#my fever dream of endless nights now becomes yours everyone sorry

[rainboopz]

When you pass the aux to Krystal...

[yandere-sins]

Oh please please please a continuation of your fae story!!! I think I have a newfound love for fae lol And the ending like the last paragraph?? Its so good BuT HOW CAN YOU STOP THEREEE I kind of want to see his evil, malicious side now and how he treats the reader as his posession love you!!!

Aww, I had a lot of fun with it! I am really glad you guys enjoyed it so much you’d want a second part ^-^ I don’t want to drag stories out so I had to stop them on some point, sorry for the disappointment, lol! But here we go, the second part:

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««

Giggling, you danced along to the gusts of winds that lead you through the grass. How many days had it been that you joined the fairies? You hadn’t counted, maybe a week or two. You still dreamed about your fears, but admittedly, it had become much easier. Now, there was just you, the different creatures on the clearing and - of course - the fae, ever so watchful on his trunk.

You two were long beyond the questions of who was who, and though you did not know his name, he knew yours all too well, calling you when he wanted your attention, but otherwise leaving you to do whatever you wanted. Mostly, you just danced with them, listening to their whispers, telling you tales of old days, and what was going on in the forest all around you. And when you weren’t occupied with having fun with the creatures you could not see but knew they were there, you rested at your fae’s side, letting him brush through your hair, feed you water and berries when your needs acted up, and slept on his lap when the sun went down after another long day.

Exhausted, you sank down next to the tree trunk, back leaning against it as the creature hummed, long finger brushing over your head. “Tired?” he asked, and you nodded, wiping away some sweat from your brows. Admittedly, you were getting weaker by the day, the amount of time you spent on dancing and singing slimming down with every night that passed, but you didn’t want to bother anyone with your thoughts, after all, you were probably not noticing just how much you did every day. It was only natural that you’d get worn out after a while.

It was too much fun as that you could stop, though. Even with your body burning up from the heat of moving around and growing more and more shaken, you didn’t even think about quitting. This was a dream come true, a really good one at that. Never before had you experienced quite the same amount of euphoria and happiness than you did here, even if sometimes, bad thoughts returned to your mind, despite you canceling them out.

The wind rustled through the grass and the leaves on the tree while you took deep breaths, feeling the fingers separating your hair gently. This was peace, you decided. Nowhere on earth would it ever be close to this feeling of serenity, listening to the singing of fairies, watching animals cuddle, and the sun shine on you without burning your skin. Letting your head fall back onto the trunk, you kept your eyes closed for a few more seconds, feeling the fae rub your cheek affectionately before you looked up to him.

“When… do you think they will come back?” you asked him, keeping your voice low as not to gain the curiosity of anything else around you two.

“Who?” he asked, it’s head tilting to the side. “My friends…”

For a moment, silence befell you two, and you almost felt bad for asking. As if you were demanding something, you really shouldn’t, but the fae only hummed in contemplation, breaking the eye contact with you. Lifting your head, you felt a little woozy, making you blink a few times. One time you opened your eyes, seeing only black spreading out in front of you instead of the clearing, but with the next blink, it was back to normal again, and you blamed it on the strange feeling in your whole body that made you blackout there for a second.

“Who knows…” he sighed eventually, shrugging a little. “Are you unhappy?”

“Wha-? No! No, that’s not it! I was just wondering, that’s all…”

“Is that so, little Human?” he chuckled, and you gave him a smile before getting to your feet slowly. “I’m… going to dance some more,” you proclaimed, and it nodded in encouragement, your hand reaching back to it. “Want to join me?”

The surprise was prominent in his face, but just as quick, he laughed, shaking his head. “Not now, Human.” Shrugging, you told him about his missed chance while you got back to your imaginary friends, being welcomed back into their dance with much applause.

You were so adorable- no, the MOST adorable one until now.

Trying to invite him to your dances, sitting by his side. It was a wonder you were still walking after all these days going hungry. He knew you had seen them, the glimpses of his realm, the few times your body was able to separate reality from illusion. It must be because you were growing weaker by the minute, a fae’s victim never surviving long. But still, you were so cute, always thinking of him, even being considerate with your words.

It had only been a short time for you two, but he knew that he liked you better than any of the others before you. The ones you were now dancing with, and would be for all eternity, they had been boring in comparison. After all, it was unlikely anyone would be able to find you, you were completely at the fae’s mercy and only your behavior having saved you from a fate much worse than the one now.

Yes, maybe you were slowly starving from the fake berries he made you imagine, but at least you had fun and laughter on your way there. And he? He had you, all of you. You were his. In this endless darkness, with no sound and no heartbeats to count, you were a welcome change, something he could admire all the hours that you were there. The fae had done right choosing you, had you seem like the most cheerful of your group.

Everyone else had managed to lose hope, die a terrible boring death. But you were entertaining enough for centuries to come. If only you could have seen yourself, bone-y, dehydrated, big bags under your eyes. You didn’t even notice the muddy feet from the dark substance all around you, bleeding nails from how often you had accidentally hit or scratched on some wall or resistance. In your dream world, you were probably looking just fine to yourself, but it was clearly visible that it was going down with you.

Truth be told, your friends had long started and ended their search. Whenever he had called for you, so did the fae, making sure you wouldn’t hear them when they had managed to come close to his hideout once or twice. And you had been so cooperative, telling him your name beforehand. Your trust was your biggest downfall, but it made you all the more wonderful. It was only a question of time that you’d succumb to the fever you developed and starve, but until then, the fae was sure to make the most out of the time you two had. It would be lonely with you, he knew that. He already missed you, and you were still here.

But at least you were his until the end. He would have never handed you over to anyone ever again.

[war--lords]

Hanayome

Warnings: Female!Reader, mild family conflict, possible inaccuracy Word count: 3,648 Tagged: #hanayome Translations and important notes:

Irouchikake is a colorful variant of the bridal kimono, while shiromuku is the kind that is all white. 

Norito chants are a form of Shinto prayer/incantation.

Shimenawa refers to the special rope used to signify something holy, like trees, for example.

Tengu literally means ‘heavenly dog’, but in mythology, they are portrayed to take the form of birds of prey.

This has really gotten out of hand—I know it’s not nearly as popular as my other fics, but I genuinely enjoy writing this, going so far as to stay up late and make multiple edits :’) So I hope you enjoy reading it!

Part 1 Part 3

2.

Not long ago you were dressed in a rush with the help of at least four other miko, and now, an intricate hairstyle sitting atop your head and donning an irouchikake, you stand before the red gate, eager to make the ascent. Your garbs are especially audacious when compared to Kiku’s shiromuku: its scarlet base, just as the god Tengu demands, brings out the black-colored designs, and on top of that are auspicious imagery filled with white and outlined in what seemed to be gold thread. It appears to shine as you walk.

If Kiku looked like winter’s first snow, you looked like autumn’s burning foliage. 

Your attire is the last thing on your mind, however. It never crossed your mind that you would actually climb up those sacred stairs to the Seiiki just the way you imagined it earlier, while you were half-asleep and angry. There is still a low fire kindling at the bottom of your gut, but it is more determination than vexation. You’ve hugged Kiku and your mother after you got dressed—they held you in their arms as if it would be their last time seeing you, but a part of your demeanor shows as though you were only meeting the god Tengu to talk. You’ve yet to decide if that’s a form of denial. 

As for your father, you knelt before him and kept your head down for the appropriate amount of time. You don’t know what kind of face he made. You don’t really care.

Something inside you tells you that it’d be better for them without you. You hastily brush that thought away, realizing that the voice is the same one who whispers only ugly things to you. It’s not as if your fate is sealed, anyway—you’re adamant to show the god Tengu that he isn’t the only one with demands, and the first one you’ll declare is for that harrowing mark on Kiku’s neck to disappear. You won’t leave until it is done.

Then again, you’re not sure if you want to go back to the temple. Do you? Unconsciously your eyebrows knit, the first symptoms of your overthinking. You’ll deal with the problem when the problem arises, you decide. Pondering won’t be of much help. 

You look back to the unmoving scene behind you: your family, standing in a row in their ceremonial garbs, followed by the whole of the temple. They are all completely still, with little to no emotion betrayed by their faces. Only Kiku appears to be misty-eyed, most likely from how downright absurd the tables turned. As your gaze falls on her you spy the red string around her neck. You choose to flash her a small smile, but you find yourself not knowing what it means. “You’ll be fine on your own”? “I’m sorry it turned out this way”? “I’ll be back”? Somehow you mean all of that and, at the same time, none of them feel right.

You spare one final glance at your parents before walking out the red gate. Despite your mild fever, your steps are wide and sure, not as fast as the vision you saw in your mind’s eye, but just as driven. The evenfall rain thins out into a light shower. Still, you have an umbrella in one hand, the traditional lantern gripped tightly by the other. The young miko from earlier follows closely behind you—she volunteered to climb again because she was “already wet anyway”, but everyone insisted that she carried an umbrella nevertheless.

If the steps aren’t so slippery you would already be running, you mentally note.

Up and up you go, feeling the air change ever so slightly with each inhale. The rustle of bamboo leaves to your left and right becomes the new silence to your ears, with only the occasional whistle of wind as an almost musical accompaniment. Rain brings out a nostalgic smell from the ground—it reminds you that your feet are still on earth, and that the soil on top of Mount Kurama the same soil on top of which the village is built.

You think that the twists and turns of the steps are rather broad compared to what it looks like from afar. In person, it feels more like a gentle change of direction, and it makes you pay more attention to the mountain, like you are feeling where the ground is level and where it slopes. Your mind maps it out almost like a human body: alive.

The thought helps especially because it feels like you are climbing a stairway to heaven.

You preoccupy yourself with the topology—anything to stave away excessive, useless rumination. You find that norito chants prove to be effective as well. 

To your disdain, however, climbing a seemingly endless flight of stairs does things to your mind. It has to be quite a while since the start of your climb, and your eyes are beginning to spin from looking at the same pattern of stones many times over. The mantras lose their purpose as soon as muscle memory takes over, your lips mechanically forming the words, robbing your mind from the necessity to think it through. Your fingers adjust their grip on the umbrella and you purse your lips.

You can’t help but think about Kiku, and you briefly wonder if she thought about you too during her ascent.

It is not off the mark for you to assume that the holy steps are also a place of trial, for the things you recall about your shared childhood with Kiku seems to highlight only the darkest moments. You know that it was overall a pleasant, peaceful experience, growing up with her, but the steps… it’s as if every single bitter knot in the deepest crevices of your mind has surfaced because of it, no matter how small and ugly they may be.

She is the temperate lake to your forest fire.

Not exactly loving words coming from a father, but not exactly lies. Kiku has always been the milder one, and you know that this has led to her being more well-liked. She isn’t absolutely obedient and meek, but compared to you, she appears so. After all, you are always the one to question, accepting the argument that inevitably occurs in the aftermath. Perhaps that was why you weren’t as popular with the boys when you were young—you were close to plenty of them, but only as a friend, never a love interest. 

Kiku was very popular. Still is. In fact, when that fateful arrow shot the temple roof, many brave—borderline foolish—men offered a more... confrontational kind of solution in hopes of saving her from her destiny. Your father declined, however. They would simply perish before the god Tengu and further fuel his anger, which would do the village no favors whatsoever. You remember how it was the same back in the day—a lot of boys enjoy helping out Kiku, perhaps viewing her as nothing more but a powerless pretty girl, but you were always there for her first. Subconsciously, your lips tug into a small smile.

With that many pursuers, you wonder if Kiku had any lovers. You recall some who were close to capturing her heart, but she was very young and feeble, maybe a little scared of the idea about a relationship—especially after your father found out about one particular boy she was close to and drove him off, forbidding Kiku from ever seeing him again. His family wasn’t distinguished enough in your father’s eyes, this much you understood even while you were younger. You remember feeling angry about it.

“I swear I love him,” she cried in your arms that night, “so much...”

That was probably the hardest she’s ever cried in front of you.  

On the other hand, your luck was never in the romantic sphere, so to speak. There were men interested in you, but it never lasted. You had your fair share of rejecting their advances because you just thought a relationship wasn’t what you wanted, and you also had to go through some painful, confusing experiences with the man suddenly growing disinterested and leaving. It brought you an amount of self-doubt, which later on grew to become rooted insecurities that you somehow couldn’t blame on anyone.  

You’re sure Kiku has her own problems to deal with, a sentiment that you think she shares. This could be largely why the two of you were never gravely jealous of each other—a level of empathy and communication led the two of you to an understanding that you are different and it’s okay.

It’s okay. The thought serves more like a promise than a statement because you feel your legs begin to ache. The repeating stone patterns seem to be all your eyes can see and it’s starting to make you sick. 

Just a little more, you think, as the stairs make yet another turn.

——————————

You don’t know if it’s fatigue or fog, but by the time you reach the peak, everything seems so cloudy it looks like a dream. The air is significantly colder on top of the mountain, and you’re suddenly grateful for the many layers of your bridal ensemble—they are not made for warmth, but in its abundance you find comfort. The forest’s rustles fill the silence, though the wind isn’t as strong now.

In front of you are stairs no more, only single leveled stone path with flaming bamboo torches on its left and right despite the consistently light rain. Holy flames, you note, and the way it looks more white than gold reminds you of the arrow. There’s a faint throbbing in your chest, making you stop in your tracks for a moment. 

She will climb up Mount Kurama to meet her groom and dwell in the Seiiki with him forever.

You feel the young miko’s gaze behind you, watching, perhaps in concern from your sudden inaction. You allow yourself to let out a sigh as you start to walk again. 

Swiftly, the flames of the torches parallel to you disappear with a whoosh, as though they were blown away by something. You are indeed taken aback, but manage to keep your emotions hidden, continuing to walk the stone path. For all you know, there could be watchful eyes in places you can’t see—the god Tengu attracts devotees with many powers that can be used to harm mankind should he wills it. 

You walk on, trying to ignore the way each torch blows out when you pass them. You look up at the sky from under your umbrella—it’s so nice to finally be able to see it again, after what seems like hours of climbing and looking down at your feet to make sure you don’t slip. The night is dark and the rain remains insistent, but you can see the clouds beginning to drift away, revealing stars that look too close to be real. 

Not long after you discovering a wide clearing to what seems like a terribly unassuming, unmistakably old mansion, albeit not the kind of old that is worn throughout the years. It is the kind of old you don’t see, but feel. And yet its feeling is as plain as day, even the most spiritually detached can see it—that this is a place of utmost sanctity, one that a daughter of a head priestess such as yourself hasn’t experienced.

Shimenawa ropes are tied together from the bronze poles that surround the mansion’s court. Wordlessly, you turn around to look at the young miko—she already knows what to do, this being her second ascent within less than a day. From the bundle of cloth, she takes out a jug and a single rice ball, her meal before she returns, traversing down those same treacherous stairs to the temple. You watch as she makes herself comfortable, sitting down at a spot at the end of the path. Filled with sympathy, you wonder why she willingly undertook the task, and if you’ll ever see her again after stepping foot beyond the shimenawa.

Offering her a long bow, you take one last look at the miko—she can’t be much older than you—before bracing yourself to face the inevitable. According to the ancient decree, only head priests are allowed in the temple, but you suppose the god Tengu can bend as many rules as he wants as long as he’s the one who designed them. 

You lean down to grab the rope. Holding it above and over you, you step in, both feet touching the court’s cobblestones. Nothing happens. Were you not meant to be here, how will you perish? Thunder? Fire? A flock of the god Tengu’s hawks, from the stories, descending from the sky to pierce at your flesh and gouge your eyes out?

...or maybe an arrow to the heart?

Your chest throbs yet again. The many distracting thoughts your mind conjures make you feel like your head is crowded and full, so you decide to count each step you take towards the mansion. Its obvious entrance, marked by more torches, is facing you, the symmetry of the building conveniently letting you know where to go—straight ahead.

One. Two. Three. Four. Your heart starts beating faster than it should.

The sound of your geta on the ground echoes, five, six, seven, eight, and you watch the lights in the mansion. Somebody is home. You wonder if you’ve ever been this nervous, because by the eighth, ninth, tenth step, the butterflies inside your stomach have multiplied, their wings fluttering up a storm. A minor shiver racks up your spine and you feel your fever coming back twofold. There’s cold sweat on your nape.

Eleven, twelve, thirteen. You will yourself not to look back at the young miko—has she gotten enough rest?—for fear that you will abandon your mission. But you can’t. You don’t want to. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen steps in, and you remember Kiku’s neck, the crumpled paper from the arrow slipped in your obi, the white fire. Suddenly the butterflies are powerless, dissolving like cotton flowers on a lake. Your heart might still be beating as fast as a rabbit’s, but you feel purpose coursing through your veins. 

It takes you fifty steps to reach the mansion’s entrance, and by that time you feel the fog clouding your mind has been lifted. Besides the dryness of your throat, nothing else seems uncomfortable, even the heavy irouchikake isn’t as heavy as it was at the beginning of your ascent. You’ve never felt more present, more centered and grounded. All your doubts purged by the stairs, leaving you light but not faint. 

You are exactly where you need to be.

Realizing that your lantern is unneeded, you place it gently in front of the stairs towards the door. You walk up, counting each of them. Fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four.

The sliding door opens without any prompting, and you find yourself unsurprised. He is expecting a guest, after all—one that is supposed to stay forever. You look ahead, taking in the interior as much as you can without delaying your arrival too much. The god Tengu lives in the mansion of an emperor, which is arguably modest considering his godliness. A straight hallway lies in front of you, leading you to the next door. 

Your chest responds as the door behind you closes, this time not a dull ache, but a more powerful shudder. Strangely enough, you don’t find it painful anymore.

——————————

Kiku is right—the room is large, a throne room for royalty. He sits in the middle, at the very end of the room, like a languid yet expectant royalty. To an unassuming person, he appears to be just as human as you are, no more than thirty years of age. He wears the finest of fabrics, the designs on his kimono lavish and grand. Like the rest of the room, he wears scarlet lots of black, including a feathery cape on his back. His seat on the carnelian dais is simple in comparison to how you imagine most thrones would look like, but it is the ceiling-high decorations and ornaments surrounding it, colored in red, black and gold, that makes it impressive.

No, that isn’t right. It is he who makes it impressive. Intimidating. Powerful.

Just like in the stories, he has a face of a hawk, except that it is a mask. It covers half of his face, revealing only his mouth and the lower part of his face to view. You notice there are no holes for his eyes to see—the only explanation is that he doesn’t need them. The swoop of the hawk’s bill forms a sharp silhouette that makes you wonder if it can cut through skin.

The mask can’t, but the real hawk on his shoulder most definitely can. It watches you with caution from its perch, its yellow eyes seemingly shining through black feathers. You notice two black dogs, one on each side, sitting just underneath his feet below the dais. Under their paws are brilliant red orbs, which look a lot like their blood eyes.

“Come closer.”

His voice booms even from so far away, and it doesn’t look like he’s trying to be loud at all. You find yourself unable to take your eyes off of him as you walk down the room. The beating of your heart in your ears are deafening on top of the silence. Is it because you are facing a god that your mortal body can’t take it? You might be filled with resolve, but it’ll meaning absolutely nothing should your heart decide to explode.

With his hands he lets you know that he wants you in front of him—he steps down from the dais, and at that moment you notice that the cape you thought he was wearing turns out to be a pair of broad wings. The air around you moves as they flap once, as if to stretch. He waits for you.

Standing in front of him, you find your self-awareness extremely heightened. He is taller than you, with wider shoulders and an unmistakable aura of inhuman authority. Despite all this, however, he does not extort any fear out of you at all. In fact, he is strangely... comforting. Like something you’ve known your whole life.

Kiku’s voice rings in your ears just then. He said your name... he wants you.

“The paper,” he says, holding out his hand. There are no echoes to his voice anymore.

You reach for the crumpled slip and took it out, giving it to him with both hands.

He receives it on his palm, and instantly the calligraphic character on it emits a strong light, beaming up holy rays to the ceiling. You feel your breath knocked out of you—your chest. It’s hot. And then, excruciating pain. Too much for you to bear, too agonizing you can’t make a sound, your mouth feebly opening in a silent scream. It spreads through your nerves and you can sense them so clearly like they’re burning paths on your skin. Your hands clutch your chest in fear of your heart bursting out of your ribcage. Tears begin to form in your eyes, closed from the sheer pain of it all. 

A second later it’s over, the ‘marriage’ kanji returning to its dull ink color, and in that moment all the strength escapes your body. Everything—from the ascent, from your dream, from when the arrow first struck your home, from the years of your life before all this—they’ve all been let go from you, merely sands through your fingers. You’re about to fall face-first from the weakness in your knees but he knows, bringing you into his arms until you seem ready to stand on your own. His hands on your waist and back are pleasantly warm. 

“Red looks exquisite on you.”

“Yes, but it isn’t so flattering on Kiku. Reverse that enchantment on her at once.”

“My, you’ve always been one fireball, haven’t you,” he replies with a chuckle. It reverberates from his chest to yours, and there’s something immediately calming about the sound. “It has been done,” he says, showing you the paper in his hand. It doesn’t look much different, but you can clearly notice the absence of its spiritual force. You felt it first-hand.

As you slowly depart from the security of his arms, trying to regain your bearings, you feel his hand on your forehead.

“You are still warm,” he declares, emotions unreadable from under the mask. “We shall continue this somewhere more appropriate for you to rest.” He knows you have much to discuss with him—he is a god, after all. At this point, nothing should surprise you. 

“I’m fine,” you quickly say, and it suddenly strikes you that you’re not sure how to address him.

“Tengu is the name given to the people for them to worship me. To those who are in equal standing as I, I am called Nobunaga. You are my bride,” his hand wills you to look up, a finger under your chin, “thus you are my equal.”

His bride. It hasn’t sunk in yet, but somehow the title is now more palatable than when you first heard it. As if it were destined. You blink, hoping for the thought to go away. Perhaps being in close quarters with a god makes it easier for him to make you feel more inclined to his wishes?

But ‘Nobunaga’... how odd. It sounds like it could be the name of any other man in the village. You look at where his eyes are supposed to be behind the mask.

“Are you going to read my mind throughout the entirety of this meeting?”

“Only to warm you up,” he says, lips curling into a dangerous smirk. He turns around, walking towards a sliding door. With the pain in your chest completely gone, you follow closely behind.

[lyndsaybones]

All These Years

Part 2

2001, Georgetown, Washington, DC

She comes awake with a start, jolting from sleep with a gasp. It takes her a moment to acclimate, to realize that she cannot move. Her heart begins to pound and her breathing quickens.

“Where is he?” a voice, female, smooth and warm like whiskey.

There is only one “he.” Gone three months now. Her milk dried up ages ago it seems, but at the mere thought of him, her breasts ache and clench.

She closes her eyes and concentrates, concentrates on making even the slightest of moves. But there’s nothing. If she could just get to her gun...

“Where’s the baby?” the voice asks from some dark corner of her bedroom.

“He’s gone,” she gasps.

“Yes, that’s what you’d like everyone to think, isn’t it? And Mulder? Where is he?”

“He blames me for what happened to William. He left,” she whispers.   

She squeezes her eyes shut, making no effort to fight back tears. When she opens them again, she’s no longer in her own room, but somewhere else.

White, all white.

Blinding.

There is noise, like static, but more, it is deafening.

She’s freezing to the point of pain, unending cold shock like ice water submersion.

She wants to cry, wants to scream, wants whatever this is to end. But she is frozen in place, like suspended animation, arms splayed out like a crucifixion, legs hoisted up and apart.

Her mind is a raging, trembling, howling thing as her anesthetized body is poked and prodded, invaded.

The pain rises, reaches a fever pitch and then suddenly, nothing.

She is awake and in her own bed. There is light streaming in between the blinds. She sits up, relieved to have full control of her body. She’s in her pajamas from the night before and the terror, the images and feelings that played before her drift and sway, like paint coming away from a brush under water. The memory...or dream? dilutes and she struggles to orient herself.

Her phone rings on the nightstand and she is slow to answer.

“Hello?”

“Oh Dana, thank God!” her mother says, her voice wobbly with tears. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days! Where have you been?”

“I...I was…nowhere...I’ve been here,” she says.

“You have to answer your phone, Dana. I was so worried about you. I’m about to board a plane back to Washington to file a missing persons report!” she says, anger seething just beneath the relief.

“I’m sorry mom. I don’t know what to say,” she murmurs, confused.

“I never should have left,” Maggie says, more to herself than her daughter. “With the state you’ve been in, I never should have left.”

She’s trying to remember...anything really. She vaguely recalls telling Maggie that she just couldn’t stomach the trip to meet Bill and Tara’s new baby daughter, but that she should go and enjoy herself. But that was just...she just dropped her off at the airport the yesterday. Hadn’t she?

“Mom, how long have you been gone?” she asks.

“Oh my God, I’m coming back. I’ll be there before 5. Don’t go anywhere, Dana. Don’t do anything, please,” she begs.

“I’m...I’m just...how long, mom? How long?” panic rising.

“Three days, Dana,” she says with a sob. “Oh darling, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left you there alone after all you’ve been through. I’m coming, okay?”

2001, Rural Virginia

He is groggy and sleep deprived. William has been a fitful sleeper so far in his young life. Michael, he reminds himself. You have to call him Michael now.

People fall all over themselves to help him, he’s noticed that. They size him up, see he is out in the world alone with a baby and immediately deem him incompetent. Little old ladies who haven’t borne children in 60 years advise him about diapers in the grocery store, tsk him for not having socks on the boy even though it is a balmy 85 degrees outside. Women moon over them both, holding doors for him, offering their assistance at every turn. Other men, they shake their heads, “better you than me, buddy...she’s really got ya whipped, huh?”

He wears a wedding band because he wants people to assume that there is a mother, a wife, somewhere, waiting for them to come home. But it’s also because he knows, knows in his bones, that Dana Scully is his last love.

Their temporary home, a rented trailer outside Bristol, Virginia, is quiet, save for the current sound of William--Michael’s howling.

“Mikey, buddy,” he sighs as he shuffles, half asleep into the boy’s makeshift room.

The baby is in a collapsible playpen with a cheap plastic mobile hanging over it. It’s not until his eyes have adjusted in the dark that he can see that the mobile is spinning, turning at a wild and frightening speed.

He is paralyzed for a moment, until the baby’s wails become higher, more frantic. He scoops him from the floor of the playpen, pulling him close to his chest. Michael quiets almost instantly and the frenetic energy from mobile slows and eventually stops. He looks down at the sniffling infant with equal parts dismay and amazement.

The next day, he does the thing he swore he wouldn’t do. He contacts Scully.

Knowing that her phone lines are likely monitored, he opts for a more back-channel approach. The Gunmen, ages ago, had set up encrypted email accounts for Mulder and Scully both. He has no idea how often she accesses hers if at all, but he has to take a chance and tell her what he’s seen.

“I know we promised not to attempt contact, or if you’ll even read this, but there is something I need you to know. I think he has some kind of telekinetic powers. He can move things- I saw it myself.

God, I miss you so much. He looks more like you everyday. I swear, he’s safe. I’m keeping him safe, but he needs you. I’m going to find a way to come back for you.”

Days go by and she does not respond.

He writes more, sending his thoughts and hopes and fears out into the void. He writes her love letters, tells her every new thing the baby is doing, tells her about the joy that burrowed into his heart when he realized he was in love with her. He feels less alone, talking to her and simultaneously, not talking to her.

After two months of endless words the response comes:

“Stop. You have to stop. You’re putting him in danger. You’re putting me in danger. Please stop.”

Ten minutes later, another email follows:

“I love you both so much. Tell him how much I love him.”

[sayofchains88]

Chapter seven: Finding Alice by OrangeLetters88~

She flips down from a tree branch. "Were you tailing them or something? Vampire has telepathy now?" Alex asks more confused.

"Of course not, I am not a vampire; give me your hand." She says pulling him up by jumping with her strong hind legs. She holds her finger her mouth to be quiet.

Joseph walks through surveying shortly before leaving. Alex could feel the pain in his leg still despite for the most part hundred percent then before. "Why are you helping me?" Alex interrogates.

"Because he is looking to game anyone he can find. It seems like he is planning to end your small group. I know he already took your old base and now have your old clan captive." She explains.

"Why do you know so much? Who are you?" Alex asks leaning against the tree feeling sick.

Ida peeks over to see Alex losing grip of the tree tipping to the side. His eyes trying to keep open when Ida drops down below to catch Alex who slips forward, Ida grips his legs trying to give him the best support she can. Dizzily he leans his face against her shoulder. "My whole life is gone because of him. Everyone I cared for is gone. I had been trying to track him down. He will rue the day he destroyed my life also I am from the mountains."

"Join us and we will take revenge for you I swear. I just need a little more time to heal is all." Alex chimes in weakly.

"Let me take you back to the house then, we can talk inside." Ida said as they slowly trudged back to the house where Clarence was smoking flicking it to the ground seeing Ida carrying Alex.  

"Clarence, I am sorry, but seem a lot seemed to happen in the time I was out." Alex replies pushing himself off Ida to tip to the side.

"We knew you went missing eventually, but I also saw Joseph coming from the wood so I had a feeling. I saw someone with him...looked like a child, but I don't think he is. Is he Alex?" Clarence asks. Wrapping his arm around Alex like a crutch walking him inside with Ida following from behind them making it to Alex's room where Clarence would retrieve a chair for him and Ida.

Clarence begins examining Alex's leg with the healing hole while they talk. "I am Ida, I come from the mountains. I had been following those two rogue vampire for a long time. They had killed my clan. I will die trying to take what he destroyed, but now he has increased his fold. If you are targeted then he will not stop till you are vanished. This time I will make sure you are safe. I tried to warn Cooper, but he celebrated this so called help." Ida preached her story. Clarence stops Ida holding his wrapped hand around a slightly feverish Alex.  

Laying him down him injects Alex with a mild sedative. Telling him to rest and taking Ida's hand and locking the door behind him. Steel peeks in asking where Alice is.

Something felt very off to Clarence that very second. Christian and Steel were looking high and low for Alice.

                                          "Alice, my poor sweet Alice. You had been through much. If follow me I will protect you." Alice looks upon a cliff at the end of the forest. She could feel as though a million hands were dragging her down an endless hole. She was about to step down the side with her eyes closed till Clarence grabs her from where the land shifts between both of their feet crumbling.

He wraps his arms bracing the worst as they fall. "The hell is wrong with you?" he addresses screaming as they tumble far below.  Alice snaps out of it.

"Where am I?" Alice asks confused.

"Are you serious? What are you seeing?" Clarence evaluating Alice's psyche in the small period he never thought he would have to toddler another vampire clans people.

"I was being pulled down by hands after following a rabbit or so I thought. It felt familiar. Someone was calling me." Alice responds blankly. Red eyes pursued them deep in the twilight of the day.

"Of course you would catch on to me Clarence. I thought I would have captured sweet Alice." A child like figure in the distance snaps his fingers. Alice stood up right with her hands to her side. "She is doomed to repeat her life it seems."

Steel looks on as she heard a clap then an explosion could be heard and seen from a far. Running to the edge smoke covers everything making it hard to view what is happening.

"Stay away Steel!" Clarence screams from the bottom. He could feel her lingering not far from him above.

"Yes protect your princess. Amazed you didn't see it under your nose." He cackles. Alice was able to summon the many hands a long with the vorpal blade from the ground. "Now Alice give me the blade..." He demands.

Walking forward she tries to give the sword till Clarence pulls it from her hands. She collapses like a rag doll hitting the ground. "She is the reincarnation of Alice eh?"

"Hand it to me fool. It is not hers, but she has the right to carry the blade yes. I felt her awakening since she had become a vampire. That blade is priceless." He explains.

"Is this so you can gain full stature pint size?" Clarence said swinging it around before he knows it he feels a pang of pain from holding it. He drops it. It disappears back into Alice.

"For now you win." He says walking back in seemingly vanishing. Swiping Alice in arms fast as he can in case he looks around to get footing to push himself back up the destroyed cliff side, reaching up Steel grabs his arms helping him with bringing Alice; Steel makes sure the both are safe.

Steel checks Alice's breathing. "She is fine, but we have a new problem..." Clarence states. Steel kisses him at the same embracing him in hug.

"We will work this out together. It seems we need to protect Alex and his crew a little more before we go back to normalcy here." She says scared.

Clarence picks Alice up when he is impacted by a heavy presence. Alice begins to glow. Steel backs away. An illusion of a young child chasing a rabbit is seen before she realizes she is being watched.

The image twitches trying to convey its message. "It seems I lived a happy presence for a short time. Once again my life is sent a rift in time. I am fated for the chaos that is a vampire. He will find me if I am not separated from her current being although it seems even that is too late to me. If Alice dies the vorpal blade will turn to Edwin who discovered the magic contained in its pages of my book. If she is tranced then she will become his sheath, she will bring forth literally the hands of destruction, your books of fairy cannot stop them."  Alice explains breaking up. "There is one way though..."

Alice stopped glowing. The image stops and disappears. "His name is Edwin? That midget is named Edwin." Clarence growled to himself. Steel felt something tug her long gown. A golden rabbit giving her a large watch with a key attached to a chain swinging to the side.

"Protect your reality with this. You will know when it's time. Do not use it till then." The rabbit asks. "It is with great importance that you seek distance unless you are in danger."

"Joseph will separate Alex from Alice, but from what I gauge Alex was revived with her blood when she was still human...Let's go back Steel." Clarence suggests.

Almost every night a party has happened at Steels large compound since Alex's crew had been invited. Clarence settles Alice back into bed with Christian guarding. Opening Alex's door he is limped over the leg of Joseph.

Blood running down Alex's neck, his grip holding his arm up as though it was some forbidden love scene. Clarence swipes at Joseph almost hesitating.

Joseph dodges Clarence's attack attempt. "You dirty bastard. You snake! You never know when to call it quits. We may be able to drink from other vampires, but doesn't mean we should!" Clarence shouts.

"This is why you are only second to me. Survival is hardly on your mind. We are animals first. We wear our preys flesh on our faces. Why not utilize it, but no I am here for my toy. Isn't he a pretty little thing?" Joseph says ogling Alex's face with his long fingernails touching into his hair. "Master Edwin made him feverish with delusion so I could come in to retrieve him."

"Edwin has that ability? Who is Edwin, Joseph?" Clarence asks in shock.

"Of course, he could make you his doll if you were target. Master is amazing. Oh you look astonished." Joseph replies licking his fangs.  Walking over to Joseph he grabbed his arm pulling Alex from his arms.

"How the hell do you reverse the fever curse?" Clarence demands fed up.

"Like I would ever tell you how to reserve the fever curse, all you do is bust in on my fun." Joseph responds while climbing out the window. "For another time I suppose."

Clarence sighs deeply placing Alex back on the bed. He makes sure to secure the lock on the window and close the curtains. He sits there with his hands on knees looking down. He notices Alex's book tipped off the shelf partially opened.

He tosses the book on the ground. "Vepar, I need your help. It's Alex. The witch of the mountain is dead so I cannot ask her what is wrong with him. His eyes are open and his fever is persistent. I offer you my blood as right now there is nothing more I have." Clarence said shaking, but the book stays un-summoned on the ground. "It's probably due to the fact I am tired right now..." Clarence says to him falling asleep next to Alex on the floor.

In the morning he feels a hand on his shoulder. He clutches the hand slowly waking and groggy.

"Thank you Clarence. I will take it from here so you can rest." He says smiling.

"The spell broke? How are you awake?" Clarence asks weakly.

"Vepar came to me in a dream, he told me I need to wake up. I need to protect Alice and Christian. I can't do it sleeping. He gave me back my energy, but he also told me you called him. So I thank you." Alex praises.

"I didn't have the strength to properly send you to him." Clarence responds depressed.

"But you did and he came. I am fine and that is enough. Where is Ida?" He asks.

"I am not sure...a lot has happened. You cannot let Alice out of your sight. She is the reincarnation of Alice of the book fame, with all things there is a grain of truth. Alex this is the time for you to finally become who you need to be your kin. Steel and I will be with you all the way through this. Please trust us." Clarence asks.

Alex goes to change into his normal clothes then meet Clarence out to check on Alice. Christian and Mars are talking side by side. They find they made fast friends. Steel came to drag away Alex to hand him the pocket watch.

"You need to stay here till this whole thing blows over. They want to try to get you all apart. We can help protect you. Alice will probably be lured with illusions more and more plus I am pretty sure Clarence wants to level the playing field with Edwin and Joseph." Steel confines.

"That guy's name is Edwin? I felt he was an old soul. He wanted to kill me, but he said if I don't kill him, he will kill me, but Joseph wants me as a play thing. I thought I was going to die earlier if Clarence didn't come when he did." Alex explains trying to relax.

"Joseph is not your usual fighter Alex." Clarence states. "We grew up in the same space at one time. We mutated due to both being experimented on by human captors so it's not exactly coincidence that we share the same ability. He killed our captor trying to save a female companion, but she bled out a painful death. We all bonded those days."

"I wondered how you two have similar abilities. It feels like your fangs are more jagged." Alex points out.

"We were given implants to apparently latch better. Joseph broke through his chains to rescue her, but instead when he realized it was fruitless and toe his throat out in an adrenaline fit of rage. We parted ways only to find each other again..." Clarence reveals.

Steel stood silent reminiscing when she met Clarence one rainy day. He lay defeated on the ground broken and bleeding after Steel dispersed the group who was beating him up. Cleaning him up she realized how gorgeous he was. They shared their first laugh when he temporally had to wear an eye patch.

"Stop Clarence, it's okay, You have a home now. No need to explain yourself when you owe none." Steel responds blushing grabbing his shirt.

"He deserves to know what Joseph is. He is specially aiming his sights on Alex while Edwin is going for Alice. This is their own war, but the main problem is Edwin..." Clarence expresses biting the nail on his thumb. "Is he a vampire?"

The small room they were in seemly became large like they stood in the middle of a vast amount of stars that starts to move around center of them. Shooting stars fly past them. Clarence clutches Steel firmly by the shoulders. Alex goes on defense like a cat on all fours.

"I can find you from anywhere in the world if I wanted." Edwin cautions walking into the room in front of them.

"Bastard..." Alex growls under his breath. Edwin snaps Alex goes limp once again with fever curse Steel kneels down clinging to Alex.  

"Do you think you really can mess with me?" He threatens snapping again bringing Alex out of it. He looks up perplexed. His mind foggy with hopelessness as Edwin walks over to him face to face. Edwin once again snaps displaying everyone lying on the ground appearing to be passed out.  

Alice displayed on her bed. Her arms to her side like she is sleeping beauty; her eyes flutter open. "You know how easy this is for me?" He counters taking her hand gently. She gets up and does a twirl as they start to dance. He sways back and forth with her as the two are slowly entangled in each other's emotions. She smiles gingerly stepping side to side.

The two simply enjoying a dance, Clarence starts to feel sick when Joseph wraps a metal shackle around his neck pulling him back from Steel who shouts all the while Edwin continues to promenade with Alice who seems to not be able to acknowledge anyone else there.

When Alex pulls out the large stop watch about to use it when Edwin stops, Alice's gaze on Alex when the reflection of the watch hit her eyes. She seemed to be able to melt the illusion without Alex needing to open it.

Everything stops Clarence, Steel and Alex alone in the room again. The house where all should be; Clarence runs into the room where Alice is, she is sitting up. The expression on her face terrified filled with sweat looking up at him in awe. Christian and Mars unaware of the occurrence ever happened or that something even materialized.

"Are you okay Clarence? Alex? Steel?" Mars asks confused. Who follows close behind.

"Can we talk to Alice? We will call you back later I promise. Take a break." Clarence said nervously showed them out. His legs felt like jelly registering what happened by touching his neck lightly.

Alice glimpses at everyone in the room. Bringing her legs up to her chest to hug them warily, Alex unsure of what to say looks away.

"Do you know Edwin? Did you not see us?" Steel picked at Alice's brain.

"I did not. That watch brings back memories I know aren't from this time in current reality. Edwin is a reincarnated member of Wonderland. He is the cat...ageless, timeless. He was brought back as a human child. I didn't know his life would come into despair his first incarnation. I could see his life before my eyes when that watch came into my vision. I realized I was under control as soon as the light hit my eyes." Alice illustrated. "I don't think he wanted me to know who he was. He was turned on accident instead was left for dead."

"Not everyone wants to turn..." Alex forlornly thinks a loud.

"I don't regret turning. Alex we came from the same fold. We know we would not have survived if we didn't take that offer. Those winters were brutal. Keeping dinner on the table was scarce." Steel proclaims.

"But Edwin was a child. Not even proper age to give his life." Alex argued to Steel. "We gave them permission and they gave the question of immortality to weigh on."

Steel huffs clasping her hands together behind her back, Alice gets up from the bed taking off the night gown off in front of the others popping on an oversized soft brown sweater and jeans; Alex and Clarence ashamed looked away.

"I am not that Alice anymore. Yet seems to him I will be till we finish him off. He didn't know even know his past till he opened the limitless book at akashic records is when he opened the great seal in his life. His hair stained white over the beautiful brunette hair he previously had." Alice once again spelling out Edwin's life at the moment pushing on brown ballet flats.

"Becoming a vampire opened his intelligence and ego. His inhumanity would set him apart from other vampires I am sure, but why this quest to take his role back as Cheshire cat?" Clarence asks.

"I did not view that. Only his suffering spoke to me. He saw deeply into me as well I know it. He is going to use it none the less. He is looking to get revenge for his humble life destroyed by bandit vampires who killed his parents and little sister. I want to visit their grave outside of town." Alice responds concerned.

Alex grabs her arm. "You can't go alone. Did you not just see what Edwin is capable of? We will come with you." He scolds her. She takes her hand back giving a slight attitude before softening up.

"Fine, I understand." Alice replies with a sigh.

Steel hands Alice and Alex a vial of blood. "We need to keep our strength up. Remember Edwin wants the vorpal blade."

"I was listening on you guys. Please take me with you to examine the grave." Ida interrupts.  

"We know you two are behind the door already. Christian, Mars. You both need to watch the house while were gone in case something happens." Steel chides.

"It's not like we're going to fight. We need to observe a grave. This isn't a gang thing." Clarence explains slightly unsure what else to say.

Christian shrugs at Mars. The two felt they were in heaven. Steel's compound has multiple rooms dedicated to games of all sorts. A large library, a very large kitchen and dining room, ball room and many bathrooms and plethora of small rooms to bring a human as a late lunch or dinner so you need it to be.

They weren't upset at Alex despite a lot of their time ended in medical bay. They went into the dining room following behind one of Steels roommate's to make small chat. Clarence pulls the car outside.

They pile in and make it to the location not far from their place, Alice winces in pain to notice her palm is bleeding touching the grave stone. She can see images of Edwin crying hard hugging the stones.

She felt like she was being watched deep into the distance from the tree. She walks over to it looking at it. Alex points out the parallels to the famous illustration practically instantly.

Alice scowls at Alex who backs away. Joseph walks from the tree swinging his cane. "Master is in the tree, but he knew you would be here."

Edwin jumps down. He signals for Joseph's cane sword who hands it to him. Who literally takes swipes at Alice who dodges each time. She starts to get acrobatic darting each attempt before struggling to summon the vorpal blade.

He swings with more furious conviction Alice every time tries to get it right. She slides on her knees dunking the latest stroke. He sticks to his stance. Both are un-moving.

"You were just a child. You need to move past this already." Alice shouts.

"You think it's just about that?" Edwin laughs. Getting off her he drops the sword. Motionless in the position after, Alice alert moves to the side. "Stay out of my mind if you plan to live any longer then I will allow."

Alice pulls the sword from her chest. "Mirage of memories!" She howled the energy seemed to blow her into the trunk of tree dropping sword. Every one blasted to the ground, Alice is able to retrieve it before Edwin could.

Joseph picks Edwin up. "Nothing happened?" Edwin bleeding from the head semi-conscious rubs his face trying to view at the scene.

Alex holding his head while helping Steel up, Clarence couldn't find Ida. "Something is wrong..." Clarence announces.

Looking around everyone could see no differences. Alice stood stationary. Her hair grew longer her appearance shifted to a different face and she was shorter. Visually Victorian holding the sword to the side walking over to Edwin about to give it to him when Clarence not thinking properly decided to take his knuckle and beat her in the face; she turned to him shocked.

"What did you do that for? It is the Cheshire Cat." She replies about in tears.

"I am so sorry Ms. I thought you were someone else and unreasonably hit you." He says offering her his handkerchief since he grazed her face with his ring.

Edwin leaped from Joseph's arm. "You are Alice? Do you remember me?" He inserts himself between Clarence and Alice.

"Of course I do. Why would I have forgotten?" Alice questions.

Alex checks the watch when he hears inside like a tapping to an image etched like Ida inside. He clicks the stopper. Alice faints in Steels arms releasing Ida back into this realm.

"Where the hell was I?" Ida wonders. "I am pretty sure it weren't in heaven. I was small in a large bottle. A lady smiled at me, but I think she knows whatever is going on."

Steel fanning Alice with her hand apprehensive of the situation, Edwin still not understanding so he paces in front of them all when Ida attacks him head first. "Long time no see. Of course you would go with Alex to get revenge."

He tosses her to the ground with almost no energy at all. "What are you?" She asks.

"An inter-dimensional vampire, this is no time to getting on my nerves." Edwin said wiping his shoulders insultingly. "Why did she use that spell? It seems to bring back literally a memory of her former self, but proves she is indeed the reincarnation. She saw me as the cat when that cat has been dead for millions of years now, but means..." Edwin stops freezing.

"Master Edwin?" Joseph asks.

"Why would she try to give me the sword? Can she not feel my aura?" Edwin says visibly trying to hold back tears. He wipes them quickly to instruct Joseph. "Think fast Alex"

Edwin snaps his fingers sticking Alex under the fever curse. Joseph punches Steel in the gut taking Alice from her arms swiftly also grabbing Alex. Clarence catches Steel who is bending forward despite the massive hit she took. Ida moves back uncertain how to go forward.

Alex had dropped the watch from earlier. Clarence makes his way to retrieve it. "I hope Vepar watches over Alex...at least till we find them."

"He is going to turn Alice into the sheath. We have to find her or were all in danger. He is seriously mentally imbalanced. He feels every vampire has done him wrong it seems." Steel states winded.

"Humankind is also his enemy at this point..." Clarence says feeling past hope. Ida also gets the impression that is not a simple task.

"He feels more like a God then a vampire. He is almost impossible to fight. He snaps and he turn us inside out..." Ida responds wistfully looking to Clarence and Steel. "I feel like giving up..."

"If we give up and were screwed when Edwin literally sends the hands of destruction our way, we need to regroup with Christian and Mars and figure it out from there." Clarence affirms. "If Edwin wants a battle then we will give him one."

"Darling, aren't we getting ahead of ourselves with this one?" Steel says disheartened.

The silence felt deafening when Clarence put his hands on Ida and Steel. "Look we are way in way over our head, but we have a unique team here.  We better head back please trust me. After all...I am a vampire's vampire." Clarence says with a smirk. "I am only the one fit to get rid of Joseph..."

https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/269037735/write/1067804352 Please support my works at wattpad if you like my works~

[samwpmarleau]

for the request: Daemon II + ghost!Valarr

He expects to see Matarys, when he dies. He expects to see Grandfather, and Mother, and Father, but Mat most of all. He has to apologize. He’d called his brother stupid one night then Mother had sent them to bed, and by morning Mother was dead—she must have been ill long before that, but she never let on—and Mat was unconscious. It took a day for him to die, and Valarr himself followed within the week.

I didn’t mean any of it, Mat, he wants to say. You look so much like Father that it was easier for me to be cruel to you, but I didn’t mean it.

Instead, all he sees is white. No family, no nothing, just endless white.

“Is anyone here?” he calls out. He turns in a circle, but still—nothing. White, and silence. “Anyone? What is this?”

Is this to be his punishment? Are the gods shaming him for not living up to his father? The great Baelor Breakspear, invincible, the Warrior reborn, handsome, charming, generous, the greatest crown prince of them all…Valarr is none of that. He’s only ever had a shred of any of those. Handsome enough, charming enough, skilled enough, but never special.

He would never know true renown, never know what it feels like to triumph legitimately over a fearsome opponent like Father did over Daemon Blackfyre. He would only ever draw the easy matches, or opponents who throw the tilt to make him look good.

Mat had been the one who showed signs of having their father’s prowess. The master-at-arms had been genuinely proud when Mat accomplished something, where it was almost always resignation when he trained Valarr.

Surely, this must be the gods’ wrath for his sins. What kind of older brother is envious of his younger? What kind of future king lets men lose on purpose against him? Mayhaps his son will be his better, if he has one. Kiera should be safe, she’ll have made it to Dragonstone by now, and Aerys has the most talented maesters in the realm. Perhaps Valarr can be the father of a great king, at least. That’s better than having no legacy to speak of, is it not?

It’s as he’s pondering this that a flash of black catches his eye, and he scrambles to find it again. “Mat?” he asks aloud. It had looked like his brother’s hair, dark and long. “Matarys! Where are you? Brother!”

And then he sees it again, and he runs towards it—then pitches forward. He shuts his eyes against a fall that never comes, and when he opens them, the white is gone. Or, rather, different. He’s staring up at the pristine white walls of a giant castle, and instantly sounds assault his ears, sounds and color.

Could it be this was all just a fever dream? Could it be he’d just passed out and now he’s…all right, he’s not sure where he is, but it feels real. A woman holding the hand of a small child approaches him and he hurries towards her. “My lady, I’ve lost my way,” he says. “Could you tell me where I am?”

She doesn’t reply, doesn’t even look at him. Well, she’s rude, but he does take after his father in looks far more than his mother; perhaps the woman didn’t like that. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had regarded him in disdain. The figure with the black hair is no longer in sight, but then Valarr sees a different figure, a pair of figures—a small boy with a shaved head, and a man at least half a foot taller than Father.

Joy blooms in his chest as he sprints across the field. If they’re here, then no doubt he is here, too! “Cousin! Ser Duncan!” he yells. “Cousin, I’m all right, see?” But Egg doesn’t look at him either, nor the knight, despite the fact that Valarr is right in front of them. “Egg? Egg, can’t…can’t you see me?”

“Come, lad,” says Ser Duncan. “Let’s find a place.”

They walk forward—no, through. Egg walks through him, as though he’s…he’s…

Abruptly, the boy whirls around with a frown, and shivers. “Lad?” prompts Ser Duncan. “What is it?”

“I just felt…cold for a moment,” says Egg. He shakes his head and turns back around. “Forget it, ser.”

“Aegon!” he tries one last time, but the boy and his knight keep walking, perfectly oblivious, and Valarr feels his feeble hope shatter into a thousand pieces.

This isn’t real. No, he isn’t real. He’s some kind of specter or ghost or something. Is this the destiny the gods chose for him? Is he to spend eternity as a haunt? Is he bound to this castle or to Egg? Or is he bound to nothing? And what had become of the glimmer of Mat that he’d seen? Or had that not been Mat at all? But if not Mat, then who?

He feels a curious pull then, like a string yanked taut, and with a forlorn glance at his retreating cousin, he lets the feeling guide him through the grounds and into the castle, up a winding staircase and into someone’s chambers, and then the pull stops. He looks around, confused, only to see a man emerge from behind a dressing screen, a man with dark hair. But it’s not Mat, not remotely. This man has skin near as pale as the walls of the castle, and eyes like Egg’s. There’s something familiar about him, too, but Valarr can’t place it.

“Why am I here?” he cries heavenward. “What do you want from me?”

There’s no answer, of course there isn’t, and as Valarr tries to leave—maybe if he talks to Egg again, he can make him hear—he finds that his feet are bound to the floor. He stares at the black-haired man in the room again; is this who he’s supposed to haunt?

“Who are you?” he asks.

He’s spared from wondering much longer when a pudgy man with lank blond hair enters the room and closes the door. “Alyn,” greets the black-haired man. “How is it looking?”

“No one you shouldn’t be able to best, Your Grace.” Valarr feels as though someone has staved in his chest. Your Grace? No…it couldn’t be…

“I will show them all that I am my father’s son,” says the man. Says Daemon Blackfyre. Valarr knows now why he’d been struck with that odd feeling earlier. He hasn’t seen Daemon since…gods, since they were children. It had only been once, but Valarr remembers the boy as goodnatured, friendly even. Everything his sire was not.

Valarr finds he has no choice but to follow Daemon through the tourney, listen as he tells everyone he is John the Fiddler, as he becomes smitten with Ser Duncan of all people. He nearly loses his mind when Egg is endangered, but somehow, some way, his cousin comes through alive, as does the hedge knight and even brave, broken Glendon Flowers. Valarr almost sobs in relief when he sees the army crest the hill; for the first time in a week, the gods let him leave Daemon’s side, and it is to Lord Bloodraven’s tent he rushes. He’s his last hope, his only hope.

“Uncle,” Valarr tries, once they’re alone.

He doesn’t know why he’s bothering, in truth. The woman hadn’t heard him, Egg hadn’t heard him, why would Lord Bloodraven be any different? Except the Hand tilts his head curiously, and looks around the room that to his reckoning is perfectly empty, and Valarr’s breath catches.

“Uncle Brynden, can you hear me? It’s Valarr. Please, tell me you at least can hear me.”

Bloodraven’s voice is little more than a murmur. “Baelor’s boy…”

“Yes,” Valarr exclaims. “Yes, it’s me! I’m trapped, uncle. You have to help me. Your magic—it can free me from this place, can’t it?”

He lurches forward and touches Bloodraven’s arm. He doesn’t shiver like Egg did, but his hand clenches into a fist and then relaxes. “This is the work of the gods,” he says. “They have taken you where I cannot reach, little prince.”

Valarr sinks to the floor, feeling more hopeless than ever. Bloodraven extends his hand, and for a moment, Valarr could swear he could feel his uncle’s palm on his shoulder, solid and warm. “What am I to do?”

He doesn’t have to see Bloodraven’s frown to know the connection has been severed. He lets out a scream heard by no one and his vision goes white, the same whiteness as when he’d first entered this astral hell, and then he’s gone from Bloodraven’s tent and instead in a dank cellar.

No, not a cellar, a cell, lit by not so much as a torch. Valarr would think himself alone, were it not for the faint breaths of a figure curled up on the floor. Valarr crouches down and tries to identify his companion, but he can’t make out a single feature.

“Who’s there?” asks the figure, jolting upright. His voice is a rasp, but Valarr recognizes it nonetheless.

“Daemon?” These are unmistakably the Black Cells, so if Daemon is here, it must have been Lord Bloodraven’s doing. He supposes he can’t blame him. As much as Daemon is not like his father, he had nevertheless attempted a coup against the crown. Valarr leans against the stone wall and grumbles, “I’m stuck with you again, am I?”

“Who’s there?”

“Prince Valarr,” he sighs. Bloodraven had heard him, sort of, but Daemon is no mage. “It’s Prince Valarr and I’m a bloody ghost and the gods want me to spend forever in this accursed place. At least you’re alive.”

Daemon shudders, though Valarr doesn’t know if it’s because of him or the cell. “Are you here to hurt me?”

“No,” says Valarr, not that Daemon can hear him. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“Then I’m glad you’re here, whatever you are. I am glad to not be alone. Will you stay?”

Valarr doubts he could leave anyway, but he finds himself feeling sorry for the man. Perhaps Daemon had not wanted to rebel because he wanted to usurp the throne, but because he felt he had no choice. Perhaps Daemon had always felt beholden to his father’s legacy the same way Valarr had. Perhaps they are not so different. At least Father had not named Valarr after himself.

“I’ll stay.”

He doesn’t know how long he stays, exactly, even though Father had taught him how to measure time without the sun. He supposes the cells were designed that way, or maybe being dead has something to do with it. What he does know is that Daemon’s health steadily begins to decline as time passes.

He had talked aloud at first, meaningless drivel or stories of his time in Tyrosh, or anecdotes about his father that had made Valarr’s fists clench in righteous anger. But not at this Daemon, never at this one. The talking dwindles, though, and Daemon spends more and more time asleep, and more than once he refuses the food the gaoler brings him even though he’s only fed weekly.

He’s going to die, Valarr realizes. And then what? Will the gods be satisfied at forcing me to watch a man starve to death? And what of Bittersteel? Is he to crown Haegon with Daemon dead? Will the circle go round and round and round forever, Blackfyre against Targaryen until no one’s left?

He had already watched so many perish, and he’s tired. Can ghosts get tired? Somehow, he knows Daemon is the answer, he has to be.

In all this time, he’s never touched Daemon; the cells are cold enough as it is, and he’s never wanted to make his companion any colder. But he touches him now, to wake him from his slumber. “Get up,” he commands. “I’m getting you out of here and you will live, and you will renounce all claims to the throne. Aerys will not listen, so you will go to my uncle Maekar at Summerhall and you will act in good faith as your father never did. You will help my uncle eradicate Bittersteel. The Blackfyres will never again threaten my family, do you understand?”

Daemon is so quiet that Valarr thinks he’s fallen asleep again, but then, in scarcely a whisper— “I understand.”

Valarr doesn’t know how the information comes to him, how he knows to tell Daemon which hinges are rusted through or where the secret passage is or any of it. Daemon’s movements are clumsy from exhaustion and malaise, but he follows Valarr’s instructions to the letter and finally emerges from the passageway into the dark of night.

“Summerhall,” Valarr commands again. “Go to Summerhall.”

Daemon nods and Valarr closes his eyes. When he opens them again, it is not the white he saw before, but his little brother.

[teyyhyung]

i. The Dream

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Angst (?)/ Fluff (??? idk what this is)

Words: 1626 (it’s short i know but a dream is a DREAM)

(also my first posted fic so hi)

Note: I originally wrote this because I was so hyped after hearing my friend's dream and desperately needed to let my imagination flow and make it something tangible. I’m sorry for stealing your dream but here’s your credit?? :)

The hissing street lamps cut through the thick obsidian, flooding the path with cool chamomile light. Y/N shivered violently, drawing her coarse knitted jacket closer as the cold bit at her hands. In the distance a faint serenade of squeals and laughter followed her as she leisurely ambled down the muddied track, watching as blurry shapes flurried past her with the crisp crunch of hard grass and scuttling feet breaking the thick silence.

 Just as Y/N began to descend the frosty hill, she was racked with a fit of shivers, her sore eyes prickling with wayward tears and a puff of white breath dancing before her.

Screw the cold, her fatigue and her aching eyes.

Despite the charming weather, she couldn’t help but grin at the giggling children that ran about, peeking out occasionally behind the pitifully spindly trees which left nothing to the children’s imagination. They dodged one another and yapped like pups, flying off again into the dark night.

Armed only with the bright glare of the camp instructor’s torches, she made her way down the muddy track towards a squat brick-red building, billows of steam swaddling her as it furled out from the dribbling vents. Following the dim flicking lights down the building, she rounded the vents and came towards the front of it. She tiredly pulled the door open, grimacing at the uncomfortable dampness of the handle; which came as no surprise really when she looked at the door window slick with condensation, small rivulets of water trickling down.

Stepping in, the thick humidity hung on her shoulders like a warm blanket, the atmosphere thick enough to cut it with a knife. The sudden heat caused her cheeks to flare up, but soon the wave of heat passed and she felt her chest clear, her breathing easing up. She scoffed, recalling the snarky attitude of the camp coordinators when they told her to go ‘freshen up’ despite her lack of enthusiasm for ‘an exhilarating game of Capture the Flag’.

In a corner, she noticed a mountain of damp sweaty clothes that had been unceremoniously dumped to the side with a worrying amount of underwear peeking out from it. Quickly walking down the humid corridor she heard the rattling trolleys that squeaked with age, freshly laundered towels stacked inside as if it were a cornucopia; a hint of lemon permeating the air. She passed by, peeling off her jacket that was now sticking to her clammy t-shirt and eventually navigated herself through the corridors to the changers.

The door had been propped open with a pair of muddied football boots, a trail of dirt scattered along the scratchy blue carpet. By this point, Y/N was utterly unfazed by the whole ordeal, having served enough summers there, as she shouldered the door open and steered clear from the suspiciously coloured puddle; nothing less expected from the juniors side of the room. Slinking through the throngs of hyper kids, she slipped into the seniors, the familiar scent of spicy deodorant and floral perfume wafting through the air and coating her lungs. 

The gleaming white walls dribbled with water as gusts of steam gushed from the shower cubicles, the drumming of water mingling with the light chatter that filled the room as Y/N weaved her way through. After muttering a handful of ‘excuse me’s, she finally reached the freckled metal locker. She looked back at the showers, huddles of towel clad people shuffling from foot to foot outside.

She was going to have to wait a while.

Supple as a peach, her head pounded lightly as the pink flush slowly drained from her cheeks, her damp hair falling in loose messy waves. There, she lolled about, swinging her legs to-and-fro as she sat between the polished benches, the starchy whiteness of gym clothes making her blend seamlessly into the sweating walls.

The room was becoming less crowded as people began to scatter and go back to their dorms, the odd straggler or two remaining behind. Her mind began to whir as she mulled over what to do next and painted out a mental schedule when suddenly a grin graced her rose-bud lips, utterly lost in her thoughts, precious memories of the week suddenly resurfacing and becoming all too much for her. All she could muster was bubbling laughter and the blur of swathed scarfs and jumpers as scurrying feet flew over the frost-crisped grass; a swirling inferno of glowing flecks and ash spattering across the night sky.

When suddenly a heavy cloud of spiced apples and warm laundry lurched her from her mind, her arms prickling with electricity as her senses were drugged by the scent.

“Were you waiting for me? I hope I didn’t keep you from anything exciting.” A voice chirruped as a head of chocolate tufts peeked out from a large white t-shirt, greeting her with that crooked smile that he unknowingly cursed girls with. His chocolate eyes crinkled as he took in her glassy stare; her pink body propped up against the wall and legs sprawled gracelessly along the bench.

“I-I- wasn’t-” Y/N cleared her throat as he plopped himself by her legs. “I’m just hiding from those fucking camp leaders. Don’t get your hopes up Jungkook.” Shaken by her unintentionally prickly reply, she felt inclined to slip in a quick apology when he flashed her weary grin, an untraceable emotion swimming in his searching eyes.

She averted her eyes, cheeks burning despite the warmth that already radiated from her.

She couldn’t handle it. Why was he like that?

Over the lulling drumming from the empty showers, she could barely make out his soft sniffles that seemed to break his laid-back, cool facade that everyone willed him to be. They all conjured images of a quick witted, cocky boy with smooth words and charms oozing from him. The perfect camp crush.

Never could she have imagined the camp heartthrob bounding up to her on the first day, gushing about their set task of peeling potatoes and the smell of bubbling stew.    

Jungkook just couldn’t tear his eyes from her peaceful form. He could feel something terrifyingly heavy swell in his throat, as if it were clogged with cotton. His mind goaded him to wash it out with a stream of words. 

What words? Words of Sadness? Regret? Maybe the truth?

 A rattling sigh heaved from his chest. What good would it do? He needed to make it last somehow. 

Just when Y/N had gathered enough energy to drag herself back to the frosty cabins, she abruptly felt a solid weight on her chest, apple scented hair tickling her neck. Her body stiffened but Jungkook remained there, puffing out a defeated sigh. She must be dreaming. 

Unsure of what to do, she prayed that he couldn’t feel the erratic beating of her heart as he lay there on her, his deft fingers entwining themselves around the wild curls of her fringe.

“Jungkook, we should leave…”

“Can we just stay like this for a bit, Y/N… please?”

“I- what. I mean, yeah sure.”

Her nerves on fire, she gulped down her growing jitteriness.

After they heard the jangle of keys and heavy footfalls echo through the still room, the two scrabbled for the exit; their tinkling laughter being the only trace they left behind. It occurred to Y/N suddenly that she had forgotten about her friends, whom had promised to wait for her outside as she wallowed in the changers. But now, as they stepped into the entrance, there was only the heavy cast of chlorine and empty baskets left. She brushed it off and proceeded to haul the door open, with Jungkook excitedly pushing her forwards, his hands comfortably placed on her shoulders. Too comfortably.

The darkness swallowed them as they traced their way back to their cabins. As expected, their run to escape the groundskeeper had reduce them to a panting mess, their quick breaths furling into milky puffs in the night sky. Y/N could hardly make out Jungkook’s features under the flickering streetlamps, his shadow dancing along the ground as if it were jumping between two worlds. He glanced over at her, as if he had known of her shameless staring, and grinned. His eyes trailing down to the heaped up jacket in her stiff arms.

He shivered.

“Shit it’s so cold. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to stay there so long.” He chuckled as he feverously rubbed at his sides, willing the friction to create some warmth.

Y/N shook her head, a smile plastered on her face as she watched their matching strides. Suddenly Jungkook’s feet stopped, a sad chuckle floating in the air.

“I really don’t want you to forget.”

“What…” She could feel the tension grow, warmth crawling its way up her neck. When she looked up, she found Jungkook’s head tilted back, his eyes glimmering from the milky moonlight.

“Well,” He started, his voice reduced to a soft lilt. “I’m not going to see you much…ever. “ He looked back to her. “And I know it’s dumb and you’ll probably forget but- fuck!” A small smile pulled at his down turned mouth, his voice croaking. 

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

Nothing made sense. Y/N stared at him, searching for something more to make sense of his sudden confession. Did he like her? She couldn’t believe it, their time was much too short and bittersweet. Her eyes softened as she tried to send a reassuring smile, her arm reaching out to console him somehow.

His gaze burning into her, he whispered. “You’re gonna forget.”

Her body slumped as her arm fell flat to her side. What did he mean? His face dropped, his mouth slackening as she was about to let loose a stream of endless questions. The last thing she saw, was the pearl moonlight swimming in his golden, chocolate eyes. His outline of his body blurring into the star smattered night sky. Then, darkness.