trouble, Miss Sasaki. You had come to a peaceful trip but right after being saved from abduction. The whole city is now under a bomb threat. It seems these are very unlucky times now," you said as you sat on the opposite side of the dinner table. 

"It's alright, (Name). I'll understand. Thank you for letting me stay at your place, " The dark-haired woman softly smiled as she accepted the cup of tea. "It's the least I could do since you are technically in our protection," you said. 

"So... you're a university teacher?" you asked. “Yes, I study and specialize in criminology,” Sasaki smiled at you. “That’s an intriguing subject. Do you have any thoughts about this whole case with the Azure King and all?” you questioned. “How much do you know about the Azure King?” Sasaki asked. “Not much. I do find his case interesting. I’ve heard he was a leader of a terrorist group and that he had intense ideals. It kinda reminds me of Kunikida,” you said, making her chuckle. 

“I agree with that,” she softly said. “I mean… Kunikida’s not terrible, but he should take it easy once in a while. If he doesn’t I’m afraid Dazai will end up being right, and he dies from cribbling anger or something.” you said. Sasaki smiled amused. 

“He does remind me of my lover a bit,” Sasaki said, her gaze fixed on her tea, her emotions hidden but suffused with deep sorrow. It seemed that something had happened to her beloved.

Curious, you inquired, "What was your lover like?"

Sasaki looked surprised for a moment as if she hadn't anticipated the question. "Well... as I said, he was quite like Kunikida. Filled with ambitions and ideals. I admired those qualities about him because I didn't have many of my own," she replied. Your curiosity led you to ask, "I'm sorry, but he 'was'? Did something happen to him?"

Sasaki's surprise lingered. You realized she unintentionally revealed a truth she might not have meant to share. "I'm sorry for being rude," you quickly apologized.

Her voice softened as she confessed, "No, it's all right. I told the others that my lover is still alive, but the truth is he passed away in an incident a long time ago, and I find it difficult to talk about him."

With empathy, you responded, "It's all right. I completely understand."

“I’m sorry. I didn't mean to cause any unpleasant memories,” you said sincerely. Sasaki remained quiet till her eyes landed upon your violin, which was placed on a stand. “You play music?” she motioned at the violin. “Yes. I used to be a music student. It helps me relieve stress,” you stated. “Why aren’t you a student anymore?” she questioned curiously. “I had a little incident, which forced me to quit. Would you like to hear me play?” you questioned. 

“Oh, (Name). I would love to hear you play,” Sasaki smiled with her hands together. “My lover had his ideals and ambitions, but he had a certain appreciation for music,” she revealed. You stood up and grabbed your violin from the stand. 

“Well… I hope I can bring good memories with my playing,” you said, placing the violin on your shoulder and slowly beginning to play a familiar tune. 

Your dorm room resonated with the melody of your music, and Sasaki appeared content as she listened to you play. Having your ability fully active, you had access to her full spectrum of emotions. From the outside, she presented a soft, seemingly happy, and contented tune due to your music. However, delving deeper into her inner world, you discover hollowness and emptiness that nearly startled you. 

You could sense deep hatred and sorrow. Sasaki’s tune was sorrowful yet hid something dark behind the brightness. Now, you understand why Dazai asked you to look into her feelings through your ability, her true feelings. She was not what she claimed to be. 

Carefully yet willing to please your guest with songs, you spent the night playing till it was time to rest and wait for good news. 

— 

Good news greeted your ears when the morning came. Atsushi, Dazai, and Kunikida had successfully defused the bomb in time, leading to the arrest of a couple of ability users, who had been manipulated by another party to commit those actions. The city was safe, but unfortunately, this meant that the Azure Messenger case had not yet been solved.

You ascended the stairs intending to meet with Dazai to share the information you had gathered during your time with Sasaki.

However, you did not intend your foot to miss a step and make you fall backward. “Shit!” you embraced for impact, but then a pair of hands caught you, pulled you back, spun you around, and then you were faced with Dazai as he held your back and hand from falling but keeping you in a dip position with a cheeky smile on his voice. 

“Careful now. You could have hurt yourself,” Dazai said. 

“My foot slipped, but thank you, Dazai,” you replied as he helped you stand and let go. 

“Did you have a pleasant time with Miss Sasaki?” Dazai asked. “I did. She was nice company, but… I learned something,” you pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Dazai. “I’m afraid she’s not who she claims to be and that…. she might be involved in this whole case,” you explained as Dazai read everything you had written on the paper. He had a disappointed expression on his face. 

“Well, that is a shame indeed,” he said as he refolded the paper. 

“You had a lead all this time?” you questioned. “Let’s just say I had a little hunch. I need a few more proofs to fulfill my suspicions,” Dazai replied. 

“How do you think Kunikida is going to react? The two seemed to have grown a liking to each other?” you questioned. “Unfortunately, this is going to be the misfortune he has to face. There’s no denying that,” Dazai said seriously. 

You remained silent, feeling a sense of pity for Kunikida. Dazai, however, interrupted your thoughts by clapping his hands together, gaining your attention. "But let's not get too melancholic just yet. We'll know more once this case is finally wrapped up," he stated before leaving. "Thank you, (Name). I'll treat you for your help in this," he added.

Playfully, you responded, "If your idea of a treat involves a double suicide, I'll pass."

Dazai exaggeratedly feigned offense. "Ugh! Harsh words! (Name)! How about you strangle me to death with the strings of your violin as well?"

"Oh, shut it, you drama queen!" you retorted as he exited through the door. You shook your head at his dramatics while still contemplating the potential tragedy Kunikida might face with Sasaki. You could only hope that it wouldn't be too devastating.

— 

The day had truly been filled with misfortunes. Miss Sasaki had indeed been responsible for the recent events. Dazai and Kunikida had confronted her, but the encounter had left Rokuzo severely wounded, who then upon chance took Sasaki’s life before succumbing to his own injuries. The loss had hit Kunikida hard, as he had cared for Rokuzo after the boy's father was killed in the explosion caused by the Azure King, who in the end, was Sasaki's deceased lover. Losing both of them like this was an epitome of twists and tragedies.

Despite Kunikida's preference for solitude in moments of mourning, you felt compelled to check on him. You knew he would likely be at the cemetery, where Rokuzo's father was laid to rest, and there he stood, silently before the tombstone. The sky had turned gray, and somber clouds dominated the weather. The usual bright and determined tune of his emotions had fallen silent, replaced by a deep, quiet well of pain and sorrow.

You silently appeared next to him, holding an umbrella above his head since it began to pour, an impeccable timing for such a sorrowful day. 

“I wonder…” Kunikida started, his voice oddly quiet. “What he would say now that I have allowed his only son to die under my watch?” his question silently haunted the air as you thought about what to say to him to even slightly relieve the pain from his heart. 

Telling him it was not his fault would be useless since he was technically drowning in guilt. 

“I think he might feel grateful…” you said, “And why do you say that?” Kunikida glanced at you. “Because you were there for Rokuzo at least till the very end. When he couldn’t,” you glanced at the tombstone. 

After a few seconds of silence, you heard Kunikida release a silent gasp and saw tears finally pour down from his eyes like the rain around you. You remained quiet, letting him shed his sorrow. In other cases, it would have been strange to see him in such a state since he was always so confident and level-headed, but in this case, it only felt natural. 

Kunikida allowed his tears to fall for a moment till he took in a deep breath and dried up his tears, recovering from the sudden rush of emotions. You felt the pain in his heart relieve just a bit, and it was enough to make you glad. 

“I will be handling the funeral. (Name)...” Kunikida paused. You glanced and hummed to hear what he was about to say. “Will you be willing to play a few songs there? At least to revoke some good memories,” he questioned. You gently nodded. “Of course,” you replied. 

“Thank you…” Kunikida said as the rain continued to fall around you, watering the gray tombstones and washing away the sorrows.

#bsd x reader #bsd #bungou stray dogs #anime #bsd x modern reader #various x reader #the outworld melodia

[yatorihell]

In The Darkness Chapter 87 - The Battle of Hogwarts Part Three

Noragami x Harry Potter au

Word count: 11,931

Summary: The battle rages on, Yato Hiyori and Yukine work on destroying Horcruxes, and a twist of fate changes the course of the battle.

Read on AO3

The West Towers Coridoor was deserted, near silent if not for the distant sounds of discord stirring in the bowels of the castle beneath the flagstone. Hiyori stood at the bottom of the spiral staircase, standing guard but also giving Yato the privacy to speak to Rowena alone - they say she was shy. It was best not to overwhelm her.

Yato stepped carefully. He had heard of the Grey Lady - the most elusive ghost Hogwarts had to offer -, and he knew that she hid herself high up in the castle. Opalescent light filtered through the latticed windows and dappled his face as he made his way forward. The profile of a woman, forlorn and young and beautiful, watching over the Forbidden Forest greeted him.

She turned, and Yato’s heart flipped unexpectedly. A flash of recognition seemed to cross her face before it was covered with apprehension as if she herself had seen a ghost.

“You're the Grey Lady. The ghost of Ravenclaw Tower,” Yato said softly.

Helena’s face shifted, anger and hurt mixing in a grimace as she turned and floated away. “I do not answer to that name!”

“I’m sorry!” Yato lurched forward, a hand futilely reaching out though he could never touch her. “I’m – I need help, there is something in this castle. A dia –.”

“You seek my mother's diadem?” the ghost cut him off, dress swirling in the air as she stopped and turned back to him. The hurt hadn’t left her face, but the anger was replaced by suspicion.

Yato paused, staring at the Grey Lady’s questioning expression. The familiarity of the shell of the woman before him clicked into place, each feature near identical to the portraits of her mother that watched the halls. Hiyori was right – the only person who would know where the diadem was had been long dead –, it was Rowena’s own daughter.

“You’re Helena Ravenclaw.” It came out as a statement rather than a question.

“Yes.”

Yato shook himself from his stupor. “Hiyori – my friend – said that you can help, that you know where the diadem is,” Yato began, but he was abruptly cut off.

“I cannot help you!” Helena turned once more, retreating into the dark shadows of the abandoned turret in a gauze of ashen crinoline.

“Wait, please! I want to destroy it!” Yato lurched forward again, feeling more and more encroaching on Helena’s ancient territory but unable to stop himself in his desperation. “I thought you wanted to do it. Isn't it, Helena? You want it destroyed?”

Once again Helena paused, wavering in consciousness and appearance.

“Another promised to destroy it many years ago,” she said softly. “But he lied.”

“I know, I know what he has done, what he can do-,” Yato started.

“I know what he's done! I know who he is! He defiled it, with dark magic!” Helena screamed. Her face had contorted supernaturally for the briefest of seconds, reminding Yato that this was a woman who had lived and loved and died with a broken heart centuries before he was even born.

“I can destroy it, once and for all! But only if you tell me where he hid it! You do know where he hid it? Don't you, Helena?” Yato pleaded. “You just have to tell me.”

“You remind me of him a bit,” Helena said softly, head tilted to the side.

Yato inwardly flinched.

“It's here, in the castle. In the place where everything is hidden. If you have to ask, you will never know. If you know… you need only ask.” Rowena drifted away, and the implications of her words lit the lightbulb within Yato’s head.

“Thank you!”

~

Out in the dark night, Yato saw bursts of light in the distance and heard the first scream. He looked down at his watch. It was midnight. The battle had begun.

He hurried along the corridor. Yato could hear movement through the corridors all around: running footsteps, and shouts, and through the windows he could see more flashes of light in the dark grounds.

The first casualties of the battle were already strewn across the passage ahead. He skidded around a final corner and with a yell of mingled relief he saw Hiyori and Yukine.

“I know where to go,” Yato said.

There was an explosion from overhead; all three of them ducked, then looked up as dust fell from the ceiling.

"I know what the diadem looks like, and I know where it is,” said Yato, talking fast. "It's where I hid my old Potions book, where everyone's been hiding stuff for centuries. He thought he was the only one to find it. Come on.”

As the walls trembled again, Yato led the way back through the concealed entrance and down the staircase into the Room of Requirement. It was empty except for one person. Kofuku turned, wand raised in defense before she realised who had entered.

"Tell us what's going on! Is everyone okay?" Kofuku asked.

"I don't know. Are there still people in the passage to the Hog’s Head?" Yato asked. He knew that the room would not be able to transform while there were still users inside it.

"I was the last to come through," said Kofuku. "I sealed it, I think it unwise to leave it open now Amaterasu is here.”

Yato looked at Kofuku. "I thought you were supposed to be with Daigo?”

'I couldn't stand not knowing…," Kofuku looked anguished. “Have you seen Daikoku?”

“He was planning to lead a group of fighters into the grounds.”

Without another word, Kofuku sped off through the Room of Requirement towards the doors on the opposite side.

It was clear, as the three of them stepped back into the corridor upstairs that the castle had deteriorated severely. The walls and ceiling were shaking worse than ever; dust filled the air, and through the nearest window, Yato saw bursts of green and red light so close to the foot of the castle that he knew the Death Eaters must be very near to entering the castle.

They saw Professor Tsuyu and Professor Takemikazuchi, both with their wands drawn at the next shattered window. Even as they watched, Professor Tsuyu sent a well-aimed jinx into a crowd of fighters below.

"Good shot!" roared a figure running through the dust toward them, and Yato saw Daikoku, storming headfirst into the fray with a small group of students past. "They're breaching the north battlements, they've brought giants!”

Yato briefly thought of Kofuku searching for Daikoku, but shook the thought away. They had to find the diadem. They ran back to the stretch of wall beyond which the Room of Requirement was waiting to do the bidding of the next entrant.

I need the place where everything is hidden, Yato begged of it inside his head, and the door materialized on their third run past.

The furor of the battle died the moment they crossed the threshold and closed the door behind them. All was silent. They were in a place the size of a cathedral with the appearance of a city, its towering walls built of objects hidden by thousands of long-gone students.

"And he never realized anyone could get in?" said Yukine, his voice echoing in the silence.

"He thought he was the only one," said Yato. "Unfortunately for him, Hiyori found it in the first place. And I've had to hide stuff in my time. This way."

Yato gestured down an aisle ahead. "I think it's down here.”

They passed the stuffed troll and the Vanishing Cabinet, then hesitated, looking up and down aisles of junk; he could not remember where to go next…

"Accio Diadem!" cried Hiyori in desperation, but nothing stirred. It seemed that, like the vault at Gringotts, the room would not yield its hidden objects that easily.

"Let's split up," Yato suggested. "Look for a stone bust of an old man wearing a tiara! It's standing on a cupboard somewhere near here…”

They sped off up adjacent aisles; Yato could hear the others' footsteps echoing through the towering piles of junk. Bottles, crates, broken chairs, thick tomes, rusting weapons, outdated broomsticks, and Quidditch bats all littered his field of vision.

"Somewhere near here," Yato muttered to himself.

Deeper and deeper into the labyrinth he went, looking for objects he recognized from his prior trip into the room. His breath was loud in his ears, and then his very soul seemed to shiver: There it was, right ahead, the blistered old cupboard in which he had hidden his old Potions book, and on top of it, the pockmarked stone warlock wearing what looked like an ancient, bejeweled tiara.

Yato stretched out his hand when a voice behind him spoke.

"Hold it.”

Yato turned abruptly, wand drawn. Two Deatheaters were standing behind him - unmasked yet unrecognisable -, shoulder to shoulder, wands pointing right at Yato. Through the small space between their bodies he saw Nora.

"That's my wand, Yato," said Nora, pointing her own through the gap.

“Not anymore," Yato replied, tightening his grip on the hawthorn wand. " Winners, keepers, Nora. Who's lent you theirs?"

"Father,'" said Nora.

Yato laughed, though there nothing very humorous about was the situation. He could not hear Yukine or Hiyori anymore. They seemed to have run out of earshot, searching for the diadem.

"So how come you aren't with the Sorcerer? Or Father?" asked Yato.

“We're gonna be rewarded," a Deatheater interrupted. "We bring back Yaboku and he will reward us."

'Good plan,'" said Yato in mock admiration.

He could not believe that he was this close, and was going to be thwarted by Nora and these idiots. He began edging slowly backward toward the place where the Horcrux sat lopsided upon the bust. If he could just get his hands on it before the fight broke out…

"So how did you get in here?" Yato asked, trying to distract them.

"I lived in the Room of Hidden Things all last year,” said Nora, her voice brittle. "I know how to get in.”

"Yato?" Yukine's voice echoed suddenly from the other side of the wall to Yato's right. "Are you talking to someone?"

The speaking Deatheater whirled around, pointed his wand at the fìfty-foot mountain of old furniture, broken trunks, old books, and unidentifiable junk, and shouted, "Descendio!"

The wall began to totter, and then the top third crumbled into the aisle next door where Yukine stood.

"Yukine!" Yato bellowed, as somewhere out of sight Hiyori screamed, and Yato heard innumerable objects crashing to the floor on the other side of the destabilized wall. He pointed his wand at the rampart, and cried, "Finite!" and it steadied.

"No!" shouted Nora, grabbing the Deatheaters arm. "If you wreck the room, you might bury the diadem!"

“What's that matter?" He growled, tugging himself free. "It's Yaboku the Sorcerer wants, who cares about a diadem?"

"Yato came in here to get it," said Nora with impatience at the slow-wittedness of her colleagues, "so that must mean-”

"Must mean?" He turned on Nora with undisguised ferocity. “Who cares what you think? You're just a filthy -.”

"Yato?" shouted Yukine again from the other side of the junk wall. "What's going on?"

In the split second the Deatheater had turned to sneer at the wall, Yato had lunged for the tiara. A curse missed him but hit the stone bust, which flew into the air; the diadem soared upward and then dropped out of sight in the mountain of objects on which the mass bust had rested.

"STOP!" Nora shouted, her voice echoing through the enormous room. "Father wants him alive-!”

"So? I'm not killing him, am I?" yelled the Deatheater, throwing off Nora's restraining arm. "But if I can, I will. The Sorcerer wants him dead anyway, what's the diff-?”

A jet of scarlet light shot past Yato by inches: Hiyori had run around the corner behind him and sent a Stunning Spell straight at the Deatheater's head. It only missed because Nora pulled him out of the way.

"It's that Mudblood! Avada Kedavra!"

Yato saw Hiyori dive aside, and his fury that he had aimed to kill wiped all else from his mind. He shot a Stunning Spell back at the Deatheater, who lurched out of the way, knocking Nora's wand out of her hand. It rolled out of sight beneath a mountain of broken furniture and boxes.

"Don't kill him! DON'T KILL HIM!" Nora yelled at the two Deatheaters who were both aiming at Yato.

Their split-second's hesitation was all Yato needed.

"Expelliarmus!"

The first Deatheater's wand flew out of his hand and disappeared into the litany of objects beside him. Nora jumped out of range of Hiyori's second Stunning Spell, and Yukine, appearing suddenly at the end of the aisle shot a full Body-Bind Curse at the remaining Deatheater, which narrowly missed him. He wheeled around and screamed, "Avada Kedavra!"

Yukine leaped out of sight to avoid the jet of green light. The wandless Nora cowered behind a three-legged wardrobe as Hiyori charged toward them, hitting the offending Deatheater with a Stunning Spell as she came.

"It's somewhere here!" Yato yelled at her, pointing at the pile of junk into which the old tiara had fallen. "Look for it while I go and help Yukine!”

"Yato!" she screamed. A roaring, billowing noise behind him gave him a moment's warning. He turned and saw both Yukine and the Deatheater running as hard as they could up the aisle toward them.

A wall of fire had engulfed the room behind them, licking up the sides of the junk, which were crumbling to soot at their touch.

"Aguamenti!" Yato cried, but the jet of water that soared from the tip of his wand evaporated in the air.

"RUN!"

Nora grabbed the Deatheater closest to her and dragged him along. Yato, Yukine, and Hiyori pelted along in their wake, and the fire pursued them.

It was not normal fire; whatever curse it was Yato did not know. As they turned a corner the flames chased them as though they were alive; sentient, intent upon killing them. Now the fire was mutating, forming a gigantic pack of fiery beasts: Flaming serpents, chimeras, and dragons rose and fell and rose again, and the detritus of centuries on which they were feeding was thrown up in the air into their fanged mouths, tossed high on clawed feet, before being consumed by the inferno. Nora, and the Deatheaters had vanished from view. Yato, Yukine, and Hiyori stopped dead; the fiery monsters were circling them, drawing closer and closer, claws and horns and tails lashed, and the heat was as solid as a wall around them.

“What can we do?" Hiyori screamed over the deafening roars of the fire. "What do we do?"

"Here!"

Yato seized a pair of heavy-looking broomsticks from the nearest pile of junk and threw one to Hiyori, who pulled Yukine onto it behind her. Yato swung his leg over the second broom and, with hard kicks to the ground, they soared up into the air, missing by the horned beak of a flaming beast that snapped its jaws at them. The smoke and heat were becoming overwhelming. Below them the cursed fire was consuming the secrets of the past, lost treasures, and guilty pleasures that had been squirreled away. Yato couldn't see a trace of Nora anywhere.

He swooped as low as he dared over the marauding monsters of flame to try to find them, but there was nothing but fire

What a terrible way to die… He had never wanted this…

“Yato, let's get out, let's get out!" bellowed Yukine, though it was impossible to see where the door was through the black smoke.

And then Yato heard a thin, piteous human scream from amidst the terrible commotion the thunder of devouring flame.

"It's too dangerous-!" Hiyori yelled, but Yato wheeled in the air. He raked the firestorm below, seeking a sign of life, a limb, or a face that was not yet burnt to ash.

And he saw her: Nora with an arm shielding her face, perched on a fragile tower of charred desks. Yat threw a desperate look at Hiyori and Yukine, and despite the evident understanding of his intention, Yukine bellowed, "IF WE DIE FOR HER, I'LL KILL YOU!"

Yato dived. Nora saw him coming and raised one arm, and as a great flaming chimera bore down upon them, Yato's hand grasped Nora's and heaved her into the air. The broom rocked and pitched dangerously as Yato hauled Nora up behind him, the flames rising higher than he could climb.

"The door, get to the door, the door!" screamed Nora in Yato's ear, and Yato sped up, following Yukine and Hiyori through the billowing black smoke, hardly able to breathe. All around them, the last few objects unburned by the devouring flames were flung into the air, as the creatures of the cursed fire cast them high: cups and shields, a sparkling necklace, and an old, discolored tiara.

“There!” Hiyori cried, her finger eagerly directed ahead. “The door!”

Then, through the smoke, Yato saw a rectangular patch on the wall and steered the broom at it. Nora was screaming and holding Yato so tightly it hurt, and he cast a final look back into the rushing flames. The diadem seemed to fall in slow motion, turning and glittering as it dropped toward the maw of a yawning serpent, and then it vanished, and Yato's vision whited out.

~

My Lord…

The Sorcerer stood in a strangely familiar room. The sounds of the assault on the castle were muffled and distant. The single unblocked window revealed distant bursts of light where the castle stood. He was rolling his wand between his fingers.

"Aren't - aren't you afraid, my Lord, that Yaboku might die at another hand but yours?" asked Oshi, her voice shaking. "Wouldn't it be… forgive me, more prudent to seek him y-yourself?"

“I do not need to seek Yaboku. Before the night is out he will have come to find me.” The Sorcerer dropped his gaze once more to the wand in his fingers.

"Go and fetch Kuguha.”

""Kuguha, m-my Lord?"

"Kuguha. Now. I need him. Go."

Frightened, stumbling a little through the gloom, Oshi left the room. The Sorcerer continued to stand there, twirling the wand between his fingers, staring at it.

"It is the only way," he whispered.

And then it hit - the Horcrux, consumed by cursed flame, rendering another part of the Sorcerer's soul incinerated. He doubled over with a sharp gasp, and the splintering of wood filled the air.

Yato saw flashes before his eyes and the Sorcerer's figure doubled and collapsed to the floor; the glitter of black scales shifting and transforming to flesh. Black hair…

Blue eyes.

~

Yato heaved a wheezy breath as he came too, soot blurring his sight. Clean air filled his lungs and he rolled to his side. The door to the Room of Requirement had vanished, and Yukine and Hiyori sat panting on the floor. Nora was nowhere to be seen.

“What the hell was that?” Yukine demanded, more so at the blank walls than anyone else.

"It must have been Fiendfyre…” Hiyori coughed. Yato and Yukine looked at her, and she elaborated. "Cursed fire - it's one of the substances that destroy. No one dares use it, it's so dangerous…”

“At least that's another Horcrux destroyed,” Yato murmured.

There was silence, apart from panting and coughing. Then a number of huge bangs shook the castle. The battle was still going on all around them. They could hear more screams. Panic flared within Yato.

"But don't you realize?" whispered Hiyori. “This means if we can just get the snake-.”

But she broke off as yells and shouts and the unmistakable noises of dueling filled the corridor. Yato looked around and his heart faltered; Death Eaters had penetrated Hogwarts.

Yato, Yukine, and Hiyori scrambled forward to help, leaving Nora on the floor coughing. Jets of light flew in every direction, teachers and students dueling masked and hooded men in the corridor ahead. Bodies littered the floor, the injured being protected and half-dragged into the cover of alcoves. Yato raised his wand, the beginnings of a curse on his lips, and the air exploded. Yato felt himself flying through the air, and all he could do was hold as tightly as possible to his wand and shield his head in his arms. He heard the screams and yells of his friends without a hope of knowing what had happened to them.

And then the world shuttered itself into darkness.

He was half buried in the wreckage of a corridor that had been subjected to a violent attack. The cold air blowing over his face told him that the side of the castle had been blown away, and hot stickiness on his cheek told him that he was bleeding. Then he heard a terrible cry that pulled at his insides, and he stood up, swaying.

Hiyori was struggling to her feet in the wreckage. Yato grabbed her hand as they staggered and stumbled over stone and wood. Yukine's filthy blond hair rose from a shattered frame, and Yato gripped him bodily and hauled him up, holding him tightly, vision blurred but mind functioning as he tried to piece together what had happened. A body fell past the hole blown into the side of the school, and curses flew in at them from the darkness, hitting the wall behind their heads.

"Get down!" Yato shouted, as more curses flew through the night. He and Yukine had both grabbed Hiyori and pulled her to the floor.

Hiyori screamed, and Yato, turning, did not need to ask why. A monstrous spider the size of a small car was trying to climb through the huge hole in the wall; one of the Sorcerer’s disciples. Yukine and Yato shouted together; their spells collided and the monster was blown backward, its legs jerking horribly, and vanished into the darkness.

"There's more!" Yato called to the others, glancing over the edge of the castle through the hole in the wall the curses had blasted.

More giant spiders were climbing the side of the building, liberated from the Forbidden Forest, which the Death Eaters must have into penetrated. Yato fired Stunning Spells down upon them, knocking the lead monster into its fellows so that they rolled back down. Curses came soaring over the building and out of sight. Then more over Yato's head, so close he felt the force of them blow his hair.

"Move, NOW!"

Pushing Hiyori ahead of him with Yukine, Yato shot Stunning spells behind at the end of the corridor, which was now full of dust and falling masonry, glass long gone from the windows, he saw many people running backward and forward, whether friends or foes he could not tell.

"Yato, in here!" Hiyori screamed. She had pulled Yukine behind a tapestry and into an abandoned room that had been overlooked. Yato slammed the door shut behind him, the cries of battle barely muffled through the thick wood.

“We need the snake, we've got to kill the snake!" said Hiyori. She turned to Yato. “Where Yato? Where do we go?”

Yato hadn't a second to consider what his latest vision had meant, but one thing was for certain:

"He's in the Shrieking Shack. He's just sent Oshi to find Kuguha.”

Hiyori recoiled. "The Sorcerer is in the Shrieking Shack?" said Hiyori. "He's not even fighting?"

“He doesn't think he needs to fight," said Yato. "He thinks I'm going to go to him.”

"But why?"

'He knows I'm after Horcruxes - he should be keeping Nagini close beside him - obviously, I'm going to have to go to him to get near it.”

“Right," said Yukine, squaring his shoulders. "So you can't go, that's what he wants, that he's expecting. You stay here and look after Hiyori, and I'll go and get it -.”

Yato cut over Yukine. "You two stay here, I'll go under the Cloak and I'll be back as soon as I-.”

"No," said Hiyori, "it makes much more sense if I take the Cloak and-.”

The door behind Yato was ripped open.

"HERE!!"

Two masked Deatheaters stood there, but even before their wands were fully raised, Yukine shouted, “EXPULSO!”

Yato threw himself to the ground with Hiyori, the curse just missing his head. Both Deatheaters let out yells and were sent soaring back across the corridor, hitting the wall with a sickening crunch before falling in a heap on the floor.

Yukine flung himself towards the door, wand raised as he checked for reinforcements. There was a clatter of wood scraping on flagstone as a herd of galloping desks, chairs, and wardrobes thundered past, shepherded by a sprinting Professor Tsuyu. She appeared not to notice them; her hair flew behind her and there was a gash on her cheek. As she turned the corner, they heard her scream, "CHARGE!"

"Yato, put the Cloak on," said Hiyori. "Leave us and just-.”

But Yato threw it over all three of them; large though they were, he doubted anyone would notice their disembodied feet through the shattered stone, broken glass, and ongoing chaos.

They ran down the next staircase and found themselves in a corridor full of duelers. The portraits on either side of the fighters were crammed with figures screaming warnings and encouragement, while Deatheaters, both masked and unmasked, dueled students and teachers. Yato, Yukine, and Hiyori raised their wands at once, ready to protect each other, but the duelers had paid their cumbersome entrance and out-of-place body parts no mind.

'LET'S GO!" Yato yelled, and he, Yukine, and Hiyori gathered the cloak tightly around themselves and pelted, heads down, through the midst of the fighters, toward the top of the marble staircase into the entrance hall.

There were more duelers all over the stairs and in the hall; Deatheaters everywhere Yato looked, students in every direction, some carrying or running and dragging injured friends.

Yato directed a Stunning Spell toward a masked Deatheater; it missed but nearly hit BLANK, who had emerged from nowhere brandishing armfuls of Venomous Tentacula, which looped itself happily around the nearest Deatheater and began reeling him in.

Yato, Yukine, and Hiyori sped down the marble staircase. Two bodies fell from the balcony overhead as they reached the ground, and a gray blur that Yato took for an animal sped four-legged across the hall to sink its teeth into one of the fallen.

"NO! shrieked Hiyori, and with a deafening blast from her wand, the creature was thrown backward from the feebly stirring body of Touma. It hit the marble banisters and struggled to return to its feet. Then, with a bright white flash and crack, a crystal ball fell on top of its head, and crumpled to the ground and did not move.

"I have more!" shrieked Kofuku from over the banisters. "More for any who want them! Here!”

And with a movement like a tennis serve, she heaved another enormous crystal sphere from her bag, waved her wand through the hall and smashed through air, and caused the ball to speed across the window. At the same moment, the heavy wooden front doors burst open, and more of the gigantic spiders forced their way into the entrance hall.

Screams of terror split the air: The fighters scattered, Deatheaters and Hogwartians alike, and red and green jets of light flew into the midst of the oncoming monsters, which shuddered and reared, more terrifying than ever.

"How do we get out?" yelled Yukine over all the screaming, but before either Yato or Hiyori could answer they were bowled aside by one of the spiders scuttering past into the fray.

“RUN!" Yato roared. The night was full of hideous yells, and he seized Hiyori's hand and tore down the steps into the grounds, Yukine bringing up the rear. He ran so fast that they were halfway toward the forest before they were skidded to a halt.

The air around them had frozen. Yato's breath caught in his chest. Shapes moved out in the darkness, swirling figures of rags and decay, moving in a great wave toward the castle, their faces hooded and their breath rattling.

Yukine and Hiyori closed in beside him as the sounds of fighting behind them grew suddenly muted, deadened because a silence only Dementors could bring was falling thickly through the night.

"Come on, Yato!" said Hiyori's voice from a very long way away. “Patronuses, Yato!"

He raised his wand, but a dull hopelessness was spreading through him. How many more lay dead that he did not yet know about? How many more? He felt as though his soul had already half left his body.

'Yato, COME ON!" screamed Hiyori.

A hundred dementors were advancing, gliding toward them, sucking their way closer to Yato's despair, like blood to a shark.

He saw Yukine's silver hare burst into the air, flicker feebly, and expire; he saw Hiyori's wolf twist in midair and fade, the begins of a howl dying on its snout, and his own wand trembled in his hand, and he almost welcomed the oncoming oblivion, the promise of nothing…

And then a silver lion leaped overhead, followed closely by a bounding labrador. The Dementors fell back before the creatures approached. Yato's vision blurred back, and the thundering of hooves beside him brought him back to reality; help had arrived. Astride a snapping Hippogriff, their wands outstretched and tethered to their patronuses.

Bishamon and Kazuma.

"That's right," Bishamon encouraged. "That's right… come on, think of something happy.”

Something happy? Yato thought. It seemed impossible right now.

“We're going to win this," Kazuma whispered.

There was a silver spark, then a wavering light, and then, Yato's Patronus burst from the end of his wand. It cantered forward, and now the dementors scattered in earnest, and immediately the night was mild again, but the sounds of the battle were loud in his ears.

“Thank you," said Yukine shakily, turning to Bishamon and Kazuma. "You saved us.”

With a roar and an earth-quaking tremor, a troll came lurching out of the darkness from the direction of the forest, brandishing a club taller than any of them.

“RUN! Yato shouted again. They all scattered, and in the next moment, the creature's vast foot had fallen exactly where they had been standing.

Yato looked around - Yukine and Hiyori were following him, but the Bishamon and Kazuma had vanished back into the battle aside Buckbeak.

“Move out the way!" yelled Yukine as the troll swung its club again and its bellows echoed through the night, across the grounds where bursts of red and green light continued to illuminate the darkness.

"The Whomping Willow," said Yato, "Go!"

Somehow he walled it all up in his mind - its secret tunnel, and the memories of the Shrieking Shack where he has finally met Sakura.

He could not think of it now. They must reach the snake and the Sorcerer, because that was, as Hiyori said, the only way to end it.

He sprinted, half believing he could out-distance death itself, ignoring the jets of light flying in the darkness all around him, through grounds that seemed themselves to have risen in rebellion. He ran faster than he had ever moved in his life, and it was he who saw the great tree, its roots with whiplike, first, the Willow that protected the secret with slashing branches.

Panting and gasping, Yato slowed down, skirting the Willow's swiping branches, peering through the darkness toward its thick trunk and its entrance.

Yukine and Hiyori caught up, Hiyori so out of breath she could not speak.

Yato raised his wand and free hand and the Whomping Willow stilled, its branches floating into the air as if it had broken the laws of gravity.

“Perfect!" panted Yukine, taking a step forward.

"Wait."

For one faltering second, while the crashes and booms of the battle filled the air, Yato hesitated. The Sorcerer wanted him to do this, wanted him to come… Was he leading Yukine and Hiyori into a trap?

But then the reality seemed to hit: The only way forward was to kill the snake, and the snake was where the Sorcerer was, and he was at the end of this tunnel…

"Yato, we're coming, just get in there!" said Yukine, pushing him forward. Yato wriggled into the earthy passage hidden in the tree's roots.

It was a much tighter squeeze than it had been the last time they had entered it.

Yato went first, his wand illuminated, expecting at any moment to meet a threat, but none came. They moved in silence, Yato's gaze fixed upon the path ahead.

At last, the tunnel began to slope upward and Yato saw a sliver of light ahead. Hiyori tugged at his ankle.

“The Cloak!" she whispered. "Put the Cloak on!"

He groped behind him and she forced the cloth into his free hand. With difficulty he dragged it over himself, murmured, "Nox,'" extinguishing his wand light, and continued on his hands and knees, as silently as possible, all his senses straining, expecting every second to be discovered, to hear a cold clear voice, see a flash of green light.

Then he heard voices coming from the room directly ahead of them, only slightly muffled by the fact that the opening at the end of the tunnel had been blocked up by what looked like an old crate.

Hardly daring to breathe, Yato edged right up to the opening and peered through a tiny gap left between the crate and the wall.

The room beyond was dimly lit, but he could see Nagini, swirling and coiling midair. He could see the edge of a table, and a long-fingered hand toying with a wand. Then Kuguha spoke, and Yato's heart lurched.

“My Lord, their resistance is crumbling,” Kuguha said appeasingly. “Let me find the boy. Let me bring you Yato. I know I can find him, my Lord.”

Kuguha strode past the gap, and Yato drew back a little, keeping his eyes fixed upon Nagini, wondering whether there was any spell that might penetrate the protection surrounding her, but he could not think of anything. One failed attempt, and he would give away his position.

The Sorcerer stood up. Yato could see him now, black robes swinging. "I have a problem.”

"My Lord?"

The Sorcerer raised the Elder Wand. "Why doesn't it work for me?"

In the silence, Yato imagined he could hear the snake hissing slightly as it coiled and uncoiled.

"My Lord?" said Kuguha blankly. "I do not understand. You… you have performed extraordinary magic with that wand.”

"No," said the Sorcerer. "I have performed my usual magic. I am extraordinary, but this wand… It has not revealed the wonder it has promised. I feel no difference.”

The Sorcerer's tone was musing, calm, but Yato's head had begun to throb and pulse. Pain was building in his forehead, and he could feel that controlled sense of fury building inside the Sorcerer.

"None at all," said the Sorcerer again.

Yato could not see his face. He wondered not whether Kuguha sensed danger.

The Sorcerer started to move around the room. Yato lost sight of him for a few seconds as he prowled, speaking in that same measured voice, while the pain and fury mounted in Yato. "I have thought long and hard. Do you know why I have called you back from the battle?"

And for a moment Yato saw Kuguha’s profile; his eyes were fixed upon the coiling snake in its enchanted cage.

"No, my Lord. But please allow me to find Yaboku."

"You sound like Oshi. Neither of you understands him as I do. He does not need to be found; Yaboku will come home to me. I know his weakness. He will hate watching the others struck down around him, knowing that it's his fault. He will want to stop it at any cost. He will come.”

"But my Lord, he might be killed accidentally by one other than yourself-.”

“My instructions have been perfectly clear: Capture Yaboku. Kill his friends, but do no more, do not kill him. But you," the Sorcerer ceased pacing. "You have been very valuable to me. Very valuable. It's you that I wished to speak, not Yaboku.”

Kuguha shuffled his feet. "I seek only to serve you. But - let me go and find the boy, my Lord. Let me bring him to you. I know I can -.”

“I have told you, no!" said the Sorcerer, and Yato caught the glint in his eyes as he turned again, and the swishing of his cloak was like the slithering of a snake and he felt his impatience in his head.

“Why did the wands I have used fail when directed at Yaboku?"

"I cannot answer that, my Lord."

"Can't you?"

The stab of rage felt like a spike driven through Yato's head. He forced his fist into his mouth to stop himself from crying out in pain. He closed his eyes, and suddenly he was there, looking into Kuguha’s pale face.

"I-I have no explanation, my Lord.” His dark eyes were still. Kuguha was not looking at Voldemort now. Fixed upon the coiling serpent in its protective sphere.

"I sought a third wand. The Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick. I took it from its previous master. I took it from the grave of Tenjin.'

And now Kuguha looked at his master. There was panic in his eyes. "My Lord - let me go-.”

"All this long night, when I am on the brink of victory, I have sat here,'" said the Sorcerer, his voice barely louder than a whisper, “Wondering, wondering, why the Elder Wand refuses to be what it ought to be, refuses to perform as legend says it must perform for its rightful owner… and I think I have the answer.'

Kuguha did not speak.

"Perhaps you already know it? You are a clever man, after all. You have been a good and faithful servant, and I regret what must happen.”

"My Lord…”

"The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Kuguha, because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner. You killed Tenjin. While you live, the Elder Wand cannot be truly mine.”

"My Lord!" Kuguha protested, raising his wand.

"It cannot be any other way," said the Sorcerer. "I must master the wand. Master the wand, and I master Yaboku at last."

He swiped the air with the Elder Wand. It did nothing to Kuguha, who for a split second seemed to think he had been reprieved: But then the Sorcerer's intention became clear. The snake's cage was rolling through the air, and before Kuguha could do anything more than yell, it had encased him, head and shoulders, and Voldemort spoke in Parseltongue.

"Kill.”

There was a terrible scream. Yato saw Kuguha’s face losing the little color it had left; it whitened as his black eyes widened, as the snake's fangs pierced his neck, as he failed to push the enchanted cage off himself, as his knees gave way and he fell to the floor.

“I regret it," said the Sorcerer coldly.

He turned away; there was no sadness in him, no remorse. It was time to leave this shack and take charge, with a wand that would now do his full bidding. He pointed it at the starry cage holding the snake, which drifted upward, off Kuguha, who fell sideways onto the floor, blood gushing from the wounds in his neck. The Sorcerer swept from the room without a backward glance, and the great serpent floated after him in its huge protective sphere.

Back in the tunnel and his own mind, Yato opened his eyes: He had drawn blood biting down on his knuckles in an effort not to shout out. Now he was looking through the tiny crack between crate and wall, watching a foot in a black boot trembling on the floor.

"Yato!" Breathed Hiyori behind him, but he had already pointed his wand at the crate blocking his view. It lifted an inch into the air and drifted sideways silently. As quietly as he could, he pulled himself up into the room.

Yato did not know why he was doing it, why he was forcing his way into the dimly lit room. He did not know what to feel as he approached Kuguha, whose breath rattled and neck was bloody.

Yato took off the Invisibility Cloak and looked down upon the dying man, whose widening eyes found him and Hiyori and Yukine as they clambered out of the gap behind.

Yato grimly drew his wand.

“Yato…” Yukine said hesitantly, almost with a warning tone.

“I'm not,” Yato said softly. “He has information. I need to know what comes next.”

Yato knelt in the growing pool of blood and drew in close. His wand hovered at Kuguha’s head, and a silvery hue, neither gas nor liquid, pulled from his temple, meeting the tip of Yato's wand.

A flask, conjured from thin air, was thrust into his shaking hands by Hiyori. Yato lifted the silvery substance into it with his wand. When the flask was full to the brim, a terrible rasping, gurgling noise wheezed from Kuguha’s throat, and his grip on Yato's robes slackened.

There was a pregnant pause before Hiyori whispered, “Is he dead?”

Yato opened his mouth to reply.

A low, cold voice spoke so close that Yato jumped to his feet, the vial clutched in his fist as he cast his eyes frantically around the room.

The Sorcerer's voice reverberated around the room, and Yato realised the disembodied words were addressing everyone within the castle and the surrounding areas, reaching down into the homes of families in Hogsmeade like a breath down their necks.

“You have fought valiantly," said the cold voice. “The Lord knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist, you will all die, one by one.”

Yato’s heart pounded in his chest, thumping against the fragile glass in his hand.

“I do not wish this to happen.” The voice continued. “Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. Our Lord is merciful. command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.”

The voice shifted as if stepping around Yato, moving to speak to him directly, faceless.

"I speak to you now, Yaboku. You have allowed your friends to die rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, then battle recommences.”

Yato missed the panicked looks Hiyori and Yukine exchanged, the Sorcerer's terms unfathomable. “This time, I will come myself, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.”

The voice rang in Yato’s ears.

Both Hiyori and Yukine shook their heads frantically, looking at Yato.

"Don't listen to him," said Yukine.

“It'll be all right," said Hiyori wildly. "Let's get back to the castle, if he's gone to the forest we'll need to think of a new plan”

She glanced at the body, then hurried back to the tunnel entrance. Yukine followed her. Yato gathered up the Invisibility Cloak, and then looked down at Kuguha. He did not know what to feel, except shock at the method of his execution, and the reason for which it had been done.

They crawled back through the tunnel, none of them talking and Yato wondered whether Yukine and Hiyori could still hear the Sorcerer ringing in their heads, as he could.

You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest… One hour.

The three of them hurried toward the stone steps. The forecourt yard was littered with debris and the fallen, Deatheaters and comrades alike. It must've been the small hours of the morning, but the sun had not yet broken over the crest of the mountains.

The castle was unnaturally silent as they hurried across the grass, wands drawn and alert despite the abandoned battlefield. There were no flashes of light now, no cries or screams. The flagstones of the desolate entrance hall were stained with blood, chips of marble, piles of stone, and splintered wood from the banisters creating a carpet that they trod over gently.

“Where is everyone?" whispered Hiyori.

Yukine led the way to the Great Hal, followed closely by Hiyori. Yato stopped in the doorway and took in the ruin before him.

The survivors stood in groups, their arms around each other, or lay on the floor eerily silent. The House tables were pushed to the sides of the Great Hall or acting as medic tables, haphazardly arranged and littered with medical supplies. The injured were being treated by Professor Tsuyu and an assortment of helpers.

Yato’s eyes raked over the devastation. A litany of bodies lay uncovered beneath the enchanted ceiling, some of which he could recognise. Tsuguha, pale and unmoving, with Aiha weeping beside her - her own legs were wrapped in bandages that were already bleeding through. A small girl with black hair and blue lining of her jumper hems; Touma.

Further away he could see more figures. Whether or not they were alive he could not tell, and the fact that there was a medic kneeling between the two forms did not comfort him. His eyes had nearly flicked away when the medic moved, leaning over to the next patient, and Yato caught a glimpse of pink hair and a large hand nearly touching theirs.

The Great Hall seemed to shrink, all the oxygen sucked away as Yato reeled backward from the doorway. He could not breathe. No. He could not stand to watch, to see who else had died for him. He could not bear to join his friends. He could not look into their eyes when if he had given himself up in the first place, this might never have happened.

He turned away and ran up the marble staircase. He wished his heart would stop so that this testing pain would cease, that each screaming heartbeat would still into a peaceful oblivion. His feet instinctively took him to the one place where he would find answers.

The castle was completely empty; even the portraits and ghosts seemed to have joined the mass mourning in the Great Hall.

Yato ran without stopping, clutching the crystal flask of Kuguha’s last thoughts, and he did not slow down until he reached the stone gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office.

"Password?" The door groaned, unfeeling of the chaos around it.

“Tenjin!" said Yato bellowed, fiat slamming against the door. The gargoyle slid aside, revealing the spiral staircase behind.

But when Yato burst into the circular office he found no one. The portraits were empty; not a single headmaster or headmistress remained to see him. They had left to see the ruination of their school, and their beloved students and peers.

Yato glanced hopelessly at Tenjin's deserted frame, the largest which hung directly behind the headmaster's chair, then turned his back on it. His eyes fell on the cabinet to the side of the room. Tenjins pensieve. It had been left open, carelessly, as if its user was abruptly taken from it by some unfolding disaster downstairs.

If Tenjin were not here, then his memories were. And maybe someone else's.

Yato poured Kuguha’s memories and dunked his head to drown out the world.

~

Yato emerged in a dark room with few plush items. Three people stood before him, bathed in firelight. Yato stepped forward, a sense of dread pulling him closer. He knew this place. He knew these people.

“If it's true, should we not keep an eye on the boy? To kill -,” a male figure spoke. He was dressed in white and had grey dreads that reached down his back. Kuguha. He was addressing another man, polarized by his black robes and short dark hair. He was turned away from his guests and Yato, staring into the fire with an arm resting on the mantlepiece.

“No,” the dark-haired man said with the slightest shake of his head, and Yato’s blood ran cold. He knew that voice. “My son will never cease this mission.”

“My Lord,” Kuguha murmured with the slightest inclination of his head. “If you were to destroy the Horcrux yourself -.”

“It is necessary,” the dark-haired man said. “Given the circumstances.”

Yato stepped forward again, wary of his presence being detected though he knew in the back of his head it shouldn't be possible.

"I don't understand, your soul - fractured as it is - cannot bear close contact with a soul like Yato's. We were talking of minds!” A female voice shrilled and Ytao’s head snapped to the carrier - Oshi.

This must have been before recent events after Oshi was installed as Headmistress, Yato thought to himself.

The fire crackled and cast shadows over their faces. Yato moved closer. He knew who he was looking at - he’d been looking at him for half of his life, hiding for the rest. So why was he talking about his soul and Horcruxes?

“I knew what burden I would bear if I chose to do this to my children,” the dark-haired man said softly. “Because I knew that I would do anything to protect them. I am them. They are me. Now neither can live whilst I survive .”

Yato could feel the memory starting to blur at the edges, the voice becoming watery.

"In the case of Yato and I, to speak of one is to speak of the other.” The dark-haired man said. The vision went black, and the last words barely reached Yato’s ears.

“Our fates are intertwined.”

~

A whirl of color, and now everything darkened. Yato stood in the headmaster's office, unchanged. It was nighttime and the portraits were full once again of headteachers past and present. Yet the main difference was its most recently departed was sitting in the high-backed chair.

Yato stepped around the room carefully. Why was he seeing Tenjin’s memories? Surely the Pensieve would have been rinsed of all prior recollections - but then again, it would have proved a valuable source of intel for Oshi and the Sorcerer.

He had arrived mid-conversation but Tenjin hadn't noticed the interruption of course, nor had Madame Kofuku who sat adjacent, glaring at Tenjin with her green eyes.

"The Sorcerer does not expect Nora to succeed,” Tenjin said, fingers steepled in front of his face. “This is merely punishment for her recent failures… slow torture until my murder is committed.”

This must be before Nora's attempts on Tenjin’s life happened, Yato thought to himself. Everything was rewinding, going back in time. He knew from the beginning?

“Do you believe the Sorcerer foresees a moment in the near future when he will not need Nora's eyes in the castle?" Madame Kofuku asked, eyes narrowed.

'He believes the school will soon be in his grasp, yes.' Tenjin agreed.

There was a beat of silence.

"And if it does fall into his grasp," said Tenjin, “Do I have your word that you will do all in your power to protect the students of Hogwarts?"

Madame Kofuku gave a stiff nod.

"Good. Now then. Your first priority will be to discover what Nora is up to; a frightened teenage girl is a danger to others as well as to herself. Nora blames me - thinks I have enabled Yato to stay away from their father for so long. And I do not deny it.”

Tenjin stood from his desk and Yato took an unnecessary step back to allow him to walk past, circling the desk.

"All the same, I am concerned less for myself than for accidental victims of whatever schemes Nora may attempt. Ultimately, of course, there is only one thing to be done if we are to save her from the Sorcerer's wrath.

Tenjin came to a stop beside Madame Kofuku’s chair, hands behind his back as he stared at the door.

Kofuku raised her eyebrows as she asked, "Are you intending to let her kill you?"

"Certainly not.” Tenjin chuckled, and both Yato and Madame Kofuku both failed to see what was so funny. "That girl's soul is not yet so damaged. I would not have it ripped apart on my account.”

~

The world spun away and came back a moment later. Yato was at Grimmauld Place, in the dining room. All the paperwork and books had been cleared away neatly, indicating that this memory had come later on during his sixth year at Hogwarts. He heard muffled voices from the living room and followed them, taking a moment to soak in the nostalgia of his once home.

“- is the key to the Sorcerer’s undoing, no matter if the prophecy is destroyed.”

Yato gently pushed open the living room door. Tenjin sat in an armchair right before him holding a cup of tea to his lips. Sunlight painted his lined face, the curtains pulled back to let in a gentle breeze that rocked the curtains and the view of the budding cherry blossoms. His eyes flitted to the sofa and his heart lurched.

Sakura sat with her hands folded on her lap, her cup of tea placed on the table in front of her with the delicate porcelain teapot still steaming hot. She hasn't changed at all, Yato thought for the briefest of moments, before he realised that all occupants of the room except himself were currently deceased.

Sakura’s face was painted with a mixture of heartbreak, confusion, and anger. “What are you implying, Tenjin?”

The air shifted and stilled. Tenjin lowered his teacup with a small clatter.

"Yato must not know until the last moment. Not until it gives him the strength to do what is necessary, otherwise how it must be done-.”

“And what must be done?"

“That is between Yato and me. Now listen closely, Sakura. There will come a time after my death when the Sorcerer will seem to fear for the life of his snake -.”

“For his snake?" Sakura interrupted, looking astonished. “The one Yato has seen?”

"Precisely. If there comes a time when the Sorcerer stops sending that snake forth to do his bidding, but keeps it safe beside him under magical protection, then, I think, it will be safe to tell Yato.”

"Tell him what?"

Tenjin took a deep breath and closed his eyes, the teacup balanced delicately in his fragile hand.

"Tell him that on the night the Sorcerer created the snake, so he too created Yato.”

Yato stared at Tenjin.

“The Sorcerer used his own children to create Horcruxes. To ensure that they would always live beside him, under his protection. To take the life of the Sorcerer is one thing, but to take the lives of his children? Innocent souls? It would take a heartless person to do such a thing, even have a chance to do so.”

Yato's face mirrored Sakura's; confusion yielding to sickening disbelief.

“Part of the Sorcerer lives inside Yato, and it is that which gives him the power of speech with snakes, and a connection with the Sorcerer's mind that he has never understood. And while that fragment of the soul remains attached to and protected by Yato, the Sorcerer cannot die.”

Yato seemed to be watching from one end of a long tunnel; they were so far away from him, their voices echoing strangely in his ears.

“I will not lead him to his death. I will not kill him,” Sakura shook her head. “There must be another way!”

“You cannot kill him. The Sorcerer himself must do it, Sakura. That is essential.”

Another long silence. Then Sakura said, "I thought that we were protecting him for me. For years.”

"We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, to raise him, to let him try try his strength," said Tenjin his eyes still tight shut. "Meanwhile, the connection between them grows ever stronger, a parasitic growth. Sometimes I have thought he suspects it himself. If I know him, Yato will have arranged matters so that when he does set out to meet his death, it will truly mean the end of the Sorcerer.”

Tenjin opened his eyes. Sakura looked horrified.

"You have kept him alive, sheltered him, so that he can die at the right moment?"

"Don't be shocked, Sakura,” Tenjin said, and Yato disliked the tone he used. “How many men and women have you watched die?"

“Only those whom I could not save,” said Sakura. She stood up. "You have used me. I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Yato safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter. I will not allow it!”

Sakura crossed the room in a blur of robes and dark hair, and Yato caught the faintest smell of her perfume as the world faded away with the creak of a door.

“I think it's best you leave, Headmaster.”

~

Yato rose up out of the Pensieve, and moments later he lay on the carpeted floor of Tenjin's office.

Finally, the truth of his upbringing. All his life in his Father's house, kept safe from the world as the Sorcerer grew in power.

His job all along was to walk calmly into Death's welcoming arms. Along the way, he would break the Sorcerer's remaining link to life.

The Sorcerer determined he would destroy Yato - his own Horcrux - to stop him from destroying him altogether. Nagini would be the last Horcrux remaining. At least that's what the Sorcerer would believe for a brief time.

Yato lay on the floor, arms splayed and heart pounding. His mortality struck him; this heart has to stop regardless of how many Horcruxes he destroyed.

How many heartbeats do I have left?

Yato swallowed a lump in his throat, aware of the hot tears dripping down his temples and into his hair.

Would it hurt to die?

It did not matter. It had to happen.

Slowly Yato sat up. His breath came slow and deep, and his mouth and throat were completely dry. He felt his fingers trembling slightly.

The betrayal was nothing; he should have seen this coming. A final twist of fate that ensured that he would never be free. The task of destroying Horcruxes had been passed to him, and as he slowly severed each tie the Sorcerer had to the mortal realm, he was sealing his own fate; the ultimate sacrifice he would have to make to save everyone. How tidy that the Sorcerer’s demise would come from his own hand.

They knew Yato would keep going until the end, after seeing the devastation that stopping would entail. He thought of the bodies in the Great Hall, the injured and the maimed and the dying. But they had overestimated him.

He had failed: The snake survived. One Horcrux would remain to bind the Sorcerer to the earth, even after Yato had been killed. True, that would mean an easier job for somebody. He wondered who would do it; Hiyori and Yukine would know what needed to be done, of course.

That would have been why Tenjin wanted him to confide in two others… so that if he fulfilled his true destiny a little early, they could finish the job.

I must die. It must end.

Yato's thoughts drifted to Hiyori and Yukine. They seemed so far away now - they were probably wondering where he was. But this was a journey they could not take together.

Nearly half of the hour allotted by the Sorcerer for his surrender had passed. Yato stood up, his heart fluttering what short about of beats remained. He did not look back as he closed the office door.

The castle was empty. He felt as if he had already become one of the ghosts - would his soul remain? Or had it been corrupted so that it would disappear with the Sorcerers? The portrait frames hung desolate, all flocking to the Great Hall which had become the pulsating heart of the battleground.

Yato descended through the floors, at last walking down the marble staircase into the entrance hall. He moved down the steps and out into the darkness. It was nearly four in the morning, and the deathly stillness of the grounds felt as though they were holding their breath, waiting to see whether he could do what he must.

“Where've you been?”

Yato turned. Yukine and Hiyori were stood to his left, paused in the corridor.

“I thought you went to the forest…” Yukine sighed as if relieved.

“I'm going there now,” Yato said quietly.

He avoided looking at them - he couldn't bear to look them in the eye, to see the devastation and protest on their faces. He should've gone a different way, and avoided this interaction. It would've hurt less, though Yato didn't know if he was thinking about their feelings or his own.

There was a brief pause before Yukine replied. “Are you mad?”

“No…”

“You can't give yourself up,” Hiyori said. There was a wobble to her voice, and Yato felt a lump rise in his throat.

“What is it, Yato? What is it you know?” Yukine pressed.

“There is a reason I can hear them. The Horcruxes. I think I've known for a while…” Yato said, eyes flitting between the two. “And I think you have, too.”

“You can't-!” Yukine began, but Yato interrupted.

“No. Kill the snake. Kill the snake, and it's just him!”

There was a moment where there was complete silence; the noise of the Great Hall had subsided, along with their breaths and heartbeats. In that moment it was just Yato and the two people he loved most in the world.

And then it shattered.

Yukine hugged Yato firmly, squeezing him slightly.

Yato noticed how much Yukine had grown. He was nearly as tall as he was now, and not as scrawny. After all these years of dealing with his own problems, he’d never noticed Yukine had grown up helping him. Yukine pulled back, his upper lip stiff and eyes unblinking so the tears wouldn’t fall.

“You better come back,” Yukine said in a hard voice, expression betraying his true feelings. Yato nodded dully, promising something that couldn’t be. Deep down Yukine knew it too.

Hiyori stepped up to Yato next, head tilted to look him right in the eyes. Her eyes watered threateningly as she began to speak.

“I’ll go with you,” Hiyori said in a shaky voice.

Yato smiled sadly. Stubborn until the end, as always.

“It’s me they want. You’re safer here.” Yato said softly. He outstretched his arm to her, inviting her into a final hug.

Hiyori’s features broke, her face twisting into one of pain as she launched herself into his arms. She buried her face in his chest, fingernails digging into the back of his shirt as she held him in a tight embrace. He returned the embrace, not as tightly for fear that if he held her he would never let go.

“Don’t go,” Hiyori whispered.

Gradual shuddering sobs shook their bodies as Hiyori clung to him as if it was the last time she would see him.

I suppose it is, Yato thought dejectedly.

He bowed his head so he rested against the top of Hiyori’s head. Taking a deep breath, he could smell her scent of earth and fire smoke that was oh so familiar. He gently put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back slightly to look at her tear-stained face. A lump rose in his throat as he kissed her forehead.

“I’ll come back, I promise.”

Yato took one last glance back at the entrance of the Great Hall. People were moving around, trying to comfort each other, drinking, and kneeling beside the dead.

It would be the last lie he told.

~

Yato kept himself together as he left Hiyori in Yukine's arms, walking out of the castle and into the bleak night.

This was crucial, he must be like Tenjin: stay calm, make sure there were backups, and others to carry on. Tenjin had died knowing that people still knew about the Horcruxes; now Yukine or Hiyori would take Yato's place.

He wanted to be stopped, to be dragged back, to be sent back home…

But he was home. Hogwarts was the first and best home he had known. He and Yukine - the abandoned boys - had both found a home here. Perhaps Hiyori too now considered that castle her home with her own family gone…

With a huge effort, Yato forced himself on. Yato moved on, past Kuraha’s lightless hut, and now he reached the edge of the forest, and he stopped.

He could no longer control his own trembling. It was not so easy to face death. Every second he breathed, the smell of the grass, the cool air on his face, was so precious. To think that people had years and years, of time to waste, so much time it dragged, and he was clinging to catch second. The long game was ended. The Snitch had been caught; it was time to leave the air.

The Snitch. Yato fumbled for a moment and he pulled out Tenjin's final gift.

I open at the close.

Yato stared down at it. Now that he wanted time to move as slowly as possible, it seemed to have sped up.

This was the close. He pressed the golden metal to his lips and whispered, "I am about to die.”

The metal shell broke open. He lowered his shaking hand, raised Nora's wand, and murmured, “Lumos.”

A black stone with its jagged crack running down the center sat in the two halves of the Snitch. The Resurrection Stone had cracked down the vertical line representing the Elder Wand. The triangle and circle representing the Cloak and the stone were still discernible.

And again Yato understood without having to think. It did not matter about bringing her back, for he was about to join her. He closed his eyes and turned the stone over in his hand three times.

He knew it had happened because he heard slight movements around him that suggested shifting footing on the outer edge of the earthy, twig-strewn ground. He opened his eyes and looked, he could see that. Less substantial than the living, but much more than a ghost, she moved toward him, and on her face, there was the same loving smile.

“Sakura…” Yato whispered.

She was wearing the clothes in which she had died. She pushed her long hair back as she drew close to him, and her eyes searched his face.

“You've been so brave."

Yato could not speak. His eyes feasted on her, and he thought that he would like to stand and look at her forever, and that would be enough.

"You are nearly there," said Sakura. "Very close. I'm so proud of you.”

"Does it hurt?" The childish question had fallen from Yato's lips before he could stop it.

"Dying? Not at all," said Sakura. "Quicker than falling asleep."

Sakura's hand reached out as if wishing to brush the hair from his eyes, to caress his cheek. “He will want it to be quick. He wants it to be over."

"I didn't want you to die," Yato said. These words came without his volition.

A chilly breeze that seemed to emanate from the heart of the forest lifted the hair at Yato's brow. He knew that she would not tell him to go, that it would have to be his decision.

“You'll stay with me?"

"Until the very end," said Sakura.

“They won't be able to see you?" asked Yato.

“I am a part of you," said Sakura.

Yato looked at his sister. He was going home.

“Stay close to me," he said quietly.

And he set off.

Together they walked through the old trees that grew closely together, their branches tangled, their roots a gnarled and twisted carpet. Traveling deeper and deeper into the forest, with no idea where exactly the Sorcerer was, but sure that he would find him. Beside him, making scarcely a sound, walked Sakura's presence. She seemed much more real to him now than the living back at the castle: Hiyori, Yukine and all the others were the ones who felt like ghosts as he stumbled toward the end of his life, toward the Sorcerer.

They had traveled mere minutes when Yato saw light ahead.

A fire burned in the middle of the clearing, and its flickering light fell over a crowd of completely silent, watchful Death Eaters. Some of them were still masked and hooded; others showed their faces. Two giants sat on the outskirts of the group, casting massive shadows over the scene. Yato saw Oshi, skulking like a tattered ghost between trees.

Every eye was fixed upon the Sorcerer, who stood with his head bowed, and his hands folded over the Elder Wand in front of him. He might have been praying, or counting silently in his mind, and Yato thought absurdly of a child counting in a game of hide-and-seek. Behind him at his feet lay Nagini coiled, tongue flickering.

The Resurrection Stone slipped from between his numb fingers, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sakura vanish as he stepped forward into the firelight. At that moment he felt that nobody mattered but the Sorcerer. It was just the two of them.

The illusion was gone as soon as it had come. The giants roared as the Death Eaters rose together, and there were many cries, gasps, and laughter. The Sorcerer had frozen where he stood, but his eyes had found Yato, and he stared as Yato moved toward him, with nothing but the fire between them.

Then a voice yelled: "Yato! NO!”

He turned: Kuraha was bound, tied to a tree nearby. His body shook as he struggled, desperate.

"NO! NO! Leave here!”

“QUIET!" shouted a voice, and with a flick of a wand Kuruha was silenced.

Oshi, who had leaped to her feet, was looking eagerly from the Sorcerer to Yato, her chest heaving. The only things that moved were the flames and the snake, coiling and uncoiling behind the Sorcerer.

Yato could feel his wand against his chest, but he made no attempt to draw it. He knew that the snake was too well protected. Knew that if he managed to point the wand at Nagini, fifty curses would hit him first. And still, the Sorcerer and Yato looked at each other.

The Sorcerer tilted his head a little to the side, considering the boy standing before him.

'Yaboku," he said very softly. His voice might have been part of the spitting fire. "My son."

None of the Death Eaters moved. They were waiting: Everything was waiting. Kuraha was struggling, and Oshi was panting, and Yato thought inexplicably of Hiyori, her heartbroken look, and the feel of her hand in his.

The Sorcerer had raised his wand. Yato looked back into his eyes and wanted it to happen now, quickly, while he could still stand before he betrayed fear.

He saw the mouth move and a flash of green light, and everything was gone.

#noragami #yato #noragami aragoto #yatori #yukine #bishamon #hiyori #kazubisha #kazuma #hp au #harry potter au #in the darkness

[bharatiya-naari-sab-pe-bhaari]

How have I loved you.... [Ft. Lily Evans Potter]

A/N:- This is way too jumbled for my taste. I have kind of written whatever nonsense was running through my thoughts at the moment.

*pic credits to artist from pinterest*

"Do you remember how we used to weave flower wreaths lying on the grass of the sunflower fields; string together the small pink and white wildflowers over poison ivy?"

The rain pouring down in vengeance over the flaming red hair just made her vibrant green eyes seem more verdant. There was hardly any wind and the sun lit streaks of vermillion on the afternoon sky overlooking the Scottish landscape.

His raven hair sat plastered on that sickly alabaster skin as his characteristic harsh features contorted in a macabre parody of some long buried unknown agony.

"Do you remember how we would pick twigs from the backyard of old Mrs. Flein and pretend that we were the Knights of King Arthur, set on some fantastical adventures beyond the horizon?"

The man raised his quivering hand facing her, as if pleading for her to stop yet she carried on mercilessly; dredging up the figments of their memories which he had jealously guarded in some inaccessible alcove of his chest.

"Do you remember how we would sit for hours in the library pouring over unread books gathering dust for centuries, dreaming about conquering the world in all of our childish naivete."

The man let out something which could be classified as a whimper while his obsidian gaze seemed to bleed out of his crushed eyes; an amalgamation of salt water and the incessant rain cascaded down his sallow cheeks.

The woman stood piercing her manicured nails inside her palms, resisting the almighty urge of throwing open her arms; her lips shaking with the effort of keeping in the impending explosion of emotions with a mere string of repressed breath.

"Do you remember the nights you have laid your robe over my sleeping shoulders, leaving those innocuous little flowers in your wake; gladiolus for strength, tiger lilies for pride and edelweiss for eternal love?

There was a whinging cry from the great dark forests from behind startling the duo as they stood shaking from the icy chill which had seeped into their drenched robes to layer a film of sadistic protection from the embers which had started to glow in their souls from within.

"Mother..."

A voice came from behind her; a weak mutter lost in the screaming sheets of the heavy downpour like a lost fawn and the broken pieces of her heart sobbed in writhing pain at the floor of her chest. Yet she stood facing the man in front and saw his form rocking slightly, hands wrapped around his abdomen as if trying to protect his tender underbelly from a lethal stab wound.

Her voice was turning hoarse from trying to shout over the rains to be able to be heard at the distance yet her feet wouldn't comply and close the few metres.

As if nearing him would make him bolt like a cornered wild animal.

Still she plundered on tirelessly ignoring the slowly assembling audience; wet faces showing the rivers of filth and blood meandering down their features, expressions twisted in bitter regret, gut wrenching loss and tearing agony.

Despondent angry young faces and tired weathered old faces.

But she still went on; hell bent on shattering those damning shields the reedy tall man had erected around him like a mighty impregnable fortress of despair.

"Do you remember the time when we held hands and skipped down the dusty path to that little village; where the sun beat down on your scabbed red face and I got scratches on my knees from falling over the meadow beside the spring?"

"Do you remember how you would cry in my chest bearing on your soul the marks of the cruel monsters inhabiting your world and I would hold you for hours on an end till you had been wrung dry and scrapped raw?"

"Do you remember how you would hold me when I would scream and rage and end up in bitter tears over the torn cards and broken gifts that I would pick from the trash outside my sister's room?"

"Do you remember how we would sing the tunes from the old beaten record player of my father's, till our throats would dry out and her legs give way, sweating in the sweltering heat of the tree house we built together?"

The man let out a keening gurgling cry like a mix between a dying pig choking in its own blood and the joyful scream of the Thorn bird. He seemed to have bent over in half from the middle like a haggling crone, as if suffering the aftermath of a rib snapping blow to his stomach. The clear fluids streaming down her unrepentant face matched the bloodied tears pouring down through his own. He whimpered in protest folding like a caving structure shattering in itself at his centre; his words coming out like hacking coughs of a sickened rotten decaying soul.

"St.. stop. Stop. Please... please stop.."

The shields had begun cracking, splintering, crumbling at the surface. It was all too visible and she could feel the aching hope rise inside her flesh like the bubbling boiling magma from an impending volcanic explosion. She clutched the wet fabric sticking to her chest in a white knuckled grasp and ploughed ahead ruthlessly.

"If you had forgotten all this.. all of this than how could you remember that one single incident of our lives? That one single moment of despair, bad decisions and selfish ablutions? That one single hateful loathsome second which turned both of us into cowardly beasts? Why do you remember that one single moment and not any of the ones leading to it?"

The rain had started clearing yet the soaked audience took none of that in notice other than the scene in front.

The deadly scene which was slowly leaching off the very breath in their battle weary lungs.

The air around them had started crackling from the powerful magic of the man. It seemed like a great big vacuum has started building around them, sucking in all their cores into a massive black hole as they remained standing as immobile puppets at someone else's play.

The wizened old wizard with twinkling cerulean eyes tugged at the arm of the young fawn with messy raven hair as his emerald gaze refused to leave the sight which had captivated them all. He forcefully pulled him then and by that contact his other two extra limbs stuck with his person came along; a bushy haired witch and a red haired freckled wizard. He spread his mighty bony arms and embraced all three in a steel like grip spelling protection rapidly under his breath.

And it proved to be a wise idea very soon.

The fair flamed woman looked determined next, her hands raising slowly in the air as her entire slender body shook in powerful bursts and she spelled out the silent words into the wet air fragrant with petrichor over the trembling man's pleading.

"How have you forgotten..."

"No.. no please..."

" ...that I have for so long..."

"No.. its not true.. please... no.."

".... and how much have I...."

"No"

"loved you Severus. How have you forgotten that? How have I loved you for so long?"

The scream was predictable, the collapse not so much.

Lily Evans Potter found herself flying through the fifteen feet of physical distance and covered the more than twenty years of a messy painful emotional distance which had hollowed both of them from the inside within two seconds flat.

The powerful domino blast of uncontrolled magic which had casted around the kneeling man in front had displaced their audience rudely on their rumps some feet away.

She felt her knees scrape annoyingly as she crashed on the rusty wet blood soaked grass yet couldn't find it withing herself to bother about anything else except the sobbing man in her arms. She ignored the sharp gasps and collective yells resounding around her and clung to him for dear life.

The numerous occlumency shields gathered meticulously and irreversibly around Severus Snape's mind for the past twenty years had broken resoundingly and in one smooth stroke rendering the man himself incapable of mere coherency. The blinding pain in his head might have been further escalated by the painful ripping apart of his soul picked tenderly by the woman he had loved for so long, like a flaying chicken on a fire.

But it was needed.

It had been needed to be done for a painfully long time yet none had the courage nor the fortitude nor the skill required to achieve that.

None except the only person who had ever seen the very soul of him.

None except the woman he had loved since as long as he remembers.

None except the woman who has always loved him with the hidden fibres of her heart, secretive and guarded against the cruelties of her world and the failures of her life.

"I love you."

She sang in his hair as they rocked into the evening sun, the sky aflame with its dying light and the steady breaths of the survivors of the horrific war which had once torn them apart only to bring them back together like it was inevitable, unchangeable, imminent.

"I love you."

She pressed over his face like an iridescent shower as his tears mingled with her own and they rocked into the night sky as the chaos of the day was finally laid to rest.

"I love you."

She promised in a thousand ways over his skin later, as they laid side by side, tangled in each other's limbs and on sweaty bed sheets, sleep drunk and sated.

"I love you."

She whispered in his ear as he sat at the Great Hall, hugging as many of his kids as he could with his two long yet painfully empty arms; his lost band of Slytherins, a bevy of Hufflepuffs, a fleet of Ravenclaws and a surprising few Gryffindors as well.

"I love you."

She cried into his hair when she found him rocking in an armchair with an armful of a too big Harry, cuddled into his chest, late one night stroking his messy raven hair too reminiscent of his biological father.

"I love you."

She kept on telling him till one day he found the strength needed to repeat it back to her at the altar of their official union, amidst the flowing white of their silken robes, the shining laughter of their children and the meadow of the dancing sunflowers where fate had brought them together thirty years ago.

#severus snape #harry potter fandom #snape fandom #pro severus snape #prosnape #snape love #headcanon #severus snape fic #severitus #snily #pro snily #snily romance #harry potter #lily evans potter #lily evans #severus x lily #drabble #angst #oneshot

[tic-toc-clock77]

I made my own creepypasta:0 it's sorta trying to bring back the tragic killers type of stories like Toby, Jeff and all that. It's very edgy

Here it is!

The Seeker "I Found You." Origins

The tick of the clock was driving the young girl mad. Tick tick tick....it kept going until she could hear a buzz in her ears. From downstairs, the screams of her mother and father could be heard, "That child never should've been born, she ruined us, Nathan!" Her mother yelled. Once she was mentioned, she knew she'd have to hide.

She ran to her bedroom door, nearly slipping on the knotted up carpet and held her back to it. She shut her eyes tight, hoping and praying her mother wouldn't come in, that she wouldn't hit her again, that she wouldn't have to hide any more bruises. Her ears started ringing again until a loud bang came from the kitchen.

The young girl, named Mackenzie, turned and opened her door to the bright light of the hallway, she passed her parents room, then the bathroom then came racing down the stairs.

She tripped, falling flat on her face. When she mustered the strength to look up, the sight before her was traumatizing; her mother held her father's hunting gun in her right hand and on the floor laid Mackenzie's father, a gun shot wound deep within his head. The young girl's eyes widened in shock and horror. She let out a blood curdling scream, loud enough to wake the neighbors and make them call the cops.

Years later, the now 16 year old Mackenzie did not dare to leave her bedroom. She laid on her side, listening to her clock and letting her ears ring out. She stood groggily, making her way to the bathroom then heading down the stairs of her childhood home. Each time she reached the stairs, she couldn't help but remember her father's face, his eyes that stared into her soul as a child when he laid dead.

She swallowed her fear and walked down anyway. In the kitchen, sitting at the small table, were her mother, her step father, the former prisoner guard and her step brother, Christopher. Their happy domestic act made her sick.

"Good morning, Mac." Dale, her stepfather says while smiling good naturedly. Mackenzie stares at him before her face becomes a scowl. "Stop fucking calling me that, only my dad calls me that." She mumbles, shoving her hands into the pockets of her black sweater. "Mackenzie!" Her mother smacks the table with both hands. Mackenzie turns only slightly, her mother's eyes stare in a patronizing manner from behind the panes of her glasses.

The young girl scoffs, and turns away from her mother. She grabs cereal then returns to her room, waiting for Dale to offer to drive her to school as he did usually whenever he bothered to try becoming her 'friend'. "Mackenzie, I'll drive you." He says, right on cue. She gets up, leaving another bowl in her room, and heads downstairs. It's a beautiful sunny September day outside and the black car nearly burns her hand when she opens it to get in the passenger seat. Chris is already sitting in the back, his blond hair matches the sun. It looks nothing like Dales', which is brown and turning grey. Chris got his hair colour from his now, long dead, mother.

They drive in silence, Mackenzie's brown hair goes every which way, her black leather jacket and black jeans are hit aggressively by the sun's rays, heating her body. A strange but common rage is built up in her stomach, she glances up at the rearview mirror and catches a glimpse of Chris chatting with his father. It wasn't about anything too important, only school and something about his fixations. Mackenzie thought to herself, "You don't know how lucky you are." She sighs.

The car ride is short, save for a pitstop that Dale had to make. Mackenzie exits the car and looks past the schools gate, her shoulders sluggishly sagging while she walks inside. Inside the brightly lit corridor is Lucy, bright blue eyes, long silky blonde hair and light makeup. She waits patiently, holding her hands behind her back, for Mackenzie to walk to her. Mackenzie turns her head, anxious not to make eye contact with the girl she's deemed "Crazy Church Go-er" the same as her mother when she got home from prison, having 'found God'. "Fuck." Mackenzie mumbles as she unintentionally walks past. "Mackenzie!" Lucy says, grinning from ear to ear. She waves, trying to move on but Lucy's short legs catch up in no time at all. "I prayed for you last night!" She tells her after catching up. Mackenzie accepts her fate and realizes she's eternally doomed to hear another sermon from the small, chubby girl beside her.

Mackenzie never had anything against her since they'd first met in second grade. They'd even been friends for a short while, before it happened, before Mackenzie's father was killed, before she changed. However, now, the only thing she could possibly have against Lucy James, is her constant talk of a demon having taken over and that she prays nightly for the demon to be removed from Mackenzie's soul.

Mackenzie never thought much of a 'demon' controlling her. She'd always known she was strange, that other people didn't want to talk her out of fear she was actually a murderer due to a nasty rumor spread by some girl who's father was a cop investigating the crime of Mackenzie's father's death. The rumor that she had killed her father. She didn't do anything to deny those rumors or stop the alienation that followed not just from school peers but also the foster parents and foster siblings who were supposed to take care of her while her mother was in prison, she simply took it all, every bit of abuse and pain.

The rumors weren't true so why should anything else of her predicament be true?

Over time, she simply stopped believing any of it had happened and tried to live normally, when people asked her questions about it, she'd reply like it never happened but still, she wasn't happy. That was the work of the 'Demon' Lucy was always talking about, Mackenzie believed, that if something like that could really do anything to her, it would be keeping her unhappy.

"Gonna perform another exorcism on me?" She asked, eluding to the time in 6th grade when Lucy had tried so hard to get to her to come to church, she asked the priest to perform an exorcism on her and he did it. Of course, it didn't work. There was nothing to work on. "No!" Lucy says stubbornly, straightening her black hair band. They walked for a while in silence, until Mackenzie spoke up, "What makes you think a demon is controlling me? Cause I have trouble focusing on the good...or something?" Lucy stops in her tracks, "It's because you..." She fumbles over her words, trying to speak in a kind way, "You've always had this weird thing where you talk about...death and killing." She admits awkwardly, playing with her fingers and not making eye contact.

Mackenzie stares at Lucy for a moment, death and killing? "That's it?" She asks. Mackenzie nervously ticks, grabbing one arm with the other and looking away, suddenly taking into consideration how much she's always talked about it, blood and gore, murder and all that nasty stuff. To her, it was exciting and entertaining. There was probably some sickening reason for it, like her father's death. Maybe a way to have controlled and dominated the fear of death but she couldn't be certain.

Lucy's face looked guilt filled, "O-others think so too. That you're sort of...weird." She admits sadly, as if Mackenzie didn't know. She figured people would know since that day one of Lucy's friends was pushing her around and knocked her journal out of her loose bag, revealing all the pages filled with her dark thoughts and drawings of decapitated figures, cut off limbs, knives and other weapons. "I knew that." Mackenzie laughs, seemingly unbothered and even laughing a bit. Lucy turns her face back to Mackenzie and looks at her, "You did?" She asks. Mackenzie feels a little bubble of rage in her stomach that Lucy thought she wasn't aware but she smiled anyway. Mackenzie shrugs, her smile turning to a relaxed smirk as they kept walking.

Soon enough classes began. Mackenzie walks through the hallways until she finds a resting spot, the small, claustrophobic and dark space, perfect for her writing and drawing. Her safe place behind the lockers, a place not even janitors know. It's filled with spider webs, the floor is slightly wet but it works. She sits on the ground and takes her journal out, she puts her flashlight in her mouth and turns it on, uses her hands to draw and write; people in pain with their fingers chopped off, their limbs being torn from their bodies, blood and guts scattering on the ground and finally, herself in the middle covered in blood.

The sight makes her skin crawl in an sickeningly exciting manner. She grins and continues to draw. Unable to hold in her urges, she grabs a small pocket knife from her bag and moves her sweater arm down. She reveals the cut skin in various lines, some fresh and some old. She prepares to make new lines until, "I found you, Mackenzie De Vries." Mrs. Madson, the old cranky teacher who never quit talking about her failing marriage, the teacher who's class she should be in.

She figured nobody knew her spot but then again, the school had always been around, even before Mackenzie was born. Mrs. Madson looked disgusted at the sight on Mackenzie's wrist. She gasps, pulling her up by the hand. "Disgusting, child!" She yells, pulling her forcefully. Mackenzie pulls away but to no avail. With her other arm, she puts her hand in a fist and punches the lady, desperate to grab her journal and run away so nobody sees how truly disgusting she is. It was already bad, nobody had to see it worse. Mrs. Madson's nose bleeds. "Shit." Mackenzie thinks to herself, the maddening look appearing on her teacher's face. Grabbing Mackenzie's wrist more forcefully than before, she pulls her down the stairs and into the office. She explains loudly how sick and vile Mackenzie is.

The principal eyes Mackenzie's arms and sighs. "Ms. Des Vries, we had this discussion before, I believe." Mr. Johnston stands from his red leather seat and looks out the window at the courtyard of the private school, the one Mackenzie got into through her father having gone to the same school.

Mackenzie stays silent throughout the long lecture and the yelling from her teacher. Her ears begin to ring, she doesn't care to listen any longer. She couldn't pay attention to anything but the window, her eyes trained on the large figure she seen outside; tall with no face, pale like paper in a black suit and red tie. That wasn't the first time she had seen the creature...

She thinks back to the night her father was killed, staring out the window in the police station, static in her ears as she stared at the creature, same as now, her eyes trained the same as before, her ears ringing the same static, her heart still pounding and deep within her chest lay a rage, a deep rage. It began to control her when her hearing phased in and out.

Her chest falling and rising again and again, panicking more as time went past. Her teacher hadn't stopped yelling, her principal raising his voice to counter her now. Mackenzie, feeling almost as if her actions weren't her own, smashes her fists down on the desk.

The principal and teacher both turn, shocked. "Shut up!" She screams before running from the room. Pacing down the hallway of the school, she crashes into Lucy. Falling on both their asses, Lucy begins apologizing profusely. Rubbing her head, Mackenzie feels the strange emotion fade as she faces her. She'd always been like this, her emotions would sometimes act out more than her head and in those moments, she'd imagine killing the noise or rather, whoever was making it.

"Are you okay?" Lucy asks, crawling toward her and putting a hand on her forehead. Mackenzie swipes Lucy's hand away. "I'm fine." She mutters. They both stand, Lucy already knows what happened, looking down at her friends bloody wrists. Lucy smiles sadly as Mackenzie awkwardly rolls her sleeves back down.

"Come on." Without warning, Mackenzie's hand is grabbed by Lucy, who drags her outside then to the courtyard and past the gate. Initially, Mackenzie was going to ask why the shorter girl would ever skip classes but soon enough, she realized why.

Once at the church of their hometown, Mackenzie felt...strange, like she shouldn't be there, she had no business in a church and she hated the scent. Lucy walked her toward the pastor and sat in the pews. For hours, Lucy and Mackenzie, listened to the sermon.

They'd spent the day in the church, a peaceful day for the last bit. Once night had hit, Mackenzie felt refreshed and calm, more than peaceful. The two friends sat on the bench in the dark at the nearby park, the orange street lamp warming them enough not to shiver.

The last bit of happiness was drained from that moment when Mackenzie's ears began to fill with sounds of static. A sharp pain in her chest with that same rage built again, eyes widened and clutched at her sweater where the pain began. Her eyesight started to fade while her breathing increased.

She couldn't help but smile, sickeningly as she stared at the pale creature in the bushes once more. "Mac, what are you-" Lucy goes to say but Mackenzie was too quick for her to get any words out when she wrapped her hands around Lucy's throat. Gripping it with so much intensity it could kill her.

Lucy gasps for air after pushing Mackenzie off of her but her feeling isn't gone. Lucy begins to run as her 'friend' is momentarily knocked down. Before long, Mackenzie is standing again but Lucy is nowhere to be seen.

Angrily, not like herself, as it happened time and time again through her life despite trying her damnedest to be normal...but this was an extension of that, something much worse.

Mackenzie slashed after taking out her pocket knife, she trudged through the woods nearby the park, a sadistic grin reaching across her face. Giggling softly, she began to hum until she broke out into a quiet song

"Run Run, Hide Away

But I won't wait another day

I'll find you

Kill you

And then you'll rot away!"

She sang as she chased until Lucy came into view. Teary eyed, Lucy ran with all her might, she didn't dare to look behind her. Mackenzie's sneakers crushed the fallen leaves below her as she dashed toward the blonde girl, giggling maniacally. "Where are you going?" She taunts, reaching and catching Lucy's leg.

"Get away from me, Demon! Get out of Mackenzie!" Lucy yells, making Mackenzie's eye twitch and for a split second she regains herself and is no longer subconsciously witnessing her own movements but she isn't normal again, she hasn't gone back down. "There's no demon here, you stupid bitch! This is all me!" Mackenzie's grin and laughter only got louder by the second, paralyzing Lucy with fear. Lucy screams as the knife plunges downward....

Mackenzie shoots up from her sleep, looking around she notices that this place was not her room once again. The white walls and flooring cause an intense nausea in her stomach that nearly comes up in her mouth, she pulls her knees up to her chest and drapes her arms around them, keeping her head down. Every waking moment, she's reminded of what she had done a month ago, how she nearly killed Lucy but for some odd reason, it doesn't make her sad or scare her anymore.

Since November had begun, she hadn't moved from her room in the mental ward. She had her arms bandaged and she'd been heavily medicated ever since she'd shown up, diagnosed with paranoid psychosis and clinical psychopathy. The medication wasn't helping but it seemed they'd given up on her almost, deciding just to keep her body until she would die on the outside as she had on the inside.

"You have a visitor, Ms. Devries." The young brunette nurse says as she peaks into the room. Mackenzie says nothing as her mother enters the room, carrying a small tray of food, on it was ham, cheese and some pickles. The knife and fork still sat on the tray along with the food. Her mother sits herself down beside her. "I brought you some food." She says, placing it between the two of them.

"Mackenzie?" Her mother calls to her but she just stares aimlessly out the window at the creature, he'd been there whenever she looked out the window, stalking and watching. Finally, it mumbled just loud enough for her to hear, "Kill her." It said, sounding as if it were right by her ear. "Mackenzie, are you okay?" Her mother leans over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Mackenzie Devries grabbed at the knife on the tray and stabs her mother through the neck. When the woman had tried to scream, all that came of it was gurgles of blood. Pulling the knife from her, Mackenzie grinned. "You came right to me...Thanks for making it easier to seek you out." Mackenzie laughs as the body of the woman falls backward, her blood spilling on the sheets.

Deciding she wasn't through with it yet, the deranged young girl climbed on top of her, stabbing her repeatedly until her blood splatters from the floors, to the walls and to Mackenzie's body.

Now blood-stained in shades of red, she breaks through the window, knife in hand and tumbles out onto the grass. Having that she'd slept all day, it was night as she dashed out to the park, where she slipped on a liquid she didn't recognize. During her escape, a nurse had called the police.

Having tripped and short of breath, she came to a stop in the place she'd almost killed Lucy so very long ago. She looked up at the tall trees then turned her body to view behind her at the cop cars and bright lights. She had one opt out, peering at the matchbox beside her in the grass and the liquid that she realized quickly was gasoline.

"Put your hands up!" A cop screamed but in the dark, she had slid a match on the box to light it up and grinned widely when it hit the puddle below her body. Flames shot up and she closed her eyes, prepared to go out her own way...until the creature appeared behind her and began to lead her away from the flames.

Two days later, Lucy James sat in her home with her mother tending to her cuts and the stab wound from Mackenzie. The news was on in the t.v. in her room.

"Currently, the suspect of the attempted murder of Lucy James and the murder of Meredith Devries is still loose. The suspect, Mackenzie Devries is suspected to be declared dead but no body has been found to date." The news anchor states. A pit of sadness is left in Lucy's heart for Mackenzie and her mother. She sighs as her own mother leaves the room to let her rest for the night.

Once all the lights in the house are turned off, Lucy hears a tap on the window and then it opens. She instantly recognizes her old friend with a knife in hand. The floor boards creak as she approaches...

"I found you."

Lucy James let out her final breath in a horrific scream...

#creepypasta #creepypasta oc #the seeker #Mackenzie Devries #Mac Devries

[arlessia-blessed-eye]

Hatred, Vows & Late Reflection

The waves lapping against the hull.

The sound of gulls upon the wind.

The sun shining down unto us with clear skies cradling it.

Arlessia kills time during the voyage out into the Ruby Sea by writing in her journal about where her mind twists during it.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Day 31: We've departed Kugane with a favorable wind. Most sit in contemplative silence or rest as our vessel shears through the waves. Though my thoughts turn to a specific enemy at this moment.

Whilst Sama is sleeping, curled into my lap, I cannot help but think about Gaius Van Baelsar.

Curse my mind.

A black pox upon my past...He came into my life as some high figure I didn't think I'd meet. But I did. And my life was changed forever by his passing...for the worse.

As he left us in the care of the officer who volunteered to keep an eye on us-a 'Gaethan', I believe-I watched him walk away as my father's blood cooled upon the cobblestones.

The smell of Iron.

The sound of my mother & I sobbing uncontrollably.

I remember it all as clear as day.

"Garlemald...Blasphemous murderers...Blood-crazed fiends. Atonement for the wretches, by the wrath of Father Rhalgr, Mercy for the poor, wizened child...Mercy, oh please..."

Those words lit up the night as the members of the city mourned him...but I? Hatred was planted that day.

My hero was taken that day...my dear father of whom I loved with all my heart. Mother wasn't the same for the short years from his death to the night she arranged for my escape from Gyr Abania.

I still know not if she truly had moved on from dad. But I still intend to find out.

Anyways. I didn't see him until that fateful day so many years later on, when he showed up in Garuda's Lair.

Is...that...all.

When I heard that challenge to the primal, my blood ran cold. I had nearly forgotten it.

The terror he inspired in me.

The pain, renewed to a fever pitch.

I was vulnerable, too. The Scions had been put to the sword...most of our command, captured & taken to Centri.

I had spent the last few days in misery.

Dirty & tired, I was burying those who died in the raid on the Waking Sands myself. Some friends amongst them. Enter Alphinaud. Before long, I was conscripted to the mission to kill the Ixali primal...alongside Cid Garlond. Even remembering the confusion & rage I felt at working alongside "Marques" is something that brings me shame.

Not that he even knew himself, let alone my problems & baggage.

But seeing him there, sword drawn...it all came back as if like it was yesterday. And the flower he planted in me grew, threatening to consume me. If it wasn't for Cid, I would've stayed frozen until Baelsar killed me...or until I charged him in a rage.

I don't remember which.

But walking away as the Ultima Weapon broke it's millenia long fast on Garuda, Ifrit & Titan...I saw something.

He didn't recognize me.

I try my best to come a long way from the impulsive bitch I used to be, if you'll pardon my Coerthan. But when it came to me, my heart ran cold.

During the Siege of the Praetorium, days after we rescued Minfilia & the others, I had hardened that hate & rage into a killer point.

Looking back-it had to be done. But did I have to take it so far? Not for his sake. I would've killed him either way...but for mine?

I don't know.

I might never.

We fought & fought & fought. By the time the elevator came to a stop, we were all but exhausted. He made comments the entire time...complimenting my strength & precision...but I didn't want to hear it.

I spoke not a word. Held my blades & stood firm by sheer hate.

Exhausted, bloody & getting nowhere, he then embarked the Ultima Weapon, intent to either test me or break me. It was grueling as I recall it-but maybe by the grace of Hydaelyn, I got through. He nearly killed me three times at least before Lahabreah showed up, to tell the truth.

But not once did I give in. I couldn't let him get away with this...let alone what he did to my father, & our life in Ala Mhigo.

He ruined it.

This was before Nemesis & the others had awakened within me, I believe-as I think it would be hard to deny her if she'd been in my head.

Then came Ultima.

Spurred on by Lahabrea as he wore Thancred's skin, the Ultima Weapon aimed it's ace upon me.

Thinking back on that moment, accepting that I was going to die-it still stuns me. That was the ONLY moment Hydaelyn stepped in to defend me. From injury, death...pain.

I barely felt the cataclysm that consumed us as it washed over the crystalline barrier that covered me. The heat of the flames as the Praetorium fell around us. Only when the barrier stopped a heavy support beam from falling upon the lift did it fall away, allowing me to strike.

Calling on everything I had upon rising, I struck for the exposed core with a technique I've only used twice since then.

Breaching the core fully, a spray of Aether-Charged ceruleum erupted out before the entire machine exploded, Both of us barely being able to escape the blast.

I still don't recall how long I laid upon the burning lift, knocked unconscious. Cid tells it as around ten minutes, but for me it felt a day

 But then, I heard it.

"Arlessia, My Falcon...wake up."

It was my father's voice. I'm convinced of it. He opened my eyes & lifted me up. I had barely opened my eyes when I saw the prone frame of Van Baelsar opposite of me-slow movements showing he was waking up as well.

I looked for my daggers, but another brisk feeling made me cast a glance to the deck in front of me, the shine of Baelsar's sword catching my eye.

"Do me proud, my daughter."

I heard it again, the sound of my father spurring me on giving me strength enough to get up shakily & grab the gunblade. Seeing him sit up slowly, I seethed with vindictive rage.

"You still alive, bastard? Or have you let Lahabreah have a free ride?!"

Taking a few weak steps towards him, I remember him scoffing.

"Insolent...to the last. One must wonder where it stems from."

That set me off. My chest growing tight with rage & anger, I couldn't take it any longer. I would see the recognition in his eyes before he died.

"You don't yet remember what you've taken from me...BUT YOU WILL!"

I remember screaming, before letting off with every shot still left in the chamber. The slugs thudding into his armored body & forcing him back to the ground, he yelled in pain before trying to rise again.

"MY NAME..." I seethed-flourishing the blade before charging forward & impaling his torso, blood spraying into the flames.

"...IS ARLESSIA SHARPE!" 

"Sharpe?!"

“YOU KILLED MY FATHER HERNAIS IN FRONT OF ME! ALL FOR THE CRIME OF DEFENDING HIS FAMILY FROM CORRUPT GARLEANS! BASTARD!"

Twisting the blade in his gut made me feel like the years of pain, anger & trauma fell away like rain against glass.

"You took him away from me! Ruined the lives of me & my mother! AS SUCH, I CONSIGN YOU TO THE DEATH YOU 𝘿𝙀𝙎𝙀𝙍𝙑𝙀!"

"And yet...you prove my methods right."

My soul flared in indignation at the statement.

"The world can only be controlled by a being of strength. And that is-"

 "BULLSHIT! LOOK INTO MY EYES, AT THE PAIN YOU CAUSED ME SO LONG AGO! BURNING AS BRIGHTLY AS THE DAY YOU INFLICTED IT UPON ME! I CURSE YOU! I VOW I SHALL FIND EVERY VESTIGE OF YOUR LEGACY...AND SNUFF THEM OUT!"

Silence reigned for but a moment as the fires burned.

The scream that then escaped him peaked his armor’s vocal speaker.

"NO!"

He screamed with such...rage.

"I'LL NOT SUFFER YOU TO TOUCH THEM!"

I remember the sudden panic in his stature. Stiffening up at my blood-soaked vow, he began thrashing, blade in his gut doing nothing to stall him. Reaching for my neck, I kicked him off the length of steel.

I remember seeing him tumble back off the lift, through the flames, his arm shooting up as if to drag me to the seven hells with him as he punched into the depths. Just like that...he was gone. I felt numb, having unloaded twenty years of trauma in five minutes, I felt nothing.

I simply threw his blade into the fire & picked up my daggers, knowing Lahabrea had seen everything & was going to try to end me. The action meant as a epitaph.

“Here lies Gaius Van Baelsar.

Black Wolf.

Butcher.

Murderer.

Killer of a couple thousand innocents by association.”

As I've gotten older, I've struggled with this vow I made. Not that his legacy is stained...but can I do it? And what would I have to give in turn?

Looking down at Sama's sleeping face, I cannot say. I cannot decide. Let's hope it doesn't come to it.

Let Black Wolves stay dead.

But anyways, that's for the me of tomorrow to decide.

Until my next entry.

Arlessia 'Blessed-Eye' Sharpe, Scions of the Seventh Dawn & Rogue.

May you ever walk in the light of the Crystal.

#FFXIV #OC #Arlessia Sharpe #Gaius Baelsar #Hernais Sharpe #Ghislaine Sharpe #Gaethan rem Aquillius

[nightwishesworld]

Do u think Alcina would get jealous if there partner had a favourite plushie to the point she considers it competition, the only thing stoping her getting rid of it is her partner being upset 

Umm, we are talking about the same vampire, right??? Of course, she would! You guys have the best friggin ideas I swear! This was such a fun write

p/n = plush name

************************

Alcina Dimitrescu is not a jealous woman. 

She is the epitome of beauty and elegance, leaving no room for emotions such as jealousy to squander it. 

Yeah...right. That’s what she tells herself at least. 

To her credit though, Alcina is pretty good at keeping herself in check. Only lashing out, or asserting her dominance, as you call it, when absolutely necessary. The butcher’s son, for instance, got a taste of her rage when she caught him ogling your body like a piece of prime meat. He almost had his tongue cut out right then and there.

Alcina doesn’t do well with competition, and even though you’ve told her several times that there is no competition, she decides to weed them out herself. Can’t get jealous if there are no competitors, right?

Her jealousy doesn’t last long, she claims her spotlight one way or another. There is, however, one creature Alcina is unable to rid herself of. One that resides in her very castle. The closest any little rat has ever come to stealing her beloved y/n.

Even after long grueling days of wasting her time cleaning up Heisenberg’s messes and getting an ear full from Mother Miranda, all Alcina longs for is to crawl into bed and wrap herself in your arms. Tonight it seems the gods are frowning upon her because they have already stolen her place. She rolls her eyes at what should have been a cute display, had it been her, and instead moves to the vanity to start taking her makeup off.

Wiping away the stresses of the day helped lighten Alcina’s mood a bit. It was always such a relief to take her makeup off, knowing the day has finally ended and she can relax.

Making her way to the bed Alcina trips over the small wastebasket and curses herself for making you stir from your sleep.

“Alci, you ok?”

You sit up in bed, grabbing the sheets to cover yourself, but still keep an arm wrapped around your smaller companion. 

“Yes, I’m fine darling I-” Alcina stopped. “You know what? No. I am the Lady of this castle and I say p/n needs to leave our bed.”

“P/n is always allowed in bed!”

Alcina was too tired to start a proper argument and decides to simply give in. She refuses to hold you while that stupid plushy is sandwiched between you, effectively cock-blocking her. Its eyes mock her as it watches her toss and turn tirelessly. Alcina was not accustomed to sleeping “by herself.” The vampire felt uncomfortably bare without your body directly in contact with hers, but not bare enough to reconsider cuddling you and the plushy. Alcina is far too stubborn for that and simply chucking it to its rightful place on the floor would only upset y/n. No matter how much she loathes that plushy, she still does not want to upset you.

A smugness flashed across its cold dead eyes as it stared at her, clearly proud of its victory. Alcina only growled in response, baring her teeth like a territorial animal.

“You win this round, fucker.”

The next day was no different from any other. Alcina was kept busy with her daughters causing mayhem around the castle and paperwork needing to be done for some sort of ceremony. Naturally, when she does give herself a break, she chooses to spend it with you. This is how you ended up sitting here next to the fire, plushy at your side and Alcina by her lonesome across from you. 

“Ooh, do we still have those shortbread cookies from the other day? Or did Cassandra eat them all?”

“I hid some for you above the stove- top shelf inside the teapot.”

Your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “Be right back.”

Alcina nodded and turned her attention back to her book. She felt a pair of eyes on her, but she tried her damnedest to ignore it. A few intense minutes passed before she slammed her book shut. “You think you’re so special, don’t you? Just because you had them first doesn’t mean you’re their favorite.”

The plush stared blankly at her. Its silence only egged her on.

“You better watch yourself, plushy. You just landed yourself a spot on Alcina Dimitrescu’s blacklist, and no one gets off of it alive. You might have them fooled with your dapper little suit and hat but I know who you really are under all that fluff. Punk ass plushy bitch. Y/n is mine, and I do not share.”

More intense silence filled the room as Alcina was about to strike down on the innocent creature until-

“Hey Al, can you come help me? I can’t reach the top shelf.”

She gave the plush a smug grin before taking her leave. “I know someone else who can’t reach either. Coming, my love!”

Alcina sauntered out of the room only to step right back through the doorway to extend the claw on her middle finger at the plushy. Giving it the most dramatic middle finger in all of Romania.

Sometime later

The cookies were gone within minutes of settling back down on the couch. Now you were lounging across the cushions, with p/n pressed tightly against your chest, finishing the final chapter of your book. You moved to get off the couch to return your book to its shelf and pick out another classic. Before setting p/n on the cushions you place a kiss on the top of their head. Alcina pretends not to notice this out of the corner of her eye and continues to glaze over the pages of her own book, waiting for her kiss.

It never came.

You walk past her without offering so much as a smile and Alcina is sent over the edge.

“That’s it, I can’t take it anymore! Y/n it’s me or the plush.”

You look back at her, rather taken back by her sudden outburst. “Um, excuse me?”

“You heard me. It’s either me or the plush. Take your pick.”

You arch a brow and put your hands on your hips. “Well, p/n and I don’t appreciate that tone.”

Alcina rolls her eyes. “P/n isn’t real!”

You gasp and rush over to the couch and cover their ears. “How dare you! That’s a very sophisticated young man/lady you’re talking about.”

“I am sick of always coming in second to that stupid thing. You act like you love it more than you love me! Giving it a kiss and not me, how rude. We both can’t keep living here; one of us has to go.”

That got you to laugh. “This coming from the same woman who, after sending me away to sleep on the couch after an argument, comes down in the middle of the night to sleep on the floor beside the couch because you got lonely.”

Alcina blushed.

“Something tells me you won’t let me go anywhere.”

She stays quiet, only giving a huff as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“If I give you a kiss now will you stop whining?”

Alcina pretends to consider this for a moment before answering. “Will you sit on my lap?”

“Of course, my love,” you smile.

“No p/n.”

You giggle as you make yourself comfortable straddling her things. “No p/n.”

Alcina pulls you flush against her front and kisses you. “Good.” She bites your lower lip, making you gasp. She takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss and relax back into the couch. Out of sheer pettiness, Alcina cracks an eye open to see the plush staring at your display of affection. She smiled into your kiss and gives it the middle finger before focusing all her attention on ravishing you.

#lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #tall vampire lady #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #alcina dimitrescu #lady alcina #no she's not the jealous type #not at all

[mystic-kitten-writer]

Limerence [M] ︳36

Pairing: Zuko x OC

Genre: Romance, mainly fluff with future smut, and if you squint hard enough - you’ll find some angst.

Rating: SFW

Words: 15400+

Notes: It’s here! It’s been a while since I’ve updated, and I’m ready to get into the groove of things once again. Get ready for the next chapter, it’s the infamous bonus chapter many of you have asked for. I even teased a bit of it here muhaha~ I hope you enjoy, and it brings forth a ton of emotion. Tons of love and thanks for the support!

Please stay healthy and safe, take care~!

Masterlist ︳35 [M] ︳ Bonus pt. 3 [M]

❤ Buy me a coffee? ❤

Limerence: (English/n.) the state of being infatuated with another person.

The moment their eyes locked they knew - the flames within him twisted while the water within her turned. It was a connection, a connection that would lead to love, adventure, and drama.

Tartle

(Scottish/v.) to hesitate to recognize a person or thing; happens when you are introduced to someone whose name you cannot recall.

~ Fire Lord Zuko  ~

Thunder.

It roared through the sky, causing the ground to tremble, the air around us buzzing with an electrical charge—the droplets striking against the windows, a desperate cry from nature itself - the thunder its screams.

But how?

How did the world always know? Matching and dancing with our emotions- was it mocking me? Mocking Yue?

The beams of light that lit up the study, the heated glow from the candlelight rippled from the outside’s growing rage. Shadows lurking, the bitter chill in the air ran down my spine and had my bones aching.

“Lord Zuko-” they voiced, and like that, I was brought back to reality, my eyes focusing. When did I even zone out? A numbness was slithering its way into my mind like the hazy fog that had begun to settle over the Fire Nation.

A leathered-gloved hand reached upwards, pulling the red scarf that always decorated his face under his stubbled chin. His expression, while simple, spoke a million words. I always respected Yue’s ability to study, to read people’s emotions, and at this moment in time; I finally realized what she saw.

Face stoned, yet his eyes never wavered. He was meeting my gaze with a heaviness that mimicked the depths of fire.

“Mihir-” I swallowed. A warning, a confirmation.

Axe.

The General, Axe.

One of the finest warriors the Fire Nation ever housed. A hero for many of the villages in the Earth Nation. A proclaimed traitor till recently, but most importantly, he’s Yue’s dad.

Deep inhale, my eyes shutting for a moment. The turbulent waves of turmoil, but in the end, only one feeling persisted. And if the room weren’t tense, I would’ve snorted because her damn sense of curiosity really did rub off on me.

Dead or alive - that was the question that lingered. Carved on my face as I gawked at Mihir with wonder. And with a stale huff, he spoke, “What do you think?”

Is everyone a mindreader? I ticked, my hand rubbing my jaw.

Yue’s mom was stubborn, or so I was told. But something tells me Yue’s mother wasn’t the only determined spirit. That look in Yue’s eyes whenever a thought popped into her mind, nibbling on her lips as an alluring yet formidable aura would envelop her- from her battle with Azula to Yakone. A force to be reckoned with.

Axe has to be alive.

I could feel it in my bones the moment I read that document, his body unrecoverable. Daughter like father - they’re warriors. Never someone to go down without a fight.

“Are you sure?” I held, and Mihir snickered, my skepticism useless. “I sure hope so, or else I have some random man imprisoned in my house-”

“What-” I gasped, nostrils flaring at the news and Mihir stared at me blankly, “You think that man willingly wanted to come, with me, a secret service Fire Nation militant.”

“That man is Ying Yue’s father-”

“Who, as far as he knows, believes his daughter has been coerced into a far-from-loving engagement with the Fire Lord,” Mihir added.

My hands, settling over my face as I roared into my palms. Forcing Yue? Hurting Yue-The rush that coursed through my body, unleashing every ounce of frustration because fuck.

If it weren’t for the thunder howling outside, the guards would’ve trotted themselves in - wondering who is being butchered. Good job, Zuko. You’re a fucking genius. An absolute gem. Lock up Yue’s Dad. Make him think I am hurting his daughter, a great fucking first impression.

“With all due respect, Lord Zuko, I tried to inform you, but you had a ‘terrible cold,’ and I couldn’t exactly tell Ying Yue, could I?” Mihir spoke as I rolled my shoulders back, my hands weakly falling to my front.

“Poisoned.” I tutted, and Mihir let out a meek grin, “Same shit, different day.”

“I need a drink.” I announced begrudgingly as I turned on my heel, “Want one?”

“I need something to warm up these old bones.”

With a worn step, I found myself moving without much thought.

My fingers were browsing for the nearest bottle, fiddling with the lid as the need to feel that dark burn running down my throat grew. Flashes of lightning bounced off the bottles, twinkling like the fireflies that would appear in the garden at night. My lips parted as empty sighs left me, combing my hair back, and for a moment, that sweet bliss from this morning came rushing.

To feel Yue’s calming touch over my face, her fingers gliding and smiling as her rhythmic pulse had me easing into a deep slumber in seconds. Even the sound of the rain felt different, enchanting; some would say when it was in her presence.

Everything was better with Yue.

From chaos to peace, I flicked my wrist, cutting off the pour to a mere shot for us both.

Not bothering to place the bottle back with the collection, I nudged the cold glass towards Mihir, silently acknowledging. His calloused fingers grazed mine, taking the tumbler and raising it, “To the past not staying dead.”

“For the better-” I added with the thought of Yue seeing her dad once again. And with a low breath, Mihir finished, “Or for worse.”

He is referring to Azula.

The strong taste flooded my senses, wincing at the sudden flavour that seemingly rinsed the troubles away, even if just for a moment. But why was my mood so sour? Why wasn’t I happy that we found Axe? Wasn’t that the plan all along?

My hands felt clammy, beads of condensation dripping down the ridges of the glass and onto my palm. Reunite Yue with her father, lift his status, give Yue a chance to heal…

Ever so softly, I found myself letting the tumbler rest on the study, my eyes catching sight of the adorable scribbles of Yue’s works. Odd, seeing her writing mixing with mine. To not feel so alone…Did the previous Fire Lords feel the same joy?

To have someone by their side or were they all miserable assholes just like-

“When was the last time you visited your father?” Mihir whispered, his voice muffled as his scarf found itself un-bunching from under his stubbled chin. Smoothly, he placed his serving on the study with mine, the glass thud echoing in the room as I lowered.

“Not long enough.” I bitterly retorted as I grabbed my cup once more.

Me coercing Yue into marrying me? Staying with me? My forehead scrunched as Mihir’s words tormented my mind. I knew I forgo putting away the booze for a reason. Readily snapping the lid off, only to pour another shot into my too-empty of a glass.

Forcing Yue into a toxic marriage? I scowed at the mere idea of doing such a thing, let alone with Yue, the bottle banging against the table harder than I had wanted. The sound could have challenged the thunder as the ridges of the tumbler dug into my skin as my lips pressed together tightly, forming a thin line.

A marriage of pure political gain or some sick revenge. Who do I seem like? Do I seem like a twisted fuck? Some monster like my father-

I didn’t realize the tremble in my hand. The alcohol swishing side to side in my cup as I aimlessly stared down the glass. The scent was overwhelming, taking in a lung full as I finally let myself breathe in. It stung, but I couldn’t pull away, staring back at the reflection where that murky liquid swirled.

It was me.

With my hair pinned back, the tips of my red robes just barely making an appearance into the reflection. Despite the casual attire, I dressed like royalty, a King.

But never have I felt as small as I do now.

The banished prince.

The reject, the failure, the less then.

The one who managed to reclaim the throne after overthrowing his father with the Avatar. For years I tried to make peace with the sins this Nation has inflicted, and for a while, I thought I finally made progress. But the scar that pulsed angrily on my skin, my expression white-

I didn’t want Axe to view me like my father.

To think I would treat Yue like how he treated my mother.

Too stubborn of an attitude to admit that I cared about what Axe thinks of me because with the Avatar as my witness, I was in love with Yue. I craved her praise and for her sweet acceptance. I may be prideful beyond reason, but damn, would I get down on my knees for her in a heartbeat. What has she done to me?

With an annoyed sigh, I let the filled glass rest again, shutting my eyes as I tried to even my breathing.

The feeling, the tightening in my chest, as I fought back and forth between happiness and dread wasn’t one of annoyance but nerves. Once again, an awkward teenage boy, trying to seek the approval of a father, just this time, it wasn’t mine.

Everything I worked for up to this point would feel pointless if this whole plan went south. Make Yue happy - that was the goal, my purpose. I need a word with everyone because if there was one thing I wasn’t good at it, it was good first impressions.

I turned on my heel, my eyes shifting once again on Mihir’s figure.

Standing tall yet silent, his wet clothes clinging to his body-like skin. He must be freezing. The muted colours he often wore somehow looking darker. “I’ll request for spare clothes,” I muttered under my breath, realizing how harsh my response was to his thought-provoking yet straightforward question.

I wasn’t exactly the introspecting type of guy after all. Easier to lash than to understand and listen. Soothing jasmine tea with Iroh is in need with some of Yue’s biscuits.

But Mihir merely shook his head, listening to the turbulence outside the wide window that framed the study. “I need to go, check up on Axe, which leads me to my next question.” Mihir started, crossing his arms with a stoned expression, “What do you want to do next?”

Next-

“You have Axe locked up as we speak?” I pinched, recalling that less than favourable detail and Mihir nodded, “As I said before, not exactly welcoming to the idea of visiting the Fire Lord. And after multiple attempts from him trying to burn me, I didn’t want to take any more chances.”

My shoulders dropped, letting my head roll in thought - recalling our conversation back at Ember Island. Axe ran because he’s scared he’ll endanger Yue with his mere presence. Not knowing if the Fire Nation had, or would ever, stop hunting for him. Who knows how he’ll react when he is brought here.

This isn’t a man fighting for his life; this is a man fighting to protect his only daughter—loyalty, family-life, it was more than just important to them. This won’t be some cute family reunion or as simple as meeting up with the gang after a few months. Yue still thinks he’s dead. She said her final goodbyes years ago.

“Give me a day,” I said, raising my head.

Despite the rouge fabric obstructing his face, I could see his light scowl, not pleased with the idea. “A day?” Mihir repeated, a hanging question, part of him hoping he merely misheard me, but I nodded, asserting my request.

“A day. Ying Yue, she needs a day of peace, to relax.” I answered as I relived her exhausted figure cocooned in bed.

While I could see the genuine delight in her eyes as we cuddled, her midnight hair still damp as she snuggled herself as close as possible to my warmth, I could see it. The dark under bags, skin faint. She was overworked, drained emotionally and her chi- I pushed the thought away. Unable to admit that she’s running out of time.

She needs a day to have some peace of mind, not to worry or think. I can’t have her getting any sicker-

“And you?” Mihir questioned, and I tilted my head, pulled from my thoughts, “…me?”

“How are you feeling?”

I took in a deep breath, letting out a short laugh, “I just woke up from a coma. I have my sister trying to kill Ying Yue, my ex-girlfriend is trying to kill me, and now Axe is alive.”

The low chuckle of his, the corners of Mihir’s eyes pinching as he found amusement in my dry humour. “So you’re doing great.” Mihir entertained, and I smiled softly, “I have Ying Yue.”

“Your marriage to her…it’s going to bring upon a great change for this nation..” Mihir stated. A great change? Before I could ask, he let out a long exhale.

Patting himself down and making sure his belongings were on his body. The white hairs of his beard peeking from the warm fabric that covered him. Strange how he could wear such a thick thing. Then again, Yue easily sleeps with a shit ton of blankets despite the heat. Mihir looked once more outside, studying the gray skies as if he could tell time from the swirling clouds alone.

“Better get going, a day of rest before we met again.”

“Thank you for your work,” I muttered.

“Any time, Fire Lord Zuko.” The bow, hand over his heart before he moved.

Watching as his large back turned to me, his shoulders relaxing for a moment before he set off to his next duty. Striding to the study doors, he adjusted his scarf. He was grabbing the ends, ready to tug the fabric tight.

I found my golden eyes travelling around the room, the thunderous roars from outside coming into focus as our conversation died.

My palms rested on the wooden study, feeling the texture beneath me as I continued to scan the papers. Which looked the easiest to finish? Work on a few things while Yue slept away. Lunch is going to be delivered soon, so I’m going to have to wake her. And I smiled softly, already thinking of that pout that would form on her face whenever she woke up. Rubbing her eyes and huffing, ‘another minute, please.’

My fingers danced over Yue’s scribbles, her notes proving helpful in searching for work. And as I pushed aside a pile, something caught my eye.

I perked, tilting my head as tucked underneath a pile was a luxurious paper. High-quality, thick, the emerald colour was standing out like a sore thumb in the clutter of red and beige. It had to be a letter, the corner of a broken wax seal peeking, and I frowned. Why does it look so familiar? As if I read this, or was reading it?

I reached, grazing the papyrus texture, an unexplainable draw, beckoning me to read before a voice interrupted my sudden trance.

“Before I depart, shall I prepare for your Uncle’s return trip? For security.”

I turned on my heel; my forehead pressed at the sudden question Mihir asked. It took me a moment to realize what exactly he had proposed, the green-coloured letter taking hold of my mind. His hand was resting on the doorknob, waiting, and I blinked, searching for an answer.

Shit, he’s right.

Uncle was supposed to leave last week, but he probably stayed behind with me falling ill. “I will inquire with him. An answer when we see each other once again.” I said quickly, regaining focus.

Mihir nodded, “And your condolences? Will you be sending it with Iroh, or shall I prepare a secure line?”

“Condolences?” I repeated, no longer answering over my shoulder but turning my body to face Mihir. The fog over me lifted, eyes narrowing as I took an uneasy step forward. A secure line to the Earth Nation?

Mihir froze.

His sharp eyes were searching, reading the look on my face as my mind ran blank. Whatever passing must have happened while I was under because the last time I checked, no one passed away. Yet the look on his face was proving to me that it was something I should have known, silent for far too long, my gut twisting in knots.

“Lord Zuko…” Mihir rustled, raising his hand to pull down his scarf from his face again, “The Earth Nation’s Queen’s brother, Kayto, passed away on his return trip from here.”

“What-” I exclaimed, stepping forward as my blood ran cold. That rough voice, Yue’s pained expression as she lunged forward-

‘I’m going to kill them the same way I killed Kayto.’

Yakone. He was telling the truth. That fucking-

“Lord Zuko,” Mihir spoke sternly, not realizing he was right in front of me, watching me with the utmost concern because I was glued to my spot.

My hands were balled into fists, trembling with spirits knows what emotions at this fucking point. What was it with us never being able to have a good day? A simple day? Fuck- I hated Kayto’s guts; there wasn’t a single doubt about that, but the thought of dying by Yakone’s hands.

Everyone heard the rumours.

The way he often left the bodies of his enemies. Twisted and disfigured, making sure to leave them in a pool of their blood to show the world he killed them with their essence. Even an asshole like Kayto deserved better.

I could feel the bile in my throat because while the death of Kayto was sure to be painful, what I feared more was Yue’s reaction. She’s going to feel like she failed to protect him. She’s going to blame herself for his death.

“How?” I asked.

“How what?”

“How did he die?” I hissed. I need answers; I need them now-

“N-natural causes, it seems.” Mihir stuttered, an uncommon occurrence as he found himself ajar at the sudden eagerness from myself. He didn’t understand, no one understood besides the gang. Details of Yakone’s words that we have unintentionally forgotten because of everything else going on around us.

“Kayto was found dead in his bed as they were sailing. The man drank excessively and slept around with many women, probably caught something, or his liver finally gave out.” Mihir answered, and I couldn’t help but shake my head.

Bullshit. There was no fucking way Kayto died naturally or peacefully.

“You truly did not know?” Mihir asked, and I tutted, shaking my head as I turned on my heel, “No. When did news of this break?”

“Before you fell ill, they sent a letter-”

The green letter.

With haste, I moved, grabbing the envelope, as I stared at it. I was here…I was standing while reading this, Yue sitting in my chair, Sokka and Suki cuddled. Memories of that day rushing and my head hammered.

It hurt.

My head was feeling like it was going to explode as I fought to scramble the moments right before the tea. Katara apologized; I had an outing with mother-

With a scowl, I rose my hand, motioning at Mihir to come forward because I couldn’t remember a damn thing. Why can’t I remember? Was it because I was out for too long? I would’ve remembered reading about his death unless-

“Mihir, come,” I ordered, ripping the letter open.

The thickness of the papers, breaking the document into two before facing him. The pieces, seemingly untouched as not a single crease or fold, littered the papers besides the first page. I never finish reading it. They were talking about Bloodbenders. I ended the meeting; I couldn’t focus and barely got two pages in-

“Search. Anything about Kayto’s death. This was sent to me right before I drank the tea.”

“So this whole time-”

“I had no fucking clue he was dead.”

Yakone wasn’t lying; he had no reason to. For him to know about his death back at Ember Island, before I or the Earth King’s letter could arrive- he had to have a role, the cause.

Mihir grabbed the papers in my hands, licking the tips of his fingers before he began flipping. Our eyes scanned, searching for any essential information besides Republic City. Money, transfers, nation maps, new borders-

I paused for a moment, a name I haven’t heard in a while making a brief appearance.

‘In other events, Jin has announced her pregnancy. On behalf of the Earth Kingdom, we are arranging a small gathering in celebration in the upcoming months. As a close friend of hers and our Nation, we are eager to know if you will be sending a gift for the celebration or a visit. If so, we will arrange housing and security for yourself and Imperial Consort, Ying Yue, visitation.’

Jin, she’s pregnant- I thought marriage was a big deal, but she’s having a baby.

“Anything?” Mihir asked as he let a few papers drop on the study, his eyes continuing to scan about. I shook my head, not realizing a small smile had formed on my face, refocusing my attention on the matter at hand.

Rather than tossing the paper with the rest, I put it aside. A trip to the Earth Nation with Yue. It would be her first out of Nation appearance as impending Queen. The last time I visited, I went with Mai…

I’ll let Yue decide, handle it. I can trust her on these matters. And for some odd reason, the sudden realization that I had someone to rely on had my shoulders easing.

We searched; the sound of papers sweeping against each other as we tossed and browsed challenged the commotion outside. The rapid flipping caused the pieces close to us to flutter. Where was it? Would it not be the first thing in this damn novel he sent us?

The death of his brother-in-law seems like big enough news for the Earth Nation to report upon-

“Here!” Mihir perked, and just like that, I let the papers in my grasp drop.

I inched, our shoulders touching as Mihir flicked the paper straight. He was jamming his finger into the course paper, denting exactly where the announcement started. The cursive, both of us holding our breath as there it was. He’s really-

“It is with regret that we announce the death of Her Royal Majesty’s brother, Lord Kayto. During his return trip from the Fire Nation, Kayto passed away peacefully in his sleep. A memorial will be taking place within the upcoming weeks-” Mihir read, his voice trailing as he let the paper go limp in his hands.

Kayto is dead. And no one knows it wasn’t a ‘natural’ cause but a few.

But why is the Earth Nation hiding the fact that his death was a murder? Would they not have seen his body? Unless Yakone went against his usual; a clean murder.

‘I’m going to kill them the same way I killed Kayto’ his words played in my head, and that’s when it finally fucking clicked.

Yakone’s threat, he didn’t mean kill us in a gruesome manner. He meant that he could murder anyone, us, without a single soul suspecting fool play. Kill us, and make us suffer while letting our loved ones think we died happily. He’s bragging, taunting-

I clicked my tongue, eyes squeezing shut because Yakone got away with murder. And not just the murder of anyone, but a high-status, elite from the Earth Nation. The Queen’s brother.

What do I do?

There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that Yue would be eager to tell the truth to the Earth Nation. That was just who she was, and I swallowed hard because I knew better.

Without physical proof, word of mouth meant nothing. And if I say something, the mere idea that he passed away from his return trip makes it seem like the Fire Nation had something to do with it. As if we killed him. The beginning steps of a war brewing.

“Lord Zuko?” Mihir spoke, and I cursed.

Shit. I keep zoning out. I shook my head, pinching the bridge of my nose because my head throbbed. So many details, critical parts, like gears in a machine, twisting and, in some way, affecting each other. Everything is connected, and Mihir wasn’t stupid to miss it.

“There is more to his death, isn’t there?”

“Yakone,” I spoke plainly. His name alone was enough to convey my worries.

A pest, no matter how many times we tried to swat him away, he managed to vanish right when we had him in our grasp. A chaotic force of nature, with a power that only Aang could counter. But even then, I had my worries.

Could Aang face Yakone? Katara mentioned once that only a Bloodbender could outplay another. She’s powerful, but Yakone, he was on a whole other level. But Yue-

“Does this connect with your altercation during your time off?” Mihir breathed, and I perked, “Who told you?”

“I am not your secret intelligence personnel for no reason.”

A truly cunning man. He was hiding behind his red scarf with a fozy smile. I crossed my arms, “Yakone told us about Kayto’s death before this letter was even sent or arrived. We figured he was bluffing.”

“...he killed Kayto.”

“There’s more,” I whispered, my voice dropping pitch because there was something odd about everything.

The tears that ran down Yue’s face after our battle. He knew the tale, the story behind the cranes that were tattooed on her skin. My stomach was in knots because I could no longer let the thought go. I needed to know, hoping it was nothing more but my overactive imagination.

Mihir, sensing the tense atmosphere leaned forward as I gave my final order.

“Ying Yue’s mother, Kasa Jiang, and Yakone...I want a full report, in particular, family history.”

“Yakone?” Mihir snorted, shaking his head with bewilderment.

It was like I said a terrible joke, struggling to understand why I would say such a thing. Don’t blame him. Any effort to search for the most basic of details proved nearly impossible. But my expression didn’t waver; my lips pressed as I stared forward.

Only then did Mihir go quiet, realizing I was dead serious.

“With all due respect,” Mihir started, raising his hands as if to ease the rejection of such a request, “Yakone has managed to avoid us because we have been unable to find a single piece of dirt about the man. I’m good, but not that good.”

“That’s why I said, look at Ying Yue’s mother,” I answered, and the thunder crashed once again.

The lightning was illuminating the room, highlighting the dread on Mihir’s face, his eyes sunken. He realized what I was suggesting. And never did I wish to be wrong as much as I did right now.

The green envelope rustled in my grasp, letting it roll and twist. The felt-like texture was oddly comforting, distinct from the typical lightweight paper. The pads of my fingers swiped at the wax seal, feeling all the ridges and divots and imperfections.

At one point in time, the wax was hot, sealing the envelope shut of its horrors. And for the nth time this day, I hitched a breath.

Shutting my eyes briefly, thinking of how to break it to Yue. There really was no easy way. The look on her face, her doe-like eyes were filled with tears. I hope she’s asleep—avoidance seeming like a viable option at the moment.

Cursing, I walked down the hallway, staring past my sullen reflection in the windows.

The storm that was outside somewhat calmed, the crashing and roars no longer echoing in the kingdom. Mihir got lucky, it seems. Faint rays of the sun managing to peak from the gray clouds.

The weather these past weeks seemed uneasy, bouts of rain and sun happening at once. But the puddles that laid outside, animals gradually crawling their way out of their burrows, was all the evidence needed to show that a nasty storm was once here.

My footsteps felt heavy, the green folder in my hands begging for my attention. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t ignore it. No longer appreciating the nature outside, something Yue had taught me, but sulk.

It was just so evident; the colour, the size, the thickness. Every servant and guard was eyeing the stupid thing before giving a greeting. Maybe I could just burn the damn thing. Not share the news, keep it a secret, because how-

How the actual fuck am I going to tell Yue? Another audible exhale, dragging my feet towards our bedroom.

Just don’t tell her, simple as that.

No, you idiot. No more hiding or lies; she deserves to know the truth.

But you know it’ll hurt her-

“Lord Zuko?” A voice spoke, and I rose my head, realizing where I was.

They stood on guard, their hands resting on the large bedroom doors, ready to open them for me. But they wore an expression of concern, and of course, they noticed this stupid thing. Their eyes were darting awkwardly to the formidable folder that laid rest in my grip.

My thumb dug into the opening, genuinely toeing with the idea of burning it and throwing the ashes out the window. Pay them off; they’d never tell a soul what just happened—a win-win.

“Has lunch arrived?” I asked, anything to avoid talking about these wretched papers, and the guards shook their head, “Any moment now. But Avatar Aang stopped by. Requesting an impromptu meeting with, and I quote, ‘the gang,’ sometime after you and Imperial Consort Ying Yue have eaten.”

I snorted.

Despite being the Avatar, Aang wasn’t quite suave with etiquette. Talking informally with anything or anyone.

“Send word that I accept,” I said with a pressed smile, “and if you’ll excuse me-”

They quickly got the hint.

Their gloved hands spread along with the wooden frame, applying gentle pressure, yet the doors creaked, revealing its age. The warmth of the sunlight began flooding into the hallway, and I sent a silent prayer to the spirits.

Please, let Yue be asleep. Let me crawl into bed, hug her from behind, erasing and forgetting about the joys of Axe and the death of Kayto-

And just like, I melted.

Moments like these, I honestly wondered if someone as perfect as her could be true.

An uncontrollable reaction, a spell, a trance.

The soreness in my muscles, the ache of my bones; it all disappeared as the stupidest of smiles would appear on my usually stoic expression. What have you done to me?

All these years, denying and dismissing every notion of love, a soulmate. It was a foolish idea, a fleeting dream. Royals, Fire Lords, they never married out of love. They married for politics, for money, for power.

Love…It was a concept to laugh at, and it was one thing I was unconsciously jealous of whenever I saw Katara and Aang, Sokka and Suki. Free to be with who they want.

All these years, alone and bitter as I sat in my office. Fleeting romances; they came and went, none of them staying, working. No one looked at me with the kindness that Aang gave Katara or listened as Suki did with Sokka.

Love?

It was a lie. A stupid concept for the hopeless-

But there she laid.

Perched on her elbows with a smile as bright as a million suns. Her shoulders were relaxed, Yue gazing up at me with a tenderness people could only fantasize about. It was like she was staring right at my soul, past every flaw and scar.

She was love. And even better than that, she looked renewed.

At peace, light as a feather.

A single breeze, and I would find myself desperately reaching to the skies to pull her close once again. I didn’t even notice I was inching my way to her naked figure, questionably covered by the pulled blankets. Her dark hair was cascading and overflowing onto the bed, the upper part of her tattoo completely visible to the prying eye. I was tempted to run my fingers along her soft skin, enticing those sweet purs.

"Zuko,” she sung, pulling me closer, “what’s that?”

The spell was broken.

Swallowing hard and unable to breathe. The reason I was here, the burden in my steps to this festering headache. No matter how hard I tried to hide it, Yue knew. That was her strength, one of the many reasons I fell in love with her.

Her brows pinched together, elevating her naked figure off the bed and tucking the sheets close to her chest for some modesty. She could see the conflict, a personal storm brewing in my head, worse than the one that just hit us.

Cause in my hands, I held the truth.

And the truth was never pretty.

“Zuko,” Yue spoke, her voice wavering, and I could hear that tremble of her lip. I can’t hide the truth from her. My job is to protect, support, and care, but I’m not protecting her by hiding this.

And after a pregnant pause, I lifted the document, “Love…did you read this?”

The sympathetic cast she held upon me shifted, eyes drifting to the envelope in my hands. She took a moment, studying the green-coloured paper, but once her eyes fell over the wax seal, she lit up. She recognized it.

“I didn’t…I wasn’t sure if I should after I saw it was addressed to you, personally. Did you not see the note I left on top in the study?” It must have fallen off. But I perked at her statement, “How did you know I went to the study?”

Yue gave me a small smile with a blush, tilting her head. “That’s where I left it, and even then, there are only two places where I can find you,” she said before a tongue-in-cheek expression swiped over her delicate features, “This bed, or the study.”

What a brat- I like work and sex, sue me.

A dull smile came upon me as I strolled to her side, to rest. The red against her skin, her tiny hands were clinging onto the blanket. The little banter, she did it on purpose. And effortlessly, she let her delicate touch fall over my thigh, squeezing.

“That letter…it’s something terrible, isn’t it?”

I sighed, Yue, nibbling on her lip as she stared at me. Patient; Yue was so utterly patient it was frustrating.

She was never pushing or prodding, despite her curious nature wanting to do so eagerly. It was different from everyone else. Expecting me to open up and know every thought in my mind-

“Not all terrible,” I said, recalling the news of Jin’s pregnancy. The softness of the mattress gave way under me, Yue’s body dipping in. It’s been such a long time since this room felt like home, comfortable and safe to be in, especially with her.

But Yue shook her head, “But not good enough for you to smile.”

“Love-” I exhaled, and Yue interrupted, “Zuko.”

Her voice was forceful, a tone not commonly heard. Passive in nature, but I could tell she was having none of it at the moment: a new assertiveness, newfound confidence.

“No more secrets.” She told, her gaze not wavering, and for once, I shut up.

A cloud was passing by, casting a dark haze before the breeze pushed it away, allowing the sunlight to pour into the room once again. And it left a radiant flush over her figure as her fingers drew aimless circles along my lap.

She was thinking, her mind buzzing and lips parting to speak, but not a single word left. She doesn’t know where to start. If she genuinely wants to know, and I smiled pitifully. My job is to support.

With a careful drop, my hand fell over hers, pulling it close to my chest. “Love…” I breathed. The back of her hand feeling the thumping of my heart while I felt her racing pulse under my fingers. Sluggishly, I moved the green document, placing it before her.

“It’s your choice. I want you to tell me what you want.”

“I want to know.” She spoke confidently. She didn't stutter, expressing what she wanted and I nodded.

With care, I let my thumb push past the wax seal. Not a single word was spoken between us, only the sound of papers rustling.

Yue was waiting as I fiddled with the stack before plucking the page that contained the truth that she has been wondering all this time. I could tell from the tremble in her hand; she was anxious. The paper was jittering as she stared at me with round eyes, “Is this it?”

“Just this page, my love,” I said and with that, she read.

The truth was, I didn’t know when it hit her - and that was the scariest moment of all.

Yue, a ball of expressive emotions, wearing her feelings on her sleeves. Not afraid to laugh and cry. But the whole time, her body was still. Her breathing oddly even as the tremble in her hands stopped.

And if it weren’t for me, leaning closer, to take a good look at her face, I would’ve missed the tears that threatened to tumble over her rosy cheeks.

A silent, pained cry.

“Yue-” I gasped, twisting my body, pulling myself closer to her frame. But she looked up at me, a hurt smile on her face.

“He said he could die happy.”

Like glass shattering on the ground, Yue’s composure crumbled. Breaking into a million pieces as her head fell into my chest.

To care.

“Love-” I whispered, embracing.

Arms tight, my hand cradling her head close as her tears fell over my chest. The feeling, the sounds of her trying to breathe as I felt her chest constrict in agony.

My stomach, in knots because it hurt.

It hurt to hear her cry, to see her in distress and unable to do anything. Her body, already so tired and weak, despite all the rest in the world, was fighting to handle it all.

I swallowed, forcing myself to contain the waves of emotion Yue managed to pull from me. My eyes were glossy as she shook like a leaf. I hastily wrapped the blankets around her cold figure, creating a false sense of security from the evils in the world.

Listening to her sobs, I was struggling. A losing battle to contain the resentment that was tempted to erupt—the rage that coursed through my veins and the urge to lash because Yue was in pain. I felt hopeless, pathetic-

He’ll never get away with it.

To capture Yakone-make him suffer, hurt like he has hurt everyone—the only other person who could challenge my father in terms of evils.

Yue’s fingers clenched my robes as she fought to steady her breathing. Her eyes were puffy, her nose red. “I-It’s stupid,” Yue sniffled in my chest, her words muffled, “I had this feeling the whole time. T-that something terrible happened-”

“This isn’t your fault-” I started, ready to dispute her expected guilt because this was Yue. She cared to a fault. Seeing and wanting the best for everyone. But Yue shook her head, “I know that now.”

My eyes widen because that was the last thing I expected. S-she’s not crying out of guilt like I assumed-

Yue, the one who sleeps with a teddy bear, teared up when she accidentally stepped on a flower. The one who risked to save her life for our friends and family in a heartbeat. She was an emotional sponge, housing everyone’s pain.

‘I don’t want to be the main character,’ she said once. She just wants everyone to be happy and safe.

For her not to blame herself for this- 

I smiled softly, stroking her hair back as I let my thumb brush her cheek. She smiled back, despite the tears that stained her face.

“I-I’m going to get strong, Zuko.” Yue hiccupped, furiously wiping the wetness from her eyes with the back of her palm. Her voice, despite the stutter, held a strength. Something that I knew was always in her but untapped until now. “I’m going to protect my friends, my family, and be the best Queen this kingdom has ever had.”

Yue was strong, stronger than anyone seems to give her credit for. Mistaking optimism as naiveness and her tears for weakness. I chuckled under my breath because Yakone-

Poor Yakone. 

He has no idea what was about to hit him.

“Idiot.”

“Fool.”

“Stop moving, you royal pain in the ass!” Katara shouted, and right away, Toph spoke up, “Hey, that’s my insult.”

I rolled my eyes, huffing as Katara stood before me, her water retracting from my head. In part, I was surprised she didn’t try to drown me; the annoyance in her eyes clear as day. But despite her frustration and lectures, she kept a nurturing touch, minus the slap across my head at the end.

“What was that for-” I grumbled, and Katara frowned, “For making us worried.” 

Aang stiffed in a giggle, but he couldn’t contain it the moment everyone else joined in. Based on their robust laughter and chatter, you would have never thought we were relaxing in the library.

The massive bookshelves, seemingly endless rows were lining the grand room. The high ceilings gave an illusion that the books reached the spirit world, scrolls from who-knows-when quickly found and lit up by the hanging chandeliers. The multiple windows made the room seem friendly, a much-needed upgrade from the original layout of the kingdom.

It’s crazy…Like night and day, it was hard to believe how much the kingdom had changed.

The walls were no longer dark muted colours and the art intimating, installing more windows to bring in the light and allowing more decorations besides weapons and guards.

Even the typical clothing and fashion have changed over the years, with no more sharp features or pointy shoulder pads. Something I was happy to get rid of after the number of embarrassing incidents of people getting caught on each other.

But the most significant change was when Yue came.

More flowers, more throw pillows, soft blankets thrown over the couches. Yue baking in the kitchen with the staff and going around the kingdom, gifting everyone who worked a cookie or muffin as a quick treat.

The smell of the kingdom was no longer of ash but of sweet baked goods, her fresh bread one of the kingdom’s favourites.

She brought life with her smiles and warmth with her touches. She may not be popular with the royals, but that wasn’t who I was trying to please. The kingdom’s morale had changed entirely, and even I found myself more considerate of the staff. A valuable lesson I learned from her, not by lecture, but by watching and learning.

I frowned.

Because while Suki gave me hugs and Sokka and Toph busted my balls, they all wore giant smiles. Letting me know about any further revelations that were found but happy that I was here and healthy. But Yue sat on the couch, her eyes staring out far in the distance.

Her chin was resting on her palm, her plain pink dress moving under the subtle breeze as a fluffy pillow laid on her lap. Her expression, it was like she wasn’t fully present, engaged. Smiling here and there at the jokes Sokka would say before letting it fall back down.

She’s thinking, and carefully, I moved, sneaking my way out of the conversation.

I quietly sat beside Yue, expecting a reaction, but her eyes were dull. And mindful not to startle her, I let my hand rest on her thigh, calling Yue with a whisper.

Right away, she perked, turning to me with a shy expression as she came out of her thoughts. “I’m sorry-” she muttered, collecting herself as she looked around the room. But no one paid much attention, chatting amongst themselves about Mai, Azula, Kayto-

“How are you feeling, love?” 

The same question Mihir asked me today and a question Yue always asked others. But it wasn’t until recently people questioned how she was feeling, today being the first that she expressed her wants and desires—a family...with me.

Yue looked taken aback, her hands falling over mine as she toyed with the flowy fabric of her dress. “I’m...I-I don’t know.”

A sad smile on my face as I cupped her hand. Letting myself rest on the sofa, back leaning, enjoying the lush fabric underneath us. I gave her the time and space she needed to think, and she didn’t need much before talking once more.

“...I...feel like...I know, but I can’t accept it.”

“His death?” I asked as I turned my head, and Yue was already looking at me with a nod.

He was the bad guy.

The man who tried to hurt her, attacked her, yet Yue held him in such a regard that made me wonder why. What did she see that I didn’t? She said his last words was thanking her, and I bit my tongue, unsure whether to ask.

Yue let out a small giggle, her cheeks rosy as her knees brushed mine, “You’re just as bad as me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your curiosity.” Yue beamed. 

I couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking my head as I let my thumb caress her palm. I knew it was ticklish for her at times, but she never did pull away, too much of a sucker for the contact.

“What did you see in him? I didn’t wish for his death, but...” I trailed, emphasizing my point, and Yue nodded with understanding. “He was just a puppet to Yakone...and I can’t imagine being a toy in someone's wicked plan…”

I sighed at her words, her statement hitting hard because that was my life: me and Azula, another cog in the machine. If only I could be the Iroh or Yue in her life, then maybe...just maybe, I could have my sister back.

“That day, when he left...his eyes- they were a gorgeous green. He looked so calm, at peace…nothing like the person who went on the walk with me...besides the flirting.” Yue smiled under her breath.

I rolled my eyes, bashful and regrettably jealous. Yue raising her hand to conceal her giggle, those eyes of hers sparking seeing the reaction she pulled. Like a child, I crossed my arms, and Yue's laughter only grew, leaning against my shoulder as she tried her best to wrap her arms around my bicep.

“Is the Almighty Fire Lord jealous~?” she pestered.

“You can’t be jealous of a dead man.”

“Mm, I think you proved otherwise.” 

I pinched her nose, causing her to squeal. Her smile, though. Despite the playful pout, her eyes were brilliant, a particular life to them rather than staring off in the distance.

She’s beautiful, and before I could utter another word, Sokka’s voice cut in, “What’s that bruise on your neck, Princess?”

Yue wearing her emotions on her sleeves was both a blessing and a curse.

Easy to read and gauge her mood with a casual greeting, but it also gave away the simplest of facts, or in this case, far from family-friendly actions. I found myself smirking inwardly because I made no promises not to do it again.

Her cheeks turned cherry red, stumbling over her words as Yue couldn’t put together a single coherent thought. Sokka’s blue eyes narrowing, raising his hands as he started pointing at her and me erratically, “Y-you did not-”

The sly smile on Suki as she and Katara started snickering. Aang began kicking the imaginary dirt on the ground, playing oblivious to the chaos about to unfold. And Sokka’s face was turning a shade of red I have never seen before, stumbling over his words as hard as Yue.

He’s going to kill me. Do what the tea failed to do, and if given a chance, bring me back from the dead just to kill me once more- “Hey man, you see those swords over there?” I pointed, Sokka raising a brow before pivoting on his heel to see.

That was all it took for me to grab Yue’s hand, yanking her figure off the couch.

The fluffy cushion that rested over her flying into the air, her feet floundering and fighting to regain some sort of balance. Yue let out an adorable gasp, me pulling her along as I spoke a simple command.

“Run.”

The shouting and cheering as Aang swung a gust of air behind us with his wooden staff, the wind twirling before it grazed the bottom of our soles, giving us a running chance of making out of this alive. Toph snorted as our steps hammered against the flooring, ricocheting off the books that littered the place.

But the cherry on top was the bewilderment in Sokka’s voice as he watched our figures turn into fleeting dots. “He literally just woke up from a coma. How-when-” Sokka shrieked, and like music, Yue was laughing.

Her hands gripping mine tightly, unable to stop the temptation to look over my shoulder and stare.

Her plentiful black locks were fluttering in the wind as we ran past the library doors, the guards shooting us odd looks but not saying a word as they heard Yue’s giggles. Her face was red, her eyes glistening with joy, a gummy smile painted over as she tried her best to match my steps.

“Zuko!” She shouted with glee, her fingers tangling with mine as tears of merriment decorated the corners of her eyes.

“We gotta hide!” I insisted, and Yue’s eyes sparkled, “The gardens!” 

Before we knew it, we were splashing in puddles like toddlers. Running down the stone pathways, mud catching on the ends of our clothing, our shoes muddy. I’m never going to hear the end of this from Lia- but Yue was having the time of her life.

The droplets of rain falling from the trees onto our skin, our pace finally slowing down as the bushes and vegetation grew in density. The sun struggled to shine through the overarching trees, the flowers smaller in size than the large ones that decorated the busy paths.

We literally ran to the edge of the garden, and with the realization, Yue’s grasp slipped from mine.

Crouching over, my hands fell over my thighs. My heart was racing, breathing laboriously as my cheeks felt flushed. A burn running through my legs as it has been a week since I’ve actually moved, let alone engage in any physical activity.

The closest thing was the sex this morning, and even I had to admit it took a lot more energy than it should. But it was worth it. Especially seeing the lovely afterglow on Yue and the innocent smile that matched. Sure, it may cost my life, but I couldn’t help but grin because we really did just get away with that.

“He,” Yue tried to talk between pants, “he is going to kill you.”

And I don’t doubt that at all.

I stood up straight, brushing back my non-existent bun. The elastic that held my hair fell into my grasp, not bothering to fix it but let it sway in the warm breeze. With the sun pouring over our figures, I had to shut my eyes for a moment because it felt freeing.

To hear nothing but our heavy breathing, the dewy air against our skin. The things I never appreciated or noticed until Yue. She always said it was the simple things in life that can bring the utmost joy, and fuck, was she right.

Seeing how the droplets of left-over rain caused the sunlight to reflect, I looked over her, a halo effect appearing around her figure. She looks divine. Her head titled upwards as Yue peered up at the sky, her arms resting by her side. Her cheeks must hurt from how much she smiled in these moments, beginning to inch my way to her calming stance. 

My arms slide around her waist, her back pressing into my chest, feeling each other’s heartbeats.

“Consider this your morning run,” I muttered into her ear, snuggling my face close to her neck, enjoying the coolness of her skin. Her scent engulfed me, sweet and already smelling of the grass after only spending not even a full ten minutes out here. Nevertheless, it was comfort.

Yue’s arms welcomed me, tightening the hold I held over her as Yue’s head titled backwards, resting over mine. She was silent, listening and letting her weight shift to where my hot breath tickled her neck. 

“Zuko…”

“Mhm?”

“I want to plant a flower in the garden...in memory of Kayto.”

I froze, pulling back slightly, to stare down at Yue. Where did that come from? And with the loosening grip, Yue effortlessly twirled, her hands draped over my chest.

“A...flower?” I repeated, and Yue nodded, “He always called me that, flower or petal, and he did seem to like them.”

“And you want to do this because…?”

“When my parents died, I never got to say goodbye. To go back and make a proper grave or memorial…” Yue breathed, smiling softly as her fingers toyed with the hem of my top. The skin of my chest was peeking underneath the red robes, her nails grazing the skin and causing a shiver to run up my spine. 

She’s opening up to me about her family. My lips pressed tight, listening to her words carefully because I was no fool. I knew how important this was for me to hear, to support, despite my distaste for the man.

“I got this tattoo, for them, after years. But it doesn’t change my wanting to go back to the Earth Nation and say goodbye.”

“Love, you don’t have to explain,” I whispered because I saw the look in her eyes. It was painful for her to think about, to express to me, but Yue shook her head and put on a brave face despite it all.

“I want to, Zuko. Kayto wasn’t the best person; I know that. I also didn’t know him for long either, but part of me wants to say goodbye in a way that we’d both like.”

My response?

It was simple, “Let’s do it, love.”

Yue’s eyes lit up, her mouth parting in surprise. “You want to plant a flower with me?”

“We can plant it tomorrow; I took the day off.”

Yue pouted, “A day off? Can you afford a vacation-”

I clicked my tongue, “Of course I can; I have you to help, don’t I?”

It was funny how Yue always teased me for loving or being excited over paperwork. But the look on Yue’s face at this moment, realizing that I wanted Yue to help me, to work by my side, had me holding back a prideful smile.

For far too long, I pushed her away from duties of the Kingdom, from responsibilities out of fear. And not because I believed she couldn’t do it, but because I can’t admit when I need help.

But I can’t rule this Kingdom by myself anymore. Not when I got a taste of having a partner. To know someone has my back no matter what. I knew I could always rely on Aang or Sokka for help, but seeing the passion on Yue’s face- this was more.

“Ahh, and love, we’re heading to the Earth Nation in a few months. An old friend of mine announced her pregnancy. I’ll leave you the details; handle the matter.” I dropped casually, not wanting to point out the evident excitement on her face from me giving her the duties of her role.

Not that I would leave her alone with no guidance, but there was no sense of worry in me. She could do this; I know she can. Too determined to not, and I was curious to see if she indeed got this trait from her father or not.

“M-me?” she exclaimed, in shock that I so quickly dropped this fact upon her, and I let my hands pat her hips, “Yes, you. And during our trip there, we’ll make a stop by your village. Give your parents the burial, the memorial they deserve.”

And Yue let her face fall in my chest, hugging me so tight I swear she was going to crush a lung.

I could feel her giant smile, her body trembling with happiness as I planted a soft kiss on her forehead, “Let’s pick a flower for Kayto.”

“A rose?”

“Too classy for him.”

“He did say orchid once, so maybe that?”

“Are those hard to grow?”

“I heard they can be quite fussy.”

“Sounds like him-”

“Zuko!”

“What? I’m just being honest-”

There were different types of headaches.

You had the stress headaches, realizing that you’re bringing a previously thought to be a dead man back to life and introducing the said person to their daughter. Then, there was trying to remember information after being in a coma for a week headaches.

And then you had these headaches.

The front of your head pulsing as the sunlight was far too bright, and I was tempted to submit a petition of silence because this- this is an I drank too much the other night, and it’s here to make its presence known headache.

My hand fell over my forehead, groaning under my breath, as the taste of alcohol still lingered despite brushing. The heat in the air, a gorgeous day without a doubt, as the birds were singing bright and early.

But it was that soft breathing along my neck, realizing that I couldn’t move my arm, that took my attention. Begrudgingly opening my eyes despite wanting to fall back asleep to look downwards, and damn was it worth it.

Yue, tucked perfectly in my arm, like two puzzle pieces coming together.

It was like we were made for each other. Yue the perfect height for our hugs, my chin resting on her head and her arms embraced my waist. Or in cases like these, Yue’s head easily rested between my shoulder and neck, her arms hugging the teddy I gifted in a stronghold.

Feeling her body against mine- the softness of her skin, my marks ornating her figure and trailing under the covers, had me grinning to myself. At this point, pyjamas were useless. A pointless piece of clothing because it seems from the moment I have awoken, we never managed to wear them for long.

The evidence?

The pile tossed to the side, her panties dangling on the couch. 

My hand swiped the strands of hair that tumbled over her face, tucking it behind her ear as she drooled away. She was lost in her dreams, my fingers gently caressing her features.

There were so many details to learn and memorize. From the wrinkle on Yue’s forehead whenever she got annoyed or her eyes glittering when a thought popped in her head. My thumb, resting over the cupid of her lips, relishing the fullness and the naturally rosy pigment.

I hummed, my hand shifting, unable to stop the temptation to draw sporadically along her neck. Yue was twitching slightly in her sleep, ticklish from the gentle sensation, nudging her face further into my shoulder.

Should I wake her? We barely got any rest, between the club, the drinking, and the sex. Fuck, the sex. Pushing the more than pleasant memories away as quickly as they came.

My eyes shifted to the window; the curtains were already drawn as we forgot to do so last night.

The sun was high in the sky, and I swore under my breath. So unlike me, to sleep in. The morning riser, while Yue was the night owl, sleeping till dinner if it were up to her. But with the window open, I could smell the spices in the air, hearing the distant voices of the maids carrying the food in preparation for lunch.

“Will you be eating with me?” a honeyed voice asked, and my attention snapped to them.

Yue was gazing at me with her doe-like eyes, smiling colourfully despite the tiny yawn that escaped. Her eyes were a bit swollen, still in need of some extra rest, but regardless, her head nestled itself in my chest.

“Good morning, love.” I purred into her hair, placing a deep kiss on her forehead. My voice was raspy and dry, hugging her tight.

"Good morning~" she happily sighed, squirming in her spot.

I mused at the action, surprised she could even move after last night, letting my touch wander down her back. I can’t help it, loving the shivers that would run down her spine as I let my fingers caress her skin, ghosting.

Arching in my touch, a blissful expression on her face, “You’re insatiable.”

I let out a laugh, snorting in disbelief, “Me? Oh no, love. You’re the needy one.”

“Says the man who is trying to seduce me first thing in the morning.” 

“I’m merely appreciating what’s mine. Is that so wrong, my love?”

Yue shook her head with a laugh. Perching herself on her elbows under my arm, as she rose a brow. “Does that mean I can appreciate what’s mine too?”

She’s gotten so much bolder, outspoken- I love it.

At heart, she was still the well-natured woman I fell in love with. Blushing at a mere peck and eager to please, but there was this air of confidence around her. Speaking her mind, asking questions, this push and pull dance we would find ourselves in.

Not afraid to challenge me, throwing me in a whirlwind because I never knew when she would decide to banter back, or when she’ll blow a kiss, anymore. Her playful qualities were shining brightly, a breath of fresh air that not only I needed, but the Kingdom.

Growth. That’s what I was seeing, and I couldn’t be prouder of her.

A lazy smirk, licking my lips as teasingly hummed, “I won’t be against it.”

“You did promise me I wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow morning...and I think I can still walk.” She challenged, and that was all that was needed for me to steal a kiss.

Yue tumbling over my figure, our chests pressed together as I held her hips over the warm blankets. Her moans, eyes fluttering shut as our lips moved. Everything, from her straddling over my waist to Yue running her fingers through my hair, felt natural.

Unable to stop my groans of satisfaction, kisses growing rougher as the heat between us grew.

“Zuko-” Yue moaned, rolling her hips, and both of us parted ways with bliss.

I can’t get enough. My hand was tangling in her hair, guiding Yue’s head back so I could place kisses down her neck. Tongue drawing, her pulse racing as she sucked in a breath with every lap-

Yue jumped.

The knocking on the door, so bloody loud, Yue squealed. Tumbling off my body as she hogged the blankets as a barrier of modesty. What the actual-

“Fire Lord Zuko, this is urgent.” The person from the other side of the bedroom shouted, knocking insistently, not stopping for a moment. I hissed under my breath, looking over Yue’s figure to make sure she was covered.

“Zuko, what’s going on-”

“I don’t know, love- enter!” I commanded, and the doors flung open not a second later.

Their brown eyes lined with mine, not even considering the less than the questionable scene before them as the guard stood tall. He gave a curt bow, apologizing promptly, as he removed his helmet, tucking it under his arm.

“Your presence, Lord Zuko, is needed immediately.”

“What for?” I questioned, sitting upright as I frowned, and the guard swallowed, “I think you should see for yourself.”

Let the spirits have mercy over my soul- “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“We’ll be waiting in the study.” He spoke before rushing out of the room. I was tempted to think it was because he did piece together what was about to transpire between Yue and me, but I shook my head.

Something...something is going on-

“Zuko?” Yue quietly expressed, her hand resting on my shoulder while she carefully studied my face. I forced a smile, “Don’t worry, love.”

“Let me help you get dressed-”

“Don’t you have a tea date with my mother and Kiyi before lunch?” I rose, and Yue gasped.

“Oh my gosh, I completely forgot, damnit!” Yue panicked.

I had to chuckle, throwing the blanket off my body, not caring that we were both currently naked as can be. But Yue hugged the sheet close to her chest, her cheeks turning red, seeing me unconcealed as I stood up.

“I thought you wanted to appreciate.” I bothered before walking over to our closet, grabbing the nearest article I could find.

I didn’t even have to have my eyes settled over her to hear Yue’s pout. Yue’s blush intensifying in colour as her blanket-covered body entered the closet behind me. “I hate you,” Yue grumbled, and I grinned.

I slipped the soft fabric over my arms, the golden sash neatly folded on the rack for me to tie around my waist. I would not bother with the redundant Fire Nation emblem in my hair because it seemed an unnecessary waste of time, recalling the serious expression on the guard.

This was urgent. But what could it be? News of Yakone, Azula- is Aang in some sort of trouble?

“Zuko,” Yue spoke, pulling me from my thoughts as I pinned my hair back thoughtlessly.

I had been rushing through the motions, lost in my ideas, recklessly walking to the bathroom to wash. Yue’s body was still draped with the sheets from the bed, studying me the whole time.

Her fingers toyed with the fabric around her figure; her hair brushed behind her ears. It gave a clear view of the markings that ran down her chest, her expression soft. “I’ll be the gardens, with your Mother...and if you need me, at any time...you know where to find me. I’ll be there.”

A smile of comfort as she leaned against the bathroom frame.

Her head titled, resting, as she followed my actions of putting down my toothbrush onto the marble. She has my back. A shoulder to lean on. Her way of offering help without being pushy.

“Lunch, it’s a date,” I promised, and I could see Yue’s eyes shine.

“I love you, Zuko.”

“Love you too, babe.”

“I’ll let you get going now-” Yue said as she let herself bounce off the frame before she added, “And try not to yell at the councilmembers again. I swear, they were going to burst into tears after they left your office last time.”

I had to laugh, her hips swaying as she tiptoed out. The ends of the sheet trailing behind her like a gown. It’s not like she doesn’t look gorgeous wearing it, making even a plain dress look rich.

With a look in the mirror, I saw myself.

For someone who was rushing, I had to admit, I didn’t look half bad. While my outfit was more modest than usual, I didn’t have much time for the fantastic, nor was I in the mood. The dark red robe with a low neckline, the golden embroidering was adding a touch of ‘regal.’

It’ll suffice. 

I stepped out of the bathroom, hearing Yue shuffling through the closet for a dress to wear. A final goodbye, my eyes catching a glimpse of her pulling a striking red gown. It was decorated with golden flowers, a dress that would hug her body sinfully. She’s going to be the death of me, my hands fiddling with the handle- I opened the door.

My gut dropped.

Taking in a sharp inhale, moving intuitively, like a madman. My hands clutched the doorknob from behind, shutting it with a thunderous slam that shook the Kingdom. A red scarf illuminated by the sunlight right in my line of sight, like a fire. What is he-

“Mihir?” I choked, and it was then everyone realized I made my exit. The usual formalities, bowing and greeting were nowhere to be found because Mihir stormed forward.

His gloved hands swept upwards, tearing the scarf down and under his chin with haste. His rough actions caused the scarf to loosen around his neck, resting over his shoulders like a shawl, but he didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

Mihir’s eyes were intense, lips fixed as his appearance seemed pale. With a deep inhale, his words so light, like he couldn’t believe what he was saying himself, “He’s here.”

No fucking way-

“Axe?” I asserted, my head spinning at the news, “He’s here. In the kingdom, right now?” 

“And he almost escaped twice. Injured one of the guards.”

“Bloody fuck-” I hissed, hands falling over my face.

We can’t do this here, in front of the bedroom. Yue can probably hear all of the commotion, the door slamming- I stepped, nudging my head forward. A silent signal for everyone to get moving, now.

Keeping pace with my strides, we practically ran to my study. Mihir whisper shouting as we raced, “We agreed on today.”

The workers of the kingdom all pressed themselves against the walls, unable to utter a greeting as they watched with a twist of curiosity and fear. A group of guards, following behind us as we moved with a purpose. Our steps sounded heavy as we marched, the hallways feeling much too small to house such a group of people. 

I frowned, “You’re right, but a warning would’ve been nice.”

“Not being burned alive would be nice too.” Mihir sarcastically responded, and I glared, “He’s not a happy man, Zuko. The moment he sees you-”

“I’ll handle it,” I said with force, annoyed at the constant reminder that Axe was less than happy to see my face. I get it; he hates me. Like everyone else who seemed to meet me for the first time.

The study doors coming into view, more guards posted before the room, and I swore. As if the guards that trailed us weren’t enough. They’re treating Axe like a criminal, the opposite of what I had wanted. Like trapping a wild animal in a cage, he’s going to lash. 

The guards welcomed our presence, eyes shifting between Mihir and me. 

“Let me go in by myself.” I started, and Mihir shook his head, “With all due respect, Lord Zuko, he’s dangerous. He’s a trained killer; you are his number one target.”

“He’s not going to listen if we all go in.” I reasoned, remembering every single political meeting I had to attend.

Iroh and Aang, while they were light-hearted in nature, knew how to work with people for a reason. Gauge and react, make the person feel comfortable and safe, bring their guard down. My hands balled into fists, standing tall.

This was the moment of truth; there was no going back. I’m going to make things right how things should have always been.

“I’m going in,” I declared, stepping foot inside the room, confused as I couldn’t see a single person. It’s empty-

A chain pressed against my neck, my body jerking backwards as I found myself crushed against someone else.

I choked, eyes widening, as I fought the urge to react. Extinguishing the flames that rose from my palms, the guards rushing inside with their weapons.

I heard the rumours that meeting the dad of your partner was always nerve-wracking. That was their child. An overprotectiveness because they wanted the best for them and not someone who will leave them heartbroken.

But I think I take the cake for the best greeting with my future wife’s father, currently in a chokehold with a rapidly heating chain around my neck. Yue’s father, locking me in a defensive trap, could kill me in a second.

Everything was happening so fast, feeling the overwhelming heat around me as flames were ready to burst, and I shouted desperately, “Halt!”

An act of mercy.

Palms open, arms in the air, ignoring the painful burn as I struggled to breathe underneath Axe’s death grip.

Everyone stilled, smoke filling the room as every person restricted their bending. “Lord Zuko-” Mihir warned out of fear, but I shook my head, “Leave us. It’s an order.”

The pressure around my throat slightly lifted hearing my strange request, but I didn’t move an inch. Taking a deep breath as the struggle alleviated. I need to get this situation under control. I can’t do that with them around.

I could see the conflict in everyone’s eyes.

My order, a contraction to the training that was drilled in their minds from day one. Their job was to protect me, and yet here they were, regrettably shuffling their way to the door, leaving me behind with a man who could kill me in a snap.

The last thing I saw from my side view was Mihir’s stone-cold eyes, glaring at Axe, wishing he could stay behind. And all I could do was let my body ease in Axe’s grip, trying my best to assure everyone I was going to be okay.

I hope I did the right thing.

The tension in the room was thick as if there were a dozen people inside, but there was only us.

Axe and I, alone.

Our breathing was filling the void of the lack of noise, as everything I had thought beforehand, things I wanted to say, left me. This was Yue’s dad. I found him-

“Bold of you to dismiss them,” he rustled in my ear. And for some odd reason, hearing Axe speak for the first time, regardless if it was a veiled threat, was the best thing in the world cause it meant he was alive. 

“Some would say stupid.” I mused, replying to Axe’s comment. And, somehow, as I could do with Yue, I just knew the corner of Axe’s lips curved upwards at my self-deprecating joke. 

“I feel a bit sad to kill a fool.” Axe insulted, and I bit my tongue.

His voice was deep and hoarse. Axe’s tone alone telling a million stories of the pain and suffering he has endured all these years. Yue comparing people to books, and his book would consist of multiple volumes filled with grief.

But hidden underneath the threats and taunts was a softness that reminded me of Yue. A person who has a good heart, forced into situations that hurt them more than the person they were facing. She really is like her Dad-

“I much rather you don’t kill me, truth be told.”

“And why would I listen to you?” Axe snarled, pulling on the chain to emphasize his point that he could kill me right now. I was stuck between his shackles, with no way out.

With my arms still held high, I let myself be exposed, vulnerable to any force or attack he may unleash. I could see a bit of myself in him, a resentment manifesting into anger. I was lucky to have my friends and family but Axe-

“You sent one of your people to hunt for me. Dragged me back to this disgusting place, and you are holding my daughter hostage as if killing my home; my wife, wasn’t enough.”

“That wasn’t my intention-”

“Then what was it?”

“I wanted to reunite you with Yue.” I snapped, and Axe froze.

It was like his mind short-circuited, and then I realized he probably never heard his daughter’s name in all these years. I was the first to ever talk to him about Yue, an essential part of his past wholly lost.

I let out a long sigh, shutting my eyes, trying to reel in my frustration at the situation, “She told me everything.”

“Lies,” Axe spoke through clenched teeth, but I heard the waver in his voice.

A part of him hoped that she did willingly tell me everything and was not forced. He knew of the tortures the Fire Nation were capable of, probably required to inflict some of them himself. Even my stomach twisted, imagining ever hurting Yue in such a grotesque way.

“I wanted to surprise her. I can prove it.”

“How?”

“In my study, hidden underneath are the documents removing your status.” 

He didn’t respond.

Wary, doubtful, and I cursed because I needed to gain his trust, even for a little bit. The pain from the chain around my neck was starting to radiate down my body. At least the heat he had applied to it was gone.

“If you let me go, I will take your chains off.” I reasoned, realizing that Mihir left the keys on the study before us. But Axe was having none of it, “I don’t trust you.”

“And I don’t expect you to, but if you want to see Yue, the proof, you’re going to have to.”

Axe mumbled under his breath, his frame tense as he struggled to make a decision.

“If you want, forget the proof. I’ll take you to your daughter right now.” I nudged, hitting his weakness, despite how manipulative it would be. The tension of the chain loosening by the second as he toyed with the idea I proposed.

But I could sense the reservation in his grip—a final push.

“I promise with my life,” I whispered, and I found myself flung forward.

I struggled to catch my footing, my hands crashing into the study as I took in a deep breath. The burn around my throat, my hand was rubbing the spot. I could feel the skin raised, irritated and red.

Before I could get comfortable, a heated hand fell over my shoulder. Fingers were digging into my arm, shackles slapping my back as I found myself yanked upwards.

Twisting, jaw-dropping, as my eyes widen. S-she looks just like him-

Honey-coloured eyes that seemed to shine in the sun. A warmth in them despite the death threats, he muttered. His hair, salt and pepper, was messy and uncombed. A few strands were tumbling over his face, just like how I found myself combing Yue’s hair in the morning, tucking it behind her ears.

But the kicker?

He was biting his dry lips as he stared down at me, and I laughed. Axe was staring at me in confusion, thinking I’m an absolute madman, but holy fuck- Yue’s habit of nibbling on her lips came from him.

“She looks just like you.” I held, not realizing I spoke what was on my mind, such a Yue thing to do and Axe stilled, “Don’t talk about her like you know her.”

“But I do.” I shoved, thrusting his frame off myself, grabbing the keys to his shackles.

I let the metal twirl around my fingers, walking over to him. He stood in a defensive stance, his hands balled into fists, despite the chains preventing him from moving as freely as he wished. 

With Axe standing a bit away, the sun entering through the large window behind us, I could now take him in in his entirety. His clothes were worn and torn; quick, hand-made patches lingered about as the ends of his pants were frayed. While he had a robust frame, feeling the muscles under his clothing, something was off.

For someone who had me pinned, uttering threats that had me thinking that I was genuinely going to die today, he wasn’t as intimidating as I thought. He looked...sick.

He was barely surviving, most likely eating and drinking scarcely, trying to minimize his presence as much as possible, even at the cost of his health. He was so scared to ruffle a feather, to bring suspicion of his existence in fear of endangering Yue. He would give up his life for her...so that’s what a real father is like.

“Raise your hands,” I said, and Axe wearily listened.

He was letting his stance loosen just a tad as he shoved his hands forward. His skin was filthy, littered with scars and dried blood. He really did put up a fight, and I sighed, “I’ll let the nurses look after you-”

“I want to see my daughter, now.” Axe insisted.

That waver in his voice present once again. He’s so desperate to see Yue, and I swallowed, thinking of what Yue would do to reassure someone.

‘Smile. It’s the key to unlocking hearts.’ I shook my head, bewildered that Iroh’s infamous quote popped into my mind, but-

While I wasn’t trying to romance Yue’s father, that’s for sure, a smile...it really can do wonders. It’s the reason why I ended up with Yue. Why I can sleep at peace every night because I know she’ll be by my side in the morning.

The chains dropped onto the floor with a loud thud; I looked up at Axe, offering him a smile that I often gave Yue, “Let’s go see her.”

“You’re going to let me walk free like this?” Axe questioned, shaking his arms to emphasize his point. Suspicion laced with his words, and I shrugged, denying him much of a reaction, seeming unbothered, “Why would I not? You’re a free man who I didn’t hunt after but searched.”

Axe glared, and I huffed regrettably. I couldn’t help it, resisting the urge to fight back against Axe’s headstrong attitude. A good impression, Zuko.

Don’t rock the boat.

My hand rested against the study door; I knew the guards would be waiting outside, their ears glued to the other side, listening for a call of distress. Please don’t attack him- Signalling to Axe to follow because I will hold my promise.

The creaking as I gradually opened the door, intentionally letting my head peek out as the guards sprang when their eyes settled over me. I scowled, shaking my head as my hand inconspicuously waved them off. Damnit-

“Leave.” I whispered harshly, and Mihir looked at me astonished, “You’re alive-”

“I’m bringing him to Yue,” I spoke, ignoring his comment, as Axe stepped out of the room.

Whether or not he heard me speaking, I was unsure because he seemed far more fascinated by the world outside those study doors. His eyes twinkling as a spark of curiosity filled him.

Axe’s golden eyes were scanning the walls, staring at the decorations that filled the palace. He even sniffed the air, smelling the flowers and food, the scents sneaking their way inside from the open windows. 

He looked confused and shocked, and that’s when it clicked.

“It’s not like what it used to be. I made sure of that.” I quietly commented as I began walking down the hallway. I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know Axe was following me, keeping his distance as I heard his slow steps tentatively follow.

The last time he was here, roaming the halls with authority and status, was during the war. Sneaking information in and out of the kingdom and feeding said information to the Earth Nation in hopes of protecting the innocent. He and his wife were selfless.

This was my only chance.

Whether or not he believes was not up to me, but I needed to make this clear.

“Yue’s not here unwillingly...I can promise you that.”

He didn’t respond. Why would he? Two of the most emotionally closed people walking awkwardly down a hallway sounds like a great plan.

Think Zuko, think. What would Aang or Katara do-

“We met at the Southern Water Tribe; Avatar Aang really was the matchmaker.” I awkwardly mumbled, never hating the act of small talk as much I did now.

To my horror and delight, I got a response.

“The Avatar?” Axe exclaimed, and I looked over my shoulder, shock written on his face.

But just as quickly, he bit his tongue, regretting showing so much emotion. I smiled, nodding as we walked down the hallway—that hint of vulnerability showing gradually. I was making progress.

I could recognize the garden doors up ahead, the royal families walking in and out from their afternoon tea, ready to clean up for lunch. If that’s the case, Yue may be by herself or just saying her goodbyes-

I kept an eye on Axe, trying to remain at ease despite the jumbled thoughts.

The further we walked, the less tense he was, and I patted myself on the back because it was working. This whole, being friendly and in tune with emotions, something I was struggling with since the day I was born, I somewhat succeed.

Axe’s shoulders were easing, letting his hands sway by his side as he looked at every window, staring into the gardens. He suspects Yue would be outside if I were truthful, still remembering her joys and habits. Certain desperation in his eyes as his fingers twitched.

“Yue is best friends with the Avatar. He invited me to visit, and that’s when I met her…I guess you could say it was love at first sight.”

“...I don’t believe you.” Axe stubbornly grumbled, crossing his arms, and I shrugged because the doors were before us, “Don’t take my word for it. See for yourself.” 

I stood aside, stilling as Axe stared through the glass doors.

The waterfall Toph and Suki built was magnificent, children feeding the turtle ducks along the shore. It was what most people would say was the highlight of the garden. All the paths lined with blossoming flowers, leading back to it.

The trees were swaying, blossoms fluttering with the wind and littering the green grass. Spotting the flower underneath one of them, the one we planted for Kayto.

But in my opinion, the true highlight of the garden was Yue. It took mere seconds to spot her; she just has this magnetic pull that had everyone’s attention drawn to her.

Leaning over Kiyi, her red dress glistened under the sun. That halo-like effect from the other day was magically appearing, nature itself knowing she was the real star of the gardens.

She wore her infamous sweet smile on her face the whole time. The type of smile that reached your eyes, and even when your cheeks hurt, you can’t stop because you’re just so damn happy.

If you listened closely, you could hear them laughing as Yue pinched Kiyi’s cheeks.

Mother playfully patting Kiyi away before reaching for Yue with an enormous hug, planting a kiss on her forehead. A loving embrace, Yue shyly letting Mother brush her baby hairs out of her face and tucking them behind her ears. They were chatting, saying their goodbyes as I noticed the servants cleared the tea tables.

Would Axe be able to spot her as easily as I? It has been years since they’ve last seen each other. I frowned, unsure of what to do.

Awkwardly I rose my hand, looking over at him to point-

“She’s okay.” He broke.

Silent tears were running down his face, seeing his daughter for the first time in years.

His whole demeanour and expression shifted, nothing like the man who was just in my office. He looked relieved. As if the weight of the world was lifted off his shoulders, and he realized how tired he was.

Axe’s eyes glossy, taking deep breaths, trying to compose himself, but he couldn’t. He stayed glued to his spot, watching Yue waving at our family as she twirled in her dress. 

“Axe…” I softly spoke, unsure of what to say or do. He was so overwhelmed, struggling to process what was right before his eyes.

“I’ve dreamt of this day. To see her.” Axe whispered with disbelief. As if he couldn’t fathom that Yue was right in front of him.

Free to hug, to love once again.

“You can go to her, you know.” I encouraged, my hand leading the way to the glass doors that separated them. And Axe turned to look at me, wiping a tear away with his torn sleeve.

“No.”

“What-”

“I can’t.” Axe gasped as he looked back at Yue.

All this work and he doesn’t want to see his daughter? Were the tears even real? Genuine tears of loss over seeing his daughter once again? A bubble of anger rising in me, clicking my tongue in annoyance. How can he do that, say that-

“What do you mean no.” I hissed, stepping before him, cutting his view of Yue.

Axe looked taken aback, not understanding my anger as I puffed, “That’s your daughter. How much she’s suffered, missed you, for all these years. And you say no.”

“Look at me!” Axe shouted, shaking his clothing, dust and dirt falling onto the ground around us. I found myself silencing, realizing what was going on.

He’s embarrassed.

He doesn’t want Yue to see him like how he is. Compared to all the royals, even the workers, he stuck out like a sore thumb. Stubble framing his jaw as Axe ran a hand through his dishevelled locks. His face screamed of shame, not wanting to be seen or acknowledged of who he once was.

“She won’t recognize me; nobody does.” Axe told, fatigue laced in his tone, “I’m old, and I’m dirty-”

“Me and you both know. Yue isn’t like that.” I interrupted, staring at him in the eyes, “She just wants her dad back...please.”

Never have I begged, but at this moment, I put my pride to the side, letting Axe get one good look at her one more time.

Yue was plucking flowers, most likely to decorate our bedroom, utterly oblivious to us watching. I could see the want in Axe’s eyes, so badly wanting to run to her. To hug her and let her know how he missed her.

It was a risk.

A considerable risk, but for Yue. I’d do anything.

I placed my hand on his back, Axe jumping at the contact as I felt his heavy breathing. A push- 

“I promise she won’t hate or think differently of you.”

“How are you so sure?”

“I’ve kept all my promises up till now, haven’t I?”

His steps were shaky, hands trembling by his side as he nervously patted down his clothing. It was happening. No ifs, ands, or buts, Yue was getting her Dad back.

With an encouraging nod, I lead the way, carefully opening the garden door.

The sun kissing our skin, both Axe and I took a nervous inhale. Our surroundings were lost to us, tunnel vision upon Yue as I waved to towards her.

There was no going back now, Axe shaking beside me as I called her out.

“Love.”

Yue perked right away at the sound of my voice.

She was turning on her heel, standing upright from picking the red and yellow flowers. Her hands were folded in front of her, holding the bundle by the stems by her waist, spotting my figure.

“Zuko~!” she cherried, skipping towards me, not noticing Axe beside me right away. But her cheerful skips began to slow, her pace reducing in speed rapidly before coming to a full-blown stop.

I saw her expression flatter, tilting her head as she looked at Axe with confusion. Her eyes were round, tearing, as she bit her lip, doubt eating her alive. Yue brought a hand to her eyes, rubbing them furiously, unable to accept what she was seeing.

Her bottom lip was quivering, the bundle of flowers shaking as I could hear her take a deep inhale.

“I-I’m sorry-” Yue started, wiping away a tear from her eyes as she spoke, our figures getting closer. But her eyes were locked on Axe, struggling to keep her composure. “Y-you just reminded me of someone...someone I lost a long time ago.” Yue cried, trying to swallow back her whimpers as her cheeks turned red.

She was getting flustered, embarrassed for making such a scene, thinking she had mistaken a guest for someone else.

And Axe laughed, shaking his head, not waiting for my slow pace but rushing forward to Yue.

The bundle of flowers that were in Yue’s grasp dropped to the ground, a sob coming from her as she threw her arms around his neck, tears pouring down their faces because he finally said it, “Button, it’s me.”

Copyright © 2019 Mystic-Kitten-Writer, inc. all rights reserved. No reposting, modifying, or translations of any kind allowed. Thank you for your cooperation.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Avatar characters portrayed in this story besides Ying Yue Jiang, Lia, Kima, and any future creations.

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[theeslytherinslut]

The Perpetual Freak (1/?)

Pairings: Sirius Black x reader, Marauders x reader

Warnings: Mention of bullying,

Word Count: 2,063

The Beginning

“Twitch,

Just 4 days now--like I need to tell you, likely been counting down the days all bloody Holiday, haven’t you? We’ll be there Sept 1st at 10 on the dot, we should make it to King’s Cross by 11 that way. Be ready this time, won’t you? I think Padfoot just might actually hex your grandmother if he has to make small talk with her again, but can you blame him? Anyway, we’ll be there at 10. Don’t forget Jinx this time. I don’t fancy being attacked once he breaks out of your grandmother’s house.

P.S Sirius said he’ll be on his best behavior--does that make you nervous too?

See you soon,

Prongs (& Padfoot)

The letter lay in the same spot on your cracked cherrywood desk since you received it. Though short and to the point, you’d reread it many times, hoping somehow the more you read it, the faster the day would come.

Holidays were hell. Being a muggle-born, there was always a bit of an adjustment period after coming home from Hogwarts for a break--an adjustment period usually aided by parents and family--however, this could not have been further from the truth for you.

“Y/N!” As if on cue, your Grandmother's angry call shot up the stairs. Cringing, you held your breath as you walked down the stairs into the kitchen. She stood with her blue gingham apron covered in flour, as well as most of the floor and countertop.

“If this bloody bird scratches my window one-more-time,” she said the words through clenched teeth, glaring at you from across the room. Her stacked icy grey curls bobbled on her head as she shouted, her fist pressed against her hip. “I’ll have to drown it in the creek.”

Your Snowy Owl, Jinx, sat outside the baby-blue curtained window, his big orange eyes peering at you innocently through the glass.

Piecing together the situation, you’d guessed Jinx had arrived suddenly during your grandmother’s baking and had startled her, causing her to spill much of the contents of her bowl.

Suppressing a smile at the mess, you walked over to the window and opened it. Jinx’s peppered wings stretched out briefly before you felt his talons brush against your collarbone, and he perched onto your shoulder.

“Sorry, Grandmother,” you mumbled, catching your cousin smirking at you. A blush of anger lit up your face, and you made to disappear back into your room before anything got ugly; you’d gone all Holiday without a vicious row, and you weren’t about to start one just before you walked out the door.

“When does that school of yours start again, anyway? Aren’t you normally gone by now? Blakely’s school has already started, he’s been working so hard,” she doted, smoothing his hair as he ate his cereal, milk dribbling from his lips and onto the table. “We could all use a little peace and quiet around here, frankly.” she sniffed.

Jinx gave an annoyed hoot and ruffled his feathers unpleasantly as your grandmother glared at him from across the room.

“Train leaves September 1st at 11am like it always does. I’ll be leaving within the hour,” you said, struggling to control your voice.

“Train? There are enough of you--you, people, for an entire train?” Blakely said, dropping his spoon in his bowl, splattering more milk onto the table, evidently thoroughly shocked.

“Yes, oddly enough, it seems I’m not the only freak in England,” you said, using the word he often threw at you.

“Maybe not the only one, but definitely the biggest,” he said quietly, glaring up at you from his cereal. Grandmother, however, pretended as though she didn’t hear, merely clanged dishes loudly together as she turned back towards the sink.

“One day, I’ll hex you so terribly you’ll be lucky if someone calls you something so kind as freak,” you pushed the thought into his head and promptly stormed out of the kitchen, though savoring the terrified shock on his face.

“She-she did it again!” Blakely called, color draining his face. But you were already halfway up the staircase with Jinx balancing on your shoulder before her angry screech reached you.

You’d almost always been an utter freak in their eyes, and it all started when you were only a baby.

Your mother died while giving birth to you, and your father was never in the picture, so there was no one but your Grandmother to take you in; no one but you to blame for it all. You were, after all, the product of your mother’s insolence--having fallen pregnant at 15 by a man whom she’d never spoken of. And further, you were the reason she’d died; she wouldn’t have bled out if you hadn’t been conceived. To your Grandmother, it was as if you were the cause of every problem she had in life, a walking reminder of where it all went wrong--and she made sure you knew it.

Terrible as things already were, nothing was to be helped by the events that were to unfold. As the story had been told to you, you were a little over a year old, crying incessantly in your crib. You’d evidently been exceptionally whiny that day, crying non-stop, refusing to be consoled, and just when she’d for the first time seriously considered doing you in, you stopped. Relieved yet confused, your grandmother had come in to check on you.

“I’m hungry.”

She had heard the words clear as day, in a voice she didn’t recognize, but the words sounded funny. The voice almost echoed, somehow managing to sound crystal clear but miles away at the same time. Sure she was simply going mad from a lack of sleep, she stood rooted to her spot in shock.

“Did you hear me, Grandmother? I said I’m hungry.”

Seeing your bright Y/E/C eyes boring up into hers, she let out an ear-splitting scream when you grinned as recognition dawned on her face.

Obviously, no Muggle doctor could give any sort of explanation or help. At most, they’d give one of the two of you some kind of a crazy pill and a suggestion of seeing a family counselor.

Soon after, tragedy struck your grandmother’s side once more, and you were landed with a cousin, Blakely. Blakely, however, seemed to adopt a mindset closer to your grandmother’s about it all and would no sooner take a shine to you than get friendly with the rabies-infected alley cat.

But as the years went on, things began to get even stranger.

At the age of 3, your wailing cries caused all the lightbulbs around you to pop inexplicably (costing your grandmother a fortune, as she so loved to remind you).

At 5, you’d managed to levitate a ball Blakely was taunting you with out of his hands and into yours.

However, at age 9 is when it became harder to keep a secret; at age 9 is when your grandmother began truly resenting you.

Being a self-ascribed ‘freak,’ bullying was something you were no stranger to. A comment here, a hair tug there. However, this had been a particularly extreme case. Kylie Kippely and her best friends had backed you into a corner, each shooting off snarky comments at your scared state, and when that wasn’t enough, they began throwing things--anything they could get their hands on--cans, papers, pencils, erasers. All the while yelling how everyone would be much better off without such a freak in their midst, about how all their parents were scared to even send them to school anymore after your last incident.

Then, they began running out of rubbish and started picking up rocks instead. Before a single rock could leave their hands, however, the mulch around you began to shake, then chips slowly started rising into the air behind them. As your face went from scared to full of awe, they turned around to see what you were looking at and simultaneously dropped everything in their hands. The mulch then began pelting at all of them, causing everyone around you to scream and disperse, all batting away the pieces of mulch pelting at their running backsides.

Grandmother had pulled you out of the school before you could receive any other punishment, and from that moment on, you’d been stuck in the house with her.

With no outlet, with nothing but growing rage and resentment inside of you, things began to spiral even worse.

Just when Grandmother began researching distant reform schools, however, you received your Hogwarts letter, and everything made sense.

All the strange things you could do, all the bizarre things you made happen, had an explanation. Sure the explanation was that you were, in fact, a freak--but you weren’t the only freak. There was a whole school’s worth of freaks just like you--well, almost just like you.

Though paper cranes soared around you and magic burst from the tip of hundreds of wands, through your time at Hogwarts, you found you did have one unique gift: it was evidently called Telepathic Impression, a branch of complex magic known as Legillimens--no one else could push thoughts into other people’s heads like you could, not naturally anyway. Nobody could ask a question silently and have the Professor answer for all to hear. After you’d interjected into McGonagall’s head during your first Transfiguration class, she’d had you go straight off to Dumbledore’s office. After a brief discussion, it was found you possessed natural Legilimency skills--something that had only been seen once before. He’d been absolutely transfixed when you told him the first instance had been at the ripe age of 1, in fluent advanced English no less.

You smiled fondly at the memory of his laugh of delight as you’d repeated, ‘Did you hear me, Grandmother? I said I’m hungry.'

Never before had you told that story in any sort of positive light, never got a positive reaction either. Dumbledore had been absolutely enthralled with you from then on.

He had carefully explained the practice of Legilimency, how the mind was a layered thing and could not be ‘read’ simply, like a book. He’d explained how everyone learned it to some advantage of theirs, how no two Legilimens were the same.

After several years of private lessons, it seemed all you’d ever be able to do with your gift was push thoughts, images, and sounds of your own into other’s minds--but this was an incredible feat in itself, a private gift of yours. However, just the year before, it was found that with effort, you could twist the thought to become persuasive, convince the person the thought was their own, and to complete the idea you’d given them. During the first lesson which you found you could do so, you’d been practicing with Dumbledore. Though he was giving no effort at all to resist, you’d silently suggested his tea was abysmal and that he knock it off his desk in disgust. With a twitch of his wrist, the cup shattered onto the floor, shocking you both into silence. It was after this Dumbledore had insisted you promise to never use it for evil, never ever use it with ill intentions--for as a Legilimens himself, he would know. You quickly agreed, of course; you’d never once had the thought to use it with ill motives--aside from maybe having Blakely go for a nice long dip in the creek in the dead of January, but that was a fantasy you kept for yourself to get you through Holidays like these.

Shaking your head of past childhood memories, you turned to your trunk to make sure you did indeed have everything all packed up and ready. You didn’t want to stay a second longer than necessary.

Spotting your cloaks pushed into the depths of your closet, you plucked them from the dark and folded them into your trunk. It wasn’t a moment too soon either, because right as you closed the lid, you heard the boisterous arrival of your best friends as they pulled in the winding driveway driving the enchanted car James’ parents had lent him. You heard an enthusiastic barking whoop and smiled as Sirius’ bright eyes and smile filled your mind.

Your stomach bubbling with excitement, you hastily put Jinx in his cage as he looked around in interest. Picking up his cage, you bounded down the stairs to meet them.

#harry potter x you #harry potter masterlist #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter series #maruaders x reader #marauders masterlist #marauders smut #hp marauders #young marauders #marauders fic #marauders era #the marauders #james potter fanfiction #james potter #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin #sirius black x reader #sirius black fic #sirius black series #sirius x reader #sirius black smut #sirius black fanfiction #sirius #young sirius black #hogwarts #gryffindor #ravenclaw #hufflepuff

[mrsalwayswrite]

Magic and Firelight (Ivar x reader)

Oh God. you know how I said I never write smut....apparently I lied. I blame this entire thing on @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom​ and @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​ for encouraging this. All. Their. Faults. 

This one-shot was inspired by the moodboard created by the ever-lovely @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom​ for a challenge. In the challenge she had to use Ivar, MagicAU and Licking....so I made sure to incorporate those themes into this written one-shot.  

Also this does not fit anywhere in the Vikings timeline because I want everyone alive and marginally happy, ok? So everyone lives in Kattegat but think season 5a Ivar. 

Warnings: SMUT, unexpected feels, like one swear word. 

Words: 4200

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius​ @evelynshelby​ @pomegranates-and-blood​ 

reminder: not my moodboard. this entire, glorious thing belongs to @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom​ who was kind enough to let me use it.

  Revelry filled the air, coating everything in the Great Hall like a fresh snowfall. The feast was well underway. The smell of roasted meat and ale rose steadily into the air, along with the laughter and cheers of those still in attendance. A contest of strength just finished, the loser ending up with blood dripping from his nose, tainting his teeth, as he laughed uproariously. 

 A joyous shout shot through the hall. The signal of the next form of entertainment. Fists pounded on the tables in delight, a few exclamations arising amongst the sound. All noise ceased when a slow drumbeat began, like the echo of a steady heart. It sunk into the skin, traveling to the chest until one's heartbeat matched in echo. 

 Ivar shifted in his seat near the base of the thrones. They both sat empty behind him, his mother having retired long ago, and Ragnar at a nearby table with Floki and a few others, laughing with a flushed face and ale horn in hand. Glancing around his table, he could see the wild excitement in his brothers' eyes…. for they all knew what came next. 

 As the drumbeat started to increase, the first of the swirling dancers emerged. Their bodies covered in thin fabric that teased as much as it covered, leaving one longing for a glimpse only to be denied as she continued her provocative movements. The six beautiful women moved through the tables like swans gliding through water, each step, each sway of their hips graceful and in tune with the beat.

 "Who are they?" Ivar asked gruffly. These women were not the normal entertainment at a feast. Nor did he did not recognize any of them. 

 "They came with a trader from the Mediterranean." Ubbe answered, never removing his eyes from the dancers. "He petitioned with father yesterday to allow them the chance to entertain us in the way of their people…. or something along those lines."

 "Remind me to ask that trader where they are specifically from, because I know where I am going to explore next." Hvitserk stated with a smirk. 

 Ubbe bumped shoulders with Hvitserk, an unspoken agreement in the action. 

 Ivar rolled his eyes at their antics and turned his gaze back to the dancers…. Only to freeze when one locked eyes with him. 

 She stood across the fire, the flames appeared to lick and dance upon her skin. Every curve, each dip of her luxurious body highlighted in the flickering light. Her hair hung long, swaying with each movement, its own form of enticement. It was those eyes though, that held him spellbound to her. Large, luminous orbs that seemed to peer into his soul, that stole the very breath from his lungs. All he could do was stare as she danced. Each movement was pure elegance and seduction. The whole time those mesmerizing eyes kept him spellbound, oblivious to all but her. With her eyes locked on him, it felt she danced only for him. Each twirl of her body, each shake of her barely clad hips, her hands tracing patterns in the air, it all felt like a dance to entrance him. To maintain his attention. To rile up his blood and desire for her. To make him yearn for her with his whole body and soul. 

 When she finally released him from her gaze to spin away, he gasped in a lungful of air. Not realizing until now how he had forgotten to breathe while watching her, so enthralled by her, even air became unnecessary. 

 "You alright, Ivar?"

 The raven-haired Ragnarsson looked at Hvitserk, noticing the smile that teased the corners of his mouth. 

 "This is the closest he's seen a naked woman besides Margrethe and we all know how that went." Sigurd snarked, bringing his cup of ale to his lips. 

 "Shut up before I rip your tongue out and feed it to the flames." He snarled at his curly-haired brother. Fury stirred in the hollow of his chest like a wild animal threatening to tear apart its cage. 

 Ubbe smacked the table. "Enough. Both of you."

 The table quieted as their focus returned to the dancers. Eyes searching the hall, a slow-growing panic simmered in Ivar's gut as he could not see her. The other five dancers spun and twirled about, their bodies an example of art in motion. 

 Without warning, the gentle touch of a hand on his shoulder caused his head to whip to the side, ready to demand blood from the one with the audacity to touch him…. Only to be met with those eyes that made him flustered and hot all over. 

 With her touches tender, she trailed her hand from his shoulder up his neck to cup the side of his face. Even if the need arose, he would be unable to remove himself from her sensual touch and her penetrating gaze, bewitched by her to remain still. Never before had he felt so exposed to someone. Even the times when he broke bones and had to be carried like a child, humiliation ripping into his skin. Now he felt undone as she beheld him, consumed by her with just a look. If the other dancers were art, then she, this divine beauty beside him, was a masterpiece, crafted by the gods themselves.

 Waves of jealousy rolled off his brothers, crashing against him like stormy waves on a beach but for once, he did not care. His eyes stayed glued to her, hypnotized by her very presence. 

 Suddenly he found himself facing her, unable to remember when he turned away from the table. She stood between his brace-clad legs, gazing down at him. Her fingers traced over his cheek, only to land at his mouth. Her thumb rubbed his bottom lip, encouraging his lips to part. Unable to resist her, he obliged, lips parting slightly. She made no further move, either to draw away or closer. His heart beat rapidly with excitement and mischief. A streak of wicked intent made his lips curl slightly, giving him away. His leather-bound hands reached out for her thighs; the soft skin almost foreign beneath his calloused-hardened fingers. In the same instant, he nipped at her thumb, still lingering on his bottom lip. Then he waited for her reaction with an impish smirk.  

 She chuckled, a sultry, honeyed sound that flowed straight to his useless cock and made him shiver in delight. 

 Never removing her eyes from his, she reached down to grab one of his hands on her exposed thighs. Then torturously slow, she guided it up the contours of her body, his hand caressing her hip, up her stomach and between her full breasts until his hand was at her mouth. Without waiting, she encouraged two of his fingers within. As her tongue swiped and sucked on his fingers like they were a tasty treat, Ivar lost all ability to think or resist. His hand still on her, gripped her thigh to ground himself, to confirm this was not a dream. 

 Women never paid attention to him, never looked at him with lust. After the latest raid in England where he proved his prowess in strategy and as a warrior, less women looked at him with disgust.

 But never this. 

 Never had one put him under a spell that made him want to sell his soul to possess her. Never had he seen desire darken a woman's eyes as they beheld him. Never had his own body and mind reacted with such a carnal, animalistic instinct. 

 He pulled his fingers from her mouth and dropped his hand to curl around her throat with just the slightest pressure. "Are you a thrall?"

 "No." She answered in a breathy tone, that only intensified his growing lust. Then she leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear, those barely contained breasts almost in his face. "Do with me what you want, Ivar the Boneless. I am yours tonight."

 Whatever previous desire bubbled in his veins exploded at hearing her alluring whisper. A guttural groan lodged in his throat. The hunger for her reached an all-consuming, feverish pitch. Without a word, he pushed himself to his feet, slipping the crutch under his arm. "Come."

 He half expected her to laugh and walk away but instead, she traced a hand down the tunic over his torso with a purr of pleasure. Then when she looked up at him coyly once more, he was halfway to throwing her onto the table behind him to ravish her right there. 

 She silently followed him back to his room. The whole walk his mind raged, both in desire and fear. He knew he could not pleasure her as a man but this ethereal creature that followed him deserved to be worshipped. And she had chosen him tonight. Out of all those in the hall, including his brothers…. she chose him. 

 He vowed to make sure she did not regret it. 

 He dismissed his personal thrall as they walked in, pleased to see the fire lit in the small hearth and furs laid out before it. The door closed, echoing in the room. Once alone, he moved over to sit on a nearby stool, leaning his crutch on the wall behind him. 

 She watched the fire, standing in the middle of his room. Her clothing appeared almost translucent in this light, a way of directing and guiding the eye along her perfect body. 

 "Take off your clothes." He commanded in a husky tone. 

 With a seductive wink back at him, she tugged on the few ties keeping the minimal clothing on her flawless body. In a moment, everything pooled at her feet….and he damn near swallowed his tongue. Bare before him, he was convinced there was nothing more stunning, more gorgeous than her. She put every sunset to shame, every spring flower, every star to grace the night sky, nothing could ever compare to her. 

 "Dance for me, my beauty." 

 A beguiling smile on her lips, she watched him for a moment. Then she began to move. A slow sway of her hips, hands trailing up her body to rise above her head. 

 There was no force that could tear his gaze away from her. When she danced in the Great Hall, he had been memorized…. but now, it would be sinful to remove his eyes from her graceful form. The circular motion of her hips, her hands tracing the curves of her body, the heavy-lidded eyes that watched him. He wanted nothing more than to sit at her feet for eternity and watch her dance. To worship at her altar and bestow her with gifts from the Aesir. 

 Then she began to spin slowly, allowing him to see all of her, a music leading her that only she was aware of. At one point, she squatted down and slowly rose, only to snap her hips up in a way that made him audibly growl. His hands were clenched in his lap, desperate to touch her, to replace her hands with his as they caressed her body. 

 Finally he could stand it no longer, this enchanting, sensual dance that made his blood boil ceaselessly with desire. 

 He swallowed thickly, mouth dry. "Go by the fire." He demanded. 

 If she was confused by his command, she said nothing. Turning around she sashayed over to the furs laid in front of the small hearth in his room. His eyes greedily drunk in the curves of her body as she moved. She laid down on the pile of furs before the hearth, unashamed in her nudity. With the colors of the flames and shadows painted across her body, she appeared ethereal. Something only for the gods to view. Perfection at its purest form.

 Sitting on the stool, he quickly worked the straps of his braces, never taking his eyes off her. Unwilling to miss her glory for even a moment. She laid on her side, gaze on him. One hand propped her head up while the other skimmed those curves highlighted by the flames. 

 Once freed, he crawled over to her like the predator he was. Hunger and domination with each placement of his hands and shift of his shoulders. There was no doubt who was in control. His fierce gaze never removed from her, keeping her pinned with the same strength as if ropes held her down. As he approached, she silently rolled onto her back, an intensity in those eyes as they watched him and a kittenish smile on her lips. With that, he crawled up her body until he hovered over her, blanketing her perfect form. Then he waited. Staring down at her, he was shocked once again that she chose him. That she currently lay beneath, pliant to his touch and commands. It was a powerful and dark sensation. To have this control, this power over her….to have her at his mercy. A more rapturous feeling than killing Christian priests or obliterating any army. 

 "Ivar…." She sighed out, tracing the line of his jaw with her finger. "Don't keep me waiting."

 A crooked grin grew on his face. Here lay this Valkyrie, this goddess, this divine creature beneath him, begging for him. Without wasting a moment, his mouth descended on her skin, his arms holding himself just above her. He placed open-mouth kisses along her chest, loving the soft sounds of pleasure it drew from her. His tongue traced the curve of her breasts, paying special attention to the tattoo of a flower between them. Suddenly he drew one of her nipples into his mouth, causing her back to arch. Her hand flew up to grip his braids, as he sucked and licked the bud until it was hard and peaked, then he switched to the other side to repeat his ministrations. 

 "Ivar…." She moaned, tugging on his braids, hips rolling beneath them. 

 "Shhhh…. soon." He nipped at the side of her breast, pleased with the heat that flared in her eyes. "We go at my pace…. and I plan on taking my time."

 Slowly he slithered his way down her body, his tongue leading the way over her soft skin. There was nowhere he did not worship with his mouth, nowhere safe that his tongue did not covetously explore. By the time he was done with her, his mouth and tongue intimately knew every inch of her and the erotic sounds those spots drew from her lips. With a long swipe of his tongue starting at her sternum, he trailed it down between her breasts to her belly only to end at the top of her womanhood. 

 He glanced up from between her legs, the scent of her arousal a beacon for him to follow. She laid there, bathed in flames, coated in his saliva, chest rising and falling like the waves of the seas, with her eyes closed and mouth partly open. Never had he witnessed anything more magnificent. 

 "Still with me, my beauty?"

 Her eyes fluttered open to peek at him, a tantalizing smile on her lips. "Always."

 With that, he dove into her. His mouth feasted on the juices coming from her womanhood. It was nothing like he expected. She tasted sweeter than honey, stronger than ale. He continued to lap and lick her, wanting more, needing more of her taste. For he swore, this was the nectar of the gods. A sweet ambrosia not meant for mortal men. 

 Her cries of pleasure doubled his resolve to ravish her with his tongue. To bring her such pleasure that she would always remember him. He flicked at her clit with his tongue, watching her keen to the ceiling above. Her hips rolled as he sucked at her folds with reckless abandon. 

 Each mewl and cry from her mouth, made him feel like a god. Each chanting of his name seemed to strengthen his body to continue. Even as he laid on the floor, propped up on his elbows, her legs over his shoulders, he felt no pain. As if her ecstasy flowed back into him. Instead of the constant ache of pain from his legs that clawed at his mind ceaselessly, for once it was silenced. All he was aware of…. was her. As if she invaded his body and possessed his mind. 

 If he was to die now, with her cries of pleasure filling his ears, he knew Odin would still allow him into Valhalla. For to bring this celestial being pleasure must be akin to the glory of battle. His blood roared in his ears, forcing him to continue, desperate for more. Her taste on his tongue was a craving he never knew he had until now. In the cradle of her thighs was his new favorite place to exist. 

 When she peaked, when her pleasure overwhelmed her and his name was screamed into the very heavens above, he greedily ate away at her, drinking everything down and still yearning for more. He licked at her womanhood through the aftershocks, her taste and scent all his senses wanted to know. 

 Once satisfied, he peered up at her, expecting to see her blissed-out, eyes closed and immobile. Instead what he witnessed made him freeze, unable to move.

 She observed him with eyes that glowed like two full moons on the darkest of nights. 

 Where once he had been the predator, intent on devouring her, adamant to possess her…. now he understood. He was the prey. He was the one caught in the spider's web. He was the one now owned by her alone. Those glowing eyes entranced him, preventing him from looking away, sealing his mouth shut to call out. Unable to do anything but gawk at her in a bewildered, longing awe. 

 Slowly she leaned up, staring at him. He could not remember moving. All his mind could fathom were those eyes…. those glowing orbs that he swore had seen Valhalla, that galaxies swirled amidst, that stole his soul and branded her mark on him. When he next blinked, he was sitting, with her straddling his lap, in all her exquisite, naked glory. Her eyes beheld him with softness, her hands a gentle weight on his shoulders, even her bare breasts pressed against his chest, all of it alluded a power that could only be answered with reverence. 

 "Who…. are you?" He stuttered out. 

 She smiled; a captivating thing that made him want to worship her again but also sink his teeth into her bottom lip. "I have been called many things throughout my life. But tonight, those names do not matter. Tonight, I am simply y/n…. Tonight, I am here for you."

 "Y/n?"

 She purred as if the name stoked a fire within her. "Yes, my valiant warrior." Her hand tangled in his braids again, almost guiding his head to the side as her plump lips skimmed his jawline. "I have heard your prayers, seen your cries. I cannot give you your legs but I will give you what I can."

 A quake raced up his spine. "What?"

 "Shhhh…. surrender to me." 

 Hesitantly, she pressed her lips to his, as if giving him time to pull away. Instead, he felt a jolt shoot through him. He groaned, opening his mouth, allowing her to take control. He had thought her taste as he lapped greedily at her core was ambrosia, but her mouth…. oh, the taste of her mouth was both death and life combined. Something so intoxicating and potent, it stole the very breath from his lungs while a vitality bleed into his veins simultaneously.  Her mouth held him prisoner, a melding of their lips and tongues that scorched him in every way deliciously possible. 

 "Do you feel it?" She whispered, before delving into his mouth again with an even greater need. 

 And he did. By this point, his legs should be screaming at him, especially with her weight on his thighs. Instead there was no pain, no ache. Only blissful tingles danced on his nerves and a fire stirred in his belly. 

 He wrenched his mouth from hers, eyes wide and panting as he gawked at her. 

 "I cannot heal you," she quietly said, eyes still glowing, "but I can take some of your pain in exchange for the pleasure you gave me."

 Unexpected tears welled in his eyes. Pain, his constant companion since birth, now was barely a blip on his mental radar. He dropped his head to her chest, overwhelmed by the lessened pain and bliss coursing through his veins. As he thought about it, as he feasted on her, every lick, every caress of his tongue against her, pain drained from his body like slow droplets of water. It was only now he noticed, so caught up in her exquisite taste, that he easily could become drunk on and never wish to be sober again. 

 She spoke against his ear, authority and power ringing in each word. "Hear my words, Ivar the Boneless. Your fame will live on for generations. You will not be forgotten, in this life or the next. This is my final gift that I give you."

 She drew his face back to hers, pressing her lips to his in a fiery, desperate kiss. Her words, her touch, her taste, everything felt seared into the very marrow of his bones. A burst of white light and ecstasy flooded through him, making him wonder for a second if he died. 

 When he opened his eyes, mind hazy as if intoxicated, it was to find himself alone. Frantic, he looked around. Yet there was nothing to show of her presence. Not even her discarded clothes lay on the floor anymore. 

 "No….no, no, no." He mumbled, refusing to believe she was gone…. but there was no denying the truth. Yet even as he sat there, tears still slipping down his cheeks, he could feel her presence with the absence of pain. He could still taste her on his tongue. Strength and vitality flowed through his crippled body in ways he had never felt before. 

 He was unsure how long he sat there before a quick knock on his door interrupted his thoughts. It opened to reveal Hvitserk who cautiously stepped in, eyes scanning the room. 

 "You alright, brother?"

 Ivar wondered at the stupid question then realized he must be referring to the evidence of tears still staining his cheeks. Hastily he wiped them away on his sleeve. "What are you doing here?"

 "We thought we heard something…. I came to check on you." He tilted his head and scanned the room once again. "Where is she?"

 Ivar turned his face to the fire, without answering. How could he explain all that just occurred without sounding mad? That a glorious being chose him, used him for her pleasure and then gave him priceless gifts. No, no one would believe that. This was a memory, a present for him alone to cherish. 

 "You know if you need advice with pleasuring a woman, I am more than willing to help. They do call me the love guru." Hvitserk chuckled but immediately silenced at the stony glare Ivar sent his way. "Um, right. Well, I'll head back out." He started to walk away but stopped at Ivar's call. 

 "Wait!" When Hvitserk turned back around, Ivar swallowed thickly then continued. "What…. what color are my eyes?"

 The flaxen-haired brother moved closer. "Um, blue…. a vibrant blue…. they almost look like they are glowing but with a veil over them. I've never seen them like that before. Are you feeling alright? Do you want help getting to your bed?"

 Ivar smiled longingly, his chest squeezing at his brother's words. "No….no, I feel… I feel great, Hvitty."

 "Um, sure. Do you need anything?"

 "No, you can go back out to the feast."

 "Okay, good night, Ivar."

 Ivar did not answer, only just hearing the door closing as turned back to face the dancing flames. His mind drifted to thinking about her, his beauty. 

 Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something nestled between the furs. Carefully he maneuvered himself over to gently grab it, curiosity pushing him forward despite caution. Cradling it in his hand like a priceless treasure, he now could see what it was; a pendant, only the size of his thumb, but it was in the color and shape of a full moon and an etching that matched the tattoo of the flower between her breasts. 

 "Y/n." He whispered, as if prompted by something to say her name. To his surprise, the pendant glowed faintly for a moment, so reminiscent of her eyes before dulling back. 

 "Thank you." He slipped his necklace off with Thor's hammer and added the pendant. Once back on his neck, he lifted the pendant and kissed it, only to stifle a moan as the faintest hints of her taste tingled on his lips. 

 Feeling euphoric, he laid back on the pile of furs, pressing the pendant to his lips. He closed his eyes, trying to remember every moment with her. He prayed that he could see her once again, either in this life or in Valhalla. For he knew, there would never be another like her. He had no idea who or what she was, only the name she gave him. A name that would be branded upon his heart and soul for all eternity. 

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