#Astra Young Readers

[winningthesweepstakes]

Hearing Things by Ben Sears

Hearing Things by Ben Sears. Astra Books for Young Readers, 2024. 9781662665431 Rating: 1-5 (5 is an excellent or a Starred review) 3 Format: Hardcover graphic easy reader What did you like about the book? This is an easy reader graphic novel about the spooky sounds of a haunted house. Hearing Things is part of the Toon Books Easy-to-Read Comics collection. The young protagonist, Tim, is…

[stephaniejoanneus]

Look and Cook Snacks: A First Book of Recipes in Pictures by Valorie Fisher

Look and Cook Snacks: A First Book of Recipes in Pictures by Valorie Fisher. Astra Young Readers, 2023. 9781662620447 Rating: 1-5 (5 is an excellent or a Starred review) 5 Format: Hardcover What did you like about the book? Kids need to snack often, whether mid-morning or after school, and it’s important to have healthy, easy options for them to prepare food independently. This visual cookbook…

[b14augrana]

Ad Astra Per Aspera

Your story goes deeper than what meets Alexia’s eye

Alexia Putellas x teen!reader

pt. 2 masterlist

Warnings: this story contains depictions of alcoholism, adultery, and familial issues. read at your own discretion. aditionally, alexia is pretty mean in this and there wont be a happy ending for a few parts 😬

A/N: massive thank you to this request for the amazing idea 🫶🏼. r is 18 y/o but still going under teen!reader. this is going to be multiple parts because theres so much i could do for this request that i find impossible to fit into one part and write to a good standard, so here you go!

The Stands

Football unites the world. It brings people, cities, and countries together, like nothing else.

You’ve seen it happen in your beautiful hometown of Barcelona — all you can see during the hours leading up to any match set to be played in the Camp Nou is red and blue in the sky. Blaugrana painted the streets below, and the entire city came alive with the commotion from the stadium.

You spent your entire childhood being part of the roaring atmosphere, waving your Barça flag proudly in the air alongside every other flag and wearing the infamous colours across your chest.

Most of all, you prayed with every bit of faith in you, that one day you’d be on the pitch, playing for the club of your dreams.

Everyone in the crowd had their own individual life. There could be a single mother, a lawyer who used up his last days of leave to attend the match, a young boy with his father, an elderly person on an outing with his wife, someone from abroad who’s spent thousands and travelled for hours to watch their favourite player in real life.

11 players could bring together almost 100,000 people just to watch them kick a ball around, and you wanted to have the same effect. You wanted to be so good at football and have the ability to transform a simple sport about kicking a ball around into 90 minutes of entertainment, performance, art. You wanted to do it with Barcelona.

You trained meticulously for months. You passed your small, worn out ball against the same fence in your backyard, you practiced your touch by juggling until the frustration made you storm away in tears and you learned new skills and used your own shoes as cones to pose as defenders and dribble around.

When you went to the Camp Nou to trial for the renowned La Masia academy, you were little and clutching your FC Barcelona backpack for support. The stadium already looked so big when you were up in the stands, but when it was empty and you were actually on the pitch, it was even bigger. You were stood on the same grass as your idols that once had the same dream as you, and that was unbelievable.

The start of your journey as a player at FC Barcelona had begun.

Day after day, you woke up early for training. Your siblings were never awake at that time, so the rare moment of peaceful alone time with your mother was something you looked forward to every morning.

She drove you to the La Masia facilities and then picked you up at sunset. Sometimes, when she had to work late, you and some of your teammates would go to the park and play with the other local kids until your parents came.

Those were the same teammates that you got promoted to the B team with, and the evening 5-a-side games in the park never stopped. They were your best friends — you all shared a common dream of getting to the first team and playing in big tournaments and winning titles, and even though you realistically wouldn’t all be able to do that, no one ever stopped believing that one day it would happen.

As you grew up and your career just started to take off, things started to change. Not just in football, but your life off the pitch too. All at the age of thirteen.

Your father started coming home late. As if your mother was stupid, he’d waltz into the house in the middle of the night, claiming he had to stay a little late because a last minute meeting was called or he lost track of the time. The mild arguments started, and when the late arrivals became more frequent, your mother’s suspicions grew stronger.

One night, it came to a halt. Just when you stopped expecting it, he came home at his regular time; half past six. The only difference was, he didn’t look happy to be home at all. A frown tainted his face ans there was something off-putting about his demeanour. Soon, it all made sense.

You watched from around the corner, your head barely peeking out. Your dad shrugged his blazer off, and you noticed the way his mouth twitched as if hesitating to say something. Once he spoke, a big part of you wished he hesitated a bit more and realised down the line that he was making a bad decision, but it was too late.

The reason he was working late, the secrecy, the floral smells that lingered on his shirts; he was never working overtime, the floral smells were not from the diffuser in the office, and he did have something to hide.

It was called infidelity.

Your siblings emerged from their rooms as soon as the cacophonous yelling started, and you were quick to usher them away from the arguing.

The reality of how bad the situation really was hadn’t yet settled in, but you knew the outcome wasn’t going to be good.

Your youngest brother complained about his rumbling stomach, and the other two were quick to jump on the hunger train. For a moment you were stumped, because you didn’t want to go into the kitchen where the argument was taking place and get dragged into it, so your solution was grabbing a €50 bill and sneaking out to the nearest restaurant.

You were the oldest of four kids. After you was one of two boys, Lorenzo, and then the twins, Magdalene and Dani. They shared the same passion for football as you, and your fondest memories consisted on being in the stands of Camp Nou with them.

All of you snagged a table in a cozy restaurant, one you were familiar with due to going there multiple times with the rest of your family.

The hour you spent in that restaurant with your siblings turned out to be the last hour of a carefree life you’d get to indulge in.

The Pitch

You turned 18 last week, but you got promoted to the first team last month. The headlines painted you as an emblem of success for Barça’s youth programme, the future captain of the first team, and there were all these opinions flying around about you as a player. The opinion that mattered most, though, was that of your captain.

You and Alexia Putellas didn’t get along. Her opinion on you was nothing short of disapproving, and she let you know of that as you arrived at practice.

“(Y/N),” the woman said, her voice holding notes of irritation as she approached you. You looked at her, preparing yourself for the inevitable lecture.

“You’re late again. You might be young, but over here you’re the same as all of us no matter your age, which means getting to training at the same time as us,” she berated you, her hands set on her hips and her eyebrows furled in annoyance.

“Look, captain, I had to–” you started, but your explanation was cut short by Alexia.

“I don’t have time for your excuses. Do better next time, or you’re sitting out of practice entirely. Go run your laps,” she snarled, dismissing you with a wave of her hand.

You could only watch in anger as she stormed away while the others looked at you sympathetically, and you bit your tongue as you walked to the locker room and dumped your bag in your cubby.

She belittled you in every interaction you two had, which was a shame because you really liked her beforehand. In fact, you looked up to her, and you looked forward to being captained by her, but now it was hell on earth every time you entered the gates and met her scrutinising gaze.

Training was nothing special. It was the same old passing drills, small-sided games, shooting and free kick practice, and then before you knew it, home time.

You slung your bag over your shoulder and left before Alexia could stop you and give you yet another lecture. After stopping at the primary school to pick up Magdalene and Dani, you three drove to the middle school to pick up Lorenzo. Barcelona rush hour was rife around the time you picked up your siblings, so you spent another half an hour stuck in traffic until you finally got home.

All you wanted was your bed, and a nap. Still, you dragged yourself to the kitchen to make something quick for dinner so it was ready for your siblings when they were hungry, and then you tidied up in the living room.

Ever since your dad left, your mother was a wreck, leaving you as the successor to her caretaking duties of the kids. She was never a drinker, but after he left, she found herself depending on alcohol for a quick escape.

It was nice for a little bit; a short break from the world that always ended too soon. She kept chasing and chasing that relief until she was in too deep, and it was never enough. The bottles multiplied, the cans lined the rubbish bins, the stench polluted the air that once smelled of a fresh vanilla essence, and she became latched onto it.

You blamed your father for it all, because it was his unchastity that motivated every drink. Your mother was a beautiful woman who loved her family more than herself.

That was what ruined her.

“Hermana, hermana,” Magdalene spoke, tugging on the sleeve of your shirt. You looked down just as you turned off the stove, and she rubbed her stomach, “I’m hungry.”

“Okay hermanita, ask the boys if they’re hungry, please,” you replied, smiling at her. She nodded and ran to their bedrooms, and soon they all emerged from around the corner.

After scooping generous amounts of macaroni and cheese onto their plates, you put some onto your plate and sat down with your siblings to eat. Together, you all talked about your busy days and they listened to you tell them all about your training. They loved hearing your stories about Barça, and every time, Magdalene and Dani would ask you to continue your stories until they fell asleep.

Tonight was no different as you tiptoed out of the twins’ bedroom, gently shutting the door behind you. As much as you loved sleeping after a long day, part of you also dreaded it, because it meant starting a new day and facing Alexia.

When you woke up, it was to gentle knocking on your bedroom door. You were awake enough to comprehend the quiet pattering of footsteps across your hardwood floors, and when tiny hands grazed your skin, you jolted awake. “Hermana, time to wake up! School time!” Magdalene chimed.

So your morning routine began.

With one sock and half your jacket over your head, you made three lunches for the kids right after making their breakfast. Your mother slowly slumped out of her bedroom, wrapping her robe tight around her.

“Bon día,” she mumbled, a smile on her face. With a glance over your shoulder, you acknowledged her before going back to slicing two oranges.

“Morning, mamá,” your siblings responded quietly, shoving food into their mouths to avoid speaking any further. She sat on the couch, sighing deeply.

As she walked past you, you could immediately recognise the stench of alcohol — no surprises there. Years ago, she would’ve smelled like warm musky perfume, not the pungent smell of chemicals.

“Can you make me something, hija? ‘M very hungry,” she said to you, looking your way. You kept your head down, sealing the lunchboxes and cleaning up the counter.

“No, ma, I have things to do. Make your own breakfast,” you responded coldly, “Hermanita, pequeños, bring your dishes here.”

Your siblings scrambled from the table with their empty plates, giving them a quick wash before retreating to their rooms to get their uniform on. On the couch, your mother was still begging for food.

“Hija.. I’m hungry,” the woman slurred.

“Mamá, I have to get your kids to school and go to my own job, which my captain is already angry at me for being late because I have to drive them all around Barna,” you hissed.

“Then I have to come home and make dinner after cleaning your mess. You can make your own breakfast, for once!”

You always felt bad for yelling at your mum, but your life was hard enough with trying to get to work and drop off your three siblings in time while worrying about making your mum a meal.

You had a chance at life. You had a chance to succeed, and you weren’t going to waste it. You weren’t going to rely on a man to look after you in the future until he turns around and wants to look after another woman, leaving you damned.

“Bye, mamá,” you grumbled, grabbing your keys from the bench and swooping your boot bag up from the floor.

It was Dani’s turn to pick which song to play on the radio on the drive to school. He chose a very popular song within your siblings; ‘Me Gustas Tu’. The song had been broadcasted on the radio one day, and everyone seemed to love it. Their favourite part of car rides to school was winding the windows down and singing as loud as they’d like.

Somehow, amongst your father leaving and your mother’s new habits, your siblings were always happy, and that’s what you admired most about them. Maybe they were unaware of the harsh reality, but they were still naïve and unscathed by everything that happened.

It was almost 9:30 in the morning when you started making your way to the training pitch. Mentally, you were preparing yourself for the big lecture you were about to get from Alexia and seriously didn’t need, but physically, you looked unbothered if not a bit tense in the shoulders.

You almost tripped on your way out of the car as you rushed around to get your gear. Walking into training everyday just to get yelled at by Alexia was never nice, but you were used to it. Unfortunately.

That wasn’t the sort of relationship a captain should have with one of her players. It was almost like she despised you, and if she had her way, you probably would’ve been off the team within the first week.

Sure enough, when you appeared on the pitch, the first thing you heard was the low whispers beside you.

“…She’s irresponsible and doesn’t belong on the first team. Being late once, I understand, but multiple times? Her excuses are not good enough–”

“Excuses? Ale, you’ve never let her explain herself.”

“There shouldn’t be any need for excuses anyways, because she shouldn’t be late at all. If she wants to take her time and be let off easy like a child, send her back to the B team. Look, she isn’t even here yet.”

“She is, though. Look behind you.”

The woman turned around, her glare settling on you and being as cold as ever. She spun her whole body around and folded her arms across her chest, her frown heavy.

You sighed, looking down to your feet. It made you feel even worse that you couldn’t help it, and you couldn’t explain it to her either, because that action had potential to get your siblings taken away.

“Drop your bag, get comfortable. You’re not training today,” she snapped.

Your heart sunk. You fought to fend off any tears from forming on your waterline as you nodded, raising your head slightly.

“Listen, (Y/N). This team is everything to me. I have lots of respect for the people who coach us and come here to be coached. You, showing up late? That shows a lack of respect for those people. You’re lazy, unorganised, irresponsible–”

Irresponsible was untrue. If anything, you were the most responsible person you’ve ever known, but Alexia didn’t know that because she didn’t care to know you.

“…I can’t expect you to represent our club and our city on big stages if you can’t even come to training on time. You aren’t FC Barcelona material, and unless things change, you never will be.”

Your lip quivered as your body aligned to bolt for the locker room as soon as she left you alone, away from the watchful eyes that surveyed you in pity when had you arrived. Alexia turned on her heel and stormed away past Mapi, whom she was talking to previously.

She left you in her wake, crestfallen and misunderstood, defeated by circumstances beyond your control.

[alxtiny]

Ad Astra per Aspera

Series Masterlist

Synopsis: Nothing could be worse than getting tricked onto a slave trader’s ship right? Wrong. You are a young talented navigator and unsurprisingly, while trying to find another job you end up on a ‘merchant’ ship, from where you are abducted by pirates, well all hope seems lost now. The pirates happen to be kind enough to let you live as long as you act as their navigator, after their last one met an unfortunate fate. Oh, and these pirates seem to have some weird abilities. It all seems a little too convenient, you are given food, clothes, shelter and are treated very nicely. As the journey progresses you learn more about them and their tragic pasts, but your suspicions grow too. Is this real or is there something deeper at play here.

Pairing: Pirate!Ateez x Navigator!reader

Genre: pirate!au, fluff, angst, suggestive

Warnings: death, blood, trauma, detailed descriptions of wounds, vivid nightmares, weapons, occasional smut, reader is named!! other warnings will be chapter specific

Notes: onto my first series, updates might be slow but I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it 🥹 thank you for all the support!!!!

TWC: 33,180

Updates: slow

Status: ongoing

Started: 15.08.2024

Ended:

Comment to be added to the taglist for this series!!!

Maps

Character profiles

Main masterlist

Chapters:

Prologue

Episode 1

Episode 2

Episode 3 | Bonus Episode(Halloween Ver.)

Episode 4

Episode 5

© alxtiny . Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my works on any platform in any way.

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS PURE FICTION AND NOT RELATED TO THE MEMBERS OF ATEEZ IN REAL LIFE PLEASE DO NOT TAKE IT SERIOUSLY

[sideysvault]

𓍼ོ Ad Astra Per Aspera 𓍼ོ series masterlist

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

series synopsis: prisoners of the circumstances of political betrothal, a young couple tries to navigate each other and the inescapability of tragedy in Westeros.

total wc: 10,754k

themes: slow burn, fluff, angst, drama, smut, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers.

warnings: mature themes, depictions of abuse, mentions of death, foul language, sexual innuendo.

────────

- Part One. → Consummation; 2,200k

- Part two. → Southeastern misfortune; 2,114k

- Part three. → Preservation; 1,010k

- Part four. → Inglorious shame; 1,090k

- Part five. → Crescendo [coming soon]

- Part six. → Knowing evil [coming soon]

- ⋆ Part x. ⋆ → Ice and snow; 4,310k

(Bonus, long chapter, dated in the near vicinity of the series events.)

[her-satanic-wiles]

Dawn Chorus - I

Dracopia x Fallen Angel!Reader

When you question the Almighty for a third time, you find yourself on the run and escaping a horde of wrathful angels ready to punish you for your insolence. Whose garden should you fall into than Cardinal Copia’s? And he has more nefarious plans for you.

Masterlist ⛧ Commissioned by anonymous ⛧ Series Masterlist

Words: 6.5k.

Reading Time: 26 min.

Warnings: attempted execution, blood, detailed aftermath of war, detailed deaths of children, detailed grief, detailed pain, mentions of sexual abuse within the church, mentions of rape, torture, violence

Taglist: @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @dopey-fandom-girl @ravensbars @copiaspet622 @onlyhereforghost @ultrahalloweengirl @ad-astra-per-aspera-1976

Author’s note: This part of the story contains the origins of the Zionist argument, claiming that the land of Palestine belongs to Jewish people by will of God. I have written this section of the chapter as close to the Christian Bible as possible in an attempt to avoid Zionist ideology or propaganda - and I want to make one thing abundantly clear: this is a pro-Palestine blog. I will always and forever stand with the people of Palestine, and do my utmost to use my platform to promote the liberation of the Palestinians under Israeli apartheid. Zionism and Zionists have no place at my table. Please continue to boycott companies, platforms and people who send aid and support to the colonial state of Israel. Thank you.

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this fic is quite dark, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my decision. Thank you.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, from the physical exertion or the panic rising in the pit of your stomach, you couldn’t quite tell. Your mind was a contradicting war zone, unsure of which team would win. On the one hand, your brain was buzzing with adrenaline, playing back every event which lead you to this moment: running for your life away from God’s chosen soldiers, avoiding your inevitable demise like a human billionaire and his taxes. You had shown yourself alternate scenarios in which this didn’t happen, in which you’d still be safe in the Humanities Department of Heaven, distributing angels to help God’s children and guide them to the Light. Or enjoying the presence of a fellow guardian angel at the proverbial water cooler. The other side of the battle was autopilot-mode, no thoughts, no feelings, just running to save yourself.

You had a fierce belief in your Leader - almost entirely unwavering and unquestioning. You were His daughter, mirrored in His image and devoted only to Him. You did His bidding as requested, journeyed to realms under His name, played the messenger when He had something important to say to His children. You were there when Gabriel delivered God’s message to the Virgin Mary, hovering in the background and keeping Mary safe from harm in order to protect the coming of Christ. You aided in escaping Peter from prison, making him invisible to the guards as you and some others guided him to freedom by the will of the Almighty.You believed in Him so strongly, that you didn’t need to question Him - because He was always right, and His plan was always just.

You saw how the people of Egypt suffered at the hands of your Lord, and personally watched as the souls of the firstborn children who were slaughtered by Him as an act of protest against Pharaoh and his tyrannic reign. You kept your mouth shut at the livestock, knowing that food could be replenished easily enough. You thought about saying something when you saw the innocence of Egypt battling against the boils that God had given them. By His grace, you could even turn a blind eye to the adult firstborns who were killed as collateral damage. But the children? Some as young as newborns, all the way up to twelve years old. Pure babies without an ounce of hate or sins in their hearts, who didn’t understand the difference between their heathenish beliefs and their Hebrew friends. Who had never whipped a slave, or ordered the execution of God’s children. Who never had the cognitive capacity to think of such a thing, because their brains hadn’t had the chance to learn, to change, to join in God’s favour.

You’d never forget the small boy you watched over in the seconds before he took his last breath, sleeping soundly in his bed after a long day of studying and games. He couldn’t have been older than six. The oldest child to a woman whose husband had passed on mere months before. To a woman who was hanging on by a fragile thread as it was. You watched the boy’s breath rise and fall steadily in his peaceful slumber, until his chest fell for the final time. You watched his soul rise from his body, confused for a moment - painfully unaware that his mortal life had ended. You saw the fear in his eyes when he looked at his lifeless body in his bed, and felt his frustration when his mother ignored his pleas for help, not understanding that she couldn’t see his soul. You observed as Horus came for the child, wrapping His arm around him and offering some comfort to his distress. Horus looked at you as you stood in the doorway of the bedroom, His avian eyes full of the darkest of emotions as He guided yet another soul to the underworld, to have their heart weighed and judged by the guardian at the gates. His loathing poured off of Him as He shot you that look, before disappearing into the night with the child. You didn’t kill the boy, but under the gaze of Horus, you felt as though you had.

Leaving the boy’s home, the streets were full of lost and confused souls, ranging in age and wealth but all sharing the same sorrow and fear. Among the devastation stood your doubts of the Almighty’s plan, and the question of why lingered on your lips even as you were summoned back to Heaven to give a report on the situation - on its success. You felt uncomfortable as you summarised what you saw to the archangel Michael, who looked triumphant in God’s success, knowing he had carried it out perfectly for Him. He thanked you for your hard work - and in that moment, you had never felt so disgusted with yourself.

Of course, your thoughts were never your own, and you were called in to meet with your superiors about your doubts. They seemed to be reasonable, and understanding, especially given that this was your first offense. They promised to set your mind at ease, and reminded you that you were merely a foot-soldier in the Great Plan. You didn’t need to worry, you just needed to do as you were asked. Then they kicked you out of the office with a bad taste in your mouth, and a sense of foreboding of the things to come. Surely His plan couldn’t get any worse?

Then Canaan happened.

After the Israelites escaped slavery in Egypt, they wandered in the wilderness for forty years, led by their leader, Moses. During this time, God promised them a land of their own, a fertile land called Canaan, where they could settle and prosper. When Moses died, a new leader named Joshua arose to lead the Israelites into Canaan. Before entering the land, Joshua received a command from God to conquer it. God promised to be with Joshua and the Israelites, assuring them of victory if they remained faithful. Under the pretext of divine sanction, and God’s name on their lips, the Israelites engaged in systematic warfare, besieging cities, slaughtering men, women, and children, and plundering their possessions. The conquest was marked by bloodshed, devastation, and the utter annihilation of indigenous populations. Then they burned the whole city and everything in it, but they put the silver and gold and the articles of bronze and iron into the treasury of the Lord’s house. Jericho fell to ruin, crumbling in ashes on the ground as fire engulfed the buildings and eating everything it could. You watched as they celebrated over the dead, drank themselves into a stupor in the ruined homes, covered in the blood of the innocent. They didn’t bother themselves to move the corpses until the celebrations were over, days after they declared victory.

Despite the humans being unable to see you, you were still a real being wandering the streets of Canaan, sobering at the sights before you. Your beautiful, white wings dragged on the floor as you walked, gathering the dirt and the blood at the tips of your feathers. God’s children had got the land that they were promised, but what was the cost? From the freeing of the Hebrews to the conquering of Canaan, all you could see were the bodies that had been left behind of the civilians caught up in the fight. Though the blood pooled in puddles no more than 3cm deep, it felt as though you were in it up to your neck. You looked at the conquerors in disgust, and with a rage you’d never felt before - especially when you realised that, for Joshua, peace was never an option worthy of consideration. You were suffocated by the sinners that surrounded you, the murderers and looters, the fornicators who lurked in dark alleyways to celebrate with any passerby willing or otherwise. You watched as indigenous stragglers were dealt with, some more humanely than others and you wondered: was this truly God’s will all along? Did He plan for such brutality? Did He allow Joshua to go as far as he did - and did He give Joshua the strength and the power to do so? Or did He look at His children in disgust and disappointment, ashamed of them for turning to sin and Satan so easily in a moment of pure happiness? Despite claiming to worship a God of love and justice, the Israelites demonstrated cruelty and brutality in their pursuit of land and power - and your faith wavered a second time when you realised that your worst fears were true: God really did give Joshua the power to do as he did, and He felt no remorse for it.

You were pulled into your superior’s office again, this time scolded with much less understanding than before. Gabriel and Michael looked at you with disdain, nothing but anger in their eyes and on their faces as you sat before them in the celestial white room, eyes aching from the brightness.

Gabriel, with his luminous wings unfurled, regarded you with a solemn gaze. “Again, ___? Hast thou not learned from thy previous lapse in faith? Our duty as angels is to serve unquestioningly, to uphold the divine order without falter.”

Michael, his expression stern and unwavering, spoke with commanding authority. “Indeed, ___, the Almighty’s will is not for us to question. It is our sacred duty to carry out His commands with unwavering devotion.”

You bowed your head, feeling the weight of their reproach heavy upon you. “I understand, my lords. But I cannot help but struggle with the suffering and turmoil wrought by our actions. Is it not within our power to seek mercy and compassion, even amidst the fulfilment of divine justice?”

Gabriel’s gaze softened, though his tone remained firm. “Our understanding is limited, ___. We cannot comprehend the intricacies of God’s divine plan. It is not for us to question His wisdom or to challenge His authority.”

Michael nodded in agreement. “Our loyalty to the Creator must remain steadfast, even in the face of uncertainty or doubt. We are His instruments, His messengers, and His will shall be done.”

You sighed, “But His will brings the destruction of cities and the deaths of children. His own children. It is difficult for me to truly follow Him when there is so much devastation.”

Gabriel’s brow furrowed slightly at your words, his expression a mix of compassion and admonition. “___,” he said gently, “we are but conduits of His divine will. Our mortal understanding pales in comparison to the grand tapestry of His design. Though we may not comprehend the reasons behind the trials and tribulations, we must trust in His wisdom and benevolence.”

Michael’s gaze remained steely, but a hint of empathy flickered in his eyes. “Indeed, ___,” he spoke firmly, “the path of righteousness is not always easy to tread. But it is our duty to carry out His commands, no matter the cost. Our faith must endure even in the face of adversity.”

You felt a pang of uncertainty gnaw at your celestial essence, torn between the call of duty and the ache of compassion. “But what of mercy?” you questioned, your voice tinged with desperation. “What of compassion for His creations, even in their moments of waywardness?”

Gabriel’s voice held a note of solemnity as he responded, “Mercy and justice are intertwined in the divine order, ___. Though His judgments may seem harsh, they are tempered by His boundless love. We must trust that His actions serve a higher purpose, even when they are beyond our comprehension.”

Michael’s voice continued in his firmness, his tone sharp and parental. “Let this be the last time we speak of this, ___. There will be consequences to thy actions the next time thou decidest to question the Almighty.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words pressing down upon you like a leaden mantle. The gravity of his warning was unmistakable, a stark reminder of the consequences of defiance in the face of divine authority.

“Yes, my lord,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I understand.”

As Gabriel contemplated the situation, a solemn expression settled upon his countenance. After a moment of contemplation, he spoke, his voice measured and grave. “___,” he began, his tone tinged with a sense of sorrow, “in light of thy transgression and the gravity of thy doubts, it is clear that a lesson must be learned.” He paused, as if searching for the right words to convey his thoughts. Then, with a decisive nod, he continued, “I propose thou be assigned a period of reflection and penance. During this time, thou wilt be tasked with assisting souls in need—those who have lost their way, who suffer in anguish, or who cry out for guidance.”

Gabriel’s suggestion carried the weight of solemn judgment, yet also held the promise of redemption. It was a punishment tempered with compassion, an opportunity for growth and renewal amidst the shadows of doubt.

“Thou wilt walk among mortals,” Gabriel concluded, his gaze unwavering, “bearing witness to their struggles and offering solace in the name of the Almighty. May this experience serve to strengthen thy faith and reaffirm thy devotion to His divine will.”

“Let her spend time in Canaan until her penance is served, as she holds so much sympathy for the dead sinners.” Michael suggested, a smug tone oozing from his voice. He almost lit up at the look of protest you shot him, wanting to argue but Gabriel raising a hand and stopping you from speaking.

“It is decided. Thou may only return to us here when thou no longer holdeth contempt for our Lord. Dost thou have anything thou wishest to say?”

You stood and spread your wings, stretching them out and flapping them sharply in frustration. “There are several things I should like to say.” You retorted fiercely. “I shall restrain the urge, however. The Almighty gave me a tongue to use and a brain to think, after all.”

“And thou would doest well to remember that.” Michael commented, the smirk fading from his face. “Go. Leave us, petulant child. Perform thy duties and know thy place.”

Your time in Canaan was dreary - especially given that you didn’t want to be there in the first place, surrounded by those who used His name to spread evil. But still, you guided His creations as you were told to do, their guardian spirit keeping them from harm and returning them to the Light when their own beliefs had wavered. You felt somewhat like a hypocrite, guiding the wayward souls back to their own beliefs when you, yourself, were questioning yours. And, if you were to be truthful, your faith never completely restored to how it was before Canaan was conquered. You still held even the smallest amount of contempt for the Almighty, and silently questioned everything He did, wondering if His plans would succeed in peace or be laced with blood. But eventually, Heaven forgave you and told you that you were welcome to return, and you did so as though it was the easiest choice you had ever made… because, well, it was.

But all of that lead you to your third strike.

It had been some time since you entered the Mortal Realm, choosing to spend your time in Heaven and directing other angels to their tasks. You hadn’t really paid much attention to God’s creations as a result, almost entirely out of the loop. Since your time in Canaan, according to your fellow angels, much had changed. Great churches were built and devoted to God, while wars waged in His name and His word spread to those who needed it the most. Yet, in those churches, you discovered corruption everywhere you looked. The righteous taking their power and using it to abuse others, in God’s very own home, watched by the Saints and Apostles as they committed the most disgusting of acts to the vulnerable and the needy, as though they condoned such behaviour. You saw people, of all ages, routinely touched against their will, forced into submission and shunned if they dared to say anything - blamed by God’s other children for a crime they didn’t commit, but were the victims of instead. You watched the cycle repeat, families torn apart, and all the while the situation was monitored and allowed. Perhaps, even, ordered by the Lord Himself. You couldn’t bear it - you couldn’t fathom that the Almighty who you’d followed blindly your entire life could hurt another being like that, when He often portrayed Himself to be a kind and benevolent soul, a loving father to those who loved him. You needed to know why. Why must he enact such cruelty on his own creations?

You stormed into Michael’s office, where he, Gabriel, and Raphael met, staring at you in disbelief that you’d have the audacity to do such a thing. “I wish to speak with the Lord.” You demanded, anger coursing through your veins like never before.

Raphael’s brows furrowed. “Directly?”

“Yes.”

He laughed in disbelief. “Child, not even we get a direct audience with the Almighty. Whatever could thou say to Him?”

Gabriel sighed, disappointment oozing from his celestial being. “Thy faith hath wavered yet again, hath it not?”

“Aye, I stand before thee once more, yet again with a heart heavy with doubt.”

Michael’s own anger was bubbling under the surface. “Speak, and let us hear thy grievance.”

“My lords, I cannot remain silent any longer. I have witnessed the depths of depravity within the Church, the desecration of innocence by those who claim to be servants of God.”

“Thy words are bold, ___,” Gabriel said, his tone remaining level. “What troubles thee so?”

Your anger surfaced and manifested as a raised voice and shaking limbs. “‘Tis the scourge of sexual abuse that plagues the holy sanctuaries. Innocent children, robbed of their purity by those who should protect them. How can a just and loving God allow such atrocities to persist within His own house?”

Raphael nodded, unfazed by the spectacle in front of him. “Thy anguish is understandable.” He found this more entertaining than impertinent, clearly unaware of your two strikes before. “Yet thou must remember that God’s ways are beyond our understanding.”

“How can we stand idly by while the innocent suffer? Are we not tasked with defending the weak and the vulnerable?”

Gabriel rested his forehead on his hand. “Thou dost speak with passion,” he was exasperated by you, “but thou must not forget thy place. God’s will is inscrutable, and we are but instruments of His divine plan. How many times must we remind thee?”

“I refuse to be silent any longer! I will not turn a blind eye to the suffering of the innocent, even if it means defying the will of my superiors.”

Michael slammed his fist on the white desk, standing from his seat behind it. “Thou dost tread dangerous ground. Thy defiance borders on heresy!”

You echoed his tone. “So be it! I would rather be branded a heretic than remain complicit in the face of such evil. This smells of the Devil, not of our Lord. I do not understand why He sits by and allows it to happen.”

Gabriel tried to keep the peace between all of you, but he was losing control of the situation quickly. “Thy faith hath faltered, and thy words ring with rebellion. Thou must reconsider thy stance before it is too late.”

“I cannot, in good conscience, remain silent any longer. If God truly exists, then He shall judge me for my actions. But I cannot stand by while His name is used to justify such abominations.”

“Then so be it, ___,” Michael resolved through gritted teeth. “If thou wilt not bend to the will of God, then thou must bear the consequences of thy defiance.”

“So be it.”

“Thou hast been found guilty of heresy and defiance against the will of God for the third time. As Archangel of Judgment, it falls upon me to administer thy punishment.”

“Thou may judge me, but know that my heart is true, and my intentions pure.”

“Thy intentions matter not. Thy actions have brought dishonour upon the celestial host, and thy defiance cannot go unpunished.”

Gabriel stood and walked over to his brother, placing a hand on his shoulder and speaking urgently into his ear. “Michael, perhaps we should consider a less severe punishment. Her heart may yet be turned back to the path of righteousness.”

Michael shook his head. “Nay, Gabriel. The time for leniency hath passed. Ariel’s repeated offences demand a swift and decisive response.” All the while, his wrathful gaze never left your face. “Thy fate is sealed. As Archangel of Judgment, I hereby decree that thou shalt be cast out from the celestial realm and condemned to the Abyss.”

Raphael’s eyes widened with shock, but he said nothing.

Gabriel shook his brother and with sadness, he said, “Michael, art thou certain this is the right course of action? Once the sentence is passed, there can be no turning back.”

Michael replied firmly, “It is done, Gabriel. Justice must be served, even if it breaks thy heart. Let the punishment be carried out.”

Knowing your fate was worse than death, your body reacted for you - even before your brain had decided the best course of action. You turned swiftly on your heels and made your escape, wings flapping and trying to gain enough speed to remove yourself from the Heavens. Your heart was pounding in your chest, from the physical exertion or the panic rising from the pit of your stomach, you couldn’t quite tell. Your mind was a contradicting war zone, unsure of which team would win. On the one hand, your brain was buzzing with adrenaline, playing back every event which lead you to this moment: running for your life away from God’s chosen soldiers, avoiding your inevitable demise.

The portal to the Mortal Realm was just in your grasp, so by only the adrenaline that you were running on, you forced yourself to speed up - making a mad dash for the open world in front of you. You could hear Michael’s calls to, “Close that gate! Do not let her through!”

Someone had listened and had begun closing the portal. The closer you got to it, the smaller the hole became, shrinking and shrinking until all you could see was the tiniest speck of blue peeking out. But you couldn’t let that deter you - if you were caught, your future would hold horrors beyond celestial comprehension. You made a dive, perhaps it was your madness that drove you to do it, the adrenaline, or even your desperation, but you dove nonetheless. Your whole body ripped through the closing portal, feeling the walls shut in on you and grip onto your body with a searing, hot pain you’d never experienced before. Escaping from the Heavens was never a kind task, otherwise more angels would have done it, but now you were caught in Earth’s atmosphere, the planet’s gravity pulling you down to its very core with all the force it could muster.

The warmth was the first thing you noticed, the friction caused by the air resistance generated intense heat, turning your body into a blazing inferno akin to a comet streaking across the sky. Your skin prickled and your hair stood on end as the flames licked at your body, consuming everything in their path. The feathers on the outside of your wings were flying off and burning up in the flames, turning to ash in the atmosphere and disappearing entirely. The rush of wind roared in your ears, drowning out all other sounds as you plummeted towards the ground. The air around you shimmered with heat, distorting your vision and adding to the surreal sensation of falling through space. Tears appeared in your eyes but you couldn’t tell if that was because of the pain you could feel or the wind biting against you.

Despite the intense heat and the overwhelming sense of impending doom, there was also a strange beauty to the experience. The fiery trail you left behind painted a mesmerizing picture against the night sky, a fleeting spectacle that few that resided on this planet would ever witness. The sight of the planet from so far above reminded you just how the Almighty had made it: some land, but mostly water. As you fell, you recalled the horrors of the deep, the mammals with sharp teeth and stomachs bigger than your entire body. In that moment, for the first time in a while, you prayed to Him. You begged Him over and over to guide your body to land. You were an angel, you were likely to survive the fall despite the pain you were about to endure, and your weakened state couldn’t handle a battle with a sea creature that only wanted you for lunch.

Hurtling towards the ground, the last thing you remembered thinking was, this is how hellfire must feel. And that was when the world went dark.

*

“Clearly … happened … Sister.”

As you slowly regained consciousness, you became painfully aware of the searing agony coursing through every inch of your body. With your eyes tightly shut, you focused on the sensation of pressure and discomfort, trying to piece together what had happened. Your limbs felt heavy and unresponsive, and sharp pains shot through you with every movement. It was as if your body had been battered and broken, the impact of the fall leaving you bruised and battered beyond recognition. All the bones inside were broken, the bridge of your wings included, and your head throbbed beyond belief, as though you had a thousand hammers raging war against your skull.

Despite the overwhelming pain, a sense of relief washed over you as you realized that you were still alive. The thought of having survived such a catastrophic event filled you with a mixture of gratitude and disbelief. Despite everything, He had heard your prayers and allowed you to touch ground - or perhaps this was the worst outcome… perhaps He wished for your pain as penance for your disobedience. Regardless, you would heal and be well, and then you could begin to live with the mortals and hide from Michael and his wrath. You were safe here… you were sure of it.

“… working … heard … looking … angel …”

The voice was registering with you now that you were regaining your cognitive abilities after the crash. Your brain was working over time to translate his words, though, leaving you slightly confused as this was phrasing you’d not heard before. You muttered something, your words coming out in Hebrew and silencing the man.

“What … ?” He asked, speaking some more but the rest of his words sounding fuzzy.

You tried again in Hebrew, but when that proved unyielding, you switched to Arabic.

“… know …?”

With great effort, you forced your eyes open, blinking away tears. Taking in your surroundings, you saw that you were lying amidst a pile of rubble, surrounded by the charred remnants of your fiery descent. You sat up a little, beholding the scene around you that was surreal and unsettling. The ground beneath you was scorched and blackened, a stark contrast to the surrounding, luscious, green landscape. The crater itself was a testament to the sheer force of your impact, a deep indentation in the Earth’s surface that stretched out before you in an almost perfect circle. The air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke and charred debris, making it difficult to breathe. The heat radiating from the ground beneath you was intense, searing your skin and making you sweat profusely despite the chill of the night air.

Looking around, you could see the devastation wrought by your fall. Trees lay shattered and splintered, their branches twisted and blackened by the flames. Rocks and debris littered the ground, scattered in all directions by the force of the impact. On the edge of the crater, the man you heard stood, staring at you in disbelief.

He wore robes; a symphony of rich, deep crimson, a colour that seemed to capture the essence of devotion and authority. Crafted from the finest silk, the fabric cascaded in graceful folds, accentuating the dignified stature of the wearer. Each stitch, meticulously placed, whispered of skilled hands that had laboured to create a garment befitting its esteemed purpose.

The robe’s skirt, adorned with intricate gold and black embroidery, depicted sacred symbols and religious motifs that told tales of faith and tradition - resembling the cross that Yeshua died upon, but placed upside-down. The golden threads shimmered in the ambient light, casting a subtle glow that highlighted the reverence with which the garment had been crafted.

A matching red sash, elegantly tied across the man’s chubby waist hid the many buttons that ran the length of the garment. Its edges, crisply pressed and perfectly straight to show his precision and need to look as clean as possible.

The man’s sleeves, were straight, yet too long for him, as was the rest of his attire. As tidy as these lines were, as much care went into keeping it pristine, it was far too big for him like it had been handed to him from someone else that used to wear it perfectly. The cuffs ended midway down his palms, which, themselves, were hidden beneath leather, black gloves.

One hand was up to his ear, holding something to it and speaking in a tongue you couldn’t understand. Your eyes travelled over his face, his white skin dimmed by the light of the moon, but mismatched eyes shining brightly beneath black paint around his eyes. One was the colour of ice, the other was the colour of the trees. You’d never seen such a thing before in all of God’s creations. A moustache of mouse-brown sat above his top lip, which also had been painted black. As he spoke, you looked at his teeth, perfectly white but canines sharper than most mortal’s dental structures. You had heard of such a thing - rumours spreading amongst the Israelites as they told each other stories in the dark of the night - abominations so foul they ate people, consuming the blood from their bodies and ending their lives in a moment’s notice, hiding in the shadows of the night as the sun would kill them. You’d reported back to Gabriel, who’d confirmed these abominations were the work of Lucifer, an archangel who had fallen many eons ago and had renamed himself to Satan. Your eyes had fallen upon a vampyre, and as your eyes roamed over the rest of his body, you saw your halo clutched in his left hand, pressed between his fingers firmly as though you may make a grab for it at any moment.

You made an attempt to back away from the monster, but the bones in your body were still healing - taking longer now that your halo was in the hands of another and not atop your head as it ought to have been. You took in your surroundings a little more, brain power restoring to maximum as you realised he must be of the ancient Romans, the very same people who had killed Yeshua.

“I pray thee, do not harm me,” you said, your tongue switching to Latin. This got the man to stop again and look at you.

“You’ve hurt yourself enough without me getting involved, haven’t you, Angel?” he asked, responding in Latin back to you. His tone was unsettling, confident and dark. The glint in his eyes mimicked this. “… Latin.” The switch in language made you realise he wasn’t talking to you, but an invisible person in your midst.

“What tongue dost thou speak?”

“You’re a servant of the Betrayer and you don’t know my language?” he laughed, then spoke again to the invisible one. His hand moved from his ear and you saw light coming from his hand - expecting pain from Hell, you flinched. When the pain didn’t come, you heard him again. “It’s just a phone,” he explained, making a mockery of you. “I thought everyone up there knew what was going on down here.”

You sighed, “I have not visited in a while.”

“Oh really? When was the last time you were down here, then?”

“I am not compelled to divulge aught to thee, foul creature!” your voice was laced with disdain as you looked at him, fangs exposed as he grinned at you. He took a step towards the crater, and you tried to move back, howling in pain as you did so and earning another laugh from him.

“Then I’m not compelled to help you get your bearings.”

You stopped for a moment and thought - more knowledge would be useful at this stage. And keeping him talking would buy you some healing time and strengthen to get your halo then run again. “I beheld the passing of Yeshua - and that was mine ultimate moment in this earthly realm.”

The vampyre hissed at Yeshua’s name, almost as if he was in pain just hearing the name of the Holy Son. He straightened himself up and then took a seat on the edge of the crater. “That was two-thousand years ago, Angel. A lot’s changed since then.”

“What other tongue didst thou employ just now?”

“It’s called English. A mixture of Latin, Greek and German.”

A Germanic influence - you wondered why you were only picking up the Latin words at first. You were only prepared with the languages spoke around the time of Yeshua, meaning anything new that had been developed since was completely lost to your ears. Now that you knew the main languages, you commanded, “Speaketh once more in the English tongue.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” He replied, but he did so in English.

“I comprehend thy words now. I give thee thanks.”

He scoffed. “That was fast.”

“‘Tis a… gift… from the Almighty.”

He looked at you in disgust.

You felt your body had healed enough for the pain to mostly subside, allowing you to fight your way to your feet. Your wings were still shattered, however, making you feel like a broken bird, vulnerable and weak in the eyes of her prey. The vampyre was preying on you, after all. “I express gratitude for the knowledge shared, yet I must make haste on my journey. I shall reclaim my halo and depart henceforth.” You held out your hand, silently praying that he’d be courteous and return your halo to you.

He looked at your hand and then at you. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” He stood from his seat and took a step towards you, watching you flinch as you stepped back. “The son of the Dark One has an angel in his grasp - what makes you think you’re going anywhere, hm?” He was moving towards you at an alarming rate, rendering your body useless against his speed. He gripped hold of your arm, tightly trapping you beneath his gloved fingers. You struggled against him, pulling back as hard as you could but failing, your body still not strong enough. “The way you fell makes me think you came here without permission, right? Which means, we have a lot to talk about.”

“Release me.”

“Or what?”

“I shall slay thee.”

He simply laughed, before turning to a person who was walking towards you, emerging from the darkness. She was a woman, visibly older than the vampyre and a little chunkier, too. She had long, blonde hair and looked more human than monster, though, you came to quickly realise she was a monster like him, and when she spoke, she did so in English. “The Unholy Father blessed us with a gift tonight,” she commented through a smile.

“What do we do with her now, Sister?” the vampyre asked, English rolling off his tongue easier than the Latin he spoke to you in.

The woman entered the crater and grabbed hold of your chin, looking at your body in one, fell swoop before making her decision. “Take her to the basements and strap her up - we have a lot of questions to ask about her home, don’t we, little angel?”

“Unhand me!” you yelled, struggling against both of their grasps.

The woman gripped onto your wrists and tied a metal chain around them - the metal burned against your skin as you fought against her, the pain getting worse and worse until you were forced to still. “Forged with hellfire,” she explained, “you’re not getting out of that easily.”

The vampyre dragged you across the grass and into a building, smelling old and of incense. You could tell that the building techniques were similar to the Babylonian buildings, but with Roman Corinthian architecture thrown in. There were also elements to this structure that you hadn’t seen before, and was only paying attention to because you needed to escape.

The vampyre pulled you down some steps, travelling further and further below ground as though he were walking you to Hell, until you finally stopped at a door. The room he threw you into was cold and dark, and it smelled almost exclusively of damp. In the centre of the room was a table, propped up on wood and resembling a crucifix. You were strapped onto it, similarly to the Messiah, except your device was made exclusively of hellfire-forged metal, making your entire body tingle with pain. You fought against him all the while, trying your best to escape, but all your efforts proved to be in vain. Once the woman entered the room, the torture truly began.

They both asked you things, questions about Heaven and the Almighty’s plan that you couldn’t answer even if you wanted to. When they were met with answers they didn’t like, they would reopen wounds that had healed and damage your body in ways that were unimaginable once upon a time. Feathers were plucked from your wings to start with, following cuts to your skin, slaps, and then short bursts of hellfire that rose from the ground. But you remained silent throughout, save for your screams of agony.

Eventually, they grew tired, and as the vampyre left, he looked at you and smirked. “We all have eternity, Angel. You’ll be here for the rest of it if you don’t cooperate.” He winked at you. “See you tomorrow.”

The door to the room closed behind them, slamming shut with an echo that reverberated throughout your entire being. Your halo sat on the other side of the room, resting on a table and taunting you. You could hear it crying out for you and your body begging for it. If you wore it, you’d heal in no time and regain all of your strength. But just being in its presence meant it would take longer. You were never without your halo and your holy light, but you’d seen what had happened to angels who were. Fearing that this was to be your fate, you wondered if it would have served you better to be caught by Michael and thrown to the void. Or perhaps you should have just continued on in blind faith of the Almighty, doing His bidding despite your heart breaking each time.

Strapped to Hell’s crucifix, all you could do was think of all the regrets you had, and beg into the darkness that He would show you mercy and allow you to come home. Or die quickly.

Prev. ⛧ Next

[shysuccubusstuff]

day 20: Corruption kink + Corruption kink+ Virgin! Couple + Praise kink + (slight) Face fucking + Squirting + Exhibitionism + Praising – Foreseer! Zayne

Content: Religious topics (This is heavily influenced by what I know about the Catholic church (like how the ceremonies work and stuff) but they are not related, as this is only focused on Astra as God. Just to let you all know.) + Corruption kink + Virgin! Zayne + Face fucking + Foul language + Praising + Exhibitionism – Foreseer! Zayne. Non proof-reader.

Summary: Just Foreseer! Zayne but instead of being isolated and being a demigod, he is the head of the Church who worships Astra.

Word count: 2390 words.

Note: Can you imagine I finished all my essays less than a week ago and I already have a lot of stuff to do? So sad… Btw, I just love pretty men crying with their puffy lips and slightly reddened eyes, specially when the reason is that they love too much a certain person.

You had been going to the same church for several months, always one of the first who arrived, with your sweet smile as you helped the elders to climb the stairs to get to the church. You sometimes even actively participated in the mass, reading the fragments of what was said about Astra with your soft voice resonating all around the believers.

It all went downhill when you finally met the head of the Church.

A young man with black hair and green eyes, quite tall, slim, with slender hands a cold exterior. He always seemed busy, either by preparing the ceremony or by helping different activities promoted by the church. He was always kind with the rest of believers, but you always felt as if something was always between him and the rest of the believers. That’s why you tried to approach him; Didn’t he feel lonely? Always rushing around the corridors with his robe fluttering behind him, his hands completely filled with many heavy books as he looked exhausted.

So, one night, you decided to go to the church alone in order to confess. You knew that he would be inside the confessional as the old ladies had been gossiping about “a deep and rich voiced priest”. You held your breath before entering inside, pressing the small medal that you always held close to you. The church was completely silent as you entered, your steps resonating all around the empty hall. You sat down inside the small cubicle, your voice trembled as you tried to speak:

“I… I want to become someone close to you, Foreseer.” Your voice left you as a small whisper, barely audible even for the man that was next door. The silence was all that answered… You waited a few minutes, your heart pounding like crazy inside your chest making you feel way too conscious. “…Foreseer?” The man audible gasped, coughing for a moment before finally answering.

“What do you mean by that, dear one?” He tried to keep his cold exterior as his heart began to race.

“I mean I want to become friends, being friends is more than enough. I… I feel that you are always alone, and if I could grant you even a single moment of comfort, that would be enough for me.” Zayne’s face flushed, his mouth attempting to form the most charming smile you would ever be able to see.

“I do not think that this is the place nor the time to say something like that, I hope you are aware of my position, as well as my responsibilities to the Church.” Zayne got up, just about to leave the confessionary, but your warm hand stopped him on his tracks.

“Please! I know I may be acting as a child, but I truly desire the happiness of all of the members, that includes you, Foreseer. I just can’t turn my head and pretend that everyone is doing fine when I always see you exhausted around the church! You may think that you’re being sneaky, but I have seen your eyebags as you give the sermon. Please, just---” Zayne got free of your grip, leaving the cubicle in a rush, and just as you were about to leave, his hand pulled you out. What you encountered was not what you expected. It was Zayne, but he looked so different. His face was slightly flushed, with warm tears running down his cheeks. You looked at him completely baffled, did you hurt him that much? Your hands run to his face, not caring about the great difference between your status, you wiped his tears with your sleeves, but this just caused him to cry even more.

“Do you even know what you are doing? Since you started to come here, everything in my life is going wrong. Astra has been acting completely spoiled, always giving me even greater tasks while reducing the time I have to do it, my brothers have suddenly been sent to different churches, my… my head is unable to focus, even my chest has been strange, and all of this started since you came here with your pretty face, and that cute smile and with your kindness and---” Zayne stopped himself before feeling even more embarrassed, his hands trembling as he got his hand closer to yours. “Were you sent by Astra to tempt me?...” His eyes were crystallised, his nose slightly red as he tried to stop himself from crying.

“Zayne! What’s wrong? Did I hurt you that much with my selfish request?” You took his hand, embracing him as his whole body trembled.

“I’ve been trying… I even avoided you after the mass, I just couldn't, I kept thinking about you all the time, even while I kept myself secluded inside that cold room, a single thought about you was enough to set my heart ablaze. I can’t keep on denying it, please, I need you, I will do whatever for you to accept this impure me. Just---” Zayne’s knees fell to the ground, warm tears falling down his cheeks while his hands kept grabbing yours.

“Zayne, please look at me.” You took his face with both of your hands, moving his head so he could look at you. “I love you, you are not impure, you are simply a human being, it is impossible for us to live without feeling anything at all. You don’t have to punish yourself by secluding yourself, I’m sure Astra would never want that.” You kissed his forehead, as he buried his face against your stomach.

“I love you… I love you so much… I love your smile when you help others, I love the fact that you come here every single week to pray and help me with all the children… I love you.” Zayne got up, taking your face between his cold hands and kissing you, a single and cast kiss, just enough for him to deliver his true feelings for you. Suddenly, his kisses started to get faster, leaving little to no time for you to breath.

“Zayne… We shouldn’t---”

“I’ve been restraining myself for far too long… Please.” You leaned your hands on Zayne’s chest, allowing him to keep on kissing your lips. His breath soon quickened, his face blushing till the tip of his ears. Zayne was about to speak when you suddenly heard the heavy door of the church being opened, rushing, you pushed Zayne back into the small confessionary, covering his mouth as you tried to keep as still as possible.

“Dear father? I came for guidance regards a certain topic…” The voice of a man echoed around the four walls, his steps moving closer towards the confessionary. Zayne took your hand off his mouth, whispering for you to let him do his duty.

“Enter the confessionary, dear one.” His voice went back to his usual tone, almost fooling you if it wasn’t because of the hard feeling that kept rubbing against  your  stomach.

“I fear I may have committed a grave sin… These past weeks I have become quite infatuated with a certain sister… She is always so kind with all of us that I can’t help but be charmed by her…” The man that entered kept rambling about that great woman inside the community, suddenly, a bold idea struck you. With great care, you moved the heavy clothing concealing Zayne’s body, not stopping even if Zayne darted you a hard glance and his hands took yours.

“What are you doing…? Be careful with those sinful hands---” His sentence was cut short, as your hands crawled over his stomach, gradually making your way into his undergarments. Zayne coughed, his body tensing as he tried to keep his mouth completely shut.

“Are you ok, father? Do you need---?”

“No need, you can proceed, I am listening.” Zayne’s hands pushed you down, trying to keep you still. Of course, that would not work for him, as you lost no time, taking his length out of his underwear and starting to kiss the tip of his length. His breath quickened, as his hands clasped your head, trying his best not to push your head to take his full length.

The man’s blabbering kept on going as you slowly took most of Zayne’s member, using one of your hands to masturbate what was left out. You used your tongue to play with his tip, while changing the force of your sucking.

“So, I believe I have explained to you the whole situation, what do you think I should do, father?” Zayne opened his eyes, his jaw clenching as he cursed under his breath as his grip on your hair strengthened.

“I… I would advise you to avoid her, after all, she does not seem as interested in you. Nevertheless, do not lose confidence, as you will find your chosen one without failure.” The man thanked him, leaving the cubicle and closing the door of the church for the night.

“Did you have fun?” Zayne looked down at you, his brows slightly furrowed. “Well, you are probably far too busy to answer.” Zayne grabbed your head, suddenly pushing it against his stomach, forcing his whole length inside your mouth. You gagged as a few tears formed in your eyes, your mouth suddenly being filled to the brim, forcing you to try your best not to choke on his heavy load. “Oh… you did so good, dear. It is now my turn to satisfy you, am I wrong?” Zayne clothed himself, then lifting you in a bridal style and letting you sit on the central table in the church.

“Zayne! Wait, this is a sacred---” Zayne cut you down, smiling as he spoke with a playful tone.

“Oh, sure a confessionary is not, right?”  Your face flushed, allowing him to spread your legs open as he kneeled down, his face getting closer and his lips leaving soft kisses against your panties. His hands kept rubbing the inner part of your thigs while his mouth started to make a slow trace towards your clit, giving it a few licks before moving away, his hands finally getting rid of your pantyhose together with your underwear, tossing them to one of the chairs close to it.

“Let me pleasure you, my love.” Zayne kneeled again, moving your whole body closer to the edge, his warm breath hitting against your entrance. His tongue started to lick all over your lower half, the pace being painfully slow, not rushing even as your fingers pulled slightly from his hair, giving you a warning look before going back to his own duty. Your legs twitched a bit as Zayne’s tongue kept torturing your poor clit, but this had only started, as his mouth suddenly started to suck on your clit, making your eyes roll back and your legs clasp against his head.

“Wait! I… I feel really weird right now Zayne, maybe we should stop before---” Zayne sucked harder on your clit, making you bite your hand as a poor attempt of keeping your mouth shut.

“Just let me pay your act of kindness, then I will let you go, understood?” His voiced sounded demanding, so you complied, allowing him to make a mess out of you. His tongue went back to that special place, warming you up again by making simple motions with his tongue, then starting to suck on your clit again.

As you slowly got used to the immense pleasure, one of his hands made his way to your entrance, one of his digits slowly entering yourself. At the same time, his other hand started to create a bit of pressure on your lower stomach as his fingertip kept rubbing against your G-spot.

“Zayne, Zayne, I can’t do it anymore, I feel really weird...!” Instead of slowing down, Zayne’s movements only hastened causing that knot in your lower half to finally break. Before you were able to think, some warm and clear liquid were expelled as you reached your first orgasm. You felt completely ashamed, trying your best to get Zayne’s hands away so you could try and make a run for it. This did not work, as he quickly comforted you.

“Dear, that is not what you think it is, calm down.” He kissed your forehead, while his clean hand caressed your hair. “It’s ok, my love. I should have warned you about this type of thing, I focused too much on pleasuring you, I do apologise. Have I angered you?” He looked at you like a kicked puppy, his head resting on your lap as if trying to make himself look smaller.

“How… how did you even know about this? Aren’t you supposed to be pure?”

“Despite what one might think, our religion does not forbid this type of… physical encounter, as long as we do plan on sharing a romantic bond.” He started to kiss your stomach, peppering it with kisses and suddenly lifting you up. “I shall prepare a bath for the both of us, there is no need to rush our current relationship.” He kissed your forehead once again before taking you his private place, letting you catch a glimpse of the extremely cared garden filled with jasmine flowers. He walked until he reached a wooden door, opening it and letting you sit on his bed. “Give me a second.” You could hear the water running as he filled the bathtub, your mind slowly drifting to sleep as you felt completely relaxed on his company.

[gothamnewsnetwork-official]

Bernard Dowd cheating on Timothy Drake-Wayne and Astra Jordan-Queen with Red Robin?

https://www.tumblr.com/actuallyredrobin/759452099200303104/hi-im-just-here-to-say-im-a-big-fan-of-yours-and?source=share

Just look at the tags, this has happened more than once. and the reblogs..

Trouble in Paradise; Wayne’s finally in their breakup era?

Tonight we bring you not, but two stories of failed romances in the Wayne Family. Our first story up being the potential cheating occurring in the relationships of Wayne Enterprises (see related articles) newest (and youngest) CEO.

Earlier yesterday evening we were made aware of yet another potential scandal in the Wayne family’s love lives; the third Wayne son and current CEO of Wayne Enterprises, Timothy Drake-Wayne ( @timblrdrake ) (see related articles), may be getting cheated on.

The alleged cheater, Bernard Down ( @officialbernarddowd ) (see related articles), has been accused of two-timing both Mr. Drake-Wayne and their partner, Astra Hal-El ( @totally-not-soupernova ) (see related articles), with none other than one of our beloved city’s very own vigilantes.

Who is this masked home wrecker? None other than Red Robin ( @actuallyredrobin ) (see related articles), himself.

The alleged affair between Mr. Dowd and Red Robin has been going on for several weeks now, the earliest mention of it that we were able to find dating back to July this year.

This, however, is not unexpected given Mr. Dowd’s penchant for saying one thing yet doing another. The most recent example of this being his dramatic turn from priesthood in the Children of Dionysus (see related articles) to moonlighting as a Talon (see related articles) for the Court of Owls ( @court--of--owls ) (see related articles), seemingly without either parties prior knowledge.

Though Red Robin is adamantly denying this connection, Mr. Dowd has been unable to comment, neither have either of his partners, Mr. Drake-Wayne and Ms. Hal-El. We only hope that the young throuple are able to resolve this as soon as possible.

Our second story tonight comes from Mr. Bruce Thomas Wayne ( @officialbruciewayne ) (see related articles) himself, and his alleged split with this on-again off-again partner; Selina Kyle ( @selinakyl-ee ) (see related articles).

Their relationship has been known for many years, though when asked neither Mr. Wayne or Ms. Kyle could pinpoint an exact date, not even remembering at what time they met.

This however, is not the focus of our story. As of only a few days ago, the two have been rumoured to have called it quits. The split is, to the public, relatively sudden given their amicability whenever seen in public or asked of one another (see related articles). We sent an intern to interview Mr. Wayne on the matter, his response was greatly illuminating.

When asked on the nature of the split, Mr. Wayne stressed the fact that the breakup was mutual and that the two are still close. That being said he also found it prudent to mention that it was no fault of Ms. Kyle’s, stating directly -

“ It ended because she deserved more than I had to offer. ”

This comes after many a rumour that Mr. Wayne may be on the aromantic (see related articles) and/or asexual spectrum (see related articles). When asked, he responded that these were untrue, citing is many public relationships with both men and women (see related posts) as a counter.

Unfortunately, this rabbit hole of attempting to figure out the meaning of Mr. Wayne’s words has gotten us nothing but speculation, theories ranging from the tame to the ludicrous and bizarre (see related articles).

As all eyes are on the Wayne’s, we urge all readers to consider tuning in to the live broadcast of the Charity Gala being hosted by the family at the end of this month and consider donating to one of the many causes that will be presented, such as the Thomas and Martha Wayne Foundation where you can donate via website or at their email (donations@thomasmarthawaynefoundation.com).

Let us know your thoughts on the topic (here)

Gotham Reports is certified in unbiased, reliable, and fair journalism.

[kykyonthemoon]

Limerence

(noun) — a mental state of profound romantic infatuation, deep obsession, and fantastical longing

⋆˚✿˖° This chapter is a part of a mini-series of dark fairy tales and romance sets in another universe. It consists of three chapters, each with a Male Lead and is separated from one another.

⋆˚✿˖° Character x Reader/MC, from another (OC's) point of view. Reader/MC's pronounce is "she/her/hers".

⋆˚✿˖° Warnings & tags: 16+, MDNI, angst, hurt, thriller, emotional and mind control, manipulation, obsession, unrequited love, major character death, dark fantasy, dark fairy tale, sci-fi theme, m.urder, serial killer, imprisonment, abusive, reference to drugs.

⋆˚✿˖° Detective Cooper is my OC.

⋆˚✿˖° Read more chapters:

✦ Rafayel's ✦ Xavier's

⋆˚✿˖° Masterlist

Chapter: The Goddess — in which he heals and kills for her

⋆˚✿˖° Word count: 4k3

Each white snowflake descended gently to the earth, resting on Detective Cooper's black revolver, which was frozen in the air. The crystal barricade in front of him fractured and dissolved. The ice on his palm eventually melted into frozen droplets of water, allowing him to move again. With a very slow movement, he lowered the gun.

From a distance, sirens sounded. He stared at the city of Linkon on the horizon, which appeared like shimmering stars in the black night. An aircraft had just been dispatched and was flashing its light into the garden, revealing all of the secrets kept hidden for so long.

Cooper narrowed his gaze. He glanced up to the middle of the garden full of jasmine blooms, where there was a shelter made of marble and wood. In the center of that place, on a daybed an ice sculpture of a female in a reclining posture. Prostrating next to her was another figure who had not yet entirely frozen; his head rested on the daybed, and his icy hand held the sculpture's.

Detective Cooper took a deep breath. The cool breeze carried an almost faint aroma of jasmine. He turned and walked away, leaving the tragedy where it had started.

It seemed like just yesterday when Detective Cooper met Zayne for the first time.

The young doctor left the first impression on Cooper as a perfect combination of mechanics and biology. A cyborg. Zayne was a product of ASTRA, the world's foremost technology corporation dedicated to developing robots with human bodies, living like humans, and, of course, exceeding humans in numerous aspects.

That was such a problem with cyborgs. They were too sophisticated, too knowledgeable, and too competent. They overwhelmed real humans, even Cooper. This was how it felt to work with Zayne.

Thanks to the doctor's help, Cooper quickly solved the case. And even though he did not like working with cyborgs, he had to admit that Zayne's presence was necessary for his career. Through repeated contacts, the ice wall surrounding him melted over time. And Zayne, a cyborg, gradually revealed more of his human side.

As for Cooper, he had long considered Zayne a partner. But an occurrence five years ago transformed the doctor into an entirely different person. A cyborg that showed no emotion, as he used to be.

Cooper recalled a tragic accident that occurred in Linkon's suburbs that year. On the way back from her vacation, the little princess of the ASTRA empire was viciously attacked by Wanderers. Upon hearing the news, Cooper hurried there immediately. Yet all he saw were the Wanderers' bodies rapidly dissolving in the snow, blood spraying all over the place, covering Zayne's wide back as he turned away, the dying girl in his arms. That was the last time Cooper interacted with him.

It was not until five years later that Cooper set foot back in Dr. Zayne's office.

It was a late night. The streets were deserted, with flickering neon lights obscuring the sanitation robots. The city slept, but Akso Hospital remained awake as always. Detective Cooper sat alone in the office, waiting. Few hours later, the door opened and Zayne walked inside with perfectly synchronized steps.

“Long time no see, Doctor Zayne.”

Zayne nodded to the detective before returning to his seat behind the desk. He was still wearing his surgical attire, which was concealed by a white blouse. His spectacles were pushed up on the bridge of his nose, and his forehead was still beading with sweat.

"I trust that the surgery was successful?"

"Yes." Zayne replied briefly. Surely he knew what Cooper came here for. “My apologies for making you wait so long.”

"No problem." Cooper settled into the chair across from Zayne on the opposite side of the desk. The doctor remained the same, impeccable as the first time they met. Only Cooper had begun to feel old age creeping up on him, even though he was only nearly forty.

“Saving lives is the most important,” Cooper added. “That's what you were created to do.”

Zayne gave no response, just gazed at him.

“All right, no more rambling. I really need your help, Doctor Zayne.”

"I'm ready to help." Zayne expressed the same thing whenever they worked together. Cooper provided a quick summary of the matter he was investigating. It was a missing case. Many, to be precise. He had enough evidence to assume that the most recent incident was linked to cases that had occurred many years ago.

Cooper placed on the desk photos of the girl who had been missing for nearly half a year. Zayne paid great attention to them while listening to the detective's clarification, which included details about previous cases.

“The victims were young women between the ages of twenty-five and thirty. Their appearance has many similarities. And above all, they are all patients or have been treated at Akso Hospital.”

Silence fell on Doctor Zayne's extremely organized and clean office, furnished in a minimalist and modern manner with a black and white color scheme. A moment later, he said:

“I recognize a few faces here. They were my patients. Others belong to departments that I do not supervise.”

Cooper nodded, but seemed disappointed since he had anticipated Zayne to add something he did not know.

Their conversation went on for a little longer, yet it led them nowhere. Although Zayne gave valuable information regarding each victim's itinerary while at Akso Hospital, including who they might meet during that time, (Cooper was secretly grateful for a cyborg's superior abilities!), the investigation remained deadlocked. All victims vanished after being discharged from the hospital without any further contact.

The clock struck three in the morning, Cooper's thoughts became clouded with exhaustion, rendering him unable to think. He needed to alter the subject.

“It's been a while since we talked like this. You know, about the cases or other things in our lives.”

His response was the consistent, precise sound of Zayne typing on the keyboard.

"This feeling doesn't change either!" Cooper said with a laugh. At that point, his gaze was drawn to the corner of Zayne's desk, where there was a photograph of him and the heiress of the ASTRA corporation - the one who had given him life.

"How is she?"

Zayne's fingers, which were racing across the keyboard, came to a halt. Something shifted in his eyes for only a fraction of a second. Then he returned to his former state.

“She is well. Thank you for your regards.”

The young lady in the photo was smiling and clutching a bouquet of flowers while standing close to Zayne. She was so beautiful and talented. Yet since that accident, she had entirely concealed herself in an isolated place distant from Linkon City. She refused to appear in public, nor did she welcome guests to her mansion. She only kept one cyborg with her, and that was Zayne.

"That accident was truly horrifying for her…" Cooper recalled. Among the clicking sounds from Zayne's desk, he knew that the doctor was still listening. "I couldn't believe anybody could make it through something like that. But she recovered. It was you who saved her life.”

Zayne came to a complete halt. He leaned back slightly and examined the neatly framed photograph. It had been on his desk for the past ten years, ever since he began his employment at the hospital.

"I just did my job." He responded. After that, the room went silent again.

Cooper mused. Nobody knew how Doctor Zayne saved the life of that woman, whom he dubbed Goddess since she was his Creator. He did not take her to Akso Hospital, but instead returned to her residence, which was equipped with advanced medical technology and facilities. The news that she had been saved became a miracle, and everyone appreciated Dr. Zayne's hands even more.

"Sometimes I miss her energy." Cooper said out, breaking the stillness. "When she found out you were helping me investigate a few cases, she was so excited and asked to join. Although, I must confess, she was quite skilled at messing up clues, and it was you who had to assist me sort it out. Haha!"

Cooper was irritated when he merely received a nod from Zayne. The doctor would spend hours talking about his Goddess, only when Cooper knew how to initiate the conversation. But now it seemed that whenever someone mentioned her, he said as little as possible. Was he also adopting her secluded lifestyle after the accident?

When it was too late, Detective Cooper had to bid his former partner goodbye. Before departing, he made it obvious that he wanted to see Zayne's Goddess again. But the doctor only gazed at him deeply, without a response.

Zayne drove home at dawn. As a cyborg, he did not require as much sleep as a human, yet severe sleep was at times necessary. Still, he had been unable to sleep peacefully since the event occurred. Every time he closed his eyes, the only thing he dreamed of was her body lying in a pool of blood.

He saved her. He must believe it. However, she was no longer the same person she had been before the accident.

The enormous gate opened after scanning Zayne's face. Their home was set on a snowy mountain, with thick layers of bulletproof glass surrounding it. Most of the building was constructed of stone and wood, giving people a sense of modernism and classicism. One side faced the mountain and woodlands, while the other faced the sea and Linkon City. There was also a jasmine garden where Zayne spent hours with The Goddess while she rested there.

He walked through the main entrance made of oak. Greeting him was a woman sleeping soundly on a comfortable sofa in the reading room. He softly raised his feet and crouched down next to her.

His rough, scarred hands lifted her hair, revealing a familiar, pretty face. It was the very first face he saw when he opened his eyes, although now it had been somewhat altered by the passage of time. His touch awakened her. She got up.

“Zayne?” She called, and he reached out a hand to take hers.

Zayne helped her sit up straight. Lately, she had been losing weight, her body was constantly cold and she did sleep a lot.

“Why don't you go into the bedroom?” He asked.

“I'm… sorry…” She murmured. “I was just a little tired and fell asleep without knowing…”

Zayne frowned. Even a simple expression like that made her shudder. She held his hand so tightly, apologized.

“I didn't mean it… I know you told me to always go to the bedroom to stay warm… But…”

"Hush." Zayne placed a finger on the corner of her mouth, keeping her mute. “Lately, you often don't do what I say anymore.”

Her body quivered slightly. Her hands clenched on the sofa underneath. She dared not say a word if Zayne forbade her so. He continued to scold her:

“You don't sleep in the proper place. You don't take enough medications. And you met someone you shouldn't have met."

She shook her head aggressively. She muttered: "N-No... that's not true..."

“Have I allowed you to speak?”

Zayne's expression was melancholy as he stared at her. He was kneeling on one knee on the floor, but his physique still dominated hers, and his powerful voice made her shiver even more.

"You already know your punishment for disobeying orders." Zayne spoke again. He reached out to wipe away the hot tears streaming down her cheeks. "There you go again. The Goddess does not cry."

Zayne instantly stood up. Still with that cold gaze, he looked down at her. With trembling hands, she reached to him and pleaded: 

"Please..." Don't…"

"What's the matter?" His stern voice reverberated throughout the room. "Don't you want to become The Goddess you once were?"

“I… want to… But… I'm scared… Please, Zayne…”

She begged, but to no avail. Zayne did not respond. He approached the door, while she stood up and stumbled behind him.

Many hours later, well past noon, Zayne carried her back to the bedroom. She was freezing and shivering still. Cold sweat erupted all over her body. Yet in that semi-conscious state, she remembered something significant.

She recalled dancing with Zayne, in a garden filled with jasmine blossoms. She was still young at the time, and he was only a little older than her. When did he become such a heartless cyborg toward her? Was it because she forgot who she was and that angered him?

Who was she? There were some faint recollections that surfaced. She was the heir to a technology empire. She was a properly trained hunter. She was a schoolteacher. She was a painter. She was a mechanic. She was a scientist... In all of those scenarios, she had always been a girl with a fragile heart.

And just like that, in all her dreams there was Zayne. Whoever he said she was, she was precisely that person. He intended her to become The Goddess, she would be The Goddess for him. She desired to be the person Zayne worshiped. The only person he held dearly.

But why did he treat her that way? He confined her in a freezing cellar. He injected her with hallucinogens. He left her half-dead. And he solely stopped when she was almost unable to tolerate it anymore.

She heard Zayne's footsteps entering the room. The edge of the bed declined as he sat next to her. His cool fingers brushed her hair again.

"Get some sleep. You will feel better when you wake up."

Was it true that she would ever feel better?

The dismal sky indicated an impending hurricane. She cried. But her tears were hidden into the thick cushion. At the moment, she recalled something else.

She waited for Zayne to depart, and as the door closed, she searched under her headrest and took out an old phone.

She could not clearly recall the origin of this phone, yet it recognized her face. She had found it in the old archive of the mansion, some time after the third time she endured Zayne's punishment. Perhaps since that day, she had planned to leave this place.

She rummaged through the pocket of her nightgown for a business card. On it written a name: Detective Cooper.

Detective Cooper's investigation hit a dead end. The only clue he had turned out to be untrustworthy, due to her incoherent state.

He had traveled to that mansion to find The Goddess. She was still as beautiful as he remembered, only the bright smile and virgo he had seen in her were now lost.

She vaguely recalled their acquaintance; everything else was as blurred as the mist that covered the residence. He had anticipated her to provide more valuable clues to the case, but after the encounter, he had to reconsider his entire conclusion.

The first missing cases occurred five years ago. There had been twelve equivalent cases thus far. Despite the differences in their occupations, hometowns, and nationalities, the victims were all about the same age. They had identical physique shapes and even similar appearances. They all resembled a single individual. The Goddess.

For Detective Cooper, there was no such thing as a coincidence. His visit to Akso Hospital that day was mostly to determine Zayne's reaction. However, the doctor made no mention of the fact that the missing ladies all had something in common with the person he regarded most highly, which made Cooper suspicious. He came to see her knowing Zayne was not home at the time. With his instincts, he felt she was somehow tied to those disappearances. Perhaps she was the one being targeted after all.

There were still plenty of details that were left unclear. Cooper attempted to connect the dots, but was unable to discover any evidence to support his conclusion. That night, Detective Cooper was stressing out alone in his office when he received an anonymous phone call.

“Detective…” A familiar female voice rang out on the other end of the line. “Save me… Please save me…”

"You are—?…"

“Zayne! He's… gone insane… Please… get me out of here… I don't want to go back… I don't want to go back to that place… AAAARGH!”

A scream sounded out, followed by a sequence of noises, and then a beeping sound. Detective Cooper rushed out of the office at full speed, started the car and headed towards the mansion in the snowy mountains outside Linkon City.

The first time he woke up, Zayne was in the jasmine garden. Standing before him was a delicate face with a gentle smile.

“It is my honor to serve you, Master.”

He bowed to the lady. The sound of her laughter resonated around the lovely afternoon garden.

"There's no need to call me that."

She was considerably shorter than him, and he tended to lower himself so she would not have difficulties seeking his eyes. When she sat on the daybed, he would be on the floor by her feet. When she fell asleep, he would spend the entire night outside the chamber, guarding her dreams. She would sometimes lay her head on his lap and fall asleep after humming a few songs. Even though she disagreed with him calling her "master," he privately referred to her as his Goddess.

For his life was a gift granted by her. By using technology from the ASTRA corporation, she had created a cyborg, a perfect replica of the childhood friend whom she cherished so much. He possessed that person's appearance, intelligence, talent, and name.

“From now on, you are Zayne.” His Goddess said. “You shall continue his work and live his dreams."

The real Zayne had passed away a long time ago. After being unable to control his Evol, he chose to dissolve himself. Cyborg specialized in the medical field was originally a project of a lifetime that The Goddess and him had collaborated on.

Even though he was only a replacement, cyborg Zayne was delighted to stay with his Goddess. They lived together at a mountain mansion. Every day, she read books, sang, and danced in the garden of jasmine. She taught him everything she knew, evoking deep human emotions in him. He cared for and safeguarded her, while she granted him the grace to walk alongside her everywhere, to keep her company, and watch time impact her gradually while his physique stayed untouched.

His universe revolved around her. She gave him a reason to exist, which was to save lives.

That day, he should have accompanied her. Yet, the duty he was assigned since awakening obliged him to remain at Akso Hospital. He saved someone else's life, but he was unable to save hers.

Her lifeless, bloodied corpse lay on the surgery table. He had tried every method he knew, but her heart no longer beat.

His world crumbled from that day on.

Though, he still had a glimmer of hope. He took her protocore and memories. Her body was preserved by him in ice that never melted. He placed her on the daybed in the shelter, surrounded by a jasmine garden. It was where she often laid down to rest, her eyes always fixed on the metropolis in the distance.

Then, in the darkness, he began his hunt.

The woman with a similar figure was chosen by him from among the patients in the cardiology department at Akso Hospital. He implanted the core and memories of The Goddess into her body. He brainwashed her and through surgery, he transformed her into a version of the Goddess. However, the first experiment proved unsuccessful. She was quick to remember who she was and what he had done to her.

The second person, followed by the third... With each experiment, Zayne learned and improved. However, although the look was easy to replicate, the demeanor was not. Every time a girl said or did something that differed from his Goddess, he deemed her a failure. Then she was made into an ice sculpture in the garden, duplicating every moment of The Goddess he adored.

A sculpture depicting her seated and reading a book. The other portrayed her dancing. Another one featured her cooking meals... Across the garden placed eleven sculptures, all centered on the original essence, the true Goddess.

That night, the twelfth piece would join them.

Zayne raised the woman's chin in a delicate manner. A visage similar to that of a Goddess was staring at him. But he knew it was not her. She would not weep, she would not plead like that. She was quite resilient in taking on everything, including death. Even in the moment when Zayne failed to protect her, still she smiled and said, "You're here."

As for the person who was steadily frozen in that standing posture, she was weeping and begging him to release her. She used to be a scientist. How unfortunate; her brain was almost perfect for receiving all of the Goddess' memories, as well as the prior females' pasts; nevertheless, that was a side impact Zayne did not desire. However, this woman was not obedient at all. She in secret disposed of the medication he had given her and discovered an old but still functional phone in the archive. She intended to run away but Zayne intervened just in time.

"Quiet." He spoke in his usual calm tone, but it sent chills down the woman's spine, literally. Since her body was almost entirely frozen. Zayne added: "Smile. "My Goddess looked nothing like this."

It was always the same; they screamed, they cursed, they pleaded for life. How ugly! None of them were worthy of wearing the face of The Goddess! It was Zayne's hands that adjusted their faces before the freezing procedure was complete. As a result, they all transformed into beautiful ice sculptures at last.

He came closer, carefully extracting the Goddess' protoccore from the false woman's heart and ending her agony.

When Detective Cooper arrived, the mansion's gate was already open. He heard screams in the jasmine garden, followed by a sudden silence. He immediately took out his gun and moved towards it.

He discovered Zayne's collection of ice sculptures in the garden. Twelve sculptures representing varying looks of the same person were coated in a thin layer of ice that was nearly transparent, allowing the faces of those inside to be seen. Zayne was in the center of the place, kneeling close to the daybed. His hand was softly stroking the hand of the woman who was lying down.

"Do not come close." Zayne's words sounded like anguish. Detective Cooper aimed his gun at him and shot.

A layer of ice developed from the ground, forming a crystal fortress between them. Cooper's bullet ended up caught inside.

"Zayne!" Detective Cooper shouted. "Stop it! You will suffer the consequences for your crime!”

"Consequences?" There came an uncanny laugh from the shelter. Zayne gave Cooper a grieving look. "Having to live in a world without her is already a punishment."

Cooper proceeded one step further. The ice spread to his legs and knees before swiftly covering his hands.

"Zayne, what are you doing? This isn't you. This is not what you were made for!"

Zayne's gaze returned to the Goddess, filled with affection. Her face was so calm behind the thin covering of ice. He replied: 

"That's true. She created me to heal people. Yet, I hurt them.

Silence arrived. For a very long moment, there was only the sound of the wind howling.

"I knew you would find out the truth, Detective Cooper." Zayne cracked a smile at him from over the ice wall. "I just hope I have a little more time to create a perfect replica of her."

Cooper, with a portion of his body immobilized, had become a reluctant audience for Zayne's monologue.

"I've tried a variety of ways throughout the last five years. But I've never been successful. I can't replicate my Goddess. And now I know why."

Zayne leant forward slightly. His arm wrapped over her head, cradling her. He muttered:

“For, in this world, she is the only one. Thus even if I searched the entire earth, I wouldn't find her a second time. I have made my own judgment.”

“What are you going to do?” Detective Cooper said impatiently. He had called for reinforcements and they were on their way. This place would be surrounded in just a few short minutes. No one could escape, not even a sophisticated cyborg with the Evol of Ice. However, it appeared that Zayne had no intention of escaping. 

“I disappointed her…” His voice began to tremble. “I could not save her… I murdered others so that I could replace her…”

Therefore, Zayne, himself, was a failed experiment. Everything that failed would be discarded. A fragment of black ice erupted on his chest and penetrated his body.

"Zayne!" Detective Cooper called out. From where he stood, he could see ice sprouting from Zayne's back. It was a torture.

“I do not deserve to see her again in the afterlife, if there is such a place… But if my life must end here… Please let me die… beside her…”

Zayne's words and breathing became stagnant. Detective Cooper attempted to escape, but he discovered that he could only move once the ice Zayne had summoned melted away, just as life was leaving his body.

Zayne shed a tear toward The Goddess as he placed his head close to her. His hand clenched on hers. He whispered one last time before he, himself, sank into the never-ending ice:

“Let me… die… by your side…”

[whiteskullofroses]

STAR OF JERUSALEM

Baldwin Iv x Reader

🕯️Imagine you're a theatre star touring the world. Once you perform on the Holy Land, The king notices your talent and wishes to get to know you.🕯️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"AND ONE AND TWO AND THREE AND Y/N GO!"

And you went. Stepping on the red X drawn upon the stage. Your joyful and youthful face turning into a straight and emotionless one.

"Esto quod es, ex animo, ex Luna."

The scene looked absolutely mesmerising. On the huge wooden floor sat a man-made moon in the phase of waning crescent. Behind you swung stars, the hot weather of Jerusalem making them shimmer and shine as though they were a sheet of a book kissed by candle light.

"Esse est percipi." Clapping sharply and reaching for one of the stars: "ad altiora tendo." Throwing the star on the ground, having it dramatically break apart: "ad astra."

Swirling in your own little world as the strings played a gentle, heart touching melody on the command of the harpist's fingertips.

"Luceo non uro." You sang, breathing steadily and stopping on the centre of the stage again: "nec spe" the music picked up the pace, you dropped to you knees: "nec metu."

"BEAUTIFUL Y/N! BEAUTIFUL!"

You inhaled deeply, for this night wasn't like no other. Rumors roaming around like a vampire at night, that his majesty, Baldwin the fourth will be joining the hopeful crowd of people who share a passion for ancient poetry combined with dread that comes with being alive and wanting it acted out infront of them.

Such news excited you madly, wanting to do the best of the best you practiced day and night for this magical show which will appear before everyone's eyes tonight.

You were incredibly lucky to have God bless you with the talent of being such a delicate preformer. The bigger the crowd, the better. The more eyes were glued to you the smoother words ran out of your mouth.

'What a lovely feeling it is, to be loved.' you thought, not only today but often as you've seen all of Europe, have met hundreds of impressionable people of whom you only heard in fairytales as a lowborn child. Them preaching what a fine show you've put on behind the stage curtains after every show made you feel like a flawless angel with bright wings and the purest soul.

The Holy Spirit inside you was preaching that showing off your skill to who some call 'the messenger of God', or simply the ruler of the Holy Land, should be your top priority. You always listened to it, as a personal belief of yours was that It was in fact God speaking to you through it. So what other choice could you have?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Heavy clouds casted upon the wide stadium. Whispers of wonder were dominated by laughter of those already tipsy ones. These kinds of special events that to foreigners often seemed formal, were in all reality a party for all kinds. Those who wished to drink through the show were allowed without any restrictions, yet those who listened and watched you, were rather intoxicated with words that cut deep.

And so it is. The Greek harpist began strumming a century old melody called: 'Stella iuxta Lunam'. The crowd went silent like birds during a storm. Curtains coloured dark blue opened, presenting a beautiful young woman in a black dress with pearls in her hair. That woman was you.

The people of Jerusalem weren't used to a woman showing her hair, not only because of how religious the people were, but also because of the hot weather. Many people would suffer heat strokes and terrible migraines without them.

As you sang in Latin, the clouds cried down on the Earth. Soft tapping mother nature provided with the downpour gave out a great additional scene.

"Ad astra..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Folks cheered, threw roses and whistled in your honor over and over again. The rain had long before stopped allowing the stars to shine up in the skies.

Bowing and sending kisses to the sea of people, you left the stage.

Sighing and letting your hair down. Just as you were about to go drink some water, you heard an unfamiliar voice speak your name.

"Yes?" Breathing out and turning towards the one standing behind you.

As soon as you saw his metal mask you quickly added: "Your majesty."

Straightening up and giving your hair a quick fix, he started: "I greatly apologize for interrupting you while on break."

Sitting down on a chair, breathing heavily.

He was so sick. It broke your heart, poor twenty year old couldn't even walk a couple of meters without almost passing out.

"However" he continued: "I must say I'm a great fan of your work."

Taken back from the fact that the King of Jerusalem himself came to see you perform despite his state: "I'm truly honored, your majesty-"

"Baldwin." Interrupting you. Noticing your surprised expression he chuckled.

"Alright, Baldwin. Thank you for coming to see me tonight." It wasn't unusually for you to have people of power view you as one of them. After all you made good money and were loved to death by whole of Europe.

"I'm really proud of how far you've come." Baldwin was showering you in compliments and all you could do was redden in the cheeks and grin.

After a while he pondered: "How long are you staying here, Y/N? Tilting his head to you, who was now sitting opposite to him.

"Three days."

Baldwin leaned forward: "Do you play chess?"

You did. And you were bloody good at it too.

"Join me tomorrow for a round then." Standing up and taking one last look at you: "when the Sun goes down."

THE END.

[royalfriday]

Your soul and my body

Boothill x reader

When we first met .... Ya were mad at me for giving up my human body. I didn't understand why... But now I do know...

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

Almost 5 years... 5 years has it been since you two had met.

5 years and you're still protecting your secret with Rappa from Boothill.

You two feel bad for that. But again you two still wondering how he hasn't find out.. since well you know ..he is not a human anymore.

But you two agree to not tell him until you think it's time for this.

Well expect that the day is a week away

You two are close

Even though he wonders one thing

How you haven't changed a little bit in your face or your body in general... You know he can't aged. But you you still the lady he met 15 years ago.

But you two were from different planets and even galaxys. So he didn't ask. I believes that you will age different from others.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////

One week later

I AM TELLING THE TRUTH; I CAN CRASH A STAR! I AM NOT A LIAR! WANT ME TO PROOF IT BOOTHILL!

OOOO IF YA THING -

NO!

They stopped to looked at the person that was supposed to not be here until midnight... And well now they were nervous .... and most of all scared... something not soo usual

Miss [yn] you don't have -

No silence Rappa! I left for only a hour and here are two with you bringing the topic about crashing a star ! AND YOU BOOTHILL I THOUGHT WE TALK ABOUT THIS!

... sorry ma'am....but i must say you are the light of the place tonight ~

Yes he tried to flirt again... sometimes you almost forgot that you two are not a confirmed couple.. and that of course make Rappa mad because she ship you two since she was the one to make you two meet

Boothill was the one to make the most steps. You think that he doesn't deserve you and he deserves better than you... why? Well because of that secret of yours.

No! Please!..... let's go in the living room.. boothill i and Rappa have to tell you something serious....

Wait miss yn you don't...

Yes that

....

He didn't know what to say ...but from the face that Rappa had he could tell it was damn serious

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////

You three were in the "living" room. There the silent was the ruler until you start.

Soo mister boothill...we know eachother for almost 5 years right?

Yeah!

...and you must have noticed some weird things about me

....

....

Yeah i guess?

Well...I and Rappa have something to tell you.. something very important.... It's that I-

There was a crash. Not a very bad...but you look behind and oh ! There are three people!

Who looks like boothill knows

OH BROTHER! HOW YU DOING?!

Huh? You and Rappa looked at each other. None of you knew who those people were...but it seems like boothill trust them. So why not to trust them too?

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

Well you learn that they were from the Astra express!

Ms. Yang, Den Hang , And last was March 7 ...... Yea you don't know who in the galaxy names there child like that buuuut who are you to judge? I mean in your home planet you named all the streets after your favourite food, snacks and characters from you favourite childhood series and books

The day went on until it was their time to leave saying that the apologies for taking down the wrong wall.... Well tey were after a silly little wallet thief... and they fall ito the wall ....

Yeah they didn't say much

But the point is that you didn't had a chance to tell boothill what you wanted.

Now you were at your balcony when you hear some footsteps you think it's Rappa since it's a habit of her to follow you. Hehe you still remember the day you take her under you wig. She was so small and weak. A little miracle to protect. And now? A young adult with the power to not only protect herself but also others.

You were soo much proud. Like a mother to their child. And boothill had taje notice of the relationship between you too. As you expect her to talk you were taken by suprise

Hey...

Oh?!

You turn around and meet him

Eemm.. Rappa say you wanted to tell me what you didn't say earlier...sooo mind if i join yu?

Oh! No of course not boothill! Your always welcome!....

....

...

...

-well this is awkward if you're going to just stand there! Why don't you join me here the view of the night sky is quite...

You look up to the shy

Nostalgic i could say..

..it is!!!HA!..

He walked beside you

sooo what do you wanted to tell me ma'am?

Remember the day that we met?

Yes ma'am

Do you remember my face when you tell me why you're not a human anymore?

OF COURSE! You were sooo mad.

Well you see...ee. Well you know that I am more than you a Galaxy ranger...i have seen rappa growing and then you come to our lifes... just a random day.

Yea

You would also notice that i haven't age?

Yea?

You probably think because we are from different galaxys i age different.

....Yea?

Well i.. the truth is that i and rappa have been keeping a secret from you since you joined us ... And that secret is a very important detail about me...

Ohh? And what is that?

The fact that ..i am not a ... human anymore too

???

He looked like you say the most stupid thing in the whole galaxy

You look human to me

.......

You take a deep breath and start talking fast

I died 10 years ago in one of my missions but using one of my skills i get to turn my spirit to stay together and to not disappear in the air and to not let Rappa alone in this world...

...

...soo i am ... A ghost you can say but..

You looked at him

But i prefer spirit.

I get it now... Now all started to make sense. The fact when we first met ya were mad at me for giving up my human body. I didn't understand why... But now I do know... I know... And i do not complain about the fact you hide it...

.... really?

Yes... and i thought i would be alone in this livespan ....

He put his hand on your cheek and you fell into it

But now i know that is not going to come true...

He learn closer and put his lips in yours.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I know i am not alone

.

.

.

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

Hello i hope you enjoyed this is my first time doing something like this so let me know you opinion in the comments

[winningthesweepstakes]

Loch Ness Uncovered by Rebecca Siegel

Loch Ness Uncovered: Media, Misinformation, and the Greatest Monster Hoax of All Time by Rebecca Siegel. Astra Young Readers, 2024. 9781662620232 Rating: 1-5 (5 is an excellent or a Starred review) 5 Format: Hardcover What did you like about the book?  Many trade series cover monsters and unearthly phenomenon with breathless storytelling that reads like clickbait. Rebecca Siegel takes a more…

[lemon-russ]

This is a new OC x Russ story I wanted to do. Very self indulgent, but a little less silly than my others. I'll still be doing reader insert fics and everything though! Just wanted something different. This one will hopefully be like a slow burn kinda story with more actual plot but there's gonna be smut eventually, as a warning. Short intro chapter for today :)

It's also 30k bc, well, Leman Russ.

(This will probably have breeding kink stuff eventually BUT I am working on a seprate breeding kink/ pregnancy one from the poll thats reader x russ)

(Thanks @squishyowl for the dividers)

Wolf Mother (Ch. 1)

Next>

Ao3

Leman Russ x Fem OC

CW (not necessarily this chapter but overall): Trauma, anxiety, PTSD, General WH40k violence, Sex, probably breeding kink stuff eventually, if there's something I miss and you want labeled let me know!!

Summary: Ex-Captain Vaille is asked a favor by her Primarch

EDIT NOTE: I wrote here that Wren was in the Astra Millitarum (Imperial Guard). I meant for her to be part of the Auxilia, since the IG did not exist pre-heresy. I have changed it to Imperialis Auxilia (Imperial army). Sorry :)

Word count: 1,118

Sitting at her desk in her little office, Wren writes paperwork that will surely just be mindlessly handed around and stamped without being read. She wonders, if she just started writing nonsense in the middle, if anyone would ever be paying enough attention to catch it. She wonders if theres any point in writing them out at all besides the Ultramarine's love of paperwork.

A knock at her door calls her attention. “Come in.” she answers, and the door slides open.

Her eyes widen, and she stands when she sees it is the primarch himself waiting for her.

“Lord Guilliman, what do I owe the pleasure?” She says quickly, and he holds a hand up with a soft smile.

“At ease, Captain.” He says, and you try not to grimace.

“I'm not a Captain, sir.” She corrects, “But it is an honor as always. What do you require?”

He gives a small smile, “As I've yet to think of a new title for you, Captain still works as well for now.” He says, gaze momentarily falling to her bionic leg. “But, I have a request.” He continues, pulling up a chair and motioning for her to sit.

She frowns a bit. It felt wrong to have the primarch sit at her desk like a common paper pusher for a meeting, but she sits down again.

“This is a request, not an order.” He starts, making her scrunch her brow. “It is not that I don't want you here. I think you are one of my top assistants.” He says gently.

The gentleness of the delivery did not dull the blow. “Sir… have I done something…?” She asks. It was improper to speak back to a primarch, but she couldn't help it. She'd been dilligent, attentive, thorough, orderly, all the things ultramarines represent.

He frowns. “I am not firing you, Captain, please, hear me out.” He explains.

“It's about my brother, Leman Russ.” He says with a small sigh. “He is impossible to work with. It is becoming an issue for me. I never know where he is or what his Legion is doing until last minute.”

She gives him a confused look, and then her eyes widen. “Sir, you… surely you don't mean to…”

He gives a sheepish smile, a foreign thing on the face of a demi-god. “Please, Captain? No, I ask this as a friend-” he says, scooting closer to her desk. “Wren, can you please go work with my brother? Even just so I have someone, *anyone* to actually get in contact with?”

Her mouth hangs open. “Lord Guilliman, what- why me?” She stutters. He was really going to feed her to the wolves, literally. She'd never missed a deadline, yet she was being tossed to Leman Russ.

Guilliman chuckles, “Come now, Captain Vaille. I can tell this work is slow for you.” He says, taking a framed pict off her desk.

She frowned a bit as he smiled at the picture, depicting a young, newly promoted Lieutenant Vaille smiling with her squad mates. Two eyes, two legs, years of service left in her.

She frowns as he places the pict back on her desk. “What do you mean, slow? I've been thriving.” She says, reaching over and tipping the picture frame face down.

He chuckles softly. “Thriving? Please. You're bored. You are excellent at what you do, but you do it by habit. I can see you don't love having to sit behind a desk.” He says, righting the picture again. “Third youngest Captain in the Ultramar Imperialis Auxilia. That isn't a woman who rests on her laurels.” He says with a knowing smile.

She frowns harder. “And, what, trying to put a leash on Leman Russ is supposed to be more fun?” She asks incredulously.

He laughs, “It certainly would let you see more action, if nothing else.” he says it cheerfully, but his expression softens when he sees her hand twitch to unconsciously rub where her bionic leg meets her muscle. “Of course, it is a favor I ask. You are free to say no.” He adds.

She grimaces. “I… I'd have to think about it, Sir. I'm sorry.” She replies, hand kneading her thigh nervously.

He smiles again. “Well, that's better than ‘No’ at least. Thank you for considering it, Wren.” He says as he rises, the chair creaking in relief. “You know where to find me when you make up your mind.” He adds as he makes his way to the door.

She gives him a nervous smile, and he nods and leaves the room.

He wants her to go babysit the primarch of the space wolves? Because he thinks she's bored? Well, she is bored. He's not wrong. Her retirement to paper pushing was not one she chose. But that is like saying “hey, you look bored, want to go hit bees nests with a stick?”

She sighs, slinking down in her chair. Her eyes find the pict on her desk he'd been looking at. Her younger, happier, more whole self grins mockingly from the frame.

She frowns and flips it face down again. Then she looked back at her piles and piles of paperwork. Menial, pointless papers no one but her would read.

Could she manage this for another 5 years? 10 years? How much paperwork does it take to cause a baseline human to lose their sanity?

She stares at the paperwork a long while, conflicted and fighting herself, before she lets out a long, tired sigh.

Guilliman looks up and smiles when he hears the doors to his office slide open and sees Wren walking in.

“Have you considered my request, Captain?” He says, sitting up straighter.

She sits at the chair across his desk with her lips pressed to a line. “Not a Captain. Can I give it a few months? Like a trial?”

He smiles wide. “That is a very fair and logical request, not-Captain. You are doing me a huge favor with this.”

Wren bites her lip. “Just a few months. I'll give it a fair shot. But if they're too… space wolves, I'd like to be able to come back.”

He nods, pulling out paperwork. “Of course, of course. I'll start the transfer and inform Leman of the plans. Can you be ready by tomorrow?”

She sighs and nods. “Yeah, I'll go pack, I guess.” She relents.

Her hand nervously kneads at her bionic leg again, and she hopes she isn't getting in over her head.

[b14augrana]

Ad Astra Per Aspera

Everything is still inconclusive

Alexia Putellas x teen!reader

pt. 4 masterlist

Warnings: this story contains depictions of alcoholism, adultery, and familial issues. read at your own discretion.

A/N: part 3 is here! i was flat out of ideas for a good week or so but i’m actually really happy with this chapter and how much i managed to write. i hope you enjoy 🫶🏼

Vicky invited you to her home to talk.

“Just around this corner,” she said, pointing to a street. She was sitting in the passenger seat of your car while your siblings sat in the backseat. Vicky still lived with her parents, as you expected, because she was still too young to buy a place of her own. It was a nice house, situated in a neighbourhood just a few minutes outside the city centre, and once you had parked your car, you hesitated for a moment.

“Are you sure your mum isn’t going to mind? It’s late, we can always talk tomorrow,” you spoke, looking at her for a moment. She shook her head, opening her door and responding as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “She’s fine with it, don’t worry. Let’s go inside.”

You unbuckled your own seatbelt and stepped out of the car, your siblings doing the same. Magdalene clutched your shirt gently while the other two boys walked behind you.

The front door of Vicky’s house had little stained glass details that you admired for the short moment that you stayed outside. The door swung open when Vicky knocked on it gently, and behind it was a woman that bore a striking resemblance to the girl beside you.

“Mamá, this is (Y/N),” Vicky said, gesturing to you. You smiled shyly, and the woman returned it with a much wider smile. “Bona nit! Please, come in, it’s freezing out there,” she replied, ushering you and your siblings inside. She was right, it was chilly outside, and the warmth of the López household was nice.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked, looking over her shoulder as she directed you to the living room. You shook your head, but she insisted on making you a cup of tea, and the appeal of a warm beverage was too much to resist. After a few minutes, she brought two cups of tea out to the living room for you and Vicky, then placed them on the coffee table. “Graciés, Mrs. López,” you spoke.

You sat down on the couch, the warm mug of tea in your hand as you faced the girl. “So, what do you need to talk about?” Vicky asked, and you took a deep breath before telling her.

“Something happened, Vicky. My neighbour heard some noises from my house and thought one of us was getting hurt, so she called the police and–”

You paused for a moment, pinching the bridge of your nose as prepared to tell the rest of the story. It was like reliving it all over again; the currents of fear that overwhelmed you, the unsettling atmosphere of the interrogation room, all of it.

“They told me that they’re going to place my siblings in a foster home unless I become their legal guardian — which I can’t do in time — or find someone I know to foster them. They suggested my father but…” you shrugged, hoping that Vicky would catch on, and by the understanding look on her face, she did.

“I don’t know what to do– who do I even ask?”

You didn’t want to cry, but you knew it was inevitable. You had spent the day processing probably the worst news of your life, without shedding a tear. You deserved to cry. One tear quivered in your waterline before you blinked, and it was gone.

“Why are they getting taken away?” she asked.

“Social welfare thinks they’re unsafe as long as they’re under my mum’s care because she’s got a drinking problem and my dad is out of the picture. I’m not their legal guardian so I don’t have much of a say. Can’t really afford a lawyer yet either,” you explained.

Vicky paused for a moment, staring at the coffee table as she was deep in thought, and then she spoke.

“(Y/N), I know you two don’t have the best relationship, but I think you should ask Alexia.”

You almost spat out your tea in her face, and it showed in your suddenly very wide eyes. Vicky was quick to place her mug down and raise her hands in defence.

“Wait, wait! Before you say no, just remember that she is your captain,” she explained, justifying herself.

“Dios mío, that’s got to be the stupidest shit I’ve heard all week,” you mumbled, putting your head in your hands.

Vicky frowned, pushing you gently to grab your attention again. “I know she doesn’t treat you very well, but she can help you.”

You tapped your nail against the mug, considering the option. You had a very strained relationship with Alexia, and honestly, you highly doubted that she’d want to foster and risk compromising her career for something as stupid as a few kids that weren’t even hers.

“I don’t think so. She won’t have time,” was your final verdict. You didn't perceive Alexia as the type of person interested in motherhood… but, there was one thing.

All your siblings loved football just as much as you. It'd be easy for Alexia to relate to them, because they were like her; their eyes lit up at every beginning of a conversation relating to football, they were immersed in the world of FC Barcelona and always present for your matches and celebrations. They fought to wear their blaugrana jerseys to school and blaugrana scarves in the summer.

Your hand found itself fumbling with the charm bracelet on your other wrist, the initials ‘M’, ‘D’ and ‘L’ dangling from the delicate chain. Alexia would've loved your siblings, because they were the Barça-loving, unconditionally supportive children that she imagined when she thought of having kids.

“Don’t mention it to anyone, please.” Your voice was quiet, because Magdalene had fallen asleep beside you, curled up into a ball with her head resting on a cushion. The boys were just barely awake on the other side of the couch, closing their eyes for a quick moment before opening them again in an attempt to stay awake.

Vicky nodded, but that was it. Not many words were said afterwards, until her mother asked whether you’d like to stay the night. Too tired to disagree, you mumbled a little ‘please’, and she directed you to the guest bedroom.

The three of them slept on the bed that night. You made yourself a bed on the floor, out of cushions from the living room in which you put your Barça sweater over it as a makeshift pillowcase to ease the rough feeling of the original material on your cheek, and Vicky lent you a few spare blankets.

Magdalene wanted to try sleeping on the floor with you, but after a while you felt her leave your side and get into bed with her brothers.

She was little, they all were, but their presence was bigger than life itself, and laying there with Magda tucked in your arms reminded you of what it used to be like before. When you used to keep the abandoned shopping carts close so you could put all three of them inside at night and ride down the streets to the local restaurant, then you’d treat them to a big serving of their favourite foods and the night would end with you receiving three big hugs from the tiniest humans.

Life was simple before.

You called alcohol ‘big drink’ when you were young, because only big people could drink it. You didn’t know why, but soon your Mami started getting upset more and more, after she had some big drink. It only took a few lash outs for you to get caught in the crossfire and vow to never become like Mami.

You’ve tried it a couple times here and there, and it tasted like shit. You couldn’t understand your mother for choosing that bitter concoction over happiness but soon, you figured out that when all else failed for her, it was her happiness. Her kids were seen as secondary, if you were lucky.

A light suddenly illuminated the room, and that’s when you realised your phone was buzzing. A number flashed across the screen, but you stayed idle, not reaching for it. You watched the contact disappear before a text appeared, and you read it through slightly squinted eyes still trying to adjust to the light.

+34 ### ### #####

→ We’ve gotten a hold of your father and he has agreed to attend a meeting at 9 a.m. Please call or text back immediately if you’re available.

You should’ve responded. Instead, you stared at the message until the screen went black again, and even then you kept staring in the same direction until there was nothing. The next time you opened them, it was morning, and you were facing the bottom of the bed.

Magda, Dani, and Enzo were still asleep. Peering just above the mattress, you could see them piled on top of each other as they slept.

The ‘bed’ you made on the floor felt more comfortable than ever, making you reluctant to move. With a tap on the screen, your phone lit up and revealed the time to be just past 8:30.

Your hand flopped back down and you stared at the ceiling. Everything was perfect for a couple seconds, as you forgot about the need for the day to proceed and only recognised the serenity of being in that room right now, with the people you loved most.

Everything was perfect.

“We’ll wait five more minutes and if she isn’t here by then, you’re free to leave, señor.”

The man only gave a small nod in reply, otherwise his attention was almost entirely fixed on the little sliver of blue sky that was visible from the tiny window.

Five minutes flew by. The talks of getting ready to leave started up, but they were short lived when everyone was stunned back into their seats by the door suddenly swinging open. It clicked shut as a chair scraped across the floor.

“Sorry, traffic was bad,” you mumbled, folding your arms across your chest.

“How nice of you to join us, Miss (Y/L/N),” the social worker said, and it sounded like she was feigning politeness. You acknowledged her words with a quiet hum.

“Señor, since you are the only other legal guardian of Magdalene, Dani, and Lorenzo, we’ve sought you out as a possible option for a full time caregiver of the children,” she spoke, clasping her hands together and placing them on the table.

Your father pursed his lips, nodding along with her words, “I see.”

“I still don’t think this is a good idea, and I’m saying this before you waste more of our time,” you interrupted, pointedly refusing to even look at him.

“Why not? I’m their father, (Y/N), and I’m also yours, so–”

“You didn’t want them then, so I doubt you’d want them now. Don’t say you’ll take care of them to make yourself look good and then mistreat them because they’re not on par with your other kids,” you hissed, finally meeting his gaze with a stone cold glare.

The social worker across the table didn’t intervene, though she initially jolted forwards with the intention. She settled back into her chair and observed, looking to discover the true nature of your adamance to not let your father take your siblings.

Regret flashed across his face, and it was obvious; you noticed it in the downwards twitch of his lips and the shameful lowering of his gaze as you spoke.

“They’re still my children. It’s my job as their father to look after them,” he responded.

“So where were you all these years, when Mamá was drinking her body weight in alcohol? You left us! You are not their father and you haven’t been ever since you left us.” Your fist hit the table, the noise echoing through the room. The grimace on your face was only the surface level of the disgust you felt in that very moment.

“‘My job as their father…’ my fucking ass. I was more of a father to them than you, at 16 years old! I did your job better than you before I was even 18, and you have the nerve to come here and say that they’re still your children?”

His head was hung in shame as you chided him, and he still had nothing to say.

“I knew this was a bad idea, I knew it,” you almost yelled, jumping up from your chair. It skidded along the ground with a screech, and your fingers pressed at your temples.

You hated him so much, but standing there and yelling at him made you realise how much you missed him while he was still your father, before the cheating and abandonment. “You ruined Mamá’s life by putting your own needs before us, and I hope you’re proud. Have as many new kids with your new wife as you want, but you only destroy everything you touch.”

You hoped your words reflected the years of pain and torment he had inflicted on your family. You lost not one but two parents, because your mother loved him so much and he only took advantage of it while it benefited him before he decided it wasn’t enough.

There wasn’t a single word or phrase that could convey the inexplicable feelings you felt just then. He’d have to search for it in the flushed apples of your cheeks, your glossy bloodshot scleras, and tightly furled fists tensed up at your sides.

“(Y/N), mi carita…” he started, standing up. You took a big step back, your hand finding the door knob with a steady grip.

“Just leave and don’t come back. I don’t want to see you ever again, never ever!”

With those words, you were 13 again, standing behind the corner and listening to your mum say the exact same thing to your dad.

Back then, when you two argued, you couldn’t hold his gaze without crying, but now you were. He was nothing in your eyes if not the smallest man who’s ever lived. You made sure to give him your most withering glare so he knew that there was no point.

In his eyes, you were probably the furthest you had ever been from his daughter. The loving and energetic girl he watched grow up, was now eye-to-eye with him in a police station, refusing to allow him any entry into his kids’ lives.

“Don’t give them false hope,” you sneered, wrenching the door open before deliberately slamming it behind you.

Maybe, just maybe, Alexia wasn’t such a bad idea. Yes, she was passionate about football and didn’t take it very well when people didn’t display the same amount of passion for the sport as she did, but that only meant that when she loved something, she loved it hard and with all her being. She could love your siblings. She could love them more than anyone, even their own blood.

You sought to get out of the police station and away from it as a whole, so as you stormed out of the building and sunk into the driver’s seat of your car, you had no specific place in mind.

You ended up at the Barceloneta beach. There weren’t many other places you could think to go to; the pitch was out of the question, because wherever there was a ball and a goal, there was Alexia. Your house was a huge memorabilia museum for the past, and you couldn’t show up to Vicky’s house out of the blue.

The beach was pretty, and you always loved going there. Nothing could spoil that for you.

Just the horizon and ebbing tide for company while you watched the sun slowly descend — it was what you needed.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. Part of you didn’t want to pull it out in case it turned out to be someone you didn’t like wasting your time, but you pulled it out anyways. Thankfully, it was only Vicky.

She sent you a photo from earlier that morning, and it featured all three of your siblings fast asleep on the guest bed while you slept on the floor in your comfy cluster of blankets. She followed the photo up with two laughing faces, and then two more messages.

Vicky

→ 🤣🤣

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ↳ Hermanos y hermanas

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ↳ Come sleep over again (Y/N)!!! My Mamá found the Uno cards 😉

You smiled at the photo and saved it to your camera roll before you considered Vicky’s request. You took a moment, but eventually you responded.

(Y/N)

→ vale vale 🥲 i’m picking la hermanos y hermana right now and then i’ll come straight to your house. graciés vicky ❤️

You watched the sun set further during the drive to the schools, and then again while you drove to Vicky’s. This time, you parked in the driveway, and you didn’t feel dreadful entering her house.

You rang the doorbell and the four of you waited patiently. Mrs. López was quick to rush to the door and open it.

“Hi, I hope we’re not bothering y–” you started, but you were cut off.

“(Y/N), mío querido! Come in, come in, you’re not a bother at all. You’re always welcome in our home,” she said, embracing you tightly with a warm smile.

Vicky appeared from the living room, shuffling a deck of cards in her hands. “Who wants to play Uno?” she asked, waving the cards in her hand and immediately receiving a positive reaction from your siblings, who bolted towards her eagerly.

You followed them, because though you knew they were getting taken to their foster home tomorrow and being stripped away from you, you wanted to enjoy the night and play Uno with your siblings.

Nothing’s for sure but right now. You couldn’t waste this moment.

[yyawnjun]

SLEEPY KISSES IN THE COLD

FALLING - in Love - DURING FALL

JAY x reader

[ reading by an open window + “i forgot how cold it could get.” ]

0.6k wc ; fluff ; did you noticed that this is the continue of the previous drabble👀?? ; that's for my girl astra - @icydawon - here is your man <3 ; hope you will like it!! ; likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated

[m.list of the event]

You had taken a brief break from your reading and spotted, through your window, two young people greeting each other outside a bakery.

The boy's body language showed that he was interested; and inclined toward the girl, who was blushing and barely hiding a smile.

You additionally heard that they had only exchanged names and that they would not be able to see each other again unless they exchanged more contact.

You instinctively opened your window and yelled to the young man who had been staring at the girl as she walked away: "BOY!!! RUN TO ASK FOR THEIR NUMBER BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE!" 

And he didn't even turn to face you, where the sound originated from. However, he merely moved in the direction of the girl. You smiled comfortably and returned to your book.

With the window still open, the cold entered quickly and you felt it.

That beautiful vision lasted in your thoughts for a long time, to the point that you began to miss your boyfriend.

You heard the doorbell ring three times; it was him.

You opened the door, surprised by the timing, to find your lover standing there with a tiny box containing cookies he had bought you. 

Jay was dressed comfortably in baggy jeans, a white shirt, and a red and black biker jacket.

He entered your flat and offered you the small package after a lasting kiss on the forehead.

"I made your favorites love." 

Your face became brightly colored, and your heart began to race.

"I love you, Jay"

You asked him, "Would you like some hot tea?"

And as he proceeded to approach your room, he nodded at the sweet proposal...

He stepped in and collapsed weary on his side of the bed, smiling as he smelled your perfume.

He had been dozing until you walked in and sat down next to him with hot tea and cookies he had cooked.

You sat back down on the bed, near the window, which had remained open in the meantime.

"I forgot how cold it could get," you muttered, and your partner quickly jumped up, ignoring his exhausted body, to close the window to keep you from getting colder.

He soon returned to the bed alongside you and lay down, putting his head on your legs and closing his eyes just enough to glimpse your face.

"You still read while staring out the window, huh?" he inquired.

"Some habits never die. Like yours of always bringing me something delicious made by you whenever we meet," and you leaned down just enough to kiss the boy who closed his eyes and held your face in his hands, almost trying to bring your lips closer together.

"Now that fall has arrived, and we will both be busier, I promise I will always find time to be there for you," he said as he stood up to give you another kiss.

The warmth of your bodies started to flow between the young man's tired lips, and the cozy surroundings added to the delightful peace that was already there in your souls.

"So did you ever go for apples picking?" You shook your head in response to the unexpected question.

"I need apples for a new recipe I'd like to try for you, and if you'd like, we could go pick them up tomorrow. It is possible from August to the end of October, so there is still time. So, my pretty girl, would you like to go out with me?"

Your heart was grateful as you nodded to Jay's funny suggestion.

"Gosh, you are so perfect, I am so in love with you" he smiled as he closed his eyes and went asleep while you continued to read by stroking his hair and caressing his arms.

taglist: @kflixnet

[sideysvault]

𓍼ོ Ad Astra Per Aspera 𓍼ོ (PT. 1)

Consummation

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

wc: 2,200k

Tags: [sfw] Arranged marriage, mature themes, angst, coldness, enemies to lovers, eventual fluff and smut.

Full Series masterlist here. read part two.

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“Are you disappointed with the results of the arrangement?” Still not very well versed on the frail subtleties needed for a cordial marriage, the woman frowned. It if sounded sincere, she might have answered honestly. Because even her, when she was a child, had dreamt of romantic affections, great tales of familial love, mutual servitude and joy. 

But the Prince’s voice told a tale of practiced self deprecation. She wasn’t yet sure if it was to appear disarmingly inadequate, easier to ignore, or if it was to appease the King’s fragile ego. Either way, acting was not one of the Prince’s best qualities. Underneath all the loathing, layed a poorly covered,  insidious egotism. He felt pride in fulfilling his inglorious role, pride of being an outcast, he clearly thought of himself as above it all: superstitions of the weak minded, sentimentality, the passionate side of politics. She could already feel herself getting sick of it all. 

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but you must not go beyond the walls of the Red Keep often” Although she knew he did, as the stories of the sad little boy he turned to when attending the brothel could be heard from the mouth of the King himself. “The Gods are rarely in the mood for protection, and so common men are never left whole. The queerest thing about your appearance is not your limb eye, but rather your ghostly hair” with a smirk forming without her being able to avoid it, she quickly added “A haunting omen, perhaps.” 

Aemond hated the petulant smile that appeared on his wife’s lips. He hated seeing her biting teeth, and her self proclaimed waking martyrdom. And the wisdomless lectures? A sickening symptom of barbarian vanity. The Prince felt scandalized. He considered himself a sensible person, able to rationalize the marital arrangement, a paragon of respectability and patience. Her attitude had a way of putting it all on a thin veil. 

She felt troubled by the marriage, yes, but at night, when she could see the maidens avoid the wing of the castle where the King rested, when the Maestres ran around with mysterious teas, she felt the urge to get on her knees and thank the lords for granting her the repressed brother. Boring, tedious, and insolently over confident. But much more honorable. 

They had to consummate the marriage, of course. That was a problem that was increasingly harder to ignore. He had been kind enough to not force it upon her, and the Princess had heard stories of insemination without touch. When the bride was to be young of age, the husband —If he was respectable enough to have a soul—would set his seed on a vase of sorts, which would be introduced into the girl manually, by a maiden of choice. She heard it was rarely successful, but protective parents could demand the practice. 

She was too old for those considerations, but what was one to do? 

Prince Aemond was handsome, painfully so. If you ignored his impatience for the incompetence of his brother, or for his mother's hidden sentimentalism, his horror towards failure, the frowns he gave at any suggestion of true romantic felicity, and the egomaniac tendencies, he could look quite handsome. 

During courtship, he completely ignored his wife to be, but that is to be expected in political betrothal. Back then, he slightly frightened the Princess, but not nearly enough as everyone assumes he should have. 

The residents of Kings Landing often find him rather physically odd. Why is that? If, after all, he looks like a proper Targaryen Prince, even with one functioning eye. His childhood wound could not deny his straight silver hair, or the blue in his calculating eyes. His features were delicate, sharp, and firm, with an obnoxious royal quality. And if she knew no better, she would be excited at the prospect of consummation. 

Now the Princess’s dreams did not consist of domestic life —Although, she naturally still felt the urge, on rare occasions— But of going beyond the realms of her condition. A mind that kept itself occupied with thoughts of what may have become of her with less social opposition and more personal stimulus. Dreaming of being born a man, of being a scholar, a Maestre, to finally visit The Citadel.

Another recurring hope was that even in between the most interrelated webs of inherited resentments and southeastern superstitions one may find peace and harmony. To make the Red Keep a home worth living in. But all of these desires seemed to be equally improbable, and she had begun to come to terms with the fact that the burning desire of childhood may never go away, but it must be ignored in order to survive. 

Learning to her was similar to a  holy grace, far more powerful than any priest or God. A beautiful distraction. That’s how she had fallen into the hands of a false religious conversion. The teachings of the Seven had no real impact or meaning to her, but it was the closest, most respectable way of learning about the world around her. 

The marital chambers were spotless, in an almost obsessive manner. It went far beyond the traditional efficiency of cleaning servants. It had been done by his own hand, and everything had a designated place. And at the beginning, it had been nerve wrecking. The constant worry of leaving everything in its place, of being too messy with her presence, with her own belongings, in her own chambers. 

The only thing that demanded attention in the sad sterile room was the extensive library. It filled the space with character of its own, the books rebelling against their masters' particularities and demanding a disorderly presence of their own right. His private library exploited the fragility of her wife’s curious mind and predisposition for literature. 

After years of spiritual resignation, it was like a breeze of fresh air. She would be the first to admit the only sin she had committed against her husband —Besides being a republican, which was a shameful secret of hers—: To sneak and  borrow books from his private delectable collection. A stupid, brash decision. Especially considering Aemond's serious disposition and angsty, hostile character. But the Princess couldn't help herself when she saw the chambers unattended. Rationalizing the invasion of privacy, because they were now married, for better or for worse, those books were inside their marital chambers. 

Prince Aemond knew of his wife’s intrusion, of course. When she came back to return the innocent theft, she realized with horror that he had left a single stone where the book she had taken was. Feeling partially offended by the gesture, she had returned the volume to its place and accommodated the fatal stone on the left side of his bureau, near the candle. 

It became a routine. The wife would take a book from his collection, and he would place the rock marking the missing spot. Whenever she finished her reading, she was to accommodate the stone at the left of the candle in his bureau. A childish game, perhaps. But it was the most similar thing they had to a sense of cordiality and shared duality. Everything else remained as sterile as before, when either party tried to approach the other, they were quickly reminded of how repelled they felt towards the others flaws, perceived or not. 

It did exhaust her a good deal, the uncertainty of the marriage. Having to be sly and poise about how she managed herself, or to be met with heavy words of disapproval. Targaryen folk, seemingly closer to Gods than to men, were not to be played with, even if you were a wife to one of them.

Another cause of exhaustion and hysteria was one much more primal. She dreaded the day he finally came to claim his bride's virtue. It was not about discomfort with marital relations, but rather a feeling of vulnerability. Having to be at his mercy, his whim, it was the fact that she had to wait until the night his patient character faltered. 

There was also the matter of Larys Strong, of course. The King was like a brute, too focused on his next rush to have any sense of planning or concerned for the politics of consummation. The Dowager Queen was the one who pushed his limits when needed, and she seemingly had Larys Strong at his mercy, or the other way around, of that, the Princess was not entirely sure yet. 

Sir Strong loved not the Gods or the Crown but himself and the thrill of keeping people hostage by the bondage of secrets. He enjoyed parading around the corners, lurking, observing. He liked the authority that the Crown granted him, the preposterous work of secrecy. He translated the King’s rule into language that sounded vaguely religious, vaguely patriotic. Only to whisper it to the ears of maidens and servants. 

It may have been paranoia, but the Princess could have sworn that  the maidens took special care into looking for any red spots on the marital sheets. The Dowager Queen had been paying more attention to her, with that stern frown of hers. Real or imagined, it was dangerous to wait this long. 

Tired of the whole ordeal, she decided that the occurrence was unavoidable, and at a reasonable cost of her sexual condition if anything, she could end the anxiety and the whispered chastity by taking some kind of agency and doing the first step.

The Princess soaked in rose water the scented brazil wood chips her mother had prepared her with. Using them to brightly paint her cheeks,  nipples, and lips with an irresistible shade of contrast, and leaving her hair messy, determined to look desirable enough for it to be done tonight. 

If the Prince was surprised to see her laying in bed, naked, when he walked into the chambers, he did not show proof of it on his face. The husband quickly took off his clothes, as well. He looked tired, even under the dim, warm yellow lights of the room. She smiled upon the view, a signal of relief, upon anything else. For the first time in weeks, her husband did not seem troubled and upset, only tired. The consummation might end quickly and without any fuss. 

As soon as he laid on the sheets, she got up from the side of the bed that corresponded to her, and straddled the Prince. She wasn’t sure of what he may like, but she figured this was the safest and less degrading way to go about the night. She felt her nipples harden against the cold nightly wind, and she could also feel her husband's length hardened underneath her. Without any regard for her feelings, her core began to leak in anticipation. In that moment, she thanked the Gods for a handsome husband, and she thanked them for making him a contemporary in age. This wasn’t going to be as difficult as she initially thought. 

For a moment, his eye seemed to shine with something similar to the spark of lust. Just for a moment. 

It was gone almost as soon as she had noticed it. And with a soft but recognizably firm move, he got her off him. 

“There is no use for it. We don’t carry the duty to fulfill the royal lineage” The Prince sounded cold, and spoke in a manner similar to how one explains a simple concept to a child. It scandalized her. Had he had no consideration at all for her safety? Was he blind to the watchful eyes of the maids? Was he not a man, or is it that you were insufficient in his eyes? 

And if the offense wasn’t enough to hurt the Princess, he unknowingly added another striking statement, just for good measure “They are also an emotional lability. One that mustn’t be created recklessly taken in times of war”

Her heart seemed to sink in the depths of her stomach. The humiliation, sparked by anger washed over her head and burned her cheeks with an unbearable warmt. Without saying a word —and trying to contain the tears that this robbery of agency had caused— she left the marital chambers. 

Another brash, emotionally driven decision. A misjudgment, letting go of the calculating measure of taking care of what the court might think. The Princess needed a break from the claustrophobic room, from its cleaning, from her Husband’s cold offenses. How can he speak of children so callously? She had thought of her husband as a devout family member. Even the monster they had for the King loved his children. The Princess wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of forming a family in an arranged marriage, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that her husband was rejecting her lineage and the single act of agency that she was truly permitted:The possibility of making happiness of her own, of raising her own. Feeling rudely rejected, and more lonely than ever before, she compulsively walked into the messy physis of the garden. Tears fell on her cheeks, and went down into her neck, she had no family, no friend, no kin to confide into. For the first time since her arrival, she felt the honesty of her situation falling from her tears.

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Notes: Omg the first part of the first long form series that i have ever conceived 😭😭 if anyone is interested in proofreading or if you see any mistakes please let me know! English is not my first language and I always make so many mistakes. Take care of one another!

— Sidey xxo