#SHATTERED MEMORIES MY BELOVED
Text
Great news the awful silent hill runs perfectly
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
i. the radio's revival
The worst possible scenario just unfolded before Alastor's eyes—his beloved antique radio broke.
He stood in stunned silence, his usual jovial expression replaced by one of utter disbelief as the once-majestic device now lay in pieces, its intricate components scattered across the floor. With a heavy heart, he knelt beside the shattered remnants, his gloved fingers tracing the familiar contours with a sense of mourning.
It was a futile gesture, he knew, but he couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss for the part of himself that had been taken away with it. For Alastor, the radio was more than just a mere object; it was a piece of his identity. Each scratch, each dent held a story, a memory of a bygone era that now lay at ruins at his feet.
In that moment, he felt more vulnerable than ever before, stripped of the facade of invincibility he had carefully cultivated over decades. However, as he surveyed the damage, the vulnerability was quickly replaced by a flood of other emotions–anger, frustration, disappointment. How could something so precious, so irreplaceable, be lost in an instant?
The faint sound of shuffling feet then drew his attention. As he gazed up, one of the egg boys—those bumbling, loyal lackeys of Sir Pentious—timidly stepped forward with a sheepish expression.
“Uh, sorry about that, mister Radio Demon, sir. It was an accident,” the egg boy mumbled, his voice tinged with guilt.
Alastor's eye twitched in annoyance at the feeble excuse. Accidents were one thing, but this? This was inexcusable. His patience, already stretched thin, threatened to snap as he struggled to contain his frustration.
“Sorry?” Alastor repeated through gritted teeth. “Sorry won’t fix what’s been broken, now will it?”
The egg boys exchanged nervous glances, their carefree demeanor faltering under Alastor's withering gaze. “We didn't mean to, Mr. Alastor,” another one of them stammered.
Yet it was far too late for apologies. Alastor's frustration bubbled over like a pot ready to boil, and with a growl of irritation, his form began to shift. With each passing second, his horns extended, his body swelled in size, and his once elegant silhouette towered over the trembling egg boys like a vengeful deity.
The egg boys recoiled in terror, their eyes wide with horror as they watched Alastor's transformation unfold before them. In their panicked mind, they could only imagine the worst—that Alastor, in his fury, would devour them whole.
Just as their fear reached its peak, Sir Pentious burst onto the scene. Positioning himself between the egg boys and the Radio Demon, his voice rang out in a chorus of apologies.
“Mr. Alastor, sir, I must beg for your forgiveness on behalf of my hapless egg boys,” he pleaded desperately. “They meant no harm, I assure you. It was a mere accident, a foolish mistake!”
Alastor's gaze narrowed as he observed Sir Pentious. As the snake demon continued to shower him with apologies, Alastor suddenly remembered the reason they were all gathered here in the first place—a party, of all things. With a wry smile, he glanced around at the other residents of the hotel, noting the fear etched onto their faces. The sight of their unease might've amused him under different circumstances, but the loss of something so precious to him soured his mood.
With a shake of his head, he allowed his form to shrink back to its normal size. As his horns receded and his imposing presence diminished, he felt the tension ebb from his body, the anger gradually fading away.
But that didn’t mean that all was forgiven.
“What, pray tell, am I supposed to do with my broken radio now?” Alastor's voice dripped with barely contained frustration as he shot a piercing gaze at Sir Pentious.
Sir Pentious, visibly sweating under the weight of Alastor's glare, scrambled to offer a solution. “Ah, well, fear not,” he stuttered, his words coming out in a nervous rush. “I happen to know a mechanic—a fixer, if you will. Someone who can repair anything, no matter how... delicate.”
Alastor's eyebrow arched in skepticism, though a faint flicker of interest danced in his eyes. "Is that so?" he mused, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He had his doubts about Sir Pentious' ability to deliver on such a promise, but at this point, he was willing to entertain any possibility.
“And where can I find this mechanic of yours?”
Following the instructions scribbled hastily on the back of a crumpled receipt, Alastor eventually found himself in the slums of Pentagram City. The narrow alleyways led him to what appeared to be a workshop, its exterior bearing the signs of neglect and decay. The windows were grimy, patches of paint flaked off the weathered walls, and the sign above the entrance barely hung on by a single rusty nail.
It was a far cry from the elegance he was accustomed to, and he couldn't help but feel a familiar surge of anger rising within him. This was the place that was supposed to hold the solution to his problem? The Radio Demon scoffed inwardly, doubting that anyone within these walls possessed the skill or expertise to repair something as delicate as his beloved radio.
Still, he pressed on. Pushing open the creaking door, he was met with a gust of stale air, tinged with the scent of oil and metal. Inside, the workshop was a scene of disarray. Tools lay scattered across workbenches, and half-finished projects cluttered every available surface. The walls were lined with shelves overflowing with spare parts, some of which appeared to be salvaged from long-forgotten machinery.
Alastor's lips curled into a disdainful sneer as he absorbed the surroundings. Then, his gaze fell upon the lone figure, hunched over a nearby table—you.
As he drew closer, you finally looked up, and to Alastor's surprise, you greeted him with a wide smile.
“Hi there! What can I do for you?”
Alastor's sneer deepened at the sight of the chipper mechanic, a stark contrast to the grim atmosphere of the workshop. He had half-expected to find someone as worn down and weathered as the building itself, yet here stood this bright-eyed individual, seemingly unfazed by the chaos around them.
Suppressing a sigh, Alastor straightened up, the edges of his grin faltering ever so slightly. “Good evening,” he began. “My name is Alastor, and I'm here because I was told you might be able to fix something for me.”
Your smile widened at his words, and you nodded eagerly. “Of course! What seems to be the problem?”
Alastor hesitated for a moment, eyeing you warily. He couldn't shake the feeling that entrusting his precious radio to you was a mistake. Yet, he had little choice in the matter.
“My antique radio is in need of repair,” Alastor explained, his tone guarded. “It's a delicate piece of machinery, and I require someone with the utmost skill to handle it.”
You listened intently as Alastor detailed the intricacies of his radio, nodding along with each word. Despite his cautious demeanor, you could sense the underlying concern in his voice. It was clear that this radio held great significance to him.
As he finished speaking, you gave him another nod. “I understand, Mr. Alastor,” you reassured him. “You won't be disappointed, I promise. Now, let's take a look at what you've got there.”
With that, you gestured for Alastor to follow you to your workbench, where he finally presented the fragmented piece of machinery. As you laid eyes on the broken radio, it became immediately apparent to you just how extensively damaged it was. Fractured casings, tangled wires, missing components–it was a daunting sight, yet you refrained from revealing the true severity of the damage to Alastor, not wanting to add to his distress. Instead, you maintained a composed demeanor as you turned to look at him with a confident grin.
“We'll get this sorted out, Mr. Alastor,” you assured him once more. “Leave it to me.”
Alastor felt a flicker of hope stir in his blackened heart at the prospect of having his radio fixed. Though a hint of doubt still lingered at the back of his mind, he nodded begrudgingly.
“Very well," he muttered. "Just... be careful with it.”
As Alastor stepped back, allowing you the space to work your magic, his eyes remained fixed on you with keen interest. He observed the fluidity of your movements, the subtle shifts in your expression. Whenever you encountered a challenge, your brows furrowed in concentration, and with each successful repair, a hint of satisfaction graced your lips. Alastor found himself unconsciously mirroring your expressions as he watched your steady hands diligently work to bring his beloved radio back to life.
And as time passed, so too did his initial skepticism begin to wane, replaced by a growing sense of admiration for your skill and expertise. There was something captivating about the way you worked, a sense of determination and passion that shone through with every meticulous movement.
At last, after what felt like an eternity, you made the final adjustment. With bated breath, you flicked the switch and awaited the outcome. The room fell into a tense silence, thick with anticipation. Then, suddenly, a burst of static erupted, followed by the unmistakable sound of music emanating from the speakers.
Alastor's eyes widened in disbelief as the once-silent device surged back to life. Your face lit up with a triumphant smile as you savored his reaction, a sense of pride swelling within you.
“There you go, Mr. Alastor,” you declared, extending the repaired radio toward him. “Good as new!”
As Alastor reached out to accept the radio from you, his fingers inadvertently brushed against yours in a fleeting moment of contact. In that instant, a jolt of electricity seemed to course through him, sending a distinct shiver down his spine.
It was a curious sensation, one that he couldn't quite place, yet it stirred something deep within him.
Even after withdrawing his hand, the feeling lingered, leaving Alastor perplexed. His gaze shifted from the repaired radio to your face, searching for any indication that you too had felt the same inexplicable energy pulse between you. However, your smile remained unchanged, oblivious to the tumult of emotions swirling within him.
“Thank you,” he finally murmured, his voice softer than usual, betraying a hint of sincerity that caught even him off guard. “You did a remarkable job.”
You beamed in response, your eyes alight with satisfaction at Alastor's words. “You're welcome,” you replied gently. “I'm glad I could be of help. And remember, if you ever need anything else, you know where to find me.”
Alastor offered a subtle nod of gratitude, though inwardly, he found himself oddly reluctant to leave. Nevertheless, he tucked the repaired radio under his arm and turned on his heel, heading towards the door. Stepping out into the dimly-lit street, he walked with deliberate steps. His thoughts drifted back to the moment his fingers brushed against yours, and despite his attempts to push the memory aside, his free hand instinctively flexed, fingers curling into a tight fist before relaxing once more.
This was going to be a problem.
part i / part ii
thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed<3
#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel imagine#hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#alastor x reader#alastor/reader#hazbin hotel alastor x reader#alastor#hazbin hotel fluff#part 2?
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
James Potter x fem!girlfriend!reader
Summary: When your long-term boyfriend is slipped a love potion—he loses his memory of you.
Genre: Angsty Fluff (happy ending)
Warnings: intense swearing, violence, being drugged/spiking someone's drink, mentions of blood, vomiting, crying, a suggestive joke, James kinda has light trauma
~ again—to the kind anon that had this idea—thank you! ~
Everyone knew it was you and James. It has always been you and James. Ever since the third term of your second year when he'd stolen you an absurd amount of chocolates and candies from Honeydukes because you had failed an exam and were sobbing in your dorm, you knew he had you hooked around his pinky. Luckily, you had him wrapped around yours just as well.
He was yours as you were his.
It didn't worry you that you hadn't seen your boyfriend all day because N.E.W.T's were coming up and as much as he pretends not to study or care, you've never met someone more desperate for success.
James had even left you a little note signed "only yours" telling you he'd be in the library today, so you used this time to spent the day with the girls instead.
However, you didn't expect to see what you did when you walked into the Great Hall that evening.
Remus, Sirius, and Peter look just as dumbfounded as you when James stands from his usual seat, his arms outstretching towards another girl.
Your smile falters and you freeze up, your stomach sinking as his hands find the girl's waist and he spins her around.
"What the fuck?" Marlene mutters from next to you, her arms crossed.
"Who is that?" Mary asks, unhooking her arm from Lily's as she sympathetically touches your shoulder. You blink, unable to look away from whatever nightmare is happening.
James would never cheat on you—especially in public like this.
Never.
"Amerie something, she's in my Potions class," Marlene whispers but her gaze is hard.
James's grin is wide and the girl—Amerie apparently—holds him closer. She's beaming as her manicured hands finds his cheeks and your entire world shatters when she presses her lips to his. James leans into her kiss, one hand at her waist while the other runs in her dark curls.
Marlene breaks at the same time as Sirius does and they march up to the couple. You're stunned, your eyes watering as you replay how your beloved boyfriend kissed another girl in front of everyone. Including you.
James would never cheat on you—right?
Lily takes your hand and guides you towards where everyone had gathered. Marlene is being held back by Mary, but she's furious as she screams at James and Amerie. Sirius stands next to James, his arms crossed as he stares at his best friend.
When his gaze flickers to you all calm crumbles. "James," Sirius says, interrupting Marlene's shrieks, as he sounds unusually serious, "This is wrong. What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"
James has never looked this confused in his life. "What are you talking about, Pads?" he asks innocently, his eyes scanning all his friends and their upset expressions.
They skim over you as if you were nothing to him— as if he hadn't held you close to his heart just yesterday and whispered how much he loved you into your hair.
Amerie leans into James, her hand on his chest, and even Remus scoffs.
"You can't be serious, James?" Remus says. He stands and puts his hand on your other shoulder as Lily holds your other arm. He stands tall and looks stern, clearly unamused by whatever sick joke he thinks his best friend is playing.
James's eyes widen but even Peter squeaks, "You have a girlfriend," as if to remind James.
"I know!!" James exclaims and turns to Amerie as he smiles like a love-sick fool. You feel like you're going to vomit all over your uniform. "Aren't I allowed to kiss my lovely girlfriend?"
Chaos ensues as Amerie holds James closer, her icy-blue eyes staring into yours with venom and malice as Marlene lunges for the two of them.
Marlene is pulled away by Mary and Lily and Sirius and Remus speak up with confusion as they jumble out accusations and disbelief.
You stand there, frozen, as your boyfriend looks right through you.
"She is your girlfriend, you dimwit!" Lily shouts and points to you. "Not this minger," Marlene adds with a hiss at Amerie, eyes dark.
James finally looks at you and your breath hitches when you see the look in his eyes. There is no remorse or shame, just a blank expression as he looks you over.
"Who?" he asks as he turns to his friends with a genuine look of confusion on his face. His question brings silence to the group and you feel warm tears brim in your eyes.
Some part of you screams at you that the confusion is real. You know James and you know how he lies. But his voice rings in your ears as pain caves in your chest and you turn, breaking into an embarrassing jog as you run away.
James would never cheat on you—right?
Lies.
* * *
A few hours later, when Lily comes into the dorm with news that James is in the Hospital Wing, you don't want to care but you do. Just the mention of James in pain hurts you and Lily doesn't even have to convince you to come see him.
You walk into the room and your eyes instantly widen. Dumbledore and Amerie stand in one corner. Amerie's eyes are bloodshot and she's pleading with Dumbledore—who looks absolutely furious.
Lily pulls you to the main dilemma and you see James sitting up in a bed, a bowl in his lap as he's encouraged to vomit. He's surrounded by Sirius, Remus, Peter, and Madame Pomfrey.
Remus sees you and Lily and he walks up to you.
"Is he okay?" you ask, your voice small and hoarse from your crying.
"Love potion," Remus doesn't waste time as he glances at Amerie in the corner, his jaw clenched, "she slipped it in his drink when we went to lunch. I lost him this afternoon after that but I thought he'd gone to find you. It's strong, well made, but Madame Pomfrey is convinced she can reverse the spell it has on him."
You let out a shaky breath, shoulders relaxing as you take in his words. A love potion? It had all been fake.
You turn to look at Amerie and anger swims through you. She'd drugged your boyfriend and taken him from you. You clench your fist.
If she wasn't with Dumbledore, you'd punch her.
"But Y/n," Remus interrupts your violent fantasies and Lily takes your hand. Lily clearly knows the news Remus is about to break and it doesn't sound good. "The reason he didn't remember you is that the potions—well he was already in love with you so the potion messed up that chemistry and it was so strong it reversed all those emotions to Amerie. Erased any memory of you completely."
You feel like you can't breathe.
"Madame Pomfrey doesn't think she can fully reverse his memory loss," Lily whispers and tightens her grip on your hand, "Obviously, he won't be in love with Amerie anymore but—we don't think he'll remember you either."
You can barely hear her. Your eyes water as your eyes glaze over and you look behind Remus at James. Your James, who is puking his guts out and who doesn't have a clue who you are. He has no more memories of you. No more midnight secrets or scandalous touches. No more sweet confessions or fleeting arguments. Nothing.
And it's all her fault.
You storm up to Amerie, ignoring the Headmaster's presence, as you see red. You grab her by the shoulder and punch her in the nose.
The sound resounds around the room as she falls back, a broken cry leaving her mouth as she holds her nose. Blood runs down her mouth and chin, her tears mixing with the crimson liquid as nurses rush to her.
Your voice is unemotional when you snarl, "Stay away from him, you psycho cunt."
* * *
You sit in the common room, bandaging your bruised knuckles, as you let your tears fall freely. Your heart feels broken and crushed into absolutely nothing.
You don't even care about the detention Dumbledore was basically forced to assign you. "Violence, no matter how deserved, is never the answer," he had said and perhaps he had a point because breaking Amerie's nose didn't really make you feel any better.
She'd still taken your heart away from you.
All you want is to reverse time and prevent James from leaving so early in the morning and slipping through your fingers. You hate yourself for not finding him in the library that afternoon. You should have studied with him—maybe then you could have prevented this.
You unclench your fist and stare at James's crumbled note from a few hours earlier.
Early morning for Quidditch then I'll be in the library studying. You can always join me, lovie, or go to Hogsmeade with the girls, I know they miss you. I can't always be selfish and have you all to myself, can I?
I love you, my darling.
Only yours,
J
You choke on another sob and you resist the need to scream.
"Hi," a familiar voice suddenly whispers from above you and you look up. Color has returned to James's cheeks and he's standing in front of you. He's so familiar and so different.
He doesn't look at you the same and you want to cry harder. He looks down at the note in your hand and holds out his hand when he sees a glimpse of his own chicken scratch.
You hand it to him without a word, leaning back on the couch as you wipe your tears with your palms. You shut your eyes, feeling the cushions dip as James sits next to you and you can feel the tension in the air. You peek at him as he shakes the note and says, "So, this is real, hm? It's not some messed up nightmare? I- I don't even remember writing this. I remember this morning but—you aren't in the memory," his voice sounds shaky.
"It's okay," you whisper, unable to say much more or you'll cry.
James turns to you and shakes his head. "No. It isn't okay. I want to remember you," he whispers and takes your hand.
Your head snaps up, eyes widening at the sudden warmth of his touch. James puts the paper in your palm and closes it, squeezing your hand, "I obviously loved you a lot, and I think you loved me too—"
"Love," you whisper, looking him in the eyes, "I haven't stopped."
James makes a pained grimace and his hand loosens around yours. "I'm so sorry. I wish I could remember. I wish this never happened. I know I don't know you anymore or well, my brain doesn't know you but I still can't stand you being hurt because of this," he sighs, "Sirius told me everything. I have so many pictures of us in my room—my sheets smell like your perfume—I– I wish I could remember," he sounds so lost and your heart breaks.
You can't help yourself. You cup his cheek and lean your forehead onto his like you'd a thousand times over the last years. James doesn't pull away. Instead he leans into you, as if your touch sparked a distant muscle memory.
"It's okay. It's not your fault. I-" you pause and then say, "I can help you remember, if you want?"
James doesn't hesitate and he nods, his breath unsteady, "I do. I don't understand why but my heart, well it misses you. I want to understand why."
Your heart flutters at his words and you smile. You pull away and smile at him. His smile is weak and you know him all too well to let that slide. "What's wrong, James?" you ask and when his eyes shift, you can tell he's feeling guilty.
"I'm sorry you lost your boyfriend. You didn't deserve that."
You sigh, "It's not your fault, okay?" you look him in the eyes and wait until he nods solemnly. "If we're meant to be, we'll figure this out, yeah?"
"Yeah," James whispers in agreement.
* * * Six Months Later * * *
The snow falls around you as you and your friend return from The Three Broomsticks one Sunday evening. Sirius and Remus walk much faster than you and James as Sirius rambles wildly about this new muggle band Remus helped him discover, and Peter loiters behind you all as he hurries to finish reading his Transfiguration book due Monday morning—he seems quite discouraged considering the snow keeps ruining his pages.
You are snuggled up against James, his arm wrapped around your shoulder as he adjusts your scarf and presses a kiss to your head. You sigh, continuing your conversation about how very clearly chocolate is the superior ice cream flavor, and James just listens even though he has no clue why you're talking about ice cream in the dead of winter.
Suddenly, your voice dies down and you tense when you see who's walking towards you. She's with three of her best friends—snotty Ravenclaws with egos larger than their brains—and you feel sick as all those horrible feelings come bubbling up again.
Amerie had been suspended for six months after what she had done to James and while you and your friends insisted she be expelled, your outburst of violence had inevitably lightened her sentence.
Dumbledore didn't want a scandal on his hands and Amerie's parents were well off—surprisingly more so than the Potters.
James senses your tension and he looks up too, his stomach sinking. Amerie is staring at you both and her friends are whispering. You look between her and James, sensing how uncomfortable he is with her presence and anger boils inside you.
Six months. Six months of peace and time you had to rebuild your relationship with him. Six months you spent taking him to all your favorite places, reminding him of all those secrets he had already earned, and telling him stories he should remember.
Six months to catch up on six years, all because of her.
You feel James's gloved hand find yours and he squeezes it, pressing his lips into your hair near your ear and he murmurs, "Ignore her, my love." His voice sounds a little strained and you look at him, the warmth of his hazel eyes calming you.
You nod and press a kiss to his lips. You can feel Amerie's eyes on you as you pass but you just walk faster. Once she and her friends are behind you, you squeeze James's hand too. "Are you okay?" you whisper.
James had been very open with you about how much what had happened scared him and still does. There were times he remembered snippets of you from before, but mostly nothing, and that scares him. I never want to lose you again, he had said three months into the six and you knew he meant it.
When James Potter loved, he loved hard, and it became very obvious his feelings for you had returned even stronger than they had been.
"Yeah," he whispers, his voice small.
You pause, turning around and taking his cheeks in your hands, encouraging him to look at you. "Baby, it's okay if it made you feel uncomfortable to see her. It's normal," you say, kissing his forehead and leaning against it.
James holds you close and kisses the crook of your neck, which causes you to giggle.
"I love you," he mumbles and you grin.
"I love you," you say and kiss his lips again.
James runs a hand in your hair and sighs, lifting his head and watching Amerie and her friends disappear down the road. "As much as I hate her for what she did, I am sort of grateful," he whispers.
"Oh?" I ask, caressing his cheek lovingly.
"Mmhm—it was an absolute pleasure falling in love with you all over again," James says sincerely and your heart flutters at his words.
You laugh and ruffle his messy hair. "You're such a dork," you chuckle.
James laughs now too, "It's true!"
Suddenly, you shriek lightly when you feel cold snow glide down your neck from inside your scarf. You and James spin around at the same time, catching Sirius as he makes another snowball and barks out a laugh, "Ooops."
Sirius smirks and as if on cue, James bends over and pats down his own snowball to throw at Sirius in your defense.
"Keep your grubby snowballs away from my girl, Pads," James shouts in between his laughter as he runs after his best friend. You hear Sirius mumble something that sounds like, "Ooh, kinky," before James shoves snow into his mouth.
You just smile, your heart feeling completely full.
#james potter#james potter x reader#marauders#james potter fluff#james potter smut#marauders fic#james potter fanfic#james potter fanfiction#james potter x you#marauders imagine#james potter x fem!reader#james potter drabble#james potter fic#the marauders era#marauders era#marauders fanfiction#mauraders#james potter marauders#aaron taylor johnson fic#aaron taylor johnson fanfiction#aaron taylor johnson#the marauders#maraduers harry potter#harry potter#marauders harry potter#harry potter fanfiction#dead gay wizards#marauders fandom#james potter imagine#james potter imagines
940 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Cry for Help: Supporting the El Tibi Family Amidst Devastation
Hello everyone,
After much contemplation and hesitation, I find myself launching this donation campaign. These are the most challenging moments for me, ones I never imagined I’d encounter.
Let me introduce myself. I am Dr. Mahmoud Al Tibi, a 27-year-old Palestinian general practitioner currently residing in Argentina.
Allow me to briefly recount our story. Before October 7th, my family—consisting of my parents, five young brothers, two sisters, and myself—lived in a warm, loving home. Our lives were filled with joy and love until the devastation of war struck.
I vividly remember October 6th, a day before the war on Gaza began. It was a day of celebration as we gathered to virtually celebrate my younger brother Mustafa’s graduation from pharmacy school. Little did we know, those pictures captured by my sister Sahar would be the last images of our warm home. The war left nothing but rubble and memories, shattering our once-happy life.
My beloved father, Mamdouh, a civil engineer, saw his concrete factory destroyed, leaving him without a source of income to support our family. His tears speak volumes of the hardship he endures daily.
My mother, whose handcrafted embroideries adorned our home, now struggles to provide for us amidst the scarcity and devastation left by the occupation. Her dreams of pursuing a master’s degree in food science were shattered overnight.
My brother Mustafa’s joy of graduation turned into despair as his dream of opening his pharmacy remains unattainable. He now spends his days searching for food and firewood amidst perilous conditions.
My younger brother Yassin, a bright student with a passion for learning, had dreams of studying medicine. Now, his days are consumed by gathering firewood and waiting in lines for food.
My married brothers, Mohamed and Ahmed, along with their families, lost their homes and possessions. Their children, deprived of basic necessities, face the horrors of war daily.
My sister Sahar and her daughter Tala, living in dire conditions, rely on animal feed for sustenance. Tala, once vibrant and smiling, now suffers from psychological trauma caused by the constant fear and uncertainty.
For the past five months, my family has endured unimaginable suffering in makeshift tents, where the threat of death looms large. I implore you, out of sheer humanity, to contribute whatever you can to save my family. I am left with no option but to seek your support in ending this nightmare.
Exiting Gaza to safety requires funds beyond my means—$6,000 to $7,000 per person. Your assistance will not only save my family but also restore warmth and hope to their lives.
I am deeply grateful for your generosity.
PayPal Account
GoFundMe
#helpgazachildren#help gaza#free gaza#free palestine#gaza#palestine#north gaza#from the river to the sea palestine will be free#palestinian genocide#stop genocide#stop gaza genocide#stop the genocide#stop israel#gaza under bombardment#gaza under fire#gaza under siege#gaza under genocide#aid for north gaza#aid for palestine#aid for gaza#mutual aid#financial aid#support#support for palestine#actions#action for gaza#funds for gaza#free free palestine#moataz abu sakran#emergency
684 notes
·
View notes
Text
regret || reuniting with gojo
wc: 1,060
written for @gatoru. gn!reader, the reader and gojo are married with kids, otherwise canon!compliant, light mentions of blood, angst with a happy ending, manga spoilers, probably going to become a full series, my man is home😭
minors/ageless blogs dni
“no sorcerer dies without regrets.” it was a phrase principal masamichi liked to repeat to prospective sorcerers; you remember when he said it to itadori as you and your husband stood behind the eager, pink-haired teen that very first day he arrived into the jujutsu world - just a vessel for sukuna.
and now that same king of curses - having taken the form of your beloved adopted son megumi instead - knocks you straight down from miles high.
so here you are - falling, dying, regretting. regretting that you couldn’t see megumi’s often hidden smile again, or share banana bread with nanami one last time, or laugh as nobara gets excited at the smallest urban details of tokyo.
but then, life flashing before your eyes each second feeling like an eon - you start remembering the good too.
your kids are safe; the little pair of toddlers with their father’s white hair and blue eyes, happily tumbling around the beaches of kenya with miguel, unaware of the chaos and death surrounding you.
your students are strong. so strong. you got to live and love so many people - too many to name; yuuta, ieri, ichiji…
and satoru.
maybe it’s the rush of chemicals as your bleeding body plummets that’s causing you to hallucinate but it’s like you can see it all. like you can feel it all.
you can taste the sugar and dough of all the dessert shops he’d force you to raid with him at ungodly hours of the night. you can feel the tight grip of his larger hand around yours and how much you treasured the very act of him releasing his limitless barrier just to squeeze your warmer palm. he always ran cold and so there was a chill to the way he’d touch you and to his his lips would gently and teasingly come down to yours. then to your jaw, then to your neck.
you can feel how tight he’d hug you - sometimes joyously like when he swung you around the second you told him he’d be a father - and to twins no less - and sometimes in a fit of anger and sadness. the cold christmas morning where he killed suguru and clung to you so tightly as if you too would shatter and leave him the second he let go.
you hear the sound of his laugh, of his moans and whines when he was inside you, of his sighs of boredom on the train or when meeting with the higher ups he so loathed, his snores, or his words when he was an arrogant teenager who would use a new pick up line on you every day - they’re all ringing in your ears.
no sorcerer dies without regrets. that’s true but you still had a good life. a life with him in it. you close your eyes completely ready to smash against the ground and feel it end.
and then you stop. not on wood or pavement, no. you’re completely paused and held against cool skin and cloth. you didn’t just slow, you stopped dead. you’re paused in the air and as the adrenaline courses through your veins you think surely you’ve already hit the ground and died instantaneously. surely, this stillness is whatever comes after.
but you’re not dead because you can feel yourself breathing. and hear your own heartbeat pounding in you head. eyes scrunched shut, all the memories stop and you confirm your own survival with a heavy inhale.
everything should smell blood and cold air and cement. but instead the scent filling your nose is that distinct mix of brushwood, cologne and mochi. the ringing in your ears lessens as your breathing steadies, replaced by a single, calming apology.
“sorry, my love.”
you hesitantly open your eyes, soft white hair and blue sky-filled ones meeting your gaze with a soft, ever-confident smile.
“i didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”
“satoru…” you can barely breathe it out, taking in that he’s really here, really free, really holding you like a bride. he leans down so his forehead is against yours, hair mingling together as your breathing slows.
“don’t speak.” he murmurs softly, watching your cursed energy start the technique reversal process to heal yourself - as much as he missed your voice, your focus should be on your wounds. his eyes turn to sukuna’s direction, an unhinged anger hiding underneath his otherwise happy eyes at how the vile curse so deeply injured the love of his life.
“megumi bound himself in there, yeah? so i can kill him and not hurt our kid.”
you nod; overwhelmed as you are, your heart softens at how it’s still the same satoru who would take silly videos at megumi’s middle school graduation - a proud father-figure ready to kill the parasite that’s using his student as a host.
“and the twins? you got them out of japan?”
he warps you away from all the carnage and exhales in relief when you nod in soft confirmation. you take in your surroundings. this is your bedroom. the darkness of a simple domain covers the outside - no curses will get in. it’s home - for the first time since this disastrous chain of events started you’re home. you’re somewhere safe, your family is safe, and gojo’s here.
“that’s all i need. you did more than enough and gave him one hell of a fight, so heal up until i come back - no one will find you here.”
you open your mouth to speak but you don’t even know what to say; that you’re glad he’s home? that you’re sorry for not managing to kill sukuna or kenjaku in time? that you counted every hour he was gone afraid you’d never see his handsome face and confident demeanor again - that you love him more than life? should you thank him for saving you from certain death?
instead before you can make a solid thought, he pats your head, strokes down your face with a familiar touch and - after what felt like an eternity apart - presses his lips to yours over and over and over until he’s sure you’ve memorized both his taste and the fact that he’s here to stay. then he turns to go back with one confident proclamation.
“i’ll take it from here, okay?”
#gojo daddy#satoru gojo#gojo x reader#satoru gojo x reader#x reader#jujutsu kaisen spoilers#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader#jjk spoilers#jjk 221#jjk manga spoilers#jjk manga#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk imagines#megumi fushiguro#jjk miguel#ryoumen sukuna#ryomen sukuna
5K notes
·
View notes
Note
I have a request for the villainess AU. For Ace and Deuce, what if it was a love triangle between the MC? I just can’t imagine them being separated because them fighting over the Mc is much funnier!
❋ Being Reincarnated into a New World as the Bad Guy ❋
↳ Love Triangle scenario(?)
feat: Ace and Deuce
genre: humour, budding romance, friends-to-something more?
note: part of the “Reincarnated into a New World as the Bad Guy” series or the Villain/ess au, part of the 2.7k followers event, references to other villain/ess au works (specifically Riddle ver.), Ace + Deuce + reader are old enough to drink, no pronouns used with reader, minor mention of death
I don’t usually do the love triangle trope because real life ones hurt alot and it brings up some bad memories, but I’ll consider it for this, just for y’all~ I genuinely tried but rather than a love triangle, I may have accidentally created a… (seriously was not my intention)
Villain/ess au Series Masterlist
2.7K Followers Writing Event
Before the oath of the sword, the three of you made an oath of your own. One of unquestioned trust and camaraderie. No matter where the string of fate would take either of you, the promise made one drunken night between you, Ace, and Deuce was stronger.
That night was fuelled with unrestrained emotions, with shouting and tears, most coming from you. Especially when you awoke one day with strange visions flooded your dreams, vivid images that spoke of a horrible future for you.
Memories of a strange novel, one that eerily resembles your current world down to each royal family member and even your friends’ lives. But while a hero’s glory awaits your dearest ones, you were left as a tragic minor antagonist.
A mere childhood friend of Ace and Deuce, you became jealous of a former baron’s daughter suddenly turned Queen when she grew close to your friends as her knight escorts. You turned to petty acts in response, spewing nasty rumours among the townfolks of the new Queen but like an angelic protagonist, she revealed your misdeeds but forgave you for your childish taunts. Nevertheless, you lost the respect of your only friends and you were left behind.
But despite the Queen’s pardon, King Riddle heard of your disgraceful behaviour against his beloved and called for your immediate execution, which became the final push for Ace and Deuce to join in the Queen’s rebellion against her own tyrannical husband. Because that’s all you were, a mere catalyst for the story to continue on.
You couldn’t imagine yourself turning into a cliche bully and admittedly, the idea of your untimely demise left you shaking in fear on occasion. But the worst of your premonitory dreams was the predicted end of your friendship.
The looks of disgust and disappointment that painted Ace’s and Deuce’s face seared into your mind, your heart shattering like glass at their wishes to never see you again. The fear of abandonment stings you like a crack in your heart which never healed, it scared you to the point that the moment you saw them happily enjoying the night, you drunkenly cried out.
“I love you so much, please don’t leave me.”
Unceremoniously, your body slumped onto the tavern’s table as you blacked out into an alcoholic slumber. How evil of you, conveniently unable to explain what you meant by your slurred confession, or to whom you were referring to.
Ace and Deuce were visibly distracted during their knight training the morning after, one of the few times that they must separate from you. Your words looping over and over in their heads like an endless echo. Your voice pleaded so sincerely with tears cascading down your cheeks.
“What should we do, Ace?” Deuce broke the awkward silence during their water break, finally taking a step to mention the elephant in the room. Your words that resembled a wistful confession struck him with worry (and a hint of budding hope). But unlike him, Ace was quick to look for possible excuses for your actions.
“Don’t be dumb. It was probably just the alcohol talking. Don’t you remember how much we all drank?” The reddish hue of Ace’s cheeks however betrayed his true emotions. In truth, he was just as frazzled by your words as Deuce was. He kept trying to convince himself that you meant nothing by it, to not get his hopes up. But the little devil on his shoulder whispers in his ear, “but what if you did mean something by it?”
Since then, you felt that your time spent with the duo increased since your last outing. Instead of staying back in the knight’s barracks right after training, Ace and Deuce visited your hometown more often that was not the most convenient travel destination. You felt at least one pair of eyes, either sea blue or rose red or both, watching you before turning away when you tried to catch their gaze.
But it seems that some people did noticed something different with the two young men, specifically their family. Deuce’s mother would smile knowingly at you whenever you drop by to offer some assistance in her business, occasionally mentioning how much her son has grown. Funnily enough, Ace’s older brother mentioned something similar about the redhead, though it was more laced with a teasing tone than one of filial affection.
But you weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. You enjoyed the frequent visits of your best friends, especially knowing they will be even busier when the announcement of a new royal member would take your precious moments with them. Rumours were spread about the town of a mysterious figure locked in a tower which were not part of your memories, but your wary heart kept you mindful of the possible news regarding the imperial family.
Your worries intensified when Ace and Deuce announced their new task once dawn breaks, they were to escort the newest addition to the royal family back to the palace. In an attempt to quell your unease, you made an embarrassing request.
“You want to do what?” A bright red hue on Deuce’s face heavily contrasted with his raven blue hair, but you were no position to tease him as you could assume that your embarrassed complexion was no better. “Y-You mean…you…and us…”
The three of you lost track of time chatting and goofing off in your quarters and didn’t realize how the sun has long gone to rest for the night. Instead of returning to their own home, you asked if the two knights were willing to stay over the night, like in your younger days. Back when you three were more used to wooden swords than ones of steel, when your only worry was if your parents were going to cook your favourites that night.
Back when you three shared the same bed together.
“It’s not that crazy of a request…” you pouted but you supposed it was rather absurd to ask your friends, who old enough to be considered men, something so childish. Perhaps those carefree days are truly long gone.
“I’m not opposed to it” Ace gave his signature cheeky smile as he naturally wrapped his arm around your shoulder, slightly leaning his weight onto you. “If you just can’t help but miss our company, we can have a good ol’ slumber party. Just like old times~”
You’re starting to reconsider your request.
But Ace wasn’t done. “Well, it’s not exactly like old times. We’re definitely bigger than back when we were kids”
The redhead was obviously right. The three of you were nothing like the tiny versions of you in the past, and your best friends have certainly bulked up since they started their journey into knighthood. You tried your best but you couldn’t help but gaze in appreciation of the hard work the two of them did to build the stamina and muscles to protect their kingdom, respectfully of course.
“I doubt that all three of us can fit on your teeny little bed.” the scarlet-eyed knight exaggerated his point by squinting his fingers to describe your bed. “I guess Deucey’s just gonna have to go home for tonight.”
“Hey, wait a minute! Why me?!” Deuce snapped out from his flustered daze to glare at Ace, pulling his shaggy-haired companion by the neck of his shirt. “Who are you to tell me what to do?”
Ace remained unperturbed, too used to the blunette’s burst of anger “It’s nothing personal, buddy. But you grind your teeth real loud at night. How is any of us gonna get any sleep?”
“Well you’re a pain to wake up in the morning!” Deuce angrily countered. “Don’t make it our problem to get your ass up tomorrow.”
You watched your best friends bicker and argue, as if you didn’t already know of their terrible sleeping habits. Sure, Deuce grinds his teeth but you always tried to gently soothe his jaw hoping to relax him. Ace may sleep like the dead but his cute little pout every time he finally wakes up makes the effort all worth it to you.
They were idiots, but they were your idiots.
“Will you both stop fighting already?” Ace and Deuce immediately paused as your voice caught their attention, like it always does. “No one’s gotta leave. My bed is not that small, you know?”
To prove your point, you took each of the boy’s hand and led them without issue. For someone as tall and built as them, they were so easy to pull and push as you please. Carefully, you pressed your hands against their chest to push them backwards onto your bed. You then crawled onto the bed yourself between Ace and Deuce, the men automatically shifting their bodies to make space for you.
Satisfied, you laid onto your back and you took the hand of both men, each of your hand snuggly holding their warm, calloused ones. You smiled brightly at the fuzzy feelings of nostalgia bubbling in you, pressing your joining hands to your chest, atop of your beating heart.
“See, no one needs to leave.” your bright eyes looked up to your favourite people, cheeky joy evident in your gaze.
A rare occurrence, the two chatty troublemakers were left speechless. In their defence, they were too busy trying to contain the burst of happiness in their hearts to reply back to you, barely pushing the redness of their cheeks at bay.
#yo did I really say reader has two hands?#I did not plan that!#twisted wonderland#twst#disney twisted wonderland#twst imagines#twst x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#twst scenarios#twisted wonderland imagines#villainess au#ace trappola#ace trapolla x reader#twst ace x reader#deuce spade#twst deuce x reader#2.7k followers event
653 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello again my little butterfly 🦋✨
I came to place another order if that's ok! so, the scenario is a One Piece AU, where YN has an arranged marriage with Shanks, who is one of the richest men in town, but even so, YN decides to run away on her wedding day and throw herself off a bridge, but she can't, they find her and the family manages to bring her back to the wedding, Shanks is a man very much in love with YN, the moment he sees the sadness in YN's eyes when she walks up the aisle and puts the ring on her finger Shanks, he decides to conquer her and make her the happiest wife in the world! ( PS: Shanks is in a desperate situation when he learns that his beloved literally decided to throw herself off a bridge rather than stay with him, even little sad :( )
─Shanks x wife!reader
─Summary: you didn't want to be part of that ceremony, but you're not brave enough to run away either
─Warnings: slight mention of suicide attempt, modern AU
Oh hi hi love!! 🫶🏻🦋 you really like angst 😳
You ignored the perplexed looks of people, without stopping or thinking about a second option, you gripped the thin white fabric of your wedding dress harder so as not to trip over it, your shoes had long since disappeared so you could run more comfortably. You didn't want this, you didn't want to marry an unknown guy, no one thought about your feelings? It's not something your parents have the right to play with and you weren't going to let them ruin your life for financial convenience.
The moment adrenaline started to increase when you saw how you were now being persecuted, probably due to the absence in the ceremony that was taking place in the nearby church, you felt bad for the man you had been engaged to, since it wasn't his fault either and you didn't even know him enough to determine that he was a horrible person, but this decision was too hasty and you definitely didn't agree to this.
With your heart in your throat you ran until you tripped over your own sore feet, your breathing accelerated even more when you heard shouts of your name, taking courage again you stood up with a new impetus, although when you noticed how the distance between your pursuers was shortening more and more, your brain began to draw an extreme line in your thoughts.
Would it hurt? Could you die? Well, you were going to see for yourself what it felt like to jump off a bridge just to avoid facing an unwanted fate.
You quickly climbed onto the thick railing, stabilizing yourself standing on it, the next few seconds felt like a blur, like a part of memory that was difficult to remember, the fear of possible death and the indecision that comes with taking a long time to jump into the void made one of the guys chasing you caught you before you did something crazy.
The next thing you know after that, you were back in one of the private rooms of the church, being yelled at by your mother while your father looked on disapprovingly, you didn't care, nothing mattered to you at that moment, you let them go back to put on your makeup, you let them put new shoes on you and they changed the dirty surface fabric of your dress as if you were a doll, lifeless.
The ceremony returned to its course, Shanks waited awkwardly all this time at the altar, and when he saw you appear next to him his heart shattered, you weren't even looking at him, your eyes were lost somewhere far away in this unwanted reality, you lacked any kind of expression. He knew it, he knew how you felt, and yet he felt a little selfish for wanting to be your husband, for wanting to love you unconditionally, this marriage may be arranged, but he admired every drop of courage you poured out to prevent this event, every anger and every fierce response you gave to the first meetings between both families.
"Now… husband and wife, you can kiss each other."
You were both so absorbed in your own thoughts that you barely heard the priest's last words. Shanks was the first to step forward, holding your waist slowly as if he were asking permission and asking if it was okay to do so. You didn't move an inch, your eyes were still lost even when he sealed your fate with a cold kiss devoid of love, at least, lacking on your part.
Shanks knew it wouldn't be easy, that you weren't going to trust, that he wasn't going to receive tons of affection, even looks, he knew you were in a delicate state, after all, you'd rather almost kill yourself than get married.
You didn't bother with his emotions, you didn't bother to ask about his tastes, his hobbies or how his day had been, you just spent the days dead, repeating your routine, your life remained the same in a way, a few more numbers in the account. but in exchange of what? Your freedom and decision. You were hurt, you had been damaged by your own parents, your emotional wounds would not heal overnight and you would refuse to show a modicum of affection until you recovered.
Shanks knew that he would have to sleep alone for months, that an empty house would await him, that all his praise and gifts would be quickly discarded, but it doesn't matter, maybe you didn't look for him or you didn't want him, but as your husband, he would do everything he could to at least help you cope with the situation, he really loves you, but it won't be easy to win your affection because you never wanted this.
Your heart began to heal over time, it took a long time, you decided to completely break the relationship with your family, although before they were the only ones you could turn to, Shanks showed you that he would be there, that despite not being the husband that you chose as such, made you trust him, made you feel loved again.
He wasn't a bad man, he wasn't the most wonderful person in the world either, but he proved to be enough for you to stop feeling that emptiness inside your heart, step by step he managed to break the walls that you built around your emotions, Shanks turned out to be something unexpected in your life, someone you didn't think would be so important and he was able to grant some peace, some happiness back into your life.
Maybe you are not yet ready to accept that he is your husband, but you slowly began to meet someone you could voluntarily fall in love with.
#one piece#op#one piece x reader#one piece modern au#modern au#shanks#shanks x reader#x reader#husband shanks#wife reader#fem reader#request#one piece x fem reader#shanks x wife reader#sfw#reader insert#xreader#angst?
283 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello! You can totally ignore if this isn’t up your alley but you could write something about suguru watching reader from afar while they grieve him for leaving? Either it’s super sad or twisted cause he feels happy that you love him enough to grieve him
I also could send in nsfw requests if you want those too
“the choiceless grief that drove him underground.”
contents: f!reader, mentions of guilt, stalking, & mass murder. both characters express grief in different ways. bit of callous/twisted suguru, a nod to his dacryphilia as well. mainly angsty but i guess at the core of it… it’s sweet? w.c: ~ 1.4k
a/n: rem, i owe you my life & then some! :’) thank you SO much for the concept idea! <3 i love delving into the twisted/not-so pretty parts of suguru so i hope you enjoy! :D
the premise of the situation is quite… haunting.
to mourn a friend, (‘a lover’ — his voice gently admonishes from the back of your mind), who isn’t dead.
he still roams around the aether — akin to a ghost. and here you are, grieving a corporeal phantom of your past.
both you and suguru have a penchant for nostalgia, him moreso than you. it’s why he’s here now at the foothills of mount mushiro, camouflaging himself into the shadows of the night, depleting his own cursed energy so there’s not a single trace of him left. he stands there in a vantage point hidden behind massive japanese oak trees, a lonely specter peering wistfully at his dearly beloved.
ex-beloved, rather, he should say.
it was of his own volition anyways.
your lack of cursed energy leaves a bitter taste in his mouth when he remembers why he despises you so. the healed x-shaped scar on his chest burns and he wants to give you a matching one on your heart, as a reminder. you’re worse than a curse, he forces himself to seethe. heavenly restriction, huh? nothing heavenly about you…
a sick part of suguru wants to finally see you shatter — to watch someone as powerful as you break down and wail with such unbridled anguish, to hear your sorrowful screams pierce through the night sky like a gunshot wound to the head. something about imagining the way your tears would stick to your lashes makes his heart beat unbearably fast from within his ribcage. from sadness or intrigue, he doesn’t quite know…
he just selfishly craves to be the cause of it. to have you drown in tears of melancholy & be sundered by it like a tsunami of eerie desolation — to be plagued with devotion and corruption. just like him.
he wants you to get on your hands and knees and prostrate yourself to him — to lower yourself at his feet.
beneath him.
where you should be.
to apologize for being you. to apologize for coming into his life. to apologize for making him fall in love. to apologize for being his greatest curse. his greatest regret.
(regret for loving you or regret for leaving you… he’s not sure, yet. he’ll decide when he’s of more sound mind.)
yet all he gets is… just you… sitting there. expressionless.
suguru huffs quietly, his low-lidded gaze is heavy with fatigue and slight boredom. his soft exhales turn into smoky vapor in front of him, evaporating within seconds. he tediously redirects his amber irises back at you, observing you like a science experiment, scrutinizing your every move… only if you had done something, of course.
he notes that your stony face betrays no emotions, your body is rigid as if in living rigor-mortis. he surmises that the only thing that differentiates you from the zen statues around you is the gentle wisps of your hair across your face courtesy of the cold wind, crisp due to the night air.
before he realizes it, suguru’s fingers involuntarily twitch.
muscle memory.
(the same fingers have brushed against the plush of your cheek, caressed your hair & gently moved the strands away from your face. soft finger-pads outlined your lips gently, the shape of your cupid’s bow committed to memory. suguru figured the name was quite apt… he found himself wholly enraptured & in love.
hit by eros’ arrow the very moment he laid eyes on you — his lighthouse. his demise.)
a slight sniffle breaks suguru out of his reverie. he snaps his head back up at you, pierced brows furrowed and bright ochre eyes wide. he ignores the pang in his chest, his shock overtaking his senses leaving him paralyzed.
are you…?
your reddened eyes flit towards the foliage where suguru hides behind, and you softly rasp out a tired sigh. your lack of words are far more frigid than the midnight air, causing an ice cold shiver to run through suguru’s spine.
forcing the constriction in his throat back down, he exhales shakily, in a state of utter shock.
right.
heightened senses. superhuman physical capabilities. you always knew where suguru was before he ever knew where you were. a relationship of mutual indulgence — you pretend you don’t see him, and he pretends that you don’t know where he is at all times. as if you haven’t memorized his scent, his mannerisms, his soul. as if you couldn’t recognize him through physical vibrations alone.
just pretend you don’t see me now… indulge me one last time… please.
muscle memory.
you look away.
you focus your gaze towards the skyline of bountiful forest green trees, impeccable eyesight zeroing in on a tree with a heart carved around both his and your initials upon the espresso bark. the same tree where you had rested your head on suguru’s lap while he read his favorite books to you. the same tree where you had both shared your first kiss. the same tree where you had found out from a dear friend that suguru had murdered a whole village — some bullshit about him wanting to create a world with no curses. no non-sorcerers. no you.
you once playfully joked to suguru that you loved him more than he loved you. you remember the way his fists clenched at his sides, the furrow in his brow coupled with the immediate narrowing of his eyes, along with the slight snarl in his lip and voice pierced your soul as he resolutely scolded you — no one could ever love as deeply, as passionately, as genuinely as he loves you.
loved, rather, you should say.
what a fuckin’ liar.
…
in a blink of an eye, you disappear.
like a ghost.
you leave suguru alone to his own futile devices. he figures it’s fair, to indulge you one last time too, allowing you the ‘last laugh’, though he knows there’s no victors in this sick game that’s being played. he’s walked away from you before, it’s only fitting you do the same to him now.
his feet drag him to where you were hunched over before, his brain unable to catch up to what his body is doing. something glints in the moonlight, there in your stead, atop the plush green grass.
he crouches down, picking up the small photograph. the faded polaroid feels far heavier in his hand than he would think. a delicious shiver runs down suguru’s spine when he realizes his fingertips are touching where yours have touched. the bitterness that found its way in his mouth in the beginning washes away, leaving only a sickly sweet flavor that surrounds his mouth like pillowy cotton candy.
it’s one he hasn’t seen. you must’ve kept this with you all this time, he muses.
a photo, a candid, of him.
the pink sakura petals offered up a beautiful backdrop after a mission you two took in kyoto. back then, his smile was genuine & unbelievably wide — pearly whites on display, his pierced cherry red lips matched the camellia red blush that painted his cheeks — no doubt from your flirtatious comments of his beauty. his eyes were squinted, a photo you took of him while mid-laugh. he pushed his bangs aside while speaking to you, wanting to give you his full attention. the promise ring on his finger glinted in the sunlight along with the silver hairpin you gifted him moments before you took the photo, its amethyst gem dangling above his bun. a beacon of light.
a sign of devotion, of unending love. a promise.
suguru’s heart feels a bit heavier than he would like it to, yet the soft smile that graces his features is the most genuine form of adoration he’s exhibited since his defection. inundated with grief, you still held on to him.
an anchor of your past. a plague of your present. a welcoming calamity of your future.
“you still love me too, huh?” he softly whispers into the night, a sad smile on his face.
he gazes up at the moon. it looks quite beautiful tonight. he silently hopes you’re staring at it too.
thinking of him the same way he’s thinking of you.
#geto suguru x reader#getou suguru x reader#geto x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#if it’s in a jjk au TRUST my readers will ALWAYS have heavenly restriction… it’s just so delicious coupled w suguru’s character arc#my writings#personal
303 notes
·
View notes
Text
Finding out your boyfriend isn't really your boyfriend: Kenjaku (Getou Suguru) X Reader.
PART ONE - not that detailed, i also hope to make this into a book.
♡
"You... lied to me?" The words slipped out before I could even think, the man who I loved for years stood in front of me. Well, it was his body, at least.
"I didn't quite lie. You never asked." He shrugged and stared at me, a dead expression on his face as if he didn't just shatter my world.
"Where's Getou?" I mumbled, tears fell from my eyes as he approached me further. "Well, he's right here." He smirked, he inched towards me closer, and his breath hit my face.
Everything was the same. His breath smelt the exact same as Getou's, I couldn't help but lean into it closer.
"But I am Kenjaku," he grinned, wrapping his arms around me. "And you still want me, I'm the exact same as that boyfriend of yours," his smirked started to piss me off as I pushed him off of me.
"You killed him, didn't you?" I clenched my jaw as he smiled and let out a chuckle. "Of course not. He got himself killed. I merely just found the perfect body to inhabit, and what a pretty thing it delivered to me." He grinned, his hand cupped my cheek as he wiped away a stray tear.
"Why did you lie to me? Why did you just not tell me you weren't Getou?" I tried pushing him away, but he only held onto me tighter, pulling me closer to him. "Well, to put it simply," he smirked, paused, and spoke again, "I am in love with you."
His words came without any hesitation, I stood there in shock, his arms holding me in place. "Even if I'm not Getou Suguru, I could be yours." He grinned before pressing a kiss to my forhead.
"However..." he looked away quickly before turning his eyes back to me, letting go of me and stepping back. "This form I take is your beloved Suguru's, and I don't want to take advantage of your love for him, do I? I want you to love me." He frowned and grasped onto my hand.
"Do you, do you love me y/n?" He questioned, grinning. All of the sudden changes in his personality confused me, and I stood there shocked. Is he really this crazy?
He had no shame as he smiled and wrapped his arms around me again. He smelled exactly like Getou, his body, well, was Getou's. The embrace was like every other time. Getou would hug me, during high school, after, even when he was working.
"I love you, y/n. That's why I lied. I want to protect you from everything, even from me and my plans. This is why I lied to you, I can't believe you could never tell. It's blatantly obvious. Did the stitches never spike any curiosity?"
I looked down ashamed. Maybe I should've been more skeptical, I could tell Getou had changed... but asking just seemed rude and the stitches, even asking about that seemed harsh as well, even if he was my boyfriend.
"Why do you love me, Kenjaku?" I looked at him confused. He pondered for a moment.
"You're different," he started, looking into my eyes again, and I had mixed feelings about it. Staring into Getou's eyes as another confessed their feelings to me.
"You're kind. You understand a lot. When I revealed the truth to you, you didn't try to kill me." He grinned, and I looked away ashamed.
"So tell me this, do you love me?" He grinned, his grip on my waist tightened, and I looked away. What could I even say to him? He would probably kill me if I said no, but was there any point in living if it wasn't with Getou?
"No." I said harshly, his face fell, and he stared at me. "Tell me, have you really never felt any attraction to me? Even when you kissed me, when you touched me? You know, I share all of this bodies memories too," he grinned, staring into my eyes again.
"You're in his body... of course, I'd be attracted to my own boyfriend..." I mumbled, looking away from his intense stare.
"And are you really only attracted to his physical form?" He grasped onto my jaw, turning my face back to his and holding his hand on my cheek. "I know that his charisma is attractive. His soft voice has a grip on you. This, however, is mine now, too. There's no reason to run from my feelings, y/n."
He paused, letting go of me once again. However, he sat on the floor, his usual attire of his usual robes flowing around his body as he did, pulling my hand down with him, making me sit in front of him.
"You're not afraid of me, nor do you reject my words at all." He smiled softly, his hand placed on my face once again, rubbing his thumb gently on my cheek as he smiled softly, his eyes soft.
"It's only me that ties you to this body," he smiles, his hand now holding my chin. He grinned and licked his lips. I looked away, flustered.
"I exist within this universe in my own way, I have my own will, y/n. The only thing that connects you to Getou is just this vessel." He pauses, a blush was present on his face now, as if he had softened at his own words. "It's not him you love, y/n. It's me inside of his body."
He smiled softly, letting go of my face. I didn't have anything to say, I felt as if he'd actually left me speechless for once. He wasn't wrong at all. The only thing I had left of my boyfriend was his body, and it was being used by a curse.
But I did love Getou. He was my lover for years, and we spent nearly every moment together.
"It's me who you've been hugging and kissing all this time, calling me darling. You can't deny it either." He paused for a moment before speaking again. His eyes nearly sparkled with hope as he rested his hand on his knee, his chin on the palm of his hand with a soft, delicate smile.
"I've been the one holding you, comforting you... I've been the one protecting you from this cruel world."
I stared at him, furrowed eye brows, and stood up, crossing my arms. "You're the cruel world, Kenjaku. Mahito, Jogo, Hanami... you're all curses. Do you not think how they could've killed me at any point?"
#geto suguru#getou suguru x reader#jujutsu kaisen suguru#jjk suguru#kenjaku#kenjaku x reader#kenjaku jjk#books#literature#reading#jujutsu kaisen#getou suguru#getou x reader#jjk getou#geto x reader#jjk geto#fanfic
288 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi!! If you’re still doing the kiss prompts, I was thinking that 5 (morning kisses) and 33 (hushed conversations between kisses) would be a really good pairing :)!!! Personally I’d love to see a nb character but whatever you prefer :)
Requested by @azu21:
“Hii! How are u? For the request, could yo do kisses 16 and 29, nothing sexual, just pure fluff🙈💞”
5 - Morning kisses; 33 - Hushed conversation in-between kisses; 16 - Nose kisses; 29 - Giggling while kissing
Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader
Didn't go into this intending to combine both requests, but as I kept writing I was like wait this is perfect. And voila
Warnings: sex mention, talk about how you smell (/pos)
Word Count: 705
Kiss Prompts
Main Masterlist
First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist
AO3
Tag List Form
Astarion buried his head further into your pillow. You'd gotten up a while ago and hadn't returned, and he was using this time to indulge.
Astarion had never slept in. He'd never had the freedom to, and by all means being an elf didn't help either. But more recently he'd taken up sleeping. Proper sleep. Not four hours of meditation; closing his eyes and allowing his subconscious to form dreams and carry him on a story through the night. He quite liked it, actually. Aside from the nightmares that cropped up (fewer and fewer with each passing week), he dreamt of bloodbaths and picking intricate locks with ease, designing clothing, and he especially dreamt of you. When he curled around you each night, nose pressed to your neck or ear pressed to your chest, your scent influenced just how lovely his dreams would be.
Even now, he simply could not get enough of you. The smell of your soap lingered on the sheets he pulled up around his neck. The fragrance of the oils you used in your hair stuck to the pillow. It was addicting, truly. He could idle the whole day away basking in your essence.
His ears twitched as he heard light footsteps enter the room. He tracked their movement as they padded across the floor to the bed, and listened attentively as a pair of slippers were left on the floor. Warm fingers carded through his hair, nearly drawing a purr from him as they scratched down to the nape of his neck.
“Can I have my pillow back, Star?”
He turned his head to the side and peeked up at his beloved with one eye. His smirk was evident by the way it pushed his cheek, leaving creases at the edge of his lips. “Perhaps.”
You chuckled. The morning birds could never sing as sweet a melody as your joy did. “Do you want cuddles or not?”
He sighed dramatically, but let up. He rolled over toward his side of the bed and released your pillow from his grasp. You positioned it back where you wanted it and opened the covers, before slipping inside. He immediately pressed himself into your side, with hardly any time for you to get settled. You laughed despite it, continuing to shift even as he endeavored to keep you in place.
Finally, you were able to turn onto your side, facing him, and settle into bed once more.
You both look at each other quietly for a moment. It wasn’t uncomfortable or unsettling, as extended eye contact with others usually was. Rather, the softened gaze of lovers studying their beloved’s face, etching each line and freckle into their memories.
You brush the back of your fingers along his cheek. He sighs and leans into your caress. Soon enough, your fingertips glide along his ear (sending a chill down his spine) and tangle in his curls, messy from sleep. He trails his own hand along your hip and waist, before it finds its place at the small of your back, where his thumb traces odd shapes through your clothes.
He is the first to lean forward and kiss you. It’s a soft kiss. Fragile, as though anything more would shatter the peace of the morning. It’s over much too soon, but he doesn’t stray far.
“There’s going to be a night market later,” you inform him in a whisper. You kiss his lips again, briefly. Even such quick contact makes your heart jump in your chest. You smile. “We can visit it real quick. Wander the streets.”
He hums with a teasing grin. “Find somewhere quiet. Sex under the stars.” He kisses you again even as you laugh.
“I was thinking more along the lines of ‘get up to mischief, pickpocket some drunkards.’”
“Darling, honestly, you’re worse than me.”
“Not possible.” You kiss him again, both of your stupid smiles making it rather clumsy. When you pull away, you lean up to kiss the bridge of his nose. “But how does that sound? Sleep and laze around all day, paint the town red at night?”
He kisses the tip of your nose. “It sounds wonderful, my sweet. How could I possibly refuse a night of debauchery?”
---
Tag List:
@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @phantoms-fandom-blog @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars @sylverqueencosplay @tototini @ashrio20 @bambamwolf87 @astarion-imagine-archive @thistrashisreadytobash @rosxtinted @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @the-lake-is-calling @nyxmainex @squid-killer @godoffuckedupcats @dontneedbiologytoadopt @dark-angel-is-back @gaymistakeboi
#request#requested#fanfic#fanfiction#astarion#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#baldur's gate 3#baldurs gate 3#bg3#baldur's gate astarion#baldurs gate astarion#bg3 astarion#gn reader#x gn reader#gender neutral reader#x gender neutral reader
304 notes
·
View notes
Note
Angst! I choose you! (That was cringe I'm sorry 😭)
Can I please request a Vox x Female Reader where Reader protected Vox from Valentino
(PS: Val killed Reader in the process)
And because of that Velvette has to take care of a Depressed Vox
A/N: My friend and I were going back and forth on ideas for this because we love angst. I hope you guys enjoy! A part 2 will be made for this because I love you guys
Word count: 1.6k (1,611)
Warnings: ANGST, valentino being a FUCKER, descriptions of violence, death, there is no mention of y/n but it's f!reader
My Beloved [ Vox x F!Reader ]
Vox got into another argument with Valentino. Both overlords had anger issues so their arguments always end up becoming explosive with glassware being thrown around. You came in as soon as you got word of their fight. When you ran into his office, it was clear that it was about you again. Valentino shoved you out of his way, glaring at you, seething with anger. He slammed the door shut but you couldn’t care any less. You ran to your lover’s side and held his hand.
“Vox? What happened?” You frowned, seeing all the broken glass. “Are you hurt anywhere?”
“It’s…” He hesitated and planted a gentle kiss on your hand, “It’s nothing, baby. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll always worry, my beloved.” You held his hand close, “Is it about the shoot again?” He sighed and nodded.
“He came in here demanding I convince you to be in one of his movies. I told him no and well,” He gestured to the shattered glass that littered his office, “You see how well that fucking turned out. Fucking moth just won’t stop. I told him that there’s nothing he could ever offer for your body! He ju-” You gently tighten your grip on his hand, cutting him off. He looked at you and the worry in your eyes melted his anger away. “I’m sorry, baby. It just makes me so angry when fuckers like him think they have any right to a sweetheart like you.”
“I’m sorry I’m causing this much stress.” You said softly, “I’ll talk to him if you need me to!”
“No!” He said as his screen got brighter with his increased panic, “No, babe. It’s fine. I got it handled. I promise, okay?”
You knelt next to him, your head on his lap, “Okay. But if anything happens, I’ll always be here for you, my beloved.”
He smiled, gently caressing your head, “Of all the souls in Hell, I know that the most, my dear.”
Your relationship with Vox seemed to come out of nowhere to those that didn’t know the past he shared with you. Velvette was the first to learn about his life with you before he died. He confided in her. At first she just wanted tea on his life before Hell but it ended up with her showing genuine interest. He had been pining for you even after his death. He wanted so desperately to confess how much he loved you. You never left his mind in his final hours and when he found himself in Hell, his heart broke. He feared that he would never meet you again. This fear pushed him into trying to get into relationships with people that had the smallest of reminders of you. You were an angel to him, the gentlest soul he’d ever met. He was sure that you would go to Heaven but when he saw you aimlessly roaming the streets of Hell, he rushed to meet you. You didn’t recognize him at first glance but the moment you heard his voice, everything fell into place. He, honestly, didn’t understand how you ended up in Hell. You had to remind him that you ran his “business” with him. His love for you blinded him from your heinous crimes, almost erasing it from his memory just out of adoration for you. He got such a massive ego boost when he learned you went on a bit of a rampage after his death that led to your execution.
It wasn’t long after your arrival that the two of you entered a honeymoon phase, constantly out on dates and always being at each other’s sides. After months of flirting, teasing and a multitude of dates, Vox finally asked you out. He was bad at romance more than he’d like to admit. Without Velvette’s help, he was definitely going to change his mind. The way he asked you out made you think he was going to propose. He had petals scattered on the floor and held the sweetest flowers he could buy in Hell. He was a nervous wreck waiting for you to arrive at the location he sent. The sight of him standing disheveled in front of a giant “Will you be mine?” neon sign made you burst out into laughter. But you said yes nonetheless.
Days passed after the argument. You were walking up to Vox’s office and as you got close you heard yelling. It was Valentino starting another fight. You started to run as soon as you heard glass breaking. When you reach the doorway you see Valentino aim a glass cup at Vox.
You grabbed his arm to stop him and raised your voice. “Stop! Valentino, that's enough!”
Valentino got angrier at your attempt to stop him and he pushed you off of him, knocking you down to the ground. “Don’t fucking touch me, bitch. You’re lower than me, don’t forget that.” He hissed. Vox ran to your side and helped you up.
You scowled at him as you held your head high, “I don’t give a single shit who you are. You’re a little bitch baby that can’t take no for an answer.” You spat back.
“What the fuck did you call me?!” He yelled and began to step closer to you. Vox blocked him from getting any closer.
“Val. Fuck off. I said no and my decision isn’t going to change.”
You saw Valentino raise his hand to hit Vox. Without thinking, you pulled Vox out of the way. You barely dodged his swing, his claw scratching your cheek deep enough for it to draw blood. You growled at him and slapped him across the face. It shocked all three of you. Your confidence faded once Valentino opened his wings, his face shrouded in rage.
In the blink of an eye, he had you by the throat. You instinctively held onto his hands, trying to pry his tightening grip on your neck. His hold alone left bruises on your neck. Before Vox could reach him, Valentino flew through Vox’s balcony. He used your head to break through the glass door, making you scream from fear.
“Valentino! What are you doing?!” Vox yelled, running after him.
“Aw, what?” He teased, “You’re telling me you really give a fuck about this bitch?” He laughed, menacingly. You struggled against him and managed to get a glimpse of how high up you were. “You loved me too, remember? Before her.”
“Put her down, Valentino!” He screamed, glitching from both fear and anger. His pleas received laughter.
“You’re turning out so pathetic and soft, Vox.” He grins, blood dripping from the side of his mouth. “I’ll put her down, just for you~”
Your eyes widened at his tone and knew exactly what was coming. You looked at Vox with tears in your eyes. The fear in his eyes broke your heart. His hand reached out towards you as if he could reach you. THe only thing you could do was smile at him. He couldn’t get himself to smile back, he could only stare at you. This exchange only fueled Valentino’s rage.
“V-Vox.” You croaked out, your voice hoarse from Valentino’s grasp. “I love y-”
Before you could continue, you were suddenly pummeling towards the concrete below you.
“No!” Vox screamed at the top of his lungs.
You heard his cry for you. You heard Valentino’s cackle. As you got closer to the ground, you relaxed your body and shut your eyes, accepting what was about to happen. And then you no longer heard anything. You didn’t hear the way Vox screamed and cried. You didn’t hear the hums of electricity that came before his power outages. You died from Valentino’s rage.
All power was cut off in Pentagram City. He heard your last words. He knew what you wanted to say. After the time you shared together, you had never told him “I love you.” because of your personal past. He didn’t need to hear you say it, you both knew how much you love each other. He didn’t know that you were finally ready to tell him you love him. He didn’t know he helped you get over your past. And he’ll never get to hear you say you love him. He’ll never hear your sweet voice again. He’ll never get to make up the time he lost with you. The only time he’ll be able to hold you again was to collect you from the ground.
His heart was shattered. It was obvious to everyone around him. Vox never left his security room. He locked himself in there and drank his pain away. He played the videos he had of you, looked at your photos and longed for your smile. He’ll never hear your songs, your jokes, your laugh or see your smile. He was alone again.
The only person that managed to get into his security room was Velvette. She did her best to comfort him and get him to clean up. Everytime she went in there, the entire room would reek of alcohol and grief. As cold as her heart was, the sight of him crying at your photos and videos broke her. She grew close to you when you first came. Her first impression of you was from Vox’s lovestruck stories and meeting you was a different ride. She understood why Vox loved you the way he did. She never spoke of it but she cried with Vox when you died. She was enraged. The only thing that stopped her from killing Valentino herself was the grief.
None of the Vees spoke to Valentino for months and that pissed him off.
Tag list:
@froggybich @baizzhu @dickmastersworld @matrixbearer2024
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#vox hazbin hotel#vox x reader#hazbin hotel vees#hazbin hotel valentino#hazbin hotel vox#hazbin hotel velvette#hazbin hotel angst#hazbin hotel x reader angst#vox x reader angst
377 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Love Beyond Time.
fictober masterlist || ask me anything <3
authors note - this one is my personal favourite hence why i saved it for last, this is heavily tvd inspired so enjoy!
word count - 19.5k (core blimey…🫣)
in which, in 1864, a serene town was the canvas for your budding love story, as you joyfully prepared for a life together with your beloved husband. However, the tranquility shattered in one heart-wrenching moment during an unexpected town assault. Witnessing your husbands lifeless body crumple to the ground, your world came crashing down, forever altering the course of your existence. You were left haunted by that fateful day, struggling to piece together a life in the aftermath of the tragedy, while whispers of a supernatural twist and the possibility of a reunion with your once-lost love lingered on the edges of your consciousness, marking the passage of years and bringing an enigmatic undercurrent to your existence.
trigger warnings: vampires, mentions of death, blood, and panic attacks, and lots of flashbacks.
trope: vampire!harry
The year was 1864.
You were running through a dense forest, heart pounding with fear and determination. The moon casts an eerie glow, illuminating the path ahead as you desperately seek your husband.
The events that led you here began when your peaceful town of Holmes Chapel came under attack during the night. A sudden intrusion into your shared bedroom left you in shock as masked assailants dragged your husband away to defend the town.
With your lantern held tightly, you forge ahead, leaves crunching beneath your boots. The forest whispers with the secrets of the night, but your thoughts are solely on your husband's safety. The echoes of distant gunshots pierce the air, driving you to move faster.
Time blurs as you push deeper into the woods, clutching the locket he gave you on your wedding day. It's a beacon of hope in the darkness, a reminder of the love that propels you forward. Branches claw at your dress as if trying to halt your progress, but you press on.
The forest seems to come alive with eerie sounds, but you remain undeterred. Your mind races with memories of your life together. You recall the way he looked when he first kissed you, promising to always protect you. Now it's your turn to protect him.
The adrenaline was coursing through your veins is your only guiding light. The eerie shadows cast by moonlight make it difficult to see, and your heart is pounding with the urgency of finding your husband. With each step, you feel your breath quicken and the weight of worry pressing upon you.
Amidst the chaos of your pursuit, your foot suddenly catches on a hidden rock. Time slows for an instant as you stumble forward, unable to maintain your balance. You crash to the ground with a sharp gasp, and the pain in your knee shoots through your body like a lightning bolt.
The forest floor is unforgiving, and you scramble to your knees, wincing in pain. A searing sensation courses through your leg as you assess the damage. Moonlight reveals the crimson stain of your blood on your torn dress, a stark reminder of your fall. Your trembling fingers press against the wounded knee, and you hiss in pain.
Seated on the forest floor, the pain in your injured knee sends sharp jolts of agony through your body. The wound on your leg continues to bleed, a painful reminder of your fall. Breathing heavily, you clench your teeth to stifle the pain, still fixated on the task at hand—finding your husband.
In the oppressive silence of the night, a gunshot shatters the stillness, echoing through the trees.
Your head snaps in the direction of the sound, dread seizing your heart.
The forest seems to hold its breath, and in the pale moonlight, you catch a nightmarish glimpse of your husband's body falling to the ground in the distance.
Time itself seems to freeze as you watch in disbelief. Your heart, already heavy with fear and worry, now carries the unbearable weight of witnessing his lifeless form crumple to the forest floor.
A haunting numbness washes over you, and you can't believe what your eyes have just witnessed.
Your husband's stillness in the moonlight is a stark contrast to the vibrant and caring man you know.
He lies motionless, and you can't tear your eyes away from him. The forest, which once felt full of life, now feels like a desolate and eerie place, bearing witness to a tragedy.
Shock paralyzes you, keeping you rooted to the ground where you sit, knees trembling. The wound on your leg goes unnoticed as your mind grapples with the devastating reality that has unfolded before you.
Every moment feels like an eternity as you struggle to accept what you've seen, unable to comprehend the loss that has befallen you.
Tears well up in your eyes, but you can't bring yourself to move. Your mind races, emotions tangled in a web of grief and disbelief. The forest becomes a haunting backdrop to the pain that now consumes you, as you continue to stare in anguished shock at the lifeless body of the man you love.
As if jolted awake by a cruel nightmare, you suddenly snap out of your daze. The image of your husband's lifeless body lingers in your mind, but there's an urgency now, an unrelenting force pushing you to your feet. Ignoring the searing pain in your wounded knee, you rise unsteadily and turn away from the devastating scene.
Determination courses through you, propelling you forward into the heart of the forest. Every step, though painful, is infused with purpose. The leaves underfoot crunch with a mournful sound, like the breaking of your heart, while twigs snap like the fragile threads of your resolve.
Moonlight filters through the dense canopy, casting ghostly, dancing shadows that accompany you on your desperate journey. The night is filled with the symphony of the forest - the hushed whispers of the wind, the distant calls of nocturnal creatures, and your own labored breaths.
You press on, driven by the need to understand what happened and to seek justice for your husband. The forest, once a place of serene beauty, has transformed into an ominous labyrinth of uncertainty. Each rustle in the underbrush keeps you on edge, as the sounds of the night seem to conspire against you.
Branches reach out to snatch at your dress, as if attempting to hold you back, but your determination allows no interference. The path you follow is shrouded in darkness, with only the faintest hint of the trail your husband might have taken. Your heart beats like a drum, echoing the urgency of your quest.
The forest around you is now a battleground, the cacophony of gunshots and cries of conflict growing louder as you approach your husband's lifeless form.
You cast aside the fear and pain, crouching down beside him, your hands trembling as they reach out to touch his still-warm cheek.
"H, it's me," you whisper, tears streaming down your face.
"I'm here, love. Everything's going to be okay. Help is coming. You'll be fine." Your voice wavers, but you try to sound strong for him, to provide him with the reassurance he needs.
His breaths are shallow, his eyes half-lidded, but they flicker open as he hears your voice. He manages a faint smile, bloodstained lips trembling as he reaches for your hand. His wedding band rubs against your fingers, a testament to the love you share, and it's a stark reminder of what's at stake.
"I love ‘ye," he rasps, the words barely audible over the chaos that surrounds you. His grip on your hand tightens, and you feel the fleeting warmth of his touch.
Your heart aches with love and grief as you squeeze his hand in response, your voice choked with emotion.
Tears blur your vision, but you lean in closer, desperate to make the most of the precious moments you have left together.
"I love you too, baby. More than anything in this world. We'll get through this together. Just hold on a little longer." Your voice trembles as you speak, your forehead touching his, a gesture of love and connection in this dire moment.
Around you, the battle rages on, but in this fragile bubble of time, it's just you and him. You whisper soothing words, your fingers tracing his cheek, brushing away blood-soaked hair from his forehead.
The forest, once a place of tranquillity, is now the setting of your heart-wrenching farewell.
Harry's breathing becomes more laboured, and his eyes lose focus, but he clings to your hand as if it were his lifeline. He musters a smile, his love and strength shining through even in the face of death.
You can see it in his eyes, in the way he gazes at you, that he's saying goodbye.
With trembling lips, you press a gentle kiss to his forehead.
"You're my everything, Harry. I'll carry you with me always." Your words are tender, a declaration of love and a promise to cherish his memory.
His last breath escapes him, and his hand slowly falls from yours. Your world crumbles in that moment, and you're left alone with the lifeless body of the man you love, in a forest transformed by tragedy.
The forest, once echoing with the sounds of battle, falls silent as you let out a heart-wrenching scream of heartbreak. It's a primal, agonising sound that pierces the night, a cry of loss and despair. Your voice carries your pain to the heavens, but it's met with a cold, uncaring silence.
Tears flow uncontrollably as you lay your head on your husband's motionless torso. His body is still warm, but there's no life left in it. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest no more, and the reality of his absence bears down on you like a crushing weight.
Sobs wrack your body as you clutch his lifeless form, fingers tangled in his blood-stained shirt. The forest watches in mournful silence, the moonlight casting eerie shadows upon your anguished figure.
You sit alone in your dimly lit bedroom, the only source of light being the faint glow of the moon seeping through the curtains. Your eyes are fixed on the calendar hanging on the wall, its pages marked with the passage of time. It’s getting closer and closer to what would have been your husband's birthday, a day that used to be filled with joy and celebration, but now it's a painful reminder of what was lost.
As you trace your fingers over the date, your mind drifts back to that fateful day, fourteen months after your wedding.
Tears well up in your eyes as you remember his warm smile and the touch of his hand. He was your rock, your confidant, and your soulmate. The love you shared was profound and unbreakable, and his loss left a void that no one could fill.
But there's something different about you, something that sets you apart from the rest of humanity. It's the reason you sit here tonight, 159 years later, in a world that has long moved on without you. You hadn't died with your husband because of a twist of fate. It was a vampire's bite that had saved you from death's grasp that day, turning you into a creature of the night.
In the stillness of the night, you can feel the ancient power coursing through your veins. The thirst for blood is a constant reminder of your new existence, and the conflict between your longing for humanity and the supernatural urges that consume you is a torment that never fades. The isolation you've felt for over a century is crushing, but it's nothing compared to the loneliness of losing your beloved husband.
You reach for your left hand, where a delicate silver band still rests on your finger. It's your wedding ring, and you've worn it every day since that fateful day in 1864. The memories of your wedding day flood back—the vows you exchanged, the laughter, and the love that was so pure and genuine.
As you sit in the darkness, the anguish of your existence as an immortal being intensifies. The passing years have done nothing to ease the pain of your husband's absence. You've watched the world change, evolve, and progress, all while you remain locked in the past, bound by your unending love and grief.
The calendar on the wall stands as a cruel reminder of the passage of time, and each passing day only deepens the chasm in your heart. You know that you can never truly move on, but you continue to exist, trapped between two worlds, clinging to the memories of a life that was taken from you too soon.
you carefully pull out a small, weathered box from under the bed. It's where you've kept the cherished notes you and your husband used to exchange, fragile pieces of the past that still hold the warmth of his words.
The first note you pick up is a simple, heartfelt one.
It reads,
𝑀𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 (𝒴/𝒩),
𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼'𝓂 𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒, 𝓊𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓁𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈. 𝒜𝓁𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓃𝑒𝓍𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝑜𝓇, 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓌 𝓈𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈 𝓊𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓈𝓂. 𝐼 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝑜𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝓌𝑒 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉, 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓈𝓉, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹 𝒻𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎.
𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝑜𝓁𝒹𝑒𝓇, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓉𝒽, 𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝒶𝓃 𝒾𝒸𝓎 𝓋𝑜𝒾𝒹. 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽. 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓁𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝒹𝑔𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝒶𝓅 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓊𝓈, 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓇𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓉𝑒𝒹. 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝑜𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝑒𝑒𝓈.
𝒰𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒹𝒶𝓎, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝑔𝓊𝒾𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝓀𝓎.
𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈,
𝐻.
A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips as you remember the nights you spent wrapped in each other's embrace.
The next note brings back memories of a time when your husband fell ill. In his distinctive handwriting,
It reads,
𝑀𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 (𝒴/𝒩),
𝐼 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓁𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓃 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝒾𝑔𝒽 𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓈, 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝐼 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝑔𝓇𝑒𝓉𝒻𝓊𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒾𝓃𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑜𝒹𝒶𝓎. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝓉𝒶𝓁𝑒 𝓈𝒾𝑔𝓃𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝓁𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝒸𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝓊𝓅𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝑒, 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝒸𝑜𝓂𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒻𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑔𝓊𝑒.
𝐼 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓋𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑜 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑒𝒹. 𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝒾𝓁𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒶𝑔𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁. 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝓊𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔.
𝒫𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓇𝑒𝓂𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈 𝒶𝓈 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓈 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓊𝓉𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝓃 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁-𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉. 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒𝒹, 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒹𝑜 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝓌𝒾𝒻𝓉𝓁𝓎, 𝓈𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓀 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓉𝒽.
𝒰𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃, 𝓂𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝒻𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌 𝑜𝒻 𝒾𝓁𝓁𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓊𝓈.
𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒,
𝐻.
With a delicate touch, you unfold the last note, which is filled with affectionate words.
𝑀𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 (𝒴/𝒩),
𝒜𝓈 𝐼 𝓈𝒾𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝒻𝓁𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝒻𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃, 𝐼 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒹𝒶𝓎, 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓈, 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝓇𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝓅𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈𝒸𝒶𝓅𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁.
𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝒸𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓇𝓀𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈. 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼 𝑔𝒶𝓏𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓈, 𝐼 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝒶 𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓊𝓉𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎.
𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝓈𝑜 𝒾𝓃𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒹𝒾𝒷𝓁𝓎 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓃𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝓎 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒, 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒. 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝒾𝒸, 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓂𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑒𝓂𝒷𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒, 𝓂𝓎 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉, 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑔𝒾𝒻𝓉 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑒𝒾𝓋𝑒𝒹.
𝐼 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝓌𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝑒𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓁𝑒𝓃 𝑔𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓂 𝑒𝓂𝒷𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒶𝓀 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓈𝑜 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝑜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓉. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓅𝒾𝑒𝒸𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝓂𝒶𝒹𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓉𝑒.
𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓎, 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈. 𝑀𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝒻𝓁𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝓃𝓈 𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎, 𝒶 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝒸𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝑒𝓍𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓊𝒾𝓈𝒽. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒����𝑒𝓇 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉.
𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁,
𝐻.
The room is filled with a mixture of emotions as you read through these notes. You can almost hear his voice in your mind, feel his presence in the room, as though he's still with you. The memories of your time together, both the joyful and the challenging, flood your mind.
As you continue to flip through the notes, a sense of nostalgia washes over you. Each piece of paper tells a story of your love, a love that transcends time and space. These tangible remnants of your past are a lifeline to the happiness and connection you shared.
You can't help but hold the notes to your chest, as if doing so will bring him back, if only for a moment. The handwritten words become a connection to a love that remains eternally alive in your heart.
he room is filled with a mixture of emotions as you read through these notes. You can almost hear his voice in your mind, feel his presence in the room, as though he's still with you. The memories of your time together, both the joyful and the challenging, flood your mind.
As you continue to flip through the notes, a sense of nostalgia washes over you. Each piece of paper tells a story of your love, a love that transcends time and space. These tangible remnants of your past are a lifeline to the happiness and connection you shared.
You can't help but hold the notes to your chest, as if doing so will bring him back, if only for a moment. The handwritten words become a connection to a love that remains eternally alive in your heart.
As you are in your trance, the door to your bedroom creaks open. Your best friend, Zayn, your steadfast companion in this new world of immortality, enters the room.
His vampire senses allow him to sense your emotional state even before he takes in the scene.
Zayn's eyes meet yours, and he can see the raw emotions that you've been holding back. He knows that this time of year is always difficult for you, a reminder of the love and loss that defines your existence. Without a word, he moves closer and takes a seat beside you on the bed.
Gently, Zayn wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. His touch, cold yet reassuring, provides a sense of comfort that only someone who shares your immortal life can offer.
He doesn't need to speak, for he understands the depth of your pain and the heaviness of your heart.
Time seems to stand still as you both sit there, the only sound in the room being the soft rustle of the notes you're clutching. Zayn's presence is a soothing balm to your aching soul, a reminder that you're not alone in this eternity.
You lean into his embrace, finding solace in the silent companionship that has defined your centuries together.
The room is bathed in the soft, silvery glow of the moon, casting a gentle light upon the two of you. Zayn's immortal eyes reflect a profound empathy as he gazes at you.
He may not share your specific pain, but he comprehends the depth of your sorrow, and his unwavering support is a testament to the strength of your friendship.
You feel a sense of unity in this quiet moment, connected by the unspoken understanding of your shared existence. Zayn's presence, like the memories in those letters, is a constant in your life, a source of reassurance that you cling to when the weight of your solitude becomes unbearable.
Zayn's fingers brush gently against the back of your hand, an unspoken gesture of sympathy and empathy.
As the night unfolds around you, you find comfort in the silence, in the shared understanding between two immortals whose lives are forever marked by the passage of time and the enduring power of love.
The minutes tick by, but in the arms of your friend, time loses its urgency. You don't need words to communicate your pain, for Zayn's presence is a reminder that, in this unending night, you have someone who stands by your side, even when the memories of your husband's birthday bring waves of sorrow.
Zayn eventually breaks the stillness.
He clears his throat softly, turning his gaze to you, his vampire eyes expressing concern.
"Are you ready to get going soon?" he asks, his voice a gentle yet encouraging nudge.
You release a soft sigh, nodding your head slowly, and your voice trembles slightly as you reply, "Just a few more things to pack, and then I'll be ready."
Zayn senses the fragility of your emotions and offers his support, asking, "Can I help you with anything?"
He watches you idly fiddling with the bracelet around your wrist.
Noticing your restlessness, he reaches out to softly hold your hands, halting your nervous actions. Concern etched on his face, he asks, "What's wrong?"
Your eyes meet his, and you hesitate for a moment before finally voicing your uncertainty.
"Do we really have to go there today?" you inquire, your tone tinged with a hint of vulnerability.
Zayn's grip on your hand tightens, not in a romantic manner, but to convey his steadfast support.
In a comforting tone, he begins to explain, "You know we go every year. It's a tradition. It helps you remember and honour the past, and it always seems to make you feel better."
His words are laced with a sense of understanding, a reminder that he has been with you through many of these anniversaries.
You contemplate his words, the weight of your annual pilgrimage tugging at your heart. The place you're about to visit holds bittersweet memories, a reminder of the life you once shared with your husband.
Each year, you return there to pay your respects and keep his memory alive.
Zayn's grip on your hand offers reassurance, a silent pledge that he'll be there with you, providing the strength and support you need. The drive ahead is long, but it's a journey you make together, year after year, as a testament to your enduring bond.
As you begin to pack your belongings, you can't help but wonder about the emotional rollercoaster that lies ahead. The memories that await at your destination are a mix of joy, love, and sorrow, and you find solace in the fact that Zayn is there to accompany you on this annual journey.
The room slowly fills with the soft rustling of your belongings, a tangible representation of the steps you take to prepare for this day. Zayn doesn't need to say much more; his presence and unwavering support are all the encouragement you require.
In the year 1865, the world outside was marred by the horrors of war, but your own battle was one fought against a relentless adversary: cholera. It was a wretched disease that had laid its icy grip upon you, and the diagnosis had been grim.
You had been confined to your bed, frail and weak, under strict orders not to venture out. The days had blurred into one another, marked by the agonising pain that twisted your body.
As night descended upon your small, dimly lit room, you found yourself unable to bear the separation any longer.
Weak limbs, trembling with fever, carried you out of the house, driven by an insatiable yearning to be close to your husband's resting place.
He had been taken from you too soon, a victim of the brutality, and the thought of joining him beyond the mortal coil was a solace that beckoned you.
The moon's pale glow guided your unsteady steps as you stumbled through the darkness, clutching at the fragile shreds of your existence.
Tears rolled down your cheeks, mingling with the dirt on your face as you reached your husband's grave.
The earth beneath you was cold and unforgiving, much like your fate, and you could hardly breathe as your vision blurred.
In the silence of the night, you lay there, your life slipping away like grains of sand through your fingertips.
It was then that Zayn, a lone vampire with a heart that had not yet been completely hardened by the centuries, stumbled across your frail form. His immortal eyes, adapted to the darkness, were drawn to your prone figure, wracked with pain and suffering.
Zayn had seen countless lives extinguished by cholera, innocent humans who met a cruel fate. He couldn't stand the thought of witnessing yet another life claimed by the merciless disease.
The decision was made in an instant; he would not allow you to die alone in the dirt.
Biting into his wrist, he let his own blood flow freely, a crimson elixir that held the power to grant life beyond the brink of death. Gently, he brought his wrist to your lips, the metallic taste of his blood mixing with the dirt on your tongue.
As the tears continued to roll down your cheeks, you accepted the gift, and as your world faded to black, you knew that you would wake once more.
When you did awaken, it was with a newfound strength, but also with the realisation that you were no longer the same. You had been turned into a creature of the night, a vampire like Zayn.
You could feel the ancient power coursing through your veins, and you knew that you had been given a second chance at life.
Zayn, ever the silent guardian, watched over you as you adjusted to your new existence. He had saved you from the clutches of cholera and given you a gift that had bound you together for eternity.
The pain of your past remained, but it was now mingled with the promise of a future, one that would be marked by a different kind of immortality.
The moon that had witnessed your despair now bore witness to your rebirth, casting a silvery light upon the world. Your husband's grave, the place where you had once sought solace in death, became a reminder of the choices that had brought you back to life. In the embrace of the night, you and Zayn forged a bond that would endure through the ages, a bond forged in the crucible of darkness and the unyielding desire to protect a fragile, mortal soul.
The day of your husband's funeral is shrouded in a thick blanket of gray clouds, a reflection of the somber mood that hangs in the air.
You stand at the front of the gathering, holding the hands of your husband's sister, Gemma, and his mother, Anne. You are positioned in the center, a symbol of the family's strength, while the world grieves around you.
Harry, your husband, remains hidden in the shadows of a nearby bush, concealed by the dense foliage.
His heart aches as he watches the mourners, his loved ones, weeping for him. The weight of his decision to become a vampire bears down on him heavily, and guilt gnaws at his conscience.
He longs to step out from the darkness, to hold you in his arms and console his grieving family, but he knows the consequences would be dire.
The insatiable bloodlust that courses through him is a risk he can't take.
Liam, the one who turned Harry into a vampire, stands beside him, aware of Harry's internal turmoil. As the mourners begin to weep more openly, and your tears flow, Harry's eyes glisten with unshed tears.
He is desperate to be by your side, to share in your pain, to say his final goodbyes. But Liam knows that he's not ready to control his primal instincts, and he grabs Harry's arm, holding him back.
Harry's eyes lock with Liam's, and there's a silent understanding between them. Liam's grip tightens, and he speaks softly, a voice only Harry can hear.
"You can't go over there, Harry," Liam insists. "Your thirst will be uncontrollable. You need training, discipline. You're not ready to face them without putting them in danger."
Harry's heart aches with the truth of Liam's words. He knows he's not in control of his newfound vampiric instincts, and the potential harm he could cause to those he loves weighs heavily on his conscience. A tear escapes his eye, rolling down his cheek as he gazes at you and his family from the shadows.
In the distance, Gemma sobs quietly, her shoulders trembling. Anne clings to you, her grief profound and palpable. Harry's anguish deepens as he realizes he can't comfort them, can't wipe away their tears. He wants nothing more than to hold you all, to whisper words of love and reassurance, but the consequences of his presence are too dire.
Harry clenches his jaw and nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He understands that he must control the beast within him, no matter how much it pains him to stay away. He watches as the mourners continue to grieve, knowing that he must focus on his training to become a responsible vampire, even if it means sacrificing his desire to be with you one last time.
Harry's memories of those early days with you were etched into his heart, timeless and evergreen. The two of you had been young, so young that it felt like you both had the world at your feet.
It was the norm back then to marry young, and so you had, vowing to spend a lifetime together.
At the tender age of seventeen, the two of you had become husband and wife, and Harry had been just eighteen when he was taken from you.
The day you said your vows had been a blur of emotions, a whirlwind of love and promises.
The sun had shone brightly, casting a golden hue on the small chapel where you had gathered with their families and friends.
Harry couldn't have been more proud or more in love as he watched you walk down the aisle, a vision of grace and beauty.
The year that followed had been filled with joy, adventure, and love. You had faced the world hand in hand, growing together as you navigated the challenges and joys that life presented.
Harry's love for you had only deepened with time, and he couldn't imagine a life without you by his side.
The night he was dragged out of bed to defend the town had been a harrowing one.
The chaos of the attack had thrust him into the front lines, where he had fought valiantly to protect his home and loved ones.
In the midst of the battle, he had been taken from you leaving your heart with a void that could never be filled.
Harry found himself back in his hometown in the year 2023. It had been a long and winding journey that had brought him here, to the place where he and you had once shared a life together. The memories of your youth had been a bittersweet comfort, and he couldn't resist the pull of returning to the town you had both had once called home.
A year had passed since his return, and Harry had settled into the rhythm of everyday life in the town.
His immortality was a secret he guarded closely, and only told a certain group of people, but to fit in with the world around him, he had made the decision to attend the local high school.
His appearance, frozen in time, allowed him to blend in as an eighteen-year-old, a senior in high school.
The hallways of the school were bustling with youthful energy, and Harry navigated them with a sense of nostalgia. The students around him were so different from the world he had once known, but their dreams and aspirations remained the same. It was a peculiar feeling to be an immortal amidst those who still had their entire lives ahead of them.
Harry stood by his locker, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of the high school. He was in the process of organizing his books for his next lesson when he felt a presence approach.
Turning around, he was greeted by the smiling faces of his two closest friends, Sarah and Mitch, who were dating.
They had been his unwavering support since his return to this town, and they were among the few who knew his secret.
Sarah and Mitch shared an unbreakable bond, one that had grown even stronger with the knowledge of Harry's true nature. They had embraced him with open arms, offering friendship and a sense of belonging that he had desperately missed.
"Hey, Haz," Sarah chimed, her warm smile lighting up the hallway. "You coming to the Grove later?"
The Chapel Grove.
A local hangout spot for the families of Holmes Chapel, they sold food such as greasy burgers, loaded fries and even served drinks such as Milkshakes and of the alcoholic kind.
Mitch nodded in agreement, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Yeah, It was Ricky’s idea."
Harry, still playing with his books, shrugged his shoulders. He let out a sigh, his voice tinged with a hint of regret. "M’not sure, v’ got a ton of homework t’do. Y’know how it is."
His two friends exchanged knowing glances. They understood that Harry's commitment to his studies was both genuine and a cover for the reality of his existence. They respected his choices, knowing that the weight of his immortality was a burden he carried alone.
Sarah reached out and gently placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.
He watched as Sarah and Mitch walked away, their laughter fading into the distance.
It was a bittersweet moment, a reminder of the normal life he had once shared with you and the sacrifices he now made to honour her memory.
Harry turned his attention back to his locker. As he opened the door, he was met with the image of a photograph hanging on the inside.
It was a picture of you, a snapshot taken in the year 1864, the year you had become his beloved wife.
The sepia-toned photograph had faded with time, but the memories it held were as vivid as ever.
Harry's fingers traced a delicate path along the edges of the photograph, a gesture born out of love and longing.
He couldn't help but marvel at your image, at the way your eyes sparkled with joy and your smile radiates warmth. It was a portrait of a life that had once been filled with hope, dreams, and love.
He was transported back in time, to the days when the two of you had been inseparable. The image before him held the essence of the happiness you had shared, a happiness that had been taken from him too soon.
As he gazed at your face, he fought to hold back the tears that threatened to escape.
The wedding ring he still wore on his finger served as a constant reminder of the love that had transcended time and space. He had never taken it off, a symbol of his eternal devotion to you.
As he looked at the photograph, his heart ached with the weight of your absence, a pain that had not diminished over the years.
In the hushed stillness of the hallway, Harry found himself caught in a silent moment of reflection.
He knew that you were gone, that he could never hold you again in the same way, but the photograph served as a lifeline to the love and memories that continued to endure.
With great care, he closed the locker door, leaving the photograph of you hanging there. It was a bittersweet reminder of the life he had once known, the life that had been stolen from him.
You're seated in Zayn's car, the soothing hum of the engine merging with the rhythmic patterns of the road.
It's been four long hours of cruising from London to Manchester, a journey you've made year after year, a pilgrimage to Holmes Chapel.
The miles seem to stretch on endlessly, and your thoughts are a chaotic whirlwind, just as they always are on this annual trip. Memories, emotions, and longings intermingle, creating a storm within your mind.
Traffic comes and goes, a constant ebb and flow of vehicles on the motorway. The occasional slowdowns test your patience, but you find solace in the companionship of Zayn and the knowledge that the destination is worth the journey.
Zayn pulls the car to the side of the road, when the two of you are driving through the last bit of the journey, through a nice little down adjacent to Holmes Chapel, the two of you hadn’t fed before leaving.
Rookie mistake on your part.
And now, your mouth was dry and you desperately needed something to refresh it.
The oblivious passerby, a stranger to you, continues on their path, unknowingly approaching the enigmatic pair standing by the roadside.
In a carefully orchestrated dance, you and Zayn approach the passerby, a swift and silent exchange between predator and prey, and walk with him to a secluded alleyway.
The "snack" begins, a feeding that is essential for your survival. Your senses sharpen as you draw from your chosen source, the warmth of their life pulsing beneath their skin.
The passerby remains blissfully unaware, their consciousness undisturbed as you and Zayn fulfil your needs.
You both take only what you require, leaving no lasting harm, and then compel them to forget the encounter.
And so, you continue your journey.
The landscape outside the car window changes gradually as you travel. The urban sprawl of London gives way to the open countryside.
Fields stretch to the horizon, painted in shades of green and gold. It's a serene contrast to the chaotic thoughts that whirl within your mind.
The journey continues, and the passing scenery carries with it a sense of nostalgia. The familiar landmarks along the way bring back memories of years gone by, each one tinged with the bittersweet remembrance of the life you once shared with your beloved.
As you approach Holmes Chapel, your heart quickens, and the sense of longing intensifies. The town's quaint streets and charming houses feel like a trip back in time, a reminder of the life you once knew.
The car glides into Holmes Chapel, and you can almost hear the echoes of your past. The weight of your annual pilgrimage rests heavily upon your shoulders, a testament to the enduring love that has never dimmed.
Zayn expertly guided the car into the driveway of the house that had once belonged to your parents back in 1864.
It was a place steeped in history, a relic of a time long past, and it had become yours after your parents' passing in 1895, after sneaking back into the town and compelling your way to be the owner.
For nearly 130 years, this house had been a silent witness to your existence, a sanctuary where you and Zayn retreated to every year.
The exterior of the house retained the charm of another era. It was a grand Victorian home, adorned with intricate wooden details and gabled roofs. The red brick façade bore the marks of time, and the lush ivy that crept up the walls had woven its own stories.
The front garden was a riot of colour , with flowers in full bloom. The fragrant scent of roses, lilacs, and lavender filled the air, a testament to the diligent care you had taken to preserve the beauty of the landscape.
The path leading to the front door was lined with cobblestones, their edges softened by the passage of countless seasons.
As the car came to a stop, the familiar sight of the house, with its large bay windows and wrought-iron balconies, stirred a sense of nostalgia within you.
The years had passed, but the house remained a time capsule, preserving the memories of a bygone era.
You and Zayn stepped out of the car, and the front porch welcomed you with open arms. The old oak door, with its ornate brass knocker, felt like an old friend.
You had kept everything inside the house unchanged, maintaining the decor of another centuryc and wanting to keep your parents' memories alive. The rooms were filled with antique furniture, tapestries, and framed photographs of family members long gone.
The fireplace in the living room, where you and Zayn had shared countless conversations, was a focal point. The mantel held a collection of aged books and trinkets, each with its own story to tell. The ticking of an antique clock on the wall served as a reminder that time had, in some ways, stood still here.
The past clung to the house's very walls, an unspoken testament to the enduring love and memories that you had carried throughout the ages. As you stepped inside, the echoes of your footsteps were met with a quiet sense of reverence, a recognition of the bond you shared with this place.
Within the house, amidst the antique furnishings and treasured memories, there was a room that held a special place in your heart. It was a room where time seemed to stand still, a room that honoured both the past and the present.
On one wall, there hung a meticulously painted portrait of you and Harry on your wedding day in 1864. The image captured a moment of pure happiness, the two of you standing side by side, radiating love and promise.
The colours were vivid, as if the artist had painstakingly tried to preserve the very essence of that day.
Beside it, you had placed a modern touch, a photograph of you and Zayn. It was a selfie taken during a visit to the Colosseum in Rome, a few years ago.
The picture was a snapshot of friendship, of laughter and shared experiences, and it served as a tribute to the bond you and Zayn had forged over the centuries.
The juxtaposition of the two images on the same wall was a reflection of the passage of time, a reminder that love and connection endured even as life moved forward.
The painted portrait of your wedding day was a testament to the love that had once defined your existence, while the photograph of you and Zayn symbolised the friendship that had evolved to fill the void left by Harry's untimely departure.
It was the very same house where Harry had asked you on your first date, a memory etched into the very walls of the building.
The familiarity of the place had been the perfect backdrop for that special moment. It was here, within the walls of this house, that Harry had shown the first signs of his affections for you.
The room, adorned with vintage decor and an antique chandelier, had been bathed in the warm glow of candlelight, creating an atmosphere of intimacy and romance.
You stood in the modest kitchen of your family home, the warm and comforting heart of the house. The scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the stew that simmered on the stove.
It was a simple yet fulfilling meal that you were preparing, a meal that would soon be shared by your mother, your father, and you.
The kitchen was a cosy space, with worn wooden counters and shelves lined with jars of preserved fruits and vegetables.
Sunlight streamed through the small, lace-curtained window, casting a soft, golden glow on the room. The sounds of your mother's apron softly brushing against her dress and the rhythmic chopping of vegetables filled the room.
You worked alongside your mother, your hands expertly kneading the dough for the bread. The flour dusted your fingers, creating a playful mess that made you both smile.
The warmth of the hearth, with its crackling fire, chased away the chill of the approaching winter.
The two of you shared a quiet understanding as you moved in synchrony, the bond between mother and child woven into the very fabric of the kitchen.
The wooden table, which had seen countless meals and conversations, stood as a witness to the love and care that went into each dish.
As you stirred the stew, the rich aroma filled your senses, a comforting reassurance that the family would soon be gathered around the table, sharing not only a meal but also the love and connection that made your home a sanctuary.
The rhythmic sound of chopping vegetables continued, the sharp knife slicing through them with precision.
The knock that sounded throughout the house was unexpected, and you glanced towards your mother as she wiped her flour-covered hands against the countertop, her footsteps echoing in the kitchen as she went to answer it.
You continued your culinary task, focused on the rhythmic motion of the knife, when your mother returned to the kitchen, a look of curiosity in her eyes.
"It's for you," she said, her voice carrying a hint of mystery.
She gestured towards the visitor waiting by the door, and you turned around to see Harry standing there.
Wiping your hands against your apron, you approached him, a smile spreading across your face. It was a pleasant surprise to see him, and you greeted him warmly. "Harry, what brings you here?"
He returned your smile, his eyes reflecting a mixture of excitement and sincerity. "I was wondering if I could talk to you, if possible.”
You nodded and led Harry into the living room, explaining to your mother that you'd be back soon.
With you leading Harry into the living room, you both found a quiet corner, away from the bustling sounds of the kitchen. He looked at you with a hint of anticipation, and after a brief pause, he spoke, his words soft and filled with sincerity.
“So what did you want to talk about?” You question, head tilted to the side as you toyed with the strings on your apron.
There was a pregnant pause before he began speaking.
Harry's voice trembled as he gathered the courage to speak.
"S’wondering if, um... would y’possibly like t’go on a date one day this week?" His words were hesitant, and his hands shook with nervousness.
You met his gaze, your heart warmed by his vulnerability.
A soft smile formed on your lips, and you replied, "Yes, Harry, I'd love to."
His eyes widened in pleasant surprise, but his hands still trembled from the jitters.
"Really?" he asked, seeking confirmation.
You could see the genuine nervousness in his eyes, and you decided to ease his worries.
With a gentle touch, you reached out, taking his hands into yours, your fingers gently entwining with his. His hands stilled under your reassuring touch.
You leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to his cheek.
"Definitely," you whispered, your words carrying a promise.
After a long day at school, Harry's footsteps carried him up the driveway of the house he had called home for so many years.
It was a place where memories of you still lingered, the house that you had lived in during your one year of marriage, an old Victorian house with an enduring charm.
The memories within those walls were a bittersweet comfort.
He had invited Niall over after school, a friend who had practically been a brother to him since they had met in the early 1900s.
Their friendship had grown strong over the years, and they shared a bond that transcended time.
As he approached the front of the house, he couldn't help but notice a car parked in the driveway of what had once been your parents' house.
It was a sight he had expected, knowing that someone would eventually move in.
He sighed and shook his head, the changes around him a reminder of the passage of time.
His fingers instinctively brushed against the wedding ring on his finger, His friends, Niall included, didn't question his marital status, as they were all privy to his secret.
They had secrets of their own, secrets that bound them together.
Penny, Logan, Daniel, Toby, Ricky – they were all werewolves, their fates intertwined with the lunar cycles.
And Brooke was a witch, her magic a well-guarded treasure.
Their supernatural natures were shared with an unspoken understanding, a bond that went beyond the boundaries of the ordinary.
As he entered the house, with Niall by his side, the memories of the past and the secrets of the present coexisted in the space around them
You sit alone in the garden, the air tinged with the scents of flowers and the distant echoes of life in the town.
Your journal rests open on your lap, and the inked words spill onto the pages as you reflect on the passing of time and the season that has come around once more.
It's that time of year again, the time when you return to the town that has brought you so much misery and yet holds a powerful grip on your heart.
The memories of days long past and the ache of what was lost permeate your thoughts.
The garden, once vibrant and filled with life, now stands as a silent testament to the years that have passed.
The flowers you once tended with care bloom without your touch, a reminder that life continues, even in the face of heartache.
The journal in your hands is a chronicle of your existence, the pages filled with the hopes, dreams, and heartaches that have defined your immortal life.
It is a mirror to your soul, a place where you pour out the emotions that you can never truly share with anyone else.
As the pen moves across the pages, the memories of the town come rushing back. The streets, the houses, and the people who once filled your life with joy and sorrow, they are all here, etched in the recesses of your mind.
As you sit in the garden, tears silently cascade down your cheeks. The memories and emotions of this time of year have caught up to you, and you're trying your best to keep your crying from alerting Zayn inside the house.
You wipe away the tears, but more continue to fall, a relentless stream of anguish.
You know that if Zayn hears you sniffling, he'll be out in an instant, concerned for your well-being. And while you appreciate his care, you're not ready to discuss the depth of your sorrow.
Just when it feels like your heart can't bear any more, you notice a presence at the fence of the house next door.
A boy with vibrant blue eyes and blonde hair is leaning over, peering at you with a curious expression. It's someone you've never seen before, and the sight of a stranger surprises you.
He tilts his head to the side and gently drums his fingers against the fence, a gesture of concern.
"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice soft and filled with empathy.
You hastily wipe away the evidence of your tears and give him a small, trembling smile.
"Yeah, just feeling a bit emotional today," you admit, not wanting to go into too much detail with someone you've just met.
Niall nods his head in understanding, his eyes reflecting kindness.
"I'm live opposite, I’m not breaking into someone’s house, promise, this is me mates house, if you ever want to talk," he offers, his sincerity evident in his words. "I'm a good listener, and sometimes sharing with a stranger can help."
You appreciate his gesture and nod in response, feeling a strange sense of comfort in the presence of this kind-hearted stranger.
As Niall walks away, you find yourself leaning against the tree once more, your heart a little lighter with the knowledge that there's someone nearby who is willing to lend an understanding ear.
You and Harry found yourselves in the shade of the very same tree you now sat under, the same oak tree that had watched over the passage of time.
The leaves rustled in the gentle breeze, and the sunlight filtered through, casting dappled patterns on the grass below.
You were nestled comfortably in the crook of Harry's arm, your head resting in his lap.
He held a book in one hand, the pages filled with words that transported you to far-off places and into the world of imagination.
Harry's voice was a soft, melodic cadence as he read aloud, each word falling from his lips like a soothing lullaby.
His free hand played with a strand of your hair, his touch gentle and affectionate. The strands of your hair slipped through his fingers like silk, and he couldn't help but smile as he continued to read.
As you lay there, the world around you faded into the background.
The characters from the book came to life in your mind, and the only reality that mattered was the bond you shared with Harry.
His voice, the rhythm of his breathing, and the touch of his hand were the only things that existed in that moment.
The two of you had shared many quiet afternoons like this, escaping into the world of literature and into each other's presence.
It was a sanctuary, a place where time seemed to stand still, and the troubles of the world could not reach you.
February 1, 2023.
The next day, as the sun broke through the morning clouds and painted the world outside in hues of gold, Harry entered his classroom.
The usually vibrant features that adorned his face had now transformed into a pale, tired countenance.
His exhaustion was palpable, and the faint shadows beneath his eyes bespoke of a restless night.
For Harry, the morning had not begun like that of his fellow classmates. He hadn't woken up to the smell of breakfast, nor had he enjoyed a hearty meal with his family.
Instead, he had reluctantly skipped his morning feed, a vital part of his daily routine. The reason was simple: he had to make an early visit to the hospital to replenish his supply of blood bags, a ritual he had kept hidden from the people around him, only his close friends knew.
As he stepped into the classroom, he hoped to remain unnoticed, to blend into the sea of students and escape their inquisitive glances.
They were unaware of the struggles he faced each day to maintain his facade of normalcy. They didn't know the secret he carried, the very essence of his existence as a creature of the night.
Mr. Addams, the teacher, was a kind and observant man who had developed a certain fondness for Harry.
As Harry entered, Mr. Addams couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between the bright morning sunlight and the dull pallor of Harry's skin.
Concern etched his features, and he couldn't ignore the evident weariness that clung to his student.
"Is everything okay, Harry?" Mr. Addams inquired, his voice laced with genuine worry.
His intuition was often a strength, and he couldn't ignore the visible signs of distress.
Harry's throat constricted, and he struggled to uphold the facade that he had carefully constructed.
"Jus’didn't get much sleep last night," he replied, his voice trembling as he stuck to his story.
He didn't want to reveal the true reason behind his tiredness, the missed morning feed, and the ensuing visit to the hospital to restock his supply of blood bags.
Mr. Addams, understanding and respecting Harry's privacy, nodded sympathetically.
"I hope you find some rest soon. If you need any help or have any questions, don't hesitate to ask," he offered, his words brimming with warmth and support.
Harry took a seat next to his friend, Daniel, whose knowing glance acknowledged the truth hidden beneath the surface.
Daniel was one of the few people who were privy to Harry's secret, and he leaned over, whispering softly, "You okay, mate? Need anything?"
Harry gave his friend a faint, grateful smile but shook his head, not wanting to involve Daniel further in his complex situation.
"I'll be fine, jus’a rough night," he murmured back.
After Mr. Addams had expressed his concern and Harry had responded with a somewhat convincing explanation, the teacher proceeded with the lesson.
He launched into the day's subject matter, his voice clear and engaging, filling the classroom with knowledge and enthusiasm.
Harry did his best to stay focused, his eyes fixed on the board as he diligently transcribed the notes.
With every stroke of the pen, he tried to divert his mind away from the gnawing hunger that simmered within him.
The lesson was essential, and he couldn't afford to let his cravings distract him from his studies, even though he had done the exact same lesson plenty of times before, he still liked to brush up on his knowledge.
As the minutes passed, the thirst grew more insistent, like a relentless drumbeat in the background.
Harry took frequent sips from his water bottle, the cool liquid helping to quell the ever-present desire. The sensation of quenching his thirst was a brief respite from the yearning for something more potent, for blood.
The classroom was filled with the rustle of paper and the scratch of pens on notebooks, the students engrossed in their work.
Harry, however, struggled to ignore the tantalising aroma of his classmates, the rhythmic beating of their hearts, and the temptation that surrounded him.
The battle within him was a quiet one, an internal struggle he had grown accustomed to over the years.
He knew that his need for blood could not be satisfied during the school day, and he was determined to endure until he could seek solace in the hospital.
In the midst of a history lesson, Mr. Addams posed a question to the class, inquiring if anyone knew the date of a particular historical event. There was a collective silence as the students exchanged glances, their minds drawing a blank.
Amid the hush that enveloped the classroom, Harry raised his hand, offering a tentative, “M’think I know, sir."
Mr. Addams, intrigued, nodded and invited Harry to share his answer.
Harry responded confidently, "The event y’referring t’happened in 1066, sir, the Battle of Hastings."
The teacher was impressed and decided to take it a step further.
"You have quite a knack for history, Harry," he remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "How about a quick quiz? Let's see if you can recall the years for a few more events."
With a twinkle of curiosity in his eye, Mr. Addams began to fire off random historical events, challenging Harry's memory and knowledge.
"The signing of the Magna Carta?"
"1215," Harry replied without hesitation.
"The American Declaration of Independence?"
"1776."
The classroom buzzed with admiration for Harry's extensive knowledge, and Mr. Addams continued to test him, event after event.
Harry answered each question with unwavering confidence and accuracy, displaying a remarkable understanding of history that fascinated both his classmates and teacher.
As Harry confidently and accurately answered each historical question, the class sat in collective astonishment.
Their eyes were wide, jaws slightly agape, as they gawked at him in disbelief. The room was filled with a sense of awe and wonder, a profound appreciation for the depth of Harry's knowledge.
Harry's classmates were left both amazed and somewhat envious of his remarkable grasp of history.
He sat there, a slight, knowing smirk gracing his lips, his expression a testament to the satisfaction he derived from outshining their expectations.
You walk into the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. Zayn leans against the kitchen island, a cup of coffee in his hand, his morning ritual.
The sun filters through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room, making it the perfect morning to go for a run.
You're dressed in exercise leggings and a cropped sports bra, even though your body shape will never change.
It's a habit that makes you feel better about yourself, a semblance of normalcy in an otherwise extraordinary existence.
Zayn looks up as you enter, his gaze lingering on your attire.
"Morning," he greets, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.
You offer a warm smile and respond, "Hey. I thought I'd go for a run this morning."
He takes a sip of his coffee, nodding in understanding.
Zayn knows today is Harry's birthday, and he can sense that you're trying to distract yourself from the inevitable visit to Harry's grave. But he doesn't press the issue.
"Sounds like a good idea," he comments.
As you pour yourself a cup of coffee, Zayn leans against the island and says, "You know, it's okay to take some time for yourself today. If you want to go visit Harry's grave, I'll understand."
You appreciate his understanding and consider his words. "I know, Z. I just... I need this run right now. It helps clear my head."
He nods in agreement, his support unwavering. "Take all the time you need. I’ll be here when you get back."
You nod your head in response to Zayn's understanding and head toward the fruit bowl, where your AirPods are nestled among the colourful array of fruit.
You pick them up and slip them into your ears, the familiar feeling of music bringing you comfort and distraction.
Walking out of the kitchen and through the front door, you take a deep breath of the fresh morning air.
The sun shines brightly, casting long shadows on the path ahead. As you begin to jog, the rhythm of your steps aligns with the beat of the music, creating a comforting synchrony.
Your run takes you past the old streets you once walked along to get home, streets that have seen a world of change since 1864.
The buildings have evolved, and the town has grown in ways you could never have imagined back then.
Though the surroundings have transformed, the nostalgia lingers. Memories of a bygone era rush back, and you can't help but reminisce as you jog past familiar landmarks.
The echoes of time blend with the music in your ears, and it feels like a journey through the pages of history.
The town that you once knew so well is a blend of the past and present, a testament to the inexorable march of time.
Your run becomes a meditative experience, allowing you to process your emotions and escape from the complexities of the day.
As you continue your jog, the music in your AirPods becomes the soundtrack to your thoughts.
The collision with the girl was unexpected, and even though your enhanced hearing usually keeps you aware of your surroundings, the soothing melodies have drawn you into your own world.
Turning a corner, you suddenly collide with the girl, her ginger hair and freckles prominent features that catch your eye.
The impact is swift, and you quickly come to a halt, the surprise evident on your face.
You offer a quick apology, realising that the music in your ears prevented you from hearing her approach.
The girl, on the other hand, is struck by recognition.
Her gaze locks onto your face, and her freckled cheeks flush with a mix of surprise and nervousness. It's clear she recognizes you, but she remains silent, her words stumbling as she tries to regain her composure.
She stammers, "Oh, s-sorry, I didn't mean to... I mean, it was my fault too."
Her voice quivers with a hint of unease.
You appreciate her acknowledgment, and when you see her favoring one ankle, you instinctively reach out to steady her.
You grab her arm gently, preventing her from toppling over from the sudden collision. In this moment, you connect in a way that goes beyond words.
That's when something extraordinary occurs. As you hold onto her, your connection seems to transcend the physical realm.
A vision unexpectedly floods your mind, and you're pulled back in time to the year 1864.
Her ancestor was someone you once knew.
Your head tilts back, and you're briefly lost within the vision.
A chilling night had fallen over the quiet town. Your husband had been dragged from your shared bed, called upon to defend the town against an unexpected attack.
As you lay in the dark, the weight of the situation pressing down on you, you couldn't bear to stay inside.
Quietly, you slipped out of your house, the wooden door creaking softly as you closed it behind you.
The dim moonlight illuminated the cobblestone streets, casting eerie shadows as you began your walk.
You needed the solace of the night air, the stars above providing the only comfort in these tumultuous times.
As you strolled through the quiet town, you noticed a familiar face watching from a window of the house opposite yours.
Jane, a neighbour you knew well, had her gaze fixed on you, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. She leaned out of the window and called out to you, her voice laced with worry.
"What are you doing, dear?" Jane's voice rang out in the still night.
You hesitated for a moment, her question hanging in the air. Then, you replied, "Just getting some fresh air."
Jane raised an eyebrow, scepticism written across her features. "Fresh air? When the town is under attack? You should be seeking shelter, not strolling the streets."
A sigh escaped your lips, your shoulders deflating under the weight of her words. You continued walking, ignoring her pleas for you to return to the safety of your home.
You choose not to reveal the contents of the vision to the girl.
Instead, you offer her a sheepish smile, releasing your grip on her arm, allowing her to regain her balance.
For a brief moment, you both stand there, the connection between you now a complex tapestry of unspoken understanding.
Your thoughts are filled with the vision you've just witnessed, and it lingers in your mind, a fragment of a distant past that somehow intertwines with the present.
With a polite nod and a brief farewell, you resume your jog.
You cast a final glance over your shoulder, curious to find the girl still standing there, her eyes following you.
As the bell for the end of the lesson rang, the classroom filled with the collective sound of chairs scraping against the floor and students shuffling in their seats.
Harry, like the rest of his classmates, gathered up his books and swiftly began to place them into his backpack.
The air in the room was filled with an anticipatory energy as students prepared to leave the classroom.
Harry's movements were efficient, his hands deftly organising his materials. He carefully slid his textbooks into the main compartment of his backpack, the pages neatly aligned. His notebooks followed suit, each fitting perfectly into their designated space.
With a practised ease, Harry zipped up his backpack, ensuring that everything was secure.
He slung the bag over his shoulder, feeling the weight of the books against his back.
As he stood up from his desk, he joined the stream of students heading for the exit, ready to move on to the next part of the day.
As the two friends, Harry and Logan, walked out of the classroom together, they joined the bustling flow of students in the hallway.
All around them, people were coming out of their own classes, talking and laughing as they headed to their lockers to prepare for the next lesson.
The school day was in full swing, and the energy in the hallway was palpable.
Logan, genuinely curious, turned to Harry. "Mate, what's the plan for your birthday tonight?"
Harry's response was a nonchalant shrug. "Not much, Lo. S’just another day, really."
Logan, determined to see his friend enjoy his special day, was relentless. "Come on, Haz, you can't just let it pass by like any other day."
Harry's smile was a mixture of sarcasm and resignation. "Logan, birthdays stopped mattering to me a long time ago."
Unwilling to give up, Logan clasped a hand on Harry's shoulder, his voice earnest. "We want to make it matter, Haz. We want to see you happy."
Harry let out a sigh, his gaze focused on the linoleum floor. "V’not been truly happy since 1864."
With genuine concern, Logan gave Harry's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
He met his friend's eyes and spoke with conviction. "That's why we're having a small get-together at Chapel Grove later. We really want you to be there."
As they navigated the hallway's hustle and bustle, the invitation hung in the air, a chance for Harry to embrace a moment of joy and connection with his friends.
The vibrant energy of the school seemed to underscore the significance of the celebration, offering a glimmer of hope amid the weight of Harry's long, complex existence.
Harry, although deeply touched by his friend's determination, couldn't help but maintain a sense of reservation. "M’appreciate it, Lo, I really do. But birthdays ‘ave just become another reminder f’how much time ‘as passed."
Logan's expression softened with empathy as they reached the entrance to the boys' bathroom.
He leaned against the tiled wall, still focused on his friend. "We understand, Haz, but that doesn't mean we should stop celebrating your existence. You mean a lot to all of us."
Harry, while genuinely grateful for his friends' loyalty, couldn't help but express the unspoken burdens he bore. "Logan, y’guys mean the world t’me. I just... sometimes s’hard t’feel like I belong."
Logan nodded in understanding, offering a warm smile. "You'll always belong with us, mate. Your past doesn't define who you are now. We're your family."
Harry's eyes met Logan's, a complex blend of emotions within them. "I'll think about it, Lo. Maybe I'll stop by f’a little while."
Logan's face brightened with hope, and he clapped Harry on the shoulder. "That's all we're asking for, mate. It'll be good to see you there."
As they stood by their lockers and went about their business, the weight of the invitation and the potential for a night of camaraderie hung in the air.
Harry and Logan stood side by side at their lockers, an everyday occurrence in their high school lives.
The lockers were nestled close together, their shared space where they stored their books, sports equipment, and the remnants of their shared experiences.
Logan, while absentmindedly organising his books, couldn't help but steal glances at the photo Harry kept inside his locker.
His friend had positioned the photograph with utmost care, the image of you from a time long past.
He stared at the frozen moment in time, where happiness radiated from the smiles on both of your faces.
A sigh escaped Logan's lips as he realised the depth of Harry's love for you. It was a love that had spanned generations, enduring through hardships and transcending the boundaries of life and death.
Logan knew that your absence weighed heavily on Harry's heart, and he understood the profound sense of loss that his friend carried with him.
Harry, unaware of Logan's quiet reflection, continued to look at the photo, lost in his thoughts.
He traced his fingers over the image, his eyes filled with a longing that Logan knew all too well. It was in this moment, by their lockers, that Logan recognized the magnitude of Harry's enduring love for you.
A profound sadness settled over Logan as he realised that, perhaps, his friend might never truly find happiness again.
The love that bound Harry to you was a force of nature, a connection that had persisted through centuries and across lifetimes.
Logan couldn't help but wonder if anyone could truly fill the void left by your absence in Harry's life.
With a heavy heart, Logan closed his locker, the weight of his friend's unending love and the complex emotions it carried lingering in the air.
He was determined to be the support that Harry needed, but he also knew that some wounds were so deep that they might never fully heal.
Two weeks after you and Harry had exchanged your vows and embarked on your journey as a married couple, a photograph was taken that would forever capture the warmth of your love.
The setting was the quaint parlour room of your shared house, a cosy and intimate space where the walls bore witness to your growing bond.
Harry, the ever-doting husband, stood behind a large wooden camera, his steady hands adjusting the focus and angle.
He was a man of few words but abundant actions, and his choice to capture this moment was a testament to his enduring affection for you.
You, the picture of grace and elegance, sat on a plush, tufted sofa, your wedding attire still adorned as a symbol of the promises you'd made to each other.
Your eyes sparkled with the thrill of your new life together, and your radiant smile spoke volumes about the happiness that had taken root in your heart.
The room was bathed in soft, diffused light from the lace-curtained windows, casting a gentle glow upon your features.
The flickering flames in the fireplace added an inviting warmth to the scene, illuminating the tender connection you shared.
As Harry focused the camera and adjusted the settings, the two of you communicated without words, a silent understanding that transcended the need for speech.
The air was filled with love, tenderness, and a profound sense of commitment that emanated from the very core of your beings.
As the camera's shutter clicked and captured the image for posterity, you and Harry tried valiantly to maintain an air of stoicism, a facade of solemnity befitting a formal photograph.
But the sheer absurdity of the situation, sitting so still and holding expressions that were foreign to your otherwise joyful selves, proved too much to bear.
Your eyes met, and the spark of laughter that had been simmering beneath the surface suddenly bubbled up.
A smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and the restrained giggles escaped from both of you.
"Y’doing great, m’sun," Harry said, his voice laced with a hint of mirth.
Your response was a chuckle, the sound bursting forth like a long-held secret. "And you, my love, look positively dashing in your stern photographer pose."
Harry's own laughter joined yours, filling the room with a joyous sound that mirrored the happiness you both felt. The absurdity of the moment, the irony of trying to remain composed when you were anything but, was simply too amusing to resist.
"Alrigh’, one more time," Harry declared, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he prepared to take another shot.
You nodded, still unable to suppress your laughter.
It was a shared, spontaneous moment of pure delight, a testament to the deep connection you shared and the unwavering happiness that had bloomed in your hearts since the day you said "I do."
You walk into The Chapel Grove, your steps reluctant as Zayn had practically pulled you out of the house.
He insisted that you shouldn't be a loner, especially on a day like this. The town had seen so many changes over the years, and you had watched it all from the shadows.
As you step inside the cosy establishment, the familiar scent of aged wood and warm hearth greets you.
The patrons seated around the room, sipping on their drinks and engaging in quiet conversations, all turn their heads to look at the two of you.
Your arrival, so unexpected in a town that rarely saw newcomers, had drawn their attention.
Their stares bore into you, curious and contemplative. They weren't used to strangers in Holmes Chapel, especially those who had an air of mystery about them.
You can feel the weight of their collective gaze as you navigate the room, trying to remain composed despite the discomfort of being the centre of attention.
The ambiance of The Chapel Grove is timeless, much like the town itself. The worn wooden tables and antique décor create an atmosphere steeped in history, a place where stories were told and secrets were shared.
You can't help but feel like an intruder in a world that was so familiar to its regular patrons.
You turn to Zayn and offer a half-hearted smile, your voice low as you speak. "I just need to use the bathroom. I won't be long."
He nods in understanding, sensing your unease. "Take your time. I'll be right here."
As you step into the dimly lit bathroom, you immediately head for a stall, your hands trembling as you lock the door behind you.
The walls seem to close in around you, and the weight of the unfamiliar world outside becomes almost suffocating. In moments like these, you realise just how much you relied on your husband in the past to help you navigate such situations.
You sit on the closed toilet lid, attempting to regulate your emotions. The sound of your own breathing fills the small space, each inhale and exhale a reminder of the isolation you feel. It's not that you don't have Zayn; he's a dear friend and confidant.
But he's not Harry, the one person who could always get into your head and reassure you that everything would be okay.
The pressure of the unfamiliar world outside bears down on you, and your chest tightens with anxiety.
You remember how, in the past, you would lean into Harry's comforting presence, his calm words of reassurance soothing your troubled soul.
Now, you find yourself yearning for that same sense of security and understanding that only he could provide.
Your home was filled with tension. You and Harry had found yourselves entangled in a heated argument, the kind that made your hearts ache and your words sting.
"Harry, I hardly ever see you anymore," you lamented, your voice fraught with loneliness. "You're always cooped up in that office, and it feels like you've forgotten about me."
He shot back, his own voice rising in frustration, "Well, maybe I would ‘ave more time if I didn't ‘ave t’ come home t’constant nagging!"
The argument had been building for days, fueled by your sense of abandonment and his feeling of being trapped by responsibility.
Harry's harsh words were like a dagger through your heart, and he instantly regretted them when he saw your face pale.
His anger was replaced with regret, and he stammered, "I didn't mean that, (Y/N). M’jus’ overwhelmed lately, and I took it out on ye’. M’sorry."
But in that heated moment, you weren't ready to hear apologies. Hurt and vulnerable, you turned away, unable to hold back the tears.
His regret was genuine, but the pain was still raw.
As the argument reached its peak, his temper flared, and he stormed out of the living room, his heavy footsteps thudding up the stairs.
You, lost in the heat of the moment, believed he had gone outside, that he had actually left you, not realising he had gone upstairs.
"Harry!" you cried out, running to the door. But he was nowhere to be found, and the anguish of thinking he had left you alone in the house was almost unbearable.
As the echoes of the argument with Harry still resounded in your mind, you sank down onto the floor, your back against the wall.
Your heart raced, and panic set in, a suffocating sensation that tightened its grip on your chest.
The world around you seemed to blur, and your breaths grew rapid and shallow.
Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision, as the fear of Harry actually leaving overwhelmed you.
The room felt like it was closing in, and the walls seemed to press closer. It was the fear of abandonment, the thought of being left behind, that haunted your thoughts.
Every second felt like an eternity, as you clutched at your chest, trying to slow the pounding of your heart.
Your mind raced with scenarios, none of them comforting. The idea that he might never come back hung heavy in the air.
Your throat constricted, and your sobs grew more pronounced as you battled with the intensity of the panic attack. It was a storm of emotions that had been building over time, now unleashed in a torrent of tears and despair.
But deep down, a part of you still held on to hope, a hope that Harry's anger and frustration would pass, and he would come back to you. You clung to that hope, a flicker of light in the overwhelming darkness of your panic.
As you sat on the floor, vulnerable and scared, you whispered to yourself,
"He'll come back, he has to."
It was the lifeline you desperately needed in that moment of despair, the belief that your love was stronger than any argument.
In the throes of your panic attack, your trembling hands reached out, inadvertently knocking a small vase from a nearby table. The sound of shattering glass echoed in the room, intensifying your fear and confusion.
Upstairs, Harry had heard the crash, and his heart sank. He assumed you had escalated your anger to smashing things in frustration. He rushed downstairs, fear and worry gnawing at him.
Instead, the sight that met him was you, huddled on the floor, overwhelmed by your panic.
"God, S’happened?" Harry exclaimed, his initial worry turning into a desperate concern. He approached you cautiously, uncertain about the best way to help.
You, lost in your panic, barely noticed his arrival. Your voice trembled as you repeated, "Don't leave me, Harry. Please, don't leave me."
His heart ached at your words, and he knelt beside you, his voice gentle and reassuring. "M’right ‘ere, m’sun. M’not going anywhere. I promise. Y’safe."
But in the grip of your panic, it was hard to believe those words. You stared at him with wide, tear-filled eyes, as if questioning his presence.
"Look at me, (Y/N)," Harry implored, his voice unwavering. "M’not leaving ye’. We'll get through this together, okay? Just focus on y’breathing."
His hands gently touched your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. The warmth of his touch and the sincerity in his eyes began to break through the layers of your panic.
As you slowly locked eyes with him, his face came into focus, and the realisation that he was indeed there with you started to sink in.
"Harry?" you whispered, your voice still shaky.
He nodded, offering a small, reassuring smile. "S’right. M’right ‘ere."
With his comforting presence, the grip of panic began to loosen. Your breathing gradually steadied, and your sobs turned into quiet sniffles.
Harry continued to speak softly, "Y’doing great, (Y/N) Jus’keep taking deep breaths. M’not going anywhere, I promise."
As the minutes passed, the chaos in your mind began to subside. The shattered vase remained on the floor, forgotten for the moment, as your focus shifted to the security of Harry's embrace and the reassurance that he wasn't leaving you, not now, not ever.
Through whispered words and steady embraces, the panic attack slowly lost its grip, and the room filled with a sense of calm. You clung to Harry, grateful for his unwavering support during your darkest moments.
In the present moment, you snapped out of your daze, realising that you were still inside the bathroom.
You flushed the toilet, an attempt to cover the time you'd spent in silent reflection. The sound of rushing water filled the room momentarily.
Moving to the sink, you stared at your reflection in the dimly lit bathroom mirror. The exhaustion in your eyes was evident, a testament to the emotional turmoil you had experienced earlier.
It was a stark reminder of the weight of your past, a past that felt both distant and eternally present.
You turned on the tap, allowing the water to flow over your hands. The cool liquid was refreshing, and you splashed some onto your face, hoping it would wash away the lingering traces of anxiety and sadness.
It was a brief respite, a moment of self-care in a life that often felt too long.
As you dried your face, you couldn't ignore the gnawing hunger that had been growing within you. It was a reminder of your unending need for sustenance.
The reality of your existence as a creature of the night was undeniable, and your hunt for sustenance was a constant, ever-present part of your life.
You walked out of the dimly lit bathroom and made your way back to the bar where Zayn was still seated.
With a subtle nod, you leaned in close to him and muttered,
"I'm going outside for a smoke."
It was your secret code, a discreet way to convey that you were heading out to satisfy your unique appetite.
Zayn, who understood the hidden meaning behind your words, simply nodded in acknowledgment, concern etched in his expression.
He knew that this part of your existence was both a necessity and a burden, and he respected your privacy.
As you turned to leave, he called after you,
"What drink do you want?" His voice was gentle, and it carried an underlying understanding of your needs.
You paused, glancing back at him, a hint of gratitude in your eyes.
"Malibu and Coke," you replied, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips.
Zayn signalled to the bartender, ordering the drink you'd requested, before turning his attention back to the bar.
You stepped out of Chapel Grove, the warm afternoon sun casting long shadows on the street. Leaning against a nearby wall, you scanned the area, looking for the perfect taste tester.
The hunger gnawed at you, urging you to satisfy your insatiable appetite.
As you observed the passing crowd, your eyes fell on a perky girl with obviously dyed green hair. She seemed carefree and lost in her own world, the daylight concealing your supernatural nature. It was the perfect opportunity.
With quiet determination, you approached her, your eyes locking onto hers.
Compelling her to follow your commands, you exerted your supernatural influence, making her believe that following you was the most natural thing in the world.
Her gaze glazed over, and she nodded obediently as you led her away from the bustling street, into a secluded corner where no one would witness the act that was about to unfold.
In a soft, persuasive tone, you said, "Come with me. You trust me completely."
The girl replied in a trance, "I trust you completely."
In that quiet corner, you could feel your fangs elongate, your senses sharpening as the anticipation grew.
With a quick, fluid motion, you bit into her neck, and she murmured, "I trust you."
As you fed, your eyes closed in ecstasy, the taste of her blood unlike anything else. It was a mixture of fear and excitement, vulnerability and surrender.
It was a dark pleasure, a forbidden indulgence that coursed through your veins.
The girl in your grasp remained lost in a trance, her voice murmuring softly, "I trust you."
But even as you indulged in this dark act, a sense of guilt gnawed at the edges of your consciousness.
You were a creature of the night, bound by your need for blood, but it came at the cost of another's innocence.
Finally, you pulled away, your lips stained with crimson.
The girl remained in a trance, her memory clouded. She gazed at you, her voice still murmuring, "I trust you."
As you watched her stumble away, you felt the weight of your existence, the eternal struggle between your nature and your humanity.
The hunger had been momentarily sated, but the guilt and the darkness that came with it lingered, a constant reminder of the price you paid for immortality in the afternoon sun.
You headed back inside Chapel Grove and spotted Zayn seated at a table next to a group of high schoolers.
With a nod of acknowledgment, you walked over and took the seat opposite him. The dim lighting of the place masked the remnants of your recent escapade.
Zayn glanced at you, a knowing look in his eyes.
"How was your smoke?" he asked with a hint of amusement.
You let out a small laugh and picked up your drink.
"Oh, it hit the spot," you replied, taking a sip and savouring the familiar taste of your Malibu and Coke.
As you settled into the conversation, Zayn asked, "What's on your mind, my friend? Anything special you'd like to do when we get back to London?"
You leaned back in your chair, considering the options.
"Well, I've been thinking about that new art exhibition at the Tate Modern," you said thoughtfully. "I've heard it's incredible, and I wouldn't mind spending an afternoon exploring the world of art."
Zayn nodded, intrigued. "That sounds fantastic. Art has a way of stirring the soul. Anything else on your list?"
You tapped your fingers on the table, pondering. "How about a night at that jazz club we used to frequent? The live music there always hits the right notes."
Zayn's eyes sparkled with anticipation, and he smiled. "I'm in. A bit of jazz, good company, and some fine wine. It's a perfect plan."
You paused for a moment and then said, "Actually, I was thinking, what if we took a little holiday? Maybe Spain? It's meant to be really nice this time of year."
Zayn's eyes widened in excitement. "Spain? That sounds incredible! I'm in immediately. A holiday is just what we need."
As the conversation about Spain continued, you both delved into the details of the trip. The destinations, the activities, the relaxation.
Planning a getaway rekindled a sense of adventure that had been somewhat dormant.
"I've always wanted to explore the historic streets of Seville," you mentioned. "And then there's the beauty of Barcelona, the beaches in Costa del Sol, and the vibrant culture of Madrid."
Zayn nodded eagerly. "All of that sounds amazing. Let's make sure to experience it all. It's been too long since we had a proper adventure."
Zayn mentioned, "We should also talk about when you'd like to visit the grave."
You glanced at your watch and replied, "I'll head there right after this. It's his birthday, and I want to pay my respects."
Zayn had been trying his best to be a comforting presence for you, offering distractions and support as you dealt with the emotional weight of the day. He brought you out for a quick drink to help you focus on something other than the memories of your late husband's birthday.
Zayn nodded, understanding the significance of the day. "Of course, I'll be here if you need anything. Just take your time, and when you're ready, you can head over to the grave."
He never came with you, he always wanted you to go by yourself, so the two of you could have a moment together.
You offered a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Z. Your support means the world to me."
As you continued your conversation, you took comfort in the presence of your friend, appreciating how he had been trying to distract you from the weight of your late husband's birthday. The evening offered a brief respite from the emotions that had been haunting you.
As you engaged in conversation with Zayn about your upcoming plans, you couldn't help but notice the group of high schoolers at the adjacent table.
Their curious glances and hushed whispers did not go unnoticed, thanks to your keen vampire hearing. You exchanged a quick, amused look with Zayn, acknowledging the attention.
The teenagers were clearly intrigued by your presence, and their chatter focused on you, not Zayn. Your enhanced senses allowed you to catch snippets of their conversation.
They speculated about your age, your appearance, and what might have brought you to Chapel Grove.
Zayn, who was well aware of the situation, tried to steer the conversation back to your holiday plans. However, you couldn't help but be amused by the curiosity of the young onlookers.
You exchanged a playful grin with Zayn and decided to let them wonder a bit longer.
As the group of high schoolers continued to whisper and speculate about you, their curious glances and hushed remarks grew increasingly irritating. You were trying to enjoy your evening out and discuss your plans with Zayn, and their relentless scrutiny was getting on your nerves.
Feeling the frustration building, you couldn't help but let out a small, exasperated sigh. You turned your attention toward them and asked with a hint of annoyance, "Is there something you're all looking at?"
For a moment, they remained silent, their expressions frozen in surprise. It was only when you glanced closer that you recognized one of the girls – the same ginger-haired one you had accidentally bumped into during your run earlier in the day.
A hush fell over their group as they realised you had noticed their focus. It didn't take long for you to piece together the reason behind their stares.
They recognized you from the picture of you in Harry's house, the same photo that they had seen when visiting with Harry.
You sighed and rolled your eyes, unimpressed by their attention.
You exchanged a knowing look with Zayn, who had been aware of the situation all along. It was clear that these young locals had discovered your connection to Harry and were now watching you with a mix of curiosity and recognition.
With a final, dismissive glance at the group, you decided it was time to leave. Downing the remainder of your drink, you stood up from the table, Zayn following suit.
You didn't want to engage with strangers who were more interested in your past than the enjoyable evening you had planned.
Together, you and Zayn walked out of Chapel Grove, leaving the high schoolers behind in their hushed discussions.
Walking away from the restaurant, you were deep in conversation about your plans for the future, oblivious to the door on the other side of the establishment.
On the other side of the door, Harry and Niall entered the restaurant, their timing almost perfectly synchronised.
Harry, had been hesitant about going out in, but Niall had convinced him to join for a brief visit.
If he had arrived just a second earlier, your paths would have crossed, and you would have seen each other.
Harry made his way to the table where his friends were gathered, the anticipation of their usual camaraderie evident on his face.
He looked forward to spending his evening with his closest companions, especially on his birthday, he may have been reluctant to come but now that he was here he was in the celebrating spirit.
As he approached the table, however, he immediately sensed that something was amiss. The atmosphere was heavy with tension, and his friends' expressions were not as cheerful as he had expected.
Harry stood next to Toby, a sense of unease gnawing at him.
Normally, on his birthday, they would greet him with cheerful exclamations of "Happy Birthday!" and share a toast in his honour.
But this time, there was a palpable awkwardness in the air, as if they were all tiptoeing around a subject they were hesitant to broach.
Harry couldn't help but feel that there was something unsaid, a looming question that hung in the air.
Harry's growing impatience was evident as he looked around at his friends, who all appeared rather sheepish.
He couldn't understand why their usual camaraderie had taken such an awkward turn on his birthday.
His curiosity and concern had reached a tipping point, and he finally blurted out, "S’the matter, guys? S’everyone acting so strange tonight?"
A silence settled over the table, and Harry's friends exchanged hesitant glances.
Growing increasingly impatient and concerned about his friends' strange behavior, Harry couldn't contain himself any longer.
He leaned forward, looked at each of them, and asked once more, "Seriously, S’wrong, guys? Y’acting like something big s’going on. Y’can't keep m’in the dark like this."
The awkward silence at the table continued, and his friends exchanged nervous glances. Harry was determined to get to the bottom of this sudden change in atmosphere, and he wasn't going to let it ruin what was supposed to be a celebratory evening.
The girl in their group who Harry was closest to, Penny, apart from Niall and Logan, finally broke the silence.
She met Harry's gaze with a mixture of sympathy and apprehension. She took a deep breath and said, "Harry, you might want to sit down for this."
Harry's heart began to race as he listened to her words. His friends had always been open and supportive, and this sudden change in their demeanour had him genuinely worried. He quickly found an empty seat, his mind racing with all the possible scenarios for the unexpected revelation that was about to come.
She chose her words carefully, looking into Harry's eyes, and said, "Harry, something... something has come up, and it's not easy for us to say. It's about... well, it's about her."
Penny continued, her voice trembling with a mix of confusion and concern, "Harry, we were sitting at the table right next to ours, and we're one hundred percent sure it was her. Everyone here recognized her, and there's no mistaking it."
Harry's confusion deepened, and he shook his head in disbelief. He exhaled heavily and said, "S’impossible, Pen. She... she died over a hundred years ago. S’no way it could ‘ave been ‘er sitting there."
The news was so baffling and contradictory to everything he knew that Harry couldn't wrap his mind around it. He looked at his friends, hoping they would provide some clarification or a reasonable explanation for the impossible scenario they were describing.
Penny saw the disbelief in Harry's eyes and realized that her words were hard to digest. She took a deep breath and elaborated further, "Harry, I know it sounds impossible, but we're all certain. She was sitting there, just a few feet away. It was her face, her eyes... Even the way she moved, it was like... like you were seeing a ghost."
The gravity of the situation began to sink in for Harry, and he leaned in, his brow furrowing as he asked, "Y’absolutely sure it was ‘er? S’no way it could ‘ave been someone who jus’ looks remarkably like ‘er?"
Penny nodded, her voice resolute, "Harry, I wish it was that simple, but there's no mistaking it. It was her. The way she looked, her expressions, everything. It was as if she'd walked straight out of the past and into this bar. "
Harry couldn't deny the unease that crept over him. It defied all logic and reason. The love of his life had died over a century ago, and now, he was confronted with the inexplicable notion that she had reappeared in this world.
Brooke let out a heavy sigh and further perplexed Harry by adding, "I even saw her earlier today on my way to school. She was jogging, and I accidentally bumped into her. She probably didn't even notice me, but it was definitely her."
Harry's confusion deepened even more. The last time he had been in your presence was when he had silently entered your bedroom, a week after his "death," to see you one last time before leaving for good.
The circumstances surrounding their separation had been heartbreaking, and the notion of seeing you once more was something he could never have expected.
He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling a mixture of emotions swirling within him. The situation was surreal, and he couldn't fathom how you could possibly be here, in this town, in this century.
With silent steps, he entered your bedroom, and there you were, asleep, lost in dreams that he could never share with you again. Harry approached your bed, his heart heavy, and sat down on the edge. He gazed upon your peaceful face, the face he had once woken up to every morning.
In a hushed voice, he began to speak to your sleeping form, as if you could hear him in your dreams.
"M’wish I could hold y’one more time, m’sun," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "M’wish I could tell y’how much I love ‘ye and how much it pains m’t’leave. But this is the only way, the only way t’protect ‘ye."
He reached out and tenderly brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingers tracing the contours of your features, memorizing every detail. "Y’the most beautiful thing in m’life, and I'll carry y’with me in m’heart, always. I just hope you can find happiness and peace without me."
He continued to pour out his heart, knowing this would be the last time he could express his love for you. "M’never thought I'd have t’say goodbye like this, m’dearest. But I promise, even though M’not by y’side, I'll always watch over ‘ye, protect y’from the shadows, and love y’with all m’being."
The room was bathed in a soft, warm glow from the moonlight filtering through the curtains.
Harry's voice was barely above a whisper as he confessed, "I wish we could have had more time together, more days f’laughter, and more nights f’love. But fate ‘as different plans, and I must follow s’path."
He traced the outline of your lips with his fingertip, almost expecting a response, a sign that you could hear his words in your dreams. "I'll carry the memory of y’smile with me, and I'll cherish every moment we spent together, every stolen kiss, and every shared secret."
Tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to spill onto your pillow. "I don't know when, or if, we'll ever meet again, but know that I'll be waiting for that day. Until then, m’sun, be happy, be safe, and know that y’were the best part of m’life."
Harry leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead once more, as he whispered his final goodbye. "Goodbye, m’sun. I'll always love ‘ye, no matter where I am or what time separates us."
With that, he silently left the room, leaving you to your dreams, unaware of his tearful farewell.
Harry couldn't help but feel a surge of agitation. He turned to Brooke, his expression a mix of confusion and frustration, and asked, "Y’were with me at lunch, and y’didn't even mention anything? Y’knew it was her, and y’kept it to yourself?"
Brooke shifted uncomfortably in her seat, realizing the implications of her silence. She stammered, "I... I didn't know what to say. It was just so bizarre. I mean, how could it be her, right?"
Harry ran a hand through his hair, trying to wrap his head around the situation. "Brooke, she's supposed t’be long gone, over a century ago. If S’really ‘er, I need to find out how this is possible. I need to know."
He couldn't hide the urgency in his voice.
Ricky spoke up, "I did see her wearing a wedding ring. Toby's right; there's a high chance that it was her. If you want to find her, you'll likely find her at the cemetery."
Harry's heart raced, his emotions spiralling into chaos. The thought of seeing you, after all these years, overwhelmed him. He knew he needed to find you, but the uncertainty of what to say or how you would react left him paralyzed.
Toby's voice was gentle as he offered his advice. "Harry, if it's really her, just tell her that you love her. She must have so many questions as well, and love is a good place to start."
Harry nodded, his mind a whirlwind of emotions and doubts.
As Niall returned with the drinks, Harry's face was a mix of turmoil and disbelief. Without a word, he abruptly pushed his chair back and bolted from the table.
His friends watched in surprise as he dashed out of The Chapel Grove, leaving them all bewildered.
Niall’s eyes widened and his mouth was agape as he stared at his friends body that had just ran out of the door.
Penny let out a heavy sigh and leaned back in her chair. "It's a long story,"
You walk through the ornate iron gates of the cemetery, your steps slow and measured, as if each one carries the weight of a lifetime.
In your hand, you cradle a bouquet of geraniums, their vivid hues contrasting with the sombre surroundings.
These were Harry's favourite flowers, the ones you picked for him on your very first date all those years ago.
The geraniums are fresh, plucked from your garden this very morning. For 159 years, you've nurtured these vibrant blooms, tending to them year-round.
They've become a symbol of your love, a living reminder of the bond you shared.
And every time you visit this place, they grace his final resting place, an offering of love from a heart that can never forget.
The graveyard is serene, bathed in a soft, golden glow of the setting sun. The world seems to stand still here, as if time itself hesitates to intrude on the sacredness of this space.
Your presence here is a ritual, a pilgrimage to the past that you continue year after year.
The gravestones stand tall and silent, each one a marker of stories untold. As you navigate the narrow paths, you eventually reach the familiar spot, marked by a weathered headstone.
The engraved letters spell out his name and the years he walked this Earth.
𝙸𝙽 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚁𝚈
𝙾𝙵
𝙷𝙰𝚁𝚁𝚈 𝙴𝙳𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙳 𝚂𝚃𝚈𝙻𝙴𝚂
𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙳𝙴𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙻𝙸𝙵𝙴
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝟸𝟻. 𝚂𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙴𝙼𝙱𝙴𝚁 𝟷𝟾𝟼𝟺.
𝙰𝙶𝙴𝙳 𝟷𝟾 𝚈𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚂.
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙾𝙽 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝚂𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙳 𝙰𝙽𝙳
𝙰𝙽𝙽𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝚈𝙻𝙴𝚂,
𝙷𝚄𝚂𝙱𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝙵 (𝚈/𝙽).
Standing before his grave, your emotions surge like a relentless tide.
The floodgates of grief open, and tears well up in your eyes, betraying the ache in your heart. The weight of memories and longing bears down on you, just as it does every year when you come here.
The tombstone before you remains steadfast, an enduring monument to the love you once shared.
The chiselled letters and numbers on the stone serve as a stark reminder of time's passage, a relentless march that has left you on this side of the grave.
The world around you fades into insignificance, and it's just you and the memory of him.
His laughter, his smile, the touch of his hand, they all come flooding back, as vivid and poignant as if they happened yesterday.
The breeze stirs the flowers in your hand, the geraniums swaying gently as if to offer solace. In this sacred space, you're allowed to mourn, to let your grief wash over you like a cleansing rain, purging the pain of his absence.
You stand before his grave, your voice quivering as you whisper, "Happy birthday, Harry."
Although, he wasn’t just Harry to her.
He was her sunshine, her darling boy, her angel sent from heaven, he was her everything and more.
The words hang in the air, heavy with emotion. The bouquet of geraniums trembles in your hands as you continue, the tears welling up in your eyes.
"I miss you more with each passing day," you confess, your voice choked with sorrow. "Every moment, every heartbeat, it's all filled with thoughts of you."
The weight of your grief becomes palpable, pressing down on you as you speak to the headstone before you.
"Life moves on, but I can't help but feel stuck in this moment, in this longing for you," you admit, the tears streaming down your cheeks. "There's a void in my heart that will never be filled. It's as if you took a piece of me with you, and it can never be replaced."
As you share your feelings, you feel a connection to him, as if he can hear your words from beyond.
It's a bittersweet solace, knowing that even though he's gone, you can still speak to him, even if only in your heart.
With your birthday wishes and your confessions hanging in the air, you take a deep breath, as if sharing your pain has lightened the burden, if only just a little.
Your voice trembles with emotion as you share your words, tears streaming down your face.
"I miss you more with each passing day," you manage to say before your voice breaks, your sobbing making it impossible to continue.
The weight of your grief bears down on you, and you lean forward to place the geraniums gently on his grave.
With your fingers, you press a loving kiss to his name engraved on the stone.
It's a silent declaration of your undying love and an unspoken promise that, even in death, you will remain connected.
The sobs shake your body, and you find solace in the simple act of being here, in this moment of remembrance.
The cemetery is quiet, and your heartache reverberates through the stillness.
Harry's heart raced as he sprinted through the gates of the cemetery.
His friends had told him you'd be here, and he couldn't bear the thought of missing the chance to see you.
He kept his pace steady, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention.
The graves of countless people passed by him as he ran, their stories and lives unknown to him. The cemetery was a place of quiet reflection, a sanctuary for the departed, but today it held a special significance for him.
His mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions. He didn't know what to expect when he saw you, and the uncertainty gnawed at him.
He had fantasised this moment countless times.
As Harry ran past the silent graves, his mind was filled with thoughts of what he might say to you. He pondered on the possibility that you might be there, that this wasn't a dream or a figment of his imagination.
What if you were really there?
His heart raced with a mixture of hope and trepidation.
After all, he hadn't seen you in over a century, and time had changed them both in many ways.
He wondered if you would recognize him, if you'd even remember the promise he had made to you all those years ago.
The weight of his emotions pressed on him, but he couldn't afford to hesitate. He was determined to reach you and, if it truly was you, to let you know that he was here, that he had come back to the place where it all began.
With each step, his resolve grew stronger, and he whispered to himself the words he had rehearsed for this moment, words of love and longing, words he hoped would reach you if you were indeed there.
Harry came to a stop a few metres behind you, his heart aching as he saw your shoulders shake with the weight of your grief.
He watched in silence, as you stood in front of his grave.
Your tears fell freely as you whispered words of love and longing, words that were meant for him but felt distant and unreachable.
His own emotions swirled within him, an overwhelming mix of joy at seeing you and pain at the knowledge that he couldn't comfort you in the way he wanted to.
“(Y/N)?”
Harry couldn't contain his overwhelming desire to reach out to you any longer. He called out your name, his voice trembling with a mix of love and sorrow.
But when you heard your name on the wind, you froze, your heart pounding in your chest.
A part of you wanted to believe it was real, that Harry was truly here, but another part feared that it might be a cruel trick of your imagination, a manifestation of your grief.
Your feet felt heavy as you dared not turn around, as if doing so might shatter the fragile hope that had ignited within you.
At the sound of his voice calling your name, you snapped your head around, not daring to believe your ears.
And there he was, standing just a few metres away, tears glistening in his eyes as he looked at you with an intensity that reached deep into your soul.
The shock, the joy, the disbelief, all of it hit you like a tidal wave, and your legs could no longer support your quivering body.
You sank to your knees on the dirt-covered ground of the cemetery, your heart pounding as tears flowed freely from your eyes.
It was a moment of pure, unadulterated emotion, as you wept tears of joy and sorrow, the pain of separation, and the sheer happiness of seeing him again.
The second he saw you crumble to your knees, his heart ached in sympathy, and without a second thought, he surged toward you with the swiftness of a vampire.
He wrapped his arms around you as you both sat on the gritty cemetery ground. His arms held you with the same tenderness and longing he'd felt for hundreds of years, as if he was never willing to let you go again.
Both of you were now shedding tears, the emotions too overwhelming to contain.
As you wept, you inhaled the familiar scent of vanilla that had always clung to him, and he, in turn, breathed in your delicate lavender scent, a fragrance etched into his memory.
The world around you faded into obscurity, and the reality of your reunion enveloped you like a protective cocoon. It was a moment of reconnection, an embrace that transcended time itself.
You didn't need words to express the depth of your feelings; the tears streaming from your eyes were eloquent enough.
Harry's hand gently cradled your cheek, his thumb brushing away your tears as if to erase the years of sorrow that had separated you.
You leaned into his touch, absorbing the warmth and reassurance it offered.
You and Harry sat in the very same spot that was now a cemetery. Back then, it had been a lush flower field, vibrant colours stretching as far as the eye could see.
You'd decided to celebrate your first wedding anniversary amid this picturesque beauty. It was the perfect setting for a picnic, and the Geraniums you'd gathered were scattered around you.
Sitting side by side, you were dressed in a white lace dress, your hair crowned with a simple wreath of wildflowers.
Harry, in his best suit, looked at you with the same adoration he held in his eyes now, though both of you were just a year into your marriage.
Amid the colourful blooms, you shared a simple meal, strawberries and a loaf of bread. You fed each other, laughing at the sweetness of the berries, your hands touching with affection.
The bright sun bathed you in a warm, golden glow. You leaned against Harry's shoulder as he read poetry to you. The verses sounded like music as they filled the air, mingling with the scent of the wildflowers that surrounded you.
Harry's hand played with a strand of your hair as he recited lines of love. The gentle touch and the softness of your laughter mingled with the harmonious symphony of your hearts.
You marvelled at your incredible fortune in having found such a deep connection, an everlasting love.
Harry took your hand in his and looked into your eyes with a loving smile.
"Y’know," he began, his voice tender, "M’can't wait f’the day we start a family f’our own."
Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of children, and your eyes sparkled with excitement. "Oh, H, I can't wait either. I imagine our children playing in fields like this, laughing, and picking flowers."
Harry's thumb gently brushed against your hand as he nodded. "And I can see us growing old together, watching them grow and flourish."
You shared a dreamy smile, leaning in closer. "I can't imagine a more beautiful future, Harry. I just want us to always be together, no matter what life throws our way."
He pulled you into a warm, affectionate embrace. "Together, forever. We'll build our family, create our memories, and keep celebrating our love."
Harry's fingers gently toyed with a strand of your hair.
Your tears still fell, the overwhelming emotions of the past colliding with the present.
With a trembling voice, Harry asked, "Are y’real?"
You nodded your head against his, your tears landing on his shoulder as silent sobs racked your body.
Harry dared not let his thoughts drift too far. Instead, he reached for your left hand, his fingers gently brushing over your wedding ring, a small smile tugging at his lips.
The familiar band, a symbol of your love, was still there, as if time had stood still.
You, in turn, took his left hand, your thumb tracing the contours of his wedding ring.
The smooth metal beneath your touch was a testament to the love you shared, a love that had transcended the boundaries of time.
Harry's gaze never wavered from your tear-filled eyes. The years apart had only deepened the connection between you. He gently whispered,
"Can I kiss ‘ye?"
You let out a tender sniffle, the raw emotions still swirling within you.
With a soft smile, you wrapped your arms around his neck, drawing him closer.
He leaned in, and as your lips met, it was as if the world had melted away.
The kiss was a testament to the love that time had only fortified.
Your heart swelled as the moment lingered, filled with warmth and affection. In that simple yet profound gesture, you both found solace and a renewed sense of hope.
Time had played its tricks, but love had prevailed.
The two of you shared a soft, tender kiss, surrounded by the serenity of the cemetery and the golden leaves that fluttered around you.
“M’love you, m’sun.”
That nickname. The only pet name he had ever called you, it was a nickname only you would allow him to call you.
You were his sun, and he was your light.
You played with the peach fuzz at the back of his neck, locking eyes with his green eyes that you had wished to see for 178 years.
And now that has finally come true, the puzzle pieces of your heart had finally been fixed and you felt like you could finally breath again.
“I love you, my light, always and forever.”
Your love really was A Love Beyond Time.
#musicforastylesrestaurant#fictober23#harry styles#harry styles angst#harry styles au#harry styles blurb#harry styles fluff#harry styles imagine#harry styles masterlist#harry styles fake ig#harry styles headcanon#harry styles x oc#vampire!harry#harrystylesdrabble#harry styles fake social media#harry styles writing#harry styles x reader#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x you#harrystylesxreader#harry styles one shot#harry styles x yn#harry’s house#harrystylesxyn
292 notes
·
View notes
Text
Patience, Zaldrīzītsos
At their pre-wedding tourney, Aemond sits in the stands with his sister – his betrothed – and holds her hand to help calm her while they watch the fighting, and continues to do so all through the dinner. He escorts her back to her chambers to kiss her goodnight, but kisses turn into something more…
Pairing: What is Broken!Aemond Targaryen x Fiancee & Sister!reader
Warnings: kissing, dry humping
This work is a part of my 12 Days of Smuff event! Read the rest here.
My Masterlist
Patience, Zaldrīzītsos
Prompt: Hand holding & dry humping
Two knights crashed together, the sound of clanging armor, shattering wood, and snapping bones echoing throughout the arena. Screams of horror and pain followed swiftly after.
In the Royal Box, the youngest of the King’s daughters cringed at the sight, tears forming in her dark eyes as she covered her mouth with a hand to suppress her scream.
She hated tourneys, hated fighting, hated any kind of conflict. She had not attended a tourney since the games hosted for her eldest brother’s thirteenth nameday, when she’d wept so loudly that several horses had bolted into the Kingswood. Her parents and the Small Council swiftly agreed that she would not attend any further events, but she was nevertheless required to be at this tourney.
For this tourney was to celebrate her. Her and her brother, and their upcoming wedding.
Three days from now, she would marry her older brother, her beloved Aemond, in the Grand Sept. The High Septon himself would bind their hands with ribbon and declare them one before the Gods. It was the fulfillment of a lifelong dream and the culmination of a love she had felt her whole life.
She did not remember when she began loving Aemond. She just did—all her life.
She loved staging mock battles between the felt dragons they played with in their nursery. She loved following behind him as he explored the castle and holding onto his hand when they found a particularly dark or ominous place (including their grandsire’s study one stormy night). She loved watching him train with Ser Cole, growing from an awkward boy to a strong and graceful man. She loved the adoration she always saw in his eyes – or eye, after that horrible night on Driftmark – when he looked at her. She loved the Valyrian nicknames he bestowed upon her all her life.
Haedus. Zaldrīzītsos. Maegītsos. And now, raqiarzītsos.
Aemond did not give anyone else nicknames, only her. He’s always made her feel special, loved, and safe.
Just as he did now.
As squires began hauling away the body of one of the knights, his blood leaving a trail in the sand, Aemond set his hand on top of hers and squeezed. “You do not have to look, raqiarzītsos, if it upsets you so.”
She turned towards him, allowing the sight of his gentle, handsome face to blot out the memory of the violence she’d just witnessed. He smiled at her and inclined his head slightly. “Sȳres. Ñuha nēdenka riña bony issa.”
Aemond sighed in satisfaction as he watched a blush color her cheeks. He leaned in closer, until she could feel his breath on her face. “Only a few more bouts, I promise. Then, we can return home.”
Unable to meet his adoring gaze for fear that the intensity of her affection for him would cause her to do or say something foolish, she looked down at her lap. “Yes, but we will return only to attend another feast. As the guests of honor, we will be expected to stay until it ends. I look forward to that as much as I did to this.”
The squires had begun raking the sand to hide the stain of blood.
“I know,” Aemond said quietly, entwining his fingers with hers and bringing her hand to his mouth, though he did not dare kiss that lovely hand in so public a place. “But I will be there the whole time, I promise. I will not leave your side.”
-
Aemond was true to his word, never leaving her on her own for a moment. He held her hand through the rest of the tourney, squeezing whenever he sensed she needed his reassurance and distracting her with his sweet words when blood was spilled. He held her hand the entire journey back to the Red Keep, gently brushing his thumb against the back of her hand. He held her hand at the feast whenever he could, only letting go so he could eat or when a particular dance required it.
And he held her hand as he walked her back to her chambers late that night, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to her temple when she leaned her head on his shoulder, exhausted from their day.
“Can I stay in bed and sleep through tomorrow?” she asked with a yawn. “I have no desire to watch a second day of violence. Besides, it would mean one less day of waiting before I become your wife.”
They reached the door to her chambers, and Aemond laughed as he opened it and led her inside. “I’m afraid Mother would be upset if you did. Though if it were possible, I would happily join you.”
Halfway to her vanity, she turned to run back to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving him a sleepy, mischievous smile. “You would join me in sleeping, or you would join me in bed?”
“Oh, raqiarzītsos,” Aemond groaned, pressing his brow to hers. He fought his instincts but at last relented and kissed her more passionately than was strictly allowed for an unmarried pair. “You know how much I desire you, desperately so. But we must refrain until we are wed.”
She whined pitifully in protest, burying her pouting face in his chest and inhaling his familiar scent of wind and brimstone. “But I don’t want to, lēkia.”
Aemond sighed and embraced her, nuzzling into her hair. “Neither do I, hāedus. But we must. I will not dishonor you.” She huffed and leaned further into him. “You must only sleep by yourself thrice more, and then I will be there to hold you every night for the rest of our lives.”
“You promise?” She lifted her chin and looked up at him. “I shall be very upset if you don’t.”
Aemond gave a breathy laugh before shaking his head in bemusement. “I cannot promise that I will never be away from you. The King and the Small Council may send me away on some mission, or…”
He frowned, brow creasing. That shadow followed them all their lives. The possibility that their half-sister Rhaenyra wouldn’t cede the crown to their elder brother Aegon and that she would attempt to dispose of them, so as not to have any threats to her ascension.
They never spoke of it aloud. But the threat still hung over each of them.
Aemond cupped her face in his hands, and she felt better – safer. Home.
“There may indeed be times when we have no choice but to be apart,” Aemond explained as gently as he could. “But every night I am able, I will be there to hold you. And I will do whatever I must to return to you as swiftly as possible.”
Overwhelmed by his promises and devotion, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into a searing kiss. He held her back as tightly as he could, and as their hips met, she felt it.
“Aemond…” she separated from him though he chased her lips with his own. But she simply stared down at the hardness she’d felt pressing against her and the bulge it formed against his trousers.
He laughed. “I told you I was desperate.”
All the tidbits she’d learned of what went on between a man and his wife began to swirl in her head. She did not know much, but she’d heard many of Aegon’s crude comments over the years and some less crude from Helaena. Even Aemond, when they would sneak away together to kiss, had mentioned several things he wanted to do with her.
She hated not knowing. And she did not want to feel like a fool on their wedding night.
“Show me,” she asked breathlessly. Aemond balked, and she scrambled to find a reassuring response. “You don’t have to take my maidenhead, but just show me what I must do. I do not want to… to disappoint you on our wedding night.”
Aemond was silent for a long moment, his eyes searching her face as he absentmindedly petted her hair. She feared he would be disgusted with her for wanting him as much as he wanted her. That he would scold her, call off the wedding, or even hate her.
He didn’t.
He kissed her.
He kissed her, pulled her even closer, and began to roll his hips against hers.
“On our wedding night,” he instructed between sticky kisses, “you must kiss me. Just like this.” He held the back of her head in his hands and tilted her back, allowing himself to lean over her and press his lips upon hers with more force.
When she groaned, clutching at the lapels of his jacket as her knees weakened, he brought a hand to the small of her back to support her. “Then, I will take you to our bed, like this.”
Then he hoisted her up, linking her legs behind his back. Something about the movement allowed him to better press into some spot between her legs that sent sparkling pleasure through her veins. As he carried her towards her bed, she buried her face in his neck and began grinding against him, chasing that feeling.
“Next,” he said just before he laid her down in the center of the bed. “I will carefully remove every scrap of silk and lace they wrap you in and every bit of gold and jewels they drape over you until there is nothing left to hide you from me.
She moaned as he climbed onto the bed and hovered over her once more. She did not know what was more exciting, Aemond above her or his delightful words. “What about you?” she managed to ask. “Will you remain in your clothes?”
“Absolutely not,” he laughed, kissing every inch of her face he could. “For me to do what I want with you, I will have to be bare, as well.”
“Can I undress you, as you did for me?”
“You can do anything you’d like, raqiarzītsos,” he answered with a groan. “But I hope you do it quickly, so I can do this.”
Aemond seized her knees, pulling them up and apart so he could slot himself between her thighs. It was a perfect fit, as if they were made for each other. He only savored it for a moment before he began moving again, sliding his hips against hers.
“Oh!” she squeaked as he again rubbed against that same magic place over and over and over again. With each movement, her noises of pleasure became louder and louder until Aemond had to clamp a hand over her mouth to contain them.
He smiled down at her, his face as flushed as his as he moved faster and faster. “You must be quiet, riñītsos. You don’t want someone to hear us, do you?” She shook her head. “Do you think you can be quiet?”
Her eyes were wide as she considered for a moment. Then she sighed against his hand and shook her head ‘no.’
“Then what shall I do with you?”
She mumbled something Aemond couldn’t understand with her mouth covered, so he removed it with a smug smile. “What was that?”
“Can you use your lips instead of your hand?”
Aemond’s hips stuttered, but he smiled widely. “Oh, you wonderful little girl.”
Their mouths did not part until her body began to tremble all over, and she felt so hot that she thought for a moment she’d developed a fever. She tossed her head back, trying to scream, but only a long whine emerged. A burning pleasure spread throughout her, and she knew she would only ever feel like this again when she was with Aemond. He, too, seemed to experience something similar, a silent scream tearing from his throat as he pressed her hard into the mattress.
After their breathing steadied, Aemond grabbed her face to kiss her one final time.
“Three days, raqiarzītsos. Then I will have you entirely, and you will have me.”
#aemond#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond fanfic#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond imagine#aemond fluff#aemond one eye#aemond smut#aemond the kinslayer#aemond x reader#aemond x you#aemond x y/n#aemond x fem!reader#hotd#hotd aemond#hotd fanfic#hotd smut#hotd imagine#hotd x reafer#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fanfic#ewan mitchell#what is broken#12 days of smuff
220 notes
·
View notes
Note
Ok I have a question and if I asked this before sorry my memory sometimes bad.
So you said peach's died on the journey with her husband's. How did she die? And did they get revenge for her. Also at this point you would think peach's is there soulmate but peach's not liking it.
And dose she have a Mark of how she died as a brith Mark?
And what was Macaqa and sun frist meating with peach's like?
I really love your work
(tw, slight mention of blood and gore)
went on a bit of a tangent :)
reader was killed during a demon ambush. everybody was busy fighting the demons, and while reader was hiding, one of the demons escaped the warlords' notice. she didn't even have time to scream. it killed her, and then took and ate her body.
macaque was the first to realize her absence, of course. reader wasn't able to make much noise as she died, so he just thought she was scared, but... imagine his horror when he can't hear her heartbeat. he quickly dissapears into a shadow, leaving the fight behind. he checks where reader was hidden, and finds only a small puddle of blood. his breathing quickens as he follows the blood a ways further into the woods. he can feel his rage and anguish growing.
there, in a clearing, a rogue wolf demon seems to have just finished its meal, it's tongue licking the excess gore from its teeth. shreds of reader's clothing lay scattered at its feet, along with her satchel and book.
macaque bears his teeth in an enraged snarl and roars at the stupid beast. struck by grief, he falls to his knees, pressing his hands to his face as tears gather in his eyes.
the sound of his anguish echoing against the trees was enough to summon his brother; wukong, covered in the gore of his slain enemies, appears at his side. the king takes quick stock of the situation, and comes to the same heart-shattering conclusion as macaque.
she's gone. she's gone and this wretched creature destroyed her.
reader is dead.
the rage he feels rivals the burning of the stars.
the two bring down the full fury of their combined might upon the wolf demon. the warlords drag out their dismantlement, tearing the stupid creature apart peice by peice. once the offending beast is little more than a visceral stain on the ground..
...the brothers hold one another, attempting to ground each other through the torrent of their pain. they've lost their one, their only.
their dear reader, their beloved peach....she's dead. all because they took their eyes off her for a second, all because they were made to come on this cursed journey. were they not charged with protecting that blasted monk, they could have prevented this. wukong and macaque come to the same conclusion; they will not soon forgive the ones who brought them here.
the monkey demons gather reader's things, holding them as gently as glass...it's all they have left of her. not even a body to bury back home on their mountain.
the other pilgrims need only see these items and the baleful, enraged, tear-stricken looks on their companions' faces to know what must have happened. wukong and macaque say nothing as the monk says a prayer for her.
the two leave for a while.
they don't come back for three months.
when they do return to the journey at the behest of the heavens, they are reserved. withdrawn. they keep to themselves, only intervening when the pilgrims are in danger they can't solve themselves.
———
the monkey king and the six-eared macaque complete the journey. they refuse their new titles; the rage that simmers in them is far too great for the roles they've earned.
the monkey warlords go home. they grieve, properly this time, alongside their subjects.
the next few hundred years are especially brutal for any enemies of flower fruit mountain and it's king. without his queen, he forgets what it means to be merciful.
———
many centuries later, wukong finds a little monkey demon boy, seemingly sprung from the same stone he did. wukong adopts him, names him xiaotian, and teaches him to become a ruthlessly efficient warrior.
the child grows up hearing the occasional story about the mountains' queen, a once-mortal woman who held his father's (and uncle's) heart in her hands. his caretakers can't bring themselves to speak about her often, but they speak softly and fondly when they do. he hears stories of her adventures on the mountain; how she made friends with her subjects, worked in the kitchens and orchards, and cared for the mountain's children.
both wukong and macaque tell xiaotian that reader would have loved him dearly.
the small shrine in the palace temple (a satchel, a heavy book with nothing written in it, a few scraps of bloodied cloth displayed next to daily offerings of peaches) and furniture in his father's room (the combs, hairpins, and perfume bottles untouched but lovingly dusted) don't tell him much about who "reader" was—but the stories from the people who knew her do.
he wishes he could've met her.
———
when the boy reaches a certain age, he asks to go stay in the mortal world. his father reluctantly agrees.
xiaotian goes to the city, battles the dragon girl mei, befriends her, and allows her to teach him how the city works. she takes him to a noodle shop belonging to one of her friends, a gruff but earnest pig demon named pigsy. there, he meets mei's other friends; a gentle blue giant named sandy (and his cat, mo), a studious yet freeloading human named tang—and a friendly human woman who works at the shop...
...who happens to be nicknamed reader.
351 notes
·
View notes
Note
Omg hello!! I just read your devotee headcanons(they were all amazing I loved them) for the brothers and I just wanted to ask if you could do one for guardian angel simeon???in my religion we believe that every person has a guardian angel so imagine how funny it would be when you come down to the devildom and simeon is like :o it's you!!
Certainly beloved!💕 I think this one might be the longest😭
Simeon:
- unlike the others, notices right off the bat
- He’s been assigned to you since before birth like come on he could recognize you by just an eyelash
- Will be slightly hurt if you don’t recognize him
- “You don’t remember me?🥺 but I sing you a lullaby when you were 2”
- Sir…. Please be serious, that’s like 3 seconds of memory
- Will passive aggressively push for you to move in with him in purgatory hall
- Lucifer is exhausted because he’s always there
- “You act like you LIVE here. Go back to YOUR dorms!”
- “Bold of you to think I would leave MY precious, amazing human here will all of you unsupervised”
- He’s not about to stop being clingy neither
- Sharing old stories at student coy meetings like you have got to stop him before he gets out a photo album 😭
- Scolds you like a parent
- “I know you’re now doing what you shouldn’t be”
- Luke is your honorary baby brother
- Will ask Luke to watch you like he’s tall enough to reach the microwave
- “Luke I’ll be back in a minute make sure they don’t have any more sweets”
- Like you’re literally grown💀please tell him to back off a little or this will get worse
- When he realizes he’s falling for you in a way Guardian Angels shouldn’t. He panics
- This the same shit Lilith did
- And he got demoted for just AGREEING with Lucifer about the war
- Hides it like he’s gonna take it to the grave, especially from Luke
- You notice he starts avoiding you a little and will lie through his teeth that he’s just feeling a little under the weather
- Lucifer peeped game though, and he’s like yeah absolutely NOT
- he’s not letting anything else happen to any more of his Family
- Will lock your ass up until he gets Simeon alone to have a talk with him
- Like you now have a curfew 😭
- Listen…. He would tear apart the entire exchange program over lesson 16,,,,
- Like y know how Diavolo said Simeon is the ONE person he doesn’t want to piss off?
- Yeah it’s like inconsolable now
- In any timeline any life any dimension he will feel you’re endanger
- In like Bible canon they really can’t help unless god gives them the okay so they’re often times forced to watch the one they were bound to protect suffer
- But this is the devildom and he don’t really got eyes down here. So who’s to stop him from coming to your aid??
- Even though you’re “technically” okay he’s still like not having it
- As soon as it happens he feels a sharp cold pain throughout his entire body and drops whatever he’s holding
- Struggling to remember how to breathe all he can think about is sprinting to the house of lamentation
- Busts open the doors to see you in mammon arms, and it’s like his whole world shatters
- He hears belphie laughing, and he’s never felt rage like this before
- Lucifer is fighting for his LIFE because he’s having to balance feeling grief, shock,rage, and also try to keep his brothers from going off the deep end so he’s like frozen
- Can’t think fast enough to stop Simeon from unleashing some divine punishment on this spoiled brat
- Lucifer does snatch him up because he will literally kill him in cold blood right there if he doesn’t reason with him
- Almost snaps back on Lucifer before you show up again for the intermission
- Shaking and crying with relief
- You’re gonna make him literally faint MC please😭
- Like don’t the angels use a LOT of magic to keep their emotions in check so they don’t go crazy like demons do?
- They’re having to suppress every emotion ever and dull those
- So he’s got like a couple of eons of just raw feelings pent-up beating his ass all at once
- When you explain the reveal he’s like REALLY about to throw up
- Lucifer and everyone are like feeling relief and are glad you’re okay
- Almost wants to break mammon arms for holding you and barely letting anyone else get near you
- But he’s frozen in shock too
- Lucifer side eying Simon like,,,,, me too bro, but he has NO idea how to talk to him about that?
- Settles for holding you as tight as possible and whispering a prayer into your hair for protection
- Teaches you to use your angel powers
- But doubles down on his over protectiveness
- Helicopter angel now
- Which doesn’t really mesh well with Lucifer’s attachment anxiety
- will come pick you up at random ass times and whisk you away for no reason
- Like the exam is in a month why are you studying devildom history now???
- Causing Lucifer to freak the fuck out when he does his randomly scheduled MC room check-ups
- Doesn’t even think to text you before hyperventilating
- Luckily enough, the first time you come back with Simeon attached at the hip
- Him and Lucifer have gotten into it a few times over this
- Dia is forced to call a student council meeting without you present
- You and Luke think the meeting is tomorrow and are making snacks
- he’s like okay Simeon you can’t keep doing this
- And he goes OFF
- Like this is HIS fault for not watching and protecting you
- Like if this is supposed to be for human angels and demons to coexist you’re doing a shit job
- Almost single-handedly shuts down the program by saying he will take you home and make sure they never get near you ever again
- Lucifer feeling so much guilt he can’t breathe is trying to be in his best behavior and be rational, but Simeon is relentless
- He’s talking out the side of his neck until he snaps back on some “you’re literally following in Lilith’s footsteps! Do you not think that the celestial real won’t also deal out a punishment for MC? You falling from grace isn’t the only thing on the line here.”
- OOP
- It’s suddenly crickets
- Even Barbados is like 😦🫢
- He can’t even deny those allegations so he’s just like glaring at him
- Solomon steps in bc WOW this is getting crazy
- Reasons with him that because you have a pact with all of them now they CANT hurt you and you’re training under him as a sorcerer so you’ll be fully equipped to defend yourself from anything
- Simeon relents at least sitting back down in his chair
- Explains there really nobody best as a candidate for representing the three realms than you being a part of all three of them
- (Lilith when she died wasn’t an angel or a demon but something in between so in my head MC has always been all three; human demon and angel and that’s why they’re extra immune to demon magic)
- Simeon agreeing to chill out a little bit swearing if anything else ever happens to you, he wouldn’t hesitate to target whoever’s directly responsible
- Imagine how awkward the actual meeting is tomorrow 😭
- You’re having a great morning and everyone holding they breath
- Barbados my beloved is the only one who’s got enough sense and acting skills to act like nothing happened
- When you stop lord Doavolo mid-sentence to ask what the FUCK is up with these rancid vibes
- Barbatos kindly informs you that it’s the stress from a new school event that diavolo has yet to announce
- “It happens annually (lie) and it’s usually very exhausting to put together. Perhaps you can alleviate some of that for us.”
- Everyone subtlety lets out the breath they were holding seeing you so excited to help out
- Barbatos stirring the pot a little more ALSO suggests you run the maid bunny café
- Suddenly everyone forgets what the elephant in the room was and is now talking over each other
- There was no school event btw LMAO so they just had to make one up and then take three weeks to prepare for it.
- Great way to lift the spirits though✨
#my writing#x black reader#obey me#obey me x black reader#obey me shall we date#obey me swd#obey me shall we date Simeon#obey me simeon#simeon x reader#om! simeon#obey me x reader#simeon x mc#omswd simeon#slight angst#just for a little spice 💅🏿
190 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Love That Slipped Away.
this is part two of my previous story the love we lost.
Description: (Gojo x Reader) It's been a year since Satoru Gojo cheated on you. He thought it wouldn't hurt when you left him. He soon realized that you were the one for him.
Warnings: 18+, Strong language, MINORS DNI!
part 1 linked here
Days have been extremely dull and gray. Satoru has done nothing but work, exorcise curses, go home and rest. It's the same cycle every day. Sure, his oh so beloved Amy was there with him, but it wasn't the same. You would always lighten up a room with a smile, But Amy didn't. Satoru and Amy didn't have anything in common other than their sex life. Ever since you left him, he's been nothing but an empty shell of who he was. You took his heart with him that day.
He thought he would be better off with Amy but he was so very wrong. Amy was nothing but a pretty face with no personality. Satoru's students disliked Amy. They would always ask for you.
"Sensei! Where's Y/n?"
"I wish y/n was here."
"I miss Y/n!"
He has no clue where you are or what you have been up to. You blocked his number and social media accounts. He obviously tried looking you up but was always met disappointment when you were nowhere to be found.
A few months later. It was mid spring when Amy had cheated on him with another man. Satoru was heartbroken shattered even. Amy had left a wound on his heart. He truly did love her. His world was all about her but what is his world now that his left? He was left ruined and alone in the place he once called "home". He sat on his bed lost in thought. Heart now broken in pieces.
"Is this how y/n felt?"
He had finally felt what you felt the day you find out he was unfaithful. It was an awful feeling. It was a stomach-churning feeling. His beautiful blue eyes had opened. He realized what he lost. What he let slip away. He took your love for granted. You were meant for him. You were his person. You saw much more to Satoru other than the strongest and a pretty face. Memories of you and him being happy together flooded his mind. Tears filled his angelic cerulean eyes. He sobbed and sobbed till no more tears fell from his eyes. His porcelain skin was stained with tear streaks. His ocean like eyes were now red and puffy. His snow liked hair was disheveled and ruined.
Was it worth it? He chose a girl with a pretty face. A good fuck. Were his friends and students, right? Did he really just pick a doll face over the most extravagant person who always bighted a room with just their presence alone? Whose voice and smile always made his heart flutter like a bird in cage ready to burst. His warm bed that he once shared with you was now cold and barren. When was the last time he got a proper goodnight sleep?
He would do anything to get you back. no matter how long it takes. He has to see his other person. The person who still has heart.
He walked around the streets of Tokyo. He looked at the Stores and Cafes nearby. The cherry blossoms where in full bloom. Streets were covered in beautiful pink leaves. He eyed the Pastries that people were handing out. The sweet fruity delightful aroma of the pastries filled his nostrils. There was on peculiar scent that caught his attention. It was your scent. That sweet scent you always had. It was as if spring had blossomed all over you. He would never forget that sweet scent you always had.
His eyes widen and he looked to where the scent was. His eyes rapidly scanned over everyone. All he could hear was the sound of his heart beating. His eyes fell on your beautiful smile. There you were. God, you looked so mesmerizing. You were glowing. A sight for sore eyes even. His cerulean eyes were focused on you. The pink petals that flew in the wind complimented you so damn much. He has fallen for you all over again.
He was so happy he has finally seen you after so long. He walked towards you. His heart was pounding like crazy with each step he took.
"Y-Y/n..? is it really you...?" He spoke softly but loud enough to make you look at his direction. His heart skipped a beat. Your beautiful colored eyes stared at his disgustingly beautiful eyes.
"Satoru." You replied with a nonchalant voice. His heart ached with the emptiness in your voice. Your voice used to be sweet like an angel.
"You look good." Satoru complimented you with a soft smile but all it left was a sour taste in your mouth.
"Don't try to sweet talk me" You scoffed at him. Satoru awkwardly smiled.
"It's good to see you again."
"I wish I could say the same" There was a hint of sadness in your voice.
"L-Look I just wanted to-" Satoru was caught off by a voice coming from behind you.
"Sorry sweetie the line was really long." A tall man with long black hair with weird bangs and black circle stud earrings approached you. The unknown man gave you a gentle kiss on your cheek while he wrapped his arms around you. He had a pastry package with him.
"Oh? Satoru what are you doing here?" Satoru got a better look at the man Infront of him. It was his best friend Suguru Geto. They were friends back in high school before they separated ways.
"Suguru? What are YOU doing here?" Satoru was caught completely off guard. Why was his best friend here with his beloved? So many questions swirled in his head.
"I'm here shopping with my lover" Suguru wrapped his muscular arm around your waist pulling you into his side keeping you in a secure grasp. Satoru had jealousy and sadness in his bright blue eyes. Seeing you with another man had his heart aching. Your sweet warm smile wasn't for him anymore. He is no longer the man you wake up to every day. That should've been HIM by your side. Not Suguru.
"You guys know each other?" You asked your boyfriend Suguru turning your face to look at his beautiful face. He was smiling. "We have some history from back in our high school days. Long story short he's my best friend." Suguru gave you a warm smile. "So, who is he to you?" Suguru asked you with sweet smile.
"He's the unfaithful ex-boyfriend I've told you about." You said with a sigh. Satoru's heart twisted with sadness and guilt at the word "unfaithful". He eyes didn't dare to meet your eyes. He knew what he had done. How could he ever get you back? There's no way he would be able to call you his again. The guilt that drowned him was enough to make him puke.
"Oh, so Satoru is the man that crushed your heart all those months ago?" Suguru was looking at Satoru with nothing with disappointment. "I'll admit Satoru. I never expected this from you. How did you let such a sweet person slip through your fingers like sand. Hm well, I guess if it wasn't for your fuck up, I wouldn't have landed such a lovely person."
Suguru looked at his white-haired friend. Satoru looked ruined as he finally faced the music. "I never meant for shit to turn out like this. Fuck! I'm so sorry Y/n. I know an apology isn't going to change the fact I hurt you. I know we can't fix shit between us. I finally realized how much you loved me. You were my everything and still are. You gave me your all. I was pathetic to not treat you the same way. But I've lost you now. Even though I'm not the one who's going to be by your side anymore at least someone will." Tears fell from his Ocean colored eyes falling onto the pale sidewalk. People looked the commotion happening but carried on their day.
You looked at Satoru as he silently began wiping his tears. Suguru's grasp around your waist tightened. Suddenly, the memories you tried so hard to forget came back. The day you ended things with Satoru. The day your heart was shattered to pieces. The one fucking day you saw him and his girlfriend passionately making love. skin on skin. lips on lips. hand in hand. It all came back to you. You watched as the man in front you broke down in tears. His eyes becoming puffy. His blue ironed button up was now wrinkled and stained with tears.
You grabbed Suguru's hand and intertwined it with yours. He let go of the grasp he had you in. You looked at the broken man Infront of you.
"I wanted you and only you. But you wanted something more. And I couldn't give you that. You made your decision when you picked her over me. I gave you my word, my loyalty, my trust. But you didn't give me anything. I always ate dinner alone waiting for your arrival, but you would eat another womans dinner and share a warm meal together. Where was I when you went to her house to fuck? Was I even a priority to you? I was questioning my worth every damn night. The lipstick stains on your neck and clothes never went unnoticed. I begged for your attention for you to look at me again, but you never batted an eye. I was never important to you Satoru. I never was. The nights I slept alone and cold in our shared bed were always the worst nights ever. You only started caring once I left." You looked at him once more before turning around and walking away with your boyfriend hand in hand.
Satoru can only stare with tears running down his face. He was an idiot to come looking for you. He was an idiot losing you in the first place. Your words struck his heart. He looked at you as your walking away from him. He has to live with the guilt of betraying you. He managed to pick himself up and head home. The sky turned gray, and rain started pouring. He hopes the rain will wash away his sorrow. No one will ever replace you again. His love that slipped away. Maybe one day. just maybe you will comeback. Until then he'll wait for you with open arms.
Thanks for reading!!
Bloo Note: Hey guys so sorry for part 2 coming out so late. I was not gonna make "The Love We Lost" a part 2 originally lolol. BUT I did mange making a part two while juggling school. Ending was INSANLEY rushed but hope u guys eat this up (or hate it idc). credit to the people who made the dividers!!
taglist: @kawaiivillainess98
#jjk x reader#jjk angst#jjk imagine#jjk gojo#gojo x reader#geto suguru#angst#anime#cheating boyfriend#jujutsu kaisen
188 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
mrwilll
Will
vibe-r
Untitled
orange-darinka
Glass Flower
vibe-r
Untitled
xeiropoihta-kosmimata
Χειροποιητα Κοσμηματα