#Whispers Beyond the Rift

[hitlikehammers]

bring him home

rating: t ♥️ cw: Eddie in the Upside Down,; Steve on what he thinks is a retrieval mission for his body (it's not); Eddie Munson Lives; Kas!Eddie (ish) ♥️ tags: established relationship, secret pre-S4 relationship, post-S4, presumed dead (Eddie), mourning and heartbreak (Steve), happy ending (because Eddie is alive, ofc), soul-deep love

for @steddielovemonth day twenty-four: Love is the only thing we can take with us (@thefreakandthehair)

oh hey look, another day I didn't intend to write at all ♥️ but then @pearynice was intrigued by a stray half-baked idea and I struggle to not at least try to provide content in such instances ♥️

He’s only thought it since, since, but he’s actually kind of grateful no one knew. That no one could even have guessed. They’re on eggshells around him enough as it is, thinking it’s the loss, finally, that he couldn’t walk them back from, couldn’t recover them allfrom safe if not wholly sound. They think he’s dealing with survivor’s guilt or just the general blow of a failure so immense, maybe long overdue: and that’s probably part of it.

But only because it’s part of the bigger thing. The real loss.

They would have been together nearly ten fucking months, y’know; the better part of a whole goddamn year since that day at the mall, eyes catching and something just…clicking. Like the barest whisper breathing this could be something into the universe for them to catch if they wanted, and for all that’s still good in the world they both wanted, beyond any kind of logic they both fucking reached.

And Steve knows he’s worrying everyone, knows Joyce cooks for him because she’s sacred for him, knows Claudia bakes for the very same reason; he knows Robin’s gone back to biting her nails over him, and he hates that, he hates it but, like: Steve feels like he left his soul in that hellscape with the man he’d wrapped up in it; knows he left his heart there, because he gave it to that same man ages ago and never ever considered taking it back—and he’s kind of just a, a shell, now, and it’s good that they all think Steve’s just fucked up over the lost, over-inflated savior complex, Rob had muttered more than once and sure, fine—let them think that’s all it is.

It means he can plan without interference.

It means he can drive to the last oozing rift in the world with axes he found in the garage, a crowbar he grabbed at The War Zone—which he knows because he found a receipt, not because he can remember going, driving, paying; he fucking can’t—a fucking tire lift that he things is better suited to trucks than his Beemer but that’s why he needs it: he need to rip open the earth beneath his feet because maybe his heart died down there with the boy he loves in ways he didn’t know he could, not until he found those reserves of feeling inside him well up for the fact of him and maybe it’s too later for his heart, and maybe his soul’s locked in as a funeral shroud but godadmn it all—

Steve needs to bring Eddie’s body home.

Dropping through he fissure in the ground is second nature, like something calling him through the break and that feel right, because the Upside Down for what it is alone is somewhere Steve never wants to be, never wants to touch: but what it holds now what it stole from him and claimed and kept: Steve wants that back beside him, it doesn’t matter how. Cold, torn, broken, gone—Steve’s already those things himself. Now he’s just a raw nerve, but if that nerve could go numb, could freeze for so much pain, so much abuse and hurt. He feels more for the knowledge of how much things should destroy him; he thinks his body is more of an echo chamber, a void that moves but isn’t…there anymore.

Is here, because he left the best of him, the whole of him here, and he—it creaks in his knees when he hits the ground on the other side, shoots up his spine from the bones of him on contact; it should hurt, it should hurt but he can’t feel so much, and he needs to get his bearings, needs to orient, needs to figure where he is and the quickest way to Forest Hills, to where Eddie—

He can’t feel shit when he’s got a purpose, here: the first he’s had in weeks.

He moves to stand, gets to his feet at—

It’s unexpected, how much he feels the impact that knocks him back down, the weight that pushes him to the ground again and covers him, snarls at him, breathes hot and violent against his jaw, against his neck, and Steve—

Steve’ll die here, that’s clear from the hiss above him, the way he’s pinned like prey, like a meal, and the only thought he really has, in all honesty, is he’ll die here.

But he already died here, so it just feels kinda anticlimactic.

The panting against him keeps up, but it…it doesn’t go anywhere, it doesn’t become other, or more—there’s no teeth, no clawing or biting or ripping him apart, draining him dry. He doesn’t think he was afraid for any of it, exactly; his heart’s pounding but it feels distant, other and something far from him, disconnected: not a part of his shell-self, so he thinks that’s just ingrained, just an automatic response to a demo-something, probably, sizing up its meal but like, it’s not doing anything and Steve, Steve doesn’t…he’s not invested, exactly, he doesn’t even think he cares, but—

He squints his eyes open the barest crack where he’d instinctively squeezed them shut and he looks, expects the toothy petals, or even a veiny body; he looks and—

“Eddie?”

Oh, good. Heart, soul: may as well add losing his fucking mind to this place, too, third time’s a goddamn charm.

Because it’s not Eddie, it can’t be…it can’t be Eddie, and—

Not-Eddie leans into him, presses onto him full-bodied, hips to chest, thighs spread to hold him down like he’s going anywhere because, because…

Steve feels that. He feels the pressure, he feels pain where this body drags against scrapes in Steve’s skin, he feels his heart pounding, Jesus fucking Christ, that fucking hurts, but he looks at the face that’s looming over him, tipped to the side like it’s asking a question, like it’s considering Steve below, and it: the bones are sharper, the skin more pale, more drawn up tight and pulled—the eyes are red, bright like when the lighting cuts the sky, here, but everything else…

“Eddie, oh god,” Steve doesn’t want to question it, Steve doesn’t want to keep his mind if the alternative is moments with some version of Eddie whose breath he can feel again, it’s, he’s;

“Eds,” he chokes, and Eddie’s got him wholly pinned down, he can’t reach for Eddie’s face to cup it, to cradle it, so he lets his breath catch, his lungs hitch, lets the tears burn on their way from his eyes in streams as he twitches his fingers, stretches the tips to brush Eddie’s palm where he holds Steve down and—

Eddie stills, and his eyes narrow, and…

And if Steve has to die here, again: let it be at Eddie’s hands. Let it be maybe for Eddie’s…benefit, he’s wellbeing, however he survives here. Let it be for Eddie.

Always for Eddie.

But then Eddie: Eddie doesn’t let him up, still lean into Steve from the middle, but—he buries his head at Steve’s neck, and breathes in so deep, Steve gets to close his eyes and soak in the feeling of his chest rising into Steve’s own: strong.

Real.

“Known,” Eddie murmurs, shakes his head like he’s trying to shoo a fly, but then a shiver trembles through the whole of him, Steve can trace its trajectory where Eddie’s held against him, and then Eddie growls—it’s not a wholly new sound but it’s deeper, more animal in it than Steve’s ever heard and then he bites out through bared teeth: “Known.”

Then he draws back from Steve’s neck, studies him shrewdly, a little hesitant, like he’s unsure of whatever’s happening to him, in him: then he nods, chews at his lower lip in a painfully familiar move before his hands leave Steve’s wrists and he’s—

“Known.”

He’s tracing Steve’s cheekbones, the line of his jaw; he’s running his nose against the slope of Steve’s, he’s…it’s like he’s tracing him, and he does it so gentle, he almost like he anticipates it, he’s—

“Known,” and Eddie’s fucking…it’s not a growl this time but somehow whatever it is, is deeper, stronger, and he mouths at Steve’s neck again but instead of breathing him in, he’s sucking at the lines of his arteries down the sides, up and down, and then he follows the blood to the sounds, groans at a pitch Steve’s never heard before but it’s still, it’s sill Eddie, and—

“Hurt?” Eddie mouths at his chest through the layers of his clothes, sounds mournful, stills as he considers something, intent with it before his head pops up, those red eyes so wide and aching as his hands tap against Steve’s arms, frantic and—

Oh.

Oh; they’re tapping out Steve’s heartbeats to every racing clench-give echoing through his ribs and Eddie moans, almost wails, then—

“Hurt,” and he looks frantic, his eyes wild, and his mouth dropped open, bereft and seeking and oh, oh: Eddie thinks his heart’s pounding because he’s hurt, because he’s in pain and kinda, a little bit but not like that and—

“No,” Steve’s quick to try and soothe, even if his voice is barely a rasp; “no, no,” and his wrists are free to he reaches, covers Eddie’s hands and links their fingers together, feels something in him reanimate, come straight back into being just for that touch, and that it’s warm:

“Happy,” Steve gasps, and squeezes Eddie’s hands with force, with feeling; “happy, to see you,” and he closes his eyes in something like relief when Eddie’s mouth stills against his chest again; sighs when Eddie nuzzles there, like he always did, like he belongs because he always belongs.

“So fucking happy,” Steve breathes, and he feels weightless; wonders if he died. If he hit the ground and snapped his neck. If the impact was a monster and not the love of his life, somehow saved from ruin just to save Steve back in kind.

“Mine,” Eddie whispers, a little bit of a hiss for the feeling in it, the intensity sewn in as he mouths around the beat of Steve’s blood: that’s what he means. That’s his, that and everything it powers, everything it lends life.

His.

He pulls back, and Steve bites back a whimper for the loss before Eddie’s eyes find his and he looks…he looks lost, then, grasping, in need as he almost begs, like the answer is the end of all things:

“Mine?”

He lifts one of their joined hands—he doesn’t disentangle them, and fuck if Steve’s ever letting go—but he lifts them to Steve’s chest and holds there, presses down and looks pointedly at the way his palm covers Steve’s heart, looks up in askance, up and down, there and back over and again, more desperate every time and Steve tightens his fingers around Eddie’s and nods, just nods because his voice is gone, his throat’s too tight, he’s—

But Eddie sees it. Eddie understands because Eddie…

Eddie always understands what Steve can’t say.

“Mine,” he exhales like it’s the answer to the universe, like it’s proof of god and the devil, like it’s more than air to breathe and Steve’s…

Steve doesn’t even know what he is. Except: he’s alive.

He died before he left here last time, and now somehow he’s alive. “Known, s’known,” Eddie mutters, shakes his head slow and pins his gaze on different parts go Steve’s body, touches and looks up to Steve like it serves as confirmation just to meet his gaze, to watch him blink; “know, know,” and Eddie bends again, mouths at his chest and inhales sharp as he rips out, almost feral: “mine,” and then something in him gives, and he falls to Steve’s chest and Steve’s heart skips, the terror in him tangible, but he throws out his hands, lets Eddie’s grasp go to hold Eddie up and Eddie panting, gasping, something has to be wrong—

“St,” Eddie’s voice is sandpaper rough, but…but full somehow and Steve can’t name what it is, save that it makes him feel warm, from the inside, in a way he’d thought was gone forever. It prickles at his eyes and he doesn’t fight the tears:

“Ste,” Eddie coughs a little, and then he looks up, brow furrowed and muscles tight as he locks his eyes on Steve’s and grits out:

“Steve?”

And those eyes: those eyes meet Steve’s now—color in them, that depthless nightshade, drenched in that deep warm chocolate shade: Steve’s breath catches. His heartbeat skips again, but wholly different, and it looks, it feels like a weight’s been lifted; a spell’s been broken. And somehow, somehow even before anything shifted, somehow Eddie, his Eddie, he—

Whatever’s happened, whatever’s been done to him: somehow, deeper than any of it, he kept the love.

“Steve.”

Eddie’s voice shakes and he drops his weight again but this time when he presses against Steve it’s to wrap him close, to hold him a little clumsy, a whole lot desperate, and it…it feels like maybe Steve’s soul where it’s wrapped around Eddie? Like maybe he gets a little bit of it back; like maybe he can inhale and it could mean something again.

Eddie only draws back to tuck his head under Steve’s chin, to dip lower and put his lips to the center of Steve’s chest, to breathe there, like life into the heart of him again and fuck, but he feels it.

He kinda doesn’t need to know anything more, doesn’t need to have any more answers to know whatever this is, whatever Eddie needs: they’ll figure it out. Eddie’s lips are on his chest. His heart’s a mallet against Eddie’s mouth, beats up into the warm rush of his breath: there. Real.

Steve feels it.

also on ao3 🖤

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #hurt/comfort #established relationship #kas!eddie #established steddie #pre-S4 relationship #presumed dead #(but obviously NOT) #happy ending #steve mounts a one-man rescue/retrieval mission because he's heartbroken #eddie recognizes the love of his life because in light of everything he HELD ONTO THAT LOVE #steddielovemonth #love is the only thing we can take with us #stranger things

[callsigns-haze]

Out of All: Chp 1

Jake Seresin x OC! Anna Bradshaw

Brothers' Best Friend Series! Follow along as these characters navigate the treacherous waters of love, loyalty, and desire, all while facing the ultimate taboo: falling for your sibling's best friend. From heart-pounding moments to steamy encounters, this series is a rollercoaster of emotions that will keep you hooked until the very end. Brace yourself for intense romantic tension, sizzling chemistry, and enough drama to keep you guessing. Are you ready to embark on this captivating journey?

This chapter includes explicit sexual content with detailed descriptions of sexual activity and intimacy between characters. Scenes depict physical intimacy, including kissing, touching, and biting, with characters described in states of undress. Emotional intensity is explored, encompassing themes of longing, desire, and vulnerability, with brief references to past trauma. Characters may be shown consuming alcoholic beverages, and mature themes such as casual relationships.

You awaken with damp locks cascading around your shoulders, the remnants of a hasty shower leaving your hair slightly damp. The notion of lying bare and weary in your bed holds no sway over you, not today. This is your respite from the world's demands, a day designated for absolute inertia.

Yet, the presence of your older brother, Bradley, imposes a modicum of propriety upon your morning ritual. You toss aside the cozy embrace of your bedclothes and reach for garments, a black sports bra and snug booty shorts, enveloping your frame in layers that shield your bareness. A gray zip-up sweatshirt becomes a casual adornment, tied around your waist in a laissez-faire manner.

Your hair, now only mildly damp, is gathered and pinned back with a claw clip, a functional arrangement that frees your nape from the clinging strands. Drawing back the gray curtains, a panorama of the ocean unfolds before you, a sight both captivating and serene. The dawn paints the sky in delicate hues of pink, intermingled with whispers of orange and faded purples, casting a spell of tranquility over the horizon.

Venturing into the kitchen, you encounter Bradley, already immersed in the morning routine. He offers you coffee, a gesture met with a swift refusal, accompanied by a reminder of your disdain for the bitter brew. His presence, always punctual and ever-prepared, serves as a reminder of the responsibilities that linger beyond your sanctuary.

The tension between you simmers beneath the surface, a testament to diverging paths and unspoken expectations. Bradley, with his well-intentioned gestures and earnest advice, seeks to guide you toward a future he deems promising. Yet, your heart beats to a different rhythm, anchored in a passion that defies conventional wisdom.

Words are exchanged, terse and laden with unspoken truths. You assert your autonomy with a fervor born of frustration, demanding recognition as an adult capable of charting her own course. Bradley, stoic yet remorseful, concedes to the weight of your words, his embrace a silent admission of fallibility.

But beneath the veneer of reconciliation lies a deeper discord, a clash of ambitions and aspirations. For you, music is not merely a hobby but a lifeline, a refuge from the burdens that threaten to engulf you. Yet, to Bradley and others, it remains a folly, a dream unworthy of pursuit.

Twelve years have passed since you first embarked on this journey, seeking solace in distant shores and unfamiliar melodies. Yet, the specter of familial expectations looms large, a constant reminder of the rift that separates you from their world of certainties.

"Small steps," you plead, a plea born of desperation and resolve. And though Bradley offers his assurances, you know that the road ahead is fraught with uncertainty, a path illuminated by the flickering flame of your unwavering determination.

---

You ain't never been in a spot quite like this before, where everything's about the physical but nothin' about the feels. Dressin' up or gettin' ready didn't matter much when you knew your clothes would end up scattered and your makeup smeared, and your hair—well, it was destined to be a mess once his hands got tangled in it.

Bradley had golf in the mornin', so he cleared out 'round ten forty, leavin' the apartment empty. Expected him back for lunch, but he had other plans, hittin' up a bar with his buddies. Didn't bother you none. Last day before work kicks in, you got the place all to yourself.

Scoured through your closet like it meant somethin' what you wore. Knew one thing for certain, though—lingerie. Got a few pairs, some more risqué than others. Had a soft spot for your sage green set. Thin, barely there, and entirely see-through. Just one tug, and it slipped right off.

Opted for a denim skirt, casual yet classy—that was the aim. Didn't wanna give off any vibes like it was a date or nothin', just keepin' it cool.

Grabbed a plain white tee, makin' sure it was thick enough to conceal the lace underneath. Checked yourself out in the bathroom mirror. Finally felt like yourself. Brown curls cascadin' freely, baby cow eyes sparklin' in the lightest eyeshadow. Lips glossed with a hint of strawberry, nails painted in the faintest shade of pink with swirls of white. You felt it. You felt like the girl.

Still had some time 'fore the taxi showed up. Decided against drivin', 'cause you knew you wouldn't be in the mood afterward.

Recently chopped your hair. Used to be long and wavy, but you snipped it up to your chest. Suitin' you better, truth be told. Waves actually cooperated, and your hair finally laid right. Pinned up the top strands, knowin' any tie-up wouldn't survive the night.

Phone buzzed from the bathroom windowsill. Couldn't help but grin seein' it was a text from Jake.

Jake: You still up for six?

Had to play it cool. No emotions, just sex.

You: Yeah! Should be able to swing by.

Kept it simple. Didn't wanna seem too eager or too disinterested. Both of you were clear—a relationship wasn't on the table.

Jake: Great, see you then.

Stepped out of the elevator, headin' for the fourth door. Only been to his place once, but you remembered your way around. Knocked on the wooden door, standin' on the black mat as you waited.

Door creaked open, revealin' a tall man with a buzzed haircut and a face that told tales. He smiled, askin', "Here for Jake, right?" Gave you a bit of a start, but his question eased the tension. Nodded, returning the smile as he hollered for Jake. He stepped aside, introducin' himself.

"I'm Javy. 'Bout to head out anyway if you're wonderin'." Nodded back, offerin', "Anna, pleasure." He nodded in return, informin' you that Jake was down the corridor before takin' off.

You made your way to Jake's room, but before you could even enter, he was on you, attackin' your neck with fervor. Wrapped your arms around him as he left his mark, each bite sendin' shivers down your spine. "Jake...damn!"

He smirked, continuin' his assault. Shut the door behind him, pressin' you against it. Grabbed your thighs with intent, demandin' you to jump, and you obliged.

Breath hitchin', groans escalatin' into moans. Couldn't help yourself, not with him. Every time, you lost all control, and it only amused him more. "Look at you, ain't even touched you properly, and you're already a mess."

And the mess was only just beginnin', for the fourth time.

You both lie there, chests heaving, the echo of passion still reverberating in the air. Six o'clock came and went, and now it's nearly nine. Three hours of entwined bodies, three hours of him taking you to heights you never knew existed.

"You're somethin' else," Jake murmurs, shaking his head in wonder as you both share a breathy laugh, nestled under his oversized covers. You gaze at him, a smile tugging at your lips. For the first time in sixteen years, you feel something stir within you, a sensation akin to a long-lost myth or fairy tale.

"I could say the same," you reply, exhaling softly as he draws you closer, pulling you against his chest. It catches you off guard, but you relax into his embrace, resting your head against his heartbeat, a rhythm that feels like a forgotten melody.

"What's the time?" you inquire, both of you aware of the impending need to part ways. Agreed to wrap things up before nine, with work looming on the horizon. Tomorrow marks your return to music, the beginning of a new chapter in your life.

"It's eight fifty-seven," Jake answers, meeting your gaze with a knowing look. You nod, running your fingers through his tousled hair, savoring the fleeting moments.

You rise from his chest, reluctantly disentangling yourself to get dressed. He sits up beside you, the covers cascading around him as he slips into sweatpants. His gaze lingers on your back as you slip into your lingerie, his lips tracing a path along the sensitive skin of your neck. His hands find their way to your curves, a gentle massage that sends shivers down your spine.

"Jake..." you start, a hint of urgency in your voice. He understands, but the reluctance lingers. He wants you to stay, to lose track of time in each other's arms.

"Jake..." you repeat, a bit firmer this time, and he relents, knowing you have to leave.

You rise, and he walks you to the front door. Tonight was unforgettable, but tomorrow holds obligations, and Bradley would launch a search party if you didn't resurface soon. You smile as he opens the door, his smirk a bittersweet farewell.

"When will I see you next?" he asks, a hint of longing in his voice.

"Next Saturday, same time?" you propose, already looking forward to the next rendezvous.

"Sounds like a plan. See you then, Chick."

A/n: This whole series is a dedication to @callsign-magnolia for her birthday...I was going to post on Monday but I guess this is a little early gift!

tagging:

@callsign-magnolia

@shanimallina87

@callsign-dexter

@horseslovers2016

@rosiahills22

@djs8891

@hookslove1592

@emma8895eb

@hardballoonlove

@kmc1989

@dempy

@mamachasesmayhem

@senawashere

@buckysteveloki-me

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@itsmytimetoodream

@jessicab1991

@ahh-chickens

@dingochef

@dizzybee03

#jake seresin #hangman x reader #hangman top gun #top gun hangman #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #jake hangman fic #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman x you #jake hangman imagine #hangman imagine #hangman seresin #hangman fanfiction #hangman seresin x reader #hangman seresin x you #hangman x y/n #hangman

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Progenitor

Pairing(s): Jasper Hale x Vampire!Reader, Edward Cullen x Bella Swan

Warnings: platonic Alice x Jasper, magic wielding vampire, no nahuel, alice can't see renesmee's future

Words:6,000+

"Tell me another story, cowboy." You impishly grin over to the man laying next to you. Your mate.

Really, there was no need for a bed in your room considering you never used it for actual sleep. That was beyond the both of you.

Jasper's smile is dashing against the flicker of your candles. His fingers are dancing over your shoulder and down your arm. "For someone who has lived for thousands of years, I'd figure you'd heard better stories."

You roll your eyes, kissing the plane of his chest. "This is the first time I've cared about the main character in those stories." It was true. Never had you cared about anyone as much as you did for Jasper. You just had to wait several centuries to meet the right one.

Through those years you'd taken many companions as well as turned many good friends and students. Even the oldest known vampires of the Volturi originate from your fangs. One would be lucky enough to boast that they were made by you. That meant something great in the known vampire community. Some even whispered that you were one of the first vampires in creation. You never spoke of your own origins. You told Jasper those were the dark ages of your life and were still not ready to go back to that time.

And for you to be even slightly interested in a young one like Jasper constantly confounds him. You ate up everything he told you, titillated by battle after battle that he won for Maria. Hanging on his every word with a sort of wide eyed innocence that was rare for their kind.

That's what he remembers (and misses) most about you. As much as the both of you loved one another, you couldn't stay in one place for too long. Jasper understood though both of you wish to see one another more often. As powerful as you were, it was something that neither of you could risk. Other vampires could sniff you out within moments. Not to mention you hadn't always necessarily been a nice vampire. One out of ten vampires was said to have a beef with you. It wasn't your safety that had you constantly roaming the world, it was the safety of the human world around you. Any city you were in could be preyed upon immediately by stray vamps who followed your scent.

Distance would never dampen the love you have for each other.

"I understand if you don't want to come-" Jasper has his phone pressed up against his ear and shoulder as he's shoving papers and folders into his backpack and other items he may need on his journey to South America. There were a few covens there that hey hoped to enlist as help.

"Oh hush Jasper. Of course I'll be there. Both Bella and Renesmee are family. I'll make up for lost time." His stomach warms when he can hear the smile on your lips through the phone speaker "And I think once Caius sees me, he'll convince the others to back down."

That's what the Cullens were banking on with asking you to come and defend your adoptive niece. After all, you were the progenitor of many of the vampires in existence today. Some way or another, they all were sired from your venom. Including Caius. He's been the most doting of your acolytes even if it did tend to cause a rift with the other two leaders of the Volturi. Marcus in particular since you'd defeated him several times throughout the centuries.

Off to the side of the room, Alice rolls her eyes. "See, I told you she'd be down!" She grabs Jasper's phone, monopolizing the call now. "He was worried that he'd be imposing too much on you. I told him that of course you'd help!"

Your laugh on the other end rings loud in his ears as he watches Alice cradle the phone to the side of her face. "You know how he is. My gentleman cowboy." Alice really did enjoy when the both of you ganged up on Jasper to embarrass him. It was delicious to watch him get flustered for once.

Having enough, Jasper snatches back his phone. "Alice and I are heading out soon. I don't know how long we'll be. . ."

"Don't worry. I have my house key. Relax, Jaz. Everything will be okay." If only the one power you did possess was Jasper's ability to control other's emotions, you would use it to calm him. "You two be careful and look out for one another. I'll be there."

God did he want to kiss you. To take you in his arms and let you reassure him in that way only you could. "Yes, ma'am. I love you."

"I love you too." Your voice lowers to a warm whisper.

When the call ends, Jasper stares at his black home screen. He takes a deep breath and shoves it inside his back pocket. Missing you wasn't going to aid him in any way at the moment.

In the background he vaguely makes out Alice's excited chatter, excitement raised her octave.

"I can't wait for Bella and Renesmee to meet her!"

"They're going to adore her."

"Don't you think Jasper?"

"Jasper?"

She actually had to reach out to him and give a small nudge with her index and middle finger. His head whips to her, finally catching his attention.

"Sorry." He mutters having heard none of Alice's rambling.

"You heard her. Why are you so worried? You know that she won't let anything bad happen. The Volturi would be stupid to initiate a fight with her here." She sets aside her own bag she'd been working on and crosses her arms in front of her chest. "We have to pull out our big gun."

"I hate of thinking of her like that. She's been everyone's big gun for centuries." Jasper just sighs and sits down on the edge of the couch, fingers digging into the upholstery. Esme won't be happy when she finds small nail marks in it.

Alice eyes him for a moment before pointing out "You know she'd do a lot more for you if you let her. To her, this is small peanuts." A new thought abruplty comes to her mind as she changes the subject. "You remembered to get those documents for Bella, right?"

In reply, his eyes dart to the manila envelope that lay on his desk. Alice's gaze follows to where Jasper's eyes had fallen. The envelope he'd obtained from J. Jenks. It was to be used under the worst case scenario.

"I hope Bella doesn't have to use it." He admits, hauling his backpack over his shoulders.

Try as she might, Alice couldn't force a vision that involved the outcome of the Volturi's visit. Couldn't even see Jasper's mate. But Alice trusted you, more than any other member of the Cullen coven. She knew you'd pull through, even without the use of her powers, she knew you would not let your family be threatened, even if you had yet to meet the two newest members.

You were forced to miss the wedding of Edward and Bella due to. . . circumstances. Regardless, you had sent them a present accompanied by a letter of congratulations. What better way to meet your sister-in-law and niece than by intervening on their behalf and chasing off the Volturi?

When you'd hung up from talking to Jasper and Alice, you tap the phone against your chin in thought. The room you'd been renting out was lit only by moonlight from outside. This way of living did get awfully lonely. You spoke to your family as often as you could. Visiting every five years at the very least. Thus was the solitary life of an ancient. You'd forgotten much of your early life, couldn't remember if you'd ever been human. There's a slim chance at that. The furthest back you could remember was a world of darkness and other screeching creatures. A small recollection that you'd once had inhuman body. But it felt like a dream, maybe another life completely.

In your long, long life, never did you have anything resembling a family. You were always alone with blood filled thoughts and the feeling you got when you shattered pathetic armies of men.

You changed accordingly as the world evolved as well. The forming of countries. The fall of them. From huts to skyscrapers. You found it almost appallingly easy to get victims if you were already assimilated into their society. They would have no clue of the real monster you were. Not until it was too late.

Then on a whim and also after hearing the bloodshed going on in the states, you met Maria and Jasper. She was pleading her case for revenge against the Volturi and had felt your presence in the vicinity. You'd heard that your scent was unmistakeable.

When you asked Jasper what your scent smelled like, he'd tried his best. "It's the essence of power, my love. There's a deep, heady richness to it. As if it has been steeped in the secrets of the universe. A haunting presence that clings to one's senses."

What would that even smell like? You'd wondered. When you sniffed your arm, all you smelled was the faint kiss of juniper berries.

Maria proposed the take down of the Volturi and how easily it could be done with you. She hadn't anticipated your hesitation. While you didn't agree with the massive coven, you would never go out of your way to meddle with their business. After all, Caius was your fledgling. The very first. Of course you'd be sentimental over him. Sharing your venom was not something to take lightly, at least that's what you thought.

And you doubted Maria's ability of warfare compared to the trio that ruled the Volturi. Her army of newborns was impressive without a doubt, but she was still young herself. You, Marcus, Caius and Aro were overwhelmingly more experienced.

Jasper was just an infant compared to the millenia you've lived or even the hundreds of years Maria may have been alive during. Yet he makes you feel. . . entirely new. Makes you feel something you'd never felt even toward another vampire.

Having never experienced it before, even you knew what it was you were feeling: love. Love at first sight. Quite pathetic but, alas, you have no control over your own emotions. Annoying, but you let yourself fall into it. Titillated by everything you felt when around Jasper Whitlock. Never had you felt so alive. Each kiss, each caress sent flames across your skin. You never knew how dead you'd really been. While you had the face and body of youth, you don't recall a moment where you felt like how you looked now.

You met him during a time where even Jasper was feeling depressed about his immortal life. He was tired of living the way Maria did. Nothing satisfied him. Until he saw you. It was like his heart started beating (but of course that was impossible). Even if she wanted to, Maria didn't fight against it when Jasper told her he was leaving her coven to be with you.

He's been the only one to see the magic you could do without it being stemmed from violence. Real, arcane magic. You'd briefly mentioned the wars you'd been able to win. The amount of people you'd slain. That didn't deter him. That didn't define you.

This is the one battle you would win for love.

Everyone was gathered in the near blinding snow capped surroundings. All except for you. Wolves and the Cullens on one side, black clad Volturi on the other. No one dares to make the first move. All looked to the coven leader, Carlisle, to do the greetings.

He looks to his adopted granddaughter, his family that he built and would do anything to protect. Renesmee beams up at him with apprehensive, big eyes.

Carlisle moves forward, his feet leaving prints in the snow. Aro's skin would have made him blend easily in the blurring snow were it not for his red eyes and black attire. His immortal, handsome face smiles when Aro greets Carlisle.

"Aro, Iet us discuss things as we used to. In a civilized manner." Proposes Carlisle. Hopefully he can take up enough time until you show up.

A dark brow raises on Aro's face. "Fair words, Carlisle. But a little out of place, given the battalion you've assembled against us." His eyes move from Carlisle and scan to behind him where several vampire covens and a pack of wolves wait for the signal to take action.

"I can promise you, that was never my intent. No laws have been broken." True, though the wolves may be a sticky subject to broach. Aro appeared more concerned about the little girl whose eyes bore into the Volturi leader.

Caius' lips curls in disdain. "We see the child. Do not treat us as fools."

"She is not an immortal." Carlisle counters, his arm opening wide to gesture to the Cullens' own army. "These witnesses can attest to that. Or you can look. See the flush of human blood in her cheeks."

While it hadn't been a particularly sunny day, everyone on the frozen field found themselves abruptly bathed in darkness. Above, the clouds had darkened and congregated thickly together. Still, they were able to make out a black shadow among the clouds. Many are left guessing but only Caius and Jasper knew what (or who) it was. Caius' eyes sparkle in veneration as he intently watches his creator break past the clouds with large bat-like wings. You must appear as some twisted angel the way you slowly descend to the ground, landing next to Carlisle.

His smile is bright and screaming relief. "Sorry I'm late." You apologize first to Carlisle.

Jasper catches the flick of your eyes toward him and finally he feels his face release from tension. He takes one step before Alice stops him. While everyone is happy to see you, this was a dangerous environment right now. If Jasper were to suddenly move and go to you, the Volturi might mistake it as an aggressive attack. Best to stay still and watch you take care of everything.

Renesmee grips her mother's leg. Her touch sends her thoughts straight to Bella. "Is she my aunt?"

Bella gapes in shock as your wings appear to shrink until they recoil and disappear completely. Edward had told her you were. . . quite old. Older than any other vampire out there. and that you possessed powers beyond her comprehension.

Stiffly she nods her head at Renesmee.

"Better late than never. It's good to see you." Carlisle pats you on the shoulder.

Before you'd landed, you'd already registered both sides of the battle. You counted how many each had, reveling in the marvel of the massive wolves that stood alongside the covens on the Cullens' side. And you'd seen the girl that was your niece. A unique thing she was. Even from high up in the sky you could see her veins filled with blood coursing inside of her. She was more human than vampire.

The breathy whisper of your name has you turning around to finally look at the Volturi's side. Despite Aro being leader, it was Caius who had called out to you. He always did have a beautifully bright smile whenever he gazed at you. Utterly devoted to his mistress.

You hadn't seen him for near three hundred years. His duties to the Volturi clashed with your values. There was no ill will between either of you though. "Caius. How unfortunate we have to see one another under these circumstances."

"So you know what's going on." Aro tensely holds a grin when he speaks to you. Like you were a ticking time bomb that had to be dealt with carefully. Behind him you didn't miss Marcus who shoots you a glare. He's tasted defeat by you before. It rose up once more in his mouth, bitter.

You casually nod. "I do. The very instant I saw the child, even I knew her to be of mix blood. Can you not smell the blood circulating in her?" Throwing them a condescending smile you continue "But if you truly need proof that she is not an immortal, then read her thoughts."

That had been the Cullen's plans all along. To have Renesmee explain for herself through her thoughts and memories.

Bella didn't like the idea of Renesmee going up to the Volturi by herself. Even worse was the thought that Aro had to actually touch her in order to read her mind. You could smell her apprehension and turn your back on the Volturi to go over to the Cullen's end. You take note of the Romanian vampires shying away from you. You give the members of your family quick embraces before you're brought to where Bella has a protective hand on Renesmee's shoulder. On the girl's other side was a massive rust furred wolf that snarls at you.

You carefully go down to your knees so you could properly address her. "Hi Renesmee. It's nice to finally meet you." Your voice is soft, expression gentle that didn't bely the deadly predator that you could be. Introducing yourself, Renesmee smiles at you; reaching her hand out so that she can introduce herself in her own way. You let her small hand fall upon your cheek and you're pulled into her thoughts.

Happiness.

Curiosity.

Nervousness.

She was aware all of this was her fault. That if the Volturi didn't believe her, so many people she cared about would be killed.

Covering her hand with your larger one, you give her your promise. She smiles knowing it to be true. You drop her hand and stand back up to look at Bella. "Would it be alright if I walk her over?"

Of course you knew that even though you were a Cullen, you were still a stranger. Ridiculous that she was expected to trust you with her child.

But Renesmee touches Bella's hand now. Renesmee trusts you. Bella chews on her bottom lips before relenting. She turns to the wolf. "You should probably stay here, Jake."

Fearlessly, Renesmee walks hand in hand with you to the other end. "Your wings are pretty." The child's thoughts ring in your head.

You tenderly smile at her. "Thank you. Once this is done, I'll take you flying if you want."

Murmurs ripple through the members and witnesses of the Volturi once you present Renesmee to Aro, your protective hand still holding onto Renesmee's. "Well Aro, you want a firsthand recount to her creation. Here she is. Renesmee, why don't you show Aro what you showed me."

Impressed by her fearlessness when Renesmee offers him a smile. Her voice is small but doesn't squeak. "Hello, Aro." Aro offers her his hand but instead Renesmee motions for him to crouch down so she could touch his cheek. The moment her fingers lay against the white flesh, you notice Aro's eyes grow distant.

Then he starts to delightfully. "Magnifico! Half mortal, half immortal. Conceived and carried by this newborn while she was still human." You'd never seen such a sparkle in his red eyes as he now takes in Renesmee for who she truly is. Not a monster that they had feared but just a special little girl.

Behind him though, there were unsatisfied grimaces and wary, darting eyes. This has you inching closer to your niece.

"It's unheard of!" Caius shrieks.

"There are many strange things in this world, Caius. You should know that by now." You patiently tell him. He relaxes at your words, happy enough that his mistress doesn't seem too bothered by this advancement. "Creatures of the deep. Those that lurk in shadows much like us." You momentarily inhale the air, smelling the wolves. "And those who are not what they seem."

While Caius is all too ready to accept the defeat and have the army stand down, Marcus snaps his fingers with the only instruction of "Bring the informer forward."

Ah yes, Irina. You'd met her once, maybe twice. Her expression is dour. If it were possible, she looked even more pale. She didn't have the golden eyes like those on a vegetarian diet. They were pitch black showing that she'd refrained from eating. Irina doesn't meet your gaze, she keeps her eyes gawking at Renesmee before she trains them down to her feet.

Confused by the tension she was feeling from Irina's guilty features, Renesmee sidles up to you; her hands gripping at your warm yarn coat that was just for looks.

"Is that the child you saw?" Marcus inquires.

Her nerves are impossible to conceal in her voice. "I'm not sure. . ."

"That's enough, Marcus. Renesmee's parentage has been cleared." You snap partially to save Irina any further embarrassment. Aro shoots you a look that tells you he didn't appreciate you undermining his authority. "None of your precious laws have been broken here."

Irina's fretful eyes do not lighten up. She knew the mistake she made. While you were more lenient nowadays, the Volturi would not appreciate being made a fool of like this. You could hear the small feet of Jane move as she anticipates the command from her leaders to get rid of Irina. You're fast to correct her with a hiss and baring your teeth. They weren't razor straight like the vampires of today. Your cuspids and lateral incisors were elongated and extremely sharp. Jane's eyes widen in alarm and she teeters on her next step before returning to her brother's side with a scornful glare. As much as she wished, her powers had no affect on you. Maybe in another thousand years Jane would be strong enough to subjugate you with her power. But until then she was but a baby.

Boldly you move toward Irina. While the other Volturi members twitch to move against you, one glare from you was enough to freeze them. Fury simmering in his gaze as he doesn't take his eyes off of you. Gently you take her by the arm. She shoots the Volturi scared looks but ultimately is pulled by you to Carlisle. Before removing your hand from her though, you force her to look you in the eyes.

"You will repent for what you have done. Beg forgiveness from the Cullens." Your whisper is a low one, but harshly hissed as you say it to her. "And remember this, Irina, if you pull a stunt like this again or anything that would betray the Cullens there is no place on this planet for you to hide. I'll give you the most excruciating death that I haven't dealt to anyone in a millennia."

Her throat bobs nervously, unable to rip her gaze from you out of fear. She stiffly nods, understanding that you'd have your eye on her for the rest of her immortal life. Carlisle gets her behind him.

Seeing that she was secured, you move on to your next point of business. "Irina has made a mistake, that is true, but no harm has been done. Whatever damage she's done was more so toward our family's trust in her. That is something we, as a family, will deal with." You nudge Renesmee towards Carlisle and motion with your head for the two of them to return to the Cullen's side of the field. Renesmee tugs a bit in resistance, not wanting to leave you. You pat her on the head as she passes to go with Carlisle. You don't take your eyes off of Aro.

Aro hates how he finds himself flinching a little bit when you consciously oppress him with your superior aura. All of the black clothed figures behind him shiver as well. "We don't know what she will become. The child is sweet and innocent right now. But she is the first known hybrid in creation. We don't know what will happen unless Alice has seen it."

Alice steps up. "It's hard to see the future of Renesmee. Even I cannot see." She'd tried many times to the point of giving herself a raging headache. The girl's fate was too intertwined with the wolves.

Her failure encourages Aro in his argument, you could see his mouth forming a smile that didn't meet his eery, scarlet eyes.

"Then I shall watch over her." The falling of Aro's face is priceless. "Who better to take care of an unknown variable than her very own aunt?" This was to be a discussion with her parents after the Volturi left. But you honestly thought that Renesmee traveling with you was the best option right now. At least until you're certain that she really would do no harm to humans. And she was the first interesting thing to happen to you since you met Jasper.

"You would make her a sanguinovite?" Caius breathes out, eyes jerking from you to Renesmee. Caius and Renesmee would be considered bonded via you as Caius was your apprentice by blood.

"I do."

Caius' shoulders slump. He was forbidden from causing harm against Renesmee.

But that didn't stop Aro or Marcus.

"Let us confer. We will use the facts that we have gathered." Wanting to keep some semblance of authority, Aro doesn't wait to hear your reply as he turns his back to you. At least Caius had enough piety to give you a quick bow before following the other two. Their wives linger behind them with guards encircling around them. Athenodora, Caius' wife, offers you a fleeting smile before whipping her head back at the tug of Sulpicia.

Sighing at the petulant child that Aro was, you walk back to your family who was anxiously waiting. The Denali coven are more concerned with making sure Irina was okay as they fret around her. You catch Tanya scolding her sister with a watery, relieved voice.

Jasper comes up to you and immediately you let go of your big bad vampire facade and melt into his embrace. You cling to him, fingers bunching up the back of his shirt. You allow the soothing of his power to wash over you. "I'm sorry I was late."

He chuckles against the crown of your head, pressing his lips against your temple. "It doesn't matter. You're here." His arms tighten around you.

"I missed you dearly." You whisper against his chest.

"And I you." His nose nuzzles against my face, coaxing a kiss from me.

He'd barely pressed his lips against mine before Edward is clearing his throat. Reminding you and Jasper to keep it cool as there was a child staring at you with large eyes.

Seeing that she has your attention, Renesmee immediately asks "Do you think it worked? Will they go now?"

"They'd be foolish not to." You smile at her.

"Hey, about what you said-" Edward starts but you were already ready to be confronted about the claim you made over Renesmee.

"I know. I should have talked it over with you first and gotten your permission. I'm sorry about that. But it was the only thing I could think to say to prevent violence." You explain.

Bella hooks her arm through Edward's and leans in to him, listening. She was still wary around you. Your scent probably didn't help either. It tend to aggravate other vampires.

Edward sighs, patting Bella's hand softly. "Thank you, by the way. For everything you're doing. I. . . We'll talk about Renesmee being your sanguinovite later. Would you really?"

"Of course I would. I know I haven't been around, but that doesn't mean I love my family any less. You and the rest of the Cullens have been my first and only family. When I married Jasper, I vowed to protect him. Then when we joined you and Carlisle, I promised to defend all that were in our coven for we are all family now." Family. . . Family had never meant anything to you before them. Really, they could tell you to annihilate any coven that threatened them and you would do so without hesitation. They didn't know the extent you would go to assure their security.

He swallows back the emotions that were surfacing across his pale features. "We are all family." Edward whispers, a choke in his tone.

"YOU CAN'T DO THIS! I REFUSE TO BE PART OF THIS!!"

Caius' voice was ear piercing across the frozen expanse of the land. It draws everyone's attention to the opposing side.

That didn't bode well.

Edward hisses something that you don't catch. You're already stomping over to the halfway mark that both had used before.

Don't be fucking stupid Aro. Don't do it. Your mind screams out. If only Aro had the telepathy that Edward did. Don't make me hurt all of you.

A few yards away, Caius and Athenodora are running to you but he's being hounded by fast, Volturi guards.

"CAIUS!!!" Voice booming and ice underneath you shattering completely, you feel your wings shoot from your back and take to the air.

Your ears ring by the velocity you shoot across to get to your first vampire creation. Veins running searingly hot, your eyes glow with an intensity that matches the strength of your magic. It shook the trees that surrounded the glade, shaking the ice until there were splintering cracks surfacing and splitting the ice as you summoned your magic that had defeated many armies before.

The ice around Caius sharply pierces upward, piercing the Volturi guards that were trying to capture him and Athenodora. Dozens of jagged icicles arise from the ground to form a barrier against them.

Through the opening above the barricade, you swoop down and grab Caius and Athenodora. When bolting back into the sky above you could see that your actions had surprised both sides. No one moved an inch for a moment. Not until Aro starts shouting, condemning you as a apostate. That's when the spell cast on both sides was broken and all hell broke loose.

Not wanting to stop, you drop both of them off as close to the Cullen's side as possible. Caius knew he'd have to get out of there the moment his feet hit the ground. It wasn't safe for them here. Not anymore.

Performing a swift u-turn, you're faster than the Cullen horde advancing on the Volturi.

A twitch of your fingers was all you needed to summon half of your power. You call forth the creatures feared by wraiths. The shadows twisted and turned, forming monstrous specters that rose from the ground. Both sides come to a crashing halt at the creatures that were clawing their way from the earth. They glomp on to the nearest Volturi member, their touch much like Jane's power to cause immediate pain. Howls and shrieks erupt from the Volturis, enough to keep the Cullen side at bay. They watch with horrified awe.

Your magic has always been an ancient and violent one. Primal and raw.

A long dead language flows past your lips. The syllables were not ones humans could pronounce. Wraiths grab not just Aro, but the others who possessed special powers that have aided the Volturi in their quest for domination. They're brought forth to you. None are able to use their unique abilities. Not under your suffocating aura that rendered them immobile.

I should have done this a long time ago. You think to yourself. But you're Caius was involved with them. That was really why you kept your opinions about the Volturi to yourself. But now they were an immediate threat to those you care about.

All of them are lined up in front of you, the others being held back by their own wraith captors.

You stare them down ruthlessly, you could feel your form shifting a little to resemble even a sliver of your original form. The rest of your teeth sharpen and form into fine points. Talons larger than any predatory bird out there replace your small, human fingers.

"I was hoping you'd be wiser than this, children." Your voice isn't your's. It belongs to a dark god from a time before humanity was as civilized as it was.

You can taste Aro and Marcus' fear. Tangy but enjoyable to your palate. A taste you miss. You extend your clawed hand toward the Volturi leaders, curved claws glowing with a faint, otherworldly light. One by one, you focus your attention on those that were pushed down to their knees. Each one had used their power to benefit the Volturi. To cast terror among those who refused to bend to their will.

Jane is snarling at you, trying her best to use her pain waves against you but she was as powerless as her brother beside her. Demetri, Renata, even Chelsea were all present.

You rip their powers from them, strip their core of what made them special. Their bodies jerk from your magic penetrating them. Many struggle to no avail. Like pulling an anchor from the depths of the sea, you give a good tug with your claws. Spheres of light that were the embodiment of their abilities. Weakly, Aro attempts to reach for his as it floats from his chest toward you.

Collecting them all, you fuse them together with more ancient words until their combined abilities were formed into an ornate necklace.

You stare at them, useless husks of what they once were. "Do you still wish to continue with your attack?"

They're panting from the pain of a part of themselves being ripped out of them. The other members who were standing in as mere witnesses are already scurrying, getting out of their before your mercy ran out.

"You-" Aro hisses out, clutching at his abdomen.

Teasingly you dangle the necklace in front of all of them. "I suggest all of you go back to your lair. There is no way any of you are getting your powers back any time soon. Trust me, this is me showing kindness that none of you deserve. Let this be a firm reminder to you, that all members of my family are off limits. Know your place."

Aro and Marcus seethe but know the threat behind your words. They were lucky to be leaving with their lives intact.

"Be gone." You growl. "I don't want to have to deal with you again. And if Caius does decide to return to your guild for whatever reason, you are to treat him with nothing but polite civility."

If his looks could actually kill, you were sure Aro would have smite you down in that instant. Alas, he's as weak as any normal vampire now.

"For me?" Renesmee smiles, bewitched by the necklace you offer her.

Everyone was back at the Cullen residence. Some of the other covens, seeing that the conflict was over, went back to their individual countries. The Denali coven were all congregated upstairs while the Cullens were in the living room.

"Who better to have their powers than you?" You place it in her small palms. "You can be the one to decide whether the Volturi are worthy enough to have their powers back."

"That's amazing." Bella breathes, admiring the necklace gifted to her daughter. "All their powers are in there?"

You nod. "Yup. It's a spell I picked up from the Mycenaeans. A little after I'd turned Caius. A fate worse than death for many vampires. As long as you have this, I don't think they'll be causing you any problems. Protect it and keep it safe, Renesmee."

She looks up at you, a worshipper gazing up at their god. "I will."

Standing up, you turn to your mate. "Shall we retire?"

Jasper had been patiently waiting all day to have some alone time with you. Now that the chaos was subsiding, it was the perfect opportunity.

He eagerly takes your hand, making Alice giggle, and the both of you bolt up the stairs to where Jasper's room was. Well, it was your shared room honestly. There were many of your possessions there. Paintings, little bobbles/souvenirs, an authentic Persian rug that you won from a sultan. A lot of your clothes were still hung or folded neatly in the wardrobe.

His pupils are blown out when he looks at you, a black dime cradled in a blanket of gold. "You never cease to amaze me." Hands on either side of your face, he kisses you deeply to further show his devotion. Between kisses, he gasps out praise for your strength, for the power that flowed in you.

You squeal out a giggle, something your enemies would gawk at. You always felt so young when Jasper gathered you up in his arms to transfer you to the bed.

Jasper hovers over you, his blonde hair dangling on either side of his face.

You grin. "Come here, cowboy."

Taglist:

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[horeformilfs]

Blood and Broken Art

Mother Miranda x Fem!Dimitrescu Reader

TW: Self Harm, Isolation, Rumination, ED Behaviors

------------------------------------------

In the opulent halls of Castle Dimitrescu, amidst the grandeur of its ancient walls and towering architecture, Y/N, the youngest daughter of Lady Alcina Dimitrescu, found herself embroiled in a situation that would test the bonds of family and forgiveness.

Y/N had always felt a certain distance between herself and her mother, Lady Alcina. While she shared a deep connection with her sisters, Daniela, Cassandra, and Bela, her relationship with her mother was strained, marred by a perceived lack of understanding and acceptance.

One fateful afternoon, as the sisters engaged in a lively game within the confines of their lavish abode, a mishap occurred involving some of Lady Alcina's most cherished art pieces. Panic seized the room as the delicate sculptures and paintings tumbled to the ground, shattering into irreparable fragments.

Lady Alcina's regal presence filled the room as she swept in, her gaze sharp and unforgiving. "What has happened here?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the air like a whip.

Y/N stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest, as her mother's accusatory eyes bore into her. "It... it was an accident, Mother," she stammered, her words barely audible amidst the chaos.

Lady Alcina's expression darkened, her disappointment palpable. "You dare to defile my belongings with your careless antics?" she hissed, her voice dripping with disdain.

Y/N's protests fell on deaf ears as Lady Alcina delivered her judgment. "You are grounded, Y/N," she declared, her tone final. "You will not leave this castle, attend meetings, or partake in hunts until further notice."

Tears welled in Y/N's eyes as she tried to plead her innocence, but her mother's stern gaze silenced her. In that moment, she felt a crushing weight settle upon her shoulders, the weight of her mother's disapproval and the burden of her own perceived inadequacy.

"It wasn't my fault," Y/N whispered, her voice barely a whisper, but Lady Alcina's sharp retort sliced through the air like a blade.

"Enough!" Lady Alcina snapped, her words a harsh rebuke that echoed off the walls of the chamber. And with that, she turned and swept out of the room, leaving Y/N alone with her shattered emotions.

As Y/N retreated to her chambers, her heart heavy with sorrow, she couldn't help but wonder if her mother would ever see her for who she truly was, beyond her perceived flaws and failings. And as the days turned into weeks, the distance between them seemed to grow ever wider, a gaping chasm that threatened to swallow them both whole.

As the sun rose on a new day, casting its golden rays across the vast expanse of Castle Dimitrescu, Daniela, Bela, and Cassandra found themselves filled with a sense of unease. The events of the previous day weighed heavily on their minds, and they were determined to mend the rift that had formed between them and their youngest sister, Y/N.

With hesitant steps, they made their way to Y/N's chambers, their hearts heavy with worry. Pushing open the ornate door, they found Y/N sitting by the window, her gaze fixed on the horizon beyond. Her expression was distant, lost in a sea of swirling thoughts.

"Y/N, are you alright?" Bela's voice broke the silence, her concern evident in the furrow of her brow.

Y/N nodded faintly, but her eyes betrayed the turmoil within. Daniela and Cassandra exchanged a worried glance, silently communicating their shared concern for their sister's well-being.

"We thought we could do something fun together," Cassandra suggested, her voice tinged with hope, but Y/N's response was lukewarm at best.

"I'm... I'm just tired," Y/N murmured, her words lacking conviction as she forced a smile that failed to reach her eyes.

Bela's skepticism was palpable as she pressed for answers, but Y/N's excuses fell flat, leaving a lingering sense of unease in the air.

Reluctantly, the sisters left Y/N to her solitude, their hearts heavy with a mixture of confusion and sadness. Y/N watched them go, a hollow ache gnawing at her chest as she sank onto her bed, the weight of her emotions threatening to consume her.

Alone in the dimly lit chamber, Y/N allowed herself to succumb to the overwhelming exhaustion that weighed heavily upon her, her tears staining the pillow beneath her head as she drifted into an uneasy slumber, her dreams haunted by the specter of her mother's disapproval.

The library of Castle Dimitrescu stood in solemn silence, its shelves lined with ancient tomes and forbidden knowledge. Lady Alcina Dimitrescu, regal and imposing, sat at the head of the room, her daughters gathered before her like obedient subjects awaiting her decree.

"Where is Y/N?" Lady Alcina inquired, her voice cutting through the hushed atmosphere like a whip. Bela hesitated for a moment before reluctantly divulging Y/N's recent behavior, her words tinged with apprehension.

Lady Alcina's brow furrowed in displeasure as she rose from her seat, a sense of purpose driving her actions. Without another word, she swept out of the library, her determination unyielding as she made her way to Y/N's chambers.

Barging into the dimly lit room, Lady Alcina wasted no time in rousing her youngest daughter from her troubled slumber. "Y/N, you need to come to the library. Your sisters are waiting," she declared, her tone brooking no argument.

Y/N said nothing, her silence a palpable weight in the air as she complied with her mother's command, her movements slow and listless as she followed Lady Alcina to the library.

Upon their arrival, Lady Alcina wasted no time in addressing her daughters, her demeanor stern and unwavering. "Mother Miranda will be arriving for an important meeting tomorrow," she announced, her words laden with significance.

Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela nodded in understanding, their expressions somber as they absorbed the gravity of the situation. As they began to take their leave, Lady Alcina's commanding voice halted them in their tracks.

"Not you, Y/N. You will stay," Lady Alcina commanded, her gaze piercing as she fixed her daughter with a steely glare.

Y/N's heart clenched at her mother's words, the weight of her disapproval bearing down upon her like a leaden shroud. Tears pricked at her eyes, threatening to spill over, but she refused to let them fall, her resolve unyielding.

Lady Alcina's voice was cold and cutting as she reprimanded her daughter, listing off her recent transgressions with a sense of disdain that cut Y/N to the core. Each word was like a dagger to her already wounded heart, leaving her feeling small and insignificant in the face of her mother's displeasure.

"I don't want any more trouble from you tonight, Y/N," Lady Alcina admonished, her tone final. "If there are any more incidents, there will be severe consequences."

Y/N's throat constricted with emotion, her chest tight with the weight of unspoken words and unshed tears. But she remained silent, her gaze fixed firmly on the ground beneath her feet as she struggled to contain the storm of emotions raging within her.

Alone in the suffocating silence of her chamber, Y/N felt the weight of her mother's words pressing down on her like a suffocating blanket. With trembling hands, she retreated to the solitude of her bathroom, seeking solace in the familiar embrace of pain.

Fingers trembling, she reached for the razor blade tucked away in the depths of her drawer, the glint of metal catching the dim light of the room. Without hesitation, she dragged the blade across her skin, the sharp sting of pain offering a fleeting reprieve from the turmoil raging within.

As crimson droplets welled to the surface, tracing a macabre dance along her flesh, Y/N felt a sense of release wash over her, the physical pain a welcome distraction from the emotional torment that threatened to consume her whole.

With practiced precision, she tended to her wounds, cleansing them with meticulous care, the sting of antiseptic a cruel reminder of her own fragility. But even as she patched herself up, she couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of emptiness that gnawed at her insides.

Lost in the haze of her own thoughts, Y/N lost track of time, the minutes slipping through her fingers like grains of sand. It wasn't until she emerged from the bathroom, her skin raw and tender, that she realized just how much time had passed.

The clock on the wall taunted her with its relentless ticking, a stark reminder of the hours wasted in the throes of her own despair. With a heavy heart, she made her way to her bed, the weight of exhaustion pulling her down into its comforting embrace.

Cocooned in the darkness of her room, Y/N succumbed to the pull of sleep, her dreams haunted by the echoes of her mother's disapproval and the cruel whispers of her own self-doubt. And as she drifted into the depths of unconsciousness, the pain that had once been her refuge now served as a cruel reminder of the demons that lurked within.

The next day arrived with an air of anticipation within Castle Dimitrescu. The maids bustled about, preparing the grand halls for the impending meeting with Mother Miranda. Lady Alcina Dimitrescu, tall and imposing, oversaw the preparations with a stern gaze, ensuring that everything was in perfect order.

As the morning sunlight filtered through the grand windows, Lady Dimitrescu turned her attention to her daughters, instructing Bela to fetch Y/N for breakfast. Bela nodded obediently, her mind filled with a sense of unease after the events of the previous day.

Entering Y/N's room, Bela found her sister still entwined in the tendrils of sleep. "Y/N, Mother said it's time for breakfast," she announced, her voice a gentle wake-up call.

Y/N stirred, her eyes heavy with the weight of unspoken troubles. "I'm not hungry. You all can eat without me," she murmured, her words carrying the echo of a distant sadness.

Bela hesitated, a knot forming in her stomach. "Are you sure? You should join us," she urged, concern etching her features.

Y/N managed a weak smile, but it failed to reach her eyes. "I'm just not in the mood. Go ahead without me," she insisted, her tone final.

Feeling a sense of discomfort gnawing at her, Bela reluctantly left Y/N's room and returned to the dining room, where her mother and sisters awaited. Lady Dimitrescu raised an inquisitive eyebrow as Bela entered alone, the absence of her youngest daughter not going unnoticed.

"Where is Y/N?" Lady Dimitrescu inquired, her voice carrying a hint of impatience.

Bela shifted uncomfortably, a sense of responsibility weighing on her shoulders. "Y/N said she's not hungry. She told me we could eat without her," she confessed, her gaze falling to the floor.

A sigh escaped Lady Dimitrescu's lips as she absorbed the information. "Very well. If she's hungry, she'll join us later," she declared, dismissing the matter with a wave of her hand.

The family continued their breakfast in relative silence, the absence of Y/N lingering like a specter in the room. Bela couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that something was amiss, but she resisted probing further, trusting that Y/N would approach them if she needed to.

The grandeur of the castle seemed to amplify the quiet tension that hung in the air as they awaited Mother Miranda's arrival. Unbeknownst to the others, Y/N remained secluded in her room, grappling with the shadows that clung to her soul, wrestling with emotions that threatened to consume her whole.

The day unfolded with an air of anticipation within Castle Dimitrescu, each member of the family and the maids tirelessly preparing for the imminent visit of Mother Miranda. The grandeur of the castle seemed to echo with the quiet hum of tension, the servants scurrying about to ensure everything met Lady Alcina Dimitrescu's exacting standards.

Unbeknownst to the others, Y/N found herself ensnared in the clutches of her own private torment. Secluded in the confines of her bathroom, the familiar glint of a razor blade became both ally and adversary. As she traced the blade across her skin, the ritual offered a fleeting escape from the suffocating weight of her emotions.

Midway through her desperate act, a sudden knock on her door sent a shockwave of panic through Y/N. Startled, she hastily hid the evidence, assuring the intruder she would be out in a minute.

After cleaning herself up, Y/N emerged from the bathroom, her eyes betraying the turmoil within. Daniela stood in the hallway, concern etched on her face. "Mother Miranda will be here any minute. Alcina wants us all downstairs when she arrives," Daniela informed her, her voice a mix of urgency and worry.

Nodding silently, Y/N followed Daniela down the sweeping staircase, the grandeur of the castle becoming a cold backdrop to her inner struggle. Bela, Cassandra, and Lady Dimitrescu awaited them in the opulent foyer, the air thick with tension.

As Y/N descended, Lady Alcina's discerning eyes immediately fixated on her, a critical gaze that felt like a spotlight, exposing her vulnerabilities. A snippy comment escaped Alcina's lips about the time it took for Y/N to join them, her words carrying a sting that cut through the already tense atmosphere.

Y/N's shoulders hunched, an instinctive attempt to make herself smaller in the face of her mother's disapproval. She kept her gaze lowered, avoiding eye contact, as a heavy silence settled over the room. The weight of Alcina's words echoed in her mind, drowning out the preparations for Mother Miranda's arrival.

The impending meeting with Mother Miranda, meant to be a momentous occasion for the Dimitrescu family, became a battleground of emotions for Y/N. Each step felt like wading through treacherous waters, the shadows of her own struggles threatening to engulf her in the presence of those who were oblivious to her silent cries for help.

As the grand doors of Castle Dimitrescu swung open, heralding the arrival of Mother Miranda, a sense of anticipation filled the air. Lady Alcina Dimitrescu, regal and composed, stepped forward to greet her esteemed guest, her daughters Bela, Daniela, and Cassandra flanking her side.

Y/N lingered in the shadows, a silent observer to the reunion unfolding before her. She watched as her mother exchanged pleasantries with Mother Miranda, her heart heavy with a mixture of admiration and apprehension.

Mother Miranda's keen gaze swept across the room, pausing momentarily as her eyes fell upon Y/N. Sensing the weight of her scrutiny, Y/N instinctively recoiled, retreating further into the shadows in an attempt to go unnoticed.

But Mother Miranda was not one to overlook those in need, especially not someone she had known since childhood. With a gentle smile, she excused herself from the conversation and made her way to where Y/N stood, her presence a beacon of warmth in the cold expanse of the castle.

"My dear Y/N, how are you?" Mother Miranda inquired, her voice soft and reassuring as she gently cupped Y/N's face in her hands.

Y/N felt a rush of warmth flood her cheeks at Mother Miranda's touch, her heart fluttering in her chest. "I-I'm fine, thank you," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mother Miranda's eyes softened with concern as she pulled Y/N into a tender embrace, the warmth of her embrace a balm to Y/N's troubled soul. "You know you can always come to me if you need anything, my dear," she murmured, her words a soothing melody in the midst of chaos.

Y/N nodded silently, unable to find the words to express the gratitude swelling within her chest. For years, she had harbored a secret admiration for Mother Miranda, her feelings a tangled web of longing and reverence.

But their moment of intimacy was short-lived as Lady Alcina intervened, pulling Mother Miranda's attention away with a subtle gesture. "My apologies, Mother Miranda, but we must attend to some matters before dinner," Alcina interjected, her tone clipped with urgency.

Turning to her daughters, Alcina issued a command, her voice a cold reminder of her authority. "Be sure to be present for dinner tonight. And Y/N, make yourself scarce," she added, her words laced with a hint of disdain.

Y/N's heart sank at her mother's directive, a silent reminder of her place within the hierarchy of the family. With a heavy sigh, she nodded sadly, casting one last glance at Mother Miranda, who offered her a small, understanding smile.

As Y/N retreated into the shadows, a sense of emptiness gnawed at her, the warmth of Mother Miranda's embrace fading into memory. And as she disappeared from view, Mother Miranda couldn't help but notice the absence of light in Y/N's eyes, a flicker of concern tugging at her heartstrings.

As Lady Alcina Dimitrescu and Mother Miranda retired to the sanctuary of the library, the weight of their responsibilities hung heavy in the air. The grandeur of the room seemed to amplify the gravity of their conversation, each word carrying the weight of their shared burdens.

Seated opposite each other, Alcina and Miranda delved into discussions ranging from the affairs of the village to the machinations of their fellow lords. The air crackled with tension as they navigated the delicate balance of power and influence.

After a lull in the conversation, Mother Miranda's gaze shifted to Lady Alcina, her expression one of quiet contemplation. "Tell me, Alcina, how is Y/N?" she inquired, her tone gentle yet probing.

Alcina raised an eyebrow in surprise at the unexpected question. "Why the sudden interest in my daughter?" she countered, her voice tinged with suspicion.

Mother Miranda's gaze softened with concern as she met Alcina's steely gaze. "I couldn't help but notice something was amiss with her," she admitted, her voice laced with genuine worry. "I just wanted to make sure she's alright."

Alcina's lips curled into a sneer as she recounted the events of the previous day, her disdain for her youngest daughter evident in her tone. "Y/N has been nothing but a disappointment lately," she spat, her words dripping with venom. "Always causing trouble and never living up to her responsibilities."

Miranda's brow furrowed in consternation at Alcina's harsh words, a flicker of irritation crossing her features. But she bit back the retort that threatened to spill from her lips, choosing instead to maintain her composure.

Before the conversation could delve any further, a maid entered the library, interrupting their discussion with news of dinner. With a resigned sigh, Alcina rose from her seat, motioning for Miranda to follow her as they made their way to the dining hall.

As they entered the opulent room, Miranda's keen eyes scanned the table, noting the absence of one particular member of the family. "Where is Y/N?" she inquired, her tone laced with concern.

Cassandra, ever dutiful, offered an explanation. "She said she was tired and not very hungry," she explained, her voice tinged with sympathy.

Miranda's brow furrowed in puzzlement at Y/N's uncharacteristic behavior, her concern deepening with each passing moment. "That's unlike her," she mused aloud, making a mental note to check on Y/N later.

As they settled into their seats, Miranda couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air. Despite Alcina's dismissive attitude towards her daughter, Miranda couldn't help but feel a sense of responsibility towards Y/N, a nagging suspicion that there was more to her absence than met the eye. And as they began their meal, Miranda vowed to unravel the mystery surrounding Y/N's sudden withdrawal from the family's midst.

As the lingering echoes of dinner faded into the quiet stillness of the night, Lady Alcina Dimitrescu extended an invitation to Mother Miranda to stay the night, considering the inclement weather outside. Miranda graciously accepted, and a maid was promptly dispatched to prepare a room for her esteemed guest.

Alcina excused herself to attend to some paperwork, leaving Miranda to her own devices. With Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela retiring to their respective chambers, Miranda seized the opportunity to seek out Y/N.

She made her way to Y/N's room, a soft rap on the door signaling her arrival. Y/N, flustered and surprised by Miranda's unexpected visit, hesitated before opening the door, her expression a mixture of confusion and apprehension.

"Mother Miranda, is something the matter?" Y/N inquired, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Miranda offered a reassuring smile as she met Y/N's gaze. "May I speak with you, Y/N?" she asked gently, her tone filled with warmth and concern.

Y/N's curiosity piqued, she stepped aside, allowing Miranda to enter her room. Miranda made her way to the edge of Y/N's bed, patting the space beside her in invitation. Y/N, still uncertain of the reason for Miranda's visit, tentatively took a seat beside her.

"What did you want to talk about, Mother Miranda?" Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Miranda's gaze softened as she reached out to gently cup Y/N's face, guiding her attention back to her. "I couldn't help but feel that something was troubling you," she admitted, her voice soft and reassuring.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat, her eyes betraying the turmoil within as tears threatened to spill over. "I... I'm fine, Mother Miranda," she insisted, her gaze darting away, unable to meet Miranda's compassionate eyes.

But Miranda was not so easily deterred. With a gentle touch, she urged Y/N to look at her, her heart breaking at the sight of Y/N's obvious distress. "You don't have to pretend, my darling," she murmured, her voice filled with tenderness. "I'm here for you, always."

Y/N's resolve crumbled in the face of Miranda's unwavering kindness, her tears flowing freely as she struggled to put into words the storm of emotions raging within her. But her breathing grew ragged, her chest tightening with each passing moment.

Sensing Y/N's distress, Miranda moved closer, wrapping her arms around Y/N in a comforting embrace. "Shh, sweetheart, it's okay," she murmured soothingly, her voice a calming presence in the midst of chaos.

Together, they sat in silence, the weight of Y/N's burdens lifting ever so slightly in the warmth of Miranda's embrace. And as the tears subsided and Y/N's breathing steadied, Miranda made a silent vow to always be there for her, to offer solace and support in times of need.

As Y/N's tears subsided and a fragile calm settled over her, Miranda gently broached the topic once more, her voice a soft murmur in the quiet of the room. "Y/N, my dear, can you tell me what's been troubling you?" she asked, her tone gentle yet insistent.

Y/N hesitated, unsure of how to articulate the whirlwind of emotions churning within her. But as Miranda's patience persisted, she found herself unable to keep the truth hidden any longer.

"I... I've been hurting myself," Y/N confessed, her voice barely above a whisper as shame flooded her senses. "I'm sorry, Mother Miranda. I shouldn't have told you."

Miranda's heart ached at the anguish in Y/N's voice, her own eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Y/N, please, call me Miranda," she implored, her voice filled with tenderness. "And you have nothing to apologize for. I'm sorry you've been hurting so much."

With gentle reassurance, Miranda offered to take a look at Y/N's wounds, her touch as light as a feather as she guided Y/N into the bathroom. "You don't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with, my dear," she assured, her voice a soothing balm to Y/N's frayed nerves.

Y/N hesitated, her fear of judgment warring with her desperate need for comfort. But with a silent nod, she acquiesced, trusting Miranda to guide her through the darkness that threatened to consume her.

With practiced ease, Miranda retrieved a clean towel and a first aid kit, her movements deliberate and gentle as she tended to Y/N's wounds. There was no judgment in her touch, no condemnation in her gaze—only a quiet understanding and unwavering compassion.

As Miranda cleaned and dressed the cuts on Y/N's hips and legs, a sense of peace settled over them, the weight of Y/N's burdens lifting ever so slightly in the presence of Miranda's unwavering support.

"You're so brave, my darling," Miranda murmured, her voice a tender whisper in the stillness of the room. "And you're not alone. I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

Tears welled in Y/N's eyes at Miranda's words, a swell of gratitude and relief washing over her like a tidal wave. In that moment, she realized that she was not alone—that even in her darkest moments, Miranda would be there to light the way.

Miranda led Y/N out of the bathroom, their steps hushed in the quiet of the evening. "It's getting late, my dear. You should get some rest," Miranda suggested, her voice a soothing presence in the dimly lit corridor.

Y/N nodded in agreement, her mouth opening as if to voice a question, but she hesitated and fell silent. Miranda, ever perceptive, noticed the hesitation and gently prodded, "Is there something on your mind, Y/N?"

Y/N bit her lip, uncertain whether to voice her request. However, Miranda's reassuring words encouraged her to speak her truth. "It's nothing, really," Y/N mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

Miranda stopped in her tracks, turning to face Y/N with a gentle expression. "My dear, if there's anything I can do to help or make you feel more comfortable, don't hesitate to ask," she offered, her eyes filled with sincerity.

Encouraged by Miranda's genuine concern, Y/N took a deep breath and quietly asked, "Would you... would you be willing to stay with me until I fall asleep?"

Miranda's response was immediate and reassuring. "Of course, my dear. I'll stay as long as you need me to," she promised, her voice a comforting melody in the stillness of the castle.

She instructed Y/N to change into pajamas, assuring her that she'd be right back after doing the same. As Y/N slipped into her nightwear, her thoughts swirled with a mixture of vulnerability and gratitude.

When Miranda returned, Y/N was already in bed, her gaze lost in the depths of her own contemplations. Miranda approached with quiet footsteps, not wanting to startle her. Y/N looked up, her eyes meeting Miranda's, and she took a moment to absorb Miranda's appearance.

Miranda's face was bare of makeup, her long, straight platinum blonde hair falling gracefully. Y/N found herself entranced by the more casual, unguarded version of the usually formidable woman before her.

Caught in her observation, Y/N blushed and quickly averted her gaze. Miranda, however, sported a small smirk, teasing gently, "Am I that captivating without the usual regalia?"

Y/N stammered an apology, her embarrassment evident, but Miranda's laughter cut through the tension. "It's quite alright, my dear. No need to apologize," Miranda reassured her, her laughter a warm melody in the room.

With a comforting presence, Miranda settled beside Y/N, ready to offer the solace and support she needed. As the room enveloped them in the quiet of the night, Y/N felt a sense of security, a fragile yet profound connection that promised solace in the darkness.

Miranda shifted to the other side of the bed, slipping under the covers and pulling Y/N gently into her embrace. As Y/N nestled against her, Miranda's hand found its way to Y/N's hair, her fingers tracing soothing patterns as she whispered reassurances.

"Everything is going to be okay, my dear. I'll always be here for you," Miranda murmured, her voice a soft caress in the darkness.

Y/N looked up at Miranda, gratitude and affection shining in her eyes. "Thank you for everything, Miranda," she whispered, her voice filled with emotion.

Their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them. Miranda's gaze softened as she looked at Y/N, her heart swelling with a warmth she had never known before. Without hesitation, she leaned down, her lips meeting Y/N's in a gentle, tender kiss.

Y/N responded eagerly, her heart racing as she melted into Miranda's embrace. They pulled away, a moment of hesitation hanging in the air before Y/N leaned in, capturing Miranda's lips in another kiss.

This time, there was no hesitation, only a shared understanding of the depth of their feelings. Y/N rested her head on Miranda's chest, listening to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat as Miranda kissed the top of her head, enveloping her in a sense of safety and belonging.

In the quiet of the night, Miranda whispered sweet nothings to Y/N, her words a symphony of love and affection. They lay entwined in each other's arms, the world fading away as they surrendered to the undeniable pull of their hearts.

Miranda continued to murmur sweet words of comfort to Y/N, their quiet conversation filling the room like a lullaby. "You're not alone, my dear. I care deeply for you, and I want to help you find the peace you deserve," Miranda whispered, her voice a gentle melody.

Y/N, feeling a profound connection in Miranda's embrace, spoke softly, "I never thought I'd find someone who truly understands and cares for me."

Miranda brushed a strand of hair away from Y/N's face, her eyes reflecting sincerity. "You deserve all the love and understanding in the world," she affirmed, pressing a tender kiss to Y/N's forehead.

They lay in the silence of the night, the weight of their shared emotions hanging in the air. Y/N, still absorbing the warmth of Miranda's affection, ventured to express her feelings. "Miranda, I..." she began, her words tinged with vulnerability.

Miranda hushed her gently, fingers tracing soothing circles on Y/N's back. "Shh, my dear. You don't need to say anything. Just know that I'm here for you, and we can face whatever comes together," Miranda assured, her words a beacon of support.

In the quiet intimacy of the moment, Y/N felt a sense of acceptance and understanding she had never known before. As they lay entwined, the world outside their embrace seemed to fade away, leaving only the reassurance of shared warmth and the promise of a connection that defied the darkness.

#resident evil village #alcina dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #mother miranda #mother miranda im looking directly at you #mother miranda x y/n #mother miranda imagine #mother miranda x reader #resident evil mother miranda #mother miranda x female reader

[milesplayshu]

Tarhos Kovács, a Survivor in the Fog

AU where the killers are survivors, and the survivors are killers. I stole the hair from Felix and dyed it black, Vittorio's medieval clothes from his Rift, and kept Tarhos' cape from his default torso. He's actually pretty handsome when you remove the open wounds and bone sticking out of his jaw <3 Lore in the Read More.

Tarhos found employment with a wealthy Italian Lord. Vittorio Toscano was the Duke of Portoscuro. He was also a scholar, a world traveller, and a collector of ancient knowledge that had been hidden by an unknown cabal of mystics. Tarhos joined Vittorio’s latest expedition to find a fragment of a pillar from an ancient school lost to time. A stone Vittorio called the Lapis Paradisus for he believed it held secrets to open a gateway into a perfect world beyond good and evil.

After months of relentless search Tarhos found the stone in the catacombs beneath the Portuguese city of Sintra, but he discovered something else. 7 corpses and one pool of blood missing the body in the middle, surrounding the Lapis tablet. Around them were the same etchings from it, seemingly drawn by the dead with their own blood.

Upon his return to Portoscuro, Tarhos told his Lord about the true nature of the stone and the death cult surrounding it, but naively handed it over to Vittorio. The occultist smiled and started reading the strange writing on the Lapis Paradisus, his whispers growing to a chant, his chant to a yell. A thick, malicious fog started filling the room. Tarhos ran to the door, finding it locked behind him. As his vision went black and the mad Lord Toscano's voice faded, he finally broke through the wooden door of the chamber, only to find himself in an unfamiliar world...

#dbd #dead by daylight #tarhos kovács #the knight #the knight dbd #Survive Til Sunlight

[cherubiyeon]

petrichor | newjeans hanni pham x gender neutral reader

caught in a downpour of emotions, can y/n and hanni weather the storm and find the sunshine within their hearts, or will the rain drown out the love they once knew?

✩ warnings. non-idol!au, established relationship, slight angst?, arguments, like one swear word?

✩ word count. ~2.8k words

the compact car's interior was charged with an unmistakable tension— so thick it seemed to suffocate the space. y/n's fingers danced lightly on the steering wheel, each tap betraying the unspoken frustration between them. the engine's gentle hum only served to underscore the emptiness that engulfed them. it was an orchestra of discontent, performed by a couple on the precipice of an argument.

beyond the car's windows, the passing landscape blurred into an abstract painting. the steady movement of the car contrasted sharply with the tempest brewing inside its confines. an argument had erupted earlier that morning, sparked by a mix of miscommunication and stubbornness. canceling the meticulously planned camping trip was on the verge of becoming a regrettable reality.

hanni's sullen form slouched in the back seat, her gaze fixed on the world outside, but her mind seemed adrift in her own thoughts. her posture betrayed a silent protest, an armor of resentment guarding her emotions. y/n, as the driver, glanced at hanni in the rearview mirror, exhaling a heavy sigh that spoke of exasperation tinged with longing.

"can we just talk?"

in the stillness of the car, y/n's voice broke through the heavy silence like a gentle ripple on a tranquil lake. their words carried a mix of apprehension and a genuine desire to mend the growing rift between them. hanni's response was a wall of silence, a fortress of refusal to engage in conversation. it was a defense mechanism, a way to shield herself from the raw vulnerability that awaited if she allowed the words to flow freely.

y/n's knuckles tightened, the supple leather of the steering wheel yielding slightly to the pressure. it was as if they were trying to hold onto something tangible, to ground themselves amidst the emotional turbulence. their breaths came in shallow, unsteady rhythms, each exhale carrying the weight of unspoken feelings.

in the distance, a meandering stream sparkled like liquid diamonds, caught in the embrace of the waning sunlight. its gentle ripples whispered tales of resilience, a timeless dance that mirrored the ebb and flow of life's currents. outside, tranquility reigned as if nature herself had painted a masterpiece, a serene symphony of colors and textures.

yet, within the car's intimate confines, a different melody played—a storm of emotions gathering momentum, like clouds heavy with unspoken words. the world beyond the windows remained blissfully unaware of the conflict brewing within, its beauty a stark contrast to the emotional struggle that had taken root, silently threading its way through the hearts of the two souls on this uncertain journey.

y/n glanced briefly at hanni, her profile etched with tension and guarded emotions. they saw a glimpse of the vulnerability that lay beneath her defenses, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. it was a tender vulnerability that mirrored their own, a shared yearning for connection amidst the barriers that had risen between them.

"i don't want to fight," y/n spoke again, their voice softer this time, like a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves outside. "i just— i just want to talk,"

hanni's grip on her emotions tightened, her silence stubborn and unwavering. it was as if she feared that any words she spoke would shatter the fragile peace that barely held their hearts together. the tension inside the car was palpable, a delicate balance of emotions that hung like a delicate thread, one that could snap at any moment.

y/n's heart weighed heavy with the unspoken words that lingered on their tongue. as they parked the car in the secluded camping ground, a deep sigh escaped their lips, dissipating into the crisp air like a wisp of smoke. the tension from the car's interior seemed to linger, a subtle reminder of the emotions left unresolved.

hanni wasted no time, stepping out of the car and striding ahead, the distance between them widening with each step. y/n hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady themselves, before following quietly in hanni's footsteps. y/n watched her silhouette recede, feeling a mixture of reluctance and determination welling within. with a deep breath, they swung the car door open, the soft creak breaking the lingering silence.

the campground stretched out before them like a vibrant tapestry woven by nature herself. the air carried a hint of earthiness, mingled with the faint aroma of pine. a gentle breeze ruffled the leaves of trees, creating a soothing melody that harmonized with the distant chirping of birds. the ground beneath their feet was soft, a carpet of grass and wildflowers that seemed to welcome their arrival.

hanni's figure was a solitary silhouette against the scenic backdrop, a lone figure standing at the edge of a tranquil lake. its glassy surface reflected the azure sky above, the gentle ripples casting dancing shadows that seemed to playfully waltz upon the water. a wooden dock extended into the lake, its weathered planks echoing the stories of countless moments spent in quiet contemplation.

y/n followed hanni's path, walking a few steps behind, their footsteps light as they ventured into the heart of the campsite. the landscape unfolded like a painting brought to life. wildflowers painted the ground in a vibrant palette of colors, their petals swaying in the breeze like a chorus of delicate dancers. tall trees stood as silent sentinels, their branches reaching out like welcoming arms.

as y/n stood at a distance, their gaze fixed on hanni, a bittersweet smile graced their lips. the soft sunlight cast a warm glow on hanni's figure, illuminating the gentle curve of her shoulders as she rummaged through her bag for her fishing rod. the air seemed to hold its breath, mirroring the delicate balance of emotions between them.

"i'll set up the tent," y/n offered, their voice gentle but carrying a hint of vulnerability. hanni's response was a nonchalant hum, her focus solely on searching for her fishing rod in her bag. the cold shoulder she gave y/n was like an icy gust in the warm summer air, stinging with a subtle rejection.

undeterred, y/n made their way to the campsite, the soft grass cushioning each step. the tent lay folded neatly, an unassuming canvas that would soon become their shelter under the night sky.

as y/n struggled with the tent's assembly, frustration surged through them like a rising tide. their hands trembled with the weight of inadequacy as they cursed under their breath, unable to suppress the growing anger at their perceived incompetence. "fuck," they muttered, the word escaping their lips like a sharp exhale of defeat.

the metal poles seemed to taunt y/n, mocking their attempts to align them correctly. each failed attempt chipped away at their confidence, and a voice in their head berated them for their perceived stupidity. "why can't i do this?" they thought, the self-doubt swirling like a relentless storm within their mind.

but despite their best efforts, y/n's attempts at assembling the tent faltered. the metal poles seemed to have a mind of their own, refusing to align and cooperate as they should. frustration crept in, an unwelcome guest to the intimate tableau that unfolded on the campsite. y/n's brow furrowed, fingers fumbling, as they wrestled with the stubborn contraption before them.

meanwhile, hanni had retrieved her fishing rod from her bag, her focus fixed solely on her own task. the tension in the air seemed to have created an impenetrable barrier between them, a distance that stretched beyond the physical space they occupied. her silence spoke volumes, a deliberate act of withdrawing from the connection that had once been their sanctuary.

y/n's sigh was a mixture of defeat and exasperation, a concession to their lack of expertise in tent assembly. their gaze shifted from the stubborn fabric to the serene lake, a momentary reprieve from the mounting frustration. the ripples on the water's surface seemed to echo the turbulence within their own hearts, a reflection of the unresolved emotions that had brought them to this point.

hanni's muttered grumbles continued, her determination unwavering even as her efforts yielded no results. her brow furrowed deeper, each motion precise yet fruitless. y/n watched her with a mixture of amusement and endearment, their laughter growing as they observed her persistence. it was as if the universe had joined in on the unfolding comedy, for just as they were caught up in the spectacle of hanni's fishing endeavors, the sky itself began to participate.

the first drops of rain fell, their gentle pitter-patter echoing against the backdrop of the campsite. the sound was a soothing prelude to the impending downpour, a melodic symphony of nature's elements. the sky, heavy with rain-laden clouds, had chosen this moment to release its captive droplets. with each raindrop that landed on leaves and grass, y/n's laughter slowly faded, replaced by a sense of wonder at the beauty of nature's orchestra.

y/n's gaze shifted upward, the raindrops refracting the fading light like a curtain of diamonds. the realization that they were about to be caught in the rain hit them, and a glance towards hanni revealed her own recognition of the impending deluge. without needing to exchange words, their eyes met, a silent agreement passing between them.

"hanni!" y/n called out, their laughter now replaced with urgency. "come here!"

hanni's gaze shifted towards y/n, her expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. following y/n's lead, she abandoned her fishing rod and swiftly made her way towards them. as the first raindrops started to cascade down, they both found refuge under a nearby tree, its thick foliage offering some protection from the rain.

the sound of rain hitting the tree leaves and the earth was a symphony in itself, a rhythm that enveloped them in its soothing embrace. y/n and hanni stood side by side, their proximity creating a sense of intimacy that was both comfortable and tinged with the awkwardness of the moment. the silence between them was heavy, a mix of shared amusement and unspoken tension.

y/n's mind raced, searching for a way to ease the tension that hung in the air. with a soft exhale, they turned to hanni. "this rain caught us by surprise, huh?"

hanni's lips quirked into a small smile, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "yeah, i guess nature had other plans."

the words hung in the air, and y/n felt the silence that followed like a heavy curtain. hanni's gaze remained fixed on the rain, avoiding the direct connection y/n was seeking. it was as if she had built a fortress around herself, a defense mechanism to shield her vulnerabilities from the world, and from y/n in particular.

as if sensing the opportunity for connection, y/n glanced around the area, spotting a cluster of branches and leaves. a sudden idea took root, and they began to gather the materials, their movements deliberate yet tentative. y/n's hands worked with a mix of determination and uncertainty, the leaves rustling as they constructed a makeshift shelter under the tree.

hanni, perhaps sensing y/n's desire to bridge the gap between them, joined in quietly. her fingers worked alongside y/n's, the sound of their combined efforts like a shared language. with each leaf placed carefully, the tension between them seemed to lessen, replaced by a sense of unity and purpose.

finally, the makeshift shelter took shape, a canopy of leaves and branches that offered some respite from the relentless rain. y/n and hanni ducked under it, their clothes already soaked from the earlier rain. the space was cramped, but the warmth of their closeness felt like a refuge amidst the storm.

as they huddled together beneath the shelter they had created, raindrops drumming softly on the leaves above, a sense of accomplishment washed over them. their faces were still wet from the rain, but the smiles that graced their lips spoke of a shared triumph. the awkwardness that had lingered between them seemed to dissipate, replaced by a renewed sense of connection forged through mutual effort.

the silence between them, now less heavy with tension, still held a certain vulnerability that they both acknowledged with silent glances. y/n's fingers traced the damp leaf's intricate surface, their gaze wandering along the pattern of raindrops. hanni, too, looked down, her focus on a small insect seeking shelter amidst the leaves.

taking a deep breath, y/n finally broke the quiet, their voice gentle but carrying a weight of sincerity. "i'm sorry about the tent," they admitted, their eyes still fixed on the leaf. "i should've been able to set it up properly, but..."

hanni's shoulders relaxed slightly, a soft sigh escaping her lips. she met y/n's gaze, a mix of understanding and acceptance in her expression. "it's not just about the tent," she replied, her voice equally gentle. "we both played a part in this... argument."

the tension that had clouded their interaction earlier seemed to have loosened its grip, leaving behind a space that was ripe for a real conversation. under the shelter they had created, a comfortable silence enveloped them, the rhythmic sound of raindrops on leaves a soothing backdrop. it was a moment that felt tender and fragile, like the calm after a storm, both outside and within.

y/n took another deep breath, summoning the courage to breach the emotional barrier that had kept them apart. hanni's gaze remained focused on the ground, a mixture of vulnerability and guardedness evident in her posture. the atmosphere was charged with a blend of apprehension and a desire to mend the rift that had emerged between them.

"hey," y/n started again, their voice soft and sincere, "i don't want us to stay like this, you know?"

hanni's lips parted, but she didn't immediately respond. the silence held weight, an acknowledgment that they needed to address the underlying issues that had brought them to this point.

"i understand that we had our disagreement," y/n continued, their tone gentle, "but i don't want it to define our whole trip. we've faced challenges before, and we've always found a way to work through them, together."

hanni finally looked up, meeting y/n's gaze. her eyes held a mixture of longing and uncertainty, as if she feared the vulnerability that lay ahead. y/n's words had touched something deep, stirring memories of shared experiences and the strength they'd drawn from one another.

"i'm sorry," hanni whispered, her voice nearly lost in the sound of the rain. "i know i let my frustration get the best of me earlier. i shouldn't have shut you out like that."

y/n nodded, a soft smile easing onto their lips. "i'm sorry too, for not being able to set up that tent. i was frustrated with myself, not with you."

hanni's shoulders eased, the weight of her own guilt beginning to lift. "we're in this together, right?"

y/n reached out, their fingers brushing against hanni's hand in a gentle reassurance. "always."

the simplicity of that word, always, held so much meaning, a reaffirmation of their commitment to face challenges hand in hand. the rain continued to fall outside, but within their makeshift shelter, it was as if the storm had washed away the walls that had separated them.

hanni's lips broke into a tender smile, a spark of playfulness lighting up her gaze. "so, about that tent," she began, her voice laced with a teasing tone that carried warmth.

y/n's laughter danced in the air, a genuine expression of relief at the shift in their exchange. "yeah, perhaps we'll have better luck once the rain decides to take a break."

as if in sync, their eyes turned towards the rain, watching the drops create ripples on the lake's surface. hanni's fingers traced an absent pattern on y/n's arm before she leaned her head gently against y/n's shoulder, finding solace in the simple act of being close. the rain continued its gentle symphony around them, a backdrop to the quiet moments that seemed to stretch, offering them the space they needed to rebuild what had temporarily wavered.

minutes passed, an unspoken understanding flowing between them. y/n's hand found its way to hanni's, their fingers interlacing in a silent promise. the rain outside may have been unrelenting, but beneath their shared shelter, it was as if the world had softened, cocooning them in a realm of their own.

as they remained nestled under their makeshift canopy, a feeling of peace settled upon them, a reminder of the unbreakable bond they shared. and in the midst of the rain's soothing embrace, y/n finally turned to hanni, their eyes locking in a moment of perfect connection.

"i love you," y/n whispered, the words carrying a depth of emotion that transcended the simplicity of their syllables.

hanni's heart swelled, the tenderness in y/n's eyes an affirmation of the love they felt for each other. a soft smile curved on hanni's lips as they met y/n's gaze, their voice a gentle echo of the sentiment that had been hanging in the air.

"i love you too."

#fanfic #kpop fanfic #kpop gg #kpop gg x reader #kpop x reader #kpop #kpop x female reader #newjeans x female reader #newjeans x reader #newjeans #newjeans hanni #hanni pham #hanni x reader #hanni pham x reader #cherubiyeon #cherubiyeon fics

[ms-scarletwings]

Aberrant Fish

The first hint many an angler will get of the dark, insidious secrets these waters hold,

and yet, they are the first thing to be accepted as only another flavor of mundane.

The game text calls them grotesque. The fishmonger calls them corrupted. You get to call them a bonus. Rather than fear and revile them, tradesmen will pay a shiny extra penny to add them into their stock. They are gestured to and spoken of, but never truly elaborated on by the townsfolk. They have probably been here long before most of them, and so will be here long after they are gone. They were certainly here before you. Maybe you don’t need their answers, and yet if you are like me, you still witlessly question and keep dredging for more.

Like many things pulled from those cursed depths, they whisper flecks of madness from an impossible voice. What messages do they carry, and what forces do they play vessel to? Are they the lingering embers from a long-extinguished calamity, or are they harbingers of the next one to come?

I believe we have already seen signs of fire with our own eyes- impossible, great beasts that prowl the four (now five) coasts, the dying cult, gibbering fog…. That damned book. These tortured creatures are but another form of the same smoke.

To the question of where they came from, if your fisherman pokes around enough and braves the darkness, he may have already found a response in one of the many obelisks scattered around the map. Specifically, I refer to this.

This would suggest the aberrants themselves are what leaked in through the cracks that the largest of all monsters wants to rend apart? Not entirely, but in part. For the researcher at the Stellar Basin came to her own conclusion I want to factor in.

Her words give credence to the possibility that it is actually those greater beasts themselves at the heart of the corruption. I think she was half onto something, because what if these twisted forms, both large and small, were blooms along the same set of festering roots?

The more dark stones you disturb in the frenzy of your own madness, the more you learn about the age before your arrival, about the islands, and especially about their current guardians. The Mindsuckers- carrion puppet masters given a home, the Basin creature- a spore that miraculously survived its dive to the abyss, and the Serpent- lifeless stone made animate and malicious, all had their creation remembered in great detail by the obelisks. Some hints point that their emergence was rather recent, relative to even more powerful beings, such as the leviathan.

Maybe there are even more unseen horrors far below, blessedly out of our reach, for now. My view is that the malformed beasts are the aimless children of that unfathomable thing which waits beyond the veil. With them came its influence, and its corruption, and from them it continues to spread to all life surrounding. The smaller rifts were always a transformative disease upon the harbor’s fish, but with the rise of the new monsters, the sickness runs farther and less avoidably than ever. Whether these aberrant spawn are a gift to the worthy, or another deceptive evil that leads to madness remains left to be seen.

I will be giving a spotlight to each of these fascinating specimens at the back of Dredge’s encyclopedia, including those found in the Pale Reach, for further comment and appreciation. Updating the list below as we go along!

[#79-84]

[#85-90]

[#91-96]

[#97-102]

[#103-108]

[#109-114]

[#115-120]

[#121-126]

[#127-132]

[#133-138]

[#139-144]

[#145-150]

[#163-168]

[#169-174]

[Bonus I. Night Angler]

[Bonus II. Serpent]

[Bonus III. Basin Creature]

[Bonus IV. Mindsuckers]

[Bonus V. Unseeing Mother]

[Bonus VI. “Narwhal”]

#dredge game #dredge #dredge analysis #aberrant fish #grotesque fish #dredge spoilers #scarlet talks about things

[sprout-fics]

Snowblind

Part One of Snowblind

(Simon "Ghost" Riley x F! 'Fix' Reader)

Wordcount: 6.5k Tags: Angst, Fluff, Medic/Sniper Reader "Fix", Body heat sharing, Reluctant cuddling, Pining, Longing, Slow Burn, Injury/Sickfic Warnings: Referenced childhood trauma including verbal abuse A/N: This is the first in a series of oneshots following the romantic development between you (Codename "Fix) and the man known only as "Ghost"

Summary:

He's stolen the breath from your lungs, sucked it dry and robbed you of your ability to speak. You can only blink in the darkness, feeling your dry eyes chafe and sting as you desperately try and comprehend the enigmatic forces that possessed him to do this.

You shudder, long and hard, feeling the tremor crack outwards like crevasses in a glacier, fissuring like the rifts in your heart. Ghost can feel it, you know he can. Yet the only response your trembling elicits from him is his hand curling into the knob of your spine like a gnarl in an ancient tree. When he breathes you can feel the rise and fall of his chest, like a gentle tide sweeping over your toes at the beach, luring you out to sea.

Tag List: (Reblog this post to be added to future fics from this series! If you'd like to be removed please DM me!)

@dankest-farrik @zwiiicnziiix @moondirti @sritashimada @ladiilokii @yeyinde @sandinthemachine @verdandis-blog @guyfierriii @fan-of-encouragement @starlitnotes

The air is thin in the mountains. Here, up in the sky, the oxygen settles downwards towards the earth and away from your form perched against the cliffs. The frostbitten air of the peaks scraped hard against your lungs as you breathe in, scorching the back of your throat and setting a cold brand burrowing into your veins. There’s a blooming ache in your chest, one that can’t be quelled no matter how you breathe.

You know it's bad, you're panting, mouth open and sucking the frigid air deeper into your chest where it accumulates like a slow acting poison. It bleeds into your blood and races along the underside of your chilled flesh, biting your bones with a dull, insistent ache. The sharpness of the sunlight against the pristine snow feels like it's dancing off the back of your eyelids, searing your vision even with your vision scrunched shut.

You'd heard your local informant whisper something about the curse of the sheer whiteness back in the village, rambling in halting English of the word: 'Snowblind'.

White, pristine white, the color of lace and freshly pressed dinner napkins. The color of the pearls resting against your mother's throat. When she swallows your eyes dart up to her face. She's looking past the gauzy pale curtains of the banquet hall, outside to the hazy, dimming streetlights beyond. Her eyes are distant, sad.

"Keep moving, sergeant."

You blink several times, trying to clear your vision against the brightness that feels everywhere all at once, freezing and radiant and deadly despite its etherealness. At last, you cast a look over your shoulder, and there you meet the white mask of your comrade, only several steps behind you as your team trudges up one of the secluded mountain trails hidden within the tree line.

His eyes are dark, and for a moment you're startled by the contrast of them against the grey and white landscape around you. Yet they're just as cold, unflinching and unmoving, imbedded into you just as severe as the chill in your bones.

"Yes sir." You manage, and your eyes don't break from his despite your answer, voice cracked and dry. He'd warned you before the start of your journey to stay hydrated, and now your throat feels tacky with every swallow, sticking to itself like velcro.

"Another mistake." His voice clips against your ears, and you flinch, bunching the fabric of your pressed school uniform against your tiny fists. "When will you learn, oh daughter mine?"

"Ghost, Fix." A voice calls ahead, and you catch sight of Price at the head of your group, snow halfway up his calves as he turns to you both, face grim. "Keep up, we're burning daylight."

You nod, keeping a hold of your weapon as you breathe, let the freezing air settle in your chest before you're trudging forward once more, struggling against the thick layer of powder that clings to your greaves with every step.

Behind you, Ghost follows like a phantom inside your shadow, tailing the group and watching your six. You can hear him moving, can hear the crunch of snow under his giant weight as he follows in the trail Price is carving at the front. Usually, Ghost is silent despite his bulking, rippling frame. It's an uncanny ability, one that more than once has had you with your heart in your throat as he oozes from the darkness like a wraith. The man whispers through walls like they aren't there, clinging to shadows like they're his second skin. His presence is there and gone again, only to reappear behind you- unmistakable, searing, cataclysmic.

Now with every shift Ghost sounds like he's summoning an avalanche, shifting and rumbling ominously like the mountain itself. It feels like the ground moves under you with every strumming heartbeat, the trail invisible and eroded by white. Your muscles ache from the exertion of the climb, but you bite down hard on any complaints. The world around you fills in like a gaussian blur, and among it is the hazy, unknown shape of Ghost’s mask against the sheer whiteness of the landscape. Briefly you wonder if your legs give in, if you fall blind, if Ghost will be there to catch you before you collapse into the pillowy slush.

It's a selfish thought, one that has no place on your current mission. You know that if you fell, if you failed to stay alert for even a few moments it could quite likely prove to be fatal. The rogue group of mercenaries you're all hunting know these mountains far better than you, venturing down the slopes only to pillage the surrounding towns for supplies and fuel- leaving nothing but devastation and red stained snow in their wake.

For all you know they could be watching you right now, clocking your movements as your team sticks within the relative shade of the tree line. These mountains loom large over your form, pine and fir clinging to their rocky outcrops- a perfect hiding spot for snipers like yourself. Your white gear camouflages your team’s ascent towards the nearest abandoned outpost, where blood is still etched into the wood walls at the group's most recent slaughter.

Seek and destroy, Price had told you all. As simple as they come.

You can't seek past the snow blindness.

When you shake your head, try to blink away the dryness there you feel him behind you all at once, shrinking the scant few steps between you both until his form towers behind you even with the slope under your feet.

"Fix."

When he speaks your callsign it sounds like a wolf howling at the moon, primal, sacrosanct. It draws you in like a gravity well as he presses closer, just a hair's breadth away. The heat of him glows into your back like a furnace, form casting a shadow across you as he mercifully blots out the sun that leans low on the horizon.

"I'm fine." You respond to his silent question, and you turn your head so he can't see the redness around your eyes, the miosis that leaves your pupils lost in the sea of your irises. You know he'll just scold you for not bringing sunglasses like the rest of them- just another item in the litany of mistakes he seems to take note of no matter how hard you try.

They're applauding for him as he walks the stage. Your feet kick in the empty space between your seat and the ground. His smile is dazzling, blinding, drawing them in like the gravity of the sun itself. You can't stand to look, focusing your vision on the black tops of your shiny new shoes.

"Eyes up." Your mother snaps sharply, but her graceful smile never flickers. Only you can see the flicker of acridity hidden behind her eyes.

The bitter grimace that draws tightly across your face tastes as sour as the dry taste in your throat.

You make a point of jogging the next few steps to keep up with Gaz in front of you, feet crunching snow as you rip yourself free of his shadow behind you.

You can feel his eyes locked on your back.

You don't see the flicker of something there, feather-light and uncertain nestling in the frost-laden branches of his heart.

----

You reach the outpost just as the sun kisses the horizon.

It's a mess. There's bullet holes in the wood, blood still caked and frozen into the floorboards. A shattered mug sits on the tiny kitchen unit, coffee staining the frosted counter. The bodies are long since gone, but it feels as they never really left. Ghosts cling to the broken panes and desolate interior. There's a poster next to the shot-out TV with a flaking, gaping hole through the singer's chest. You think it might be Freddie Mercury. You aren't sure.

The team around you is silent, withdrawn. Part of it is the grueling trek up the mountain, the silence that fell over you all with the knowledge you were in enemy territory. Now here, in the gravesite of others, there's a stillness that's more profound, lachrymose. The boots of your comrades thump and creak over the floorboards as they survey the damage, look over the claret blemishes painting an abstract against the walls.

"We're setting up here for the night." Price announces just as your boots toe the corner of the sole couch in the common area. Part of the stuffing has fallen out. Like a toy shredded by a teething puppy. "It's not much, but it'll have to do."

You listen idly, frowning at your feet as they blur in and out of focus. The lights are out, and the dimness of the setting sun has long shadows stretching against the walls. The lamps probably still work, but turning them on is begging for a shower of bullets while you all rest, betraying your position like a midnight beacon.

It hurts to keep your eyes open. They feel itchy, raw, like you've been crying without the tears. You're tired of seeing white, nothing but white, but here in the dimness of the cabin it feels even more difficult to keep track of the things in front of you. Every time you try and focus it summons a sharp throb against your temples, like icepicks lodging themselves in a frozen outcrop. When you wince, it’s where the others can’t see it.

"I'll take first watch." Ghost offers grimly, and you hear the sound of him unshouldering his pack.

"I'll take second." You volunteer readily, looking up and catching the white of his mask.

White, white, sparkling, shimmering, too bright, incandescent like the afterburn of staring into a lightbulb-

"You can hardly see."

You blink, not sure if the haziness in your vision has somehow manifested in your hearing. Yet when the wavering after-effects subside you find yourself staring at the other four members of your team who have all turned to meet your gaze.

The chill from the mountain gives way to a heat itching along your skin, thorny and warm. You can remember running your hands under hot water after being outside in the cold for too long, the sting smarting against your knuckles and palms. Their gazes rake over you, and when you swallow there’s the cold, blank aftertaste of snow in your mouth.

"I-I'm fine." You try, but your voice is rough, cotton mouthed.

None of them move, and in the growing darkness you think you see Price frown.

Your heart drops straight down to your boots.

Gaz is the first to move, shifting on his feet before taking a few steps towards you.

"Let me see." He offers, drawing his kerchief down past his nose. His breath fogs into the air, and when his hands reach for you they seek to take up all the light in the room.

You stay still, grimacing even as he tilts your head up to see your eyes. It takes everything in you to not tear yourself away, to hiss and spit like a feral cat at his hands on you. You don't want him to see, don't want any of them to see. If they can just look away, can avert their eyes and not see you for what you are, trying desperately to keep up with them and failing even so, then you'd be able to bear this much.

"Soap, light." Gaz instructs, and out of the corner of your eyes you see the dimness of Soap's outline lift a flashlight up to illuminate your face. You hiss at the light, scrunching your eyes shut as the back of your eyelids throb.

The stage lights are too bright. You can't see the crowd. When you hover nervously into your mother's side she rests a hand atop your hair. It feels like a tiger claw.

"It's not bad." You try, offering a small surrender in hopes of preventing a total capitulation. Gaz only shakes his head.

"You need to keep your eyes shut, give them a chance to heal." He tells you plainly, releasing his grip on your chin. Soap's flashlight mercifully vanishes, and for a moment you're thrown into complete and utter darkness, mentally grappling for an anchor, for something to hold onto. When you wobble on your feet, Soap's hand is at your elbow. It burns.

"Gaz is right." Price states gruffly from where he stands behind the two men next to you. "I need your eyes sharp for tomorrow. No watch for you tonight."

That itch inside you burns higher, souring the inside of your mouth with a biting aftertaste. You want to argue, want to protest, but you know it's a futile effort. Price is right, you know that. Even so, the scorch under your skin urges you to lash out, to somehow convince your captain that you can still pull your weight, that you aren't a hindrance, that you deserve to be there just as much as the other men around you.

You'll only end up sounding like a petulant, whining child, all for the useless, performative effort of staking your place here.

"I'll take second watch." Soap offers in the terse silence that follows. His voice is low, a mere murmur in the growing darkness. Then, to you: "Rest up, lass. Consider yourself lucky you get a full night's sleep, eh?"

You don't feel lucky. You feel rotten, a spoiled gem compared to the dazzling pieces next to you, shining radiantly even in the shadows.

"Yes sir." You mutter, wishing for all the world the snow would sift down over your form, bury you there in its pristine, glittering frost.

---

The cabin is colder than a coffin when the sun goes down- pitching it into complete, unmitigated darkness.

The sleeping bags are sprawled between the TV and couch, well away from the entrance and partially shielded by the half-wall of the kitchen. There's not much room for four people, but the proximity is a welcome one. The blotted rug offers a small reprieve from the harsh floorboards, but even then the cold manages to seep through the woven fabric, into your sleeping bag.

Beside you, Soap shifts restlessly, twisting, turning, and mumbling. You know he's not truly resting, too pent up and anxious to let the velvet whisper of sleep wash over him. Like you, he must sense the strange spirits in this place, hear their voices over the low, lonely whistle of the wind outside the window. Price and Gaz sleep soundly near it, under the broken pane, unmoving and silent. You wonder if they're actually asleep, or simply feigning it just as you do.

The MRE in your stomach churns uncomfortably, cold before you had managed to finish it. The steam had curled against your fingertips, warmed by the scant few minutes Price had allowed you all to use the tiny stove unit. You had wanted to place your hands against the door, trying to imbue feeling back into your frozen knuckles regardless of the burn it would impose.

You seem to be doing that often, trying to counterbalance only to teeter near the precipice, a dangerous and aleatory asymmetry that you can't control. Desperately trying to take orders as they're given, to anticipate them in the way the others seem to read the minds of the brothers next to them. You're striving, contending, toiling in the way that only you can. Yet every time you try to follow them as the axis shifts you're again feeling the world lurch under you as they march ever onwards.

Too cold and too hot, a feverish flippancy that leaves you reeling in the darkness, shivering under your bedroll.

Soap flinches in his sleep, as if something has brushed over his shoulder. You hear him mumble and twist, then settle once more. It's a clear night outside, hardly any clouds. Moonlight streams through the trees outside, dancing in haphazard shapes through the broken panes of the window. A single ray illuminates the top of your sergeant's shoulder, and you follow the curve of it downwards across the planes of his back hidden under the fabric.

He'd tried to break your sulking earlier, after you had all eaten and had begun to settle in. You were laying out your bedroll when Soap had waggled his eyebrows at you, ever flirtatious and good-natured.

"Going ta be a cold one, lass. Might need to share body heat."

You'd scoffed at him, stomach still twisting from your interaction earlier. No, you'd prefer to lick your wounds in private, under the solitary moonlight.

"In your dreams, Soap."

"Aye, a man can dream alright."

You hadn't dignified him with a response, huffing and burrowing into your sleeping bag.

Now, nearly an hour later, teeth chattering, shivering hard, you wish you had taken him up on the offer. If only you had zipped your two bags together and nestled into him, trying to leech warmth from his body, then you wouldn't be worried your teammates would find another body here in this desolate cabin come morning.

It had to be well below freezing. Even with all your gear on, feet still tucked into your boots, it's not enough. The cold flays against your flesh like a jagged knife, stabbing inside and twisting, separating mind from body as you try to grapple with the shadows in your thoughts.

Fall asleep, give in to the temptation of rest and pray you wake up come dawn. Stay awake, watch the hazy, dappled moonlight dance across the floorboards as you long to sleep. Scoot closer to Soap, surrender and plead with him to share what little heat he has to spare. Keep to yourself, refuse to show any sign of weakness lest they notice, lest they leave you even farther behind.

If you could make it through the night, if you could be rested come morning, could get up and keep up, then maybe they wouldn't look down on you. Maybe then they'd even consider you one of them.

A shifting noise and a sigh, not from Soap this time. No, it's behind you, near the doorway. Ghost perches near the window, hidden in the shadows as he keeps watch. If he's noticed Soap's restless slumber he doesn't given any indication.

You'd seen him settle there, his weapon across his lap, seated in one of the few remaining chairs. He'd easily dwarfed it, legs spread and boots planted on the floor. Your eyes had traced his toes of his boots, skimmed across the snow that had yet to melt from them. When your gaze had darted up to the white of his mask you found his gaze leveled at yours, eyes piercing and intent from behind the darkness of bottomless charcoal. You'd paused, watching them, but the expression there had been blank, indecipherable.

Watching, always watching. Cataloguing your every move, taking note of your mistakes but saying nothing- judging but never speaking, like souls of the dead.

He's been as still as a grave this whole time, sinking deep into the darkness and letting it absorb him like an old ally. There had been minutes you'd forgotten he was even there, his presence shrinking slowly and subtly into nothingness like he himself was a phantom. It's only when he shifts, when you can hear his soft breath curling against his mask that he makes himself known. Ghost scrapes along the periphery of your thoughts like a specter, trailing skeletal fingers along the inside of your skull in a freezing, indelible imprint.

If there's ghosts remaining within the outpost then surely he's among them, not truly dead but never truly alive.

You wonder if he's cold to the touch too- if the iciness of his alleged heart extends like fissures across his flesh.

There's a guilty part of you that wants to find out, hard as it is to admit. In the same way that he presses at your back Ghost slinks within the outskirts of your mind. When he's there he's impossible to ignore. His size, his presence demands attention, respect, deference. With every move of his rippling shoulders he seems to echo in your thoughts endlessly, shifting and groaning like a rumbling mountain during a thaw.

He'd touched you once, one massive hand settling against your elbow during shooting practice. He'd never spoken, had let his palm cup your arm and lift it a fraction of an inch to correct you.

You shivered so hard your aim was off, and in the days that followed your thoughts roiled of him.

More than once you had caught yourself imaging those same gloved hands spread across the meat of your thighs- whispering along the small of your back, smoothing along your ribs and up your chest as they dug in, flipped you over as he pressed the full length of his frame into your back, smothering you into the soft surface of a mattress as he-

You scrunch your eyes shut automatically, trying and failing to ward off the haunting temptation that was your superior. Yet even then the sound of his voice bounces off the inside of your head, tantalizing and forbidden. It's poison, syrupy sweet and spilling like honey over your lips. You can indulge, you can taste, but only once before fate pulls you like a riptide into the river Styx. Forever damned.

Even if you were to yield to that unconscious, taboo seduction- allow yourself to accept those festering, unnamed feelings inside you, it would be for nothing. Ghost wasn't a man who developed affections towards others. Alliances, camaraderie, these were things needed in war. Yet the profound, prohibited thing as attraction, infatuation- no. He was a soldier, destined to be one until the day he died. You knew just as well as he did that there was never guarantees either of you would come home in anything other than a coffin.

It's hard to love a man who's already dead.

Soap shifts suddenly in front of you, recoiling in the darkness at a force you can't see. When he breathes it's to mutter a curse, and abruptly you hear his sleeping bag zip open, feel the floor tremble as he scoots himself free. He doesn't notice you're awake, wide eyed in the darkness as you watch his broad form unfurl from under the confines of his bedroll. When he at last stands above you he blots out the pale light from the windows, towering like a gnarled oak tree over your huddled form.

His boots creak against the wooden floorboards as he skirts around you, around the couch towards the phantom hovering by the doorway. His chattering shudder trails off into a mutter as he speaks to Ghost in a low, lilting accent. You can't hear the words, but you do hear the rough scrape of Ghost's voice, like soot sifting down from the sky after a dying wildfire. You want it to burn you, scorch off the frostbite from your fingers and let the flames light a wavering, flickering spark within you.

The conversation doesn't last long. You hear the sound of the chair scraping the floor as Ghost stands, yields the post to the Scotsman and begins to circle to where you and the other two men lay against the floor. It occurs to you too late to feign sleep, to try and quell the tremble of your frame as he approaches. By the time you realize his feet are less than a step away from the top of your head, and you hear Ghost pause as he traces the outline of your shivering form in the darkness.

"Fix."

The sound is a mere whisper so as to not wake Price and Gaz, only feet away. If you hadn't been listening you wouldn't have heard it, mistaken it for the cadaverous whistle of the wind outside the shot gunned walls. You try to pretend like it's just that- like Ghost hadn't just whispered your callsign in the midnight stillness, a deathly temptation of which there's little return.

Yet Ghost sees you go rigid in your sleeping bag, and when he echoes the nickname again it feels like an icicle breaking and shattering into the frosty ground below.

"Fix." He whispers again, and you can hear the exasperation in his voice when he sighs. "I know you can hear me."

You sigh yourself, giving up the farce of forced sleep and letting your eyes flutter open. They feel raw, too dry. When your vision shifts it summons a dull, insistent throb behind your eyelids- an aftereffect of the snow blindness.

"I'm trying to sleep." You manage, voice hoarse and teeth chattering with the burgeoning stages of hypothermia.

You feel the floor shift- and suddenly Ghost is crouching in front of you, blotting out the moonlight with his hulking, massive form. The suddenness of his shape in front of you is difficult to decipher, and when your vision wavers the throb at your temples sharpens, penetrating.

"Ghost-" You try, but the man before you is silent. You're unable to see what he's doing between the darkness and your own strained eyesight, but you can hear him shifting, hear the slide of cloth against skin before a hand suddenly braces against your forehead.

It's cold.

"You're freezing." He remarks, and you think you imagine the undercurrent of concern in his voice- a strange hallucination from your overexerted senses.

"I-I'm fine." You protest, shifting to try and meet his eyes to prove your point. You only succeed in catching the pale outline of his mask, his eyes boring holes into you and setting a shiver racing along your spine.

Yet that's nothing compared to the abruptness of Ghost's bare fingers digging into the fabric of your sleeping bag, burrowing beneath your hood and pressing on the underside of your jaw.

You swallow.

Your pulse flutters against his fingers like a trapped bird, wings spread and beating the frozen air around you. He's never been this close before. He's hardly ever touched you- much less with his bare hands. The sensation of it threatens to throw you from that precipice where you balance precariously, falling once more into that asymmetry you fail to understand. You can only pray that your rapid, strumming heartbeat doesn't betray you, doesn't let him sense the thoughts you're holding silent within your heart.

Yet the only thing Ghost does is huff at you, displeased at your wracked, trembling body. His touch vanishes from you, and for a moment you think that's the end of it, just another flaw he's secretly filed away to review at his leisure.

What you don't expect, however, is for him to unzip your bag in a single, fluid motion.

You're too surprised to protest, and when you open your mouth it's only to hiss at the sharp, unrelenting freeze that greats you outside the layer. You nearly bite at him for throwing you into the cold, your irritation from earlier still roiling low in your stomach and incensed by this sudden action of his. Yet instead, you still as Ghost's hand wraps itself around your waist, and with a grunt he hauls you closer, closer until he's all but curled around you, tucking you into his front.

You don't move.

You're unsure if you even can, completely taken aback as you are. It feels like your voice has died in your throat, brain working into overdrive as you desperately try to regain reality of the situation. The wind whistles through your mind as it empties into nothingness, entirely uncertain and shaken by the actions of your Lieutenant.

Ghost doesn't speak either, simply wraps himself around your shaking figure inside your bag, tucking his chin at the crown of your head and tangling his legs with yours. His arms secure around your back- feeling for all the world like prison bars, preventing your escape. When he breathes, you feel the air tickle the top of your hood, curl and dissipate into the midnight stillness.

He's stolen the breath from your lungs, sucked it dry and robbed you of your ability to speak. You can only blink in the darkness, feeling your dry eyes chafe and sting as you desperately try and comprehend the enigmatic forces that possessed him to do this.

You shudder, long and hard, feeling the tremor crack outwards like crevasses in a glacier, fissuring like the rifts in your heart. Ghost can feel it, you know he can. Yet the only response your trembling elicits from him is his hand curling into the knob of your spine like a gnarl in an ancient tree. When he breathes you can feel the rise and fall of his chest, like a gentle tide sweeping over your toes at the beach, luring you out to sea.

Yet you still flee back to shore. Your entire form is rigid with uncertainty, a trepidation unmatched by your desire for warmth. The vulnerability of this, of being wrapped in the arms of your dead-eyed superior, the one who silent judges your every move and keeps his secrets close to his heart, is immeasurable. It feels like you've been stripped bare and laid out on the snow, skin engulfed in a cold brand that threatens to send your system into shock.

When you finally summon the strength to try and wriggle away, Ghost's clasp only tightens on you wordlessly, preventing your retreat. He hums a displeased sound, and that should be enough to silence you but it’s not, not when you feel it echo inside your ribs and spark that tender, infant flame there you keep just for him.

"G-Ghost." You try, voice trembling- from apprehension, from the touch of the gelid air around you, you aren't sure. "I-I can keep warm on my own. You don't-"

"Stop that."

You still at his voice. It would be a reprimand, harsh and direct like all his orders, if it weren't for the undertone of something that felt dangerously close to concern.

When you swallow it feels like you're drinking in tepid water, the taste obscured by the ice crystals that dance silently in the moonlight.

"Stop...what?" You ask, and you sound for all the world like the child you've tried not to be, always fumbling, uncertain, and afraid.

Ghost goes quiet for a moment, and it occurs to you he may not have expected a response from you. He doesn't move, and the only indication he's not a corpse is the faint thrum of his heartbeat under your fingertips that hover at his collarbone.

"Trying to do everything yourself." Ghost tells you at last, and the sharp breath you suck in sinks into your lungs like tenterhooks.

Ah. It seems he even sees that mistake.

Your insides twist like the dull grip of a knife against flesh, and you grimace where he can't see it, feeling that acrid, bitter taste run foul across your tongue.

"I-I don't." You try, but it's a paltry defense at best, a useless one that you know he won’t accept.

"You do." He returns plainly, but there's no venom in his voice. It's just a simple observation, one you yourself can't see through your own stubborn snow blindness.

You fall silent, and whatever burgeoning warmth that glows between your two intertwined forms fails to reach your heart.

"I have to try." You whisper at last, and your voice sounds fragile in the darkness around you, wrapping across your form and keeping you secured within his embrace. The confession feels mephitic across your lips, souring within your chest along with all the doubts you hold there.

Ghost doesn't respond. You're not sure if he's starting to fall asleep or if he's waiting for you to speak.

Balances and counterbalances. Weighing the truth against your tongue, wanting to confess your sins and your guilts to a darkened window that watches your trembling form.

"I'm not...strong like you." You whisper, and the words are barely audible, shaken free of your chest but sifting downwards like powder from a frosted fir tree. "Not like the rest of you. Not yet."

Glaciers crack and shift inside your chest, groaning with ancient memories as they dislodge themselves to an unknown future. You're lost among them, body frozen and heartbeat too fast, vision obscured by snow.

"I...don't want to be left behind."

And there's the truth of it all. The fear, the loneliness of failure, of not being enough for these men, of not being able to prove yourself capable to stand beside them. They hike higher into the hills, their backs blurred by your own failing sight until they at last vanish into a cloud of white. You're all that's left, figure rooted to the frost beneath your feet, waiting for the fatal ice to creep up your veins and into your heart.

"I expected better of you." An old opponent whispers into your ears, breath ghosting across your spine. "I guess I should have never expected at all."

The truth stings sharper than any wound, leaking past your flesh and bleeding red into the snow like the men who once lived here. You can taste their lingering sorrow in the splintered air, can feel their regrets echo in your own ribcage like the affliction that haunts you still. The tightness there feels like you're buried under permafrost, starved of oxygen.

You think the words have echoed out into emptiness, that Ghost is immune to them, having already surrendered to sleep. Yet when he shifts, you feel warmth spill from him like a cup overfilled. It feels like hot water over your chilled, cracked lips, settling low in your stomach with an uncomfortable weight.

"No one fights alone."

It's hardly a whisper, his voice, yet it sounds like the final piece of the mountain giving way, snow, rock, and debris cascading over your rampant thoughts and drowning out any other noise. Catastrophic, cataclysmic, inexorable.

You curl into him. You can't help it. The pressure of it all forces you to bury yourself in him in a vain attempt to escape.

"You see my mistakes." You hoarse, throat raw, tight with an emotion you dare not name.

Ghost is silent like the grave, and that fact alone threatens to send you spiraling off that axis, into a desperate imbalance you'll never be able to rectify no matter how hard you try, how you strive to stand beside these men.

"I see you." He mutters, voice strangely fragile, almost hurt. "Just you."

You freeze.

And once again, the axis shifts.

Yet this time, you're not alone. Ghost keeps a hand at your elbow, helping you correct, maintaining your balance.

You exhale hard, letting go of a breath you didn't realize you were holding. The warmth of it curls into your cheeks as it reflects off Ghost's tac vest, the one your nose is all but pressed against. It absolves you of guilt, of the sins you're so afraid of, the ones that whisper in your shadows. When it dissipates, it's alongside the ghosts of the outpost that sigh, evaporate into nothingness.

Not an avalanche then, but a slow and steady snowfall from above, blanketing your senses in a gentle, downy realization.

He isn't the man you thought he was.

Ghost's gaze doesn't judge you, doesn't mark your faltering steps with sinister intent. He doesn't see you as they did, a blemish in contrast to a grand tapestry of triumph. His stare doesn't pass a verdict. He simply observes, takes you as you are, stands in your shadow ready to catch you if you stumble on the path marked by these men.

He sees you. Just you. As you are, no more, no less.

And you, you had been so blinded by the pristine, unblemished surface that you didn't even notice the beauty that lurked within the darkness.

That hope you had kept hidden under the ice of your heart, the one that had wanted to reach out for the man before you, seems to bloom like hellebores. Soft and somehow sturdy, you accept the things that are, and somehow find him waiting for you in the middle.

Him, unyielding, immobile, a steadfast mast when the inertia sweeps you out to sea. He's darkness against the light, a relief from the radiance of it all. His mask is snow sheer, but his gaze is dark like coals. Tinted black, like the bottomless pits of Tartarus, where dwells the spirits of which he fashions his name.

Ghost.

It should be the haunting wraith of the afterlife, tormented and distraught at all that has come to pass. Yet the man before you sinks into nothing but the present, grounding himself in ways you can only fathom. You want to lean against him, let him help you find the bedrock hidden under the snow, let him whisper your name in the way your heart so desperately craves. Not 'Fix'. Not your callsign, but your name. Yours.

You want him to see you, just you, and in turn smudge the charcoal from his own tinted eyes so you can see the iridescence underneath. Even if he doesn't feel the same, you crave the simple grace of knowing him, letting him yield a fraction of his heart to yours.

"Fix." Ghost mutters, and you wind the name around you like another layer, let it blanket you in warmth even if it's not meant to be.

"Sleep." He mumbles, and his own voice is tinged with fatigue. You nod against him, feeling his hand shift along your back as he settles with your frigid form in his arms.

He's not cold at all.

You know there will come time for you to understand your feelings towards him later, when you have both climbed down this mountain and into the lush valley below. Fragile though they are, you feel them thaw inside your chest, coalescing with the heat that he wraps around you. The emotions you harbor for this man, illicit they may be, spring forward in the twilight between light and darkness.

Ghost sighs, and the mere motion of it makes your heartbeat stutter in response, muscles falling limp and pliant within his embrace. It's nice, this. The steady frame of him feels like a wall shielding you from the wind, his chin braced atop your hood and his gloved hands pressed gently against your nape and the small of your back. He's large enough to dwarf you, this behemoth of a man. You should be scared of him, terrified of his strength and brutality. Yet all you feel is an undeniable sense of safety, here within his hold.

A wraith, perhaps. One that seeks your enemies, heralds their deaths with his own hands.

"You're warm." You whisper into his chest, arms bunched between you, his massive bicep your pillow.

"You're no longer shivering." He notes, and if you listen there's the trace of a smile there.

"…No." You agree, feeling the shudder in your limbs abate and warmth again instill itself against your flesh. "I'm not."

Yet he doesn't pull away, doesn't abandon you to frost, and you don't retreat, at last surrendering to his aid.

When you close your eyes, they no longer burn with the aftereffects of toxic brightness, and you realize that the darkness may be your salvation after all.

The night grows long against you both.

-----

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#simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod #reader insert #my fic #my stuff #Series: of shadow and bone #tagging everyone who might be interested just to get a taglist going but if you don't want to be there please let me know ;w; #Absolutely no pressure #That being said I'm pretty proud of how this turned out #I really tried to push my limits with this one #I also like how the header turned out too #hopefully this gets notes ;w;

[midnightsapphire]

What Once Was (Chapter Three)

Pairing : Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader

Warnings : Targ!cest, future nsfw, mentions of violence & death, slow burn, reader insert but slight oc! Descriptions, Aegon being Aegon

A/N - Here is where things start brewing! Enjoy soft young aemond x reader while they last because the next chapter is where everything goes down!

+18 ONLY, Mild NSFW ahead, MINORS DNI

Feedback is appreciated! Much love!

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I'll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

“I swear on my heart. You shall have your dragon and I shall have my sworn protector.” 

(Y/N)’s words rang through Aemond’s head like a montage, his hands shaking in anticipation as he neared the mouth of the dragonpit. His eyes squinted to adjust to the sudden darkness that enveloped him the deeper he went into the cavern where the many beasts were held. The stench of the beast and flames never deterred the boy as he constantly peeked over his shoulder to see if the dragon keepers tailed him. 

A distant roar caught Aemond’s attention as he neared a large opening, hands sweating from either nervousness or anticipation, he no longer knew. The familiar rumble shook the ground he stood on as a light flickered in the darkness. The dragon opened its mouth with a ferocious roar, causing the young prince to stumble on his own feet once he recovered from his initial shock as he tripped and crawled out of the pit. 

The blonde internally cursed himself for his cowardice, angrily kicking at the dirt under him as he saw the blinding light of the entrance grow larger and larger. 

How did he expect to win her hand if he couldn’t even win himself a dragon?

—

(Y/N) felt the goosebumps on her arms raise as Helaena graciously set the case of bugs on her lap, toying with a centipede in her own hands as she inspected the creature with curiosity. Queen Alicent had joined them, a distant look of boredom on her face as she looked at her only daughter and grandchild (which she said with.. Light discretion.), mumbling question after question to the young Helaena simply to keep the conversation going. 

“This one has 60 rings and two pairs of legs on each.”

“That’s.. 240?” (Y/N) hummed, looking through the many glass cases as she tried to keep the grimace on her face out of sight for Helaena’s sake. It wasn’t so often that people other than the handmaids or her mother herself were around the young girl and her oddities. It was, although somewhat, a relief to Alicent that someone genuinely wanted to be in the present of her child. 

“It has eyes though I don’t believe it can see.” 

“And why is that so, do you think?” Alicent asked as she heaved out a sigh, leaning one hand onto the floor they were sat upon as the other held her chin up. 

“It seems to be beyond our understanding.” (Y/N) joined in as Helaena glanced at her before breaking into a soft smile. 

“I suppose you’re right, as.. Some things just are.” Alicent mumbled, putting a hand on Helaena’s shoulder as the smile was quickly wiped off her face, her muscles tensing under her mother’s touch that made (Y/N)’s heart clench. 

She knew of the distance between the queen and her children, not knowing how such a rift could be caused in her younger age. But as (Y/N) grew all the wiser, she began to understand the predicaments the queen held. With marrying at such a young age to a man she didn’t particularly love, handling duties far too great for someone at 10 and 5. It seemed all too much for a person of her caliber, listening to the ghost’s whispers in her ear in the form of her father.

Parts of (Y/N) thanked the gods that her own mother hadn’t been that way. Although still particularly riddled with faults, her own mother was never one to push such responsibility on her shoulders. 

Her thoughts were broken at the sound of the large doors opening, both (Y/N) and Alicent’s heads turning at the king’s guard tugging in a dirtied and disheveled Aemond into their chambers. “Your Grace.” He spoke softly, ushering the blonde in as he fought the knight’s grip with a grunt. 

“Aemond.” Alicent said with worry as she held her son close to her, cupping his face in her hands as he fought even her grasp, his cheeks twinging a soft pink in comparison to his pale skin at the sight of (Y/N) anxiously watching the mother and son, the case of Helaena’s collection gently set aside as her eyes turned over to him. 

“He did it again.” The knight confessed as (Y/N) sighed, guilt ridding her knowing she had left him alone for her duties with Helaena. It was no longer a wonder to her why he had chosen to stay behind, claiming he would do nothing but linger around before he had to attend his mandatory training with Ser Cole and the rest of the boys. 

“They made me do it!”

“As if you needed encouragement. Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding” Alicent scolded, holding him at arm’s length as her eyebrows furrowed in frustration, knowing it hadn’t- nor did she expect it to be the last time- he had snuck off to the pits in search to claim his own dragon. She had sworn the last time her heart had almost burst out of her chest when the knights informed her it had nearly burned most of his hair off. 

“They gave me a pig!” Aemond said desperately as (Y/N) stood up, fingers twiddling together as she stood behind his mother. 

“A what?”

“They.. They said they had a dragon for him. But it was a pig. Faux wings, tail and all.. Your Grace.” (Y/N) said with a sigh, bowing her head as she interjected herself into the conversation. Aemond avoided her gaze as soon as he felt the burn at the base of his throat, the stinging of his eyes knowing the reddening of his eyes gave away his anguish. 

“You will have a dragon one day.” His mother reassured, caressing her thumbs against his cheekbones.

“He will have to close an eye.”

—

(Y/N) flinched as she listened to Alicent’s ranting to her grandfather through the crack in the door, heaving out the breath she had been holding as Alicent brazenly spoke of what everyone in the court had whispered behind her back, behind her entire family’s back. 

“To have one child like that is a mistake, to have three is an insult, to the throne, to you, to House Velaryon and the match you battled so hard to make for her. Not to mention decency itself and her recluse of a daughter, Viserys! Aemond has.. Aemond has grown with this obsession for both the dragon and her hand. It has gone entirely too far and I refuse to have a child of mine engage with any of her.. plain-looking children.”

(Y/N) glared at her shoes, sucking on her teeth as her hands clenched at her sides with every word Alicent hissed to her grandsire, who’s words tried to comfort his frantic wife. It was almost impossible to think that her and her mother had once been joined at the hip.

But even she knew that was far too long ago. 

Hearing enough, she had ripped herself away from the door, marching over to Aegon’s room as she glanced around the corner of the hall directly leading over to his chambers. Narrowing her eyes, she grabbed a small rock she had found when roaming around the keep and tossed it in the other direction, quickly gaining the attention of the knights as they straightened and followed the sound. 

“Idiots in armor, the lot of them.” She whispered in disbelief as she snuck her way into the older prince’s chambers. A large grimace instantly made its way onto her face as she passed by the empty cups of ale, the stench of sweat and alcohol burning at her nose the deeper she went into his chambers. She could have sworn she heard a breathy whisper of her name as she neared the foot of Aegon’s bed, his back facing her as he stood stark naked in his windowsill, hand furiously rubbing at himself as he released breathy gasps. His eyebrows furrowed as his grip on the stone windowsill tightened, unbeknownst to the audience he had behind him. 

“Who’s idea was it? The pig.” (Y/N) hissed, surprising the older boy as he stumbled backwards, bunching the blankets around himself hurriedly before pausing once his violet eyes met hers. A smug smile grew on his face despite his confusion as he sat up, his eyes trailing down his niece’s body as she stood her ground, not daring to touch anything in his room. 

“This again? And to think you’ve finally come to accept my proposal, dear niece.” Aegon snickered, leaning back into his pillows as (Y/N) dared to take a step forward, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she glared down at her uncle. “Was it your plot?” She hissed through clenched teeth as Aegon rolled his eyes, brushing his messy locks out of his face as he looked through his many cups in search for more ale. 

“It was Jace and.. the other one  It-It was the two of them.” He grunted, tossing the cups aside with a clatter as he shifted his position in his bed. “I don’t see the need for such concern. My brother is a twat without a dragon.”

“He is your family!”

“It was funny!”

“Do you think my brothers would be your playthings forever?” (Y/N) mumbled as she sat her knees down onto Aegon’s bed. Her actions caused the older blonde to look up at her with a raised eyebrow, his body straightening as he instinctively leaned towards her. 

“Soon, my mother will ascend the Iron Throne and I after her while my brothers inherit all of Driftmark. All while your mother challenges the throne in order for you to take it.” She mumbled, noting how his gaze broke away from hers, trailing down from her lips and down to her chest, knowing she had his full attention. 

“Then I won’t challenge-” He mumbled in a daze as (Y/N) crawled closer to him, his body moving on its own as he laid down once she had straddled his hips, one leg on either side as his eyes widened further. 

“You yourself are a challenge, Aegon. Simply by living and breathing.” (Y/N) whispered as her hand laid on his chest, the other cupping his cheeks in between her thumb and index finger in order for their eyes to meet. Fighting her disgust as Aegon’s eyes fluttered under her gaze, her hands trailed down under her skirts, gripping the hilt of the blade her- Ser Harwin had graciously gifted her on her 10th name day.

“What everyone in the realm believes is that you were to be in succession simply for being the King’s firstborn son.” She whispered as she slid the blade out of its casing, pressing the tip of the blade harshly against Aegon’s hardness as her eyes darkened. A wave of fear passed through Aegon’s violet eyes as he kept himself from thrashing at the small sting in between his legs as his body tensed. 

“Are you mad?!”

“Furious, actually.” (Y/N) scoffed, glare hardening at Aegon as her grip on his face tightened, his mouth forming into a pout as she squeezed his cheeks. “Who knows if the realm will continue to cheer your succession when they find your cock nailed to the steps of the Iron Throne. Would they still consider you the first born son then? I’m more than sure the whores of the Street of Silk would graciously confirm it to be yours shall you deny it.” (Y/N) said through gritted teeth as Aegon paled at her words. 

“Do any harm towards Aemond- Seven Hells if you so much as make a jest towards him again. I’ll gladly see to it this incident will be more a promise than a threat.” She whispered, flashing him an innocent smile as she crawled off his lap, leaving her uncle gasping for air as he put his hands over his lap, sheepishly nodding his head when she had raised an eyebrow in understanding. 

“Now.. get dressed. You look.. disgusting.”

"Why must you both defend each other so much?" Aegon huffed as (Y/N) swore she saw a glimpse of.. sadness? Longing in his eyes? It almost made her remorseful.

Almost.

But it was easily cast aside as she remembered all the snide comments, the torment towards her and her family, towards Aemond.

"You could never understand. While your heart grows cold with resentment, mine burns solely for him."

---- 

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#aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fic #house of the dragon imagines #house of the dragon imagine #hotd imagines #hotd imagine #aemond oneshot #hotdfanfic #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic #aemond fic #fic recs #foryoupage #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #hotd angst #house of the dragon #house of the dragon angst #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond x y/n

[theregencywriter]

(9) A Gentleman's Pursuit - Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

My Dearest Readers,

It appears that a long-awaited reconciliation is underway within the esteemed Bridgerton household. The tempestuous relationship between the eldest Bridgerton brother, Anthony, and his spirited sibling, Benedict, has been a topic of much speculation and gossip. However, I am delighted to report that the icy rift between these two gentlemen seems to be thawing, just in time for the grand ball taking place in their very own residence tonight.

Whispers in the social circles suggest that Anthony and Benedict have engaged in heartfelt conversations, seeking common ground and understanding. Their disagreements have given way to a newfound appreciation for each other's perspectives, and it seems that the bonds of brotherhood are being fortified once more. Such a reunion is a cause for celebration, as unity within the Bridgerton family has always been a matter of great importance to their beloved matriarch, Lady Violet.

As preparations for the ball reach a crescendo, one cannot help but anticipate the atmosphere of harmony and joy that will grace the event. The Bridgerton brothers, once divided, are now united in their shared purpose of hosting an exquisite evening of revelry and enchantment. It is a testament to the power of forgiveness and the strength of familial bonds.

Of course, dear readers, I shall keep a watchful eye on the developments of this captivating saga. Will the renewed harmony between Anthony and Benedict extend beyond the confines of the ballroom? Only time will reveal the depths of their reconciliation and whether it will withstand the tests of the outside world.

As the night unfolds, let us revel in the delights of the Bridgerton ball and witness the triumph of familial love and understanding. May this be an evening of joy, laughter, and newfound unity.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

--

Eloise and Y/N stood before the full-length mirror in Eloise's room, both clad in exquisite dresses, preparing for the much-anticipated ball. Eloise sighed and turned to Y/N, her expression filled with apprehension. "I can't help but feel a pang of resentment towards this whole courting business. It's as if society expects us to follow a script, to be pursued by suitors without considering our own desires."

Y/N nodded sympathetically, her eyes reflecting understanding. "I know how you feel, Eloise. It can be suffocating to have one's choices dictated by tradition and expectations. But perhaps we can find a way to navigate this season on our own terms."

Eloise smiled appreciatively, knowing that Y/N was a kindred spirit in their shared desire for independence. "You, my dear Y/N, seem to have caught the eye of many suitors. I can't help but wonder if there's a particular brother of the Bridgerton clan who has captured your heart."

Y/N blushed, trying to suppress a smile. "Oh, Eloise, you and your matchmaking schemes! But no, I assure you, my heart remains undecided. It's true that I have spent time with Benedict and have come to appreciate his company, but as for deeper feelings, I am still uncertain."

Eloise's eyes sparkled mischievously. "Uncertain, you say? Well, we shall see how the evening unfolds at the ball. Perhaps with Anthony temporarily out of the picture, Benedict will step up and seize the opportunity."

Y/N laughed, a mixture of amusement and disbelief in her voice. "Oh, Eloise, you do have an imagination! But let us not get ahead of ourselves. Tonight is about enjoying the festivities, dancing, and cherishing the freedom."

They shared a knowing glance. Together, they vowed to approach the ball with a sense of adventure and self-determination, ready to challenge the rigid expectations of society. As they made their way downstairs, anticipation in the air, Y/N couldn't help but wonder what the evening held in store. Would Benedict finally reveal his true intentions? Or would she find herself drawn to someone unexpected? Only time would tell, and for now, she was content to embrace the uncertainty and revel in the excitement of the approaching ball.

---

Y/N made her way downstairs, and as she reached the bottom, she noticed Violet Bridgerton overseeing the final preparations for the ball. Y/N approached her with a warm smile. "Ms. bridgerton, is there anything I can do to assist you?" Y/N offered, her voice filled with genuine eagerness.

Violet turned to face her, a hint of relief and gratitude in her eyes. "Oh, my dear Y/N, your timing is impeccable. I could use an extra pair of hands to arrange the flowers. Thank you for offering your help."Y/N nodded, her fingers delicately arranging blooms of vibrant colours. As they worked together, a comfortable silence enveloped them, a shared understanding between two women connected by the bonds of family.

Violet paused for a moment, studying Y/N with a gentle expression. "Y/N, I want you to know how much we value your presence in our lives. You have brought light and joy into our home. We would be proud to have you as part of our family."

Touched by Violet's words, Y/N felt a warmth spreading through her. She knew the Bridgertons had welcomed her with open arms, but to hear such heartfelt sentiments made her heart swell with gratitude.

"Violet, your kindness means the world to me," Y/N replied, her voice filled with sincerity. "The love and acceptance I have found within this family is something I treasure deeply. I am truly grateful." Violet smiled, her eyes sparkling with maternal affection. "You are deserving of every bit of love and happiness, my dear. Tonight, as we gather for the ball, remember that you have our unwavering support. Your choices and desires matter to us."

Y/N's heart swelled with a renewed sense of belonging. She had found a second family in the Bridgertons, a family that embraced her with open hearts and celebrated her individuality. As the final touches were made, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation for the evening ahead. With Violet by her side, Y/N knew she had found not only a guide and confidante but also a woman who believed in her and her journey towards independence.

As Y/N stood beside Violet, absorbed in their heartfelt conversation, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the foyer. Before she could comprehend what was happening, Eloise burst through the door, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of excitement and exasperation. "Y/N, come with me this instant!" Eloise exclaimed, her voice filled with urgency.

Surprised by Eloise's sudden appearance, Y/N allowed herself to be pulled along, her hand firmly clasped in Eloise's grip. Together, they ascended the staircase, their steps echoing in the quiet corridors. As they reached Eloise's room, Y/N noticed the array of dresses, accessories, and makeup scattered across the room. It was clear that Eloise needed help in preparing for the ball, and Y/N couldn't help but feel a mix of amusement and curiosity.

"Eloise, what's the rush?" Y/N asked, her voice laced with laughter. "Do you require assistance with your ensemble?"

Eloise huffed, her frustration apparent. "Yes, indeed! I cannot seem to decide on the perfect gown, and my hair refuses to cooperate. I need your keen eye and expert opinion, Y/N." Y/N couldn't help but smile at Eloise's dramatic flair. She knew that beneath her friends exasperation, there lay a genuine desire for everything to be perfect. Y/N stepped forward, ready to assist in any way she could.

"Alright, Eloise, let's tackle this together," Y/N said, her voice filled with determination. "We'll find the perfect dress and create a hairstyle that will leave everyone in awe. You'll be the belle of the ball." Eloise's eyes softened, a flicker of gratitude shining through. "Thank you, Y/N. I don't know what I would do without you. Sometimes, it feels overwhelming, being the centre of attention. But with you by my side, I feel more confident."

Y/N's heart swelled with warmth. She understood Eloise's struggle, the weight of societal expectations and the desire for autonomy. Together, they would navigate the challenges of the ball and support each other every step of the way. As they spent the next hours preparing, laughter and banter filled the room, dissipating any remaining tension. Y/N delighted in helping Eloise select the perfect gown, carefully arranging her hair in an elegant style that showcased her sister's natural beauty.

When the transformation was complete, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and joy. Eloise looked radiant, her confidence shining through. They linked arms, ready to descend the stairs and face the night that awaited them.

As they stepped into the ballroom, the sound of music and laughter filled the air. Y/N could not help but feel grateful for the bond she shared with Eloise, a friendship that transcended societal expectations and provided unwavering support. Hand in hand, they walked into the festivities, ready to create unforgettable memories and face whatever challenges lay ahead. United in their pursuit of individuality and independence, Y/N and Eloise stood side by side, ready to conquer the ball.

#bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #fanfic #fanfiction #bridgerton netflix #bridgerton fanfiction #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #slow burn #historical romance #angst #romance #lady whistledown #fanfic writing #benedict #bridgerton family #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #a bridgerton story #anthony bridgerton #brimsley #queen charlotte spoilers #edwina sharma #agatha danbury #bridgerton spoilers #queen charlotte #queen charlotte netflix #farmer george #violet bridgerton

[theminecraftbee]

Grian paces in front of the Entity. “Okay, but it definitely kept me alive,” he says. “Right? I had feather falling boots but that was too much of a coincidence all at once, it definitely kept me alive.” There’s a track in the dirt. “If it kept me alive, then—well of course I don’t know why, it’s—we’re both concerned here! I’m not an idiot—"

“…Grian?” asks Mumbo. Grian snaps to attention and turns to look at Mumbo. “You good there buddy?”

“Yep! Everything’s peachy over here!” He leans over against the Entity, trying to put on a charming, disarming grin. He misjudges and ends up flapping around like a bird someone had pushed off of a tree for a moment instead before scrambling back to his unconcerned position.

“Okay,” Mumbo says slowly, “because it sounds awfully like you were talking to your rock.”

“What? Psshaw. No. Perish the thought! To a rock. Really.” It wasn’t that subtle. No, shut up, it was about as subtle as he’s ever been. It’s not that subtle though. Not that the Entity can talk. Well, it’s had much less time to practice being subtle about things well it can suck Grian’s—

“Are you absolutely certain you’re okay?” Mumbo asks. “If you aren’t, I can always, er. Well I’m not entirely certain, but Scar still has a standing offer about vex magic that—”

“Absolutely not!” Grian yelps at the same time as the Entity yells about absolutely not allowing that in his head.

“Okay, okay, geez. You just seem a bit off, is all. Did something happen?”

And the thing is—did something? It had definitely saved Grian’s life. Maybe it liked Grian! But it wasn’t supposed to do that. Not that Grian would know, the Entity just keeps dropping these things—well it’s not like the Entity realized Grian wouldn’t understand—look, if the Rift is broken that’s a problem because Grian’s already started pulling out more limbs of the Entity and if they have a conflict on their hands that’s Bad. But just because the Entity doesn’t think it’s supposed to happen doesn’t mean that it’s bad, right? Grian’s meddled with plenty of things beyond the mortal ken without a pushy rock! Even if he hasn’t meddled with this—

“Grian? Hello? That’s it, I’m going to get either Xisuma or Scar, whoever I run into first.”

“No! There’s nothing wrong at my megabase that’s concerning me and also any beings I may or may not have invited into my head and we should absolutely stay neighbors because there’s no danger to you at all!” Grian blurts out.

Everyone—including the Entity—is silent for several long, agonizing seconds.

“That’s… specific,” Mumbo says diplomatically.

Grian turns to the Entity, giving up. “This is entirely your fault,” he complains. “Now we’re going to have an elf poking around at us.”

A pause.

“Unless.”

He turns to Mumbo. He smiles. Mumbo steps back. “Uh, Grian. Not liking the expression there, I have to say. Maybe—maybe we will just forget this, how about? And I have another lump I can move to, really, this will all work out—”

The Entity whispers something in Grian’s ear. Grian listens.

If he can’t solve one problem, he can at least knock out another one. He’s not sure why he hadn’t thought of this sooner. Honestly, Mumbo won’t mind, will he? They’re friends! And, anyway, Mumbo won’t really remember until it’s done.

“I think it will all work out,” Grian says, and he opens his wings and steps towards Mumbo once more, cornering him against the side of his nearby base. “Don’t worry. I’m really excited to be neighbors!”

(Somewhere, Grian tries to reach to decide who’s thinking that, between him and the Entity. He gives up. It doesn’t matter, though. He has far too many other things going on to pay attention, right now.)

#a bee fic #hermitcraft #grian #mumbo jumbo #cosmic horror #kind. kind of? #mind manipulation #i would like the entity and grian to be partners in crime whose thoughts are sort of awkwardly mashed together currently #the problem is of course that neither of them have planned particularly well for their current situation #…and that enough extra dimensional magic is very good at making you forget the right decision. #anyway this started as a stupid joke and then VEERED in the ending #don’t invite space rocks or extra dimensional rifts to hitch a ride with you kids. #unreality #NOT REALLY it’s more of. what of Grian’s thoughts here are his and what are not #tell me if there’s a better tag for that I’ll tag it #i wrote this at 2:30 am so sorry if it’s incoherent anywhere #possession

[fancyrat4]

This is part 2.

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They were arguing again. It's a normal occurrence for the five siblings to argue, as they had been for thousands of years. And, this time, it's getting out of control. Ideology differences had always caused a rift between them. Leahy, Hemet, Kallamar, and Shamura may no longer be gods, but they had been granted a kingdom in their old realms as long as they swore to spread The Lamb's new faith.

Lamani is the emperor of Flockhaven, and also owned their very own fifth kingdom on the same grounds where they started their cult. Narinder was not a Monarch like his siblings, but the lead disciple, and Lamani's most trusted advisor. One of his duties was to settle disputes between his siblings, and if he couldn't succeed, Lambani would step in.

To say that Narinder was burdened would be an understatement. He hasn't seen a single glimpse of The Lamb since their… accidental love confession.

He couldn't stop his sibling's aggression and had backed away. Shamura was against fighting, ironic for once being the bishop of war, but their wise words had no effect to sway their family away from fighting.

It's time for Lamani to cease this madness before tensions rise, just like they had always done before.

But they are nowhere to be seen.

Narinder feverishly roamed the palace grounds for hours on end every single day for the past month, while pondering what Lamani had said to him that fateful night.

"I… Love you-"

That was what they had whispered in their silky, hushed voice. He felt sick, nauseated, even. The walls around his heart may have fallen, but it was still bound in chains, constricting tighter with each beat, threatening to cease his pulse. Each time his mind crosses the thought of reciprocation, violent flashbacks of his siblings imprisoning him haunt his conscience. But worst of all, Lamani's betrayal sent him over the edge, challenging him and usurping his crown.

He couldn't love them. He won't.

Fear held him in a chokehold, afraid to love with the lingering paranoia of getting betrayed yet again. He won't get hurt if he ignored his longing, no matter how much it ached. There was no time for that nonsense, anyways. His priority was to find Lamani. War was creeping in the minds of all the citizens.

Where could they be? Narinder's mind raced with impulsive thoughts, each one amplifying his anxiety even further. You're not a fool, not anymore. Think. Where did they hide when they were stressed? With trembling breaths and aching lungs, he combed through their throne room, private quarters, the confessions booths, and every shadowy corner of the churches he visited. But as the days passed by, his desperation only grew. Not even the darkest recesses of the cathedral yielded any sign of them. The shadows didn't take on a familiar shape anymore.

In the depths of his memory, there lingered one last location Lamani would be. The ruins lay far beyond the borders of the empire, forgotten about for nearly a thousand years. But to reach them, Narinder would first have to navigate through one of the four territories controlled by his siblings.

He thought approaching Shamura in Silk Cradle might be the best way to go, but Shamura's paranoia has caused them to set up a brutal defense, barricading each and every entrance to their kingdom with traps and guards. If war should break out, they plan to defend their people with everything they have. They knew of war and what it could bring.

Kallamar, Heket, and Leshy were the main primary instigators, their voices clashed in a deadly debate over rather mysterious motives. Narinder sensed a deeper conflict at play, one fueled not by mere material desires, but by ideologies. What hidden beliefs were driving their discord? He could only guess, since he was unable to fully realize the conflict before giving up.

With every step closer to Pilgrim's Passage, the salty scent of the ocean filled his nostrils as the wind brushed his whiskers. The shoreline was quite beautiful underneath the storm clouds.

He could see them. Two figures in the dim, mid-day light at the very edge of the pier. Three-and-a-half eyes met his own as he approached.

"My lord, is that you?"

"We heard The Lamb had gone missing! Are you okay?"

"I require a boat. It's imperative that I go beyond and around the empire's territory to reach my destination. Fortunately, you two arrived, just like you do at the beginning of every season. I've been waiting a full month for this." Narinder brushed aside their questions and concerns. He needed to focus.

Aym and Baal exchanged tense glances, a silent agreement passing between them as they moved aside, allowing Narinder to pass. The sunlight behind the clouds shone an eerie glow over the modest sailboat, its silhouette promising both salvation and danger.

At the edge of the pier, Narinder hesitated as his heart began pounding with uncertainty. Each moment he lingered intensified the burning sensation in his chest, a relentless reminder of his constant inner turmoil.

Unable to bear the agony any longer, Narinder whirled around, his actions guided by instinct rather than reason. His body moved on its one as he enveloped Aym and Baal in a tight, unexpected embrace. Though baffled by the inexplicable sensation, he welcomed the temporary relief as the flames within him momentarily died.

Aym and Baal initially recoiled in surprise as Narinder sweeped them into his arms, their bodies tensed with confusion. They exchange bewildered looks, uncertainty flickering on their muzzles as they struggle to comprehend the sudden intimacy.

"Whoa, my lord, what's going on?" Aym stammers, attempting to break free from the unexpected embrace.

"Yeah, this isn't like you!" Baal adds, his voice laced with unease.

But as Narinder held them tighter, his desperation palpable in the air, Aym and Baal's resistance gradually softened, as if sensing the depth of his turmoil, they relent, returning the embrace with hesitant but genuine warmth. Slowly, the initial surprise gives way to acceptance as they stand together, united for the first time in centuries.

And there he was, disembarking to one of the last remaining strongholds of the old faith: Mystland. As the tide carried the vessel away, he could see the two black cats waving vigorously and chasing him along the shoreline, only stopping once the trees blocked their view.

His spirit felt a tad lighter now, like four little feet stomped out the fire in his chest and pulled back the chains surrounding his heart.

His hand rested just below his collarbone as thunder rolled overhead.

#cotl #cult of the lamb #cotl lamb #cotl narinder #narilamb #cotl aym #cotl baal #fanfiction #fanfic

[lemonhemlock]

Why Jace/Helaena isn't the foolproof solution it seems

My brothers in green, allow me to put forth my defense of Alicent’s rejection of this infamous marriage proposal, lauded as a possible solution to the Dance. Bear with me since this may get a little long. 

Context

Rhaenyra proposes this to Alicent in episode 6 ("The Princess and the Queen") as a means of closing the chasm between their families.

Additionally, Rhaenyra offers that if Syrax brings forth a clutch of eggs, the dragon-less Aemond will have his pick of them. Viserys calls this a very handsome gift.

Alicent tries to extricate herself from the situation, so as to not refuse Rhaenyra outright. She tells her she will consider her offer and, luckily for her, is provided with the perfect exit opportunity - Rhaenyra's clothes have stained with breastmilk.

Now, marriage proposals are an issue to be considered carefully, not a decision you make on the spot or overnight, so Alicent is right to exercise her right to "think about it", however, I will grant that the scene immediately after shows that she has absolutely no intention of accepting, at least not in that very moment. Could she have changed her mind after sleeping on it? Let's see.

Rhaenyra has just given birth to her third child, who looks nothing like her husband Laenor and everything like her paramour Harwin Strong. Courtiers have started whispering more loudly than ever and Rhaenyra feels threatened by this.

What does Team Black gain from this?

Jace benefits from Helaena's legitimacy and quells at least some rumours about his bastard status. If The Queen herself is willing to betroth her only daughter to him, it must mean that he is legitimate, right?

A dragon's egg is no great loss for Rhaenyra, she has a female dragon actively laying eggs. There will be others if she has any need. This move costs her next-to-nothing.

I will give Rhaenyra the benefit of the doubt here and accept that she was genuinely trying to mend the rift between her and Alicent's side of the family. However, I will suggest that, up to this point, she has already dug herself in such a hole, that right now all she can do is damage control.

So let's see why Alicent might refuse her, apart from petty reasons.

Jace's legitimacy

The main issue here is that, unfortunately, Jace is so obviously not Laenor's son that everyone with eyes knows him to be a bastard. Rhaenyra has tried to transform the court in this theatre of the absurd, where no one is allowed to state the obvious, but this is not something that can carry on indefinitely. I am aware that people in Westeros don't know about genetics, but they are not that unaware. It's not just that Jace doesn't look anything like his white-haired parents, it's that he looks 100% like Harwin Strong's child, who is standing next to him and Rhaenyra. There are cases in which the family resemblances is so strong (heh) that little can be done in trying to deny it. No wonder Alicent feels like she's going mad.

With all of the good intentions of Rhaenyra, Laenor and Viserys, who play along in this ruse and pretend Jace is a Velaryon, the threat of a succession war starting over his right to rule is very real.

This goes beyond the politics of House Targaryen. People often argue that Jace is Rhaenyra's son, not like Cersei's children, who are not Robert's, the actual monarch.

Cersei reasonably gets away with this because her children at least look like her. Rhaenyra's children look nothing like Rhaenyra AND nothing like Laenor. They, instead, look very much like Harwin. It's complete clown behaviour.

The problem is that this threatens the entire system of inheritances in place in Westeros. Bastard children do not inherit for a reason. Marriage is a political and economic alliance between families, where both families are very much invested in the concept that their accumulated wealth / titles / lands / power is transferred to someone who is actually related to them. This is a world without proper contraception, where adultery carries the real threat of pregnancy. The two families involved essentially enter into an agreement that has very real economic consequences (dowries, favours, different types of exchanges) and no one wants to endanger this arrangement because of some random child fathered irresponsibly. One party will always be wronged in a situation like this.

Which is why the issue of Jace's legitimacy should be a big deal for the lords of the realm as well. If it suddenly becomes OK for bastards to be placed in the line of succession, then many of them might get in big trouble. Many conflicts of succession might arise because of this, maybe even wars.

Of course that, as a modern audience, we think it's super unfair that Jace doesn't get to inherit just because he was born out of wedlock. Society has progressed since then, thankfully, with the development of women's rights and family law and, of course, contraceptive methods allowing us, for the first time in history, to choose when/if we have children and how many of them. But Westeros doesn't have that context. So, in order for people to not kill each other endlessly over inheritances, they had to implement SOME rules and settled over male primogeniture. Completely fair? Of course not. But at least it offers some degree of stability.

The effects of this can be seen directly when it comes to the inheritance of the Driftwood Throne. The rest of the trueborn Velaryons (not just Vaemond) have genuine beef with the idea of Luke being ahead in the line of succession. No one else in Westeros gives up their inheritances like this, so why should they?

Therefore, why should the people of Westeros accept a ruler that doesn't respect the laws of the land or one who creates special exemptions for themselves, without putting in the proper work to reform society and make it a little more fair? This is a flagrant breach of the Westerosi version of the social contract.

Therefore, I humbly imply that there will be a lot of disgruntled people, upset that the monarch (Rhaenyra) is disregarding the law and fucking up their entire political-economic system of inheritance.

Helaena

Jace's rule will, therefore, most likely be contested. Wars may even be fought over it.

By marrying her daughter to a bastard claimant, Alicent could very well be placing Helaena and her future children in danger. Violent conflict tends to not be kind to women. Remember what happened to Elia Martell and her children? That came to pass because it was far more expedient if Robert Baratheon didn't have any other rival claimants to this throne. People like to pretend that this is an imagined threat, in order to demonise Alicent, but it is not.

That being said, Helaena may very well die due to illness or in childbirth. Unfortunately, medieval-style medicine was not kind to people, especially women. What happens then to this great alliance? Alicent doesn't have a replacement for Helaena to offer up to Jace. What if she dies childless? I would argue this is not that far-fetched of a possibility.

Helaena will essentially be a hostage for the Blacks. Rhaenyra doesn't have a daughter to give to Alicent, so that they could be even steven. From Alicent's POV, she is basically handing over her daughter to someone she doesn't even trust.

Alicent's sons

Alicent has three living sons. That's a lot of options for people to rally behind, if they have a problem with Rhaenyra becoming Queen.

Why does everyone believe that Aegon/Aemond/Daeron would be safe, just because Helaena would be married to Jace? Helaena couldn't do a damn thing to stop their execution, if Rhaenyra's claim was contested.

Even if you want to argue that Rhaenyra could never do such a thing, Daemon definitely would order hit jobs on them or murder them himself if necessary. He really is That Girl.

This is, of course, supposing that Rhaenyra does end up marrying Daemon in this scenario as well. I would argue it's a very real possibility, since they are so obsessed with each other.

Dragons

As it stands in Ep. 6, Team Black has 4 dragons at their disposal (Syrax, Seasmoke, Vermax, Arrax), with a new dragon egg for Joffrey that will later hatch into Tyraxes, making that 5. There is the possibility of Meleys (?), if push comes to shove. It's debatable whether Daemon & Laena would join her side, but it's worth mentioning they themselves have 3 additional dragons (Moondancer, Caraxes and freaking VHAGAR). If Rhaenyra keeps having children, they most definitely will have dragons.

What does Team Green have? SUNFYRE. Whom Aegon bonded with as a hatchling, making him young and small. Daeron is in Oldtown by now, so maybe he has already bonded with Tessarion, another hatchling. That brings Team Green's dragon count to a pitiful 2 baby dragons with inexperienced riders.

Helaena doesn't have a dragon in episode 6, because Aemond is seen going towards Dreamfyre. He would not be doing that if he knew Dreamfyre was bonded to his sister, it would be illogical. For someone as dragon-obsessed as he is, he definitely would know that.

So what happens between episodes 6 and 7? Helaena must have claimed Dreamfyre. At the end of the episode, we see 3 dragons flying back towards King's Landing. One of them is obviously Sunfyre, one is the newly-acquired Vhagar, Daeron is in Oldtown, so the other one must be Dreamfyre.

We know from Aegon and Aemond's conversation in Ep. 7 that Aegon and Helaena have been betrothed. Why? I would wager one of the reasons is that Helaena turned out to be a dragon-rider herself.

There is no way in hell Alicent would be giving Rhaenyra Helaena, alongside Dreamfyre, her biggest freaking dragon (remember Vhagar has not been claimed yet).

As it stands, when Alicent approved of the betrothal between Aegon and Helaena, her side of the family had two small dragons and Helaena's DREAMFYRE, quite a sizeable beast, a huge win for Team Green. Ain't no way Rhaenyra is getting her hands on her daughter now. Dreamfyre was Princess Rhaena's dragon, the Queen in the West/East. She should be larger than Syrax and Seasmoke, even Caraxes or Meleys, more on par with Vermithor and Silverwing.

You know what else Dreamfyre is? A female, egg-laying dragon, who has resided all this time in the Dragonpit. Which makes Rhaenyra's additional offer of a dragon egg moot. Why would Aemond need eggs from Syrax, when he already had access to eggs from the unclaimed Dreamfyre? Remember, Dreamfyre laid the egg Rhaenyra chose for ther brother Baelon - the same egg that Daemon stole, so it's not as if she's hit dragon menopause. Jace and Luke are shown to have picked the egg for Joffrey themselves from the Dragonpit; it is not specified whether this is Syrax's egg. If necessary, Viserys is still King, he can order additional eggs to be brought from Dragonstone for Aemond to pick.

This has already turned out very long, but, all in all, I wanted to point out the flaws in Rhaenyra's plan regarding Jace and Helaena's possible betrothal. I appreciate the fact that she was trying to remedy the rift, but she failed to understand why this deal was not exactly the home-run for Team Green that she intended. A very good arrangement for her, but not necessarily great for Alicent's peace of mind.

#jacaerys velaryon #helaena targaryen #house of the dragon #asoiaf #alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #dragons #team green #anti team black #jalaena #hotd meta

[serotoninisheldinkiwis]

there's a folk tale in hisui. (PLA SPOILERS)

a prophecy, passed through time itself. it's just whispers and rumors, now, a story told from mother to child to soothe nightmares, legend becoming myth and myth becoming skepticism.

they say a man is coming. a man will be coming to hisui, with a voice such as thunder, loud and booming, with eyes the color of a stormy moon. he will rage once, and when it hits, it hits as a lightning strike, harsh and burning and uncaring of who is in its path. they are told to beware his arrival, but do not cast him out- for where his arrival foretells disaster and chaos, his presence will lead to the solution, preserving the Clans.

with the man will come a child. they will not look special. their arrival is the second warning, the calm before the storm. they will fall, from heights unimaginable, and in their palms they hold the power of the very stars from which they came. they will face an untold darkness, an evil none will know, but their light will burn brighter than any darkness that may befall them.

some versions disagree. many will tell the story as the man having a brother, others will claim that neither are human, something unknown and beyond belief. some will claim that a dragon will come, others claim a god.

the myth has dwindled, told only as it is viewed- a myth, a bedtime story for children.

a golden-haired child looks to his aunt, silver eyes wide as he takes in the story. time passes, he grows old- wide eyes grow bitter, awe shifts to a grim, determined darkness. distortion taints his soul as he flies, tries to reach those stars, grasp their power in his hands.

the sky twists, bends, breaks.

a man falls from the rift, silver eyes wide and confused and lost, voice too-loud for survival and too-sudden. he is silent when he walks, moving as if he takes more Space than he does- yet if you look into his eyes, it's as if lightning streaks across his irises.

three years pass. one night, a comet streaks across the sky.

a girl is found, on the banks of a beach. she knows nothing, yet when you look into her eyes, they shine as the stars would, bright as the sun. no one in the village next to this beach knows of the myth, yet all can agree... something is off about her.

#kiwi's serotonin corner #pokemon legends arceus #warden ingo #pla akari #zekrom ingo #???? akari #this shall be called #legendary aspect au #this is only the tip of the iceberg btw there is more but i shall have to wait (or schedule posts whoopsies) #cell if you see this thank you SO much for the help fleshing this world out #I ALMOST FORGOT #pla volo

[cup1d-cafe]

Pairing: Ninja x OC (platonic)

Summary: A mysterious rift between time and magic tears the fabric of the realms. Yuki, the master of magic, the purple ninja and the queen of ninjago, must find the powerful spell to fix this. In an unexpected twist, the team is transported into the depths of Yuki's spell book. The ninja must navigate through the chapters and memories of all the queens, finding the thing that is jeopardizing peace.

In a risky race, the ninja must piece together fragments of memories to uncover the truth. Will they succeed in fixing the rift? Or will Dark secrets unravel a mystery that changes the fate of everything?

Genre: fantasy, dystopian, adventure, psychological Horror

Warnings: blood, fighting, gore, mentions of abuse, mentions of bullying, mentions of death, parent death, sibling death, eldest daughter trauma (iykyk), childhood trauma (lmk if I miss something)

Featuring: OC, Lloyd, Kai, Jay, Nya, Cole, Zane, Morro, Sensei Wu

Status: ONGOING

Started: 19/01/2024

Updates will be slower now as I'm back in uni and preparing for finals.

Word Count (so far): 9220

a/n: this is an additional season plot that i wrote, it most likely takes place somewhere after the Hands of Time. This is also an AU where Morro gets kicked back into being mortal so he's on the team too, for the sake of the story they get along. This will be dark so you have been warned.

For Hannah,

Because you always put up with my crazy bullshit even when we're 2000 miles away and there's an 8 hour time difference.

The Forces Of Destiny Playlist

PART I | Whispers of the Mirror

PART II | Lunar Dissonance

PART III | Regal Reflections

PART IV | Sucked In

PART V | Beyond the Mirrors Sorrow

PART VI | Veil of Torment

♤Masterlist♤ | ◇Intro◇ | ♡Oc Asks♡

TAGLIST: (OPEN) @shatteredhope123 @stupidgayartkid @crikkit-kitterton @queenoftaslik @spinjitzu-spy @urkittybby Feel free to ask to be added to the taglist!

DC blog: @cup1d0logy

Instagram: @/ Http_Cup1d

#ninjago #ninjago oc #yuki dragonfly #The Forces Of Destiny #ninjago rewrite #lego ninjago #ninjago headcanons #lloyd garmadon #ninjago jay #ninjago kai #ninjago lloyd #ninjago cole #ninjago zane #sensei wu #lord garmadon #ninjago morro #ninjago x reader #ninjago x oc

[deanwinchesterswitch]

Forever's a Long Time

Pairing: Rick Flag x Female Reader

Summary: Rick made a mistake. Before he has a chance to fix it, he’s called away on a mission.

Warnings: Flangst; Canon divergence

Word Count: 3,523

Beta: None. I have no idea why I decided to die a warrior writer on this one, but here we are. 

Author Notes: A long overdue ask and my first-ever Rick Flag fic. Once I got into the meat of this, I had a lot of fun writing it. Prompts were Rick Flag-Music-Making up

He fucked up big time.

He was supposed to meet you at the concert, but he’d run into some of his old army buddies. They’d persuaded him to join them for a drink at a nearby bar. One drink turned into two, two into three, and before he knew it, almost four hours had passed. 

It wasn’t that he’d forgotten the significance of the day or where he was supposed to be. It was that he had just lost track of time. When he finally makes it to the arena, your seat is empty. He waits for a bit, hoping you’ve simply gone to get a drink or to the bathroom. After several minutes, he admits defeat, stomach muscles rippling with tension, realizing you aren’t coming back.

Breaking every speed limit to race home, he worries that this time might be the proverbial straw and you will leave. He drops his bag at the front door and hurries down the hallway to find you sitting on the end of the bed, crying. The simultaneous hit of relief and guilt makes his heart painfully clench. “I’m sorry,” he exclaims, a lump forming in his throat when you flinch hearing his voice.

“Just… leave me alone.”. 

“Babe…”

“Go away!” you shout, turning away from him.

“Please, let me explain,” he begs.

“Go.” Your voice is thick and muffled, your body shaking as you sob.

Rick hesitates, wanting to go to you, fall to his knees, and beg your forgiveness, but the pain and anger in your tone is heartbreakingly clear. Any attempt to get you to listen to him now will only result in him screwing up further. He gently shuts the door behind him, making his way to the small bar in the living room.

He pours a hefty amount of scotch into a tumbler, gulping down half the contents in one go. Seconds after the smoky sweetness hits his taste buds, he turns and hefts the drink into the fireplace. “I’m a goddamn idiot,” he berates as glass shards and amber liquid reign down, sinking into cold ash.

The phone that vibrates in his pocket angers him further. He knows who’s calling before he even looks at the screen. She always has the worst possible timing. Turning to stare into the inky darkness beyond the window behind the bar, he answers the call with a fierce, “What do you want?”

Twenty minutes later, hands gripping the frame, he presses his forehead to the bedroom door …debating. He agreed to go on the mission. Honestly, he never has much of a choice with Waller, but this time, he called in—no, demanded—a favor in return. Even though she owes him, he knows he will end up paying for it in some way, but he doesn’t care if the outcome is what he’s hoping for.

The concern now is you. There are a couple of ways this will go, and he’s afraid of the worst.

While you have every right to be, you’ve never been this angry with him. If he tells you he’s leaving on a mission before things are settled between you, it could cause an even bigger fight. If he doesn’t tell you he’s leaving, the rift it causes could be irreparable.

What he’s hoping for is that by giving you some time and space, he’ll have a better chance of fixing the mess he’s made. Even though he knows that’s a chickenshit excuse he’s trying to convince himself with, he’s out of time. He has to leave.

“I’ll love you forever,” he whispers. The sentiment he voices every time he leaves on assignment, except this time, he won’t hear your reply.

After experiencing your first aftermath of a full-fledged mission, you made him promise that no matter what was going on in your relationship at the time, you would always let the other know how much you loved them before he left—an effort to assuage the unspoken fear of him possibly not coming back alive.

A couple of months later, he had to leave again. You weren’t speaking to him then, angry over a stupid comment he’d made. Just as he was ready to walk out the door, you grabbed him, pulling him into a passionate kiss. When you released the death grip on his jacket, lips parting from his, you’d whispered. “Do you know how much I love you? My heart is yours …always.”

He’d stroked your hair, held your face in his hands, kissed your forehead, and said, “I’ll love you forever.”

“Forever’s a long time,” you’d teased back, trying to hide the fear he knew you felt.

Getting caught up in the moment, he’d laughed, “And that’s how long I’ll love you,” but he knew then and there that he’d never said truer words.

After that, the little exchange had become a ritual before he would leave. Today will be the first time those promises won’t be shared.

Pushing off the frame, he steals his heart and closes his mind against the feelings with a deep breath. Grabbing the bag he’d left sitting unpacked in the foyer, he quietly closes the front door, a note left propped against an empty vase on the kitchen island.

Puffy, bloodshot eyes stare back at you, and salty tear tracks stain your cheeks. You’d fallen asleep infuriated but bereft. “How could he forget?” Your dejected reflection has no reply. The only person who can supply that information is him.

After doing your best to clear the remnants of heartbreak from your face, you pull on one of his hoodies and make your way out of the sanctuary of the bedroom. Expecting to find him passed out on the couch or sleeping in the spare bedroom, anxiety hits when you find he’s in neither location. 

Finding his note turns the fear to ire, and the vase angrily swept from the counter to shatter like your heart. 

After two days of unanswered calls and texts, your emotions running the gamut of rage to heartbreak to fear, then back to anger, you finally settle on remorse. Rick left, with you angry at him. You had each promised that he would never leave without talking first.

You want to continue to be angry with him, furious that he didn’t talk to you before he went out on assignment, but concern for his safety wars with your temper. You had refused to speak to him that night, kicking him out of your shared bedroom. Knowing him the way you do, you assume he felt it best to give you space. It doesn’t make it hurt any less or diminish the fear. If something happens to him during the mission … “NO,” you shout, reprimanding yourself. “He’ll come home safe.”

You know that trying to contact Waller will only increase your frustration—she won’t give you any answers. 

Clutching the pillow that still smells like him, you curl into a ball and breathe into the dark silence of the room, “My heart is yours,” crying yourself to sleep for the third night in a row.

With still no word from Rick the following morning, you know you need a distraction, or you will have a nervous breakdown. After calling work to tell them you are taking the week off—you want to be here when he comes home—you decide to clean the house. Having seen the broken glass in the fireplace, you opt to clean that as well, making a thorough mess of yourself and your clothes.

Shutting off the hair dryer, you step out of the bathroom in clean, comfy leggings and one of Rick’s sweatshirts, feeling refreshed and a little less stressed, until the doorbell rings.  

As you race to the entryway, your mind immediately latches onto the worst thought. You stop cold, hand hovering over the doorknob, picturing the uniformed men on the other side waiting to deliver that blow to your heart. “No, no, no,” you breathe, “it’s not that. It can’t be that.” You’d know before anyone told you. You would have felt it. 

With a deep breath, you turn the knob and yank the door open, startling the person holding a huge arrangement of flowers. 

“Oh, hello!” the young man exclaims, handing you the flowers, calling, “Have a good day,” as he rushes back to his delivery van.

Stunned by the size of the bouquet and the swiftness of the whole interaction, your belated “Thank you” is uttered to the rear of the vehicle as it pulls away from the curb.

Luckily, the flowers came in a vase as you’d broken the only one you had large enough to hold them. You shuffle into the kitchen, your nose buried in the fragrant bouquet, smiling as you think about Rick explaining to the florist exactly which flowers to include. Every stem was a species of flower you loved or held a special meaning for the two of you, and each blossom was your favorite color, accented by tiny white petals and greenery.

Setting the arrangement in the middle of the kitchen table, you grab the small envelope nestled in the blooms and sit as you open it. A laugh strangled by a sob catches in your throat at seeing Rick’s handwriting, I’ll love you forever, on the tiny card within.

The relief at knowing he’s alive tamps down the heartache and frustration still simmering within you. Flipping the card between your fingers, you find another message on the back. Pack a bag. A car will arrive in thirty. Glancing at the clock on the stove, you realize you have a little over twenty minutes if you go from the time the flowers arrived.

Jumping up from the chair, you race down the hallway. Yes, the two of you need to talk through what happened the other night, but excitement at seeing him pushes all other emotions aside. Tugging a small suitcase from your closet shelf, you laugh, realizing you have no idea where you’re going or what kind of weather you should pack for. 

A peek at the clock on your nightstand tells you that you’re down to fifteen minutes. After quickly changing into a comfortable pair of jeans and a top, you toss a few basics into the luggage, hurling curses at the framed picture of him on your dresser for not giving you more time. Shoving your toiletries, passport, and wallet in the bag, you zip it closed and take a look around the room. You’re out of time, so you hope you have what you need, and if not, then you guess you’ll buy it when you get wherever you’re going. 

With comfortable footwear in one hand, you roll your bag to the foyer. The doorbell rings just as you drop the shoes to the floor to slip them on. A smartly dressed woman is on the other side, holding a small bouquet of purple calla lilies. 

“Hello,” you say, slightly stunned by yet more flowers. Apprehension settles in that he’s trying to compensate for something, hoping to soften a blow not yet delivered.

She greets you with a nod and a smile, “Good morning,” and hands you the flowers as she reaches for your luggage. “Let me get your bag for you.” 

“Oh, sure.” You lock the door as she wheels the suitcase toward a large SUV. Asking reveals no destination other than the airport, where upon arrival, you are ushered onto a private plane …alone.

Rick is not aboard, but he seems to have ensured that the crew pampers you, and you wonder how he made this all happen and worry about what it will cost him with Waller. He may have some favors owed to him, but you’re pretty sure nothing of this caliber—another item to add to your growing list of questions.

Your final destination seems to be an off-limits topic. Either the crew genuinely doesn’t know or has been warned not to tell. So you decide to do the only thing you can do—relax and enjoy the luxury, sipping your favorite drink and nibbling on the fresh fruit, cheese, and chocolates from the platter set in front of you.

You hadn’t planned on falling asleep and are startled when the flight attendant taps your shoulder to let you know you’ll be landing in twenty. Looking at the time on your phone, you find it’s late afternoon and in a completely different time zone. A peek out the window reveals nothing but clear azure water below. Anticipation and anxiety kick your pulse up. Excitement at finally seeing him mixes with latent anger, so you take a few calming breaths. 

Another car awaits you as you exit the plane onto a small landing strip, but still no Rick. You’re heart plummets, and your gut churns. What if this is some elaborate hoax? What if you are being kidnapped and will be held hostage as leverage against Rick? The logical side of your brain knows that the thought is a bit far-fetched, but you dig in your heels anyway.

“Where are you taking me?” you ask the driver waiting for you. “Where’s Rick?”

“I am not at liberty to say, Miss.” You have received the same rehearsed reply from everyone you’ve asked.

Fisting your hands, you widen your stance as Rick taught you, tone demanding as you shout, “I am not going any further until you tell me where I am and where Rick is!”

The man is imposing, a mountain of muscle, so you have to give him credit when he doesn’t laugh, even though a corner of his mouth quirks up. He does stare you down, though, gauging your demeanor for a long moment. “Cute.” With a nod and a wink, he reaches for your suitcase sitting next to you on the tarmac, putting it in the vehicle as he chuckles, “Nice form, though. Flag teach you that?”

Sighing in defeat at the amusement spreading over his features, you unfurl your fists and huff, “At least tell me where we are.”

“Private island.” Opening the front passenger door, he gestures inside. “Now, get in. He’s waiting.”

With a roll of your eyes, you stomp over to the vehicle and climb in. Thankfully, the drive is short as your companion seems to be the strong, silent type—not offering any other information, no matter how annoying you make yourself.

Helping you out of the Jeep, he sets your bag beside you and points to a tree-lined path. “Through there,” are his vague, gruffly given directions before he hops back in the vehicle and speeds off down the road.

“Good thing I wasn’t planning on tipping you,” you yell at the taillights, grumbling as you drag your suitcase behind you, “Gonna file a complaint with customer service is what I’m gonna do.”

Rounding a curve in the path, your eyebrows shoot up as your eyes bulge. “WOW!” Before you is a large stone facade villa. A wood plank veranda seemingly wraps around the entire building, surrounded by palm trees and lush vegetation. Rick still hasn’t made an appearance, and your ire starts to overshadow the peacefulness of your surroundings. Once inside the open-air foyer, you spin in place, taking in the clean lines and understated beauty of the place.

“Gorgeous,” you murmur, staring at the intricately detailed design.

“I agree.”

You spin to face the direction his husky voice came from and drop your gaze from the inlaid teak ceiling to find him leaning against the doorjamb of what appears to be a bedroom. His hair is damp, and a towel slung low on his hips.

“I meant you, by the way.” Pushing himself upright with a shoulder, he smiles. “You’re earlier than I expected, but damn, you’re a sight.” Uncrossing his arms, he opens them wide. “I missed you.”

“Missed you, too,’ you state, fighting the emotions to keep the tremor from your voice when you catch sight of the large bruise now visible on his left side.

As you get closer, your eyes take stock of his other injuries—the bruised cheek, the cut on his temple almost hidden in his hairline, the split in his bottom lip—reminding you of how dangerous his missions can be. It makes you suspicious of how close you came to losing him this time. “How close?”

He tilts his head with a slight shrug. “Too close,” adding quickly, “but I’m here and only slightly damaged.” He knows better than to try and sugarcoat it because it only makes you angrier, but he still always tries to deflect from the seriousness of any injuries. 

Everything you’ve been feeling the past few days converges, driving you to swing your hand up and slap him hard when you’re within reach. Tears immediately well in your eyes, and your chest heaves with each intake of breath.

Rick drops his arms and flexes his jaw. He knows you. He knows how badly he hurt you, how scared you were when you couldn’t reach him, how angry you are for him leaving without talking to you first. His gaze never wavers from yours, but he doesn’t move, seemingly waiting for an onslaught of rage-fueled words or another hit.

But you can’t—the relief of seeing him alive and standing in front of you crests and consumes all other emotions. You bury your face in his chest and wrap your arms around him as you release all your feelings with your tears. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he rasps, cocooning you in his embrace. “So sorry.”

When you’ve calmed enough to look at him, you slip your hands around his neck and pull him down for a kiss, feeling the tension ease from him when you press up on your toes to get closer. When you pull away, he thumbs the remaining tears from your cheeks. “I-”

“No,” you shake your head, letting him know you don’t want to get into it right now. He nods in understanding and gives you a sexy little smirk as he spins the two of you around, backing you into the room. 

“So, we have this place to ourselves for the rest of the week.” He grabs something off the small table next to the door, and the room is filled with the low, sultry tune of one of your favorite songs. Next, the lights dim, and candlelit shadows dance on the walls as the sun sinks lower.

“Smooth, Flag.” You gasp when he spins you away from him and giggle when he twirls you back into his embrace. “Very smooth.”

You rest your head on his shoulder as he dances the two of you around the room, getting lost in the music, his scent, and the feeling of his skin against yours. Talking can wait until tomorrow. Forgiveness will be found. Tonight, you just want to feel. You’re about to tell him exactly that when he breaks the silence first.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it right now, but-”

“Then shut up.” Your tone is mostly teasing, but he stills, tracing the line of your jaw before gently tilting your head up.

“I want to make it up to you.” He steps back, slipping his hands under your shirt, and you don’t resist when he pushes it up and off your body. Large hands smooth down your sides, fingers deftly undoing your jeans, working them down your legs until you can kick free of them. “Show you how sorry I am.”

“Then show me,” you pout.

He runs a finger under your bra strap before hooking it around the elastic and tugging the fabric off your shoulder. “I think you’re still a little overdressed, darlin’.” He slips the other strap off your shoulder, kissing along your clavicle. 

Reaching behind your back, you unclasp the bra and let it fall to the floor. You don’t realize how close you are to the bed until he pushes a thigh between your legs and leans forward, falling with you onto the mattress. He lands on a forearm to keep from crushing you but grips your wrist with his free hand, pushing it above your head.

A salacious smile follows a sweet kiss to your forehead right before he nips your chin. Sliding over your body, he kisses a path between the valley of your breasts down to your belly button, the scruff on his chin tickling your flesh. Before he can go further, you grip the nape of his neck and tug. 

The twinkle in his adoring gaze when he rests his chin on your stomach momentarily steals the words from your lips. Breath hitches as you ghost a finger near the cut at his temple, tears well as the pads of your fingers gently glide over his bruised cheek, lips tremble when your thumb drifts lightly over his damaged lip. He releases your wrist, entwining his fingers with yours, and you find your voice again.

“I’ll love you forever,” you manage to breathe.

He arches a brow, a silent inquiry for stealing his line, but replies with a smile, “Forever’s a long time.”

You smile in return, squeezing his hand. “And that’s how long I’ll love you.”

@princessmisery666

#dw's witch writes #rick flag x female reader #dc universe #021424