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happyyyandcrazyyy · 1 year

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flu (remus lupin x reader)

summary: (y/n) meets remus in the hospital wing. it’s quite fitting, really

remus and (y/n) are aware of the lingering feelings but won’t confess, maybe all they need is a little marauders’ meddling

warning: chronic magic illness, slight canon divergence (in the sense that i made up magical stuff lmao), description of pain (not detailed)

request by @ladylokilaufeyson5 : “Hi, I was wondering if you could write another remus lupin x reader? Maybe reader and remus are lowkey in love with each other and everyone but them knows? And the marauders try to interfere? On another note I absolutely ADORE your writing <3”

a/n: hii!! thank you so much for the request and for your words <3 i’m sorry it took me so long to get it done, inspiration has been hard to find these days :/ i changed your request a bit and added addition stuff i hope you don’t mind and i hope you enjoy it !!

chapter 1: the flu (spoiler: it isn’t the flu)

1.0

Everything hurts.

(Y/N) is used to that, the lingering headaches and muscle aches. They’ve been there for as long as she can recall.

What she isn’t used to, however, is her skin feeling as if it’s been blasted with cold air. She’s freezing and the shivers that run through her body are only worsening the pain. She can’t help the pained grunt that leaves her lips.

There’s movement somewhere around her— she would open her eyes to see exactly who it is but her body’s being uncooperative, and her lids are just too heavy —and the next thing she knows there are hands on her face. The back of the palm is pressed against her forehead, there’s a mumble, too quiet for her to hear, and then the hand’s gone.

“How are you feeling Miss (Y/L/N)?” And it’s a testament of how much time she’s spent here that even with her brain feeling as if it’s been stuffed with cotton candy, she’s able to identify the voice.

She tries to reply, but it feels like her tongue is stuck to the roof of her mouth. It takes her a couple of seconds to be able to articulate the words, “Like I’ve been run over by a hippogriff.”

The matron chuckles at that, one of her hands delicately moving some of the hair in (Y/N)’s hair away from her eyes. The laughter sounds somewhat fond, like she’s grown much to used to her comments. That’s the real testament of how much time she’s spent in the Infirmary, the fact that she gets the privilege of gentle tones and sweet hands.

Madam Pomfrey helps her sit up, one hand on her arm and the other on her back. The change of position makes her head pound, but she keeps her mouth shut, she knows better than to say anything that will keep her bedridden longer than necessary. She’s handed a glass of water and the matron observes her, makes sure she drinks it all before nodding approvingly. If the matron notices the way her hands shake as she guides the glass to her lips, she doesn’t say a word. She does, however, evidently notice the goosebumps that cover her skin and wordlessly casts a warming spell. (Y/N) can’t help the way her muscles immediately sag in response to the heat, no longer tensing. The deep ache lessens slightly.

“Try to rest,” Madam Pomfrey instructs as she takes the glass away, as if (Y/N) had enough energy to do anything else. She only nods in response and closes her eyes as the healer walks away to tend to other patients.

It’s quiet for a while and (Y/N) finds herself drifting between consciousness and sleep when a sound startles her. Her eyes snap open and she turns her head around to try to locate the noise. There’s a hiss, followed by a swallowed groan filled with pain (the kind of sound you produce when you’re hurt and it’s painful, but you don’t want to bother anyone because, yes, the pain is bad, but it could be much worse). It doesn’t take much for her to identify where the noises are coming from; the bed right next to hers. Knowing who it is, however, is near impossible seeing that the curtains are pulled shut.

They must be badly hurt, she thinks to herself, because Madam Pomfrey only ever closes the curtains when the extent of the patient’s injuries is serious.

Whoever it is keeps on moving around as if trying to find a position that isn’t painful. (Y/N) can empathize and maybe that’s the reason she finds herself asking, “You alright?”

The movement comes to a sudden stop, and it seems like it takes a while for the person to realize that she’s talking to them.

“Uh, yes. I’m— I just— I got the flu.”

And that’s a lie if she’s ever heard one. (Y/N) isn’t even looking at them and she can tell. It’s such a bad lie that it’s kind of comical, it makes her huff out the most silent snort, “Okay.”

“You?” The person asks after a couple of seconds of silence, moving around once more before settling, “Are you okay?”

(Y/N) crosses her arms over her chest, biting her lip down when her muscles cry in protest, “Also got the flu.”

That brings out something that resembles a chuckle, but is much to pained to be one, from the person.

“Must be flu season.”

She can’t help the way her lips quirk in amusement, “Must be.”

1.1

She’s back in the Hospital Wing two times before she sees (hears?) the person again. If she’s being honest, she hadn’t expected to ever meet them again, not everyone is a frequent visitor like herself, after all.

This time, however, the roles are reversed. She’s the one with curtains pulled shut (because it’d been bad this time, real bad, she somehow managed to burn her right arm and part of her chest and the feeling of freezing to death had been bad enough that Madam Pomfrey had been forced to give her Pepperup Potion) and he’s the one who speaks up first.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to holler for Madam Pomfrey?”

It isn’t until she hears those words that she realizes she’s been letting out small whimpers of pain. She breaths deeply through her nose and tries to quiet down, it’s kind of hard when it feels like her insides have been liquified, but she manages.

It takes her a moment to realize she knows that voice, she’s heard it before. It’s a good thing, she thinks, that she has the ability to match voice to people with scary precision because it only takes her a couple of seconds to know where she’s heard that voice before.

“I’m good,” she replies, “It’s the flu, you know?”

The person is evidently startled, most likely not expecting that answer, because they let out a small laugh, “Highly contagious, isn’t it?”

They have a nice laugh, deep and rich and overwhelming warm. She doesn’t think she’s ever heard someone laugh in the Infirmary before. It’s nice, she decides, different in a way she could get used to.

“Very much so,” she plays along, somewhat amused.

They’re quiet for a couple of minutes before the person speaks up again, “I’m Remus Lupin, by the way.”

She hadn’t expected to exchange names with the person, but this is a nice development.

“The infamous marauder,” she teases, groaning low as she changes her position. The bandage around her arm is beginning to itch. “Whatever have I done to be blessed with your presence?”

“You know who I am?”

He sounds genuinely surprised and that’s confusing because, really, there isn’t a person at Hogwarts who doesn’t know the marauders. She tells him as much.

“I figured it’d be James and Sirius who everyone was familiar with.”

(Y/N) shakes her head, even if he can’t see it, and immediately regrets it when pain flashes through her eyes like lighting. “I’m pretty sure you all have fan clubs,” she responds through clenched teeth, doing as best as she can to keep the pain from her voice.

She’s moderately successful, good enough to fool anyone who doesn’t know her, but Remus must be familiar with pain because he asks, “Are you sure you don’t need Madam Pomfrey?”

And she does want some pain relief potion (badly, she wants it badly) but she doesn’t need it. Calling out for the matron will only end up with (Y/N) having to stay longer than she wants.

“I’m good, Lupin.”

He hums in response, obviously disbelieving.

“Oh, I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” she tells him after a couple of minutes of breathing through her nose and clenching her eyes shut, willing the pain to pass. “Just remembered I never introduced myself.”

There’s shuffling, like he suddenly sat up. She swears she can feel his eyes on her, even through the curtains.

“The brightest witch of our generation,” he teases, but he’s unable to hide the evident astonishment from his voice. It seeps through, only a little, but enough for (Y/N) to notice.

She huffs and catches herself before she can cross her arms over her chest, the movement would be too much for her muscles right now. She’s not the brightest nor is she the most powerful, despite what everyone believes. Even if she was, it would only be due to an unfair advantage. It’s not really her.

Just when she thinks he’s going to ask something else about her magic, like everyone does— it’s always is it true you managed to cast a patronus when you were only twelve? and can you really perform nonverbal spells? and can you teach me how to cast protego with the power of my mind and no need of a wand? —his voice becomes gentler and he says, “Nice to meet you.”

And that’s it. No questions, no prodding.

She likes him, she decides in that moment. He’s not what she expected him to be.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

chapter 2: blooming friendship

2.0

Things don’t drastically change after that. She wouldn’t say they’re friends, not really. Acquaintances is a more fitting word, (Y/N) reckons, although sometimes it feels more intimate than that. Being aware of each other’s pain does that, she guesses.

Despite not running in the same circles, they’re friendly with each other; Remus nods at her when he catches her eye and (Y/N) always responds with a smile.

It isn’t until Professor McGonagall decides that she’ll be the one pairing up students for the upcoming Transfiguration project that things do change.

Now, usually professors allow them to choose who they’ll be pairing with— partially because it prevents conflict, but mainly because it prevents the heavily dramatized whines and complaints from Potter and Black, who grumble as if they didn’t spend their every waking moment stuck to each other’s side —so it isn’t surprising that the news are received with a communal groan.

(Y/N) shares a disappointed look with Crasswell, one of the best friends and someone she works splendidly with, and begs to Merlin that whoever is her partner isn’t Potter or Black.

(“Minnie, please! We’ll do anything.”

“Anything!”

“No running around past curfew.”

“No pranks for a whole week.”

“No stealing food from the kitchens.”

“No sneaking into Filch’s office.”

“No convincing Peeves to carry out mischiefs in our absence.”

“No trying to get the portraits to sing opera in the middle of the night.”

“This is all merely hypothetical, Minnie, of course. Not to say we’ve ever done any of these things.”

“Precisely.”

“But if we ever had, we could stop.”

“Grant you peace of mind for a week or two.”

“Because, honestly, I think I might die if I’m not paired with Prongs.”

“The separation anxiety would be too much for him, Professor.”

“I feel ill by just imagining it.”

“He does look kind of feverish.”

“Mr. Black,”

“Yes?”

“If you’re going to die be sure not to do it on my classroom.”

“Mr. Potter,”

“Professor?”

“Back to your seat.”)

Yes, (Y/N) really begs it’s neither of them.

“Ms. (Y/L/N) and Mr. Lupin.”

Merlin be praised.

She can’t help but sigh in relief, because not only is he not James or Sirius but Remus is actually a decent partner.

“You lucky sod,” she hears Black tell Remus as he begins to make his way towards her. “You got the best possible partner.”

It seems as if the class agrees because as soon as her name is called along with Lupin’s, the remaining students huff in discontent. She isn’t egocentric, but (Y/N) knows people were hopeful to have her as their partner— if Mulciber’s unblinking stare and Avery’s crossed fingers are any indication —after all, she’s known for being particularly skilled with any sort of magic that requires a wand. It makes her even more grateful to be partnered with Remus. He might be one of the few who wouldn’t exploit her to get a good mark.

“Hey,” she greets him warmly, moving her books aside to make room for him.

“Hi.” His smile is sweet, shy, it shows off a barely noticeable dimple in his right cheek. She thinks it’s adorable.

That’s really where it all begins.

2.1

(Y/N) ends up spending a lot of time with Remus. At first, it’s only because of Professor McGonagall’s assignment— they’re doing trans-species transformations, after all, and even with her unwanted magical advantage (Y/N) knows it’s a complicated and dangerous matter, so they’re forced to spend hours doing research before even beginning to experiment with animals —but it eventually becomes more than that. She finds out she enjoys his company, his attentive silence and quick-witted comments. Remus never looks at her like others do, not with a mixture of pity and sympathy like her parents, or like she’s an experiment that needs to be prodded at like some of the healers at St. Mungo’s. He doesn’t even look at her like some other students do, with greed and the intent of befriending her just to get a peek at her power, or intrigue and the desire to figure out why she disappears for days at a time. It’s like Remus is able to look past assumptions and expectations and see her. It’s different and (Y/N) finds out she likes the normality very much.

She discovers a lot about Remus Lupin in the months that they go from being acquaintances-that-see-each-other-at-the-Hospital-Wing-every-couple-of-weeks to friends-that-spend-every-single-moment-of-the-day-together. (Y/N) finds out that he’s got the gentlest soul and the kindest heart, that he’s someone who genuinely cares. He’s not much of a talker but is instead a great listener and an ever-better advice giver. It’s curious, she thinks, the way he becomes louder when he’s around the marauders. Not different, but brighter. Remus is also incredibly smart, not exactly in a book-smart-kind-of-way (somehow James and Sirius surpass him in academics, it’s one of the greatest mysteries to herself and Evans because they both swear on their lives they’ve never seen either of them open up a book unless the purpose was to destroy school property) but in an intellectual-kind-of-way, he’s knowledgeable and passionate about a handful of topics and it’s fun to have someone with whom she can debate about controversial topics.

Seeing the good in him is as easy as breathing, it’s all there in the surface for the public eye. Sensing his hardship, however, can be almost impossible in a good day. Still, (Y/N) manages to see what slips through, eyes that shine with an emotion that resembles guilt and shame crumbled together. After having Remus deflect when she’d asked, she knows better than to push him into discussing things he obviously does not wish to share, but those are the days that she pulls him closer.

“I think we might get this done tomorrow if we’re lucky,” (Y/N) speaks up as she rubs her eyes. After realizing just how well they worked together during McGonagall’s assignment they’d decided to partner up for all the upcoming projects. They’ve been cooped up in the Library, working nonstop on Professor Slughorn’s assigned concoction for hours, she feels like her brain is melting and never has she been more grateful to be done for the day. “Rem?”

At the lack of response, she turns around to meet her friend.

Remus is starting out the window, seemingly lost in thought. He’s been more agitated the last couple of days, anxious. (Y/N) has noticed he gets like that sometimes before ending up at the Infirmary.

“Remus, hey!” she moves her hand in front of his face, effectively pulling him out of whichever daydream he’d been in. “You good?”

“Yes, sorry,” he closes his eyes for a second as he runs his hands, “Uh, I don’t know if I’ll be able to meet up tomorrow. I haven’t been feeling well, might be coming down with the flu.”

And that’s the keyword, the word they both use, the one they know means something else entirely. (Y/N) wonders if one day he’ll trust her enough to tell her about his condition. She wonders if she’ll ever tell him about hers, too.

“That’s quite alright, we still got plenty of time to get this done, we’ll finish it when you feel better.”

Even months after knowing each other, Remus still seems surprised by her gentleness, and something akin to regret colors his features. She hopes he doesn’t feel bad for not telling her the truth, she doesn’t mind.

(Y/N) finds herself reaching out for his hand, squeezing it gently as she offers him a kind smile. “Get some rest, yeah?”

He huffs a little, like the idea of resting sounds impossible, still, he replies with, “I’ll try my best.”

Later that night, as she lies in bed with nothing but the full moon for company, (Y/N) wonders what kind of magical condition Lupin has. She can’t help but compare herself to him. From what she’s seen it appears like whatever he has doesn’t affect his everyday life and it also seems like he can always tell when it’s coming. She envies that. There are things she’ll never be able to do, like ride a broom and play Quidditch, and she can never tell when a new episode is about to occur. Well, that’s a lie, sometimes she’ll get the smell of citrus burning through her nose or a feeling of intense pressure between her eyes and she knows, but it’s never early enough to prevent the attack, only enough to allow her to escape to some place where she can be alone. Whatever Remus has leaves him drained and injured, she’s seen him sporting scratches and bruises, and that confuses her because if there’s one thing she’s learned by visiting every healer in the country from the day she was born is that magical illnesses don’t tend to be violent in nature. (She’s an exception, of course, because apparently she’s an exception to every single magical rule that’s ever been written.) The thing that itches at her mind the most is how Remus’s condition seems to be cyclical, not at all random like her own. There’s only a handful of cyclical illnesses, she’s read enough magical medical books to know that.

She sighs to herself, looking at the moon one more time before snuggling into her bed.

It isn’t until the next morning, as she brushes her teeth, that she makes the connection.

Her eyes widen in realization, toothbrush falling from her mouth to the skin.

Merlin’s beard, how could she be so daft?

A full moon high in the sky every single time.

When she visits him in the Infirmary later that day she brings him three chocolate frogs— which she’d bought the week prior with him in mind —and tells him not to worry about anything other than resting. He responds with a smile, one that’s pain-filled but genuine. She doesn’t tell him about what she thinks she knows.

2.2

Her next episode happens in the middle of the night, as she sleeps in her bed. That is new, she’s never had an episode while asleep. (Later on, when the pain is manageable, she’ll reach the conclusion that it’s not only new, but concerning.)

This, as it turns out, is both a blessing and a curse. Being asleep means she doesn’t suffer from the initial dizziness and nausea, just the muscle cramping and spasms that always come prior to losing consciousness. Even then, it’s like she passes out earlier on than usual, her body too disoriented to handle the pain. She counts that as a win, really. The downside, however, is that she wakes up feeling as if she’s been slammed by the Whomping Willow and stupefied at the same time, every nerve ending is flaring up. Tears well up in her eyes and begin falling without her permission. It’s been a while since she’s cried out of pure pain.

The pain not bad enough to knock her out again— she wishes it would —but it does manage to make her stomach churn. She turns around and throws up. Somehow Madam Pomfrey (when did she get here? had she been here all along?) foresees it and there’s a bucket that keeps her from making a mess out of the Infirmary.

She’s sticky with sweat, hair pressed against her forehead, and the tears keep on falling. Her body trembles with the effort of keeping her upright and heaving into the bucket. The muscles on her chest ache, badly. She’d feel gross if she had enough mind to think. What she does notice, however, are the shivers that run up and down her body. As if the pain wasn’t enough, she’s freezing.

Everything becomes a blur after that. She’s conscious, but she’s not. Madam Pomfrey works diligently around her (the shivers decrease but they don’t disappear completely). The curtains are pulled shut (are there any physical injuries or is it just that bad?). She drinks two potions (or were there three?), she doesn’t even register the taste. There’s mumbling (an incantation maybe?) and then there’s black.

It takes her a week to recover and three more days of rest before Madam Pomfrey lets her go back to her everyday life.

Her roommates come by and she finds out that they’d been frightened and worried out of their minds when they’d woken up and she hadn’t been in bed. (Y/N) doesn’t have to ask Madam Pomfrey how she’d known she’d had one episode; she’s been wearing the small necklace— one that is enchanted to detect increased flows of magic and heart rate —for as long as the episodes have been occurring. The matron was probably alerted by it. She’s also not surprised that her roommates didn’t hear a thing, she places a silencing charm around her bed every night in case something like this ever were to happen.

Remus also comes by; he brings her gummies and his favorite muggle book for her to read— he introduced her to romance muggle books and she thinks she might be addicted. He sounds evidently concerned about her, voice filled with worry (there must be rumors going around the castle, she guesses), but he never asks about her illness, only makes sure she’s feeling better. He fills her in on the things she’s missed, which include two highly amusing pranks by the marauders and a very public breakup by a Slytherin couple in the middle of the Great Hall.

Neither her friends nor Remus see her, the curtains stay shut until she leaves the Infirmary. The traces of visible magic floating around her fingers linger for days and it isn’t until they disappear that she’s released from the matron’s care.

chapter 3: hogsmeade, feelings and revelations

3.0

(Y/N) feels like her energy is being sucked out of her. Some days she wakes up to find out there’s already a headache building at the back of her head, others it’s hard to even open her eyes. She’s always cold. She uses a glamour spell to hide the dark bags under her eyes. What’s truly concerning is the feeling of her magic; it swirls unsteadily, uncurling only to tighten up again. It’s not painful— after all her magic doesn’t actively try to hurt her, it’s just too much —but it worries her because it’s uncontrolled. It normally takes a lot of effort to keep it reigned in, these days it’s even harder which results in her episodes occurring more frequently.

Madam Pomfrey wants to inform her parents about the recent developments of her condition, (Y/N) begs her not to— she knows what’ll happen, they’ll take her home and make her rest and then she’ll be visited by a thousand different mediwitches and healers only to find out that no one knows how to help her. Madam Pomfrey compromises, but only after (Y/N) starts pouting.

“You’ll come over after dinner every night to have your vitals checked,” Madam Pomfrey relents. “I’ll talk to Professor Slughorn about brewing a potion that’ll help you harness the magic.”

(Y/N) knew the matron had a soft spot for her, even if she tries to deny it.

“But if the condition gets any worse, if your health is at risk, I will inform your parents.”

(Y/N) hopes it doesn’t get worse, but that’s just wishful thinking, she knows it will. The cold feeling should’ve been enough of a warning; (Y/N) is pretty sure she’s dying. If that’s the case, she just wishes to be allowed to enjoy however long she has left before inevitably ending up bedridden.

That’s the reason why, when Remus asks her to accompany him to Hogsmeade, she doesn’t hesitate to agree, even when she’s exhausted beyond belief.

It’s how she finds herself walking around the small town, watching little snowflakes fall to the ground, one hand linked through Remus’s arm. Half of her face is covered by a red and golden scarf that Remus had taken off some hours ago when he’d noticed her teeth chattering.

He’s so unbelievingly attentive to her— he’ll pull her closer whenever she starts feeling weakness settling in her bone, letting her lean some of her weight against him, and he’ll gently guide them to whichever store is closest when the cold gets too much for her to handle. She doesn’t need to say a single word, Remus just appears to know, and that’s, honestly, impressive since she has a lifetime of experience at pretending to be okay. For a moment she thinks that maybe it’s just a coincidence, but then she catches the small glances he throws her way, filled with a tiny bit of concern and something else she rather not name. It makes her feel warm all over.

Everything’s going great, they’ve visited Honeydukes and Zonko’s (where, to no one’s surprise, they stumbled into the marauders, who, to no one’s surprise, teased Remus by making kissy faces at him when they thought she wasn’t looking) and walked around taking about everything and nothing. That’s another thing she likes about him, talking comes as easy as breathing, conversation just flows.

So, yes, everything is going great which means that inevitably something was bound to go wrong because that’s just how (Y/N)’s life goes.

They’re making their way to the Three Broomsticks when the cold hits her with a bone-aching intensity. She comes to a sudden stop, clenching her chest in panic, knees weakening. (Somewhere in the back of her head, she’s annoyed. It’s not even that cold, her body just seems to be spending its energy and heat in keeping the magic contained so everything feels colder than it should.)

When she comes back to herself, vision clearing up, she realizes that Remus is holding her by the arms. He’s speaking, but all she feels is pain and so his words are muffled. The frantic panic on his eyes, however, is unmistakable.

“I’m okay,” she reassures him when the pain lessens and the cold diminishes and she regains the ability to speak.

At some point Remus had moved them near an alleyway. Away from prying eyes, she realizes. Her heart grows fonder.

Remus stays silent for a second, studying her face. He doesn’t look panicked anymore, but the concern lingers and it’s obvious that he doesn’t believe a word she’s saying. He opens his mouth and hesitates briefly before speaking, “You’re still ill, aren’t you?”

It’s evident the way he worries about having crossed a line because he cringes slightly as the words leave his mouth. She doesn’t blame him, even when they both know the other is sick (is that even what they are? sick?), they’ve never openly spoken about it. It’s always the flu, and that’s that.

She considers lying, but it feels wrong to do so. Remus understands what it’s like to be limited by something beyond your control in a way not many can, it makes it easier to be vulnerable, “Some of the symptoms linger.”

He nods and (Y/N) expects him to ask more about her condition, to press for an explanation, but he just reaches forward to cup her cheek.

“You had me worried there for a second.”

Her heart beats louder at the admission, at the genuine concern in his eyes.

“I’m alright now, really.”

Her hand reaches up. She places it over his, the action reassuring.

“Godric, you’re freezing.”

But he doesn’t flinch away. Instead, he reaches out and places both of her hands between his. The warmth of his skin is soothing. If he notices the way her fingers tremble, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“You should’ve told me you weren’t feeling well,” Remus tells her, thumb running over the back of her hand in attempt to warm it. “We could’ve stayed in the castle—”

We.

He’s implying he would’ve stayed with her.

(Y/N) ignore the way that makes her heart race, the way she feels heat crawling to her cheeks.

“—played some magic chess or ransacked the kitchens.”

That snaps her out of whatever she’s feeling, the way he so nonchalantly suggests doing something that would most definitely end up with them getting detention. She spends so much time with him when he’s not around the other three that (Y/N) sometimes forgets he’s a marauder. Worst thing is, she would willingly accompany him to any adventure— risking detention and all— if he asked. She pushes that revelation to the back of her mind.

“You talk about raiding the kitchens as if you’ve done it before,” she teases.

She ignores just how handsome he looks, wind blowing his hair back and a smirk beginning to decorate his features.

“Maybe I have,” he replies cheekily, winking.

She rolls her eyes, somewhat amused.

(Y/N) isn’t surprised, if anyone would be able to find their way into the kitchens it would be the marauders.

They fall quiet and some of the previous tension returns. Remus’s face grows more serious.

He tugs gently at her hands, “Promise me you’ll tell me if you’re ever feeling unwell?”

She looks down at their joined fingers, observes the way his thumb keeps on caressing her hand, and turns her attention back at him, “Only if your promise the same thing in return.”

And at that Remus looks conflicted. He presses his lips together and looks away before sighing and nodding. His gaze returns to hers, “Promise.”

“Promise.”

“You want to head back to the castle?” He asks her as they make their way back to the main street.

“You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” he looks at her and grins, “We might still have time to play some magic chess.”

She groans playfully, bumping her shoulder against his. “You know I’m terrible.”

“Exactly the reason I proposed it.”

Remus never let go of her hand, not once in all the way back to the castle. He keeps them intertwined, hidden in the pocket of his jacket.

This might be love, she thinks to herself, and maybe if she wasn’t dying she would do something about the feelings that are lazily brewing in her heart, but she can’t because that wouldn’t be fair to him.

She’s so wrapped in those thoughts that she doesn’t realize specks of her magics slipping though, she doesn’t realize that as she holds his hand the bone-chilling cold dissipates into nothingness.

3.1

(Y/N) wouldn’t say she’s a worrier. She takes things in stride, goes along with whatever life throws her way. Maybe if she hadn’t been born with her condition she would’ve been different, but life has taught her that worrying won’t help at all. When healers tell you that your life expectancy is twenty nothing really phases you anymore.

So, yes, (Y/N) wouldn’t say she’s a worrier, but that only applies to things concerning to herself. When it comes to her friends— to Remus, especially —she can’t help but worry at the first sign that something is wrong and, right now, it appears that something is very wrong.

Last night was a full moon and, as usual, she’d gone to the Infirmary first thing in the morning to check up on Remus, but he hadn’t been there and neither had Madam Pomfrey. (Y/N) couldn’t help the way her first thought had been that something had gone terribly wrong, bad enough that the matron couldn’t heal it herself, and he had to be taken to St. Mungo’s and now her heart is stuttering in her chest and she has to make sure he’s alright and that’s the only reason she’s making her way to the Gryffindor table. If there’s anyone who can have answers is the marauders.

Black notices her coming their way, bumps his best friend in the arm. James is a bit startled, but looks up, nonetheless. Suddenly they both are wearing matching wicked smiles.

“Is Remus okay?” she asks before either of them can open their mouth. If there’s something she’s learned about the marauders is that it’s always better to have control of the conversation.

Potter and Black share a knowing look, and it’s Sirius the one that answers. He rests his cheek against his hand, “Good morning to you, (Y/L/N). How are you doing on this fine day?”

“Yeah, yeah, morning, Black.” She manages to not roll her eyes at him and instead crosses her arms over her chest, foot tapping impatiently on the floor. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, why do you ask?”

“Are you maybe worried about him?” Potter interrupts, voice taking a teasing tone.

She wants to strangle them both. She would, but then she wouldn’t get answers.

“Where is he?” she’s surprised she manages to keep the exasperation off her tone.

“We aren’t always together, you know.” That’s both a deflection and a flat out lie.

She sighs out, shoulders deflating, “Look, yesterday was a…”

That catches their attention and she realizes her mistake too late. They don’t know that she knows. James stops chewing, Sirius straightens up. Their eyes are unwavering and the initial cheeky friendliness is gone. They might be jokesters but they’re also unbelievably perceptive and fiercely protective and it shows.

“Yesterday he said something about not feeling well,” she corrects herself. Potter relaxes but Black’s gaze remains on her, unwavering and somewhat untrusting. Like he’s measuring her up, figuring out how much she knows.

“He wasn’t feeling well,” Potter confirms, swallowing some pumpkin juice, “and that’s why he spent the night at the Infirmary.”

“He wasn’t there when I went to check up on him,” she replies, eyebrows scrunching up when she notices them share a look of confusion.

Then, they proceed to have a brief wordless conversation before muttering lowly between each other, as if she isn’t there. Their voices are almost a whisper and only catches the words because she’s had years of experience being nosy and eavesdropping on conversations between her parents and mediwizards.

“Do you think Madam Pomfrey discharged him earlier?”

“Last night was different, Prongs, wasn’t it? He was more present, more docile. He didn’t even have injuries.”

“That’s true.”

She waits for them to turn to her, but they don’t. Instead, they have another wordless conversation, all eyes, no words.

Black turns to her. Potter goes back to his food.

“He’s probably resting in the Common Room.”

“He likes to read in the couch after, well, rough nights.”

And despite knowing he’s okay something within her still itches with the need to see him and make that assessment for herself.

They’re both still looking at her, as if waiting for something else, but she doesn’t have anything more to say so she just nods her head, “Okay, thanks.”

As she goes to leave, Potter calls out to her, “Hey, (Y/L/N)!”

She turns and raises her eyebrows expectantly. Potter shares a look with Black before saying, “The password is Oddsbodikins.”

That she hadn’t expected and the surprise must show on her face because Potter chuckles.

He munches on some toast and waves his hand dismissively, “Go see your man.” The smile lingers and it’s softer than anything she’s ever seen in Potter’s face— except, perhaps, when he’s looking at Evans.

She’s grateful enough that she doesn’t roll her eyes at them, doesn’t even correct James.

“Thank you.”

3.2

Technically speaking, they should be studying— the NEWTs are closing up on them and even though there’s still time (Y/N) knows that she should at least begin revising —but they’d spent the last four days drowning in assignments and she’s decided she would much rather enjoy the last moments of freedom with Remus.

They’re sitting in the shadow of one of the trees by the Black Lake. (Y/N) is reading one of those muggle romance books that Remus got her hooked on and somewhere along the line Remus’s head ended up in her lap. She holds the book with a single hand, the other one running through her friend’s hair absentmindedly.

He looks calm, eyes closed and steady breathing. The bags under his eyes have slowly become less prominent and he doesn’t seem as tired as he used to be when the full moon was a few days away. He’s humming under his breath, it’s probably a muggle song because it doesn’t sound familiar at all, and the sound is soothing, it caresses her skin and floats away with the wind.

(Y/N) flips the page using her thumb. Her other hand appears to have a mind of its own because it travels from Remus’s hair down his cheek, fingers gently stroking the skin. It’s only when her hand meets rugged skin and Remus flinches that she moves her hand away, immediately looking down at him.

The scar, she realizes. She’d just touched the scar that runs along his left eye.

“I’m sorry,” she rushes out, but he only shakes his head and, without even opening his eyes, his hand looks out for hers. He places it back on his cheek.

Hesitantly, she smoothly thumbs at the wounded skin. This time he doesn’t move away, just sighs.

“Does it still hurt?”

It shouldn’t, the wound is years old and appears to be healed, but magical wounds are different, sometimes traces of the magic remain and when those traces are powerful enough they can cause recurring pain.

“No,” his voice is deep and rough, somewhat drowsy, like he’d been halfway through falling asleep.

“It’s ugly, isn’t it?” he asks after a couple of minutes of silence. She can’t help the sharp intake of breath, the way her eyebrows furrow at his words. Nothing in Remus could ever be ugly.

“I don’t think it is,” she replies, and the sentence comes out in a hushed whisper, like it only matters if his ears are the ones to hear it. She traces the skin, notices the slight blush that begins to cover Remus’s cheeks. “I think it’s a visible reminder of your strength.”

Part of her wants to reach down and kiss the damaged skin. She manages to abstain herself.

He lets out a self-deprecating scoff, “You wouldn’t believe that if you knew how I got it.”

His eyes remain closed and (Y/N) is somewhat grateful, she doesn’t think she could manage to see the self-loathing that sometimes paints his irises.

“I don’t have to know,” she responds firmly, fingers tracing the wound from where it starts on his forehead all the way across his eyebrow and his eyelid and his cheekbone. “You went through something, whatever it was, and managed to survive. That’s strength, Rem.”

He surprises her by catching her hand once again without the need to open his eyes. He links their fingers together, presses the back of her hand against his lips and then holds it over his chest.

Her heart stutters and she feels some of her magic tremble within her chest, wanting to slip through her fingers. A tiny amount of it does, it seeps through her and into his palm. She feels warm. With much effort she reels it back in and ignores the throbbing at the back of her head, the one that comes along with keeping her magic in check.

Remus’s voice brings her back, anchors her to the present. “I want to tell you how I got it,” he admits slowly, eyes finally looking up at her, “but I’m afraid you’ll see me differently.”

“I would never.” And its earnest and truthful and she hopes he can hear that in her tone. In case he doesn’t she squeezes his hand in assurance.

They stare at each other for some seconds. The book she previously held is now abandoned on the floor. Her hand, the one that isn’t intertwined with his, runs through his hair. Remus nibbles on his lower lip, hesitant and most likely debating if he should say anything at all, before he squeezes back.

“I got it when I was five,” he starts. His voice is low, quiet, meant only for her. His eyes stay trained on her face, waiting for any reaction. “It was given to me by a werewolf,” and although she knew she can’t help the way her breath catches at the back of her throat at the admission, “along with the bite.”

He stares expectantly, braces himself as if expecting some sort of disgust. Instead, she offers him a smile, “I was right, then. It is a visible reminder of your strength.”

That was obviously not what he’d been expecting because his eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“You’re not scared?”

“Why would I be?”

“I’m a monster and—”

She cuts him off because she won’t have that, she will absolutely not stand for Remus Lupin badmouthing himself.

“You’re not a monster. You’re Remus Lupin, an incredible talented wizard that just so happens to turn into a werewolf every full moon.”

And that seems to appease him, shoulders relaxing.

“I’m scared all the time,” he admits, looking away and into the Black Lake, “of hurting people I care about. I’m scared I’ll somehow end up hurting you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

When he doesn’t look convinced, she removes her hand from his and places them over his cheeks. She forces him to look at her.

“You wouldn’t,” she repeats because she needs him to understand that she isn’t afraid of him. It isn’t until he nods his head that she releases the hold, thumbs running over his cheeks.

“Besides, anything could hurt me.”

My own magic does, she thinks to herself.

“So you don’t mind?” he asks, voice hopeful. “Me being a… you know.”

“You’re still my Rem.” The words slip out without thought, devastatingly honest.

He blushes again and she has to bite her lips to keep herself from commenting on how beautiful the red in his cheeks makes him look. She doesn’t say a word when he reaches for her hand again.

“Good.”

It’s quiet after that. She doesn’t pick up the book again, even when she was just getting to the best part, and instead basks on the afternoon sun. The throbbing of her head reappears but it isn’t a warning for an upcoming episode, it’s just pain. These days she’s getting a lot of that. (Y/N) looks down at Remus— someone who’d just laid his soul bare for her and had trusted her enough to not hurt him —and suddenly she’s speaking.

“I was supposed to have a twin sister,” she starts and the only reason she knows he’s paying attention is the way he shuffles and the feeling of his eyes on her. “But she died in the womb early on.” It’s weird, missing someone she never met, but (Y/N) does. She yearns for what could’ve been and what she could’ve had, a normal childhood, a lifetime companion.

With a sigh, she carries on, “By the time she passed we’d both already developed our magical cores and, somehow, my core absorbed hers. I carry within me both her magic and mine.” Every single healer she’d ever visited had been absolutely astounded, shocked beyond belief, because this should’ve never happened. According to every single magical law, magic dies with its user, magic cannot be taken away, magic cannot be transferred.

“Isn’t that… impossible?” Remus asks quietly.

“Theoretically, yes,” she lets out a humorless chuckle, “and yet here I am.”

And that was pretty much the reason she kept her condition a secret, because people looked at her differently after they found out (some in awe, as if she were some sort of medical miracle, some in fear of her potential, some with greed). If people— the wrong people —were to find out, she could find herself being studied in attempts to replicate what her magical core had done, to be able to steal someone else’s magic.

“It’s the reason I have an affinity to wand related magic and why I can do more complicated spells. There’s just more magic running through my veins,” she explains, her eyes fixed on some students playing by the shore of the lake. It’s easier to say things when she focuses on something else, like the way a second-year pinches a tentacle and runs away giggling when the squid splashes her in retaliation.

“The thing about magic in excess is that it’s volatile,” her tone becomes tense without her meaning to, so she sighs and forces herself to relax. “I can keep it controlled most of the time, simmering below the surface,” as if to disagree, the magic lurches forward and she clenches her jaw to keep it contained, “but sometimes it’s too much, too uncontrolled, and I lose my grasp on it. It’s like my body goes into overdrive. Best case scenario I have seizing episodes, worst case I seize and lose complete control of my magic. It can be incredibly dangerous.”

With that she looks down at Remus and finds him already looking at her. He’s deep in thought, which is understandable seeing that she is one of the most confusing medical cases in magic history, and Remus is nothing if not curious.

“You talk about your magical core as something you can feel,” he says and that’s a question she’d been expecting because magical cores aren’t a topic many wizards and witches have knowledge of.

“I can sense it,” she explains, not knowing how to word it other than that, “but it’s dormant on most magical beings, just a source of magic.”

He hums in understanding.

“Thank you for sharing it with me.”

She runs her fingers through his face and taps his cheeks twice in response.

(Y/N) swallows down the guilt of not telling him that she thinks she’s dying.

chapter 4: the marauders (and their need to stick their noses in everyone’s business)

4.0

Somehow being friends with Remus translates in being friends with all the marauders. It’s interesting, to say the least.

She goes from being exasperated by James and Sirius to being fondly exasperated by them. They worm their way under her skin and into her heart and— Merlin, she can’t believe she’s saying this —she grows to enjoy their company. She gets used to their jokes, teases them back, pretends not to hear them plotting how to break twenty school rules in one night.

It’s only because she’s grown a tolerance to their presence that she hasn’t snapped at either of them, hasn’t even rolled her eyes, even when they’re interrupting her study time.

“Don’t you like him, (Y/N)?”

They’ve been nagging at her for ten minutes, after growing bored of writing their own Potion’s essays. She’d thought ignoring them would make them eventually stop, but she should’ve known better; they are the marauders, after all.

It’s not after Sirius has repeated the question for the thirteenth time— they took turns asking, like the annoying children they are —that she sighs and decides to reply. Not even looking up and while she scrabbles a word, she says, “Of course I do.”

James clicks his tongue. She doesn’t have to look up to know that he’s leaning back in the chair and sharing an amused look with Sirius.

“See that’s what we’ve been trying to tell Moony.”

Merlin, she knows that tone and she knows where this is going. They’ve gone down this line of questioning with her a couple of times because, surprising to no one, they like to pry.

“Does he think I don’t like him?” she asks blankly and somewhat sarcastically, because she knows what they’re both implying but is decidedly not going to play their game.

“No, he knows you like him,” James assures her. He quiets down for a second and (Y/N) knows she’s not going to like whatever leaves his mouth next. James gets quiet when he’s plotting. “He doesn’t know you like like him.”

That makes her look up, unimpressed. “Never said I liked liked him,” she mocks.

Looking down to her writing and then back to the book of Advanced Potion-Making, she realizes she needs the fourth volume of Asiatic Anti-Venoms and pushes away from the table to go look for it. She lets out a deep breath when she hears them follow behind her. They’re like garden gnomes, impossible to get rid of.

“But you do,” Sirius singsongs from behind her, voice filled with mirth and amusement. It’s like her annoyance is his serotonin.

“Never said I did,” she parrots back, using his same tone. Her eyes trace the book and she hums to herself when she finds it.

Sirius is faster and slaps her hand away, reaching for the book. (Y/N) looks up at him, holds her hand out but Black only tuts and holds it up, far from reach.

“Come on, love, you’re a terrible liar,” James leans against the bookcase, watching as (Y/N) crosses her arms over her chest and smolders at Sirius.

“I’m not lying,” she responds, not sparing Potter a glance. “Come on, Black, give it here.”

“You might have a good poker face (Y/N), but your eyes give you away.”

“Please do refrain from staring into my eyes, Potter.”

James begins denying ever staring at her but she pays him no mind, eyes trained on Sirius.

“Black, I swear I’ll hex you into next life.” She presses her wand against his abdomen for good measure.

“Fine, fine,” he relents, not sounding in the slightest frightened by her threat. The smirk is still on his lips. “You might not be lying but you are deflecting,” Black tells her as he hands the book over, “and you’re also terrible at it.”

Scoffing, she looks at both of them, “Why are you two ganging up on me?”

“It’s fun,” James admits with a laugh, following behind her back to their table.

“And we want you to admit you like Moony so that you can be together and happy and all that,” Sirius completes the sentence.

Rolling her eyes, she plops back in her chair and forces herself to ignore their words. She won’t allow herself to go down that train of thought— about Remus and her and what could be —because it never ends up in anything but sadness. Instead, she opens the book and starts looking for the information she needs to finish her essay. When they remain quiet she looks up (quiet marauders are plotting marauders) only to find them looking at her expectantly.

“What?”

“So?”

“Will you confess and all that?”

Snorting, she goes back to the book, “You need to stop meddling in things that aren’t your business.”

Someone slams their head against the table. (Y/N) guesses it’s Sirius.

“She’s impossible, Prongs.”

She hides the proud smirk that grows on her face. Nothing makes her happier than annoying either of them.

“Look,” she does not look up, but James continues, “He likes you, (Y/L/N), and you like him, literally everyone can see it. So why can’t either of you accept it?”

Her hand stills as she flips the page.

“It’s complicated, Potter.”

I’m dying.

“So you do like him!”

She kicks Sirius under the table, but his teasing smile only widens.

“Oh, piss off, Black.”

“She so does, Prongs,” he mock-whispers to James.

(Y/N) kicks him harder on the shin but doesn’t deny it.

4.1

It was a bad day. (Y/N) knew it would be a bad day from the moment she opened her eyes to find colors swirling in her vision and a headache already forming at the back of her head. She, however, did not expect it to become a terrible day. Then again, life never goes the way she expects, and her bad day became terrible the moment her Divination professor told her he wouldn’t allow late assignments, even if she was submitting the assignment late because she’d been unconscious during the delivery date.

She’s upset and the headache won’t go away, and her fingers are beginning to lose sensation due to the coldness spreading from within her body. There’s nothing she wants to do other than slip under her covers and sleep for the whole duration of the weekend and yet, here she is. In detention. Because she didn’t hand in her assignment. Because she’d been unconscious.

To make matters worse she’s accompanied by Potter and Black— who are still going on about her and Remus and are apparently determined on making her life miserable. Now, on a good day, she would humor them, but this is turning out to be an incredible terrible day, she’s lightheaded and in pain and she will snap at them if they send one more ball of parchment flying in her direction.

Which, of course, they do.

“Fucking cut it off.”

The matching gasps are dramatic and followed by chuckles.

“I’ve never heard you cuss before, (Y/L/N).” Potter says in mock surprise, smirking widely when she flips him off.

“It’s madly attractive, I must admit.”

(Y/N) moves her middle finger in Black’s direction.

“Just messing with you, love,” Sirius leans back in his chair, a teasing smile taking over as he adds, “I know your heart belongs to our beloved Moony.”

There they go with that again.

She knows they’re just messing around, being dumb and intrusive as they usually are, but for some reason the words resonate differently with her this time. She wants to scream out, let herself feel all the love her heart harbors, act out on the desire of pressing her lips against Remus’s, but she can’t. That would be selfish, like offering a freezing person a fire that will die out as soon as they come close enough to feel the heat. She can’t do that to him, she cares too much.

Merlin, she wishes she wasn’t dying.

Pulling her sweater closer around her and crossing her arms over her chest, she cuts their rambling off, “Look, I think it’s better for everyone if Remus and I remain friends.”

And there must be a seriousness in her tone that hadn’t been there before, some sort of look in her eyes that she can’t control, because her words stun them into silence.

“Why?”

She doesn’t know how to explain why, it’s much too complicated, so she babbles out, “I— He— We just wouldn’t work out.”

“Why not?”

“Because, James.”

James studies her for a minute and he apparently dislikes whatever he finds because his features become stony. “It’s because of his condition, isn’t it?” All the teasing is gone, replaced by slowly growing anger.

She frowns, confused as to how he’d arrived at that very wrong conclusion. Her eyes trail from Potter to Black, the latter is looking at her unblinking, waiting for some sort of revelation.

“It’s not—”

But it seems like James Potter is quick to anger, especially when it comes to his friends, because he cuts her off and keeps on pressing, tone nothing but curt, “Moony told us you knew and he said you were okay with it but you’re obviously not.”

His voice rises, the lightheaded feeling she had slowly becomes a pounding headache.

“It has nothing to do—”

“It obviously has everything to do with it,” he’s breathing heavy, leaning forward on the chair, “why else would you say you rather remain friends when your pining is painfully obvious!”

“It’s complicated.”

“No, it isn’t,” he lowers his voice but the words are lethal and cutthroat, “You like him, and he likes you, but you want it easy.”

And all the semblance of calmness she has disappears at those words. Her sentence comes out cold and with spite, “You don’t know a thing about me, Potter.”

“I know you’re a coward,” he spits out.

“Prongs…”

Sirius’s warning goes ignored.

“He cares for you, a lot, and you can’t be with him because of, what?” he scoffs, “a condition he has no control over?”

Maybe it’s the rising anger or the increasingly painful headache, or the way Potter is looking at her with such misplaced disgust, that she snaps back, “It’s not about his condition, it’s about mine!”

The words echo around the classroom. James flinches back like he’s been slapped.

“What?”

(Y/N) presses her thumb against her temple, trying to soothe the pain away. “I’m sick,” she sighs out, closing her eyes and pressing her finger harder against her skin. The pain builds up and when she releases her finger it’s as if the pressure bubbles away. “Really sick,” she emphasizes because she doesn’t want to exemplify (most days I wake up nauseous and lightheaded, I can’t keep my food down, I’m growing weaker by the day, I feel cold even in the hottest days, the migraines make me unable to function, the episodes are more frequent than ever) but she needs them to understand it isn’t just a casual flu.

Both Sirius and James are staring at her in concern. The look doesn’t suit their faces, ones that are usually filled with life and mischief, so she waves them off, “It’s fine.”

It isn’t.

“I am sorry, (Y/N). I didn’t… I thought—”

“You’re an arsehole, James, and way too quick to anger,” he cringes at that, looking down. “But I get where you were coming from. You’re an arsehole with a good heart” He huffs out an incredulous laugh at that and looks up to find a warm smile sent his way.

(She’s never been one to hold grudges, life’s too short for that.)

“We’re good.”

chapter 5: on death’s door

5.0

The smell of citrus is so potent that it catches her by surprise, head reeling back and nose scrunching up. It’s only when she realizes that there are no oranges or lemons or anything in the table that would be able to produce such a strong smell that she grasps what’s going on. It’s an aura, one strong enough that it didn’t slowly make its presence known but rather appear out of nowhere.

She stands up quickly, only briefly stumbling, before rushing out of the Great Hall. It takes everything in her power to keep the panic from appearing in her face. (Y/N) only ever smells citrus when the episode it’s going to be a bad one— like the time she lost complete control and burnt her body and the time she’d remained unconscious for five days.

Pressure begins building up between her eyebrows and it’s a good thing she knows her way through Hogwarts blindfolded because her vision starts to blur out. Her knees weaken, she holds onto the walls to keep herself from falling to the floor. She must hurry and find an empty room, a place where she won’t cause damage to anyone else, because she definitely won’t make it to the Hospital Wing.

Her magic pulls hard and her chest constricts in pain, she can feel it slowly trailing down her arms, desperately needing to be released. She coughs as she feels everything tighten and there’s something in her mouth. She has half a mind to think that it may be blood.

Fisting her hands and stumbles forward. She feels all heat leave her extremities, her body’s attempt at keeping her magic restrained. The headache becomes a migraine, blindingly painful, and it’s accompanied by nausea. Everything is hazy and spiraling.

Tears well up in her eyes but the pain is too much, it won’t let them fall. (Y/N) feels herself falling forward, but her knees never hit the ground. There’s something holding her up.

With great effort, she turns her head around and even with the blackened edges of her vision and the mind-numbing pain she recognizes the face.

Remus Lupin.

There’s a brief moment of relief before the logical side of her brain catches on and then there’s full blown panic because if he’s with her when she loses all control of her magic he will undoubtedly get hurt. She tries to push him away but her arms are too weak. He’s saying something but the words sound far away and like gibberish, it’s like hearing a language she doesn’t understand.

She tries to move her mouth and form words, tell him that he needs to get away from her, that she needs to be away from everyone. She isn’t sure she’s successful.

Her ears are ringing, her magic is restless, her hands become cold enough to hurt. She feels the familiar tensing of her muscles and she’s submerged into blackness.

5.1

It feels like her brain and body are disconnected. She hears voices, rapid and hushed whispers. The words don’t make sense.

“Is she going to—”

“Her magic— too much—”

“There was blood and—”

Hands are one her. Her magic tingles in her chest, reacting to someone else’s magic. Everything fades.

The tugging of her magic core makes her regain consciousness. She can feel the threads of magic slipping down her shoulders and through her fingers. (Y/N) tries to move, but she can’t. It’s as if her bones are made of lead and her muscles of jelly. Her body doesn’t respond. She can’t feel any pain, but that’s probably just the potions.

“What’s happening?”

“Calm down, Mr. Lupin—”

“Should I—”

“Do not let go of—”

“I’d never seen—”

She loses consciousness before realizing that, for once, the magic leaking through her fingers isn’t uncontrolled.

Someone is holding her hand, that’s the first thing she realizes as she comes to. Second thing she realizes is that she isn’t cold. For the first time in a while, it doesn’t feel like her body is freezing, there’s heat steadily running through her.

Her brain takes a while to catch up and suddenly she remembers everything. The pain, the blood, Remus.

She bolts up, coughing out as her body protests to the sudden movement. She might not be cold, but she’s still weak.

“Hey, hey.”

Wide eyes look around in panic and they settle on the person who’s holding her hand. Remus. He has moved up from where he sat and is gently guiding her back to a supine position.

“You shouldn’t move,” he chastises, but his tone is gentle and his eyes evidently filled with concern.

“Are you okay?” she forces the words out and they sound something like a rough whisper.

His eyes snap up to hers in surprise, “Me?”

At her responding nod Remus shakes his head, “You are unbelievable,” his eyes look fond, “You almost died and you’re worried about me?”

When she only stares, eyebrows raised and eyes looking for any sign of visible damage in his face, he sighs, “I’m alright, love,” and plops back down on the chair.

(Y/N) doesn’t understand how he’s okay, she doesn’t know why he’s here and why he’s allowed to hold her hand even when there are traces of magic floating all around them. She blinks, watching the multicolored streams of pure magic travel around her. They don’t feel rampant but rather gentle.

Remus squeezes her hand, presses the back of her hand against his mouth and mumbles against it, “I was so worried, you wouldn’t know. You were bleeding and seizing and I…” he chokes on the words, “I thought you’d died.”

(Y/N) looks away from her magic and at him, ready to provide any sort of comfort, and that’s when she realizes that her magic is running down her own arm and into his. Frightened of hurting him, she tries to pull away, but Remus holds tight.

“Don’t,” Madam Pomfrey’s voice startles her. (Y/N) looks around to the source of the sound and finds the matron looking worse for wear. Nevertheless, there’s a glint of relief in her eyes.

“My magic—” she tries to protest, to explain, but is shushed with a single look.

“Mr. Lupin is what kept you alive.”

(Y/N) looks between both of her companions, confusion evident in her face, “What?”

“Drink this,” Madam Pomfrey hands over a vial and (Y/N) takes it with her free hand. It’s as she’s swallowing down the contents that the matron behinds to explain.

“Due to his own medical condition Mr. Lupin’s magical core acts differently to those of other witches and wizards.” That makes sense, (Y/N) guesses, but her brain is working in slow motion so this doesn’t explain anything to her at all. She looks at Remus and finds him already looking at her. “It’s acting as an outlet for you excess of magic.”

Her eyes snap back to the matron’s in surprise, “Really?” When she’d been nothing but a toddler she remembers some healers suggesting for her parents to find her a magical object in which she could channel her magic, they’d said it could be a way to manage her condition. Her magic had rejected every single object— regardless of how powerful it’d been or who it’d belonged to— and (Y/N) had been forced to learn how to keep the magic reigned in after one too many explosions.

Sentient beings aren’t supposed to be able to act as an outlet.

“And it doesn’t hurt you?” she asks Remus, studying his face for any sign of discomfort even when she can feel her magic being gentle with him.

“It barely even tickles,” he responds.

She looks at Madam Pomfrey with raised eyebrows because she must know this isn’t normal.

“The alteration in Mr. Lupin’s core allows it to harness your magic,” the matron explains.

“I think it even helps,” Remus adds and it sounds as if he’s just come to this realization, “My last transformation was my least violent one. It might be because of the time we’ve spent together.”

(Y/N) briefly remembers magic going out of her fingers and into his palm.

“Some of my magic slipped through the day we spent by the Black Lake. It went right into your hand before I could pull it back in,” she confesses, sounding apologetic. “I didn’t tell you because it was such a minimal amount I knew it wouldn’t harm you.”

“It appears like your magical cores are compatible.”

(Y/N) doesn’t know how she feels at that revelation.

5.2

Remus didn’t tell the marauders about (Y/N)’s magical illness, much less utter a word about their magical cores being compatible, so he really has no clue how they found out about either of those things. He’d asked them about it when they first brought it up, eyes going wide in surprise, but Prongs had only winked in response while Padfoot had pretended to sip his mouth shut.

“Your magical cores accept each other, Moony!” And this is probably only the fifth time Sirius has said this exact sentence, but Remus feels as if he’s heard it a thousand times before. He wishes they would stop repeating it because his mind has been spiraling ever since he found out, ever since Madam Pomfrey told them that (Y/N) needs to release some of her magic into him at least once a day to try and reduce the frequency of her episodes, to try to help her recover. They haven’t talked about it. They’ll sneak out through the Whomping Willow and into the Shrieking Shack every night and she’ll look away as her magic turns to life, wild and vibrant, and sneaks down her arm and into his. It’s like the revelation of the compatibility of their magic cores has shifted something in their friendship and Remus hates it. She feels distant even when they spend every second of the day together.

“It’s like… Merlin… like you’re soulmates or something.”

That makes Lupin still mid-action.

“We’re not soulmates, Pads,” he clears his throat, shakes his head and ignores the pointed look Sirius sends all the way from where he’s lying on his bed. “She’s a friend.”

Sirius scoffs at that and turns his attention to Prongs, who’s lying face down and skimming through a Quidditch book.

“Do you hear this guy, Prongs?” He points at Remus with his thumb and incredulous look in his eyes.

“Sounds like he’s delusional and in denial,” replies James without even looking up.

Remus rolls his eyes at that, ignoring the yelp of agreement that Sirius lets out.

“She’s a friend,” he repeats, trying to get it through his thick-skulled friends. (Because they could never be more than that, no matter how much he yearns for it. It’d be selfish to keep her from finding someone better, someone who isn’t tarnished.)

Prongs lets out a chuckle, “Sure, because you obviously hold hands with all your friends.”

“I… we don’t…”

“And walk them to their lessons,” Pads chimes in.

“And carry their books while doing so,” Prongs adds.

“I’m being chivalrous!”

“If you say so.”

“And, of course, I write all my friends little love letters that I keep hidden on the chest under my bed. Don’t you, Prongs?”

“‘Course I do,” James replies sarcastically.

“I told you to stop snooping through my things!” Remus’s indignation is ignored.

“Let’s not forget about gifting them muggle romance books because they’re obsessed with them and you think ‘it’s cute the way they smile’,” and Sirius changes the tone in which he says the last words making it somewhat deeper. Remus thinks to himself that his voice does not sound like that.

“I hate it when you gang up on me.”

“Funny,” Sirius grins, “that’s exactly what (Y/N) says when we annoy her. See, you even think alike!”

“Alright, knock it off, I get it,” Remus closes his eyes and sighs, “I’m hopeless.”

“You’re not hopeless, Moony,” James responds, his voice losing its teasing edge and becoming gentler.

“You’re in love,” Sirius teases, snickering.

Remus glares at him and before Padfoot can even blink there’s a pillow hitting him in the face.

“I’m joking, I’m joking” Pads says, not sounding apologetic at all, as he holds his hands up and dodges another pillow Remus sends his way. When he’s sure he won’t be getting smacked in the face he grins and says, “Things could be worse, at least she likes you.”

“As a friend, sure.”

His friends’ heads snap towards him.

James looks up so quickly from what he’d been reading that it looks comical, “You’re kidding, right?”

Remus shrugs as he shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Why are they looking at him as if he’s just grown another head?

“You’ve got to be the most obtuse person I’ve ever met.” Coming from Sirius it’s a pretty terrible thing to hear.

“What do you mean?”

“Moony,” and this is probably the most serious he’s ever heard Prongs be, “she looks at you as if you hung up the moon and the stars.”

“She does not—”

But Sirius has grown exasperated and cuts him off, “She does. Literally everyone is waiting to see when you’ll get together. There are bets going around and all.”

Remus shakes his head and ignores the part of him that is suspicious as to who started all those wagers.

“Look, it doesn’t matter if she likes me or not,” he ignores the way his chest hurts as he finally admits to someone other than himself, “I can never be with her, not with my condition.”

“Moony…”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” The more he thinks of (Y/N) the more he wishes things were different, that he was never bitten so that he could be worthy of her. He turns around and pulls the covers over his shoulder, “Good night.”

He misses the look Prongs and Padfoot share.

chapter 6: the masterplan

6.0

“James Potter I will hex you into oblivion is you don’t let us out right now!”

(Y/N) hears muffled whispers,

(“I don’t wanna die, Pads.”

“You won’t if everything goes according to plan.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“We die together, I guess.”)

before the answer comes back, clear as day, “We won’t let you out until you sort your things out.”

She sighs and turns around to meet Remus’s eyes.

“I tried,” she offers with a shrug, going back to her position on the floor besides him.

The storage closet is tiny and crowded, she holds her knees to her chest, the outer part of her thigh brushing against Remus’s elbow. There’s a squeak somewhere in the background, a sound that sounds suspiciously like a mouse. She breaths heavily though her nose and begins planning the marauders’ demise— current company excluded, of course.

“I can’t believe I fell for it,” she admits to Remus when she’s satisfied with the plan that surges in her brain for how to retaliate on the marauders.

There’d been a letter on her bed with only four words; fourth floor, 10:30 pm, tomorrow. The writing had been so unmistakably Remus’s that she hadn’t had a reason to suspect otherwise until she’d arrived at the spot only to be blindfolded and consequently pushed into this place.

Remus chuckles, “I can’t believe I fell for it.”

And, yes, it’s probably worse that he fell for it because he supposedly knows every single play in the marauders’ playbook.

From the corner of her eye she watches as he plays with the end of a broom. It’s a Silver Arrow— (Y/N) only knows that because her father is a fanatic — and it’s old and dusty and looks like it would snap in half if someone were to ride it. She can’t see the broom’s magic, but she feels it in the way her magic twirls uncomfortably in her chest. Being close to magical objects is a tricky matter for her, she never knows the way her excess of magic will react, so she tends to keep away from them. Right now, she can feel a headache beginning to bloom and the only reason she isn’t worried is because the broom is too old to hold powerful traces of magic, a headache is probably the worst thing that can happen.

“Your head hurts?”

It’s only when Remus speaks that she realizes her eyebrows are pinched together in discomfort. She forces her face to relax, but answers truthfully, “A bit.”

“Give me your hand.” He twists around to face her and offers his hand, palm up.

“Remus…” The words come out tentative, but that doesn’t deter him. His palm remains open, hand firm.

“We’re going to be locked up here for Godric knows how long,” he responds, “and we were going to do this later tonight, anyways.”

He’s right and that’s the reason she reaches down to take his hand in hers.

Immediately, as if her magical core detects his, her magic uncurls from where she keeps it reigned in her chest. It swoops all the way from her chest, down her arm and into her fingertips, mighty and bright. It’s mesmerizing, the mesh of colors and the palpable feeling of power, and she’s filled with warmth when the strands of magic curl around Remus’s wrist and into his skin.

She looks away.

“Why do you do that?”

“What?” she asks, even when she’s knows the answer.

“Look away from me.”

He’s got it wrong. She’s not looking away from him (she could never look away from him), she’s looking away from her own magic. There’s so much Remus doesn’t know, so much she hasn’t told him, and she can’t help the crippling guilt that fills her chest whenever he helps alleviate the pain.

“Rem, I have to tell you something,” the words are sudden and she feels like if she doesn’t speak them now, then she never will. Slowly, she looks back at him. “You’ve taken all of this in stride and I’m unbelievably grateful for how much you’ve helped me in the last couple of days, but I haven’t been completely truthful with you.”

He doesn’t seem hurt at that, only merely confused, “What do you mean?”

She breaths in through her nose and lets the words flow rapidly, feeling as if she doesn’t say them now then she never, “I’m dying.”

He stills, his hand tightening and his eyes desperately searching hers. His breath seems to stop for a split second when he doesn’t find any indication of jesting on her face.

“You’re what?” and he sounds breathless, words barely above a whisper.

“I’ve always known I wouldn’t live long. Most healers say I’ll be lucky if I make it past twenty,” she explains gently, trying to appease his worry. It doesn’t really seem to help. “My parents have looked desperately for any sort of solution but there’d never been one.”

He follows her eyes down to their intertwined hands.

Her magic tingles as it flows down her skin.

“Until me,” he breathes out in realization.

“Yes.”

“So you aren’t dying anymore,” he clarifies, watching as little specks of light start to flow out of the constant stream of magic pouring out of her.

“For now.”

His eyes snap back to her and the puzzlement is clear as day.

“This is just a temporary solution,” she confesses, “For it to work it would have to be done every day.”

“I would do this for the rest of my life it it keeps you alive.” His words are firm, coming straight from the heart, and she knows he means them.

(Y/N) shakes her head fondly, “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do.”

“You don’t,” she repeats, firmer this time, because she’s been reading through tons of books and Remus really has no idea what he’s talking about. “Agreeing to this would mean agreeing to tying your life with mine. There’s a magical ritual that has to be done, a bonding of magical cores.”

And the implications appear to settle in because Remus’s eyes widen. This is advanced magic they’re talking about, ancient and complex. The bonding of cores is an archaic custom that nowadays is only ever done in marriages of pureblood families. It’s the most intimate magical tradition, it joins two people together for life and it allows them to borrow magic from their partner. It makes the bonded pair powerful in regards of their magic but also unbelievably vulnerable. The loss or separation of the pair can be fatal.

“I haven’t told my parents about this,” she gestures at their joined hands, “about you, even when Madam Pomfrey insists I do, because once they know they’ll end up persuading you of going through with the bonding and I wanted to give you a choice.”

Remus blinks at her and when he doesn’t speak she begins to ramble. “I’m sorry for not telling you before, it’s just that everything happened so fast and then I started looking into this core compatibility and I found this out and I didn’t know how to tell you. I don’t want you to think I was using you because I would never, I care so much about you and—”

“Hey, hey,” he hushes her and it’s a good thing because she thinks she might’ve kept on speaking for hours. His unoccupied hand comes to cradle her cheek, soothing all her worries away. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

He shakes his head and moves forward just enough to press his forehead against hers, “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” His voice is equally as quiet.

(Y/N) finally lets go of the slight feeling of guilt that’d been chasing her the last couple of days.

They’re close, too close, his breath is steady and she can feel the way it breezes past her lips. Her heart begins to beat louder, the trail of magic down her arm slows down.

“Would it freak you out if I told you that I wouldn’t mind going through the bonding ritual?”

Her heart skips a beat at that.

She wants to back away and search his eyes, but she can’t, not when being this close to Remus feels this right.

“Do you mean that?”

“I love you,” he mumbles, words meant only for her ears. “I cannot bear the thought of losing you. Of course I mean it.”

This does make her back away in surprise. She finds nothing but candor and warmth in his eyes.

“You love me?” and it comes out quiet and disbelieving because this was not what she’d been expecting. She just told him how much of a burden she truly is and he replied with fondness and she can’t quite believe her ears.

“You couldn’t tell?” he smiles softly and (Y/N) swears her heart is going to beat out her chest. The traces of magic run warmer, gentler than before and much brighter.

And it wasn’t like she didn’t notice his love because she did— just the way she hopes he has noticed hers —but she always thought herself too selfish for wanting him. A small part of her feared to be rejected because she comes with stolen magic and pain. She tells him as much.

He breaths out a soft laugh, “I thought of myself as selfish because you deserve much more than a half-breed.”

“I want you.” Only Merlin knows how much she does.

(Y/N) doesn’t know who leans in first— maybe it’s her as she presses her free hand to his nape and pulls him forward, or maybe it’s him and the way he holds her cheek with such tenderness, maybe it’s both of them acting out at the same time —but the next thing she knows his lips are on hers.

The kiss is soft, gentle, unhurried even when they’ve waited a long time for this. Remus kisses with such intensity, even in calmness, that she can’t help the sigh that escapes her. She feels the way her magic clings onto him, untamed but controlled for the first time in her life, like it’s exactly where it’s meant to be.

chapter 7: epilogue

Everything hurts.

(Y/N) is used to that, the lingering headaches and muscle aches. They’ve been there for as long as she can recall.

What she isn’t used to, however, is waking up to a hand holding hers and the feeling of warmth enveloping her. The pain is rapidly subsiding, she can feel magic trailing down her arm.

The first thing her eyes see is Remus’s face, always mildly concerned after an episode but so unbelievably full of endearment.

She’s so so in love.

“Are you back with me?” he asks and even though his voice is soft she can hear it over the ringing of her ears. He caresses the back of her hand with his thumb, patiently waiting for her to regain the ability to communicate.

After a few minutes she manages to nod her head, squeezing his hand as an additional response.

“Don’t look so worried,” she rasps out when she doesn’t feel like her tongue is made of lead anymore. “It’s just the flu.”

#remus lupin #remus lupin fanfiction #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x y/n #marauders era #marauders era fanfic #marauders x reader #marauders x y/n #remus lupin x you #marauders x you #harry potter fanfiction #happyyyandcrazyyy writing

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zeciex · 5 months

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A Vow of Blood - 58

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 58: A Missive of Ravens

AO3 - Masterlist

Daenera opened yet another drawer, her fingers gently brushing over the scarce horsetail sprigs within. She made a mental note to add them to her growing list, which had become surprisingly longer than she had anticipated. The air within her chambers was redolent with the comforting aroma of her dried herbs, mingling with the fresh, invigorating scent of potted herbs thriving by the windows. She had been relieved to see that the servants had taken good care of them during her absence.

“Are you ready to go to the market?” Jelissa asked with a gentle smile as she entered the room.

“Yes,” Daenera replied, her voice tinged with a sense of longing for a change of scenery.

Her supply of herbs had dwindled at an alarming rate, and she found herself in dire need of restocking, particularly her cherished camomile tea and spearmint leaves. She had taken to nursing a cup of tea each morning as part of her daily routine, a small comfort to soothe her unsettled stomach. The stress of the journey back from Storm’s End seemed to have thrown her digestion out of order, leaving her feeling perpetually weary and fatigued.

After closing the drawer with a soft thud, Daenera pivoted toward the sturdy wooden table where her list lay. With deliberate movements, she scrawled " star anise " beside the entry for horsetail , determined to replenish her entire stock. She set the feather pen back in its place beside the inkwell and lifted the list gently, letting her breath hasten the drying of the ink. Once satisfied, she rolled the parchment into a neat scroll. Reaching for her shawl, she draped it over her shoulders, feeling its comforting warmth envelop her as she readied herself to leave.

“I need a reprieve from this never-ending mourning,” Daenera confessed, her voice tinged with frustration. The months of pretense had been wearisome at best. Every encounter seemed to revolve around expressions of sympathy and the exaggerated praises of her late husband, accompanied by endless tales and anecdotes of his life, all underscored by pitying glances. It had become utterly suffocating.

In the wake of death, Daenera couldn’t help but observe how memories transformed like stained glass, casting a soft and forgiving glow over a person’s life. Flaws and missteps were washed away, replaced by fanciful imaginings that allowed the imagination to flourish. The once tarnished sinners were seen as holy, while the pious in turn would become blemished by human imperfection.

It was a curious phenomenon she had witnessed time and time again, as if death held the power to rewrite history with a gentler hand.

And still, it all depended on the person writing the histories, and whether they were of a forgiving nature.

As Daenera and Jelissa made their way into the hall, their footsteps echoing in the dimly lit corridor, they were met by the swift approach of Joyce. Her hurried pace and furrowed brow betrayed her concern.

“I’ve received word from the Captain of Meraxes that Vaemond Velaryon has arrived in port,” Joyce reported, her voice tense as she crumbled the report between her fingers, the black scribbles on the parchment detailing what she had just said.

Daenera’s expression mirrored Joyce’s worry, brows furrowing in surprise, and as she inquired, her voice was touched by her growing apprehension. “Do we know the reason for his presence?”

Joyce shook her head. “No. He will be here shortly.”

The unexpected arrival of a prominent figure like Vaemond Velaryon warranted Daenera’s immediate attention. She hadn’t heard a whisper about it, neither from her informants nor from any other source. Such arrivals were typically accompanied by grand announcements and festivities, but this seem to have been shrouded in secrecy.

A sense of urgency settled over the group, leaving Jelissa with a disappointed pout on her lips as she had been looking forward to their trip to the market.

“Joyce, would you keep your ear to the ground? I want every detail you can get,” Daenera instructed her capable maid, shifting her basket into Jelissa’s hand. “I want to know his purpose for being here.”

Jelissa interjected with concern, “Shouldn’t we inform your mother?”

Daenera considered the idea for a moment before responding, her voice tinged with caution, “I will not burden my mother with unnecessary worry.”

She thought about her mother’s announcement of her seventh pregnancy. While Daenera was genuinely excited for the impending addition to the family, she couldn’t help but be consumed by concern for her mother’s well-being, as she always was. She didn’t wish to add any unnecessary stress.

But Vaemond’s sudden arrival was warranted concern.

“I will send a raven when we have more information,” Daenera added.

With a nod of understanding, Joyce and Jelissa swiftly dispersed to fulfill their assigned task of contacting their informants.

Once Daenera reached the entrance hall of Maegor’s Holdfast, she paced back and forth the extensive space, her soft footsteps echoing against the high-vaulted ceiling. Her mind was consumed with thoughts about Vaemond’s sudden appearance and what it could signify. Her fingers fiddled absentmindedly with the ring on her finger as she ran through a range of possibilities. The faint chatter in the hall amounted to little more than the incessant buzz of a fly in her ears.

The worried and curious gazes of the lords and ladies of the court followed her every step, their eyes seeming to scrutinize her pacing. She paid them no heed, fully aware of the mixed emotion they held–pity for her recent widowhood and curiosity about the unfolding drama of her life. In their eyes, she was the young widow who had lost her husband less than a year into their marriage, leaving her alone and seemingly bereft of any meaningful legacy. If her sanity unraveled, it would only add to the tragic narrative that seemed to surround her.

The entrance hall itself was grand and imposing, its tall stone pillars stretching towards the ceiling. Where once intricate tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of dragons and the conquering of the Seven Kingdoms, there were now simpler depictions of forests or even bare walls, stripped of their former glory. The symbols of the Faith of the Seven were scattered throughout the hall, giving it more of a resemblance to a sept rather than the home of The Great Conqueror and his descendants. The air was heavy with the scent of burning candles and sweet incense, and the soft hum of hushed whispers and murmurs filled the space, reverberating off the vaulted ceiling.

As she waited for Vaemond’s arrival, she strategically positioned herself on the second level of the grand staircase leading towards the King’s and Queen’s chambers, ensuring that he could not avoid her.

From the open balcony extending from the second level of the grand staircase, Daenera had a commanding view of the inner courtyard of Maegor’s Holdfast. Her keen eyes caught the glimpse of silver locks and the sigil of House Velaryon, a seahorse whose upper half resembled that of a horse, while the lower half remained that of a sea creature.

She turned, positioning herself in the middle of the grand staircase, her demeanor patient as she awaited her great-uncle’s ascent. Since the last time she had seen him, Vaemond remained largely unchanged. His liver hair still coiled in a similar fashion to that of his brother’s, albeit shorter. His eyes retained their characteristic hardness, giving her the same disdainful look he had directed at her during Laena’s funeral. She remembered the thinly veiled insults he had hurled at her family during his speech, the weight of his scorn, and how it had frightened her back then. But she was no longer a child to be frightened by such disdain.

It was evident that whatever misgivings or animosity he harbored towards her and her brothers had not waned during the six years they had spent apart.

“Welcome to King’s Landing, great-uncle. It has been a long time,” Daenera greeted with a polite smile.

Vaemond halted his ascent at the same level as her, his eyes conveying his sentiments even before his words did.

“Not long enough,” he responded dryly. “I extend my condolences for the loss of your husband. Boris Baratheon was a remarkable warrior and a man of great character. The fact that he met his end in a hunting accident is truly difficult to fathom, given his experience.”

“Mmm, yes, it was a tragic accident,” Daenera replied, her tone revealing her disinterest in discussing her late husband. “But you do not travel this far just to offer your condolences.”

“I come to speak with the King,” Vaemond admitted, though they both knew it was not the King he was seeking an audience with.

For quite some time, the kingdom had been managed by the Hightowers, especially since her husband’s funeral. The King’s illness had worsened, rendering him unable to fulfill his duties. Daenera couldn’t help but wonder how long they could maintain the facade of the King’s health. Despite her efforts to ascertain his condition and the extent of the Maesters’ or the Hightowers’ involvement, she had been consistently denied access to his chambers, forcing her to rely on word of the castle’s kitchen staff for whether he remained alive at all.

“What could possibly be so significant that you appear without any prior notice?” Daenera inquired with a raised brow, her eyes flickering over his tight expression.

“I did send prior notice,” Vaemond replied, his eyes narrowing smugly. “The Queen awaits my arrival.”

“I thought you were here to see the King,” Daenera drawled, her comment seeming to get under her great-uncle’s skin.

His eyes narrowed further. “I am here to meet with whomever is currently responsible for the Kingdom. For the time being, that happens to be the Queen, correct?”

“It is,” Daenera sighed inwardly. Unfortunately. She hooked her arms into Vaemond’s mustering a sweet smile, knowing how annoyed he was with her by the stiffness in his shoulders. “Allow me to lead the way. It has been such a long time since I’ve seen you, great-uncle.”

Vaemond visibly bristled, his face contorting with an expression of repulsion, clearly wishing to be anywhere but in her company. However, he could not refuse her, and so they ascended the final stretch of stairs together.

“How long do you plan to stay in King’s Landing?” Daenera inquired, her voice sweet and unassuming, as though she had no underlying motive for continuing the conversation.

“I shall depart for Driftmark as soon as I have spoken with the Queen,” Vaemond replied with a rigid demeanor, devoid of the charisma and charm that his brother, Corlys, possessed. If Aemond had a stick up his backside, Vaemond had an entire tree trunk lodged there. He was unamused and unforgiving.

“So soon? You’ve only just arrived.”

“I have pressing matters to attend to,” Vaemond stated, his answers clipped and curt.

“I’m sure,” Daenera muttered under her breath. “Has something happened?”

“Have you not heard?” Vaemond’s dark eyes gleamed with cruelty, the same malevolent glint he had harbored all those years ago, carefully polished and kept shiny for this moment. “My brother, the Sea Snake, has fallen gravely ill.”

Daenera’s heart sank, causing her to come to an abrupt halt. Her arm slipped away from his, creating some distance between herself and Vaemond, who watched her with a discerning gaze. She instinctively clasped her hands in front of her, her fingers nervously twisting the ring on her finger. A sense of dread and fear settled within her like a heavy weight, and when she finally spoke, her voice carried a fragility she hadn’t intended.

“Will he survive?”

“That remains uncertain,” Vaemond replied, his tone retaining its harsh edge.

Daenera’s brows furrowed even deeper as she observed him closely, detecting a glimmer of ambition deep within his eyes. It burned alongside his evident indignation and disdain towards her, and perhaps, there was even a hint of sadness for his brother.

“But shouldn’t you be by his side at this moment?” Her voice carried an accusatory understone, and she swallowed hard against her growing apprehension.

If Corlys was indeed in such dire health, one would expect his brother would be by his side. However, Daenera couldn’t help but be reminded of Vaemond’s long-standing criticism of Corlys, particularly his handling of succession and his apparent disregard for the meaning of blood. Despite their differences, Corlys was still his brother, and one might assume that that would mean something. Yet here he was, in King’s Landing, abandoning his brother to speak with the Queen.

Vaemond glowered at her. “The ship is already in passage; he should reach Driftmark within a fortnight or less, should the winds be in his favor. I’ll return home before his arrival.”

Anxiety welled up within Daenera, constricting her chest like a vice. She decided to abandon pleasantries and ask directly, her words sharp and probing. “Why have you truly come here?”

“To discuss pressing matters of business,” Vaemond replied with a practiced lie, his voice devoid of sincerity. “If you’ll excuse me, Princess, I have affairs to attend to.”

With that, Vaemond turned his back on her and allowed the guards to escort him towards the Queen’s chambers.

Daenera’s glare bore into Vaemond as she grinded her teeth in a mix of anger and fear. She spun around, clutching her skirts and hurrying down the hall, her eyes darting about in search for someone who could provide answers. She found Aemond sitting in the library, bathed in the warm, golden light streaming in through the tall windows. She slammed her hand down on the book he was reading, causing the leather to snap at the strain as it fell flat on the table, the sound reverberating through the quiet space.

Aemond looked up with his usual slightly amused expression.

“You didn’t tell me about Vaemond Velaryon’s arrival,” Daenera said angrily, the accusation poised on her tongue. “Why does he want to speak with the Queen?”

“Why should I tell you?” Aemond drawled, his head tilting to the side as he observed her.

“Are they making a move against my brother?” Daenera continued her barrage of questions, studying her lover’s face for any hint of an answer. “Is it related to the Step Stones? Or is it in regards to the succession of Driftmark?”

Aemond remained silent which only served to further agitate her. Though he seemed amused, there was a note of seriousness within his eye that told her how serious the situation was. She was of half a mind to pick up the book and beat him over the head with it until she gave her all the answers she desired, but knowing Aemond, she wouldn’t get anywhere with the threat of pain.

“You should have told me about his arrival,” Daenera sneered.

“You know why I didn’t,” Aemond replied, leaning back in his seat with a sigh. “If our roles were reversed, would you tell me?”

Daenera’s eyes narrowed, and she emitted an indignant huff, rolling her eyes upward. Aemond’s words were undeniably accurate, a truth she couldn’t escape, and the realization irked her more than she would openly admit. The gap between them seemed to widen, a growing chasm that threatened to separate them completely. Daenera couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment and frustration, even if those emotions were irrational. If their roles were reversed, she would guard her secrets just as closely, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating.

Her lips pressed into a dissatisfied pout. “I will assume the worst.”

Aemond responded with a nonchalant hum, prying the book out from under her hand, returning his eye to the pages.

“Tonight, I think I shall lock my doors,” Daenera remarked as she turned her heels and walked away, accompanied by the sound of Aemond’s amused chuckle echoing through the library.

Upon returning to her chamber, Daenera found Jelissa waiting for her, her face etched with a familiar expression of worry that mirrored Daenera’s own apprehension. The young servant shifted nervously on her feet, her voice filled with sympathy as she spoke. “Joyce has told me to tell you this; Lord Corlys has fallen ill. They say it is a fever.”

Daenera swallowed hard. A fever, she thought. A fever could signify a multitude of ailments – infection, the sweating sickness, or even the shivers. It was difficult to fathom that something as seemingly common as a fever could be the affliction that brought down the mighty Sea Snake. She shook her head in disbelief.

“The men aboard The Black Horse say that Lord Corlys is on his way to Driftmark,” Jelissa continued, following Daenera and standing in front of her as the princess settled into a chair, making space on the table for a piece of parchment.

“Apparently, it will take him near a fortnight to get to Driftmark,” Daenera remarked, though she wasn’t sure she’d agree with that estimate.

“Do you think he will die? Lord Corlys.” Jelissa questioned, her eyes wide with anxiety, she shook her head, her curls bouncing around her face. “What does this all mean?”

Daenera lifted her gaze from the parchment, the feather pen hovering above the inkwell, allowing the excess ink to drip back into the pot. “Vaemond sees this as his opportunity to dispute the line of succession. He’s always harbored resentment towards us, and has never wanted Luke to be heir of Driftmark.”

“But you’re Velaryons,” Jelissa muttered, brows drawing together in a look of confusion. “He would see Luke disinherited?”

“He believes it’s his right,” Daenera answered wearily. “He believes he takes president over us. We may share the Velaryon name, but in his eyes, we don’t share his blood. He’e been trying to convince Corlys of this for years, and now, with his brother gravely ill, Vaemond will seize the chance to challenge the succession. By doing so, he puts my mother’s claim into question.”

“Do you truly believe he would go to such lengths?” Jelissa inquired, her voice quiet.

“I think,” Daenera stated firmly, “that he cares only for Driftmark, and forming an alliance with the Hightowers will help him achieve his goals. They can publicly cast doubt on my mother’s claim if Vaemond becomes heir to Driftmark instead of my brother. It would be a sign that we’re the bastards they believe us to be.”

The feather pen scratched gently across the parchment’s surface, its black ink gracefully seeping into the thirsty fibers of the parchment as Daenera composed her letter. She carefully crafted missives addressed to her mother, and also penned words for Baela on Driftmark, warning them of Vaemond’s ambition.

“Jelissa, would you find Joyce and Fenrick for me?” Daenera said, while she continued to scribble on the parchment, her letters in perfect arches.

Jelissa nodded, turning on her heels.

Mother,

I write to you with news regarding the recent meeting between Vaemond Velaryon and the Queen. I do not know the subject of the meeting, but with the news of Lord Corlys falling ill, I fear they may be conspiring against Lucerys and his claim on Driftmark, and by putting his claim into question, they put yours into question. It seems they intend to cast doubt upon Lucerys’s legitimacy.

I beseech you to take decisive action and journey to King’s Landing to assert your authority.

Your loving daughter,

Daenera Velaryon

She crafted a similar letter to Baela, alerting her to Vaemond’s ambitious designs and his audacious bid to assert his claim to Driftmark above Lucerys. It was a callous move, considering that Corlys was not yet in his grave and had a possibility to recover, however slim, and it amounted to a grievous affront to Rhaenys, who currently occupied the Driftmark seat while her husband was absent.

Daenera placed the second letter beside the first, her gaze fixed on them with a wary intensity, as if they might burst into flames if she averted her gaze. An unsettling feeling nagged at the recesses of her mind, compelling her to grab another sheet of parchment. She proceeded to rewrite the missive to her mother once more, meticulously blowing over the inky words to hasten their drying, before rolling it up and securing it inside a separate capsule. Each letter received its own protective enclosure meant to keep them safe from the elements.

Aemond positioned himself at the outer wall of the Red Keep, his gaze fixed on the sky as the sun made its descent, the blues turning into a warm orange and bright pink. He leaned casually against the old stone, bow and arrows at the ready, his alert to his missive.

As he patiently stood there, he watched as the ravens emerged from the rookery, their dark wings carrying crucial messages about Vaemond Velaryon’s dealings with his mother. Aemond’s fingers tensed around the bowstring, his eye tracking the bird’s flight with precision. When the moment was right, he drew the bowstring taut, his muscles flexing with practiced ease.

With a fluid motion, he released the arrow, immediately replacing it with another and firing it as well. The arrows streaked through the sky, hitting their intended targets before the ravens could evade them.

The birds plummeted to the ground outside the castle walls, their lifeless forms and their secret letters destined to the fire. He stepped up to the edge of the wall, watching as the man picked up the birds.

Aemond had anticipated this outcome from the moment he learned of Vaemond’s intention to visit his mother. He knew that Daenera would attempt to send warnings to her family, and he couldn’t afford to allow that. There was no room for guilt in this game; it was a matter of strategy.

Aemond descended from the wall, his eye following the guard as he collected the fallen ravens and their incriminating messages, tossing them unceremoniously into the fire of a nearby brazier. As the letters turned to ash, a plume of black smoke spiraled upward, carrying with it the acrid scent of burning feathers. With the disposal complete, Aemond abandoned his bow and arrows by the foot of the stairs, making his way towards Maegor’s Holdfast.

Passing through his own chamber, he entered the secret passageways. Each step brought him closer to Daenera’s chambers, and the burgeoning hope that she had left the door unbarred kindled within him. As he reached the door, his hand pressed gently against the wooden surface, and with a subtle click, it yielded to his touch. Aemond slipped into her room and her embrace.

Days later, a missive reached Dragonstone aboard a modest merchant vessel that had departed from King’s Landing. The letter bore news of Vaemond’s meeting with the Queen. However, by the time the tidings reached Dragonstone, they had already grown stale, for a raven had swiftly carried similar tidings from Driftmark, where Vaemond had brought forth his claim.

Silence had woven itself into the very fabric of the Red Keep, cloaking the grand halls in an oppressive stillness that clashed with Daenera’s ardent attempts to infuse warmth and hospitality into her gathering, which had been intended to honor the royal heir. Despite her earnest endeavors, the turnout was modest at best. Only Lord Caswell, accompanied by his daughter Tris, and Kaylys Merryweather had responded to her invitations, leaving the grand affair feeling somewhat diminished.

The conspicuous absence of both the Queen and her mother’s half-siblings cast a gloomy pall over the occasion. Their deliberate nonattendance, coupled with the Hand’s notable absence, suggested a carefully calculated slight. Joyce had informed Daenera that an impromptu council meeting had been summoned, compelling all council members to prioritize their attendance over the gathering.

This subtle affront, orchestrated with meticulous precision, would not escape notice.

Daenera paced restlessly along the steps of the Red Keep, her fingers instinctively twisting the rings adorning them as she battled a nauseating blend of nerves and apprehension. She keenly recognized that every action she had taken in King’s Landing, every intricately planned maneuver, would be subjected to intense scrutiny. She braced herself for the inevitable interrogations and the need to defend her choices, and she expected to be confronted about the omissions and calculated understatements that were present in her letters.

“You’ll wear the stone steps thin if you continue pacing like this,” Joyce remarked with a touch of concern in her voice.

“If I do, perhaps I’ll be lucky, and the Hand will take a tumble,” Daenera muttered softly under her breath, her anxiousness making her snappy. Her comment earned her a reproachful glance.

As the grand gates swung open, the royal procession made its entrance. Their arrival was met with a heavy silence that hung in the air, much like the dreary weather above–overcast and gray. The absence of the usual enthusiastic onlookers created a stark contrast, leaving the grand entrance eerily devoid of its customary fanfare. The Red Keep’s usual vibrant courtyard, bustling with life and chatter, stood eerily still and desolate, save for the guards and the few attendees Daenera had managed to muster.

“All hail Rhaenyra, House Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne, and her royal consort, Prince Daemon Targaryen,” announced Steffon Darklyn, his voice breaking the silence.

With that, the carriage doors opened, and Rhaenyra stepped out, her brows seemingly raised in apprehension.

Daenera noted the slight jab of disappointment in her mothers gaze as it scanned the courtyard, gazing upon what had once been her home, what had once been all she had ever known, and now found it cold and desolate.

With exuberant skips, Daenera descended the steps and threw herself into her mother’s loving embrace, holding her tightly and savoring the familiar scent that was uniquely her mother’s. As she clung to her, she couldn’t help but notice the subtle bump of her mother’s stomach pressing against her own.

“I have missed you,” Daenera admitted, as though they hadn’t seen each other at the funeral.

“And I you,” Rhaenyra replied, her gaze filled with affection as she withdrew slightly, cradling her only daughter’s face between her palms. She leaned down, pressing her lips gently against Daenera’s forehead in a loving gesture.

Out of the corner of her eye, Daenera caught sight of Daemon, as he watched the two. Her heart beat a little harder within her chest as she turned to face him hesitantly, like a child preparing for reprimand. When he did not unleash one, she wrapped her arms around him in greeting, giving him a hesitant but sincere hug.

Afterward, she turned her attention to her younger siblings, hugging them warmly and placing affectionate kisses on their chubby cheeks as they looked around in curiosity.

Lord Caswell, showing respect and sympathy, made his way down the stairs. He bowed courteously to Rhaenyra, his eyes reflecting a soft and empathetic light. Taking her hand in his own, he spoke with an air of solemnity, “Welcome back, Princess.”

“Lord Caswell,” Rhaenyra acknowledged with a nod of her head, her gaze briefly shifting to Trish and Kaylys who each curtsey, heads bowing.

“I fear much has changed while you’ve been gone,” Lord Caswell stated, his voice carrying a sense of foreboding that served as a subtle warning.

“This is not the welcome we expected,” Rhaenyra remarked, her gaze sweeping up the imposing walls of the Red Keep.

Lord Caswell shifted uncomfortably, his eyes settling on Daenera as she gently handed Aegon back to Elinda Massey before rejoining the conversation. “Your daughter faced an uphill battle in her efforts to arrange a fitting reception for you. I’m afraid the influence of the Hightowers has left much to be desired.”

Rhaenyra’s expression grew more somber.

Lord Caswell’s words were an understatement. Daenera’s efforts to assemble a welcoming party had been systematically sabotaged at every turn. The musicians she had chosen to greet their return with music had abandoned their commitment, and the noble guests she had invited had offered vague excuses to avoid attending. It was clear that lines were being drawn in among the nobility, and many seemed reluctant to commit to any particular side, choosing instead to walk a fine line and wait for the right moment to declare their allegiances.

“The Hightower cunts have decided to finally abandon their facade of politeness,” Daemon muttered, his hands resting on the pommel of his sword, his demeanor wholly unimpressed.

“The Hand called for an urgent council meeting,” Lord Caswell explained, his eyes filled with apprehension, worry etching lines onto his face.

“And many have been discouraged from attending your arrival,” Daenera added. “I did my best, but the reason for your presence has left many uncertain.”

“Uncertain about their loyalties, you mean,” Daemon scoffed, and it was evident that he considered them all cowards.

Abstaining from the heir’s welcome was not just a question of loyalty. The Hightowers, by refusing, for whatever reason, to attend, were demonstrating their control over the power dynamics, sending a clear message to others that they should follow suit or risk facing similar isolation. It was a calculated move.

“I apologize for the disappointment,” Lord Caswell offered.

“It is not your fault, Lord Caswell,” Rhaenyra reassured him.

Together, they followed Lord Caswell into the Keep, leaving behind the desolate courtyard, only to find the halls of the Red Keep just as desolate.

In the grand hall, where crowds typically bustled, an eerie stillness now prevailed. The immense ceilings stretched upwards, only serving to solidify the profound solitude as the small group made its way in through the doors. Each step they took resonated through the expansive area, reverberating with a haunting clarity. Lacking the sun’s warm rays, the shadows enveloped everything in a cloak of dimness, while the weak light from the braziers flickered feebly, barely cutting through the chill that hung in the air. It did little to alleviate the growing tension, which seemed to feed off the quietude around them.

The restoration of the Keep had reached completion just a month prior. The once proud symbols of House Targaryen's power and prestige had been supplanted by carvings depicting the Seven-pointed star, symbolizing the faith's dominance. The historical tapestries that depicted the Targaryen conquests, which used to adorn the hall, were now absent. Similarly, the iconic three-headed dragon, previously emblazoned in the windows, had vanished, leaving behind a sense of loss for the house's storied past. The Keep now bore more of a resemblance to the sept, than the home of the Targaryen dynasty.

“I would say it’s good to be home, but I scarcely recognize it,” Rhaenyra murmured, her gaze seeming to fix on the seven-pointed star adorning a window. Both shock and disbelief flickered across her face as she glanced at Daemon.

Daemon responded with a low hum, his reaction less one of shock and more of abhorrent distaste.

“Jace, would you take Joffrey to get settled and cleaned up?” Rhaenyra asked her eldest.

“Of course, Mother,” Jace agreed, turning to his younger brother who scowled petulantly at his extended hand, his gaze narrowed.

“I don’t want a bath,” Joffrey muttered, resisting as Jace reached for him, narrowly escaping only to be trapped by Rhaena, who grabbed his hand and stopped him from running away.

“You may not want one, but you need it,” Jace answered his brother, scooping him up in his arms. “You stink.”

“No, I don’t!” Joffrey insisted incredulously, sniffing at his clothes.

“Yes, you do,” Jace argued, burying his face in his brother’s neck to earn a giggle, as he inhaled loudly. “You stink.”

“That’s you!” Joffrey argued, as Jace began to make his way through the Keep and towards Maegor’s Holdfast.

Daenera was about to follow Luke and Rhaena as they trailed after Jace, but her mother reached out and grabbed her hand. “Stay.”

Daenera nodded and followed her mother and Daemon as they made their way through the Keep towards the King’s Chambers. Their footsteps echoed through the dimly lit halls, where shadows seemed to come alive and play tricks on the eyes.

As the heavy door to the King’s Chambers creaked open, it revealed the sorry state of the room, causing them all to pause in somber reflection.

The chamber exuded an overwhelming gloom, its darkness swallowing everything in its path. The feeble light from a few flickering candles cast long and eerie shadows, adding to the unsettling atmosphere and a thick layer of dust blanketed every surface, bearing witness to weeks of neglect.

In the midst of this desolation, the stone map of Old Valyria stood as a poignant symbol. Once a centerpiece of grandeur and intrigue, it now lay forgotten, its intricate details obscured by layers of dust and clusters of webbing from spiders. The map, like the rest of the room, bore the weight of abandonment and disrepair, almost reflecting the sad state of its creator.

It served as a haunting reminder of the past, or perhaps a foreboding warning for the future.

Daenera’s heart sank as she absentmindedly ran her fingers through a spider’s web, feeling the accusing gazes of her mother and Daemon upon her.

“I didn’t know,” she admitted with a heavy heart.

The thin curtains, like lingering ghosts, fluttered gently in the wind, casting shifting shadows that obscured the view into the bedchamber. Within, the room was filled with raspy, labored breaths of an old man, each inhalation a painful reminder of his state. Daenera remained by the stone map, as her mother ventured into the bedchamber while Daemon seemed to hesitate just at the threshold. His head hung, and Daenera couldn’t help but wonder what made him hesitate.

A chill went down her spine, her attention momentarily caught by the scurrying of something furry along the mantle of the hearth. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, her stomach churning with unease. A king shouldn’t live like this.

Daenera moved closer, hesitating where Daemon had, hovering at the outskirts as Rhaenyra addressed her father with a gentle murmur, her words chosen with care, as if she feared that even a single syllable spoken too loudly might have the Keep caving in around them.

Daemon took a less gentle approach, his voice carrying the weight of urgency as he urged his brother to reaffirm Lucery’s position as the rightful heir to Driftmark. In contrast, Rhaenyra appeared more concerned with the state of her father’s health, her words laced with genuine worry as she inquired about his well-being.

The air in the chamber hung heavy, a stifling mixture of old incense and the sticky stench of disease permeating everything within the walls. It clawed at the back of the throat.

Rhaenyra cast a fleeting glance towards Daenera, who promptly retreated through the interconnected rooms and into the corridor. There, she scooped up Aegon, who had noticeably grown during her absence. Despite the time apart, the boy seemed to remember his sister, burying his tiny face in the crook of her neck. His fingers absentmindedly twisted a strand of her hair as she carried him back into the bedchamber, followed closely by Elinda Massey, who held Viserys in her arms.

Rhaenyra gently accepted Viserys from Elinda’s grasp, lifting the child to ensure his clear view.

“Father, this is Aegon,” she introduced with a nod towards the boy in Daenera’s embrace.

Daenera adjusted Aegon in her arms, planted a tender kiss on the side of his head, where his fine pale hair tickled against her nose. He leaned into her touch, shy and undoubtedly overwhelmed by the new surroundings, as well as the smell in the room. He reburied his face in her hair, as though the scent of it soothed him.

“And this is Viserys,” Rhaenyra continued, introducing the youngest of the boys.

Both Viserys and Daemon extended their hands towards the young boy, one gently caressing the back of his head, while the other patted his tiny hand. The boy leaned into his mother’s touch, his eyes blinking at the weathered face of Viserys who smiled, revealing the uneven line of rotting teeth, only a glimmer of his former glory shining through his sunken eye.

“Now, that is a name fit for a King,” he replied to his daughter, his chuckle a feeling echo of happier times.

Aegon nestled his head deeper into the comforting crook of his sister’s neck. It seemed that the unsettling odor of the room and the sight of his grandfather seemed to disconcert him. Daenera shifted her weight from one foot to the other, swaying gently in an attempt to soothe her younger brother’s unease as he began to fuss.

The fleeting moment of joy was abruptly shattered as Viserys let out a pained groan, his fragile frame sinking back into the pillows. His bony fingers gingerly rubbed his aching forehead. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry… Oh, I’m sorry…”

Viserys’s anguish-laden voice sent rippled of distress through the room, causing Viserys the younger to fuss and cry, the sound piercing the heavy silence. In response, Aegon, exhausted from the long journey, began to wail as well, his voice joining in the chorus of unrest.

Daenera swayed from side to side more, attempting to soothe the crying boy, rubbing his back in circles.

Gasping for breath and wracked with pain, Viserys weakly pointed toward the nearby table. “My tea…my–my tea.”

Daemon reached for the cup and handed it to Viserys. With trembling hands, Viserys drained the cup, the liquid passing down his throat with audible and urgent gulps. As he handed the empty cup back to Daemon, his moans of pain began to transform into sighs of relief, his eye fluttering tiredly.

Daemon regarded the cup skeptically, raising it to the faint ray of light to examine the remaining pale liquid. He cautiously brought it to his nose, sniffing at it, and then turned to Daenera with a questioning expression.

Daenera approached Daemon, letting him hold up the cup to her nose for examination. As she inhaled the aroma, her brow furrowed in concentration. The scent was sweet and unmistakably that of milk of the poppy. However, beneath the sweetness, she detected a delicate blend of herbs–calendula, chamomile, echinacea and lemon balm. Each of these herps possessed anti-inflammatory properties and could aid in fighting infections. If there were any other ingredients in the tea, they remained concealed beneath the dominant fragrance and taste of milk of the poppy.

With a faint shake of her head, she confirmed, “It’s mostly milk of the poppy.”

Daemon responded with a curt nod, acknowledging her assessment. He placed the cup back on the side table.

The raspy breaths of Viserys had leveled out, soothed by the effects of the milk of the poppy. His eyes had fluttered closed, drifting off to sleep.

Rhaenyra motioned for Elinda and Shera to escort the boys out of the room and take them to her chambers for a nap, leaving the chambers to fall into a heavy, contemplative silence.

They all gathered in the common room, where the white stone city stood desolate, home to only ghosts and stories. The fire within the hearth sputtered in the quiet, casting a warm light into the otherwise somber room. Daenera’s fingers traced the edge of the stone map, a restless energy simmering beneath her skin as she faced the scrutiny of Daemon’s piercing gaze. The urge to defend herself welled within her.

“I didn’t know,” Daenera reaffirmed, her voice both annoyed and seeking understanding.

“You should have informed us of the severity,” Daemon reproached, his tone firm and disapproving.

“I mentioned in my letters of his deteriorating health!” Daenera countered, frustration burning within her chest. “I’ve repeatedly written about his condition and I’ve done my best to keep you informed on the matter.”

Rhaenyra interjected before the argument could grow, her voice laced with concern. “How long has he been like this?”

Daenera sighed, her shoulders sagging under the weight of their expectations. “Since I left King’s Landing for Storm’s End. Both the Queen and the Hand have rejected my request to see him…”

“And in his place the Hightowers rule,” Daemon remarked, his brows furrowing as he regarded her with accusatory eyes, as if searching for someone to blame. “He could have been dead, and you’d have been none the wiser.”

“I would have known,” Daenera asserted herself, narrowing her eyes at him. “I knew he was alive from the kitchen staff–”

Daemon stepped towards her, his proximity intimidating. “And yet you didn’t know of his condition.”

Daenera glared up at him. “If he’d been dead, don’t you think the Hightowers would have crowned Aegon by now?”

“They’re already ruling in my brother's name,” Daemon hummed, pressing the pad of his thumb into the corner of his eye. “I wouldn’t put it past them to keep it hidden, away from you and everyone else, until they were ready to crown him.”

Daenera swallowed hard, her lips pressed into a tight line, a scowl etching across her face at the thought.

A scoff cut through the room, frustration tainting his voice as Daemon sat down in the chair in front of the hearth. “They’ve kept him laddled with the milk of the poppy and hidden from the public to rule in his stead. Perhaps it is not an illness at all.”

The accusation hung in the air, heavy and alarming.

Daenera shook her head. “Viserys is most definitely ill, Daemon. It is not an illusion. And I’ve found no definitive evidence that they’ve made him so.”

“We should have Maester Geradys examine him and see whether he draws the same conclusion,” Rhaenyra interjected, her voice a soothing presence amidst the tension. She reached for Daemon’s hand, offering a gentle squeeze, while her other hand cradled the swell of her stomach. Her reproachful look directed towards her husband seemed to convey that this was neither the time nor place for a heated discussion.

Daenera’s brow furrowed as a rat skittered past her, bounding across the floor and disappearing into the shadows under the table. She couldn’t help but wonder how they could keep the King’s Chambers in such a deplorable condition.

Just then, the doors swung open, and Daenera spun to see the Queen enter.

“Princess Rhaenyra,” the Queen greeted with a dry voice, her hands clamped piously in front of her. Her attire was modest, covering her skin completely and rising high at the neck. Around it hung a gold pendent of the Seven-pointed star, resting heavily against her chest and rising and falling with each breath. “Prince Daemon.”

Daenera locked eyes with the Queen, her expression pointed. “And Princess Daenera.”

“Your Grace,” Daenera replied in a similarly dry tone, her curt greeting laden with underlying tension.

Rhaenyra addressed her daughter, her voice calm yet authoritative. “Daenera, would you leave us to talk?”

Daenera acknowledged her mother with a nod, then turned on her heels to execute a curtsey to the Queen before she exited the chamber.

Jace’s voice broke the silence, accompanied by the sound of her bedchamber door closing and the echo of two sets of footsteps as her brother’s made their way through her apartments and towards her bedchamber.

“How are you holding up?” He inquired, his tone laced with both concern and somewhat wry amusement. “I am guessing not well by your position on the bed.”

Daenera lay sprawled across the bed, her face buried in the pillows in a display of a childish exasperation. She was stretched out over its width, her feet hanging off the edge, and her black dress spread out around her like a dark fan. The warmth of her breath was trapped against her face by the pillow’s fabric.

She shifted her head, allowing her face to emerge from the pillow’s embrace to respond with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Oh, certainly, as you can plainly see, I’m in excellent spirits.”

“Is this about your husband?” Luke’s voice floated in, tinged with speculation.

Jace’s scoff was audible, and his disbelief palpable in his voice. “This isn’t about her late husband.”

“It might well be, it’s only been three months since his passing,” Luke countered. “She might still be grappling with his loss, and Daemon certainly won’t help the matter.”

Pushing herself up on her elbows and sweeping her hair from her face, Daenera arched her back and craned her neck to look back at her brothers. Jace leaned casually against the entrance of her bedchamber, arms folded over his chest as he watched her in amusement, a smirk playing on his lips. Luke, on the other hand, looked sympathetic.

“I’m not mourning his death,” Daenera hummed, a grimace tugging at her features, waving a hand dismissively as though waving off the sentiment.

“Because he visited every brothel on the Street of Silk?” Jace probed, head tilting in curiosity. “Or because he fathered a bastard on a whore?”

Daenera’s reply was sharp and to the point. “Because he was unbearable. I’m quite relieved he’s gone.”

Daenera’s responde was a gross understatement, but she had no desire to unpack the full extent of the dark realities of her marriage or reveal the true nature of the man she had been wed to. She had kep the details of Boris’s behavior to herself, sharing only the fact of his infidelity. She wasn’t inclined to share more, not even with her brothers–the idea of doing so seemed like exposing herself, like bearing her back for their scrutiny, regardless of the fact that the bruises were no longer visible.

Absentmindedly, her finger traced the outline of her ear, lingering over the noticeable groove–a stark reminder of her husband’s cruelty, where he had split her ear. The scar was still fresh, the skin around it tender to the touch. In her heart, she knew she didn’t want to burden her brothers with the truth, and so she swallowed her words.

Jace turned to Luke with a self-satisfied air and a smug curve to his lips. “See, I told you. You don’t know our sister as well as I do.”

Jace, with a playful nudge to Luke, made his way into her bedchamber and settled himself on her bed, resting against the spiraled bedpost that rose up to the canopy ceiling. “Daemon wasn’t exactly overjoyed to hear about your husband’s unfortunate accident.”

Daenera rolled her eyes and adjusted her position to sit up, leaning against the bed’s headboard. She drew a pillow into her lap, fidgeting with it as a distraction. “But I managed to preserve the alliance, didn’t I?”

“By vowing not to remarry until either mother claims the throne or one of us weds one of his daughters,” Jace replied, grimacing at the thought of marrying one of the Four Storms. “A prospect, I must add, that neither of us finds appealing.”

“Oh, quit whining. I never wanted to marry Boris,” Daenera retorted with a hint of bitterness, playfully kicking at Jace, who responded by teasingly catching her foot and driving his thumbs into the ticklish curve. She kicked at him again, before drawing her foot back. “Maybe now it’s your turn to do your duty and marry someone you don’t want.”

“We’re still uncertain about who our wives will be,” Luke interjected, taking a seat on the opposite side of the bed.

Daenera gave a knowing hum. “It’s likely you’ll wed Rhaena, and Jace will marry Baela, and I shall remain a widow until Viserys dies and mother ascends to the throne. How easy it is to do your duty when you marry someone you actually like.”

“His end might not be too far off,” Luke commented with a certain callousness that made Daenera chuckle. “Viserys has been on the brink for years; it’s bound to happen sooner or later.”

“Such heartless observation, Luke,” Jace chided with a smirk, playfully prodding his brother. This earned him a slap on the wrist as Luke swatted his hand away in mock irritation that bordered on genuine annoyance.

Their playful banter faded, and Jace’s demeanor shifted to a more solemn tone as he turned his attention back to his sister, his eyes not the same as his sisters. “But really, how is he doing?”

“Dying,” Daenera replied succinctly. There was no other way of describing it. His life hung in a very delicate, tenuous thread. One she hoped remained strong enough to keep him in this world for a while longer.

Truthfully, Viserys had been in a state of decline for years. It was as if the Stranger himself was denying him the mercy of death, leaving him to endure a slow, agonizing deterioration. His condition had worsened since she last saw him; his body had become more skeletal, his skin sallow and mottled, his teeth rotting in his mouth. It was a sad, wretched state, the kind she wouldn’t wish on anyone.

A crude murmur fell from her lips. “It would be a mercy to let him die.”

“You shouldn’t speak like that,” Jace said, a note of concern in his tone, his face drawn into the familiar expression of the Heir to their mother. “He’s the King. It is treason.”

Daenera gave a nod of agreement, her expression reflecting a mixture of resignation and empathy. Internally, she acknowledged the harsh truth of the situation. It would be a kinder fate to let him pass away, a mercy for him above all. Even though his death would likely throw the kingdom into turmoil, it would at least end his prolonged suffering.

“Will he sit the throne to hear Lucerys claim?” Jace inquired, a worried expression flattening his brows as he glanced towards Luke, whose eyes lowered to his hands nervously.

Daenera made a face, her expression a mixture of pity and realism. “No, I don’t think he will. The Hand is responsible for such matters, and Otto Hightower will make sure to tip the scales in their favor.”

A quiet stillness settled over the room, each of them lost in their thoughts for a moment. Breaking the silence, Jace let out a sigh and shifted his position, half-reclining on the bed with one leg still hanging off the edge. “There’s something else I need to discuss–a matter that needs to be addressed.”

Daenera responded by raising her brows expectantly.

Jace, feigning nonchalance but with a hint of accusation in his gaze, said, “You neglected to mention how much Aemond has changed.”

“And how proficient he’s become with a sword!” Luke added, his voice rising with accusation.

Daenera glanced back and forth between her brothers, a touch of amusement flickering in her eyes at their reactions. Yet, alongside this amusement, a trace of incredulity also crept into her expression, reflecting her surprise at their unexpected concerns. “Did you really expect him to stay the same scrawny kid forever?”

“ No ,” Jace replied, clearly exasperated, “but a little warning would have been nice. And let’s not forget, he wasn’t exactly ‘scrawny’ when he was breaking Luke’s nose or splitting your lip.”

Daenera rolled her eyes dismissively. “So, you wanted me to alert you that he’s matured into a tall, strong, and handsome man, who also happens to be quite adept with a sword?”

“I don’t remember mentioning ‘handsome’,” Luke mumbled, his words trailing off as Jace quickly cut in, his voice rising to an indignant exclamation. “Hold on, you think he’s handsome?!”

Daenera let out a groan and reclined against the headboard, stretching her legs out in front of her. “Yes, Jace, I find him objectively handsome. And for the record, Aegon might be too, if he weren’t so insufferable and would bathe more often, and I’m sure Daeron is off being charming in Old Town. But what’s this sudden need for warning about?”

As she ranted at them, Jace and Luke exchanged a glance that only served to annoy her.

“Because, dear sister, it would have been useful to be forewarned about Aemond turning into a formidable, skilled swordsman. He’s quite imposing,” Jace admitted, every word sounding like a petulant accusation.

“Did he threaten you?” Daenera questioned, knowing that Aemond was very likely going to threaten them.

“No–”

“Are you planning on causing a scene?” Daenera asked, her gaze sharpening as she scrutinized her older brother, knowing that Jace had the stubbornness of a dragon. “Is that what this is about?”

“ I have no plans to cause issues, yet I wouldn’t be shocked if he’s the one who instigates them,” Jace retorted, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Don’t provoke him.”

“What if he provokes us?” Jace argued, pointing between him and his brother.

“Don’t rise to the provocation,” Daenera advised with a tone of finality. “Avoid any confrontations. Stay away from him if necessary. We can’t afford any disturbances caused by either of you.”

“I’m more worried about the trouble Aemond will cause for us ,” Jace remarked with a hint of bitterness, clearly convinced that Aemond was the source of any and all potential problems. Which, were likely, if Jace allowed it to happen. “I refuse to tolerate any insults towards us, and I certainly won’t let the Hightowers insult our Mother.”

Daenera exhaled deeply, massaging her tired eyes. Her attention then shifted to Luke, her younger brother, who seemed to bear an immense burden. His face was a canvas of constant concern, a reflection of all that he felt.

“Don’t be intimidated by Aemond, Luke. He wants you to be afraid,” Daenera said gently.

Jace’s voice carried a tone of unwavering support as he turned to Luke.

“You haven't done anything wrong,” he said, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder, giving it a supportive squeeze. “You acted to protect us. Remember, he was about to hit me with a rock. You intervened. If anyone is to blame for what happened to him, he only has himself to blame, not you.”

Luke’s response was hesitant, his voice breaking. “But if I hadn’t taken his eye…”

“He got what he deserved,” Jace asserted with unwavering conviction, one he had not faltered in once since it all happened. “If it were me, I would have gone further. Losing an eye is getting off easy in comparison.”

“ Jace ,” Daenera cautioned, her tone a blend of reproach and warning.

Jace, undeterred, continued passionately, “He deserved it! He stole Vhagar, attacked you, Rhaena, and Baela, not to mention broke Luke’s nose. He branded us bastards and nearly killed me.” His face was a portrait of defiance as he added, “Everything that happened to him, he brought upon himself.”

“You cannot ‘steal’ a dragon, Jace,” Daenera argued, her voice rising with exasperation despite her brother’s heated demeanor. She felt a flame of anger flicker within her chest, but before she could continue, Jace spoke up again.

“Vhagar should have been Rhaena’s!”

“Will you let me finish?” Daenera shot back, frustration evident in her tone.

Jace rolled his eyes and threw his hand up in a gesture of exasperation.

“Yes, Aemond shouldn’t have claimed Vhagar before Rhaena had her chance,” Daenera conceded. “But you don’t understand what it’s like to be without a dragon.” She remembered her own childhood, lingering in the shadows of the Dragonpit, enviously watching her brother’s bond with their dragons. That sense of exclusion, that longing, was something she understood all too well. Even Aegon and Helaena managed to claim their dragons.

Aemond had felt the sting of not having a dragon more acutely than she had, and primarily because he was constantly subjected to his brother’s cruel taunts. While Daenera had come to terms with being dragonless, Aemond had seized his opportunity when it presented itself.

“That doesn’t make what he did right!” Jace exclaimed.

“No, but it offers some context,” Daenera replied, her voice steady. Locking eyes with her brother, she elaborated, “Rhaena should have been given a chance to claim Vhagar, in that I agree. A dragon isn’t a heirloom to simply be handed down. Dragons choose their riders, not the other way around. And in this case, Vhagar chose Aemond. There was no certainty that she’d have chosen Rhaena.”

A tense silence enveloped them, a charged atmosphere as they processed her words. Daenera continued, her voice a bit softer yet unwavering, “Aemond’s loss of his eye was not just because he claimed Vhagar. It’s because Vhagar chose him over others, and we didn’t agree with it.”

“ He attacked us ,” Jace retorted angrily.

“ We attacked him ,” Daenera pointed out evenly. “We were five on one, and we should have gotten one of the guards if we really thought it was a thief and not taken matters into our own hands.”

“If he hadn’t called us bastards, nothing would’ve happened!” Jace sneered with a certainty that Daenera didn’t have.

Luke’s voice was a faint murmur, “He was going to kill Jace.”

Daenera softly agreed, sliding down on the bed to be closer to Luke. She gently took his hand, offering a reassuring touch. “Yes, you protected your brother. Never second guess yourself or apologize for that. Protecting your brother was the right decision. But remember, Aemond perceives it differently. In his view, we were the aggressors, and he was merely defending himself.”

Jace muttered under his breath, “Well, with one eye, he’s only able to see one side of the story anyway.”

Despite his attempt at humor, Daenera’s focus remained intently on Luke. She understood his sensitive and caring nature, how he struggled with the necessity of defending his brother yet was burdened by the guilt of the harm he had inflicted.

“Aemond will never forgive you for what happened,” Daenera gently told Luke, her voice tinged with understanding. She tenderly brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “But you shouldn’t hold yourself at fault either. You did what you had to do to protect Jace. Always remember that.”

Luke gave a small nod, and a hint of relief seemed to wash over his features.

“This is precisely why I didn’t invite you to my wedding” Daenera commented, earning an amused scoff from Jace and a smile from Luke. “Can you imagine the spectacle you three would have created? The chaos? The bloodshed?”

“I thought you were just embarrassed about your husband,” Jace quipped, as Daenera settled herself back against the headboard.

“I was more worried about your terrible hairstyle stealing the attention from the bride during the ceremony,” Daenera quipped back, teasingly kicking at his foot.

Jace instinctively touched his hair. “Rhaena said she liked it.”

“She was just being nice,” Daenera retorted with a teasing smile.

“Who’s just being nice?” Rhaena inquired as she made her way into Daenera’s bedchamber. The trio on the bed turned to look at her as she paused at the foot of the bed, leaning on the wooden frame with her forearms, a lock of hair spilling forward and dangling in front of her face until she pushed it back behind her ear.

Daenera responded without hesitation, “You, about Jace’s hair.”

Rhaena’s lips twisted into a slight grimace. “But I do like it.”

Jace couldn’t hide his smug satisfaction. “See?”

And Daenera could only shoot back, “She’s just being nice, Jace. Honestly, your hairstyle is terrible and whoever tells you otherwise is lying to your face. You should consider growing it out.”

Luke twisted to look up at his step-sister. “What’s your real opinion?”

Jace, shifting the topic away from his hair and running a hand through it somewhat sheepishly, asked, “How did things go with Rhaenys and Mother? Will she support Luke?”

Everyone leaned in, keenly interested in the response.

Rhaena let out a groan and mirrored Daenera’s earlier action, flopping down on the bed, sprawling out over it, the top of her head resting against Jace’s shin. He shifted and tugged it to him.

“It’s hard to predict what Rhaenys will decide. Rhaenyra proposed allying through marriage… To marry Jace and Baela, and Luke and me, in exchange for her support.”

Jace and Luke gasped simultaneously, surprise etched on their faces, a faint blush coloring their cheeks as though this was wildly unexpected news.

Daenera let out a frustrated groan, banging her head against the bed’s headboard in a display of exasperation, lamenting it all. “I knew it! You all get to marry each other, while I was stuck with that swine of a man!”

“And now you’re destined to be a widow until Mother claims the throne,” Jace chided, unable to resist.

“Thanks for the reminder, brother,” Daenera retorted sarcastically, lobbing a pillow at him. “At least I can take solace in the fact that I didn’t end up marrying you. Poor Baela, she’s the one who’ll have to endure your presence for life. In comparison, widowhood doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Baela will be a queen,” Jace pointed out. “And you’ll be a widow.”

“I could make her a widow as well,” Daenera threatened dramatically.

“And slay your own brother? Absurd, you’d be a kinslayer and a kingslayer.”

“But wait,” Luke cut in before Daenera and Jace would devolve into more banter that would eventually lead to a physical tumble. “Did Rhaenys agree? Will she… will she support my claim as heir to Driftmark?”

Rhaena sat up, her big eyes gleaming with sympathy. “I don’t know…”

“You are the heir to Driftmark,” Jace assured his brother. “Corlys and the King have declared it so. Vaemond is overreaching.”

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond x oc #A Vow of Blood

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the-lunatic-archives · 2 years

Text

A fight. A fall. Darkness. These were the only things she remembered from before she fell unconscious. She didn’t know where she was– she hadn’t even opened her eyes, yet. Everything felt so heavy. Surely it would be fine to rest longer, give her friends more time to find her– she sat up suddenly, her eyes opening wide.

“My friends!” She was worried, of course– she fell into a trap in the middle of a fight. It’s possible her friends could be… “Now, now, my dear,” an unfamiliar voice said, “your friends are fine. I’m more worried about you.” She turned her head towards the source, and even through her blurry vision, she could tell the voice’s owner was beautiful. She rubbed her eyes, blinking a few times, re-focusing her vision. “Y-you’re a…” “Yes, dear. I’m a daemon,” she said, as though it was the most ordinary thing in the world. Of course, for her, it would be– but not for her guest, who grabbed a fistful of the blanket atop her, clutching it to her chest defensively. The daemon sighed. “Relax. I’m not going to eat you, dear. I would have done that when you were sleeping, wouldn’t I?” The girl slowly nodded. It made… some amount of sense to her. She still didn’t trust the daemon, of course, but she was willing to let her guard down a little bit, for now. She let the blanket fall loose atop her, placing her hand against the mattress to help prop herself up. “Very good. Now,” the daemon said, picking up the teacup beside her and sipping, “You can call me Pan. Might I ask for your name, my dear?” The girl stared at her cautiously. She had heard tales of the things daemons could do with just your name, but there was something about Pan that made her feel oddly safe. Comfortable. After a short silence, she nodded. “Rain,” she said, “you can call me Rain.”

——

“So, Pan,” Rain said, pouring tea into her cup, “how deep are we?” The daemon cocked a golden eyebrow at her. “What exactly do you mean, my dear Rain?” “We��re still in the labyrinth, right?” The beautiful, serene scenery outside Pan’s cottage suggested otherwise, but Rain could sense the magic that permeated the air. It would be oppressive were it not for the protective aura that blanketed the daemon’s home. “Oh, excellent observation!” Pan smiled gently. The words might seem condescending coming from any other, but coming from her, their sincerity was palpable. “I’ve woven a little spell to make the scenery more enjoyable. Do you like it?” “Yeah, it’s beautiful…” She gazed out the window, staring into the rolling hills and beautiful meadows outside. A moment later, she shook her head, “Wait, that’s not what I meant. How deep in the labyrinth are we? I was on the… fifth floor, when I got seperated from my friends.” Pan closed her eyes and tilted her head, thinking deeply. After a short moment, she opened them again and snapped. “Ah. Somewhere around the… forty-seventh floor, I believe.” “F-forty… seven?” “Could be forty-eight, or even forty-nine. I don’t recall.” A defeated look spread across Rain’s face as she cast her gaze to the floor. Her friends struggled enough to get to the tenth floor, and that was when she was still with them. How long would it be before they made their way down here, and saved her? “Don’t be so sad, my dear. You’re free to stay with me as long as you need.” Rain looked back up, crossing eyes with Pan. The look on her face was so gentle and full of kindness— if a sinister thought was behind her actions, there was no hint of it in either her face or her words. In her current state, she knew she stood no chance of returning to the surface; it would be a suicide mission. “Thank you, Pan.” “Of course, my dear.”

——

“Hey, Pan.” “Yes, my dear?” “You know magic, right?” Pan shrugged. “I wouldn’t say ‘know’.” “What do you mean?” “Do you ‘know’ how to breathe? Or is it simply something that comes naturally to you?” Rain stared, mouth agape. “You mean, weaving a spell like,” she gestured out the window, at the grassy meadows outside, “that, is as simple to you as breathing?” The daemon laughed. “No, my dear. That was quite a feat, even for myself.” She took a long sip from her tea. “Why do you ask? Would you like me to teach you?” The girl’s eyes sparkled. “Would you?” she asked, a childlike excitement punctuating her words. Pan stared into her eyes, and Rain could see herself reflected in the glossy black of her sclera. She blushed, a little embarrassed of herself, but did not retract the question. The daemon tilted her head slowly, as if appraising the girl. “You’ve had some formal training as a mage,” she said. “Y-yes! I attended the Grand—“ she started, stopping before saying the name. “The Grand?” “Y-you wouldn’t have heard of it,” she said. “Besides, the where isn’t that important, right?” The daemon shrugged. Rain looked away. There wasn’t really any way she could simply say ‘the Grand Daemon Hunter’s Academy for Young Magi’, not face-to-face with a daemon. Especially not one so kind, beautiful, and warm as Pan. “I suppose that’s true,” Pan replied. “I can sense a potential within you— one you’ve just barely scratched the surface of. Whether or not you’ve been trained doesn’t affect that.” Rain blinked in disbelief. Nobody had ever said that to her before. Her parents always went on about how lucky she was that her older brother was a talented mage. Her teachers told her she would never get anywhere with her talent. Even her friends would get frustrated with her spellcraft at times. A tear streamed down her face, hitting her lips as she spoke. “A… potential?” “Yes, a potential—“ Pan replied, opening her eyes after a sip of tea. “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry. Did I say something that upset you?” “N-no,” she said, more tears falling from her eyes, “nobody has ever… s-said that to me, before.” “Oh, you poor dear,” the daemon said, setting down her teacup. She stood, walking to the other side of the table in a single long stride. She held out her hand to Rain, distinctly inhuman in appearance— scaled on the back, her fingers just slightly too long, her nails pointed like claws. “Everything will be okay, my dear. Just take my hand.” The girl raised one of her shakey hands— tiny in comparison to the daemon’s— and placed it in the one before her. The warmth and softness of Pan’s touch surprised her, but in a very welcome way. The larger hand closed around her own, gently pulling her to her feet, and she felt the daemon’s other hand reach around to her back— a gentle, soothing pressure. Somehow, in the gentle embrace of a daemon, she felt entirely at ease. Safe. It was an unexpected comfort, in an unexpected place. She clinged tightly to the taller woman’s chest, and sobbed. The pressure on her back lifted for a moment before returning, this time against her head. The slender fingers gently stroked her hair, weaving into it and lightly pressing against her. “It’s alright, my dear. Let it all out. You’re safe here.” Pan continued to utter assurances to her in a low, soft tone, just above a whisper, stroking her hair all the while. Her tears ran down her face, transferring seamlessly to the ash-grey skin she was pressed against. She looked up, just barely able to make out the gentle look on Pan’s face through blurry tears, and even through the sobs, she still managed to smile back.

——

Rain collapsed to her knees, panting and sweating. A series of scorch marks lay before her, each progressively larger than the last. She heard clapping from behind her, followed by a voice. “Very good, my dear! Now, I do believe you are overdue for a break— come, have some tea.” She turned her head, looking back at her teacher, her new friend. She sat on a blanket in the grass, her signature teapot resting in the center, somehow still full of hot tea after hours and countless cups. She smiled at Rain, filling a small teacup and holding it out towards her. The young mage couldn’t help but smile back, forcing herself to her feet and making her way over, sitting on the blanket next to Pan. “Thanks,” she said, taking a sip of her tea, which was somehow the perfect temperature. She let out a long, relaxed sigh. “Your tea is always perfect, Pan. How do you do it?” “Apologies, my dear,” she said, smiling softly, “but that’s a secret I won’t be teaching you.” She paused, taking a sip of her tea, then stared into the younger girl’s eyes and adopted a more sultry tone. “Not yet, at least.” Rain stared back at her, her face becoming flush, taken off guard by the sudden change in tone. She swirled her tea in the cup, gazing down into the ripples. A dozen thoughts raced through her mind, contemplating the meaning behind those words— ‘not yet’. Her hand shook slightly as she lifted the teacup, quickly drinking the contents. “Oh, please relax, dear. I was only teasing,” Pan said, laughing softly. She gestured at the now empty cup in the mage’s hands, continuing. “Would you like some more tea? Or perhaps,” she gently patted her thighs with one hand, “you’d like to rest, instead? You’ve certainly earned it, you’ve worked very hard today, my dear.” Rain felt her face become more red— something she hadn’t thought possible— and stared at the enticing soft flesh of the daemon’s thighs. Her white stockings provided a striking contrast against her ash-grey skin, indenting slightly at the middle of her thighs. They seemed as pillows from a dream to the young mage. “Rest…?” “Yes, my dear. You really should lay down— you’ve spent quite a lot of your energy, today. I haven’t any pillows this far from the cottage, but,” she once again patted her thighs, as though an invitation to lay against them, “if you’re alright with it, I think you’ll find my lap a rather satisfactory substitute.” “Is it really… alright?” “Of course it is, my dear. Now come, lay.” Rain nodded, setting aside her teacup and scooting herself closer to Pan. She swallowed, wiping the sweat from her forehead, and slowly lowered herself until her head was resting against the soft pillows offered to her. She was surprised at first, at the cool sensation of the daemon’s skin. Surprise quickly turned to satisfaction as the coolness spread to her own skin, a welcome change from the exhausting heat of magecraft. “Now that’s a good girl,” the daemon said, gently resting her hand atop the mage’s head, lacing her fingers into her hair. “Enjoy your rest, my dear.” Rain rubbed her head against the soft flesh below it, some attempt at a nod. She was suddenly overcome with a wave of exhaustion— no doubt her hours of training finally catching up to her— and found herself quickly nearing the edge of sleep. As she did, she found herself thinking about the odd situation she had fallen into. It had been a couple of months since she had met Pan— since Pan had saved her life, really. They had grown quite close in that time, spending every day together. Of course, they argued occasionally, but that was par for the course with any friendship. But, before Pan, she had never experienced such warmth— such… love? A pleased smile spread slowly across her lips, and she closed her eyes, drifting into sleep in the comfortable embrace of a daemon.

——

The morning started like any other in recent memory. The two sat at the table in the cottage, sipping tea and laughing, eating pastries for breakfast. Pan was just as soft, just as gentle as any other day. Rain was just as happy to spend every minute of the day with her as any other. Why, then, was there so much fire? So much ash? Who was that, screaming in the background, barely audible over the crackling flames?

—

Pan took a long sip from her teacup, finishing it off, before setting it down. “They’re here,” she said. Rain raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Who’s here?” “Your friends,” she said, her eyes closed. “You’ve been waiting for them, and they’ve finally arrived.” Her voice sounded different. It quivered. Rain understood why. “Oh,” she said. Her voice quivered, too. She should be happy, of course. Her friends were here, and she could return to her life on the surface. Her life of struggle, where nobody appreciated her. Where nobody loved her. It was natural, of course, that this day would be one of sorrow, then. “You should go to them,” Pan said, her eyes still closed. “They’ll get here eventually. I’m in no rush to leave you, Pan.” Pan opened her eyes, and Rain understood why she had kept them shut for so long. They glistened in the light, tears welling just below the surface. She extended her hand, placing it on top of the daemon’s. “It’ll be okay, Pan.” She said nothing in return. The warm, gentle, teasing Pan had been replaced with a solemn, fearful girl who was scared to be alone again. Rain squeezed her hand. “I’m not going anywhere, Pan.”

—

The two waited together, sitting on a blanket in the meadow just outside the cottage. They exchanged no words, each simply enjoying the silent company of the other. The whole time, they clutched each other’s hand tightly, as though their lives depended on it. Eventually, a group of three people crested the hill nearby. They were familiar to Rain— her friends. They ran down the hill towards her, stopping abruptly around thirty feet away, and brandishing their weapons. “Get away from it, Esterainne!” The man wielding a heavy-looking two-handed sword spoke first, shouting threateningly at them. It was Derrick, the man who fancied himself the ‘leader’ of their party. “My lady, that’s a daemon!” Next was the knight, full plate armor gleaming in the false sunlight. Ser Astur, a knight who was sworn in service to her family. Her babysitter. And finally, a woman with a bow. She said nothing, only knocking her arrow and drawing the string. She was a ranger, a monster hunter from the wilds— Lieze. The two stood, hands still intertwined, and Rain spoke. “Her name is Pan,” she said, narrowing her eyebrows in annoyance. “She took care of me when I fell, keeping me safe in the labyrinth while I waited for you.” Pan nodded. “It’s a monster! I don’t care if it has a name,” Derrick shouted. “Now come over here, so we can kill it!” Rain’s grip tightened, her nails indenting the soft flesh around the scales on Pan’s hand. “You will do no such thing! She saved my life, Derrick!” “My lady,” Astur said, lowering his shield slightly, “even still, you must recognize that she is a monster…” “A monster? You think she’s a—“ Rain was interrupted by a sudden impact beside her, the tight grip of Pan’s hand becoming even tighter, her claws digging into her hand, drawing blood. She looked to her side, at her new companion. A thick black sludge oozed out of her chest where an arrow penetrated her skin. She stared unflinchingly at her assailants, still motionless. Rain stared at her for a moment before slowly turning her head back to her friends— former friends. Where before she awaited their arrival with bated breath, the only thing she now felt for her former traveling companions was wrath. Her next actions were barely even conscious. A glowing geometric pattern spread out from under her, a massive magic circle, the likes of which she had never cast before— at least, not in front of her former friends. The three barely had time to react before she finished her incantation, thunder booming overhead. The last thing she remembered was lightning, fire, and screaming.

—

She opened her eyes moments later. Flame had engulfed the meadow, the loud crackling drowning out the agonizing screams in the background. She looked down at her hand, once more in the gentle embrace of Pan’s slender fingers, though the marks of her claws persisted. She turned her gaze up, looking her companion in the eyes— she was crying. She stepped in front of her, leaning up on the tips of her toes, and brushed her free hand against the daemon’s scaled cheek, wiping away the tears. “Why are you crying, Pan?” “You killed all your friends, Rain! And it’s my fault…” “No, Pan,” she said, shaking her head, “it’s not your fault. They were the monsters, here. Not you.” Gently, she placed her full hand against Pan’s cheek, cupping it and looking into her eyes. “I told you,” she started, leaning forward and placing a single, quick kiss against the daemon’s soft lips. “I’m not going anywhere, Pan.”

#fifth archive #author:ame

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imagineaworld · 3 years

Text

jealous | b.b

pairing : bucky barnes x reader, steve rogers x reader (platonic)

summary : bucky gets jealous of steve

word count : 1.5k

warnings : angst n fluff

Bucky watched from across the gym as Steve was training Y/N. He watched the way Steve put his hands on her body, guiding her movements. He watched the way they laughed together, each laugh felt like it was directed at him.

Not able to bear the sight of them together any longer, he abruptly got up and made a swift exit from the gym.

Bucky hated feeling this way. But he and Y/N were close, and perhaps his feelings had gone beyond just friendly. Clearly, though, Y/N and Steve liked each other. Bucky thought he was no competition for Captain America, as much as it pained him to see Y/N with Steve, at least she seemed happy.

After a shower and a change of clothes, Bucky was feeling better and headed to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Y/N was sat at the island, munching on some toast as she scrolled through her phone.

“Hiya, Buck,” she beamed, happy to see him.

“Hey, doll,” he said back, glad to have some time alone with her.

He poured himself a cup of hot coffee, offering to pour Y/N one.

“Ooh, yes please.”

He poured her a cup, using her favourite mug with a photo of a boyband along the side. He slid the cup across the island to her before taking a seat next to her.

“Oh, the One Direction mug!” She laughed. “You’re the best, thank you.”

His heart fluttered as her soft laugh rang through him.

For a while, he had thought about telling her about his feelings. But he worried that she wouldn’t feel the same and that he would ruin their friendship by making things awkward. He was reminded of the main reason he wouldn’t tell Y/N about his feelings when Steve walked into the kitchen.

“Hey, Bucky, Y/N,” Steve greeted. “Great session today Y/N.”

“Yeah,” she smiled. “I’m getting better, no?”

Steve laughed. “You’re doing great.”

Bucky’s mood had changed. He shot glares at the back of Steve’s head as he poured a glass of orange juice. Please leave, don’t sit down, Bucky willed.

Y/N nudged Bucky with her arm. He stopped shooting daggers at Steve’s head, looking down at the phone screen Y/N had tilted towards him. On the screen was a picture of a cat, all black apart from its left arm, which was white.

“It’s you as a cat,” Y/N grinned.

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh, forgetting all about Steve’s presence across from them.

“Let’s see,” Steve piped up. Y/N held her phone up to show him. “It looks just like you, Buck,” he laughed.

Suddenly the cat wasn’t funny anymore. Bucky drained his coffee and got up. Dumping his mug in the sink, he stalked out of the kitchen. His and Y/N’s inside joke had been imposed on by Steve, again. He did it before when Y/N had tried to play Bucky a song by that boyband she likes, and Steve had come in and started talking over the song about how he knew the words.

Bucky just wanted to punch something (well, someone, but that would get him in trouble). He wasn’t entirely sure why he was so angry. Perhaps he was angry that Steve had interrupted them. Or maybe he was angry that Y/N was close with Steve. Deep down, he was angry at himself for thinking anyone would choose him over Steve.

Things only got worse. In an attempt to cast out his jealous feelings, he distanced himself from Y/N and Steve. The only problem was, the more he pushed Y/N away, the closer he pushed her to Steve.

"Hey, you," Y/N sauntered into the lounge one afternoon, where Bucky was sat reading. "Wanna go for a walk?"

The sun beamed down outside, hot and bright. Even the open windows Bucky sat beside couldn't cool him down. A walk sounded perfect, but he couldn't bear to be around her for that long.

Instead, he waved his book in the air, not even looking up at her. "Wanna finish this today, sorry."

"That's alright, I'll ask Steve then," Y/N said, seeming a little disappointed. "When you finish it, I can lend you one of my favourites, if you're interested."

"Maybe," Bucky said through gritted teeth. Of course, she would ask Steve. And of course, Bucky was interested in her favourite book, but he couldn't put himself through that.

He finally looked up to see Y/N heading off to find Steve, desperately wishing he'd said yes but too stubborn to change his mind.

That evening, Bucky avoided everyone at dinner, opting to stay in his room in peace. A knock on his door disturbed that peace, but he answered the door nonetheless.

"Hey, Buck," Steve said, hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Can we talk?"

Bucky shrugged, stepping aside to let Steve in, who sat down on the bed. Bucky sat beside him. "What's up?"

"That's what I was gonna ask you," Steve said. "You've been acting...different. And not just with me, Y/N mentioned you've been different to her too."

His attempts to distance himself truly had driven Y/N closer to Steve. If she was confiding in him, talking to him about her problems instead of Bucky... He really had dug his own grave.

"Didn't know you and Y/N were so close," Bucky said impassively.

"We're friends, Buck. And you're my best friend. She just wanted to know if she'd done anything to upset you."

Bucky shook his head. "Nope."

"What about me?" Steve asked.

"Not a thing."

Steve sighed, as though he could tell Bucky was lying. "Okay, buddy, I'll leave you be. Just... talk to Y/N, alright? She thinks you're upset with her."

Bucky took a deep breath as he knocked on Y/N's door.

Her eyes lit up when she answered the door to Bucky. "Hey," she smiled.

"I finished my book, and thought I'd take you up on your offer," he said.

Y/N raised her eyebrows. "You didn't seem keen earlier. It's fine, I won't be offended if you're not interested."

"I am," Bucky blurted. "Very interested."

"Come in," Y/N stepped aside, closing the door behind Bucky.

Her room was tidy, scattered with house plants and photos. On her little coffee table by her sofa, next to a pile of books that obviously couldn't fit on her full shelves, was a picture frame. Bucky picked it up, observing the photo of him and Y/N, smiling at the camera on the beach. It had been taken a few months ago when everyone went on a day trip.

"I didn't know you had this," Bucky said, smiling to himself as Y/N searched her bookshelves for the novel.

"Oh," she said. "Yeah, I really like that picture. Never seen you so happy."

It was true that Bucky had never been as happy and carefree as he was that day at the beach. He and Y/N had played frisbee and built sandcastles. Y/N had even convinced him to go in the sea, though he only went to his waist. Y/N however had gone all the way, swimming under waves and splashing Bucky when he wouldn't go any further.

Bucky put the picture down as Y/N handed him a book he had heard of before, but never read.

"It's one of my favourites, plus it's not too long so," Y/N said. "I'm sorry if I upset you, by the way."

Bucky shook his head. "You didn't, I've just... not been doing well lately."

"I get it, I just wanted to apologise in case. I'm always here for you, you know? If you wanna talk."

Hearing Y/N say that made Bucky feel exhilarated. It also made him realise, no matter how hard to tries to repress his feelings for her, they wouldn't go away.

"Thank you," Bucky said softly. "I'm here for you too."

Y/N looked deep in thought for a moment, as if debating saying something. "These past few weeks made me realise how much I enjoy spending time with you. And thinking I had upset you made me feel... horrible. You really mean a lot to me."

Without thinking too much, Bucky pulled Y/N into his arms, wrapping them around her body. She wrapped hers around his neck, pushing up onto her toes so she could reach. The scent of her shampoo filled his nose as he took a deep breath.

"It's my fault," Bucky said, still hugging Y/N. "I pushed you away because I'm jealous and I don't think I'm good enough."

"Good enough for what?" She asked gently.

"You."

Y/N pulled away, holding Bucky's shoulders as his hands rested on her waist. "Are you kidding?" She demanded. "Don't ever say that. Why would you even think that?"

"I'm not Steve," Bucky said, eyes cast downward, unable to look her in the eye.

"You're jealous of Steve? I don't want Steve," she said. "I want you, Bucky. Just the way you are. All the good and all the bad. That's what it means to love someone: knowing they aren't perfect, but loving them anyway."

"You want me?" He asked, bewildered.

Y/N nodded. She pushed up on her toes again, this time to connect their lips. She kissed softly and gently, and Bucky couldn't help but smile as she pulled away.

"Now, go read my book," Y/N laughed.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky imagine #bucky barnes au #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #the winter solider imagine #the winter solider x reader #Steve Rogers #steve rogers imagine

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

Text

Kilgharrah: “Kill that child, Merlin.”

Merlin (like a normal person): “No?? What the fuck???”

And with that, everything changed.

Part 2 Part 3(final part)

“You must let the boy die.”

Kilgharrah’s voice echoed incessantly through Merlin’s head for days after the Druid boy’s appearance, and subsequent disappearance.

Merlin had, of course, ignored the scaly old bastard, and hadn’t once questioned if he’d done the right thing by hiding Mordred away in his tiny bedroom.

If the boy truly had such a terrible destiny, then the best thing for Merlin to do was to keep him close, if not to steer him away from his fate, then to at least be able to see it coming if it was indeed inevitable.

Currently, Morgana was the only one aware that Mordred was still here (other than Gaius of course, who was somehow disapproving and proud at the same time). As far as everyone else was concerned, Arthur and Uther included, the boy was never found, and must have slipped out of the city somehow (going by the extra patrols in the woods, as opposed to the castle and town).

The Warlock was nervous about anyone knowing at first, but when Morgana had tearfully thanked him for saving Mordred, and proceeded to sneak in spare blankets, food, and money for clothes, Merlin was glad for the co-conspirator.

The boy was currently curled up in the corner of Merlin’s room, a pile of blankets and pillows organised like a bird’s nest around him, wearing a soft shirt and sleeping the night away.

Merlin watched him from his bed, realising with growing horror just how protective of Mordred he had already become. He was so young. How could Merlin even consider punishing a child for some stupid destiny he didn’t even know about?

He had to think of a solution quickly. He couldn’t risk sending him away, not even to the Druids, they were as much slaves to the so-called prophecies as Kilgharrah was, and Merlin had once been (”Gods. Sounds like I’ve been dealing with destiny for years. It’s been like six months. I’m too young for this shit.”). But equally... what could he do with him??

Thankfully, no one had really gotten a good look at the boy, so hopefully with a change of clothes and a haircut, he wouldn’t be recognised, at least not if Merlin came up with a convincing enough story.

To be honest... the cover story worried him far more than the prospect of someone recognising him. Uther hadn’t recognised Nimueh, the woman who had been his court sorceress for years... the man was apparently not very observant.

In the end, it was a throwaway comment by Morgana a few days later, about a week after the Druid boy had “escaped” that gave Merlin a very stupid idea. So stupid, that it might just work.

Morgana had once again snuck away from the main castle to sit with Merlin and Mordred in the servant’s room.

Gaius had said nothing as she’d entered the Physician’s chambers, enough food for four hidden away in the picnic basket she carried, just raised his eyebrow slightly, and thanked The Lady for the food offering that was definitely-not-a-bribe.

She gave him a quick wink, and the old physician rolled his eyes fondly as he set an overturned bucket in front of the door; if anyone came in, they would come in loudly.

Mordred was happy to see her, and Merlin hid a fond smile at the boy’s quiet giggles. He still didn’t speak much, so it was a relief to see him finding joy in something, even if it was clandestine visits from Uther’s ward.

She ruffled his hair slightly, resisting the urge to pull the touch averse boy into a tight hug, and set the basket on the bed. Merlin sat against the pillows, and Morgana sat down opposite him, the basket in between them as Mordred clambered up to sit just in front of Merlin.

Morgana and Merlin talked quietly as they ate, Mordred staying silent as the adults (or...as adult as they could get. Like Merlin kept thinking to himself, he was too young for this shit at sixteen, and Morgana was only two years older than him) avoided the elephant in the room.

The elephant being that they couldn’t keep this up forever. Arthur had a habit of bursting in whenever he so pleased, and it was a miracle he hadn’t done so already. Plus, it would be cruel to expect Mordred to stay cooped up in here for much longer. He was a child, he deserved to play outside and explore and do all the other things he couldn’t do in Merlin’s bedroom.

Once they finished eating, Mordred moved to his makeshift bed in the corner, tightly clutching a book that Morgana had bought him, and furrowing his brows in concentration as he read.

Morgana stared at him with a soft smile, and Merlin sighed, once again worrying about his new ward’s future.

Morgana tilts her head, as if a sudden thought had occurred to her, and looks slowly between Merlin and Mordred as the servant raises a questioning eyebrow at her.

“You know Merlin, the two of you look remarkably similar.”

Mordred is engrossed in his book, and doesn’t react at all to Morgana’s quiet comment, but Merlin’s eyebrow goes even higher as he huffs out a laugh:

“You think? I don’t see it.”

Morgana looks at him with a deadpan expression:

“Merlin, you don’t have a mirror in here. I’m fairly certain you have no concept of what you look like.-”

Merlin looks indignantly offended for all of two seconds before he sighs and nods, she’s right to be fair. He’s tall-ish, with pale skin, and he thinks he has brown hair. That’s about all he knows.

Morgana chuckles as she once again looks at Mordred:

“You both have very dark hair, bright blue eyes, pale skin. You know...-”

She looks back at him with a thoughtful frown on her face:

“-if someone told me you were brothers... I’d believe it.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow:

“Really?”

She nods decisively:

“Yeah. I mean, the more I think about it, the more I look between you, yes. You could definitely be related.”

Merlin nods his head slowly, thinking. He takes in a deep breath and tilts his head slightly:

“It could work. I haven’t really talked to anyone about my family so... we could say that... he came to live with me? Because life here is... good?”

Morgana snorts slightly, rolling her eyes before looking back at him seriously:

“You’d have to be more convincing than that. You could say that the harvest was poor in your village? That Mordred was better off coming to stay with his big brother in the big city?”

Merlin nods at her words, grimacing slightly as he mutters:

“If we’re running with the whole... brother thing, I need to write a letter to my mum, just in case. Gods she’s going to laugh so much.”

Morgana laughs at him quietly, but the noise finally catches Mordred’s attention and he looks up in confusion. Merlin moves the basket to the floor, and gestures to the boy to come over.

He walks over wordlessly, climbing up to kneel between them, biting his lip nervously.

“Is it time for me to leave, Emrys?” echoes through Merlin’s head, and he gives the boy a comforting smile, shaking his head slightly, before saying out loud:

“You’re staying with me, Mordred-”

The boy smiles slightly as he stares at Merlin in reverence, and Morgana quickly hides her questioning gaze. She could see that there was more between them than simple protectiveness over a child, and thankfulness for being saved, but she kept her thoughts to herself as Merlin continued:

“-but we can’t keep you hidden in here forever, so we’re going to tell people that you’re my younger brother, come to live with me. Is that alright?”

Mordred nods his head vigorously, and Merlin chuckles slightly as the boy’s grin grew:

“Ok. We’ll get you a haircut and tell Gaius the plan. Probably wait a few more days for things to settle down further, and then see how it goes, ok?”

Mordred nods once more, smile not leaving his face. Morgana bites her lip to stop herself from laughing at Merlin’s shocked face when the boy threw himself into the servant’s arms for a tight hug.

Merlin spends the next few days teaching Mordred all about Ealdor and his mother and Will, so that the boy could have at least a little knowledge on what was supposedly his home and family.

The next time Morgana came to visit, she brought a comb and a sharp pair of scissors, as well as a few more changes of clothes that looked less... Druid. By the time she left that evening, Mordred had much shorter hair, and a wide grin on his face at the prospect of finally being able to go outside (he was Druid after all, he needed trees and fresh air).

The letter had been sent home, and Merlin was expecting a reply any day now. The only thing left to worry about was how to hide Mordred’s Druid marking. It would be easy to cover with clothes, but Uther’s increasing paranoia meant that it would be best if they could find a more permanent solution.

Gaius suggested some sort of glamour spell fairly quickly, but Merlin was unwilling to cast one on the boy until he’d mastered it.

And THAT meant showing up to serve Arthur with ink all over his hands that he had tried and failed to cover.

Merlin had also realised with dawning horror, that he would have to tell Morgana the truth. She knew about the marking, and she was smart, there was no way that hiding it wasn’t something that had occurred to her. She would bring it up eventually, and how could Merlin explain without having to... explain??

Morgana was already risking her favour with the King, and frankly, her life, by protecting a Druid... she would do the same for Merlin, right? But Mordred hadn’t actually done any magic... BUT she’d always spoken against executions... BUT Merlin had lied and hidden it from her, his friend...

Hmm...

In the end, he’d decided he would just have to suck it up, and tell her. Fuck whatever that dragon said. After Kilgharrah’s last round of... advice, Merlin had been ignoring his calls. If there was an emergency, the cryptic bastard would tell him, and until then he could just sulk in that cave on his own.

That two weeks was also enough for Uther to become convinced that the mysterious Druid boy really was long gone, and to just forget about it. He was pissed of course, but talking about it and extending the search just highlighted that a child, barely eleven summers, had managed to evade all of his forces and that... did not cast him in a good light.

It took Merlin about two weeks to fully master the spell, which was longer than the three of them were hoping, but he was adamant that he perfect it before he cast it on Mordred, and Gaius was incredibly impressed at his ward’s determination.

Morgana was of course confused about why they kept pushing it back, she thought they were only going to wait a few days before they started introducing Mordred, but she trusted Merlin and saw no harm in waiting a little longer.

When Morgana arrived that evening, she could tell that Merlin was... anxious. They’d agreed on a specific day to make introductions but it wasn’t until the end of this week, it didn’t make any sense for Merlin to suddenly be nervous about it.

Mordred wasn’t quite as good at hiding his emotions, and didn’t even giggle like he normally did when Morgana came over, just stared at his “brother” anxiously.

Morgana rolled her eyes and huffed as she shut the door:

“Alright, Merlin. What is it? Spit it out.”

Merlin opened his mouth, about to come out with an excuse, before he snapped it shut again and took a deep breath.

It worried him, how easy, how automatic it was for him to lie, but that was a worry for another time.

Mordred reached up and took his hand, squeezing it, and Merlin looked down at him with a weak smile before sitting on the bed and gesturing that Morgana join him.

She looked at him worriedly, but settles where he gestures, and doesn’t acknowledge the way Mordred sits defensively between them.

The boy looks back at Merlin:

“Are you sure, Emrys?”

Merlin gives him another smile, and squeezes his shoulder slightly as he raises an eyebrow:

“I’m sure. And you need to get used to calling me Merlin at some point.”

Mordred pouts slightly, and Merlin ruffles his hair as he laughs, before looking back up at Morgana’s questioning stare.

He takes another deep breath, before slowly speaking:

“I... we’ve found a way to properly hide Mordred’s marking.”

Morgana looks taken aback, but relieved:

“Oh. Is that all? That’s good isn’t it? I have to admit, it was worrying me.”

Merlin gulps:

“Yeah it... it is good... it’s just, it involves... magic.”

Morgana raises her eyebrow, and nods slowly, as if it were obvious:

“I figured it would be. It’s not like it would be easy or reliable to cover it with make-up every morning, or hide it with clothes.-”

It’s Merlin’s turn to look taken aback now, and Mordred fixes her with an unreadable expression. Morgana continues:

“-The problem, lies in finding someone willing to do whatever spell it is. Someone we could trust wouldn’t share the secret, no matter what.”

Merlin grimaces slightly, more gulping, and taking yet another deep breath:

“We already have someone. Me.”

Morgana gasps slightly, and she’s vaguely aware of the brothers in front of her tensing up, but all she can focus on is the gold of Merlin’s irises.

The gold fades, and Merlin clears his throat, breaking her out of her stupor. She reaches over and punches Merlin harshly on the arm before getting up and beginning to pace, speechless.

Merlin and Mordred panic at first, but when she makes no moves towards the door in her pacing, they relax. That only lasts for a moment or two however, before she looks back to Merlin, furious:

“Are you thick Merlin? Why on earth would you learn magic in Camelot of all places?? Do you have a death wish!?”

Merlin laughs slightly, cheeks turning pink as he rubs the back of his neck:

“Actually uh... I was born with magic; I’ve always had it. My mother sent me here because she thought I would learn to control it better.”

Morgana looks incredulous as she continues to rant:

“What? With the fear of execution hanging over your head?! That’s not control, that’s terror.”

Merlin shrugs:

“It works though. My magic is mostly instinctual, the threat of torture by pyre sure as hell stops me from losing control when I’m angry or scared or whatever...”

Morgana huffs, crossing her arms and fixing him with a glare. Both Merlin and Mordred cower slightly as they are reminded of angry and disproving mothers; as if they were about to be scolded for getting their clothes dirty, or ruining their dinner with too many snacks.

She just stares at him for a minute, before she sags slightly, and begins chuckling at the boys’ fearful faces:

“You are ridiculous. But it’s far too late to persuade you to leave now. Does Arthur know?”

Merlin’s face morphs into a mournful frown, as he looks to the floor and mumbles:

“No. I wish I could tell him but... with Uther...”

Morgana sighs, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder:

“Uther won’t be here forever. We’ll just have to keep Arthur from turning into too much of a prat before he becomes King.-”

Merlin laughs at that, and looks up to give the woman a grateful smile. She returns his smile before continuing:

“-So, you can do the spell?”

Merlin winces slightly and gestures for Mordred to pull the collar of his shirt down, to reveal a blank patch of skin:

“I’ve actually already done it. It’ll stay there permanently until I take it off. Though we should keep checking, just in case.”

Morgana looks surprised, and smiles:

“What’s the problem then?-”

She rolls her eyes when Merlin looks at her incredulously:

“-Oh, come on Merlin. I’m not going to turn you in, you’re safe with me. You both are, and you always will be.”

The servant jumps up to give her a tight hug, which she quickly returns as Mordred nervously joins in. Morgana smiles to herself, and squeezes her boys tighter.

She may love Uther and Arthur, and she knew they loved her back, in their own way, but this? This was family.

The time finally came for Merlin to introduce his baby brother. Hunith had supposedly dropped him off late last night and left immediately, having to get back home quickly.

Morgana had gone to gather Gwen and Arthur whilst Merlin and Mordred waited in their room (it was definitely their room now, instead of just Merlin’s).

It was early in the morning, and to say that Arthur was grumpy at being woken by Morgana instead of Merlin, was an understatement.

But he eventually caved, and dressed himself as he grumbled, allowing Morgana to drag him to meet Gwen (who was equally confused) before the three of them made their way to the Physician’s chambers.

Gaius was suspiciously absent, and Morgana knocked on Merlin’s door, before slowly opening it and walking in, Arthur and Gwen following her quickly.

Gwen was surprised at the sight of Merlin stood behind a child, hands protectively on his shoulders, but smiled and gave Mordred a soft wave in greeting.

Arthur however, froze, and stared at the boy with a shocked expression.

Morgana moved to stand next to Mordred, and took one of his hands as Merlin began to speak:

“Gwen, Arthur, I want you to meet my baby brother, Mordred. He’s come to live with me.”

Gwen waved again, and bent over to Mordred’s height:

“Hi Mordred, I’m Guinevere, but all my friends call me Gwen. I didn’t know that Merlin had a brother, but it’s lovely to meet you.”

Mordred gave her a small smile, and Merlin suppressed a chuckle as-

“I like her, Em- Merlin.”

-echoed through his head.

Arthur’s gaze moved away from Mordred finally, up to Merlin.

Merlin stared back at him blankly, but Arthur saw the way his jaw clenched as he moved a protective hand down, to pull Mordred closer to him.

The Prince let out a deep sigh, growling slightly as Gwen looked at him in confusion, and Morgana and Merlin stared at him challengingly.

He shook his head as his shoulders sagged, and he rubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands before looking back to Mordred with a strained smile:

“It’s nice to meet you, Mordred. My name’s Arthur.”

With that, Morgana smirks slightly, and Merlin relaxes. Gwen just rolls her eyes:

“Sorry about him Mordred, he doesn’t spend much time around people your age.”

Mordred gives her another smile, and Merlin glances to Gwen, before looking down at Mordred:

“Why don’t you go with Morgana and Gwen to see the city a little? Me and Arthur need to talk, I’ll catch up with you later, ok?”

Mordred turns around quickly, and grabs Merlin’s hand tightly:

“You promise??”

Gwen holds in an “awww” and Morgana hides her smile. Mordred rarely talks aloud (she’d been told of the mental link), but she’s glad to see he was feeling at least a little more comfortable.

Merlin crouches down, and pulls the boy into a tight hug, stroking his hair slightly as he stares straight at Arthur:

“I promise. I’ll never leave you for long Mordred.”

Arthur gulps at Merlin’s hard stare, but gives him an almost imperceptible nod, which Merlin returns as he stands up. Mordred gives him one more look as he takes one of Morgana’s hands, and one of Gwen’s, and follows them out of the room.

Morgana shuts the door quietly, and Arthur sighs again before looking at Merlin:

“What are you thinking Merlin?? You just thought I wouldn’t notice?”

Merlin crosses his arms, his glare still hard:

“No, I knew you would notice, I just had faith that you’re a better man than your father.”

Arthur is still deep in his “my father can do no wrong” faze, and takes great offense at that, taking a threatening step forward and growling:

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Merlin just huffs and raises an eyebrow slightly:

“I had assumed that you were not the type of man to have a child executed, just for existing.-”

Merlin copies Arthur’s step forward, raising his chin and continuing, his voice low and dangerous:

“-Did I assume correctly? Because there is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect that kid, Arthur. Nothing.”

Arthur stares at him incredulously, only managing to hold Merlin’s surprisingly confident stare for a few moments, before nodding and stepping back:

“Of course. He’s a child, Merlin, I won’t see him hurt, if I can help it.”

Merlin nods slowly, not looking away from Arthur as he softly says:

“I’ll hold you to that.-”

He walks around The Prince, opening the door and stepping halfway through before looking over his shoulder, and quietly saying to a confused Arthur:

“-If you truly believed that all magic is evil, and always corrupted, no matter what, then you wouldn’t care that he’s a child; you’d want him dead anyway. So perhaps think about your... prejudices, a little more deeply, maybe you’ll discover you are different to Uther in other ways as well.”

Before Arthur can even really process what Merlin said, the servant is shutting the door behind him, and rushing off to find his new brother.

OK SO!!!

I really LOVED writing this, there will definitely be more parts, I just figured I should end it here before I got carried away

This series is finished!! (Links at the top <3 )

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whaleofatjme1920 · 3 years

Text

In a Mirror Image (Eyeless Jack X F!Reader)

🌸 In a Mirror Image

[Eyeless Jack X F!Reader]

[Warnings: blood, language, cheating (both physical but it's not like, in your face, and emotional)]

Part 1

The flowers that grow like weeds in your lungs bloom thicker and thicker every day. Your vision clouds with blue more often than not, and you can’t think about anything but the blossoms and blood that paint the bathroom with a hue you’re already much too used to. It’s a painful existence, and it’s getting worse. One of the most wretched parts? You’re deteriorating so fast that your vision no longer services you. You are blind, unrendered to see. You still choose to live in a delusion, and you are amongst the only who choose not to acknowledge it.

By now, everyone knows but only one other than you refuses to acknowledge it.

You hear Hoodie arguing with Jack more often than not. It seems the blond haired proxy is angry over what Jack has done to you and because he knows what Hanahaki does to those it takes root in.

“You’ll fucking kill her,” Hoodie seethes as he gets in Jack’s face for the fourth time this weekend. “Look at her-”

“I am!” Jack shot back, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. “Who are you to come in here and speculate on something that you’re not a part of?” He growls. Normally, Jack likes talking to Hoodie, but not when Hoodie’s on a mission to prove Jack a sinner.

“I wasn’t even aware you still had one,” Hoodie retorts through grit teeth. “I can’t believe you. Look at the flowers Ja-” and before he can continue tearing into Jack, he hears your bedroom door open.

While you still share the room with Jack, neither of you are in it at the same time. You’ve taken residence up on the living room couch with Kate and Jack more often than not stays with Leia. The room you share is usually empty, much like your heart.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Hoodie suddenly greets you as you tiredly walk into the kitchen where the two men had previously been in a standoff. “Did you sleep okay?” He asks, voice so much softer and gentler with you than what he had just been using.

You shake your head as you take a seat at the table. “I can’t sleep,” you say.

Hoodie’s brows furrow in sympathy before they knit in frustration when Jack sits next to you. He watches as Jack snakes his arm around you before he presses an empty kiss to the side of your head.

“No?” Jack says in a sickly saccharine tone. “I’ll see what I can do about that. Does that sound good to you?”

You nod slightly, the ghost of a smile on your lips. “That sounds good,” you murmur back.

“Anything for you,” he hums as he pulls you in closer to his side.

“You disgust me,” Hoodie hisses to Jack as he gets up and pushes in his chair roughly, making the table bounce. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Jack for a second as he leaves, roughly slamming the front door behind him.

“What was that about?” You ask, feigning innocence. You refuse to open your eyes to the situation you are in.

“He’s having a bad day,” Jack answers. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” he hums as he presses another kiss to the side of your head.

The butterflies in your stomach are dead, but the flowers blood evermore.

“You’re still sleeping out here?” Kate hums as she takes a seat next to you on the couch. She looks exhausted and she’s covered in blood. Her mask is cracked too.

“I guess,” you yawn as you shift slightly from your not so comfortable position. “How has your day been?” You ask as you reach for a glass of water only to see it’s not there.

“Let me,” Kate says as she gets up once more. She knows you’re getting worse. After getting you a bottle of water from the fridge, she comes back to your side. “I’ve had a busy day. Met with an independent named Nyein. They remind me of a big cat,” she finally answers as she opens the water bottle for you.

You take it and begin to slowly sip from it - it stops the flowers from blooming ever so slightly. Your airway opens just a little bit. “Do they now?”

Kate nods as she flips mindlessly through the channels. “They said they’re falling in love with a human. Bad business,” Kate winces, her dark eyes watching you carefully. “I hope they don’t…”

“It’s bad business,” you suddenly say as you feel petals fill your mouth. You cough slightly and the small little forget-me-nots fall into your lap, thankfully free of blood this time. You take one of the flowers into your fingertips and observe it gently. “I hope they’re okay.”

Kate puts her hand on your thigh, lightly squeezing before finally settling on the early evening news. “You wanna burn these blue fuckers?” She asks as the flowers in your lap remain stagnant save for the buds that unfurl at an alarmingly fast pace.

You feel the corners of your lips curl into a smile. “Yes.”

Morbid, your flowers have been springing up everywhere. They’ve infested the temporary house. So, you and Kate went around the place, plucking every single one before starting a bonfire in the backyard.

Toby, who considers himself a bit of a pyromaniac, was immediately summoned by the fire the two of you had cast in the backyard. He’d been out on a grocery run, and honestly, he had wanted to get out of the house.

The dynamics of the house had become uncomfortable to him. What with Leia and Jack sneaking off together and you coughing up a full greenhouse, he has been stressed. Toby can’t stand Jack and Hoodie arguing all the time as it reminds him of the life he tried to escape, and Masky can offer so much but ever since he renounced his love for Jay by force… It’s been hard. Toby knows it’s been hard for everyone involved.

He crosses through the house, sneers at Leia’s room, and then exits through the back to the scent of fire. He sees Kate’s arm around you as the fire blazes slightly blue.

“W-What are you g-gals up to?” He asks, coming to your other side so you remain in the middle.

“Burning stuff,” Kate nonchalantly replies. “You care to chuck anything in?”

Toby glances at you as you struggle to keep air in your lungs. “If I d-d-did, I’d be u-under c-charge for killing a-a-another under the O-Operator’s care,” he muses. He’s referring to Jack, of course. He takes in the scent of burning plant matter and blood and frowns when he remembers it’s yours. His hand reaches yours and squeezes gently.

You squeeze back.

Your experiences with Leia are lukewarm at best, and cold at worst. She’s something, she really is something. There’s moments when no one is in the temp house with you except for her alongside you, and those moments are tense, sharp, like a knife and burn colder than the depths of the sea.

The most memorable conversation you’ve ever had was the one that triggered a domino effect that would lead to a black hole in your chest.

“You’re still up?” Leia’s honeyed voice questions softly as she takes a seat across from you on the back porch at the glass table.

You find it more stifling inside so you choose to spend your time out. The weather is warm, afterall. The sun shines and fluffy clouds the size of whales swim overhead. You have a glass of pink lemonade made from a pouch Hoodie and Kate had picked up earlier. You find that the tang is enough to keep the flowers down.

“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?” You say in passing before you sip from the glass. You enjoy watching the rabbits in the backyard. They hop around without a care in the world.

She begins to thread her fingers through her long silver hair, braiding it. “I just think you should be resting,” she says. “You look so tired these days-”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Touched a nerve,” she sighs. “You know you’re getting worse, right?”

You shoot her a glare, but you know she’s right. You’ve actually been holding out surprisingly longer than most people with Hanahaki Disease. Most people succumb to it within a few weeks of coughing, but you’ve managed to hold out for damn near an entire year. That’s almost unheard of. You’ve been hacking up flowers, their stems, roots and blood ever since Leia came into your life.

Everyone tells you that you’re getting worse, but you should have been dead months ago.

“Stop it,” you growl.

“You’re killing yourself,” she continues. “You could just… Let it all go, y’know?” She hums as she continues to fishtail her silver strands. “Renounce your feelings for him and save yourself.”

You grip your glass and set it back down roughly on the table. “That is literally none of your concern,” you repeat, eyes narrowing at the blue eyed beauty across from you. “Acting like you care-”

“I do, though,” she cuts you off. “I know that the Slender Man has big plans for you, but with you wasting away like this… You’ll never live long enough to see them through.” She flashes you a look of concern, but you can tell it’s fake. It shines like pyrite.

“What, so you can take my place just like that?” You bite back. “You can’t even wait until I’m fucking dead?”

Leia giggles and you hate to admit that it sounds pretty. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Daddy always did say I got what I wanted.” Her eyes drift off and you’re able to see she’s no longer thinking about you, but someone who once loved her. She finishes the braid. “Happy six years to you and Jack. Give him all my regards, won’t you?” She stands up, eyes the rabbits feasting on the clover in the grass, before she plucks your half empty glass from in front of you.

“Leia-!”

“It’s not like you need it,” she chuckles.

“It’s a special day,” you said to Masky, a small smile on your face. “It’s our six year anniversary.” Your posture changes to attention as he closes the door softly behind him. He still smells like cigarettes, but it’s a pleasant scent you’ve found comfort in where others find it a nuisance.

Masky put a smile on his face but it didn't reach his eyes. “You need me to draw a portal or something for you?” He holds his arms open to you as you fall into them, part because you’re so weak and secondly because he knows you need the affection - even if he can’t feel it.

You feel light come to your eyes as you nod after leaving a note for Jack in your shared room on his nightstand.

‘Dear Jack, happy six years! I’d wait for you to get back, but I have a surprise for you at the field you gifted to me for our first anniversary. I await you with happiness. Love, R.’

Masky drew the portal in the living room, a mess of swirling cloud-like silvers and blacks before he laid eyes upon the place you once shared only with Jack. “It’s super pretty,” he says, dark eyes scanning over all the wildflowers. There’s weeds on the path, like no one has cared for it in a while. ‘How poetic,’ he thinks. ‘It’s an allegory for your decayed relationship with Jack.’

“No it’s not,” you giggle as you bring Masky down one of the weed and chicory covered paths to the gazebo. “But it’s special to me,” you hum as you take a seat.

Masky follows beside you. He doesn’t take a seat, mostly feeling it wrong to impose on a space that is Jack’s despite his respect for him falling so far from what it used to be, but takes in the scent of dying flowers all the same. It’s summer, and instead of the sun warming the soft petals, it’s burning them. When you cough up more flowers while waiting for the man who still holds your heart (and refuses to return it) you’re less than pleased to see that they blend in with the untamed mosaic.

“Are you still tired?” Masky asks softly as he lights up a cigarette. “You can rest, I’m sure he won’t mind.”

You glance over to Masky before you rest your head in your hands, wondering where your lover is. You listen to the wind as it blows through the leaves. You listen to Masky’s hum, and eventually, you fall asleep.

You wake back up sometime during the night in your bed and not in a position you normally sleep in. It looks like whoever delivered you back here was extra careful with handling you. You only wake up because Jack has accidentally turned on the light.

“Shit, my bad,” he apologizes, quickly plunging the room back into darkness. “Did I wake you?” He knows he did.

“No,” you lie. “I couldn’t sleep anyways.” That was the most rest you’ve had in months. “Where have you been?” You ask quietly, still choosing to remain buried in the sheets.

Jack slides into bed next to you and gets comfortable. He smells like perfume you don’t wear. Through the faint light of the hallway that peeks under your door, you can see he’s got dark marks on his neck and jaw. “Leia wanted to show me her childhood home. Place isn’t run by Zalgo anymore, so we took a trip out there.”

“Did you now?” You hum as you feel tears prick your eyes.

Jack can see you in the dark. His vision at night far surpasses a human’s. He just chooses not to acknowledge it. Jack knows that his relationship with you is gone, and that you’ve been coughing up flowers for the past year. He knows, and it hurts him. Hurts him deeply that he’s the one causing you such pain, but at the same time, he’s a coward. He chooses not to let you go cleanly because his relationship with Leia is so finite.

He knows she only wants him because at the time he was unattainable. Now that she has him, it is only a matter of time until she does to him what he’s done to you. He understands that fully, but he refuses to leave the safety net that is you because he is selfish. His feelings for you aren’t nonexistent, but it’s that kind of fondness one has after the deed has been done, a love based on past memory and sentiment rather than what will and can be. It has reached his threshold, and you both are too caught up in security rather than what is healthy.

“I did,” he says as his mind rushes a mile a minute. “What did you do today?”

You wonder if you should answer that honestly or not. Would he even care? “I stayed here today, nothing special.” You feel the flowers unfurling in your lungs.

Jack hums once more, his back now facing you as he slowly succumbs to sleep.

You met Masky in the bathroom again, hacking your lungs and more of those fucking flowers up into the bathrub and the sink. Hell, you even got some in the toilet. Your body is growing weaker and weaker by the day. The fact you’ve held out for a year is astronomical, but you know you’ll be being taken from it eventually. No one survives Hanahaki when their lover’s feelings aren’t returned. It either gets returned, or you lose them all entirely.

He almost lost you. You broke the mirror when your body went limp as the vines and flowers crawled out from your lungs, through your esophagus and out of your mouth. If it was an art installation piece, Masky might’ve thought it beautiful, but the fact you went cold and limp and the flowers were blooming at a rapid pace - one he thought he couldn’t keep up with.

Masky, despite not being able to really feel anything, panicked as he took you into his arms. Did he genuinely care for you? No, but he cared to whatever extent the surgery left him with. He fretted because you are under his direct care. He cared so deeply because he too had seen many good proxies and independents lost to it. He cared because a part of him remembered what it was like to have daisies and rhododendrons fill his lungs. Normally, you only have one type of flower to clutter your lungs. Science says “just because.” An old wives’ tale says “love truly lost.” In his case? Jay’s death. Nothing was the same after that.

Masky took no hesitation in scooping you up into his arms and running out of the house to the forest to be closer to his boss’s energy. The Operator could fix this should he will it. He didn’t care that the lights in the house went on from his concerned proxies - the ones who had been sick over what befell you since you came into their care. He didn’t dare let you go as he trampled through the brush in the dead of night, using only the moon.

“Sir!” He calls out frantically. “Sir! I need your help!” He can hear your heart get slower and slower.

And just like that, the devoted father came to his child’s cry.

“My child,” he greets, instantly swooping down to look at your pained, flowery visage. “Did I not tell you to handle this?” He chides softly as he takes you into his arms. The sound of static only grows louder and louder.

“I thought she could,” he says, his tone clearly apologetic. “Please, just… Just fix this for me.” He watches the Operator closely as the tall man holds you in his arms.

While you are not exactly his child directly, you are also still under his care. Leia did not lie that the Operator sees good things for you. Without any other words, the tall man is gone, giving you to gods know who to perform a surgery that should be considered the only humane way out.

He returns to the house where Hoodie, Kate and Toby eagerly awaited him, clamoring around him and pecking like hens wondering where you are. He says that you’re in the hands of a god.

You floated in the ether, your body a galaxy. You watched as your chest was torn open - looked like by the hands of an independent that had talons to rival an eagle.

‘There’s so much,’ she says, her mouth turning into a frown as she worked on carefully removing the clusters of flowers. ‘How is she not dead?’

The Slender Man continues to observe, not offering the doctor any words.

The spirals and swirls inside of you continue to swirl before the flowers get torn out, one by one. The roots that cling to your lungs are stubborn, but with every single one removed, the lights of a different universe go out. Snuffed. Lost. The cavity in your chest grows wider until it births a black hole.

‘How much longer?’ The Slender Man asks, watching as the independent calls in another to help her rid your body of weeds.

She shakes her head as she continues to root them out. They bloom under her touch. ‘I have no idea - she must’ve felt so strongly-’

‘They just keep coming up, Sir,’ the other interjects, her four eyes scanning you rapidly.

The black hole begins to suck up the stars and nebulas that comprise your system. It feasts on you, making every part of what made you you, disappear in its depths. It grows larger as it consumes you. It grows heavier. It grows more powerful.

‘We’re almost there,’ the taloned independent says, her wings fluttering softly to emphasize her point. ‘I’ve never seen it this bad before.’

‘Fix this,’ the Slender Man seethes, his patience wearing thin. He knows your body will not be able to handle this much longer.

The black hole reaches its mass, and slowly, it begins to consume you. It overtakes you, bathes you, and leaves nothing left when it has taken all that it can. Your body is empty. You are a shell. Glimpses of blue, grey and reddish brown flash in your mind’s eye and through the eye of the black hole, but you cannot place the feelings you used to associate with them. You remember, but you do not feel.

The last of the flowers are pulled. The taloned independent is exhausted, and her partner is just as tired. ‘Good fucking lord,’ she breathes out, exhausted from the late night gardening session. ‘In all my years I have never seen that awful disease take hold of an individual that bad,’ she notes. Her bird-like eyes watch over your open chest to make sure they’ve fully cleared it out.

A single forget-me-not sprouts, and the Slender Man is the one who plucks it. Just like that, the flowers, their roots, all evidence you’d ever had life inside of you, is gone. Withered and wilted away.

The black hole takes all that you have to offer, and you are back to consciousness, no longer floating, no longer a home to the vibrancy of the universe.

What came after was a bit of a blur. The Slender Man had brought you back to the safe house you had called your home for the past year surprised to see that some of his favored children were still away, waiting for you as the light of the sun rose over the grass. It was a new dawn.

“How is she?” Hoodie asked, immediately springing up.

“Fixed,” was all the Slender Man said, his gaze shifting from you to your group’s leader. “Masky, I’m entrusting you to watch over her as you have been through something similar.”

“Of course,” the dark eyed man says as he takes you gingerly into his arms. “I wouldn’t trust her with anyone else.”

“One last thing,” the tall man in a suit hums. “I am taking Eyeless Jack from this house. Leia will stay with him.”

“It’s probably for the best. We trust your judgment,” Masky replies.

The Slender Man’s head gently cups Masky’s cheek before he leaves them with the sound of static that dissipates as fast as it appeared.

You spent the first few days after your surgery under bed rest. The Slender Man had healed you but he still worried for the state of your lungs. You needed the rest, and you were pleased to have it. Other than that, you felt… nothing. You were numb. Fleeting feelings of happiness or thankfulness, maybe something melancholic would slip through but ultimately, you were nowhere near your old self.

Jack was not allowed anywhere near you. That was one of the first instructions given to him when the Slender Man had popped into his head. While he did not have an opinion on Jack’s unfaithful behavior, he was more displeased with the fact he’d kickstarted the disease in you. The Slender Man thought that if he started it in Leia, then perhaps everything would turn out alright.

So, he sent the two out with a different group - which mostly meant Jeff, someone the Slender Man knew detested behavior that Jack had committed.

It was not easy for Jack to share the same space with Jeff after word had gotten out about you.

“You’re my best friend,” Jeff had sighed one late afternoon, refusing to even acknowledge Leia in the room. “But that? That was fucked up.”

Jack hummed and kept his gaze on Leia, who looked at him with nothing short of adoration. “Sure.”

Jeff sighed once more and stood up. “You don’t feel an inch bad, do you?”

“No.”

“You’re a shitty guy but you’re an even shittier liar.” Jeff broke the door with how hard he’d slammed it on his way out.

Jack really wasn’t the same, that much was apparent. He’d slowly been becoming more withdrawn and quicker to agitation. Of course, he’d take it out on whoever was around to deal with it. Leia included - it just came in a different form. One in which she’d never complained. But when things were rough between them, things were rough.

Jeff could hardly stand the two most days, so when he’d sneak out, it was with his dog to come pay a visit with you. And he hated how dull you had become.

“Masky used to be a lot more personable,” Jeff would say. “Life of the party when we could get him out of his pseudo-philosophical bullshit. Then he hurled flowers and we knew something was wrong.” Jeff’s hand rubs your back gently as a sign of friendship.

“And then?”

“Then he got that stupid surgery and now he’s just existing. No further purpose, just existing because some pale guy says so for his benefit.” Jeff huffed and looked up at the setting sun.

You found your gaze following his.

“What you’re doing right now,” he began. “It’s no way to live.”

“Would you have rather I’d succumbed to it?” You asked, not adding any inflection to whether you’re happy or sad, hurt or even offended.

“In all honesty?” Jeff tore his eyes from the pink and blue sky. “Yeah. This,” he gestured to you. “This isn’t you.”

Everything you’re supposed to feel feels dampened. Instead, you nodded. “Note taken.”

Jeff frowned.

The first time Jack was able to see you after your surgery was nearing halfway to what would have been seven months. It’d been a rough time without him seeing you, mostly because the guilt had been devouring every humanity he had left. Nothing could fill the void.

Like the first time you had met him, it was an accident when you crossed paths once again. You had been clearing out a house one fine winter’s evening, doing what had been asked of you before you got the faintest scent of something familiar and something you once recognized as comforting. You furrow your brows, weapon at your hip as you slowly and quietly come down the stairs.

Your lips are pressed into a thin line as you peer into the living room. Snow falls outside the window.

“Reader?” A male voice asks, turning around from the hallway. “Is that you?”

You tilt your head slightly as you register the mask you’re looking at. Eyeless Jack, mostly just known as ‘EJ’ or ‘Jack’. You’ve never really spent any time with him though outside of little jobs, so you have no idea who this is or why he sounds so happy to see you.

“Uh, hi, EJ?” You say as you walk at a leisurely pace down the stairs.

Jack freezes momentarily as he comes to greet you in the living room. He’d almost forgotten that when the flowers are removed, so too are the memories alongside feelings.”It’s… It’s good to see you,” he says as he looks down at you, wondering if he should touch you or not.

“I guess it’s nice to see you too,” you say. “What are you doing in this area?” You inquire. You vaguely remember the Slender Man not wanting you two to be in the same area.

“Just out and about,” he answers as he scratches at the back of his neck. “Leia wanted to uh, hunt down some of her sisters - I - it doesn’t matter,” he suddenly finishes, feeling much too awkward to even look at you. He knows you don’t remember, but he certainly does. Looking at you… He has a fresh slate.

“That’s nice,” you say in a tone that’s clearly disinterested. You walk towards the living room windows and look into what is now a cold winter’s night. You can see the snow still falling. If you want to make it back to Masky before he gets worried, you’ll need to head out almost immediately. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

Jack slowly comes to your side and puts his attention on you, watching as the snow continues to fall. “Yeah, the prettiest,” he says softly, desperately trying in vain to hold back on scooping you into his arms. There’s something scratching at the back of his throat.

You nod once again and zip up your coat. “They’re expecting me,” you say, gearing up to brave the snow.

“Do you need any-”

“No,” you cut him off. You’re not sure why it comes out so harshly, but you figure it must be a remnant of a memory you no longer have access to. “I can manage on my own.” You brush past him and open the front door, eyes momentarily clamping shut at how cold it is before you step onto the porch. The sound of the crunching snow is satisfying.

“Stay safe out there,” Jack says softly, not moving from his place as he continues to gaze out the window at the falling snow.

You turn your head briefly over your shoulder, “and you as well.”

Jack hears the door close and you walk off into the night, back to a group he was barred from. That tickling in the back of his throat grows more and more prevalent until he clears his throat. Feels like there’s something on his tongue. He coughs a few more times before holding his hands in front of his mouth, displeased to see the small blue petals he knows will bloom to full flowers in a time frame that is too long to be considered fair.

#eyeless jack #xreader #creepypasta x reader #eyeless jack x reader #creepypasta #hanahaki #angst #masky #hoodie #brian thomas #tim wright #kate the chaser #reader insert #slender man

255 notes · View notes

duuhrayliegh · 3 years

Note

Hello, darling! I was wondering if you could right some Bucky x reader, where the reader worked along Sharon during Civil War and she meets Bucky. Then she runs always with Sharon and meets Bucky again in Madripoor and continue their story. I hope that makes sense. Thank yooouuuu✨✨✨

hey babes!! yes i absolutely can! i kind of gave more background than i meant to making it way longer, but i hope you enjoy it anyway! i do want to continue this story and most definitely will be so be on the lookout for the other parts of it lovie <3. i hope you still enjoy it even though it isn’t quite what you asked for yet :)

A Friend of Yours

FATWS SPOILERS

warnings: not much, canon lvl violence, some suggestive stuff closer towards to end, language, i think that’s it

word count: 6140 i went a bit overboard, it’s fine i’m totally fine

a/n: i got this request and then didn’t stop writing all day. i didn’t get anything else done all day. i got home at like seven-ish? and i’ve been sitting on the floor of my bedroom just writing this fic (for context it is now 12:47 pm where i’m at)

check out A Friend of Yours - pt. 2 and A Friend of Yours - pt. 3

p.s.: this is the first fic that i’m writing with an actual ‘x reader’ i’m so proud

xoxo ray

ray’s m.list

******************************

You grew up with Sharon, the two of you were best friends from birth it seemed. Honestly, Peggy raised you more than your own parents did. When Aunt Peggy got Sharon her first thigh holster, she got you one too. You enlisted together, moved up the ranks together, everything. So, it was of no shock to anyone that after the fall of SHIELD, you both moved together into the CIA’s Joint Terrorism Task Force.

You were inside the hotel with Sharon, Steve and Sam when the bombing on the UN took place. The look of unbridled fear that fell over Steve’s face as they announced Barnes as the primary suspect was heart wrenching. You weren’t able to watch it for long because your phone was already ringing off the hook.

“Look, you need to get me more information, and now.” You gritted into your phone speaker before quickly hanging up the phone and turning to a crestfallen Steve who was still watching the news casting. Sharon ended her phone call and turned to you.

“We have to go to work.” A few short hours on a jet later, you and Sharon were coordinating the operation. Close by, Steve and Sam were awaiting new information. Steve had this insane plan to find Barnes before the whole rest of the world did. Like that’s going to happen, it took the world 70 years to find Barnes. Of course, Steve and Sam are going to find him in about half that time.

You followed the blonde woman into a busy coffee shop and up to the counter. She slid a manila folder over to a well disguised Captain America. “Tips have been pouring in since that footage went public. Everyone thinks the Winter Soldier goes to their gym. Most of it’s just noise, except this.” Sharon was talking quietly, trying to not draw attention to the fact that she was committing a serious offense.

“We have to give the briefing, like now Shar, so we have to go.” The two of you pushed off the counter and you turned quickly to say one last thing. “And you better hurry. They’ve given the order to shoot on site.”

You left the shop quickly and made your way back to the white tent, passing the redheaded spy who was watching you like a hawk. A look of understanding crossed her features as you kept a calm facade. She fucking knows, how the hell could she read you that easily?

*********************************

The next time you saw any of them, they were exiting the back of an armored prison van. It was no surprise that his eyes flitted over to his best friend from childhood. You glanced over at Barnes, who was strapped in all different ways, and your heart hurt for him. You tried not to pity him, you know you would’ve gotten a slap on the wrist from Aunt Peggy about it.

Bucky must’ve felt you looking at him because his steel blue eyes locked with your pair. This was the first time that you’ve ever actually seen the man in person. It was startling, in a good way. You grew up going to the Smithsonian and hearing Aunt Peggy’s stories about the great James Buchanan Barnes. You never thought that you’d get the chance to meet the man you did a history report on your freshman year of high school.

“Y/N?” Sharon’s voice cut through your thoughts, recalling you to reality and out of your past. “We have to go. We’ve been assigned to monitor Steve and Sam while they’re here.” Sharon was clearly not a fan of this, which made you laugh loudly.

“Oh, score! We get to babysit Captain America and the Falcon!” You spoke in an unnecessarily upbeat voice and then clapped your hands together. “Our dream job! Let’s go, Shar!” She stared at you for a millisecond before slapping a hand on your shoulder.

“Let’s go, you fucking dork.” You followed her through the office building into the control room where you observed Tony talking to Steve. Apparently, the conversation was not going well because both their faces held angry glares. Eventually, Tony left the room, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts and that can never be good.

“How you doing, Cap?” You asked as you less-than-gracefully plopped yourself into the chair across from him. He looked over at me and released a heavy sigh.

“Honestly, Y/N, not that great at the moment.” He looked at you with his iconic mom Steve stare. Wow, so that’s what it’s like to be on the receiving end of that. Sam walked in and sat next to you. You drowned out their conversation as your gaze focused on screens outside of the glass office.

The video feed of Barnes in his metal cage was displayed on a TV screen. How is this considered humane? Obviously you knew that the CIA had pushed boundaries in the past, but this was just insane. “Are those restraints really necessary?” Sam seemed to be just voicing his thoughts, not expecting a response back.

“Well, he is considered an international terrorist, so yeah, they’re kind of necessary.” You said quickly and then muttered under your breath, “No matter who thinks that it’s excessive.” Steve’s gaze met yours and he was about to speak when Sharon walked in and dropped a paper in front of Sam.

“The receipt for your gear.” A scoff sounded from Sam as he glared at Sharon.

“‘Bird costume’? Come on.” Always quick to defend your best friend.

“Hey, we didn’t write it up.” It came off snappier than you had meant it. Sharon shot you a look, signaling you to back off. You raised a brow at her as she leaned over the table to the intercom buttons.

The audio from Barnes’ evaluation echoed through the glass room. Everyone around you was unsuspecting the four of you listened in. The psychologist was talking to Barnes, who seemed incredibly closed off. Who could blame the guy though?

“I’m not here to judge you. I just want to ask a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?” The psychologist paused for a second, looking down and off to the side. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, James.” The caged man spoke for the first time.

“My name is Bucky.” His voice was rough from not being used. A look crossed Steve’s face and he turned to Sharon.

“Why would the Task Force release that photo to begin with?” Sharon’s body turned to face the man speaking to her. Her brows furrowed while she answered.

“Get the word out, involve as many eyes as we can?” Your head tilted, trying to follow Steve’s train of thought.

“Right. Good way to flush a guy out of hiding. Set off a bomb, get your picture taken. Get seven billion people looking for the Winter Soldier.” Oh shit.

“You’re saying someone framed him?” You wanted to believe it with every fiber in your being.

“Steve, we looked for the guy for two years and found nothing.” Sam reminded in a calm tone.

“Yeah, you didn’t bomb the UN though. That turns quite a few heads. Especially if prominent people like King T’Chaka end up dead because of it.” You made a good point, but there were still pieces missing.

“That doesn’t guarantee that they would find him. It guaranteed that we would.” Sharon and Steve began examining the room around them. Your attention returned to the audio emitting from the intercom.

“You fear that,“ the doctor paused, “if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop. Don’t worry.” He glanced down again and moved his hand to swipe something away.

“Guys?” You pointed to the screen as the doctor held up his pointer finger.

“We only have to talk about one.” All of the sudden, the screens went dark and the lights flickered off. Secretary Ross was yelling at technicians to get his video back. Tony was speaking to his AI, Friday, about locating the source of the outage. Steve and Sam tensed at the thought of what could be going on with Barnes.

“Sub-level five, east wing.” was all Sharon said as the pair ran off. You looked at her and threw your hands in the air.

“What the hell do we do now, Shar?” She glared at you as she started reasoning with you.

“They’re stronger than we are. If they can contain whatever the hell is happening down there then great. In the event that they can’t, we’ll be up here with Natasha and Tony to deal with it.” You nodded quickly as you both ran out of the room.

You quickly followed Natasha, Tony and Sharon to the main level of the building. Clearly Steve and Sam were unsuccessful in containing the situation because Barnes could be seen through the glass, fighting his way to his destination.

Tony stunned Barnes with a previously concealed Iron Man glove. Barnes started towards Tony and quickly attacked. After Barnes bested Tony, it wasn’t long before Natasha rushed the man alongside Sharon. It wasn’t hard for Barnes to throw Sharon across the room. Natasha took the opportunity to launch herself onto his shoulders, which caused Barnes to slam her into a table with his metal hand wrapped around her neck.

She mumbled something to him as you kicked his ribs, releasing his chokehold on her. He stumbled backwards, his hard gaze landed on yours as he approached. Your eyes locked on his as the two of you traded blows.

They weren’t the same eyes as before. Those eyes were soft and remorseful, these were hard and unattached. There was no emotion behind the pair staring at you. The fraction of a second that you were analyzing his eyes in your head was enough for him to catch you off guard. His metal fist landed in your rib cage. The opposite hand jabbed at your face, busting your lip and sending you flying backwards.

You hit your head on the concrete below, making your eyes roll back. The wind left your lungs and you gasped to get it back as Barnes and T’Challa fought in the background. It was a few minutes later that a concerned Sharon made her way over to you.

“Are you okay?” You looked her over as she did you, checking for any severe injuries. You offered a small nod, not wanting to shake your head too much in fear of a concussion. “Let’s go check in with Ross.”

******************

“And how the hell did Rogers and Wilson even know where to find Barnes?” Ross’ voice boomed through the office. No one said anything, not wanting to incur the wrath of Secretary Ross. “I’ve already allowed Stark 36 hours to find them and bring them back here.” Ross turned to you and Sharon standing in the corner of the room. “If they contact any of you, report it immediately.” Rounds of ‘yes, sirs’ bounced around the room, then chaos ensued as everyone got back to trying to clean up this mess.

“Carter. Y/L/N. Elevator now.” He raised two fingers to point toward the elevators before walking into one. It was just the three of you in the enclosed space. He clicked the button for the ground floor. “I know you have some kind of connection to Rogers but do not let that cloud your judgement. The both of you are CIA agents first.”

“We understand, Secretary.” The elevator doors opened again and you went to step out when Ross stopped you again.

“I mean it, girls. This is your job on the line here.” You and Sharon shared a look before continuing walking. Did he just call us girls?

“Do you think that was supposed to be intimidating?” You laughed under your breath as you went out to the parking lot. Sharon sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

“Probably.” She looked at you over the top of her car. “You don’t have to come with me.”

“Where do we start?”

****************************

Getting that fucking shield and bird suit wasn’t easy. They had moved it from the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre to the US Embassy to await transport back to the States. It made it easier but still damn near impossible to get. Thankfully, you and Sharon are good liars. Skills of a misspent youth.

The two of you walked in the front door and displayed your badges. “We’re here to pick up Captain America and the Falcon’s effects.” The man behind the counter didn’t even question it. Man, they need better people at the Embassy.

“You’ll have to sign some paperwork saying you picked it up.” There it is. You both flicked a brow and Sharon held her hand out for the clipboard. Small scratches from the pen in her hand were echoing throughout the empty building.

She handed the clipboard back to the man behind the counter. “Okie dokie, just pull your car around to the side of the building and we’ll get you loaded up.” He shot them a small smile and turned around to file the papers.

“That was easy enough.” You whispered to Sharon as you left, not wanting your voice to carry. You walked to your car that was parked in front of the iron wrought gate. Pulling your car around to the side of the building, you popped the trunk. The gear clad Embassy soldier carelessly tossed Sam’s suit inside before gently placing the shield on top of it.

“Hey, if there’s a scratch on that suit, it’s coming out of your paycheck buddy.” You held your pointer finger up to the man’s unimpressed face.

“Y/N, let’s go. We’ve got to get these to the jet or Ross will have our heads. Remember it’s our job on the line here.” What Sharon said made you laugh big while hauling yourself back into the driver’s seat of the car. As you pulled out into the street, Sharon was typing away on her phone and pushing it to her ear.

“This is a secure line but I don’t know for how long, so don’t talk just listen.” She took a deep breath and then continued. “We want to help. Meet us under the bridge on Route 6. We’ll be there in two hours.” She ended the call quickly and threw the phone outside the car. Glancing over at you, she nodded and sighed again.

“We’ve gotten this far.” You had one question burning in your throat that you were afraid to ask.

“Where do we go after they’ve gone?” She looked at you and she was biting her lip, something she only did when she was incredibly stressed.

“I don’t know yet. Do you have any ideas?” You smiled and thought of the one place that you wouldn’t be followed.

“Yeah, I’ve got one, but it’s rough.”

***************************

The drive to the underpass wasn’t a hard one. You had beat the boys there so you and Sharon were sitting in the car. You had the radio playing softly in the background.

“Who the hell do you know in Madripoor?” You laughed and shrugged.

“I’m supposed to tell you all my secrets for free?” You shook your head and shifted in your seat to face her fully. “I was tasked with tracking some artwork down there. One of my assignments when we went through initiation for the Agency.” You picked at the holes in your jeans. “I thought it was just all fake stuff, but I researched it more and more. Turns out, the underground artwork dealing is really lucrative over there.”

Sharon stared at you in amazement. “What did you do, Y/N?” You smirked.

“I haven’t done anything.” You held her gaze, “Yet.” She released a small laugh and her mouth hung open a bit. “I may have a warehouse out there.” You squinted one of your eyes, and leaned forward. “And the apartment above it.” She was going to say something when an old ass blue Beetle pulled up behind you.

“Now how the fuck did they all fit in that tiny ass car?” You both laughed as you stepped out of the car with big smiles on your faces.

“Not sure you understand the concept of a getaway car.” Steve walked up to Sharon and they began talking as she popped the trunk, revealing their gear. Your attention was on the men in the car behind them. Barnes was stuck in the back away from cameras and Sam was lounging in the passenger seat. Your eyes met Barnes’ again, they were back to the remorseful pair you saw the first time.

“You know he kind of tried to kill us.” You waved your hand in gesture to the man in the car.

“Sorry, I’ll put it on the list too.” He glanced back down at Sharon, who had migrated closer to him. “They’re going to come looking for you.”

She nodded, “I know.” Then the most awkward kiss in all of kissing history took place. Your brows shot up then furrowed quickly, a small wince overtaking your face. They pulled apart and traded more words. Sharon began walking back to the passenger side of the car.

Steve turned around and you looked back at the two men in the car. Both of them were wearing proud, smug grins. Steve threw his head back as if he was berating them.

“About damn time, Cap! She’s been pining over you for God knows how long now.” The windows were down in the Beetle so the other two heard you shouting at their friend.

“Y/N!” Sharon was a bit embarrassed.

“What? It’s the truth, Shar!” The two of you began bickering like an old married couple as you started the car again. Steve got all he needed from the trunk and shut it quickly, slapping it twice. You began driving off with Sharon giving you directions to an airport on the opposite side of the country.

***********************

That was the last time you saw Steve. Last time you saw anyone for a while. You had been dusted in the Blip. Sharon had followed you to your apartment in Madripoor. The two of you were able to figure the city out pretty quickly. Learning the ins and outs of the island, where to go, who to sell to. One afternoon, you and Sharon had been surveying a Van Gogh piece for your gallery when you flew away. In the middle of a fucking deal, what perfect timing.

Five years later, you were reunited with an even more successful Sharon. “I kept your room the way you left it.” She said as she led you through your shared home. “I figured that you’d be back and you’d be pissed off if I fucked with anything.”

You smiled at the woman gratefully and hugged her. Neither of you let go for a while. When you did, she started filling you in on everything. She had continued to split all her profits and had been depositing the money into your account. “Even if you didn’t come back, I could’ve used it if I needed to bug out. Win-win.” She explained with a smile.

The two of you had about six months of getting back into the groove of things. It was quickly cut off by a ping of your phones one day. A look of confusion and anger crossed her face, “Are you fucking kidding me?” She locked eyes with you and told you to get your gear.

“Where are we going?” She threw her phone at you and you looked at the screen. As soon as you read the notification at the top of it you understood. Repeating your question from before, you tied the knots on your Converse. You followed Sharon to the Low Town side of the island.

“Now what the fuck are they doing here, do you think?” The two of you camped outside of the Brass Monkey nightclub, ready for whatever came your way. Deciding that you were too visible to everyone else, you moved to the building across from the club. Something is bound to go wrong and the first place they're going to get ran to is this dead end alley.

Sure enough, not even ten minutes later, Sam, Barnes, and Zemo got cornered in the alleyway. Sharon had decided to stay on the ground floor next to the door. You shot two of the assassins following the group of three and Sharon took out the final one.

You made your way back down to Sharon, who was still holding her gun up. “You cost me everything.” She focused her gun on Zemo.

“Sharon, wait. Someone recreated the super soldier serum and Zemo had a lead.” Sam remarked calmly, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Explains why you guys are here and Selby’s dead.” Your brows shot up at that, must of been new information that she got while you were upstairs.

“Why are you here, Sharon?” Sam questioned.

“She was one of the ones who stole Steve’s shield, remember?” You stepped forward, raising your gun to gesture to the men in front of you. “And the wings, so your ass,” you waved at Sam, “could save his ass,” at Barnes, “from his ass.” You lowered your gun and stepped in front of Zemo, staring the man down. Your fist balled and you launched it at Zemo, landing a solid hit to his cheekbone.

Barnes grabbed your hand, twisting your body to slot against his with your arm bent behind your back. He leaned close to your ear, breath making shivers trickle down your spine. “I only let you do that because I’ve wanted to for a while now, so don’t get any more ideas.” Your breath hitched because of the proximity of the man behind you.

“Alright, give me my Y/N back.” Sharon said, lowering her gun to holster it. Bucky held onto you for a few more seconds than necessary and then pushed you towards Sharon as he released you. You scoffed, then shoved your gun into the waistband of your jeans. Sam and Sharon had already started their own conversation by the time you calmed down enough to face Barnes.

Sharon bobbed her head to you, an unspoken language between the two of you. After bringing them into your home, Sam began admiring the artwork in the first floor gallery. “Looks like breaking the law is treating you two well.”

“Before even graduating into the Agency, I had a place over here. Never had any intention on using it, but here we are.” You started, “Then, after having to flee Berlin, for you,” You shot a look at Bucky, “we figured if we had to hustle, might as well enjoy the good life. Do you know how much we can get for a real Monet?”

“Deactivate your hustle mode. You sell fake Monet’s.” Sharon shot him a look, about to defend us when Zemo cut in.

“No. She means real. This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh. All the classics.” Sam made a face of disbelief.

“It’s true. You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this.” Bucky gestured to the gallery. Sam pulled his phone out of his suit pocket.

“Okay, guys, I see what you’re doing. You’re more worldly than good old Sam.” He was typing furiously as he spoke. Bucky passed him, soundlessly following you and Sharon to the upstairs apartment.

“Yeah. What’s Google say?” Once the five of you got upstairs, Sharon began walking them into her office, telling them that they needed to change because we were hosting clients. It didn’t take long for the men to switch outfits. It was refreshing to see Barnes in something other than combat gear or a torn Henley. Sharon followed you in the office, making a remark at Sam while he apologised.

“Look, you know the whole hero thing is a joke, right? The way you gave up that shield, deep down, you must know it’s all hypocrisy.” She said as you plopped yourself on one of the plush chairs across from the couch, holding a clear glass full of whiskey.

“He knows. And not so deep down.” Zemo added quietly, since when is Zemo informed? Sharon glazed over his comment, opting for asking about the new Cap while filling a glass for herself.

“Don’t get me started.” Barnes spoke for the first time since being downstairs. You narrowed your eyes at the man.

“Please. You buy into all that stars and stripes bullshit.” You swung your glass to Zemo, “Before you were his pet psychopath, you were Mr. America! Cap’s best friend.” His gaze darted over to you, nose wrinkling at your comment.

“Do you know who I am?” He tried to be intimidating but it was just funny to you. You were taking a drink to moisten your throat to fire back a witty comeback, when Sharon spoke for you.

“Oh trust me, she knows. She did a report on you freshman year of high school.” You started choking on your drink as Sharon smirked from the couch next to Barnes. His brows raised and a smug smile graced his face.

“She did now?” Clearly he was a different man from the last time you saw him. Meeting his eyes for the fourth time ever, you were surprised with what you saw. There was almost a hunger lingering behind his eyes.

“Most definitely. I don’t even know how many times she went to the Smithsonian to see the exhibit about you.” You glared at Sharon, who continued to talk, unbothered by you. She raised her own glass to her lips, speaking into her cup, muffling her words. “Honestly, think she developed a little crush.” Barnes’ eyes never left your face, his mind racing.

“Wait, so the entire time you were helping me and Steve, you had a crush on Tin Man?” Sam interjected, wanting to be included in the conversation. You rolled your eyes and gave a subtle nod to Sam. The action wasn’t missed by Bucky.

“Which is why I think it must’ve been really hard for you to ask him of all people for help. They comin’ down real hard on you out there?” You asked Barnes with a smirk and a head tilt towards Zemo. “I know he fucked you up real good, triggering the Soldier, Barnes.”

Sam laughed beside him. “Dude, that’s basically what you told Walker.” Barnes threw a glare at Sam, who had clapped a hand on his metal shoulder. The conversation dissipated after your comment, guess you killed the vibe.

Sam turned to a relaxed Sharon, “We need your help.” Her body tensed, neither one of you was ready to throw yourself back into enemy territory. “I can get your name cleared.” He dangled a huge bargaining chip in front of her face. You knew Sharon was eager to get back to the States. She misses her dad. It was unfair of Sam to use that as a way to gain her favor.

“Haggling with someone’s life like that isn’t okay, Sam.” You said quietly, focusing your gaze on the glass in your hand.

“It’s not like that, Y/N.”

“Yes, it is, Sam.” You said firmly. “You can’t just say something like that. I know you’re an Avenger. That’s great shit, but you need to realize that if you can’t deliver on your word, we go to jail or worse. You know that.”

“I don’t trust charity, Sam.” Sharon said from beside Barnes.

“All right, a deal then. You help us out, and I get your names cleared.” Your nostrils flared and you shook your head. Sharon agreed, blinded by the possibility of seeing her family again. You don’t doubt that she thought through all the outcomes, it just wasn’t the route you would’ve taken.

“We sell to some pretty connected people. Lay low, blend in, and enjoy the party.” She got up, exiting the office.

“Try to stay outta trouble, boys.” You said placing your glass on Sharon’s desk as you left. “We’ll see what we can find.”

*********************************

You were standing next to Sharon when the three men joined the party. Leaning over to Sharon, you told her you were going to get a drink from the bar. You pushed your way through the crowd, planting yourself on a stool in front of the countertop. Nodding your head at the bartender, they passed you a bottle of club soda.

“Not drinking tonight?” A raspy voice questioned over your shoulder. You turned to face the owner as you shrugged your shoulders.

“Already had my fill. And technically, I’m supposed to be working, Barnes.” Your eyes met with his again. You couldn’t tell if it was the light in the room or if it was just him, but they were a deeper shade of blue than before. He leaned his weight on his elbow that was resting on the bar top next to you. He was so close you could feel his body heat rolling off him in waves.

His eyes roamed your face, stopping on your lips as he spoke. “You know you can call me Bucky, right?” You made a face, bringing your bottle to your mouth. He watched intently as your lips wrapped around the opening.

“We’ve never had a single conversation before today. And the first time you actually met me, you twisted my arm behind my back because I punched the dickwad standing next to you.” You took another sip and his eyes drifted down to your throat. He watched as it bobbed when you swallowed.

“So, yeah. I’m going to call you Barnes.” You leaned closer, “I’ve never been given permission to call you anything else.” You could tell you struck something. Something that he didn’t even possibly know about. His face heated and he had to clear his throat before speaking.

“Um, okay. Well you can call me Bucky or if you want, James.” Your brow quirked and you pulled back to take him in fully.

“How many people have you let call you that since you got your free will back?” Your tone was serious, but your face held a smile.

“None, doll.” His eyes ran over your face again. “I just want to hear how it’ll sound coming from your mouth.” One of his metal fingers came up to rest on your bottom lip as your smile grew.

“James.” You whispered, just for him. What he was giving you was a privilege, one you were going to revel in. One corner of his mouth tugged upwards.

“Again.” He growled as his finger remained on your lip.

“James.”

“Again.”

“James.” The party around the two of you faded away. In your reality, it was just you and the man in front of you. A peaceful place, where nothing could change what was happening right at that moment.

Of course, reality is a bitch. And you never got what you wanted. Your jaw clenched as soon as your phone pinged. James dropped his hand from your face as he read the text with you.

Found Nagel. Meet us outside and if you find Bucky, tell him too.

You scrunched your nose and bit your lip. James’ hand was quick to pull your lip from your front teeth, before resting there for a second as he studied your face. He stepped back quickly, nodding his head for you to follow him.

**************************************

You don’t know how the hell Sharon managed to find him, but she did. You were in a shipping yard for storage cars. “Madripoor could give New York a run for its money.” Sam said as the five of you weaved your way through the containers.

“With a bounty on your head, the longer you’re in Madripoor, the less likely you’re ever leaving.” She glanced down at her phone in her hand. Nodding toward a red container, “Alright, he’s in there. Container 4621.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out five earpieces.

“We’ll keep watch while you guys talk to Nagel. But hurry. We’re on borrowed time.” You said as you watched everyone situate their pieces. Sharon turned around and began walking down an aisle not far from the container Nagel was in. You stopped James before he could go anywhere.

“Hey, be careful.” His eyes met yours and they were back to the normal steel blue. “Don’t forget who you are, James.” Something flashed behind his eyes, but his face showed no change.

“You too, Y/N. Don’t make me come out here and save your ass.” His eyes flicked down quickly and a smile spread quickly. “I mean, not that I would mind.” You rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder, turning and walking down the aisle Sharon did.

“So,” She was leaned against a rusted container with a smug smile. “You and Bucky, huh?” You groaned and stood next to her.

“I don’t know, Shar. Neither one of us should be in a relationship. Especially since we’re both Enemies of the State, well one of us is, the other one was.” You turned your head to look at her. “What do you think about all of this?” She opened her mouth to speak when you both heard something ricochet off a metal wall.

She raised a finger to her mouth and crouched down before pressing that same finger to her earpiece. “Guys, we have company.” She took off down one end of the aisle and you down the opposite, ready to attack from both sides. There were three men walking towards Nagel’s container, you shot a look down to Sharon and she nodded.

She came from the back with a baton, whacking the last guy once in the knees and once in the head, disarming him. When the front man turned to help his comrade, you did the same move to him with your own baton. You both continued trading blows with the men. You had effectively taken out the first man, using his thigh to latch yourself to the third man’s shoulders. Situating yourself to use your body weight to flip him over, definitely knocking him out.

“Every bounty hunter in the city is here. We gotta go now, boys!” You yelled to your earpiece as you watched Sharon fight off another opponent.

It wasn’t until the gunfire started that Sharon said something else into the piece. “Guys, we’re seriously outta time here.” You both split off, out of each other’s view, battling your own demons. You were currently dealing with two of those said demons, when a third approached from behind. Locking you in a chokehold as the other two continued punching your ribs.

One of the hunters was suddenly ripped away from you. Punches were landing and groans were echoing through the alleyways. You threw all your body weight forward, throwing your assailant over your shoulder. Two gunshots rang out and then a third one, which landed a bullet hole between your aggressors eyes. Your head whipped around to face James, whose arm dropped back to his side.

He walked towards you, putting a hand on your back leading you to where Sharon and Sam were standing. Zemo pulled up in a blue convertible car, “Supercharged.” was all he said. Sam pointed his finger at the man in the driver’s seat.

“You’re going back to jail.”

“Do you want to find Karli or not?” James sighed heavily, his shoulder sinking with the action.

“He’s right. We need him. And there’s two of us, and at least twenty of them.” James got in the front seat, leaving the door open for Sam.

“Fine. But if you try that shit again--”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Zemo raised his hands in surrender. Sam turned to Sharon.

“Well, that was one hell of a reunion.” You leaned over the open door to talk to James. He looked at you with a sad face.

“Why don’t you come back to the States with us?” He tilted his head. “We could clearly use your help, doll.” You smiled at that and licked your lips before responding.

“You know we can’t. Not yet anyway.” He placed his finger back on your bottom lip, maintaining eye contact. “This isn’t the last you’ll see of me, James. That I can promise you.” He smiled and dropped his hand back to his lap.

Sam climbed into the seat behind James. “You’re not going to move your seat up, are you?” James smirked before replying.

“No.” You watched as they drove off, desperately wanting to see James again already.

You turned back to Sharon and the two of you began walking back towards High Town. “I think you should go for it.”

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky fan fic #bucky fanfic #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x you #james buchanan barnes x y/n #james barnes x reader #james barnes x you #james barnes x y/n #Sebastian Stan

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mommymooze · 3 years

Text

Can You See What is Growing Before Your Eyes?

seteth & Flayn, Reader & Flayn, Seteth X Reader

Sitting on the fishing dock as the sunset blazes across the skies, it is quiet and peaceful in the monastery. You can almost imagine there is not a war going on, that the Imperial army isn’t marching towards your location to attack you and your friends who have arrived for the Millennium festival. Your thoughts are peaceful as you observe the rose and orange colored skies reflected in the pond Your bobber floats motionless on the calm waters.

“Are the fish biting?” Flayn calls from the far side of the water.

Just as she speaks your bobber begins to twitch. You hold up a finger with one hand as you grasp your pole more firmly in the other. Watching, waiting, suddenly the red and white float goes under, you jerk the line, hooking the fish. It is a short battle, the bullhead gives up quickly.

“It’s about average.” You answer as you look over your basket. “I have 15 fish, so after a few more I will bring them to the kitchens.”

“How are you able to catch such an abundant amount? My brother and I would be here for half a day or more and still not catch that quantity.” Flayn chides, her hands on her hips.

“If I had any fishing secrets, I would not hesitate to share them with you and Seteth.” You smile.

“Perhaps I shall watch you and learn of your mysterious technique.” Flayn decides, sitting on an empty crate nearby.

Retrieving and rebaiting your hook, you toss it back into the water, causing ripples to spread across the pond. You sit, still as a statue. Out of the corner of your eye you watch Flayn switch the position of her legs, then look around, fix her hair, and otherwise appear bored. You have not moved, except to shoo a bug from getting close to your eye. Even that movement was performed slowly and silently.

The bobber twitches in the water, moves left, stops briefly and heads right. It becomes halfway submerged, only to pop back up again immediately. You do not move. It begins moving away from your position. Just as it submerges you yank the line and are fighting the hooked fish. The fish jumps, trying to get away, however you keep steady with your pull on the line, hauling it closer to the dock.

“A golden fish!” Flayn excitedly laughs.

Hauling your catch close to the dock, you grab the fish by its jaw, remove the hook and secure it in your bucket.

“That one will pay for the accompaniments to an excellent fish stew!” You announce, beginning to pack up your fishing equipment.

“I did not see anything special about your technique. You used a worm and I saw no special powder or magic cast upon it. Strange.” Flayne ponders.

“First, you must learn to be one with the water. If it is still, you must be still. If it moves, you can move. The fish will be disturbed by your wiggling, especially on the dock.” You share your wisdom with the lovely young lady.

“I will have to tell my brother of this discovery, and that we will be having a fine fish stew this evening. Thank you!”

Selling your fish in the market, you take the rest to the kitchens. The cooks are thrilled to be able to provide a hearty and protein filled meal to the masses, there will be enough to go around. More and more people are arriving at the monastery to assist with the war efforts.

After returning your belongings to your quarters you head to the Cathedral to give prayers of thanks. Thanks for the food today, for so many willing to help defend the church, for the return of so many students and for the return of Professor Byleth. Now that they are back, hopefully they can lead the church and Blue Lions to victory. Your mind falters at that, observing the wounded and broken man that Dimitri has become. You watch as the Professor approaches him, trying to speak to him, trying to get him to eat. The conversation is one sided. Dimitri says nothing. Your eyes go wide as he leaps at the Professor and throws them against a stone column, then returns to his place at the crumbled goddess statue.

Without thinking you run to Byleth’s side. You are well within Dimitri’s range, but your focus is Byleth. Their head is bleeding, and they are moaning. Quickly you heal the head wound. It is not deep, however there is a lot of blood. You struggle to drag them further from Dimitri to a safer part of the Cathedral.

“Professor, can you hear me? Please?” You whisper to them, your voice shaking. They’ve just returned from being gone for five years, it would be horrible to lose them again so soon.

The professor shakes their head. “I am okay. He caught me off guard.” They answer as you help them to their feet.

“Can I take you to the infirmary? Do you have pain elsewhere?” You anxiously ask as they lean on you slightly while you hold their arm, walking to the pews.

“I am alright.” They nod. “My head was hit. I may have a bruise or two, nothing that will not be fine by tomorrow.”

“If you are sure. There is no need to suffer with pain if we can help.” You smile.

Professor Byleth heads back to the bridge leaving the Cathedral, refusing your offer to accompany them. You remain, offering further prayers for Byleth’s health and healing for Dimitri.

You return to the infirmary, your home away from home. Manuela is no longer here, she sided with the Empire. Being thrust into the position of one of the main healers, you remain out of battle, dealing with the injured soldiers. Before the war you worked your shifts in the infirmary, Manuela handled the serious cases.

When the war started, everyone fled the monastery. You packed more books on healing and treatments than you did clothes. Seteth encouraged you to lead the healers for the Knights of Seiros. Every place you travel, you consult with other healers in the area, trying to increase your knowledge as well as theirs. You hope you are adequately filling the shoes he sets forth.

At the infirmary desk you pull out the file for Byleth and make a note regarding todays treatment. When the Knights of Seiros returned to the monastery, you were happy to find many of the medical notes still here. Thieves must not have a use for them. All potions, salves, bandages, and lotions were gone. You have been working with several other clerics building up your inventory.

A sudden knocking brings your attention to the door of the infirmary.

“Greetings. I see you have no patients today, I hope everything is well.“ Seteth bows.

You look up at the handsome man in the doorway. “Good afternoon, Seteth. Byleth was injured by Dimitri earlier. If you see them, make certain they are not hiding any injuries I was unable to find.”

Seteth nods, “I understand your concerns. There are many that take care and have themselves treated properly. Then there are others, I understand your concerns.” He smiles, “Flayn said you were fishing earlier.”

“Yes. I am not a hunter, however I do want to do my part to keep the food stores filled. An army marches on its stomach.” You answer as you file papers in the cabinet.

“Flayn advises you are considerably successful at fishing. Perhaps I can join you and observe your techniques.” Seteth smiles, it makes him even more handsome.

“I am no master fisherman. Flayn simply is not patient, she can’t hold still.” You laugh. “I have seen you fishing with Alois. You would be more successful if he was not there, he is rather boisterous.”

“True. I suppose I like to fish because it is relaxing. These are stressful times. I do hope you are taking care of yourself too.” Seteth answers, a bit of authority creeping back into his voice.

“Noted, sir.” You nod, then begin to unpack dressings and filling the cabinets.

“I am asking you to take care of yourself as a friend. We have worked together for these many years. I’ve seen you exhaust yourself taking care of the knights.”

“War is not conducive to sleep. I will sleep when the war is over.” You chuckle. “Besides, when I finally do leave to find rest, I notice there is still candlelight coming through the windows of your office. Perhaps you should lead by example, my friend.”

“Touche!” He chortles. “I will put in further effort.” Seteth nods, returning to his office.

You treat minor cuts and bruises the remainder of the afternoon. Flayn stops by and asks you to join her for dinner. After all, you were the one that provided the ingredients for this evening’s meal. You promise to meet her after restocking the supplies.

In the dining hall you take your bowl of fish soup and look for Flayn. She is sitting next to her brother and waving for you to join them. You take a seat opposite them. She is easily excited.

“I am so happy that you are able to join us.” Flayn smiles.

“It is important to keep your body healthy and nourished.” You nod and smile softly at Seteth. You are happy to see him in the dining hall. He has had too many meals in his office, overworking himself.

“Yes. An army runs on its stomach, and it is important for everyone to eat properly, especially those that support the army.” Seteth tells Flayn, encouraging her to eat.

“Does that mean I can have seconds, brother?” She asks, sucking in her cheeks a bit to appear more undernourished.

“Only after everyone else has had a portion.” He waves his spoon around the room at the other diners.

Flayn pouts.

Observing her sad face, you have an idea. “If you would like, we can fish tomorrow early in the morning and hopefully catch more for a fine fish dinner.” You pat her hand that is resting on the table.

Flayn’s face now wears a huge smile. “Really? I am excited! You can teach me more fishing techniques. Oh brother! Maybe you can join us?” Both of you look at him, a hopeful smile on your faces.

Seteth’s brow furrows. “I will have to check my schedule. I will see if I can make the time.”

The next morning you get up at dawn to head to the woods, digging up earthworms and grubs for bait. The ground is still moist from the rains and the worms are close to the surface. You have plenty for everyone, including Byleth, who you share bait with frequently. They buy bait from the merchants when they are out, and every coin is needed for the war.

The day is slightly windy, causing the water to dance on the pond. The sunlight sparkles on the surface as the sun rises higher in the sky. Flayn joins you. Instructing her on proper baiting of the hook you remind her to sit as still as possible. You sit far enough apart to softly talk, yet not interfere with each other’s quest for fish.

Flayn has been listening attentively, her basket of fish is proof of her improvement. She brings a fish to you that has swallowed the hook and you show her how to use a tool you’ve made that will help loosen it. Instructing how to slide her hand down the fish so she will not be pricked by the fins, then use the tool to release the hook. Suddenly a shadow is blocking the sunlight over your shoulder.

“Good morning, brother. We are having a marvelous time fishing!” Flayne giggles.

“I can see that. You both have a surprisingly large catch. Perhaps there are many secrets you can pass along to us.” He smiles at you. That is a very handsome look on his face.

“I would be happy to help.” You smile as Flayn puts her fish in her basket and baits her hook for the next catch. “I have a nice collection of worms today, help yourself.” You point to the can.

“Hmm.” Seteth frowns. “Would you mind giving me pointers on how to set the bait? My wife usually baited the hooks. I can manage with some things, but worms are tricky.”

“I understand. My father would set my bait when I was little. I was afraid of the wiggly bugs and worms. Though he is gone, I will pass along his techniques. It is a good way of remembering him.” You take a worm and quietly show him how to set the worm on the hook, leaving the end close to the barb of the hook to wiggle.

“I always make sure the barb is just through the end there, touching it but not piercing your finger. There. You’re ready to go.” You smile as you let loose the hook and it dangles and spins in the air.

“Appreciated.” Seteth smiles. The relaxed look on his face is a sight to behold.

You cast your line into the water and wait. Flayn is to your right trying very hard to be still. Seteth is to your left, taking a seat on a crate after casting his line in the water. Flayn’s bobber starts to wiggle. You hear her stifle a noise, trying to remain quiet. Suddenly her bobber goes under, she pulls her pole back.

“I have one. Oh, it feels heavy!” Flayn excitedly giggles as she works to haul the fish to land.

You lean to the edge of the pond, grabbing the fish as soon as she has it out of the water. “That certainly is a large fish. I think that fills your basket this morning!” You laugh.

She puts her fish away and gives you a huge hug. “You have taught me so well. I’m going to take these to the kitchen right away. I feel like a successful fisherwoman!” she grins.

“You are an excellent student. What an amazing haul!” You laugh, watching her struggle with her heavy container of fish.

Seteth now gasps as he hooks a fish. You grab the fish by the side of the mouth when he gets it to shore.

“Oh my, it’s swallowed your hook. That’s the fourth time today. They must be really hungry to gobble them down so quickly.” You mutter, heading to your tackle box to grab your tool to remove the hook.

“You can retrieve the hook? I usually have to cut the line and tie on a new one.” Seteth is happily surprised.

You call him closer as you follow the line into the fish’s mouth. You hand him the tool and instruct him as he uses it to free the hook. He stands much closer to you than he normally does. He smells like myrrh, cinnamon, and ginger.

“That was certainly educational today.” Seteth smiles. “Thank you for your instruction.”

“Any time.” You smile softly. “The company was very enjoyable.”

A week later Seteth invites you for tea in his office. Checking the calendar, you note that next week everyone will leave for battle, so he must want to review final plans. You arrive at his door at the exact appointed time, holding several folders of paperwork that he may find useful to allay his concerns.

Seteth invites you inside and gestures to the table by the windows that is set for tea.

His desk is piled high with folders, stacks of letters to be sealed, parchment and inkwells randomly scattered amongst his work. Mounds of opened letters fill the box on one corner of the desk while multiple completed replies occupy a box on the other side.

“Is that paperwork for me?” He appears to be surprised at the bundle in your hands.

“I thought you may want to discuss the inventories and preparations being made for our upcoming march.” You respond shyly. The last thing you want to do is provide more work for him.

Seteth takes the folders from you and places them on a nearby table. “Actually, I have the greatest trust in you and would only speak to you about it if you need my guidance. Please, take a seat and join me for tea.” He gestures to the table and chairs by the window.

Taking your seat, you pull the cloth napkin to your lap. You feel a bit nervous. He has only asked you to his office to discuss matters of the church or war. This is your first purely social visit.

Seteth pours the tea, handing you tongs to take a sweet treat from the basket.

“Apologies, I do not know your favorite tea. I hope you do not mind Four Spice Blend.” He smiles softly as he takes his seat, making certain his chair is at a proper gentlemanly distance from you.

“I drink Four Spice in the cooler weather, the flavor seems to warm me from within.” You return the smile. This must be the excitement the students feel when Professor Byleth invites them to tea.

“I am glad you enjoy it.” Seteth hums. “I have been having conversations with Felix lately about the importance of friends in our lives. I then realized that I have been negligent myself in not taking time to visit with my friends.”

“I am delighted to call you my friend, of course. We have worked together for these many years, but we have not made proper time to simply chat.”

“I am making an effort to correct that mistake, starting today.” Seteth nods and takes a sip of tea. “Do tell me about yourself, what books you like to read, what are your hobbies?”

You chat back and forth until the tea has grown exceedingly cold, exchanging tidbits of knowledge into who each of you are as a person. You speak of the books you’ve read recently and share impressions you have on your allies.

“This has been simply fascinating. A fantastic break from work. I feel very refreshed,” Seteth smiles. “I have learned quite a bit about you and your many talents.”

“I feel the same! I have learned so much about you as well. Thank you for inviting me to a very lovely tea.” You stand and reach for your paperwork.

“Perhaps we can make it a weekly occurrence, to make certain we have the time to check on each other,” He offers.

“Fantastic. I would enjoy it immensely.” You are beaming with happiness as you head out the door. Your heart skips a beat as you head down the hallway. You don’t mind that there are a few patients impatiently waiting inside the infirmary.

It is a few weeks before you can have another quiet tea together. Travel and battle do not allow for much time to socialize. Your hands are full setting up the infirmary tents, organizing the clerics, making certain the army has well stocked bandages and potions for the fighters.

Flayn is going to be on the field for the battle and you worry over her as she finishes attaching the last pieces of her armor. She comes to speak with you frequently, discussing a few adult matters that she is not confident with confiding in her brother.

“Watch out for arrows, if you are hurt, fly straight to the infirmary. Your brother would never forgive me if I cannot get you back into perfect health as soon as possible.” You kiss her on the forehead and send her off to her wyvern. You have become quite close friends and say a silent prayer for her safety. She reminds you of your younger siblings that you raised when your mother passed away.

Now you are standing at the edge of camp, watching what little you can see of the battle. Seteth and Flayn are flying close together on their wyverns, protecting each other. You send a quick prayer for their safety as you head back into the infirmary tent, injured fighters are already arriving.

Wrapping a bandage to a soldiers arm you’ve completed stitching and healing, you hear a wyvern’s roar outside the tent. Running to the front of the tent, Flayn is guiding her brother’s wyvern to the ground next to hers. Seteth is nearly unconscious as you hurry to lift him from the saddle. You have no idea where your strength comes from as you carry him into the infirmary and place him on an examination table. You’ve carried unconscious soldiers before, but Seteth is very solidly built.

Flayn dashes in behind you, filling you in on what happened. “He was hit by a lightning bolt. His wyvern was hit as well, but it dealt with the hit better than he did. I think it was because of the arrows he had taken prior that had weakened him.”

“Help me get his robes off.” You quickly instruct her.

She helps remove his robes and armor as you strip him to his undershirt and trousers. His pants are ruined by two arrows, you cut them off just above the arrow in his thigh and around the other in his calf. Neither of the projectiles are close to arteries, however the one in his thigh is very deep into the muscle. It seems to take forever to remove the arrowhead from leg. You had to cut tissue and pull his flesh out of the way. Finally, you work faith magic deep into the torn tissues, encouraging the flesh to bind back together.

Flayn works on his shoulder where the burns from the lightning strike entered his body. Luckily it traveled down his arm and exited close to his hand. You heal what you can of the burns for now, they will need further attention later.

Two strong soldiers help lift Seteth onto a stretcher, moving him to his tent. Gently you guide him on to his bed with Flayn’s assistance and she stays to watch over him. Before you leave, you examine her for any injuries, healing even the smaller cuts, knowing her brother would not be pleased to waken and see she was not treated.

Returning to the infirmary you triage the incoming soldiers. The new casualties begin to dwindle and those that are well enough leave for dinner. You make certain those that can eat do so. You then proceed to check on Seteth.

Standing at the entrance on the tent you announce yourself. Flayn beckons you to come in. Flayn is sitting in a chair, knitting a sock as she quietly sits by his side.

“I am so happy that you taught me how to knit. It is keeping my hands and mind busy so I do not hover over him so much. He has been sleeping peacefully since he was brought here.” Flayn updates you.

Leaning over the cot that Seteth is silently sleeping on, you check his vitals then his wounds to make certain he has not bled through the bandages. You’ve noticed his and Flayn’s heartrate are not the same as others. There are a few things you have seen over the years that sets them apart from the others. You keep these things to yourself, honoring their privacy.

Looking over at Flayn you smile reassuringly. “Would you like to go visit with your friends a bit? Promise me you will stay right in the middle of camp. No going off anywhere or your brother will have my head. I’m sure you want to check on them as well. When the sound the night bell, be back here very quickly. “

She gasps with excitement, “Yes! Thank you so much.” She hurriedly packs away her knitting and runs from the tent.

Remaining by Seteth’s side, you heal the electrical burns to his shoulder and hand. Exhausted, you doze lightly in the chair with a blanket over your legs and your hand resting on his chest. If he makes the slightest movement your eyes are wide open and you observe him for any discomfort.

Flayn returns a few hours later, tired and happy that she could visit with everyone. She kisses Seteth on the head and tells you good night just as he wakens.

Opening his eyes, his first sight is her. “Flayn!” He gasps. “You are alright.” His eyes close and he visibly relaxes for a moment.

“She is fine. A few minor scratches. Absolutely nothing compared to your injuries.” You pat your hand on his chest.

Seteth moves, attempting to sit up. He shifts his legs then grimaces with pain. With you pushing him back into his cot, he finally settles back into a prone position.

“You were hit by two arrows and then lightning. How you managed to keep perched on your wyvern is a miracle. Flayn brought you back. The battle is long over, you need to rest.” You answer his questions before he can ask them.

“I am happy to see you are recovering. Good night, brother.” Flayn calls as she heads out into the night air to her tent.

“Please tell me if you have any pain. I will help you sit up to have something to drink after I heal you further. I can get you anything you need, food, water, just name it.”

“I feel extremely fatigued, like every muscle in my body has been worked to exhaustion,” he quietly answers. “I only felt pain when I tried to move my leg. You have done a wonderful job, thank you.”

“You are a good patient. Let me change the bandages on your leg and then sit you up to have a drink. You should sleep and let the healing take full hold.” Taking your basket of fresh bandages and healing salves you move to the other side of his cot and begin unwrapping his wounds. Cleansing and applying further deep healing to his leg, you wrap it with fresh, clean dressings.

Taking a waterskin in hand, you help him sit up enough to drink nearly two cups of water. You take a handkerchief to dab his lips.

“There was a significant amount of blood loss. Drinking plenty of fluids will help you replenish them. I’ll make sure you eat a high amount of protein tomorrow for breakfast.”

“Thank you,” Seteth whispers as he lies back and closes his eyes. You pat his chest and he takes your hand in his. You are relieved that he is too tired to notice a slight blush on your cheeks.

Seteth awakens in the morning to the smell of bacon and eggs. You carefully help him to sit up.

“Flayn is in the infirmary tent, helping with those she can.” You begin. “They are tearing down camp and we will be headed back to the monastery soon. Do you need me to help you get a change of clothes? You will need new pants, I had to cut the others to get to your injuries. I can send someone to assist you if you prefer.”

“Let me see if I can stand, perhaps I can manage on my own.” Seteth slowly sits himself up and swings his legs off the cot. You reach outside the tent, then turn around and hand him a training lance.

“This should help you keep steady on your feet for now.“ You say while hovering over him as he takes a few cautious steps to the chair next to the table. Once he is seated you make certain he has fresh water to go with his food.

Back at the monastery you currently have four patients in the infirmary. Riding in the back of a wagon did not help their conditions much and it takes considerable time to heal and stabilize them until you feel that they are settled and without pain.

Flayn appears in front of your desk as you document the charts. “Are you finished with the patients?” She asks sweetly.

“For now. I will have someone monitoring them throughout the night and wake me if their conditions worsen.” You answer as you finish making an entry.

“Good!” Flayn takes you by the arm and pulls you down the hallway to Seteth’s office. Pulling you inside, you see the table set for three. The smell of the delicious dinner is heavenly, you’ve not eaten for many hours. Seteth is already seated at the table

“Please excuse me for not standing.” Seteth blushes slightly

You laugh. “I would be angry if you did. You’re keeping the leg propped up. Excellent.” You see that his color is good, he is healing well. You give a huge sigh of relief.

Flayn guides you to the seat next to him and she sits across from her brother. While the meal progresses, Flayn tells her point of view of the battle and how the Professor led them all to victory.

“This is quite a happy surprise. An excellent dinner and amazing company. I could not ask for more. Thank you both for having me.” You look greatly pleased.

“It is the least we could do to thank you for your excellent care,” Seteth assures. “You have been working nonstop since the battle. When you are finished, Flayn will escort you to your room and you will sleep. The healers here have been under your watchful eye and will take good care of the wounded. We need you to take time to care for yourself.”

“Yes. I will sleep and you should as well. I’m sending Flayn back to check on you. If she finds you working at the desk, I’ll run up here and bring a stick with me to chase you out.” You laugh.

Seteth chuckles. “I do not wish to incur your wrath. I promise to head straight for bed after dinner.”

“Should I change your bandages while I am here?” You ask.

“I did not invite you here to work. Flayn will aid me.” He nods to her.

Flayn suddenly interrupts. “I really should get the dishes back to the kitchens, you know how they can be. Perhaps it would be best that she escorts you to your room and check you this evening. This will probably take me a few trips.” Flayn says as she hurriedly stacks the plates, cups, and cutlery together and heads out the door.

“Do you have salves and bandages in your room? Should I pop by the infirmary for some?” You inquire.

“You had best get them. I know Flayn has some in her room, however I am not certain that I have any myself. I will meet you at the stairs, we can go up together.” He answers as he reaches for a cane to keep himself steady.

You observe Seteth as you follow him up the stairs, he is being especially careful and favoring his leg. He unlocks the door to his room on the third floor. You try not to let the curiosity get the best of you. Briefly glancing about, his quarters are pristine. Comfortable and heavy furniture come into view as he lights a candelabra.

“Would you prefer to change your bandages on the couch or your bed.” You ask.

“The bed I suppose,” he sighs as he leads you to his bedroom.

“Do you have a spare towel in the bathroom? I want to make certain nothing gets onto your bedclothes.”

“Of course, there is a basket by the door.” He gestures to the open door.

Retrieving a towel, you return to his side. Seteth is seated on his bed, his back propped by his pillows. His pants are removed from the wounded leg, the other covered by his blanket.

Raising his leg, you carefully place the towel underneath. You observe his grimace out of the corner of your eye.

“Which wound hurts more, the one in your calf or the one in your thigh?”

“The thigh. That one was quite deep,” Seteth answers, slightly gritting his teeth.

Unwrapping both injuries they appear to be healing well, the scarring is pink, not red at the edges, no signs of infection or bleeding. You slightly lift his lower leg, asking him to move his foot different directions. Turning your attention to the healing injury on his thigh you begin pouring faith magic into the muscles, knitting the torn tissue further together bit by bit. Massaging the muscles around the wound you flex his knee. The healing is progressing quite well.

Briefly you glance to his face, his eyes are closed, he appears relaxed. You are blushing again. His muscles are perfect, his thighs well-toned. Taking a deep breath, you pull your brain back into your professional mindset.

“Any other pain? Any lingering tingling from the lightning in your arm?” You softly ask. “You have walked on that leg too much today. Limping around on a cane will cause pain in your hand and arm as well as throwing off your gait and leading to lower back pain. I’ve done what I can today. I would like to treat your thigh injury one more time tomorrow.” You turn away to gather the soiled bandages and cool the steamy thoughts in your head.

“You are worrying too much. I will be fine.” Seteth answers. He sounds sleepy, which is relieving. You make certain he has a glass of water on his nightstand before you leave.

You make your way back downstairs. Flayn is taking the last of the dishes back to the kitchens. You wish her a good night and tell her to fetch you if you are needed. Once she is out of sight you head to the infirmary to check on the patients. The night cleric is relieved to see you, a soldier woke up and fell trying to get out of bed, undoing quite a bit of the work everyone had put into him. A few hours later you leave the heavily sedated patient, hoping they will retain the use of their arm.

The next day you find yourself being scolded by Flayn when she finds your bowl of oatmeal is still half full on your desk and it is already lunchtime. You are too busy working on the soldier’s reinjured shoulder to eat.

“Stop this at once!” Flayn stamps her foot for good measure. I am hereby relieving you of your duty and sentencing you to complete bedrest until tomorrow.

You turn around to argue with her, however two knights are gently taking you by the arms and leading you from the infirmary to your room. As you close your door behind you, you can hear Flayn giving them orders to stand guard and not let you leave until tomorrow morning.

Your head is pounding as you reach for a glass of water. Being told to take your own medicine is quite the bitter pill to swallow. It is reassuring that the soldier should be fine and rest is the best thing for you now.

The next day Flayn apologizes for her mutiny. Instead of being angry with her, you give her a huge hug and thank her for her bravery. You invite her to bake cookies together later, perhaps some ginger snaps, since her brother may like the flavor.

Meeting Flayn in the kitchens she confesses, “Everyone says I am a bad cook. Before the war I cooked a dish so bad only Dimitri and Raphael would eat it.” She pouts.

“It is not that you are bad at cooking. You simply do not understand the why and because of it all.” You explain as you gather and measure the ingredients for the cookies.

“Butter for example.” You begin, “We’re not using it in this recipe, but many times softened butter is an ingredient in cookies. You can’t use cold butter, it won’t mix well with the sugar. If you melt the butter, it will mix with the sugar, however the consistency will be wrong. If you melt the butter too long, it will brown the butter, giving it a completely different taste. Leaving the butter in a slightly warm place for about 30 minutes should soften the butter enough to mix with the sugar and make a fluffy creamy mixture, perfect for many baked goods.”

“So cooking requires the ingredients to be in the correct state as well as quantity.” Flayn nods in understanding.

“Exactly! And you cannot always substitute items in a recipe. If you want to use a plum instead of a peach, that will not cause problems. However, if you use baking soda instead of baking powder, that may make your cookies or cake refuse to rise.”

“But they both are for baking and making it rise.” Flayn frowns.

“Would you substitute mandrake root for arrow root in a potion?” You ask.

“Goodness no! One has healing properties, the other is a poison!” Flayn shudders.

“Both are roots, both are powdered and about the same color. Always use the correct ingredient.” You nod encouragingly. “It is like brewing potions. The right ingredients in the right quantity will make someone sleep peacefully. Too much and they will be in a coma.”

“I am beginning to understand your instruction. One cannot substitute ingredients willy-nilly. You must have knowledge as to how they work together to understand the effects of changing the composition of the baked item.” Flayn smiles widely.

“Once you get the basics, with experience you will be able to change things in the recipe. Let’s go by the recipe today and experiment another time. So did you measure one cup of sugar or one cup of salt here?” You place the bowl in front of her.

“Um. I am uncertain.” Flayn blushes.

“Taste it.” You push the bowl closer to her.

Flayn takes a pinch between her fingers and puts it on her tongue. “Ew! That would have been horrible!” she gasps as she heads to the larder to obtain a cup of sugar, abandoning the cup of salt on the counter.

Later in the afternoon you join Seteth in his office for Angelica tea. You surprise him with a box of the ginger cookies baked earlier.

“Ginger cookies! I have not had one in quite some time.” Seteth eagerly grasps a couple with the tongs, putting them on his plate.

“Flayn made them this morning.” You smile.

Seteth’s smile falls from his face as his eyebrows furrow slightly. He looks back to see that his door is indeed closed. “You do know what her cooking is like, don’t you?” He whispers.

You laugh. “Really Seteth, I was with her the entire time. We had a very productive cooking session. You may be surprised. Go on, take a bite.”

Seteth brings the cookie to his lips as if he has been requested to bite the head off a viper. He stares down at the cookie for a second and sniffs it. It does not smell as if it is burnt. It smells of ginger and sweetness, which is unusual for a cookie baked by Flayn.

Finally, he opens his mouth and takes a bite, silently praying that his teeth do not break off by doing this. Instead, his teeth sink into the slightly soft, slightly chewy, perfectly baked cookie. The ginger mixed with the molasses and other spices meld together in his mouth in the most delightful and rewarding flavors. His eyes open wide as his lips pull into the sweetest smile.

“You are absolutely certain that Flayn made these? They are delicious!” Seteth gasps.

You nod. You are so proud of her right now. You wish she could see the look on Seteth’s face right now. It’s precious.

“I must thank her later. You are a miracle worker.” He reaches forward and takes your hand in his.

Your face feels as if it is on fire as it heats up with a blush. Taking your teacup you try to hide behind it as you watch Seteth reach for another cookie.

The infirmary tent is outside of Fort Merceus. You can hear the battle raging on the fortress above the wall. You’ve just finished treating the wounds of an armored Knight, closing the lance wound to his shoulder. Suddenly things are quiet. You then hear a strange whistling noise followed by an explosion. Rocks rain down from the skies, causing the large tent to collapse around you. Pain overwhelms you as the world suddenly becomes dark.

You jolt into consciousness. Sitting upright you grab your head as it throbs fiercely between your hands. Your fingers feel wet, they are covered with blood.

“Brother! She is awake!” you hear Flayn’s voice next to you. Bleary eyed you look over to her, it is difficult to focus through the pain.

Seteth kneels at the side of the cot, wrapping his arms gently around you. “I thought that we might lose you.”

You manage to reach your right arm toward, your left arm refuses to cooperate. Taking a few deep breaths, you calm yourself. Your head pounds mercilessly.

“What happened?” Your voice trembling, remembering the last things you saw.

“The Fortress is gone. It is nothing but rubble. Pillars of light came from the skies and caused explosions everywhere. An entire wall crumbled and crushed part of the infirmary. The battle is over, for now.” Seteth’s voice exudes sadness.

You sob uncontrollably into his shoulder. The loss of life must have been great. Slowly the flow of tears subsides.

“Here, you must drink something.” Seteth offers a waterskin.

You drink your fill. Your eyes are more focused now and you notice you are in Seteth’s tent. You open your mouth to speak, his finger covers your lips.

“You need to rest.” Seteth softly says as he holds a potion bottle for you to drink. You smell the bitterness of the sedative. Nodding your head, you drink the contents. He then lays you back on his cot.

You awaken to the sounds of birds chirping and soldiers walking through the camp. This time you are not nearly in as much pain as you were previously. Sitting up, you assess your injuries. Based on the wrappings and pain your left shoulder has been broken. You have multiple contusions on your arms and legs. Feeling your head, your hair has been washed and there are a few spots where cuts are healed.

You watch the tent flap open and Flayn brings two plates of breakfast to set on the table.

“I am glad you are awake. My brother is in the war council meeting. Let me help you walk over here and get something to eat.” Flayn’s smile is soft and encouraging.

As you both eat, she updates you on the status of the camp. The battle was won, then the Fort was attacked. They did lose two clerics and several soldiers when the tent was hit by debris. They repaired the infirmary tent and treatment of the wounded is ongoing. The soldiers are reorganizing, preparing for the march to Enbarr.

“I feel bad for stealing your brother’s bed.” You frown. You are unaccustomed to inconveniencing others, especially your wonderful friends.

“He slept on the floor next to you to make certain you did not wake up and head back to the infirmary.” Flayn giggles.

“He knows me well.” You nod.

“He hovered over you like a mother hen. He was very worried.” Flayn looks at you, her eyes seem to bore into you. “Do you like him?”

“Well, yes, I do. We have been friends for many years.” You answer, deciding that the eggs on your plate are very interesting so you stare at them. They stare back.

“You would make a great couple.” She giggles.

You almost choke on the food you are chewing. Grabbing a drink of water, you take a few gasps of air. “What makes you think that?” Your face is bright red, you can’t look her in the eye.

“I am getting pretty good at noticing these things. When things are difficult, you tend to find someone that you can lean on and support you. Dimitri and Marianne, Felix and Sylvain, Mercedes and Dedue. It is only natural. You and my brother watch out for each other, keep the other from overworking, make sure they eat properly. I think it is inevitable.” She grins and looks quite satisfied with herself.

Your brain goes into overdrive. “I spend a lot of time with you as well. Knitting, cooking, fishing.”

“Yes. However, you do not act romantically toward me, your attitude is more…hmmm,” Flayn puts a finger to her chin. “Motherly.”

“It is true that I am that way toward you. My mother passed not long after giving birth to my youngest brother. Father relied on me to help raise my siblings as I was the oldest. I see so much of my siblings in you. Your naivety, looking at the world through innocent eyes. I feel very protective of you and understand your brother’s concern. I also recognize his attitude of overprotectiveness. You are all he has left.” You pat her hand.

“True. I thank you for your support. He needs to learn and understand that I am no longer a little girl.” Flayn pouts, slightly ruining her ‘I am an adult’ speech.

“Perhaps you should speak with him. Have a heart to heart conversation.” You feel relieved the conversation has shifted to her feelings about her restrictive sibling.

The remainder of your breakfast is quiet. Flayn returns the dishes to the cooks as you slowly make your way to the infirmary tent. Late in the evening you are lying and resting in an empty cot when you hear Seteth’s voice. You sit up as he approaches.

“There is no need to get up.” He apologizes. “I was simply checking on your wellbeing.”

Feeling brave, you reach up to take his hand. “Thank you for helping me. I have been pacing myself and taking frequent breaks. I am very grateful for everything you have done. I am sure you would like to enjoy your privacy and sleep more comfortably.”

Seteth squeezes your hand. “You are not a burden. My door is always open for you. Sleep well.” He smiles as he leaves.

You lie there, overthinking the short exchange. Are you special or simply a good friend? You want to curse Flayn for lighting aflame these thoughts in your head. You eventually drift off to sleep.

Several weeks later you march with the troops back to Garreg Mach. The war is over. Enbarr and the Emperor are defeated. Rhea is rescued and officially appoints Byleth as the new Archbishop. The Knights are busy taking out rogue bands of Imperial troops and bandits, returning to the monastery to be healed and rest up for the next battle.

Seteth is constantly overworking himself along with Byleth as they create the new doctrine for the church. They also communicate with Dimitri by letter, regarding plans for the continent. You find yourself constantly interrupting their meetings, forcing them to break for food or to take a walk to get fresh air.

“I thought we had just stopped for lunch. Is it time for dinner already?” Seteth looks up from the table filled with scattered parchment and books. Byleth doesn’t look up from his writing.

“Yes. Flayn and I have caught some fish and we are having it for dinner. No excuses.” You glare at them sternly. “Join us in the dining hall.” You do not say now, however it is implied and they stop their work quickly.

While eating, Seteth and Byleth attempt to continue their conversation regarding a particular section of doctrine.

“I order both of you to rest. Talk of something not business,” You plead. “I have heard that Dimitri will only work six days a week, taking one day for his mental wellbeing and health. I completely stand behind that mindset. True, there are always some issues that have to be dealt with, however the focus of the day off is to give yourself a break.”

Byleth looks at you as if you have two heads.

“Vessel of the goddess, yeah, yeah.” You frown at them. “You still need to eat, to sleep, and to rest. Keep this up and you’re headed straight for another five year nap. How much work are you going to finish then?” You cross your arms in front of your chest, looking at them smugly.

“She seems quite serious and peremptory. I don’t think we have much of a choice in this.” Seteth acquiesces. “Saucy little woman.” He whispers to his soup.

“What was that?” You snip.

“I said you make a fine spokeswoman.” He quickly shovels more fish into his mouth.

A week later they announce that Sunday shall be a day of rest except for what must absolutely be accomplished. The first week goes quite well. Byleth and Seteth spend much of the day resting in the afternoon sun as they fish in the pond.

They even admit to a renewed spirit as they return to their work the next day, having clearer minds and feeling rested. Things go well until the fourth week.

You are in the infirmary long enough to heal and bandage a burn on Annette’s arm when you cannot help but hear Seteth and Flayn’s very loud and angry voices emitting from his office. Quickly you dismiss Annette, telling her not to utter a single word.

As you approach Seteth’s door, Flayn runs out crying and fleeing to her room upstairs.

Seteth is sitting at his desk, his head in his hands.

“I do not know what has gotten into that child. She simply does not understand that I am trying to protect her.” He groans.

You knock on the door frame. Seteth waves you in and you close the door behind you.

“Apologies. I am sorry you were a witness to our outburst.” He sounds exasperated.

“She has grown to become quite the independent woman.” You disclose. “She has emotionally developed from a child into an adult since I met her all those years ago.”

Seteth groans. “The world is a dangerous place. I only want to keep her safe. Just a few years ago she was kidnapped right under my nose. I cannot let any harm befall her.”

“It hurts. It hurts to let them go. Watching them flee the safe and warm nest you have prepared.” You begin. “Your relationship is like a hand full of sand. Held loosely, with an open hand, the sand remains where it is. The minute you close your hand and squeeze it tightly to hold on, the sand trickles through your fingers. You can hold on to some of it, but most of it spills. A relationship should be like sand held loosely, with respect and freedom for the other person, it will remain intact. But hold too tightly, too possessively and the relationship slips away and is gone forever.”

“I cannot lose her.” The tears flow from his eyes.

You come around to his side of the desk and hold him to your chest. “There are two times when parenting is most difficult. When the baby first arrives and when the adult first leaves home.”

“You are not fully aware…” He chokes on his words.

“That you are her father? She has slipped too many times in her speech. I know you love her more than anything. You have raised her as your child, regardless. The thought of her leaving breaks your heart. I know.” You assure him. You had felt like you died a little every time one of your brothers and sisters left the nest.

“I want to take her and flee. Hide deep in the mountains where I can protect her.” He gasps through his tears.

“Have you asked her if that is what she wants? If you take her and run, she may escape, putting herself out alone in the wild and into even greater danger. If you let her remain, surround herself with friends who love and protect her, just as you have, could she be safe? If you part from her angry, will she ever come back? These are things you need to ask yourself.”

“If I did that, I would truly lose her.” He looks at you knowingly.

You nod and hold him as he shudders, his sobs filling the room. You pat his back and shoulders reassuringly. After a few minutes he takes a few cleansing breaths.

“My deepest apologies, I did not mean to bring you in to this.” Seteth obtains a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his tears.

“I am here to help you. To help Flayn too. Both of you can be quite stubborn when you want to be.” You rub circles on his back, continuing to bolster him.

“What should I do now. Where do we go from here?” Seteth looks completely overwhelmed.

“Start with a nice tea together, in a neutral territory. Perhaps on the star terrace? I will check with Byleth and see if that is acceptable. Let her know this is the first of several conversations you will have. It is like any negotiation, discuss the good and the bad. Let her know more details of what you are worrying about. If either of you begin to get upset, step away from the table and calm your mind.”

You pause to let him think for a moment. “Remind her that no matter what, you love her, wanting only the best for her. You want her to understand your concerns. You need to understand her concerns, her dreams, her priorities. Keep communicating. Talk and talk some more.” You hug him tightly then head for the door.

“I cannot thank you enough.” Seteth nods as you smile at him before leaving.

Standing guard at the foot of the stairs to the third floor you sip your tea for a bit then return to knitting. They have been up there talking over tea for over two hours. No doors slamming. No yelling. This is a good sign.

Seteth calls from the top of the stairs, asking you to join them.

Flayn is carrying the tea set into Rhea’s former bedroom. She places it on and end table, then rushes over to give you a hug.

“Thank you.” She quickly whispers before heading down the hall to her chambers.

You walk outside to stand next to Seteth at the balcony. The stars twinkle brightly in the cloudless sky. You look up to him as he stares into the heavens. The air is still and cool now that night has fallen. Patiently you wait for him to gather his thoughts.

“We had a productive conversation.” Seteth begins softly.

You hum in agreement, not wanting to interrupt.

“We spoke of many things. Some good, some bad. All of it necessary. You are correct, she has grown up before my eyes and I could not see it. She is a beautiful young woman.” He speaks slowly, each word tearing apart his heart.

You want to take him in your arms and reassure him, you can see the sadness in his eyes. His precious Flayn must be allowed to be free, and he feels like it is killing him. You settle with leaning against his shoulder with yours.

“She said she worries for me just as much as I for her. She fears that when she leaves, I will shut myself off from the world. I have told her many times that she is my world, that all I do, I do for her. She knows the sacrifices I have made for her sake. She is grateful. But she wants to do things on her own. How to fend for herself. I just—” his voice falters.

Seteth hangs his head low, gripping the balustrade tightly for support. “I am terrified.”

“Let her know you will always be there for her. That you are a place of safety for her, a refuge.” You rub his shoulder as you remain looking skyward.

“Of course, I will take her back, in a heartbeat. There is no doubt. I would bring her where I am without question.” He says with conviction. “The hardest part is to let her go in the first place.”

“She is still here, you have time to mend your hearts. You will always worry for her, she knows this. You have earned that right.” You softly pat his opposite shoulder your arm around his back..

“Thank you for being here.” Seteth turns and hugs you to his chest. You hug him back and stand with him in the cool air, sharing warmth with each other.

Flayn and Seteth have several teatime conversations, adult to adult. One day they decided to take a short holiday together, packing belongings on their wyverns and return several days later.

Seteth works twice as hard to make up for the lost time in his office. You spend time with Flayn as she tells you of her plans. Ignatz and Raphael are going to work as knights for Lorenz who has taken over Gloucester lands from his father. Lorenz is fully employing Ignatz to be ‘a knight that paints’. She will join them in a month’s time. She is in love with Ignatz, however does not want to jump into things too quickly. With her other friends there, she will see how the budding romance goes.

You giggle along with her about her exciting plans, what she wants to do for herself and things she will see. She is quite excited about visiting Derdriu. She’s always loved the ocean and the other coast is just north of the territory.

“What will you be doing now that things are settling down? Do you want to travel or start something new?” Flayn looks at you curiously.

“I’m still recovering from going through the war. I’ve always enjoyed working here. Because Byleth is staying here, friends will come to visit frequently. I am not much of a wanderer, so traveling is out. I don’t want to go north, the snow we have here is plenty.” You think for a moment. “Teaching sounds interesting if they decide to reopen the academy or a regular school. I would like to research some additional healing spells. There are many things to do. Deciding is the hard part.”

“You should think about finding someone special to settle down with.” Flayn smirks.

You nearly spit tea all over yourself. “I..um.” You cough into your napkin and gather your wits. “Unlike some people I know, I do not rush into things.”

“I have watched you pine over him for years.” She laughs.

Looking away from her you wiggle nervously in your chair. “I have no idea what you’re alluding to.”

“You both are so hopeless.” Flayn huffs.

A few days later, Flayn leaves a box outside your door labeled ‘Educational Materials’. You take them in your room then head to the infirmary for work. She has left a box there labeled ‘Medical Supplies’. You open the box and restock the shelves with the gauze and bandages. At the end of the day you return to your room deciding to open the box she has left for you. It is filled with romance novels. How strange. Educational? You think as you open one of the books to peruse through.

Flayn has finished packing her belongings. She distributed a few things around the monastery, leaving enough of her belongings in her room so that she will not have to pack anything when she comes to visit Seteth. The wagon from Gloucester territory has arrived and she watches them load her belongings onto the back. Flayn stands outside the carriage saying her goodbyes.

“Byleth, thank you for accepting me in your class. It began my journey to the independence that I celebrate today.” She gives him a hug and kiss on the cheek.

“I must thank you for everything you have done for me. You have taught me how to cook, amazing fishing techniques and patience. Thank you for everything.” She takes your hands in hers as she gazes your face with a sincere smile. She kisses you on both cheeks, like the adult women of the court say goodbye.

Flayn jumps up and gives Seteth a tight hug. She buries her face in his chest so she cannot see his face.

“I will miss you most of all, brother. I promise to write. I will be safe, you’ll see.” She pauses so that he can kiss her on the forehead, then she turns and quickly enters into the carriage before anyone can see a tear fall from her eyes. The carriage pulls away and she waves out the window with her hand.

Byleth stares as the carriage leaves. “Do you think she will cry?”

“She is bawling her eyes out right now.” You manage to chuckle, trying to hold back your own tears. A sniffle still escapes.

Seteth has moved inside the building, most likely to hide his own tears. You stand next to Byleth, not sure what to do with yourself. Byleth eventually looks over to you.

“I’ll go to the wyvern rookery to make sure he doesn’t try to follow her. You should go talk to him.” Byleth announces as they head out.

Heading up the stairs to the second floor of the faculty building, the trip seems much longer than usual. You have no idea what to say to him. You pause outside his door, praying the goddess gives you the proper words.

“Seteth. May I come in?” Announcing your presence as you knock.

“This is not a good time for conversation.” He answers, not opening the door.

“We don’t have to speak.” You answer. “Please?”

The silence from the other side of the door is deafening. You wait, not moving.

“Enter.”

You enter, seeing him seated at his desk, looking toward the wall. You silently close the door. Approaching Seteth like you would a terrified animal, extending your hand toward him slowly and gently, you touch his shoulder.

He hangs his head and weeps into his chest. You place your head on his shoulder and arms around his back, letting him mourn his loss. His muscles are all tight as he pulls into himself, his body shakes with emotion.

When he has run out of tears, he pulls himself from your embrace. He tries to hide his face, swollen from crying. You reach for a pitcher and pour water onto a cloth, chill it with magic and place it on his forehead and eyes. You tilt his head back to rest it on the back of his chair. Moving behind him you massage his temples and apply healing magic to relieve the headache from crying.

He looks as if he is resting, or at least trying to relax after having tensed his entire body for so long.

“I am always here for you.” You say softly before leaving his office.

You arrange for dinner to be brought to his door. Disappointment crosses your face when you see the food is untouched hours later.

The next morning your rise early to fish, but the fish have no interest. You glance at the windows of Seteth’s office and there is no light. Heading to the infirmary you walk past it and stand outside of his office door. You knock, there is no answer. You attempt to open the door, it is locked.

While treating a cut on a soldier’s arm, Byleth enters the infirmary.

“Have you seen Seteth? He is late for our meeting this morning.” Byleth says, looking concerned.

“No. Perhaps you should check on him?” You offer. “I believe he skipped dinner last night and the cooks said he was not there for breakfast. He did not touch his food at dinner last night as well.”

Byleth frowns and heads for Seteth’s office door. You hear his knocking from inside the infirmary. Soon the hallway is quiet. A few minutes later you hear the tapping of Byleth’s boots walking down the hallway and going up to the third floor.

Putting away the bandages and salves, you jump when Byleth bursts into the infirmary.

“Come quick!” He orders.

Dashing up the stairs you head to Seteth’s room. Byleth is with him in the bedroom, having placed Seteth on his bed. He had found him lying on the floor of the front room.

You quickly assess Seteth’s condition. He has exhausted himself. His eyes are dark and sunken, black lines hang below his eyes. He has probably not been sleeping and certainly has not been eating. You knew he had not been sleeping well, he looked tired yesterday however, today is much worse.

“I can take over from here. Let the infirmary know I am indisposed for a day or so.” You announce as Byleth helps you pull a comfy chair from the parlor next to the bed. You also set a pitcher and two glasses on the nightstand.

“I’ll send dinner up.” Byleth says as he leaves the room.

You check Seteth frequently. He is sleeping soundly. You eat, leaving the dishes outside. He still has not moved. Grabbing a throw blanket, you curl up in the chair, settling in for the night. You leave your hand on top of his, you need to wake if he stirs.

The moonlight shining through the windows gives a bluish glow to the room, the sun has not yet risen, however it will in an hour or so. Seteth begins to stir. He yawns and instinctively reaches to cover his mouth. Just as he moves, you bolt upright in the chair and look at him. He notices you there, bolting upright as he realizes you are in his room.

“What are you doing here.” Seteth huffs.

“I am watching over my patient. Apparently, someone cannot be trusted to take care of themselves properly.” You fold your arms on your chest and give him a glare that could frighten a demonic beast.

Seteth attempts to hide his shame behind his hand, using it to cover his face. “My deepest apologies. My mind has not been in a good place. I have been overwhelmed with grief since before Flayn had even left. I know she is alive and well, but that does not lessen my concern for her.”

“I should write to her and tell her exactly what you have done to yourself as soon as she left.” You scold. “She put me in charge of you, no matter how many times I assured her that you are a grown man and capable of taking care of yourself. I have misjudged you. I am certain she will not be pleased to know she was right.”

You get up and hand him a glass of water. He takes a few sips, placing it on the nightstand. You hand it back to him again pointing to the center of the glass. He drinks half of the contents and looks at you. You nod and he puts the glass down. A few moments pass as you stare at each other.

“Are you hungry? I can run to get you something. Do you have any pain?” Your face softens.

“I will be fine. I think I will lie here and rest for a little while longer.” Seteth takes your hand in his. “You should get some rest as well. You don’t need to stay here and watch an old man sleep.”

“Apparently, I do.” You softly laugh, squeezing his hand and moving over to sit on the bed next to him. “You do not look like an old man. Sometimes you act like one, however when I saw you fighting during the war you were on the front lines along with those young men and you were running circles around them. I’ve seen you wield your lance, you are a force to be reckoned with.” You smile warmly at him.

“Oh? So you have been watching me?” He raises his eyebrows a bit.

“Yes. Watching you fight and fly on your wyvern is breathtaking.” You pause, “You are breathtaking.”

“I…I don’t know what to say. Thank you?” Seteth blushes.

Giving him a smile, you whisper, “We have much to discuss. But right now, we are both exhausted. Scoot over, I am not sleeping in that chair one more minute.”

“That is not proper. We shou-“ he gasps.

You lay next to him. “Shhh. Scoot. We are consenting adults who need sleep. I am fully clothed. You are under the covers, I am over them. No different than last night, except I will be comfortable and won’t wake with a pain in my neck.” You snuggle next to him, laying your head on his shoulder and arm across his waist. “Good night.”

Seteth lies there stiffly for a while. Then he heaves a sigh and lays his cheek on the top of your head, drifting off to slee

#fe3h #fire emblem three houses #fe16 #fe3h x reader #fire emblem #Seteth #Flayn #fe3h fanfic #feth #Seteth x reader

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frostironfudge · 3 years

Note

Hi, can I request a tom hiddleston imagine/headcanon (you choose) where you're both co-stars in Betrayal and Tom falls for you? Like, you meet on set and as the days go by you both get closer and start dating, etc? Thank you, your writing is amazing ❤

hello! thank you for the prompt! and thank you so much for your lovely words!

i hope you enjoy the way i've written it sort of headconon + imagine mixed together?

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Word Count: 982

proof read not done therefore some mistakes mat be there

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- First Meet:

the auditions were completed over a month ago, your agent reminds you of a casting dinner scheduled tonight she doesn't tell you what cast though.

Your mind cannot get out of the reverie for being casted as Emma in the play.

Night rolls in and you make you way up the steps to the hotel where dinner is held, the flurry of flashing lights has you trip on the last step. A hand grabs onto your left arm to steady you,

looking up, you see Tom for the first time in person, he looks concerned.

"Th-thank you." you manage to say, as he walks with you to the entrance.

He politely smiles in return, "the flashes always take me by surprise too," he adds reassuring.

you look up at him, wanting to laugh that an actor of his caliber is taken by surprise by the paparazzi. You chose not to say anything, nodding instead.

He smiles once more and walks alongside you as you both make way to the restaurant.

You work up the courage to ask him is he on the same dinner list as are you, but when you enter the restaurant a woman comes forth to the both of you.

"Ah there are Robert and Emma!"

"Congratulations, Y/N" Tom smiles, a wider grin and you feel ecstatic.

"Congratulations, Tom."

- Before the first show:

You tend to always take a peak at the audience, theatre is your beloved form of showcasing the art you were entrusted with, your ritual was to always take a peak at the crowd.

"Y/N?" Tom had stepped behind you, two bottles of water in his hand,

"Tom?" You let go of the back curtain and your spying.

"Here, I remembered you saying before your last showcase you were parched." He hands you a bottle and you smile at him.

"I believe I said that quiet a few months ago, thank you for remembering."

He lets out a small laugh, looking away, "well they need me back in dressing." he says trying to clear some of the tension.

"I'm headed that way as well." you inform him.

Tom and you fall into step on your way back.

- During the show on broadway:

Scene: Emma(Y/N) admits to her affair with Jerry to Robert (Tom)

There is a shift in Tom's eyes, as though he is immersed much more than he lets himself, he can feel it as well.

The emotion shifts as the scene progresses, you notice him pulling the veil between himself and the character stitched into place.

- After the show at the hotel the team is being accommodated at:

You look into the mirror hanging on the white bathroom wall, "fuck it,"

grabbing your phone and keycard you leave the room and head towards tom's room as you find the pdf sent to you with everyone's room list in your email.

"2609, twenty-six oh nine.." you mumble searching through the floor for his door. "Ah" you stop at the door raising your hand to knock, only for your hand to land against Tom's shoulder.

He chuckles, "Yes, Y/N?"

then it hits you, that you probably over thought the entire process, over thought the way things had changed between the two of you, from banter to a tad bit flirting here and there.

"Y/N?" Tom's eyebrows furrowed, "Is everything alright?"

"fuck," you shook your head

"I'm sorry?" He was taken aback, he knew you swore often but never directed it at him.

"No, not to you, I well, I was worried about you."

"Why?"

"Well today during our scene where I tell you I've been betraying you, well not me and you but our characters..." You trail off gesturing with your hands.

"Yes..." Tom's cheeks redden, he didn't think you would have caught on.

"Well it seemed like Tom was on stage for a brief moment and then Robert came in." You finished.

"Would you like to come in?" Tom opened the door wider. You nodded.

He closed the door and leaned against it, you stood a few feet away, he was grateful because the impact of the next words was unknown to him.

"I did have a slip between myself and my character." Tom sighed, his shoulders relaxing.

"I want to explain why, if you will let me." Tom gestured towards the two chairs in the room near the window.

"I'd like to hear you out." You assured him.

After you both sat down, Tom looked out the window, gathering his words or donning a persona you couldn't tell.

"The past months, we've grown as friends, do you agree?" He looked at you, his blue eyes searching yours for any form of an answer.

"Yes, we have." it was the truth.

"Recently I have observed that the banter we have has been, well, sort of flirtatious?" He let out a nervous laugh and tried to distract himself with a piece of lint on his pants.

"Yes, it has, Tom?" You maintain your eyes on his face. his hair longer, glasses slightly sliding off the bridge of his nose.

He looks up, fixing his glasses.

"Do you want this, us to be something more than co-workers?" You ask, hesitant to know his answer.

"Yes, I would want to pursue us as a relationship if it goes there." Tom runs a hand through his hair.

And the cards you both were holding have been revealed.

"Where does this take us then?" You ask.

"I presume on a date, first?" Tom smiles sheepish.

"It does yes." You agree.

- A few months and various dates later:

You smile as Tom exists through the gates at Heathrow, Loki's premier event just a day away. He smiles as he sees you. Both of you waving at each other as he walks over.

He leaves his bag at his feet, embracing you.

"I missed you." you both whisper as you tighten the embrace.

----

Hope you enjoyed it!

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five-rivers · 3 years

Text

Solutions to Nonlinear Equations

For @currentlylurking for the Phic Phight. :)

“Ancients, Vlad. I’m not rejecting you because I’m a rebellious teenager and you’re an adult, I’m rejecting you because you’re incredibly creepy.”

Vlad sniffed in what he hoped was an aristocratic manner and raised an eyebrow, minutely adjusting his grip on Daniel to keep him pinned to the floor.

“We’re human-ghost hybrids, Daniel. I’d hoped that you’d have realized by now that we are meant to be ‘creepy.’”

Daniel squirmed and began to mutter into the carpet. “Clockwork never acts like this, I’m fine with him—”

Vlad pulled back as if burned. He hadn’t heard that name in—in—

In a long time.

Years.

The thought was almost expelled from his head when Daniel managed to elbow him in the jaw hard enough to make him see stars. Before he knew it, Daniel had slipped from his grasp and zoomed away.

Whatever aspersions Vlad cast on Daniel’s mastery of his ghostly abilities, the boy was fast. When he put his mind to escaping instead of picking a fight, he managed it more often than not, to Vlad’s great frustration. Hence Vlad’s usual strategy of needling the younger half-ghost until fighting was the only thing on Daniel’s mind.

He set down on a nearby roof. There went his plans for the day. Which, admittedly, had consisted of distracting Daniel while his ghostly minions set up a nasty surprise for him at the school, hence making him fail his test, which would, in turn, convince Maddie and Jack to let Vlad set Daniel up with a tutor, something he had suggested to them earlier, and—

Well. Daniel would find them, now, no doubt.

Ah, well.

He had more important things on his mind, now. Such as, how in two worlds did Daniel know Clockwork? Because Daniel never just said things like that. He barely knew anything about ghost culture. He wouldn’t know to bring up obscure, secretive, ghost historical figures. He wouldn’t know what that particular name would mean to Vlad.

Tongues of fire flared out of his fingers, bringing a measure of stability to the gyrations of his core and his emotions.

Daniel knew Clockwork. And, it seemed, met him with some regularity. Enough for him to compare his actions to Vlad’s.

Would that ghost never be satisfied with ruining Vlad’s life? Was he not satisfied with—

He cut off the thought, shaking his head. Never mind that.

What Vlad needed to do was find Clockwork. Which meant inducing Danny to go to him at a time when Vlad when Vlad could follow. Which meant determining when he had visited Clockwork in the past. An undertaking to be sure.

He closed his eyes and teleported to his lab beneath his mansion.

“Maddie!” he called out, even before his body had fully reformed.

The hologram flickered to life with a faint crackled from the projector. “What is it, sugarpie?” it asked with a smile.

“Review the audio recordings from Fentonworks,” ordered Vlad. “Search for the term ‘Clockwork.’ Report findings to me.”

“Sure thing, honey!”

Vlad had to review the cheerfulness settings on the Maddie program. Maddie was upbeat, but not that upbeat. This was almost sickly sweet.

He threw himself into a nearby chair.

Clockwork. He thought he’d never hear that name again. Not after he’d been literally and figuratively ghosted by him.

He telekinetically pulled a book off his shelf. He ran his fingers over the leather tooling on the cover. The book had been given to him by Clockwork, years ago, when he was still in that hospital.

Clockwork had been the one to first show him the Ghost Zone, and all the wonders in it. Clockwork had been his friend, his only friend, through that long, agonizing hospital stay. He had been supportive, wonderful, kind. He visited often, though not on a regular schedule. He’d helped Vlad ride out the waves of misery and anger that so often threatened to overwhelm him.

Then, without warning, nothing.

No goodbye. The last time he left, he had even said something along the lines of ‘see you soon,’ although the memory was frayed from age and Vlad could no longer recall the exact words. For a long time, Vlad had worried something disastrous had happened to Clockwork. But then he had finally managed to build his own portal, reach the Ghost Zone under his own power, and, according to every search he did, every line of inquiry that bore fruit, Clockwork was just fine.

Vlad had been furious. He had been betrayed. He had spent the better half of a decade trying to plot revenge against Clockwork, before realizing that was akin to plotting revenge against a god and turning his sights to a more manageable target.

Now…

Now, Vlad just wanted answers. Both as to the reason behind his abandonment and as to why Clockwork was apparently repeating history with Daniel.

“Sweetie pie,” said the hologram, with a chime, “audio processing complete. There are over ninety-nine instances where the word ‘clockwork’ is mentioned. Would you like to play the selected files?”

“Yes,” said Vlad. “Include the video portions where available, and the thirty seconds immediately prior to and following the mention.”

He turned his attention to the nearest screen. He had a lot of videos to watch.

There was an envelope pinned to it. It was sealed with wax, impressed with the image of a pocket watch and the initials CW. Vlad attempted, and failed, to suppress the growl that grew in the back of his throat. Was this a joke to Clockwork?

He tore the envelope from the screen, ripped it open with equal viciousness, and began to read.

Three cups sat on the tea service tray next to the teapot.

“Are you expecting someone else,” asked Danny, “or am I going to break one of these?”

Clockwork chuckled as he began to pour the tea. “The former,” he said. “Although you may always surprise me with the latter.”

He handed Danny his cup. Danny inhaled deeply. It smelled sweet. “What is it?” he asked.

“A chamomile blend,” said Clockwork. “For calm.”

“I think Sam drinks chamomile before she goes to bed,” observed Danny, offhandedly. “Who’s coming?”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

Danny made a face. “Do you have to be mysterious all—”

The front door of Clockwork’s lair slammed open, and Danny jolted forward in alarm – the only people who regularly did that were the Observants, who didn’t much care for Danny – but Clockwork put a steadying hand on his shoulder and rewound his tea into his cup.

“Clockwork!” came the expected yell. The yeller, however…

“Is that Vlad?” asked Danny, not quite scandalized, but more than a little surprised.

“Why, yes,” said Clockwork.

“Did you – Clockwork, did you invite him here?”

“Other than the Observants,” said Clockwork, “no one can enter unless I will it.” He took a sip of his tea.

“But,” started Danny.

Clockwork raised a hand. “Don’t worry, he’ll find us soon enough.” He repurposed the hand to pat Danny’s knee. “And even should he prove to be in a combative mood, I will not allow you to come to harm. You are safe here, Daniel.”

“Thanks,” mumbled Danny, looking away, towards the door in the sitting room through which Vlad would presumably enter.

Sure enough, a few seconds later Vlad half-flew half-skidded into Clockwork’s sitting room. He leveled an accusatory finger at Clockwork. “You!” he proclaimed, with a great deal of venom.

“Hello, Vladimir, I’ve poured you some tea. Why don’t you sit down? I understand it has been some time.”

“You under-? No! I will not sit down! I will not drink your tea. Not after you abandoned me for over a decade, just like that bumbling oaf—”

“Hey!” interjected Danny, not only because Vlad had once again insulted his father, but because he could tell that Clockwork, regardless of his stoic façade, was actually quite upset.

“Don’t interrupt me, Daniel,” snapped Vlad. “You don’t know what this, this ghost is. What he does. You don’t know that he gets close to you, makes you think you’re friends, and then drops you without a moment’s notice. Did you think it was funny to string along a man in dire straits? Did you?”

“I did not abandon you, Vladimir, I—”

Vlad scoffed and went on a tirade that Danny honestly found hard to parse. But it sounded like Vlad and Clockwork had known each other in the past and then fallen out of contact in a way that aggravated Vlad’s abandonment issues. Which didn’t seem like Clockwork at all, but Vlad sounded extremely certain and insistent, and Clockwork’s upset was actually finding its way into his voice, now. Danny didn’t—

With all the force and abruptness of epiphany, Danny realized what was going on here.

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Danny, putting down his cup. “Vlad, breathe or whatever. Clockwork, you did tell Vlad that you experience time nonlinearly, right?”

“Of course,” said Clockwork, clearly offended.

“But Vlad, ah, had you gone through natural portals often when you met Clockwork? Or, like, did you ever see him without him initiating contact?”

“I didn’t have my portal built yet, Daniel, so, no.”

Danny turned to Clockwork. “Why did you-? No that doesn’t matter. Haaauuuhh, Clockwork, do you have-?”

Clockwork waved a hand and a whiteboard appeared.

“Thanks,” said Danny, picking a marker up from the little shelf on the bottom. He uncapped it, then recapped it. “Actually, before that. Vlad—” he pointed at Vlad, who looked about one second from exploding “—you have some idea of how old Clockwork is, right? Or at least how old ghosts can get?”

“Yes, Daniel,” said Vlad, managing to overlay his supercilious ‘I know better than you’ attitude over his still obvious anger.

“Okay, great. So, just to establish, Clockwork has been around at least since, uh, beginning of time?”

“Give or take,” agreed Clockwork. “Although I have not experienced it all directly.”

“Right,” said Danny. “Just, already, his perception of time is different from our because of age differences.”

Vlad looked slightly less angry, and slightly closer to curious.

“But, then, there’s the larger issue,” continued Danny. This time his uncapping of the marker was decisive. He drew a flat, straight, horizontal line across the whiteboard. “This is our timeline. We deal with time linearly. We’ve also got, I don’t know, parallel timelines, like this.” He drew several more lines. “You following so far?”

“Yes, Daniel, I’ve read my share of science fiction.”

He was probably rolling his eyes. Curse his solid-colored red eyes. It made interpreting his looks and figuring out where he was looking during a fight much more difficult.

“Anyway, Clockwork isn’t on any of these lines. Because he experiences time nonlinearly.” He drew a squiggly up and down line on the board that resembled the world’s saddest sine wave. Or cosine wave. There wasn’t a y-axis on the not-quite-graph, so it wasn’t like anyone could tell the difference. They were effectively the same.

And Vlad still made fun of him for failing math. Danny knew plenty about math. He just didn’t have time to do the work. Mostly because of Vlad.

“Now, that, that is Clockwork’s timeline. It isn’t always in contact with ours. It’s, like, solutions to a system of equations. Nonlinear equations,” he specified, in case it had been too long since Vlad had encountered basic high-school-level algebra.

“It is somewhat more complicated than that, Daniel,” said Clockwork, exasperated. “It’s more of—"

“Yeah, but this gets the idea across more than the whole parade metaphor, doesn’t it?”

“I would say not. This doesn’t even begin to touch on my abilities.”

“That’s because we’re just talking about your perception of time,” said Danny. He considered for a moment. “And also your ability to interact with our timeline.”

“Which includes my ability to perceive multiple timelines.”

“But that’s complicated, and I still don’t get it,” complained Danny.

“It is less complicated than what you are currently trying to explain.”

“To you maybe, but the whole point of this is that you aren’t seeing things the same way we are. You disappeared on Vlad, what, a decade ago?” He looked to Vlad for confirmation.

“A decade is hardly any time at all,” said Clockwork with exasperation. He sipped at his tea.

“It was fifteen years.”

Clockwork made a somewhat dismissive motion with a gloved hand. “It’s a tiny fraction of your life as a whole.”

“It’s… closer to a third of his current lifetime,” said Danny with a wince. “Or a fourth? I don’t know how old you are, dude.”

“I went to college with your parents.”

“I know, and you were already graying then. Your age is weirdly hard to place.”

Vlad gave Danny a look, but his body language was no longer screaming ‘I’m going to beat the snot after you.’ Danny counted that as a win under the current circumstances. He disliked Vlad, but in a fight with Clockwork… Well, Clockwork could demolish just about anyone.

Not that Clockwork would. Just that he could.

“Daniel—”

“Please, Vladimir. Just sit down. Try the tea. I made it for you. I knew you would be upset, although I could not see exactly why.” Clockwork was almost pouting, now. “Fifteen years is such a short time.”

“Clockwork, I’m fifteen.”

“I know,” said Clockwork, patting Danny on the knee. “Your timeline is so small. And cute.”

Vlad was now distinctly on his back foot, offput and disarmed. “His timeline is cute?”

“It is. Don’t worry, yours is almost as cute.”

Vlad opened and closed his mouth like a dying fish. Danny pushed the whiteboard away.

“Don’t worry about it too much,” he said. “Like I said, different perception of time.”

“I really didn’t mean to make you feel abandoned, Vladimir. I simply wanted to give you some time to, ah, how should I put this? Have space? Find yourself?”

Vlad sat heavily on the couch.

“You get used to it,” said Danny. “But, Clockwork, do you think you can talk him into having fewer evil plans? Because, really. There are way too many. Like, one a week. They’re destroying my grades. Have you ever seen anyone else who had weekly evil plans?”

“Evil plans, Vladimir? Really?”

#danny phantom #phic phight 2021 #phic phight #danny fenton #vlad masters #clockwork

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littlemissnoname13 · 3 years

Text

The life he always wanted (D.M.)

Summary: Draco’s life after the battle of Hogwarts

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x female!reader

A/n: I wrote a multi-chapter a few months ago that never made it on here. This one shot has been pulled out of it and posted as a one shot just like “You and your green apples.” Which was supposed to be a part of that same multi chapter too.

Warnings: angst, Multiple mentions of avada and death so please read at your own discretion. Also please feel free to message me if I need to add any more disclaimers.

Word count: 2100+

The only thing illuminating the dark room was the flickering light from the television.

Draco thought the muggles had really outdone themselves with that one as he had spent one too many nights in front of the television with a bottle of fire whisky.

Some nights he’d be too wasted to realise he’d been watching static for hours.

Faint, fuzzy music could be heard all around the room even though the volume was set to a minimum and Draco took this opportunity to waltz you across the living room of your cozy one bedroom home.

The house wasn’t too big but it was just the way you’d always wanted it to be—big glass windows, hardwood floors and a small spiral staircase leading to the roof.

“The life we’ve always wanted.” You sighed and placed your head on his chest. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Draco.”

One of his hands was placed securely on the small of your back while the other held your hand as you moved together with the music. Your soft, flowy hair bounced as he twirled you in his arms.

“Oh really?” He smirked and watched you nod your head in response with a sad look in your eyes.

“Yes really.”

“Well I’m here now Darling so there’s no need to worry about all that.” He whispered, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “I’m not going anywhere. You know that don’t you?”

“I know Draco.” You whispered and he pulled you closer to him. “I know.”

Draco couldn’t begin to imagine what his life would be life without you in it.

Shuddering at the dark clouds forming at the top of his blond head, he closed his eyes and inhaled sharply to make the clouds drift away.

“Don’t you have to be somewhere tomorrow?” You asked tilting your head upwards to look at him. Draco noticed that your eyes brows crinkled a little as you said this—the look of worry somewhat prominent.

“Oh yes.” He sighed, rolling his eyes at you. “I really wish you didn’t remind me.”

“But you haven’t met our friends in so long.”

“Your friends. ”He corrected you curtly. “And it’s only been a few months.”

Well, it had been more than just a few months but It wasn’t his fault that he’d rather spend all his time with you.

Draco noticed that you giggled when he said that as if you knew before taking his hand and guiding him towards the bedroom.

He decided to not utter a single word of protest as he quietly followed you into the bedroom.

“Come lie with me, Dray.” You whispered as he watched you slip under the covers. You looked so peaceful, so content and the whole moment seemed so fickle like it would fade away if he moved too quickly or blinked too hard.

He hastily removed his shirt slipping under the covers next to you—his head on your chest as you lazily played with his hair.

This was everything he’d ever wanted.

“I love you y/n.”

“I love you too.”

~~~~~~~

“Glad you came, Malfoy.” Ginny smiled the best smile she could smile, opening the door to let him in the house.

“Well hello to you too Weaslette.”

“Come on inside. We were all waiting for you.” Ginny said she led the way towards the living room filled with familiar voices and faces.

“Potter. Weasel. Granger.” Draco muttered as he gave all three a semi polite nod of acknowledgement.

“I uh—like your hair.” Harry commented looking at Draco’s unkempt blond hair now growing towards his shoulders.

Upon hearing Harry, Draco ran his fingers through his hair and fought an urge to say something snarky.

“So, may I ask why I’ve been summoned here?” Draco finally said as he sat down on an armchair opposite to Harry.

“We just wanted to see you. You have been gone for a…bit...” Harry replied, clearing his throat. And we thought you might want this.”

Draco raised his eyebrows suspiciously as Harry stretched out his hand to hand him a sealed envelope.

“Cup of tea?” Ginny asked.

~~~~~~~~~

As soon as he reached home, he tore his clothes off and jumped into the shower.

He let the warm water wash away the ache he felt all over his body. There was no tell tale sign indicating the pain was physical or emotional.

Nonetheless, the warmth of the water helped.

To some extent.

After what felt like hours in the shower, he finally stepped outside and wrapped a towel around his torso.

The bathroom had fogged up and the fog had travelled all the way into the bedroom.

In an attempt to get the fog to disappear, Draco cracked the surprisingly large bedroom window open and let the crisp night air flow into the room.

“Someone’s back home early.” He heard you mock in a sweet singsong voice making the tiniest of smiles appear at his lips as he turned around to face you.

You were wearing a flowy satin dress and were perched on the top of his desk—dangling your legs.

He paused to admire and remember every detail about the sight in front of him.

The way the gust of wind coming from the window blew your hair towards your face. The way that flimsy satin fabric hugged your body. The way the flickering table lamp casted shadows on your features.

Everything.

“I just couldn’t stay away from you.” He shrugged and watched you chuckle and get down from his desk.

He patiently waited as you took long strides towards him before finally wrapping your arms around his neck—stretching on the tip of your toes and bringing your face close to his.

“Open the envelope Draco.” You whispered softly into his ears.

A flash of lightning lit up the entire room with a blinding white light as the sky roared.

Draco nodded as he slowly reached for the crumpled envelope he’d left inside his coat pocket.

Taking a long breath, he looked up at you and you gave him an apologetic yet reassuring smile while he ripped the envelope open.

The opened seal of the envelope brought along with it, a familiar scent of cedarwood and vanilla. It was the smell he could smell on his clothes after spending the day with you.

A small photograph fell out of the envelope.

It was a Polaroid you’d unintentionally taken one summer. Both of you had questionable expressions on your faces because you were both trying to get the Camera to work.

You were chewing your lip in confusion and his nose was scrunched up; you both were not ready for the photo at all.

His hands shook violently as sporadic rain drops started to pour down from the window leaving tiny splatters on the worn out photograph.

“Why?” He spat in anger. “Why did you have to throw yourself between me and that killing curse?”

You smiled an apologetic smile at him once again; you did that a lot.

“You’ll get drenched Draco—close the window.” You said, dodging his question completely while you reached towards his hand again.

“Stop dodging my question.”

“It hadn’t rained for a while.” You said making him heave a sigh and look up at the night sky.

One rain drop and become two and two had become three.

Draco took a wobbly step towards you and fruitlessly wiped the drops of rain that were falling on your cheeks.

“And now it’s raining.” He pointed out with his voice shaky.

“Excellent observation, my love.”

The way you said it, the nonchalance in your voice made him furious. You were gone but he had to wake up every single day in a world where you no longer existed.

In a stupor of grief, he grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you towards him. “Don’t you see?— even the sky is grieving the loss of what could have been! The life we could have lived!”

“I like to think it’s the universe washing away the hurt and pain.” You whispered, staring deeply into his steely eyes. “You’ll see. It’s going to be a beautiful morning tomorrow. I can feel it.”

“Why y/n? Why didn't you let me die instead?—you are gone and what am I left with? A worn out photograph of you?!”

“Draco—”

“Every damned day, I feel further and further away from you.” He began sobbing. “The smell of your perfume is fading from my sweater, I cannot picture the way you used to laugh anymore—for the love of Merlin! I don’t even remember what life was like when you were with me y/n. It all seems so far away..so distant.”

“You have to let me go, Draco.” You whispered as you pressed your forehead to his.

He physically felt the pain of his breaking heart all over his body. The sharp pain brought back all the trauma he had suppressed over the last few months.

“No…No. No. No—Please don’t leave again.” He pleaded as angry tears started to roll down his cheeks. “Please. I—I don’t think I can handle it.”

“You’ll see me again. I swear.” You said softly as he began to laugh an ominous kind of laugh, knowing deep down that you weren’t even there in front of him to begin with.

Everything was all in his head.

Twenty seven months.

He’d been talking to the voice in his head for twenty seven whole months while the world moved on without him.

“When? When will I see you again? In another life? Merlin!” Draco said in between his hysterical laughter.

“Maybe.” The figment of his imagination whispered caressing the side of his face till he calmed down. “Maybe in another life I won’t find myself having to jump in between you and the killing curse.”

Draco gave you a disapproving glare before he leaned down to find your rain soaked lips.

With his index finger and thumb holding your chin up, Draco kissed you gently while his own tears and the acidic grey rain continued trickle down his face.

It took him every ounce of strength he had left but he nodded like he was saying his final goodbye and took a step back— releasing you from his embrace and releasing him from his grief.

You slowly turned on your heel and walked towards the door.

“I’ll be waiting for you Draco.”

He closed his eyes because he wasn’t ready to see you leave.

So after what felt like centuries, Draco slowly opened his eyes.

He was all alone.

~~~~🍂🍁🍂~~~~

Autumn.

It could be seen in the rustling trees and the gust of wind that made the amber colored leaves that were once bright green fall down onto a winding pathway beneath trees.

A young woman strided along the winding path. Clicking her heels. Head tilted upwards, taking in the pinkish purple sky in all of its glory.

A few books were tucked underneath her arm and a cloth bag loosely hung on her left shoulder.

She was so occupied by the pleasant weather and whatever thoughts were circling her head, that she didn’t even realise that she had collided with somebody.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She apologised profusely before she knelt down on the ground to collect the books she’d dropped.

The stranger hummed in response and helped her gather the contents that had fallen out of her book bag.

An oddly familiar smell tickled her senses. It was the smell of cologne and fresh mint.

The smell of the cologne was so foreign to her. It was like nothing she’d ever smelled before and yet, she found herself feeling awfully comforted by it.

The smell sent her into a state of déjà vu.

She looked up through her lashes and saw a boy with steely grey eyes making an eerie sense of familiarity washed all over her body.

“I’m sorry, have we met before?”

The boy blinked a few times before cracking a small smile. “I think we’re in the same Art history class. Judging by where you’re headed.”

“Right.” She nodded as they slowly walked down the path together. “Don’t mind me. It’s just.. it’s just that you seem oddly familiar to me.”

He shoved his hands into his pocket as they quietly walked next to each other. The silence wasn’t an awkward one.

Not for him at least.

It felt almost as if they’d always been walking together for years—in another timeline, in another life.

It all felt habitual.

“Tell you what? He finally said looking down at the girl he’d just met. “How about we get coffee after class and discuss this further. You seem oddly familiar to me too.”

“I’d like that.”

Her eyes pierced a million daggers into his heart.

“I’d like that a lot.”

-------------------------------------

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bubblegumbeech · 3 years

Text

The Losing Move

Day two Ectoberhaunt: Scream vs Laugh

AO3

It started with a scream. That’s how Clockwork knew it was finally time.

He hesitated, of course. There was so much to lose, so much still uncertain, paths branching in different directions, moments shrouded imperfectly from his view, strings of fate tangled and misused. But he was the Master of Time. He could hesitate and no one would ever know.

Not even them.

Clockwork made a portal, leaving his Clocktower and walking towards a tall grey rock almost as old as time itself, weathered by age and nothing like the statue it had once been standing proud in a garden of overgrown thorns and long dead leaves. Nocturn appeared next to him, a swirl of inky black void scattered with stars and nebulae.

“Did you hesitate?” he asked.

It was a valid question. An important one too, if they were to succeed. Clockwork’s hesitation could lead to an uncertain future, to a failure in their plot. And then they would be lost, set back hundreds of thousands of years again.

“No.”

Nocturn accepted his answer. Perhaps he knew that Clockwork was lying, perhaps he did not. Either way, they both turned to the stone.

It wasn’t long before the others appeared.

Misery Vex was the first, then Sojourn, on and on until they all stood, surrounding the stone.

Misery turned to Clockwork. “Did it take?” she asked, and he flew forward, taking off one of his gloves to run his hand along the smoothed side of the rock. It hummed, an energy unlike any else, unique to here yet everywhere and nowhere at all. Very chaotic indeed.

“It has.”

She hummed an affirmative, linking her hand in his before reaching out to take Sojourn’s. Clockwork reached for Nocturn and as they all linked together they formed a shield, thick and impenetrable between their varied talents, around the stone.

“How long will this take,” Vortex said, ever the impatient one. He was jittery, yellow cords of lightning constantly jumping all over him in a nervous jumble, branching in and out of each other like writhing snakes.

Clockwork sighed. “Not long.”

“You musn’t get too close,” Misery warned.

“I know.”

“You musn’t go too far,” Nocturn reminded him.

He knew that too.

“You’ve failed before,” Misery said, her voice steady and calm. She was not wrong, nor accusatory. He had faltered, it had led to a less than ideal outcome. He would not admit this.

Clockwork didn’t allow any emotion on his face. “The threat is contained. My faults did not lead to the failure of our mission.”

She scoffed. “No, only to ‘inconvenience’. Right?”

As far as she knew. As far as any of them did. They relied on him, to determine if their future would be a success. He was the only one who could see which path to take, what choices would lead to their victory. He was the only one who knew just how thin the chance was, how precarious the choice. It would not benefit them to know. He did not need their doubt.

“Who was it?” Sojourn asked, referring to the scream that had summoned them here. The scream that had echoed hauntingly throughout the entirety of the Infinite Realms.

Clockwork hadn’t looked. He looked now.

“A boy, fourteen years old, between child and adult, between living and dead, between here and there.”

Nocturn smiled, “How fitting.”

The stone shattered. Power and chaos, magic and will swirled around in a tornado, beating against the solid weight of their shield and making what was once so obviously strong seem weak and pitiful in comparison.

Vortex’s eyes glowed in excitement. It was a sign, they all knew, that things were getting close.

Eventually the storm faded and all that was left was a weathered pile of ash and rubble where there had once been a stone, where there had once been a statue, where there had once been nothing at all.

It would come to nothing once more.

Soon.

The Infinite Realms had been lifeless for so long. Nothing more than ambient ectoplasm and void. A place. Nothing more and nothing less than it had to be. Many of the denizens had never seen them alive, existing as they once had. The panic was only natural. The frenzy, exciting and new. The heart of it all beating again.

There was one ghost in particular, of course, who had only known the realms as they existed now. Sure there might also be others, newly made and newly dead, but this one was the important one. He’d been the one to give his life for the life around them now.

Or at least, he’d given half of it.

The Observants, of course, were furious.

They had attempted to hunt down the Ancients, knowing it was they who had done this, who had planned this and then hidden it from the view of those who watch. Vortex had been taken first, as expected, and Undergrowth had fled to the mortal realm. The others also split, the time for them to come together was over; the time to prepare for the end was nearing.

Clockwork, of course, their ever loyal subservient pet that could not leave his tower without their knowledge, that could not use his power without their permission, he’d never been looked at twice.

“You told us the threat was neutralized.” Nocturn said, sliding up next to one of Clockwork’s monitors. He watched a scene, where Daniel and Pariah fought. It was not a real fight, of course. Pariah had long shed the haze of bloodlust that had driven him mad, and was now attempting to be endearing, to rebuild a trust Clockwork had never actually had in him.

Clockwork took a sip of his tea. It was made from some of Pariah’s newly grown coraleander leaves and made a thick, murky green tea that Clockwork quite enjoyed the taste and texture of. Unfortunately that was exactly why Pariah had grown them, and while Clockwork had snuck them away like a petty thief, he doubted that the missing leaves had gone even a moment unnoticed.

It was infuriating and Clockwork sipped at it slowly, savoring it’s warmth.

“He is no longer the King. In fact, there is no King at all, just as I said it would be.”

Nocturn turned to meet his eyes, tilting his head just slightly in suspicion. “Yes, you did. Though I suppose the others thought you meant he would not escape his sleep. Or at least, that he would not escape his sleep until after .”

Clockwork looked away, towards the monitor. Pariah had soundly defeated Daniel and was laughing. Likely at the way the poor boy looked, his hair a mess and covered in the very coraleander leaves Clockwork was drinking. He’d need to wash them off before he transformed back into a human. While they wouldn’t be immediately deadly to a Half-Ghost, they would form a large, hard to explain, rash.

“That wasn’t what I said though, was it?” Clockwork met Nocturn’s eyes once more.

The other ghost just snorted and shook his head. “No, no I guess it wasn’t. Clockwork, the tightrope you’re walking, that future you see that you haven’t told us about? I really hope you get it. I do. Because the brightest lights cast the darkest shadows and I can’t imagine what would happen if you missed.”

Clockwork’s tea had gone cold. He continued to sip it. He ignored Nocturn’s words and he watched the screen as Pariah helped Daniel stand, only for Daniel to tackle him when he wasn’t expecting it.

“I’ll take that under consideration.”

It was becoming habit, he found, to lie to Nocturn.

Daniel was at the Clocktower, eating a plate of cookies and complaining about some of the varied ghosts he had to deal with and fight on a regular basis in his mortal realm. It was a side effect, of course, of Phantom’s new role as the Heart of The Infinite Realms. The smaller, weaker ghosts, especially younger and newly dead ones, had attempted to flee the Realms when they noticed the sudden changes.

When the Observants had become so busy trying to find the cause of the change, so busy trying to hunt down what was left of Chaos’ children, that they could no longer micro-manage the state of the Realms. Could no longer constantly overstep their authority and keep their tasteless ‘Order’.

The Realms had become more and more lively and Clockwork had found himself in a perpetual good mood. He took a cookie for himself. Nocturn caught him baking the other day; his expression had been dry as he congratulated Clockwork on his adoption. It was a pointed accusation.

He had shoved it to the back of his mind and decided to make some forgoent tea to go with the cookies. He hadn’t offered any to Nocturn.

Daniel paused in his musings for a moment before speaking again, his voice careful. “I’ve been visiting Pariah.”

Clockwork hummed, not looking away from his screens. “I am aware.”

“Of course you are.” Daniel rolled his eyes. Then he sighed like he didn't know how to bring up what he was going to say next. “Did you… Did you know he was going to get free if you sent me after that key?”

Ah, so he’d figured it out then. “It was a possibility. Each and every choice you make creates an entirely new future with entirely new consequences.”

“He doesn’t seem all that bad…” Daniel argued, as if Clockwork was going to disagree with him. Clockwork raised an eyebrow, the one with the scar Pariah had given him, and looked over to him. “I mean, he just. When he first woke up he was really mad right? But like, I’d also be really mad if I finally woke up from a forced coma only to have Vlad there.”

Anyone would really.

“And even though he sucked Amity Park into the Ghost Zone, no one actually ended up getting hurt. At least, no more than usual in a ghost attack. And I’ve been talking with the other ghosts that have been ‘Challenging’ him and they all say he's a pretty cool teacher… Like, he knows how to fight and he’s good at showing them how they can use their unique powers-”

Clockwork didn’t interrupt Daniel as he rambled. It was rare, at least since he’d been deposed, to hear lists of Pariah’s more positive aspects. It wasn’t uncomfortable so much as mildly frustrating. Was this part of Pariah’s ploy? Get Daniel to fall all over himself to recite poetics about Pariah to Clockwork. He should have learned by now that whatever affection he might hold for him, it would not be enough. Not to stop his plans, and certainly not to stop the others.

“So uh, you know, he seems… chiller. Without the crown and ring and stuff.”

“Yes, it was the Ring of Rage Daniel, what did you think it was used for?”

There was a small imperceptible shift in Daniel’s expression, as if he’d realized something and made the choice to file the knowledge away for later. He must have learned that from Pariah as well. “So, if there’s things that can change even powerful ghosts like Pariah, are there things that could change, say… one of the Ancients?”

Was Daniel befriending another Ancient? Clockwork smiled, that was good then. He could hold that against them, the weight of his failure to keep an emotional distance wouldn’t be as stark, if another Ancient or two fell just as easily to Daniel’s pleasant company. He could use that, he simply had to find out which of them it was. Perhaps Sojourn? He was always soft for children, but Clockwork hadn’t been aware of him returning to the Barrens lately, and Daniel rarely went any further than the Time Locked Lands or the Far Frozen.

“It is good to befriend others Daniel,” he says halfheartedly, searching through his mirrors to locate Sojourn, “but remember not to trust too easily. You never know the goals of those around you, if they might be using you towards their own ends.”

“Of course,” Daniel replied, his voice hard.

Clockwork looked over to him, he was staring at the dregs of his tea, expression dark.

“Would you like more tea?” Clockwork offered, wondering what had plummeted the boy’s attitude so suddenly.

Daniel looked up, a small smile on his lips, “Yes Please.”

Clockwork left to make more, his mind still trying to find which Ancient Daniel had befriended.

“The Observants are completely ignorant of your machinations,” Pariah said as Clockwork entered his study. “Of course, they don’t know you as well as they think.”

Clockwork should stop visiting him. Should never have started, a fact that Nocturn was only too happy to remind him of. Sometimes Clockwork wondered if Nocturn got his taste of Chaos from Clockwork's mistakes, he seemed so dedicated to reveling in them.

“I didn’t come here to talk about the Observants. I have my fill without the need to remark upon them when absent from their presence.” Clockwork was scowling. He could hide his irritation, but despite his lies and trickery he was hardly an accomplished actor.

Pariah chuckled, flipping another page in the thick book he’d been reading. The title was faded, but Clockwork recognized it easily enough. It was a detailed history of the Infinite Realms after King Dark had been sealed away. It was a long history, though not as long as the history that came before his reign entirely.

It was also the exact kind of thing Pariah would read cover to cover, like the obsessive monster he was.

“I suppose you came to warn me away from your ward then?” Pariah asked, his voice casual. Clockwork scoffed, allowing a roll of his eyes before floating over to Pariah’s shelves and grabbing one of the books that looked recently used. It was about old soul binding rituals, much like what had happened to Fright Knight. It was amusing, the thought that Pariah’s oldest friend might still be whining about his little curse.

“Hardly,” Clockwork said, idly flipping through the pages, “if I could control Daniel I never would have let him near you to begin with.”

Pariah smiled, placing his own book down. “Yes, I imagine you wouldn’t have. It would be a mistake to let me get close to him and realize he is the reason the Infinite Realms have started to sing.”

He’d figured it out then. Of course that wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility. Unlike the Observants, Pariah was wickedly intelligent and fully capable of coming to the appropriate conclusions. “Sing? An interesting way to describe it.”

Arms encircled his waist and Clockwork was pulled back into a warm chest. Pariah’s chin rested on Clockwork’s shoulder as he spoke softly into his ear. “Is it enough? The realms feel alive, weaker ghosts are fleeing or banding together once more. It resembles the time we once had, between Chaos and Order. Will you stop here?”

“There’s nothing more I can do,” he lied.

Pariah hummed an agreement and reached out to flip a few pages through the book Clockwork had been holding. There was a beautifully illustrated drawing of a necklace, bewitched and layered in curses. Pariah must have memorized the pages, of course. “Would you wear jewelry if I made it for you? I would see you decked in gold and finery if I could.”

Clockwork slammed the book closed, just missing Pariah’s fingers. He didn’t think about the earrings Pariah had once gifted him, or how he wore them even now, dangling hidden beneath his hood. “You should know better than to ask that.”

He felt a smile against his neck. “Then I won’t ask.”

He held the Thermos in his hand.

The other Daniel was a menace, truly. But he would not be so desperate to ruin Daniel’s life anymore. It had been long enough for him to realize that his existence was no longer predicated on Daniel’s decisions, or on the loss of his family.

It would change him, of course. The knowledge that he exists in the same time as his once family will either soften his grief, or sharpen its edges. There were so many paths he could take, and Clockwork could not see them all, did not bother to look much further than the distance he needed him for.

There was something more important than his grief that he and Clockwork had in common. Something Daniel and Pariah likely had in common with them as well: the detestation of the Observants.

Clockwork opened the thermos, releasing Daniel’s worst nightmare and not thinking about how the young half-ghost had given it to him so easily, had trusted him so quickly when all Clockwork had done was protect his human family one time.

The other, once possible, Daniel appeared in an explosion of light and matter and immediately attacked, using his claws to scratch at Clockwork’s face. He was prepared for that though, years trapped in a thermos had eroded much of Dan’s more refined aspects. It would work in Clockworks favor of course, he had made sure of that.

For now, Clockwork froze time and moved behind him. That way his wild attack would meet nothing but ambient ectoplasm and Clockwork could speak his piece. Provided his piece took less than a second to speak.

He allowed time to flow and watched as the other Daniel floundered, confused, only to instantly realize just what Clockwork had done and turn around, ready to attack once more. Clockwork smiled as their eyes met and asked, “Would you like to End the Observants and their Order?”

the other Daniel attacked him, but Clockwork could see the consideration in his eyes. The thought had been implanted, now all he had to do was sit back and watch. the other Daniel had always been rather good at ruining things after all.

“CLOCKWORK!” Daniel yelled, flying frantically into the Clocktower. “Clockwork Dan escaped somehow! He attacked Amity Park!”

His desperate flight slowed when he saw Clockwork floating casually at his screens as he always had. He was watching a specific screen now, and pulled the image onto the largest one to share with Daniel. “Yes, I know.”

Daniel looked between him and the screen, his expression growing more and more confused. “But, he was here though. Locked up. How did he escape?”

Clockwork didn’t turn to look at him. “I’m sorry Daniel,” he lied. “Your trust in me was misplaced. He escaped while I was distracted with another matter and I was unable to stop him. It’s my fault.”

Daniel’s eyes widened, searching for something in Clockwork’s expression, and then in Clockwork’s screens. The only thing he saw though, was the other Daniel causing havoc and destruction. After visiting Amity Park and re-traumatising Daniel’s sister, the other Daniel had been driven away by Daniel, whose power had become far superior in the time since they had last met. It was only natural of course, Daniel’s existence was unique and far beyond that of Dan’s mangled pieced together form of conflicting obsessions and damaged cores.

It was possible, Clockwork knew, for the other Daniel to stabilize properly. Perhaps he could become a proper ghost, perhaps he could stop attempting to restrict what humanity he had left. Either way, it did not matter in the end. If anything, his existence was a fun riddle that would play itself out long after Clockwork’s plans came to fruition.

Clockwork looked over at Daniel, his expression hidden behind the shadows of his hood. The boy was staring emptily at the corner of the Clocktower that led to the inner dungeons where the other Daniel had been hidden away. After a moment he turned away, hiding his own expression, and began to walk. As if his legs had become too heavy to fly.

“It’s fine. I’ll get him back. It won’t happen again.” There was a promise in his voice and it softened to be almost inaudible entirely. “I won’t let it.”

After he left, Clockwork turned back to the screen with the other Daniel on it. He was finished terrorizing the ghost from before, and was now floating listlessly in the void of the Infinite Realms. Likely, he was warring with his obsessions- or his emotions- it was hard to tell which. Eventually though, he shook his head, looked up as if to catch Clockwork’s eye, and flew off.

In the direction of the Observants.

It’s eyeball was glaring at him, the normally dull yellow of it’s sclera bright with fury. “You were given responsibility over him! You were entrusted to keep him from destroying the Realms!”

Clockwork’s own eye twitched as he fought back an eyeroll. Those who Watch were as predictable as ever, not showing up at the moment of Dan’s release but instead at the moment he began to take his rage out on the Observants. Their responsibilities had always been superfluous though, a vague excuse to do as they pleased in the name of Order.

“I failed. He escaped. Woe is me.” He floated over to one of his more intricate gadgets and began to tinker with it, pretending to be busy. “Surely an Order such as yours, full of powerful ghosts that command the Realms, did not come to me in fear though? He attacked you directly, does that not make your vow of inaction void?”

“ You-! ”

“Of course, it would be different if you simply couldn’t defeat him. But… he’s only a decade dead. That would be an embarrassment.”

The other Observant that had come to scold (and demand his servitude) floated in front of its companion so as to cut off a likely incensed reaction. “He’s an abomination, and an amalgamation. Surely you can understand why we wanted him dealt with before it came to this.”

Clockwork inclined his head, playing at civility. “Perhaps then, you should seek to work alongside Phantom. I have it on relatively good authority he’s also trying to deal with your resident menace.”

Both of the Observants took his suggestion as an insult, one even growing red with it. “That Abomination? He should be destroyed along with it!”

“Pity,” Clockwork said, turning back to the screens and watching as the other Daniel tore the core out of another Observant’s chest and crushed it in his palm. He wasn’t even absorbing them for their power. It was a waste, but Clockwork was certain it was a waste born of trauma. Dan’s creation had, after all, been due to a botched absorption with a powerful ghost core. “You can leave now.”

“You must deal with this.”

“I will deal with it when the time is right,” he said in lieu of an answer.

The Observants, disgruntled and unwilling to leave, as if hiding in Clockwork’s lair would somehow protect them, made comment after comment demanding his action and threatening punishment should he fail. He replied with sarcasm and an aloof attitude that soon had them leaving out the door if only to try and do what they could to tighten his bonds.

He sighed, there was time still. He should make cookies, that always seemed to calm him, help him to exist in the present and not become impatient for what is yet to be. He headed to the kitchen, only to see an unexpected visitor at his table.

“Nocturn, you’re early.”

The other Ancient nodded. “Yes, your plan seems to have worked flawlessly. The Authority of the Observants has been shaken. Much of the power they had gained through fear and reputation has dwindled, but…”

Clockwork raised an eyebrow as he opened his cabinets. There was egyptian sand flour left over, it would be dryer than using something more modern, but the age would add a good aftertaste. He just needed to add extra Honey-Wasp bits from the outskirts of The Undergrowth and that should balance it. Maybe some purified ectoplasm. Pariah gifted him a jar after he had somehow managed to create a device to filter it from the Infinite Realms.

He had also made an absolutely unsubtle offer to join him in his new ‘sauna’ that Clockwork had pointedly refused.

“But?” he prompted, there was little information he could glean from silence.

Nocturn watched him prepare the batter. He sighed and stood, grabbing a knife and helping to mince the Honey-Wasps before speaking again. “But they still have their numbers, and much of their actual power. And Clockwork, Pariah has made his move.”

“I know,” Clockwork admitted, “but is that not in our favor as well?”

“Not if he takes more power from them, Pariah on his own is not a fight we can accept lightly. Anything more being beholden to him is hardly something I wish to see.”

Clockwork cracked a Kraken’s egg into the mixture and moved the bowl closer to Nocturn so he could scoop the Honey-Wasp bits into it as well, without losing any of the juice. Mixing it would be troublesome, some of the more experimental batters attempted to gain sentience and would try to escape the bowl. “It will work in our favor either way. the other Daniel caused havoc, their power was broken across the realms. Pariah is merely salting the ground we have burned.”

He used a dull knife to cut into the batter and stirred, stopping any attempts at formation. Nocturn grabbed the bowl from him, forcing eye contact. “What if he seeks something else?”

“Haven’t I already escaped the chains he bound me in before?” Clockwork laughed. “Do I not have allies that would find short work of cutting chains that I did not allow to bind me?”

The bowl was set back down and Clockwork and Nocturn both made short work of dividing the dough and setting it into the oven. “We could not break the bindings of the Observants,” Nocturn said as Clockwork closed the oven door.

“That is different, that was part of our plans. They needed to never suspect me, if we were to get this far.” Clockwork waved him off. “Would you like a cookie?”

“We have to wait for them to cook, Clockwork.” Nocturn said, exasperated.

Clockwork simply rolled his eyes and increased the time surrounding the oven. “I don’t wait.”

Daniel hadn’t visited again since Clockwork allowed the other Daniel to escape. It was possible, he admitted in the back of his mind, that Daniel blamed him for what happened. As well he should. Yet, the thought left a sour taste in his mouth.

He was watching the screens again. Aiming them in every direction he could to see everything as it played out. Most were occupied by the remnants of the Order he had set about decimating. A few were dedicated to their interconnected Lair, the place where they held their play courts and kept their prisoners. It was where they kept Vortex before he was freed. One screen though, was aimed at Pariah’s Keep.

It had been a simple thing that Clockwork had neither encouraged nor discouraged, Daniel’s visits with Pariah. But now that Clockwork’s own visits had come to an end, it had become something distinctly bitter, a feeling that was building in his chest, where his core hummed, that Clockwork was ignoring with all the practice of a man dead set on his goals.

Daniel would visit again, of course. Clockwork could even tell the exact date and time, or at least the most likely ones. He didn’t look at the futures where Daniel never came back, there was no point in uselessly fretting about it. He’d be fine, there were more important things to deal with now.

He could feel the pressure of his binds loosening as more and more of the Observants were hunted down. Not all of them were ended by Dan, of course. They had made many enemies. Both Vortex and Undergrowth had gone out of their way to visit quite a number themselves, along with a few of the other Ancients. Clockwork was certainly tempted to do so, alas, the restrictions upon him prevented it still. And the only way for those restrictions to end was for those wielding the reins to End. And well, then there wouldn’t be anyone left to take his ire out upon would there?

Instead he allowed his own part in their demise to be enough for his bruised ego and the millennia of torment he’d undergone beneath them. Then he ate a cookie and kept watch of his screens.

Pariah was teaching Daniel how to use a sword. Pandora had attempted to teach him swordsmanship but Daniel had been disinclined to it. He wasn’t particularly elegant to be fair, and the finesse and practiced movement of Pandora’s sword was more akin to an art than anything else. Her limbs risked entanglement if she wasn’t careful and had developed a style suited to such.

Daniel was much more inclined to blunt, ferocious movements. He often thought with his fist before anything else, even as a ghost with a multitude of powers to command. He used speed and strength to win and outmaneuver his opponents and despite his lack of polish, he often won due to those two traits alone. Pariah was a talented teacher, in that he was clearly taking what Daniel had already in ample supply, and taught him how to wield it appropriately to its maximum use.

He was still only beginning of course, but Daniel was a fast learner and had grown significantly in a short period of time.

Clockwork had toyed with the idea of taking Daniel on as an official apprentice once or twice before. Teaching him how to exist beyond the means which he had become accustomed to as a human. While he would not have Clockwork’s inclination for time specifically, Daniel’s connection to the Realms would allow him a level of control over his surroundings and the beings that exist in them that simply does not exist in anyone outside of the Ancients. And even then, Clockwork’s Time was different enough from the others’ domains to be unique in and of itself in a similar vein to Daniel’s powers. Even if they’d only just barely begun to show.

But it was a risk to do so before everything else came to fruition. If Daniel realized his plans, it would be troublesome. He likely would not agree to the lengths Clockwork is willing to reach, and more than that, there is no guarantee that his existence as half human would not have him attempting to side with Order over Chaos. No, it was better to wait and see how it all played out first. There wasn’t much left to do before the end.

Yes it would lead to anger. Perhaps even to hatred. It would be fitting for Clockwork. He had never known a love that had yet to turn. That had truly been any kind of unconditional.

But he would be free.

Finally, finally free.

Free from this horrid linear existence, free from his servitude, free from his bonds. The root of him, the core, had been born from Chaos, from the mess of all things and no things, and like any child wishing to cradle in the arms of its mother, Clockwork longed once more for it.

He had been patient, as had the others. There was little left to do.

When Daniel finally visited again Clockwork had made cookies.

They resembled human chocolate chips, if one squinted, and Clockwork had made sure to take them out of the oven just as Daniel arrived so they would be warm.

“There you are Daniel,” he greeted. The cookies were still moving and he had to give the tray he was holding a bit of a shake to get them to stop. He doubted Daniel would eat them if he thought they were alive.

The boy didn’t look well. He had deep bags under his eyes, and a skittish, weary look about him.

Clockwork clicked his tongue. “You need to sleep,” he said, not waiting for Daniel to speak.

“What?” The boy lifted his head, confused.

“I said, you should sleep.” Clockwork grabbed one of the amulets from the wall and placed it around Daniel’s neck. “I’ll stop time for a few hours, you can sleep here if you want.”

Daniel just blinked. “Oh.”

Nodding, Clockwork turned back to his screens so he could keep watch. Nocturn had warned that Pariah was making his move and Clockwork was determined to keep an eye on him now, when the timing was most crucial.

He felt a tug on his sleeve.

“Clockwork…”

He looked down to catch Daniel’s eyes. “Yes?”

“Nothing,” he sighed, “thanks.” He grabbed the amulet in one hand, a torn expression on his face. Then he floated off to the room Clockwork had given him to sleep.

Watching as his ward wandered off, Clockwork waited until he was out of sight to grab hold of time and let it rest for a moment. It was the least he could do.

It wasn’t long after their fall that the final thread snapped and Clockwork opened his eyes in triumph. Everything was available to him now. There were no hidden futures, no shrouded pasts. His screens multiplied around him as even his Lair was freed from its limits. Like a beast stretching from a long hibernation, Clockwork lost himself to his Obsession, revelled in the freedom he had long gambled away.

The Infinite Realms felt it as he left the Clocktower for no reason other than because he wanted to and he didn’t have to ask. He didn’t have to come up with some convoluted reason as to why this was perfectly acceptable before his own body allowed him to leave the doors of his own Lair. It felt wonderful, he almost took down his hood to see everything around him with the eyes of a free spirit.

He didn’t though, it would be too much of a hassle to wrangle his hair back and he didn’t really want someone to see him so freely bared. It was enough in every way, that he was finally free.

“I almost forgot how powerful you were, Clockwork.” He turned to see Misery Vex, lounging comfortably just outside his lair. “The Eyes Around Us are gone then?”

Clockwork nodded, looking to the future, looking to the past. She had been waiting here for him, but not for long. And she wouldn’t have waited much longer. “Are you ready for what happens next?” he asked.

“Are you?”

He nodded again. There weren’t any more preparations to make, how could he be anything but ready?

They didn’t meet at the Clocktower this time.

It was no longer necessary after all. This time they met in the night. The soft evening of eternal sleep and dreams, Nocturn’s lair. It was spacious if nothing else, and creative with its decoration. Should one of them wish to sit, they merely needed to chance sitting and see if the space around them would accommodate. It suited him immensely.

“Have you found her yet?” Misery asked.

Sojourn nodded, a small enthusiastic smile hidden under his beard. “Yes, Clockwork and I were able to locate her shattered core amongst Pandora’s boxes.”

“ It will not be easy to receive her, and it will only be more difficult to revive her,” Nocturn warned, “especially if we wish to keep this to ourselves. Rather than risk the entirety of the realms turning on us as they did the Observants.”

Clockwork nodded, “we shouldn’t do much in more than pairs. Sojourn and Misery should seek Pandora. Nocturn and I can set the ritual once the pieces are complete.”

“And the rest of us?” Undergrowth scowled, he hated Nocturn’s lair. It was cold and empty, barren of any more physical matters and there was nowhere for him to take root. Clockwork suspected half of the reason it was that way was intended to irritate Undergrowth specifically.

Sojourn clapped his hands together and smiled, his eagerness truly knew no bounds and his obvious delight was nearly infectious. “You’re our escape plan of course! We’ll need help once we locate the right box, Pandora’s obsession is hardly a good one to be on the wrong side of.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Vortex grinned.

Clockwork couldn’t help but agree, what are they waiting for indeed?

“What is Chaos, Clockwork?” Daniel asked. But Clockwork was distracted.

He hadn’t expected Daniel to show up today, he hadn’t paid attention to it. There was so much to do, so much to get ready for. The time was now after all.

He took care to answer anyways, the changes that were to come would affect the boy. At least a little. He was strong enough that he would thrive in Chaos, and it would help to nurture his Obsession, if the weaker denizens of the Realms needed help. And they would

“Chaos was the first, how it all began. Everything started with Chaos or nothing could have been at all.”

Daniel frowned, a small furrow in his brow. “That… didn’t really-“

Clockwork paused for a moment. “Is something wrong Daniel?”

He sighed. “So if you were made from Chaos, is she like, your mother?”

“No. Chaos is not sentient so much as conceptual.” Clockwork frowned, “though I suppose she predated concepts as well if she was the first. Chaos was neither one thing nor many things. It’s safe to say Chaos was everything and everything came from her. But that did not make her nurturing”

Clockwork looked back at Daniel, letting time flow smoothly once more. It wouldn’t do to delay.

There was a hint of something in Daniel’s eyes, a wariness that Clockwork had never seen before. It must have been due to their conversation, but Clockwork couldn’t place what about it would have Daniel on edge. Chaos would not be any more a threat to him than it would be the other Ancients.

“Clockwork, if Chaos came back…” he paused, as if the words had been stuck in his throat, “what would happen to the humans? The mortals?”

What a strange question. “Life would not exist as it does now, utter chaos would not permit it.”

It had been something of a sport, to watch Sojourn and Misery in their attempts to find and excavate the remnants of the Core of Chaos. Clockwork and Nocturn had watched it from the safety and comfort of Clockwork’s lair, on the largest of his screens.

“They’re having fun aren’t they?” Nocturn mused, taking a sip of his tea. He’d made it himself in Clockwork’s kitchen, had been insistent about it when he’d seen Clockwork start to make his own.

“Pandora is a valiant warrior and a good fighter. Misery has been on the sidelines for some time since the end of Pariah’s court.” Clockwork’s tea was cold. He frowned and set it aside.

“Yes, it’s good to see her stretching her limbs. I hadn’t seen all of them since her last fight.”

Clockwork thought back, the fight Nocturn was referring to played on one of the smaller screens. It was a gladiator based competition, where Pariah had sent her as a member of his court to show his power. She had challenged the Lord of Little Crawlers to a duel and shredded him to pieces before even five minutes had passed. Then she had collected herself, reset her veil, and gone right back to Pariah’s Keep.

Now she was using every extra limb she could against Pandora, swords clashing with long knitting needles and strings of silk. Watching the fight was mesmerizing to be sure, almost akin to a dance, if not for the frustrated vulgarities being thrown around and Sojourn’s overly eager cheering from the back.

“Do you think they’ll make it?”

“Sojourn will remember what they’re supposed to be doing when he almost drops one of the boxes held in his arms. Upon that realization he will sneak away while Pandora is distracted and meet with the others. From there they will come here with their spoils and it will be our turn to prove our worth.” Clockwork answered, easily detailing the future ahead of them.

Nocturn nodded and took a sip of his tea.

It didn’t happen exactly like Clockwork had predicted. But it was close enough. Sojourn had bypassed Vortex and Undergrowth completely and simply flown straight to Clockwork‘s lair on his own. Nocturn spared Clockwork a glance, but he remained unaffected. It was still on track to be an ideal future.

Once Sojourn entered his lair Clockwork grabbed hold of time with his hand and twisted , forcing it to bend and still under his palm. The trip to the Cave was only a step after that and once there, he let loose and released time to settle amicably around them.

“Amazing,” Sonourn said, “I do think I’d like to travel this way more often. It’s quite convenient.”

Nocturn patted him on the shoulder and grabbed one of the delicately detailed boxes he’d been balancing precariously in his arms. “You’d need to be very careful if you did, there’s no telling what might get caught up in all that twisting and turning.”

“It won’t matter much longer after this,” Clockwork said, taking his own box.

The entirety of Chaos was not here, her core long since mostly destroyed, but there was enough to recreate something should they use the ritual they had devised.

It needed to be hidden, so they had found a cave. It was ancient, and once thought to be a reliable doorway into the spiritual and mortal realms, every wall was covered in ancient arts and writings. No rhyme or reason between them, a bit of a mess conceptually, but perfect for their purposes. Once Vortex had destroyed it in the mortal realm, it had been simple enough to recreate, especially using Undergrowth and Misery Vex’s powers.

Most ghosts dared not travel here, where they placed it. It was a deeper part of the Infinite Realms, where the pressures of the ambient ectoplasm was strong enough to kill even some of the more stable spirits, certainly more than any Watcher could have ever handled.

Clockwork gathered the ashes in the center of their chosen chamber. Three rights from the first left. Nocturn moved around the edges, the walls solid and firm under his hands as he tested them. And Sojourn, setting his own box aside, lit the flames.

It began.

They had known the work would be hard, tedious even. Most mortals, when they picture rituals like this, imagine chanting and holding hands, perhaps some use of indomitable will. But this was far more personal, more hands on.

Clockwork took the broken edge of a shattered piece of core, and began to mold it, shaping and soothing it into a puzzle-like shape. He had spent time looking into human carpentry practices, and had come across the traditional Chinese techniques of Lu Ban.

It had taken more than a human lifetime to learn it properly and then suit it to his own needs, but he put it into practice now, shaping the shattered pieces anew and slotting them together so that they might fit and stay snug.

Sojourn had weaved together layer after layer of treated ectoplasm into a fine cloth and was now sewing it into a fitted dress, each stitch small and tidy, seamless against the weave.

The one who stoked the flame, who kept its energy strong and the newly forming core well fed, was Nocturn. He kept a measured gaze upon it, not once turning away or getting distracted.

This continued for an eternity, the creation, or recreation, of something both ancient and now new was exhaustive work. But eventually, Clockwork felt a hum. A small, weak thing that would have left him breathless had he needed to breathe.

Chaos was born again, though faint, though weak. Not anything close to what she once was, but still, she was there, feeding on the flames of her own ashes, pieces of her own core held together and finally finding life.

They needed to keep going. This was delicate work, if they got distracted, if there was even one misstep, it would be over. Chaos would be what she is now, what they made of her, and not what she needed to be.

The fire went out.

“ Damn ,” Nocturn hissed, quickly turning to look around. He did not bother to relight the flame, it was too late. Clockwork felt hollow, had they truly failed? But how?

He acted quickly, bundling the newly formed and still fragile core into Sojourn’s half sewn garment and thrusting it fully into the other Ancient’s hands.

“You are the fastest of us, run, hide her away before we lose her entirely.” Sojourn nodded solemnly, flying quickly through the winding tunnels that led out of the cave.

Nocturn scowled, “whoever is there should be glad I am merciful. Come out now and I shall forgo eternal torment for a quick End.”

There was only silence.

Clockwork was growing irritated himself and looked to the future, only to see Nocturn tackled into a wall by a familiar black and white blur.

“Daniel?!” He said, his thoughts screeching to a halt. But, there was no way. He couldn’t have followed them. He would have had to know about the cave and been lying in wait for the exact moment to-

There was a soft sound, like the clinking of a delicate chain, as Clockwork felt a weight upon his neck. All at once he felt the universe stand still, as if he had been trapped in the moment, the singular moment no longer able to spread himself beyond. It was cloying, claustrophobic. Something he never thought he’d experience again.

And he knew who was behind it.

“You’ve always been impatient my dear.” Pariah spoke softly, his lips far too close.

Clockwork fled, slipping between moments to force space between them almost on instinct alone. Pariah simply let him go, a smug smile on his face. No, he wasn’t supposed to be here. How did he know about this place?

What had he placed on Clockwork’s neck?

He lifted a hand, not taking his eyes off of Pariah in case he decided to get any closer, and felt around his neck. It was a chain, delicate and just long enough to have slid over his head and dangle its pendant at a point on his chest, just above the glass. The shape of it was vaguely familiar, but Clockwork couldn’t place it.

“What have you done to me?” he asked, using anger to hide the tremble in his voice.

Pariah’s expression softened and he took a step forward. “Did I not say I would see you decked in gold?”

No…

The necklace…

It had been a cursed necklace, layered in charms meant for protection that slowly twisted into possession and control. It shouldn’t have been strong enough to cause any trouble at all to Clockwork, if something this simple had worked, Pariah would have used it long ago in the peak of his madness.

Clockwork grabbed the chain, intending to rip it off, but Pariah spoke, startling him. “I wouldn’t, you’ll only hurt yourself.”

“Then why did you put it on me?” he tugged at the chain in emphasis, without his strength. Pariah never warned for no reason.

The bastard smiled, like Clockwork had asked a stupid question, one he should know the answer to. Clockwork scowled, and moved further away from him. His back hit a wall. The cave, while earlier it had been comforting, a sign that eternal chaos was close at hand, that all Clockwork had done was paying off in the end, it was now more reminiscent of a stone cage.

A trap.

He’d walked straight into a trap, one Pariah had been laying since he awoke. And Clockwork had never paid it any heed, had not bothered with his machinations because he assumed Pariah would be too slow, had thought whatever he did would be too weak. He had underestimated him, and now Pariah Dark was walking towards him, a lion stalking its prey.

Clockwork froze time.

He was still moving. Clockwork had frozen time and Pariah was still moving .

It shouldn’t have been possible, there was nothing restricting Clockwork’s power in that way. He felt the threads of all existence tangled around him, grabbed the ones moving forward and tugged, sharp, desperate, to keep them still. He felt them still.

Pariah kept moving though.

“How-?” Everything else had frozen, all around them was silence and the only things that moved were the two of them. It was a strange kind of dance, one stepping closer and the other floating away.

“I made it myself, the charm. It ties you to me, obviously.” Pariah caught him, gently because he didn’t need to use force, didn’t need to use any of the almost limitless strength behind him. “It’s based off the contract you signed with the Observants, I hadn’t honestly expected it to be so blatantly one sided when I read it. Though I suppose it was on purpose, a miscalculation on your part, in the end.”

Clockwork pulled his hand away, but Pariah simply moved with the action and stepped closer, crowding against him. “It doesn’t work like that,” Clockwork said through clenched teeth. A one-sided contract that gave away so much of himself was necessary. It was also only possible because Clockwork had signed it. Pariah couldn’t mimic that without Clockwork’s consent, that wasn’t how it worked. That wasn’t how any of this was supposed to work.

Pariah hummed in agreement. “It wouldn’t be, if that was all I did.” He brushed a lock of hair from Clockwork’s eyes. “The Order of the Observants was in chaos. They were desperate. They wanted someone powerful to protect them. They were willing to give anything for the possibility they might find safety.”

Then he pulled out a medallion of his own, a horribly familiar one.

Oh.

So that was all it took…

Pariah was right, it had been a miscalculation indeed.

“Even if they gave me to you, the contract dissolved with the Order. I felt it break.”

“It did,” Pariah took hold of one of Clockwork’s hands and held it to his lips in a kiss, “But I had you for long enough. Long enough to bind you to myself instead. All it took was some craftswork.”

He let go of Clockwork’s hand to touch the pendant hanging from his neck instead. It was a gentle, reverent touch, as if thanking the damned thing for its work in keeping Clockwork trapped for him. “Luckily I was up to date on all the most prominent binding curses. I have a friend who suffers from such an affliction after all.”

“Fuck you.”

Pariah laughed, a genuine surprised chuckle that truly lit him up from the inside. His eyes were so warm, his hands burned like brands, and Clockwork wanted nothing more than to tear out his other eye with his teeth. “Come Clockwork, you’ve failed. Let’s go home.”

Pariah led him back to the Clocktower, his lair. His home and prison. Clockwork stormed past him once they were inside. “And what is your plan now? I can’t imagine I’d be much use in subjecuting the Realms, as you can see I’m quite traitorous by nature. All of my previous masters can attest.”

“Then it’s good I’m keeping you for your sense of humor,” Pariah said as he closed the door behind him.

It was the first time Pariah Dark had ever been inside Clockwork’s lair. Pariah had always been a cautious ghost, it made sense that he wouldn’t allow himself the vulnerability of being inside another powerful ghost’s lair, a place where they quite literally held all of the power and had all of the control.

The irony of course, was that the moment Pariah had stepped inside, it was Clockwork that felt vulnerable. Exposed like a raw nerve, every part of him standing on end, tightly coiled and ready to flee.

“How is this exactly how I have always envisioned it?” Pariah says dryly, his eyes roaming freely, invasively over every nook and cranny. Every randomly placed cog and haphazard ticking machine. It was a chaotic mess, naturally, it was Clockwork.

Clockwork picked up a twentieth century alarm clock and weighed it in his hands before chucking it as hard as he could towards Pariah. The bastard caught it, of course. And Clockwork scowled.

“Did you often picture yourself waltzing into my Lair?”

Pariah set the clock down carefully, as if it would break. As if it were truly a piece of Clockwork himself. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t have. You were certainly at home in mine.”

“Oh please, half the Realms has access to your Lair. We are not the same.” Clockwork scoffed, crossing his arms and floating awkwardly in the middle of the room. He didn’t want to be any closer to Pariah, but neither did he want to risk being backed into a wall again . It seemed a recurring treat for Pariah, to cage him in that way.

There was a touch of mischief in Pariah’s smile when he replied. “Perhaps we can change that, would you like more visitors?”

“No.”

“Pity.”

Clockwork grabbed another trinket to throw, this one he had pried from the walls. Pariah handled that just as easily, an uncomfortable expression aimed at the destroyed part of Clockwork’s wall. He was truly the most obnoxious perfectionist. If Clockwork’s mangled mess of a lair was going to bother him he shouldn’t have bothered to come inside.

In fact, if he was going to be disappointed so easily he shouldn’t have chained him in the first place. It wasn’t as if the bindings guaranteed something like loyalty. They couldn’t even force him to act should he not wish to. Clockwork wasn’t going to change from how he had been for eons under the damn Eyes.

“Why did you do this?” Clockwork asked, “And don’t dare say it’s only because you said you would. You may be meticulous but you are not beholden to simple words.”

Pariah had fixed his wall. And was now attempting to reinstate the very same decoration Clockwork had used as ammunition. It was strangely domestic to see and Clockwork felt rage simmer and build. Would he simply make himself at home then? Perhaps he would seek to combine their lairs in a twisted amalgamation so that he might seek order where it damn well did not belong.

“You were going to leave.”

What a useless excuse. “Did you lose your ability to reason permanently to that crown?”

This time it was Pariah that rolled his eyes. “Obviously not, if I was able to out-fox Clockwork of all ghosts.”

“You had help.” Clockwork said through grit teeth. He wouldn’t ask who, he didn’t think he could handle having it confirmed.

Pariah’s eyes sparkled. “So you knew?”

“I figured it out.”

“Feeling very betrayed, Clockwork?” This time Pariah’s smile was sharp, a vicious little thing that certainly made him more recognizable as the fallen tyrant he actually was.

Clockwork refused to rise to the bait. He did not regret, it was impossible to feel regret when every single decision he’d ever made had been so thoroughly calculated. “I wasn’t going to leave. Where would I even go, Pariah?”

“You were leaving me.” Pariah walked towards him, quicker than his usual slow prowl. Clockwork had chanced a step back himself but it only served to darken Pariah’s expression further so he stilled instead and allowed himself to be caught and held. Pariah’s hands were heavy, one landing on his hip and the other reaching for his wrist. “You were disappearing to the flows of Time, one minute here and the next somewhere no one could follow you. You speak of chaos and the freedom it would give you, but you lie to yourself when you say that is all that you desire. The freedom you had so desperately sought, how lonely would it have been.”

Pariah had not been able to talk after that, too busy weathering Clockwork’s sudden violent outrage.

Nocturn was the first to visit him, to see Clockwork’s anger, his desperate lashing out. He had the same expression he’d always had when the topic of Pariah or Daniel had come up. The look of undisguised pity, as if he had known from the start that Clockwork would fail, that he would be chained in this way, the moment his freedom was closer than at any other time.

“We do not hate you for your failure, Clockwork,” Nocturn said, and Clockwork bared his teeth. It had been sometime since he’d carved out an eye in petty vengeance but he was not above making it a hobby.

Nocturn simply kept his distance, just one step away with one of those damned medallions around his neck, stopping Clockwork from freezing him in place in his own lair. “You’ve always been easily twisted by affection, too willing to be tied down with familiarity.”

His words hurt, like an arrow piercing through Clockwork’s chest. He hadn’t thought it would be so literal, hadn’t taken Pariah’s threats seriously. Had believed, genuinely, that he would be able to escape whatever bonds Pariah had fashioned for him. Had not thought to protect himself thoroughly enough and now all was for naught. Nocturn said he harbored no ill will, but he should .

And Clockwork was distraught that he did not.

He deflated and Nocturn floated closer, just within range. But Clockwork’s arms hung heavy, and he was exhausted now, the weight of it all too much. “You should. Chaos is lost to us.” he spoke, his voice barely audible.

“Yes,” Nocturn acquiesced, “but Chaos was lost to us long ago. It was a child’s hope, that we could get it back.”

“You are content then? To rot in containment in an infinite realm of order and stability?”

A laugh escaped Nocturn, perplexing Clockwork and only flaring his temper worse. The other Ancient didn’t even try to hide as he fell into a laughing fit. “I would not be, no. But my oldest friend, I am not the one in containment. I have always known you look too much towards the forest and its tallest trees, very rarely have you ever noticed the grass or the leaves.”

“Speak sense,” Clockwork snapped. It was his job to speak in riddles, he had little patience to hear them now.

Nocturn did not call him on his hypocrisy though, instead he shook his head and floated closer, relaxing next to Clockwork as if they were two friends taking tea. “It was not, as you believed, an all or nothing gamble.”

“Was it not?”

“No, the realms are back to Anarchy as they should be. The Observants were the last hold in their attempts to tame them, and they have been destroyed. There is no King, not even a sleeping one, and Chaos exists.”

Clockwork listened, the cold weight of failure that had settled in his chest chipped and cracked as Nocturn spoke on. “She does not exist as she had.”

“But perhaps this is a better way,” Nocturn pondered, “last time, Chaos reigned so supreme it seemed all were insistent to seek order. Then order reigned supreme and we sought Chaos. Perhaps now, with the Realms alive once more, and order and Chaos in balance, it will last instead.”

Nocturn placed a hand on the top of Clockwork’s head, petting his hair. “The other Ancients and I shall seek our fun, and find ways to exist in this new existence. It is only you, I am afraid, that will remain trapped.”

Clockwork slapped his hand away, “How comforting, Nocturn. Do you also go to the newly dead and tell them not to weep, at least they were the ones that died and not others?”

Nocturn’s hand returned to pull his hood down over his face and Clockwork had to slap it away again. “It is not in my perogative to comfort the newly dead. I thought only to inform my dearest friend that he had not earned my animosity. A fear he might have had, failing the plan we had painstakingly worked towards for eons.”

“I don’t want to be chained any longer.” Clockwork admitted. It had been so long since he’d had any semblance of freedom. Did he even know what it would feel like anymore?

“We know. Though some, like Misery Vex, believe it karmic, that your attachments, which had led so thoroughly to our defeat, came back in the forms of chains for you alone. But know that if one day it comes to pass that I can free you, unlikely as it may be, I shall make the attempt.” Nocturn stood, leaving Clockwork alone in his tower.

“Clockwork?” It was Daniel’s voice. It was the first time his young ward had come to visit since the binding. It was not a comfort to hear his voice, to see that he was okay. It was not .

He didn’t acknowledge Daniel when he entered, wouldn’t have let him in the door if he still had complete control of his Lair… But he’d bargained that away long ago in a gamble that had failed him entirely.

Instead he floated to his screens. Ever since the fall of the Observants, he could see properly at least. Pariah had no interest in obscuring his vision, had even less in controlling what it was he could see. Pariah’s only interest had been binding Clockwork to him so that he might not escape, so that he might not regress, so that he might not lose himself to the chaos of infinity and escape his limited existence.

Clockwork scowled, still ignoring Daniel’s presence, his attempts at conversation. Pariah’s interests should not have mattered. Because Pariah should not have won . Because Pariah had lost before and Clockwork had been so certain that he would again. Because-

Because Clockwork had made a mistake when he sealed him away. Because Clockwork knew he could not bring himself to end him. Because Clockwork had seen an opportunity to see Pariah again and had known it would be a mistake but had wanted so desperately just to see him again. Wanted to see him free of the haze of anger the ring and crown had obscured him in, but a ghost’s natural state was obsessive. And Pariah had never hid his desire to keep Clockwork as he was, Clockwork had simply brushed it off as words of affection. He should have known better really, Pariah was hardly the type to speak lightly, and had never claimed what he did not mean with his entire core.

The screen he was watching was boring, most things were now that he had no reason to keep track of the threads, no overarching plan to work towards. It was so simple. A young ghost was trick-or-treating with a watermelon instead of a pumpkin and was turning into a large candy-based monster whenever someone turned them away.

It was the middle of summer where the ghost was, and Clockwork allowed himself to appreciate the tiny bit of chaos that the ghost was bringing to the small mortal town. Nocturn had told him that not all had been lost, Clockwork may be trapped, but Chaos had been released.

Just enough.

He sighed.

“Why are you here Daniel?” he finally asked.

Daniel straightened up, he’d been rambling, no doubt in an attempt to cajole Clockwork into joining conversation or listening subconsciously. He hadn't been.

He was also carrying a plate of cookies that Clockwork had not seen, because Clockwork had not looked. When would he learn his lesson about that? Why was he always looking too late?

“I wanted to check on you,” Daniel said, setting the plate of cookies down now that he was sure Clockwork had seen them. “Pariah said you were… having a hard time.”

Clockwork scowled, too many things tearing at his chest at once. Damn Pariah, damn him .

“Having a hard time?” he said with a false calm. “The plans that I made eons ago, plans that had been in work before your mortal realm even knew what time was, were ruined by someone I trusted. Someone I did not think would step so easily between me and my goals. Exactly what kind of time should I be having, chained to my own lair without even the authority to deny entrance to whom I wish?”

There had been a small flinch, Clockwork noticed, when he had mentioned betrayal. But if Daniel felt any guilt he didn’t look it. He raised his head, eyes full of determination. The very same expression Clockwork had seen through his screens so many times, in the fights against the other Ancients. The plans they’d made to make him stronger, to keep him stable, so that when the Chaos had been released he and the Realms with him would survive.

He had certainly survived.

“Pariah said this was the only way to save you.” Because of course that was what Pariah had told him. Because Daniel was intelligent, but Daniel was also a child and all too willing to trust any competent adult. A flaw that Clockwork himself had been so quick to take advantage of. A flaw that cursed him now.

“Do you really believe that Pariah Dark has my best interest at heart?” he would have sneered, if it had been anyone else. If it hadn’t been Daniel, who was practically his own child. Instead, he asked softly, his frustration drowned entirely by exhaustion.

Daniel still answered him though. “You were changing Clockwork,” What? “The same way you told me Pariah had once changed.”

He hadn’t, there was no way it had been so obvious. He hadn’t, it wasn’t as if he had lost himself to his obsession, nor had he gained power that grew out of his control, what was he talking about?

“You were distant, as if you were struggling to stay in any given moment. Sometimes you’d forget everything going on around you, and others you seemed to be somewhere or some-when else entirely. I mean,” Daniel took a breath, “you’ve always been a bit cryptic, but you were losing yourself entirely . Halfway through a conversation you would start talking completely randomly, in languages long dead or unrecognizable. Or you’d start talking about things that had never happened or had happened forever ago.”

He was almost shouting now, his eyes shining with more than just energy and Clockwork felt a sting in his core. He had known that Daniel would disapprove, that he would get angry. But it had not occurred to him that his anger would be pointed towards this rather than his blatant manipulation of Daniel and his friends.

“And your actions! They were reckless, Clockwork!! Releasing Dan? What the hell?! ”

It was Clockwork’s turn to flinch. “Your future self’s release had always been part of the plan. It was why I had you leave him with me to start with. I was not losing myself Daniel, I was revealing who I actually am.”

Daniel made a desperately frustrated noise. “Do you think saying something like that is going to convince me we were wrong, Clockwork? I- I trusted you! I care about you! You’re-”

“So you’d cage me and try to force compliance so that the more unsightly aspects of myself can be filed away? So you can teach me to be better, like some kind of petty human criminal, Daniel?” He let his anger take over instead. It was easier, so much easier. It was what he had always done with Pariah.

Daniel rolled his eyes. “How dramatic,” he said dryly, “Didn’t you do the same thing to Pariah, wasn’t what you did like way worse? You’re throwing a fit just like he said you would.”

“If you trust Pariah Dark so much, why are you even here? Have him make cookies for you. I'm sure he’s fully capable.” Clockwork wasn’t throwing a fit, he was angry.

Daniel sighed, grabbing one of the cookies he’d brought. They had long gone cold, but it hardly mattered to Clockwork, he wouldn’t be eating them. “Pariah has a lot of faults, and there’s a bunch of things I don’t really like about him. He’s manipulative, methodical. He never lets me half ass anything and he’s really picky. He doesn’t actually care if a person dies or a ghost gets Ended, and we fight about that kind of stuff a lot. But…” he met Clockwork’s eyes, his expression looked hurt, heartbroken. Clockwork didn’t want to see it. Had never wanted to see Daniel like this.

“He’s never outright lied to me. I’ve been checking, ever since… Well. I don’t just trust anyone at their word anymore. So yeah okay, I know he’s manipulating me just like he was manipulating you, but he never lied to either of us about his intentions. He didn’t do what you did.”

Clockwork couldn’t look at him any more. He’d made so many mistakes. If he was truly destined to fail… He should never have revealed his true nature or intentions to the boy. His disappointment burned almost as much as the chain Pariah had placed around Clockwork’s neck.

It didn’t matter though, that Clockwork could not stand to see him, because Daniel flew towards him and grabbed his face gently, hands on either side of his cheeks.

“I don’t trust you anymore, Clockwork, but I still love you. So does Pariah. We can fix this, okay?” Daniel said and Clockwork’s eyes widened at the threat.

He had truly lost, hadn’t he?

#Danny Phantom #ectoberhaunt 2021 #Dark ages #Pariah Dark #clockwork dp #Pariah/Clockwork #Bee's writing #fanfiction #Clockwork having not great morals sorry yall but its been a long time coming and I HAVE been hinting at this exact ending :3c

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monodipita · 3 years

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There's a Fire in My Heart (Yandere!Rengoku x Reader)

Hello! I wanted to start this post off by saying that I am aware that shorter reader-inserts often garner more attention, but I don't mind that my longer reader-inserts don't garner as much. I hope you enjoyed this piece as much as I enjoyed writing him! And a shorter version may come out soon.

Word count: 4,010

Warnings: YANDERE CONTENT. MENTIONS OF SELF-HARM/SELF-MUTILATION.

Everyone knew about Kyojurou Rengoku. He was the kind, sincere, hard working Hashira who worked his way into the hearts of many. He was handsome and elegant despite being so hardy, with the callouses that adorned his hands like a second skin, and the scars that littered his body. He was able to sway the hearts of many, including your own. You'd been a secret admirer for a while now, writing him cute little notes and leaving them at his post every sunrise that always seemed to make the man smile brighter than the charming smile he always held on his lips.

You knew this because you overheard him talking about the notes with his fellow Hashira Mitsuri Kanroji. "I'd love to meet my secret admirer one day." He told her. One day.

He was always busy, so it became hard to capture his attention... or, rather, it was.

It felt like a stroke of luck so strong that you were going to have bad luck for the rest of your life when you twisted your ankle—because Kyojurou wasn’t looking, and you tripped. Purposefully, yes. You immediately regretted it. Your body came clashing to the forest floor, and the wood inside your basket spilled out onto the ground below you. "Ah!" You whined aloud as an instinctive reflex.

"I'm so sorry!" Kyojurou shot to your side. "Here, I'll grab your things, and then I'll take you to the Butterfly Estate. I'm so sorry!"

You were unable to talk because of how dazed you were, from hitting the forest floor, to the fact that he was now so close to you. You stared at him through bleary eyes as he picked up the long logs of wood and put them back into the basket that was once on your back. He slotted his arms into the straps and helped to hoist your body against his, wrapping his right arm around your waist while his left arm held onto your right. "Stay close, okay? Let me know if I'm doing too much for you."

Shinobu revealed the unfortunate news of being bedridden some few hours later.

”Oh... that’s awful,” he put his right hand over his lips and furrowed his thick brows with worry. His fiery golden eyes looked down at you and caused you to look away before your blush became obvious. “I’m so sorry... [Y/N], was it?”

He knew your name...

“I’ll make up for it somehow, I promise.” He told you. “For now, I must go, I have other matters I must attend to. But I will return, every day at the same time, until you’re better. Okay?”

"Okay."

DAY 1

"I took your wood to your home." He started off the conversation now that he was in the room. "You live alone, [Y/N]?" Alone... if that was a way to put it. "Recently, yes," you admitted aloud, "my family moved away after I passed the The Final Selection. They couldn't agree with my decision to become a demon slayer. I miss them." You smiled wistfully as you recalled the day they cast themselves out of their own home.

Though Kyojurou looked saddened by that answer, he didn't comment on it much further. "I brought your breakfast. Kocho-san was too busy to bring it herself." He set the tray down on your lap. You cringed at the hot feeling, visibly enough to draw his attention—but that might've simply been because you yelped short after. You fought the feeling to reach down and grab at your propped up, sprained ankle, as pain ricocheted through your leg.

"Oh!" He quickly lifted up the tray off of your legs. To your surprise, he didn't spill the contents of the food anywhere around you or on the floor. "I'm sorry, was it too hot?" He asked, causing you to look up at his face. He was blushing out of embarrassment! He looked so cute!

His eyes bulged wide with worry, and the same, saddened frown appeared on his face from moments before. "Just a bit... I wasn't expecting it." You chuckled wryly. "Sorry, you can put it back down." You reassured him and gently pat your lap. "No, it's fine, I'll hold it. I don't want to put any unnecessary strain on your ankle." Kyojurou stated. "It'll be fine! I won't leave until I know you've eaten breakfast."

A blush spread across your own features. He was a selfless man and it showed in every action he performed. How could people not fall in love with him? "Oh, okay," your breath was taken away, clearly. He even went through the act of holding the tray out for you so that you could eat your food. You looked down at what you had to eat—miso soup and onigiri. It smelled delicious. "The cooks here are fantastic." Kyojurou remarked. "I'm sure you've had to spend a lot of time in here, haven't you?" You asked him.

"Mm? Oh, yes." Kyojurou nodded his head. "If I don't come back from a mission with some type of injury, then something is wrong." He chuckled.

"How are they?"

"What is it?"

"I'm just asking, how are the missions? I haven't been able to go on one yet," you admitted, "I've been dealing with a lot of training. Ooyakata-sama says that I'm not ready to go out on my own yet."

Kyojurou looked more than surprised by that answer. "When you live out so far on your own?" He furrowed his brows. "Are you at least training yourself when you cannot attend daily training sessions?" You nodded your head. Of course you tried, but sometimes, training could be too far away. You wouldn't tell him that—you feared that he would pull something out of his sleeve and try to— "eat please, [Y/N]."

"S-sorry," you squeaked. You didn't waste any time digging into your meal. First with the onigiri that seemed to fill you up almost immediately upon biting into the second one. "I don't think I can finish these," you looked up at Kyojurou. His eyes were already on you, as if he was watching you eat. You didn't think anything of it. "Would you like one?"

"I shouldn't... but..." he trailed off as he thought about it, before nodding his head. "I'd appreciate it. I haven't ate, so watching you eat has made me hungry."

"Never starve yourself!" You gently scold him. You reached down and took the rice ball into your hand to give to him, smiling gently at him... until your smile dropped when you realized that you couldn't give it to him. "I-I'm so sorry!" You sputtered. "It's fine. Just feed me," he spoke casually, much to your surprise. You swallowed thickly. Your lips parted to say something, anything about what that man just said, but nothing came out. Your hand instinctively drifted toward his lips, while his head met you halfway. The bite into the food made you jump, your eyes wide as if you were a deer in headlights. You tried not to pay too much mind while you fed him, but it would eventually become apparent that you were embarrassed to do something like this for him. He didn't seem to mind one bit... maybe even he was enjoying it? You had to stop this somehow!

"Do you think the soup has cooled off enough by now to set the tray on my lap?" You asked. The onigiri were delicious, and you weren't joking about it possibly taking up all the space in your stomach. But food was food, and you didn't want to get rid of it all.

Kyojurou hummed and pressed the tray onto his lap. He hovered his right hand over it. "It does seem to be that way." There was the slightest hint of undetectable disappointment in his voice. Had you been better at picking up facades, you would've been able to catch up on it. "Here you go, [Y/N]." He sat the tray down in your lap, engulfing it in warmth. He took the rice ball from you and continued to chew on it while you dug into the soup.

The meal was finished, even though you didn't want it to be. It was filled with eerie silence, because you didn't have anything to say, and Kyojurou was... well, eating. "It was a fantastic meal!" Kyojurou beamed, "I'll be sure to thank them on my way out. Now—" he stood straight, “I have to go. It was nice eating with you, [Y/N]—“

The two of you were interrupted by the sound of a shoji opening. You were surprised to see two butterfly attendants making their way into the room with a room service cart. “What is this?” You asked, “I thought Rengoku-san had the breakfast covered for me?”

”I believe there’s been some sort of mixup. We just finished making breakfast ten minutes ago—but this tray does look like ours.” They picked up the tray and observed it. “Maybe we—“

”There’s no need to conduct an investigation.” Kyojurou spoke up. “I lied about the breakfast. To tell you the truth, I am the one who made that breakfast, and I hoped that we could eat it together.” He smiled apologetically and bowed, “I’m sorry for the confusion I’ve caused, but I truly must take my leave. I’ll see you tomorrow, [Y/N].”

H-he wanted to eat with me?!

Your heart couldn’t stop pounding a furious beat against your chest. You just couldn’t believe the words that came out of his mouth! Eat with you?! You barely knew each other! “Bye,” you weakly called to him while he left the room. If this was going to happen every day? Why, it didn’t feel too bad after the initial impact...

DAY 2

Hours poured into the morning. It felt unusually past the time Kyojurou said he was going to show up... not that you had a way of knowing. Breakfast had already been served, and you were left with the displeasure of eating it on your own, in the silence of your room. You thought you would've been used to the quiet, after all, you lived alone now—but he seemed to dull that pain. Now you missed him.

“[L/N]-san. Are you busy?” Shinobu’s voice was a break in the thick silence, and very much welcomed. The presence of another person was soothing.

You glanced up from your lap and nodded. “Not at all. Please, come in.”

Shinobu slid the shoji shut behind her and stepped over to the bed. She sat down in the bedside chair and elegantly folded her limbs atop one another while she addressed you. There was a warm, inviting smile on her face, much like the one Kyojurou held. “How are you feeling?”

”I’m feeling alright.” You responded. “My foot seems to be doing better than before! I think I’ll be able to get back on my feet by the end of the week.” At least you hoped so. As much as it was nice to be able to have the Flame Hashira see you in personalized visits, you had a life that you needed to live outside of these four walls.

“You’re right about that,” Shinobu started, “but that doesn’t mean I want you to immediately start hopping on your feet and walking around one-legged. In order to make a full recovery, I want you to stay for another two days. Is that fine with you?”

You winced. Two more days of staying in this bed? What if Rengoku-san didn’t show up again? Was it worth it? “That’s fine,” you weakly respond. No it isn’t. But did you have a choice? Not exactly.

”Thank you.” Shinobu stood. “With the more important information out of the way, I’ll allow visitation now—after what happened yesterday involving the mishap with Rengoku-san, I shortened your visitation hours. I didn’t like having to dispose of a good meal just because someone wanted to be friendly.” There was scorn in her voice. You nodded your head slowly in scolded understanding. “I’m sorry about that.”

”You don’t have to apologize,” Shinobu said. She walked over to the shoji. “Please, be well.”

As soon as she left, Kyojurou emerged from the shoji. He looked radiant, as usual, like the sun on a beautiful day with clear skies. His smile acted as the ray of sunshine that would blind your eyes, but at least you welcomed this form of sunshine. A smile bled onto your own lips as he fully made his way into the room and shut the shoji behind him. Alone, the two of you.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.” He let out a sigh while he walked over to the bedside chair. “Kocho-san is strict, but with good intentions.” He said aloud, as if to convince the two of you of that fact. "I know that. I'm still appreciative of what you did for me, even if we might've gotten into trouble."

You reached over and gently grabbed his forearm—noticing that he winced from that feeling. “Oh, did you just come back from a mission?” You asked. There must’ve been a cut under his uniform’s sleeves. Come to think of it, you could see a faint spot of blood where your hand pressed against it. "Does it need to be patched up?" You frowned with worry.

”Oh; no, that’s not it. I happened to get into a bit of an accident earlier this morning while I was cutting wood,” he explained, “I’ve already patched it up. No need to worry—it just hurt a bit, that’s all.” He smiled reassuringly, one that nearly melted you. You smiled back at him just as much. “I see.” You responded, “well, I have exciting news.”

He perked up. “What is it?”

”I’m going to be discharged in two days.” You told him. “You won’t have to worry about me anymore.”

”Two days?” Kyojurou’s face contorted. He looked... worried. He was quick to voice his thoughts about the decision. “Are you sure that’s going to be all you need? I thought sprained ankles needed more time to heal,”

It was so cute. How could he be so worried about someone he had just met? You found yourself giggling at him. “Relax. I feel much better now than how I felt yesterday. If I could, I’d even try getting up and walking around to see how it felt.” Being able to walk around would’ve been a relief. As enjoyable as it sounded before, being bedridden felt much like a nightmare. “I definitely don’t recommend it,” he said, clearly half-joking. “Please take care of yourself. Well—I have to go.” He rushed to get out of his seat. He stood tall, reaching over to gently pat your leg before he half-turned to face the shoji to leave.

”So soon?” You frowned. You were going to be lonely for the rest of the day...

”Visitation hours were cut short; remember, silly?” Kyojurou chuckled. “I’ll try to see you and stay for longer tomorrow.” He stepped out of the room as quickly as he came in, leaving you in the silence.

DAY 3

No sign of Kyojurou—just another quiet day. He said he would come... was there something wrong? You wanted to ask someone so badly, but you didn't even know how to voice it. For now, you would just stay quiet about it. Maybe he had to go on an actual mission. Aww... that would've meant that you couldn't see each other when you were discharged...

DAY 4

Discharge day. You couldn’t wait for this day as much as you dreaded it. It would be fantastic to finally get out of this room, out into the world, where you could go home and be in the comfort of your own bed. You awoke early to catch Shinobu just in time, who stepped into the room with the same, happy go lucky smile on her face. “I know you must be excited about today, [L/N]-san.”

”I am,” you beamed while you began to sit up. You slowly, steadily raised yourself off the bed and met her halfway. The sensation of walking... felt strange, after not doing it for so long. Your legs felt partially asleep, and there was a dull pain in your ankle that was sure to become annoying after a while. “How are you feeling?” She asked. “If I need to change your compression bandages for you, then I can.” She held out the gauze for grabs. ”I’ll be fine. Thank you for your magnificent service, Kocho-san.” You bowed to her and took the gauze out of her hand.

"[Y/N]-san!"

Kyojurou's voice grabbed your attention and made you nearly squeal with excitement. You hurried as best as you could to reach the shoji and thrust it open to eagerly meet the sight of him. He smelled faintly of burning wood... "did you just get done with doing something?" You asked. "Maybe something important?"

"Not important, no," the beaming, fiery-haired man shook his head and continued to smile. "I wanted to walk you home." A walk home? That sounded so sweet of him. "Oh," a blush spread thinly across your cheeks, "that's very nice of you. Thank you, Rengoku-san." The two of you stepped out of the Butterfly Estate. The walk was a quiet one... Kyojurou seemed so fixated on simply walking, and your mind was occupied by the fact that you were even having the chance to walk home with him made it so exciting.

It came into view. It took longer to get there than what you normally remembered it taking, but you shrugged it off, merely thinking of it as nothing more but a slow pace. He was just so considerate, after all.

You stepped in behind him after he opened the shoji for you. Home sweet home... it smelled like it, felt like it. Everything looked unchanged—but there was something off about it all. You could tell. "Wait... this isn't my home," you narrowed your eyes. Bewilderment seeped into your brain while you tried to make sense of it. "Why are all of my clothes and belongings here? Where are we truly at, Rengoku-san?"

Tricked. You were almost tricked, but you recognized your home anywhere you were at. These walls weren't the same. You didn't have an irori...

"I thought long and hard about it, but... I can't keep hiding the truth from you, [Y/N]-san." Kyojurou reached over to grab one of your hands, pulling the limp appendage into his own and giving it a gentle squeeze. What is he talking about? "For some time now, I have admired you. I liked watching you take your daily walks. I liked seeing that you were healthy, I liked seeing you take care of yourself."

What?

"I liked the notes that you left on my engawa—seeing you play dumb as if you weren't the one who put those notes there. The cute little smudge-marks your fingers would make when you were finished with the ink," he gently squeezed your hand.

How did he know?

"When you told me that you lived alone, it only confirmed my suspicions. You don't have anyone else to go to. I would hate such a life for someone who is so deserving of any love that comes their way."

Why was he talking about it?

"I did what I thought was the best thing to do..." he trailed off to take your other hand in his, squeezing both of them as he made his way in front of you. "You don't have to love me, all you have to do is trust me."

"Why?" Your lips were trembling. You felt sick. Yes, everything or what you could see of everything from your home was inside this single room, but it wasn't what mattered. You grew up in that home, and he... and he... "You took everything away from me. Y-you burned my home."

"No... no, don't think about it that way." Kyojurou looked all over your expression for some sign of comfort. His hands dropped yours to cup your cheeks, staring into your own with a worried expression. "That's not how you should think about it, [Y/N]-san. Don't you understand? This will be the opportunity to start your life anew with me."

It was so deranged, so sick. You barely had the physical power to shrug him off, but you managed to pull through. You needed to go back, you needed to see what he did to the only place that reminded you of your family that you had left.

"No... please, [Y/N]-san, you don't want to do this," Kyojurou tried to reason as he trailed behind you, off the engawa and into the barren yard, "you're going to see things that you don't want to see. You don't have to subject yourself to that torture." His hand touched your forearm and gently grasped it. You lashed out at him and ripped your arm out of his grip. "Leave me! Don't you see that you've ruined my life!?"

Kyojurou stood still. "Y-you don't get it," he stammered, "[Y/N]-san, I need you too. You have the energy I want in my life!" He raised his strained voice as he ripped both sleeves of his uniform up on his body to reveal scars. Plenty of them. It was alarming, but in your mind, it couldn't have hurt as much as seeing your childhood home burn down. "You're speaking like a madman," you scolded him. "I don't even know why I'm entertaining someone so delusional."

"...I'll do it."

The blade came as a shock. Your eyes widened, how did he get his hands on one so quickly? You thought you couldn't even see his arms moving... "I deserve it for being a bad significant other, don't I?" He sounded so creepy. His voice sounded off; desperate, but loving. "I've hurt you, so I must hurt myself, right?"

"..." you grimaced. How did you respond to an emotionally taxing situation like this? "You wouldn't...Rengoku-san, I don't even know you!"

"But you do!" He blurted back at you. "I'll do anything for you, [Y/N]. I just ask that you come back! Walk back to me... you don't have to see what happened to your home, you can just be with me," he pleaded.

But you didn't listen. No, you wouldn't. You turned and ran as fast, and as hard as your feet could take you into the forest, into the direction of your home. The scent of something burning helped with your path-finding, but it didn't matter. Your ankle started hurting. Hurting, hurting, and hurting. You'd forgotten that it was even strained until just now, where the pain became so severe that you ended up toppling over your injury.

"AH!"

You fell to the forest floor and squeezed your eyes shut out of pain. "Hoo... oh fuck," you hissed, clenching your teeth and bowing your head. What a painful feeling to come across, it was almost excruciating. But you needed to keep going... he was coming after you. Even if he threatened to do whatever he did back there, the pain of going through it wasn't going to stop him.

"[Y/N]-san... please."

He was already on you... maybe he was even behind you the entire time and you were under the foolish assumption that you'd escaped his line of sight. No, not at all.

"Get-get away from me!" You yelled at him. "Please!"

You stifled a gasp and a sob as his bloodied hands caressed your face. His hands trembled while his thumbs pressed directly into your cheeks while his thumb smeared the blood from his hands onto your poor cheeks. His blood. You knew what he did to himself. "Finally," he whispered, "I've finally caught you...and you can't leave me anymore. Please, [Y/N]-san, for our sake... think of this as our new life together. How I've waited so long for this opportunity, and now that I have it..!"

#yandere #rengoku x reader #rengoku kyoujurou #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #gender neutral insert #reader insert

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mackeydoodledoo · 3 years

Text

A Real Hero

Pairing: Daniela Dimitrescu x (Fem!Daughter of Ares)Reader

Summary: You were lost. You needed to fend for yourself. You were the runt of Ares’ kids. Yes, the god of war himself had told you that you were the runt of the pack, making you fall behind everyone else. However, meeting a certain red-head has you making other plans.

Warnings: Fighting, Small amount of Blood, Supposed Death

A/n: So, I’m Poseidon’s kid... But, I may or may not have a idea for a daughter of Poseidon to be paired with one of the other two daughters.

“Supermassive Black Hole” - Muse [Play this when Joan splits off with Daniela to go hunting]

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You had nowhere to go. You were shunned out by your brothers and sisters. Even your own father. You were the runt of the children of Ares. Meaning, you were the weakest link. Your own father had dropped you off at the same very forest. Haven’t heard from him, your mother or your siblings since.

Come on Joan... You got this...

You were exhausted. The glistening sweat rolled off your now toned arms as you were practicing your sword play skills. The tree however, wasn't so lucky. All of its peeled bark, all of its scars. Came from you. It looked like it was on the brink of death.

“Not so tough now are you?” You try to stupidly intimidate the nearly dead tree

God you sound stupid right now...

You take one heavy slash to the tree; it begins tumbling down. However, just as you about to chop it further, you hear a scream. Panic sets in as you immediately grab hold of the tree stump. You initially struggle to keep the other end of the tree’s weight. However, You shove it to the side, groaning in pain, clutching at your shoulder.

“Are you okay?” You ask, running over to the woman who screamed

Just barely grazing her shoulder with your finger, you wince in pain.

“Am I okay?!” She asks, turning to look at you, “Are you okay?! You’re the one who- oh my god...”

The other woman was in shock, but also intrigued.

She looks down at your finger; blood... But, it wasn’t the crimson shade kind of blood. What was seeping out of your finger was a thick and Silver colored.

“How is your blood like that?” She asks, observing your finger like a gentle specimen

“It’s always been like this,” You chuckle

“Does it actually taste like blood?!” She asks

You look at her; her eyes dilated with curiosity. You look down at your feet, trying to come up with the best answer for her.

“How am I supposed to know?” You ask her, “I’ve never been one to taste my own blood.”

“Then let me be the first one,” She says, her tone dropping to a low, seductive tone

“Hey! What are you-” You protest

But it was too late. The tip of her tongue had ran right over the small prick in your finger. Your eyes widen as she begins gagging.

“Oh that was vile!” She wretches

“I tried warning you to not do that,” You chuckle, “But, did you listen?”

She punches your shoulder as she continues to gag out the contents of your blood.

“But for real though, how did you do that?” She asks

“Do.. What?” You ask her

“The... The.. You picked up a whole damn tree!” She exclaims, “No mortal could do that!”

“That’s because I’m.. Not fully mortal...” Your voice trails off

“You’re... Not?” She asks, her eyes widening once more

“Demigod.. To be precise..” You begin explaining, “It’s when an immortal falls in love with a mortal... And they have kids... Kids like me.”

The woman doesn’t answer you...

Great... She’s freaked out...

“So... Let me get this straight... You’re... Half immortal?” She asks

Girl’s clueless...

“Technically.. Yes,” You answer her

“Wait until mother and my sisters hear when I bring you home,” She wickedly smiles

Wait.. What?...

When you opened your eyes you no longer found yourself basking in the sunshine.

“Just check her blood! She really is half immortal!” The familiar voice

“Daniela, quit your games,” Another feminine voice calls to the sole familiar voice

“What is the meaning of this?” An older, robust yet soothing feminine voice walks in

“Daniela claims that she’s found a half immortal,” Another feminine voice says, but more hungrier than the other three

“But mother it’s true!” Daniela claims, “Look at her blood!”

“Enough... Daniela,” The older woman sighs

By the time the arguing had died down, your fingers held your temples as you groaned in pain.

“Half-immortal,” The older woman calls to you

“Ow... What?” You look up

You had to adjust your neck in a slightly uncomfortable position as you stare straight up into the most giantess woman you have ever encountered.

“Tell me child...” She starts, “What is your name?”

“Joan...” You answer, “Joan Arc...”

“Are you truly half immortal?” She asks

“I am...” You say without a second thought

“Then prove it,” The blonde demands

“Now now Bela,” The older woman calms her blonde daughter, “But that you shall do for us.”

“What happens if I refuse?” You ask, standing on your two feet

“We’ll feed your scraps to the pigs,” The brunette growls

“Cassandra enough!” Daniela demands, grabbing her sisters’ wrist

Cassandra turns to the red head and begins growling at her like a primal animal. You were about to step in before you see the older woman beginning to raise her hand.

“Cassandra... Daniela,” She sighs, “On this evening’s hunt she will accompany the three of you. Cassandra...”

The brunette straightens herself out when the woman called her name.

“Do show her the armory for this evening,” She gently commands

“Of course mother,” She answers, “Half and half.”

Cassandra turns to you.

Great... A nickname already...

“You coming or not?” She asks

You walk towards her as you felt claw-like fingernails dig into your skin as you are bragged out of what looked to be the bedchambers. You catch a glimpse of Daniela; the woman you had saved from earlier in the day. You give her a small smile before Cassandra rounds the corner, knocking you into the doorframe.

“Come on,” Cassandra growls

“So... Half and half,” Cassandra teases at your nickname, taking a gaze at the weapons in the armory room

“It’s Joan,” You correct her coldly

“What brought you to our castle grounds anyway?” She asks, completely ignoring your correction

“Actually your sister... Daniela brought me here against my will so...” You joke, but also tell the truth

“She doesn’t know when to stop bringing toys into the castle,” Cassandra sighs

Toys?... Is she for real?...

“I was cast off, unwanted by my own father,” You explain, “I was the weakest of his kids... All of my siblings had their backs turned to me when I was casted out of the cabin...”

“That’s rough...” Cassandra sighs

You weren’t sure if Cassandra was continuing to mock you or she actually felt bad about your situation.

“Anyway though, I’m kind of happy that I’m out of there,” You add, “My siblings were a bunch of assholes anyway.”

“I could say the same for my sisters... We’re always trying to out-best each other to please mother... It’s getting tiring honestly.” She sighs

“Then don’t do it to please your mother,” You say, grabbing a sword off of the weapons rack, “Do it so it makes you happy.”

With your back turned to Cassandra, you begin putting your hair up to a ponytail.

“What’s that?” She asks

“What’s what?” You ask

“The thing on the back of your neck,” Cassandra helps, “What is it?”

My birthmark... Well, just a mark...

“The Mark of Ares,” You answer, “All the children of Ares have this specific mark.”

[A/n: Not much but I tried lol]

You nod, “Not the glamorous life as a god though.”

“So you really are half and half huh?” Cassandra continues asking

After grabbing a couple of armor plates, you arm yourself with a sword and a spear. You follow Cassandra back to the main hall where the other three women were waiting for the both of you.

“All set?” The tall woman asks

“Yes mother,” Cassandra says

You simply nod as you follow them out to what looked like horse stables. However, you only see enough for the four of them.

Great... Will I have to be the one running on foot?

“Joan,” Daniela calls, horse already galloped in front of you

She simply holds out her hand for you to grab. You let out a smile as you take her hand. You were astonished by the amount of strength Daniela had when she pulled you up onto the back of her horse.

“Strong,” You smile, resting your palms on her curved hipline

“You better hold on tight,” Daniela flirts

As soon as the stable doors opened fully, Daniela slams the reigns on her horse and the horse bolts past the other three. You let out a startled yelp as Daniela’s horse bursts out of the stables and out into the familiar warmth. You hold onto Daniela for dear life; your head against the back of her neck as you hear her giggling.

“The half immortal is scared of a horse ride?” Daniela teases you

“Caught me off guard is all,” You gently chuckle

Daniela continues to giggle as you ease your grip on her slightly. You look over your shoulder and see the other three horses following behind, slowly gaining to where you and Daniela were. You looked along the tree line to see the sunset beginning to dwindle down below the horizon.

“Why hunt at night?” You ask

“It’s too stuffy during the day,” Daniela explains to you, “It’s tolerable... For a certain amount of time.”

You stop at a river that was relatively near the castle for the horses to rest and hydrate as the four of you begin to tread through the woods to go hunting.

“Why don’t the both of you go hunt on your own, go teach Daniela some hunting techniques would you?” Bela suggests

“Hey!” Daniela yelps, “I can hunt well on my own thank you very much.”

“I’d certainly could ask Artemis to give Daniela some hunting lessons but who the hell knows where she is,” You explain, “Come on Dani.”

Daniela takes you by the wrist and yanks you close to her as the both of you begin walking along the forest trees in hopes to get any kills before dawn arrives.

“Have you.. Actually hunted before?” Daniela asks

“After months of fending for my own,” You say, “Mostly spear-fishing... Spear is normally my main weapon but if I want to go more rough n tough, a sword.”

“Shouldn’t the half immortals be expertise in various weapons?” Daniela teases you

“A lot of Demigods would have their specified weapons,” You say, “Watch and learn baby.”

You roll up your pant legs and your sleeves. You strip off your shoes and slowly begin stepping into the ice-cold riverbank. further to your right was a giant waterfall. You could hear the loud running water go over the edge of the drop.

“If I only had Night vision,” You sigh

“On your right,” Daniela calls out to you

You immediately spear to your right. Once you had lifted the spear, you had sworn the spear had gained more top end weight.

“How did you?...” You turn to Daniela

“I mostly go hunting at night,” Daniela smiles, “So my eyesight works best during the night.”

“That’s good to have,” You smile

You and Daniela continue spear-fishing as the night progresses through.

“Have you caught a bear before?” Daniela asks

“No,” You say

“Why don’t we go and catch one?” Daniela suggests

“Well, how would you do it Daniela?” You ask her

“Why are you asking me?” Daniela asks

“Because one, you’re the one suggesting it and two, why don’t you lead a hunt for once,” You smile

Daniela looks at you as you emerge from the riverbank and begin making a makeshift basket to place all of the fish in.

“You sure know how to craft,” Daniela just simply watches you make

“A lot of things were learned while living on my own out here,” You smile as you look up at her

You stop weaving the basket when Daniela is just kneeling in front of you.

“You okay Daniela?” You ask her, clearing your throat

“I’m okay,” She answers, inching her way closer to you, “You?”

“I’m fine,” You answer, a bubble caught in your throat, “What-what are you doing right now?”

“I... Like you..” Daniela says

“Daniela!” You yell

You coil an arm around her waist line as you try to get up but you tumble forward. You look up and see a bear letting out a roar. With your spear crushed under the bears’ foot, you draw your sword and begin swinging, in hopes of it being scared and runs off. However, you stop once it began growling.

“Joan!” Daniela yells

You felt your body land onto the ground as the sword is knocked from your grip. You immediately prop yourself on your elbows and turn your head.

“Daniela!” You yell to her

Like Hell I’m about to lose her....

Your legs suddenly spring upward, pivoting as fast as they could. You break into a run as the bear begins to stand on its hind legs. You didn’t even think to take your weapon back into your hand as you use your body to slam yourself into the bear.

“Hey!” You call to Daniela

She looks at you.

“I... Like you too,” You smile

“Joan... Joan!!” Daniela screams

As quick as Daniela could, she scampers up to her feet and dives after you, only to come a hare too late. You and the bear had plummeted towards the sharp-rocked bottom of the waterfall.

“JOAN!!!!” Daniela banshee screams as she watches you both and the bear disappear into the misty waters below

“Daniela?!” Alcina calls out

Alcina, Cassandra and Bela emerge from the tree line, beelining it to her. Alcina pulls her youngest daughter into her arms as Daniela lets out wailing sobs.

“We were trying to hunt a bear and- and- I almost got killed but-” Daniela chokes on her sobs, “Joan went over the edge protecting me.. With- with the bear...”

“I’m sorry my daughter,” Alcina sighs, “The hunt is over. Back to the castle. Now.”

“But-But Joan is still down there!” Daniela begs her mother

“No one survives that drop,” Alcina states, “Not even a half immortal like Joan. We have to go now.”

Daniela doesn’t argue with her mother. She follows her mother and sisters back to their horses to take back to the castle stables.

I’m sorry Joan...

Night was slowly dissipating as Daniela lay across her bed, crying to herself. She didn’t care about how bad she smelled from the outside world. She was upset at herself for not catching you in time just before you plummeted to your death.

“Daniela?” Bela calls out

“What Bela?...” Daniela wipes away her tears

“Someone’s in the main hall with Cassandra,” Bela says, less enthusiastic

Daniela dissipates into flies as well as Bela. Daniela follows her sister and as soon as Bela busts the doors open, Daniela felt her heart throb.

“Joan?...” Daniela calls out, materializing into her human form

“Finally,” Cassandra sighs as she pushes your batters and bloodied body towards Daniela

Daniela catches your almost limp body. But, you manage with all of your strength you had left, you wrap your arms around Daniela's neck as she struggles to keep you on your feet.

"I thought you were..." Daniela says

"Dead?" You finish her sentence

Daniela takes you to her bedchambers and begins stripping away whatever was left of the armor and your ripped clothing.

"Ow..." You groan

"Do you... Remember what happened after you plummeted down the waterfall?" Daniela asks

"Well, what I do remember is that the bear wasn't anywhere to be found by the time I had come to. I was bleeding a lot. But, obviously being a Demigod, my slow regeneration process began. But. Took me forever though. Everything still hurts like hell..." You sigh

You lowly gasp as you felt Daniela's long, cold fingers caress your body as she applies the bandages.

"I'm sorry," She whimpers

"It's okay. You're just really cold..." You sigh, smiling

You could feel Daniela's eyes on you as she moved directly behind you. You could feel the tension between the both of you.

"I meant what I said too," You say

You feel her fingers begin coiling around your ribcage and her head resting on your shoulder.

"I know," She whispers into your ear

You sweep your arm underneath Daniela and pull her into your lap.

"Joan!..." Daniela gasps

It doesn't take Daniela long to settle herself in your lap as her wicked smile sweeps across her face.

"Awwww you're blushing," Daniela coos

"Shut up..." You growl playfully

"Well then maybe you should make me," She smirks, her wicked giggle coming out

[A/n: Here is a character board for Joan Arc]

#daniela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu x reader #female reader #demigods #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #house dimitrescu #ares

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