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bookworm551 · 1 year ago

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Take the Edge Off | Part 4 | Jealousy

Miguel isn’t happy when he hears that you’ve been spending time with someone other than him.

A/N: do you smell that? I think there’s a plot around here somewhere. Weird… anyway! I’m back with more brain rot—enjoy :)

Warnings: smut, face riding, small sprinkles of denial, biting, p in v, MINORS DNI

Word count: 5.2k (sorry these are getting longer)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Today had not been good.

You had been on call all week, and you were finally needed to assist an ongoing mission. You had gone in and found the Scarlett Spider and a few others battling ferociously. It should've been a standard operation, but things quickly went south after the anomaly figured out the purpose of the watches you all wore, and after a nasty fight, he actually managed to steal the gizmo off of Ben Reilly's wrist.

You all stood in horror staring at the place where the portal had just closed after the anomaly jumped into it, taking it to an unknown dimension. Soon after, Ben started glitching, and the rest of you took him back to Earth-928 to get him a new gizmo and explain the situation at hand to Miguel.

Ben had been mortified and ashamed of losing his watch, so you decided to hang back and try to comfort him. It was an awkward experience for you, especially since he went on a long tirade about being a failure and recounting all of his harrowing life experiences. You were secretly relieved when you finally managed to escape back to your room for some peace and quiet.

Your suit had gotten a few nasty tears in the fabric, so you changed into your regular clothes. Assessing the damage, you sighed in defeat when you realized how much time you'd need to put into fixing your suit. Whatever, you had planned on going back home tonight anyway, and you could try to fix it then.

Without any warning, the door to your room slid open, and you weren't surprised to see Miguel's figure looming in the doorway. You sighed again. "Listen, I was fine with it last time, but I really need you to start knocking," you told him in exasperation.

"You weren't at the debriefing," he stated gravely, ignoring your comment. You shrugged indifferently. "I didn't really need to be," you muttered. "There were plenty of people who were there."

"So where were you?" He demanded, placing his hands on his waist as he stared down at you expectantly. You crossed the room to where your carry-on bag was sitting on the floor and tossed your suit in it. "I was with Ben," you said casually, your back still turned to Miguel. "I figured he could use a little companionship after what happened today."

You zipped up your bag and stood up. When you turned around, you were startled to find that Miguel had crossed the room, too, and he was standing directly in front of you. His expression was hardened in anger as he stared down at you with furrowed brows.

"Companionship?" He repeated slowly, his voice laced with aggravation. You looked up at him questioningly before realization dawned on you. You had made a passing reference, a joke really, to Miguel about seeking out Ben for a certain type of "companionship" before. It seemed like the comment must've stuck with him.

"Oh, please," you said with a roll of your eyes. "Don't let your imagination get the better of you." You tried walking past him, but he grabbed you firmly by the arm.

"Where the hell are you going?" He demanded to know. You scoffed indignantly and looked up at his face. Miguel's eyes were boring down at you with a tense glare, his eyebrows drawn in a scowl.

"Wherever the hell I want," you retorted sharply. "I don't need your permission." His grip on your arm tightened. "You're not going anywhere," he growled.

"And why not?" You snapped. "Because you said so?" You pulled your arm out of his grip, but he pushed you back up against the wall. You glared up at him, but your eyes couldn't resist glancing at his lips.

"Did you sleep with him?" He demanded to know in a low voice.

You blinked in surprise. "Ben?" You asked in a confused tone. Miguel didn't reply, he just continued staring down at you with a deep scowl carved on his face. After a silent pause, you couldn't help but laugh derisively at him.

"Oh wow, jealousy looks good on you," you stated after your laughter subsided, your lips still pulled in a smug grin. Miguel's eyebrow tightened slightly as he continued glaring down at you. "You think this is funny?" He questioned with a sharp edge to his voice.

"I'm laughing, aren't I?" You shot back.

"Well, maybe you'll find this funny, too," he said as he crossed his arms resolutely over his chest. "No more missions."

Your smile dropped instantly, and every trace of humor evaporated from your mood. "Excuse me?" You demanded in a baffled tone. "You don't get to run any more missions," Miguel repeated, his voice hard and uncompromising.

"And why the hell not?" You demanded to know. If there was one thing that he could've said to get you riled up, it was kicking you out of the Society.

"Because I said so," he replied arrogantly. "Not laughing now, huh?"

"You're grounding me?" You exclaimed in indignation. Miguel shrugged, still glaring down at you with an irritated expression. "Until you stop acting like a fucking brat," he retorted harshly.

"You're being absolutely ridiculous," you fumed. "All this because I stayed back with Ben?"

"Yes."

"Why does it matter?"

Miguel stepped forward suddenly, and he uncrossed his arms to slam them against the wall on either side of your head, trapping you between the wall and his body. "Because you're mine," he seethed in a low voice.

His response made your heart start beating faster in your chest. In the silence that followed, you couldn't resist staring down at his full lips. "There is not another person in the whole goddamned multiverse who can touch you," he continued in a deep, angry voice.

There was another beat of silence before you raised a hand up to his chest. You trailed it slowly upwards over his muscles as you looked at him through your lashes. "And if there is?" You tested, curious to see his reaction. Envy flashed across his face at the thought of you with someone else. He grabbed your wrist tightly and pulled your hand off of his body as he leaned over you.

"Then no more," he whispered.

You stared up at him for a moment before a sly smile began growing on your lips. His possessiveness shouldn't have surprised you, and you couldn't deny that the jealous anger on his face made you hot.

Without answering him, you pushed up on your toes and kissed him. He took a moment to relax, but when he did, he released his grip on your wrist and wrapped his arms around your body. Your hands slid behind his neck as you pulled yourself closer to his body. His knee pushed between your thighs, causing you to break away from his lips with a moan.

"There was never anyone else," you whispered, sounding slightly out of breath. "It's only been you." Miguel let out a hot breath against your neck before lifting his face to kiss you again, this time, with more eagerness and passion. His hands wandered down your body, over your ass, and gripped your thighs before hoisting you up. Your legs wrapped around his torso while your tongue moved impatiently against his own.

After a moment of him holding you upright like that, Miguel began stepping towards your bed. He dropped down onto the mattress, his hands immediately started moving under your shirt, all the while never breaking away from your kiss. He was eager to get you undressed, and it was only a matter of seconds before your shirt was off.

"Only I get to see you like this," he murmured. He placed kisses on your neck while a hand reached behind your back to remove your bra. You closed your eyes and let out soft, little moans with every eager kiss he pressed to your skin. After a few moments of blind grasping, he unhooked your bra and tossed it aside.

"Only I get to feel you like this," he told you, his hands gripping your breasts as he spoke. You hummed a quiet sigh as he kissed all over your skin. His tongue traced over your sensitive skin, and your fingers grabbed fistfuls of his hair in reaction.

You were growing restless with every touch he made and every word he spoke. You tugged at your pants with one hand, and when Miguel noticed, he was more than willing to help remove them. With you completely undressed beneath him, Miguel's kisses grew sloppy across your body. His suit finally retracted to expose his tanned skin and hard muscles.

"Only me," he murmured, sounding breathless. "¿Me entiendes?"

You let out a soft moan and nodded. You had never desired anyone but him since you first joined the Spider Society, and you doubted that would change anytime soon. He'd had your attention from the first day. In fact, despite his cold and reserved nature, Miguel always unwittingly seemed to draw people to him. You knew you weren't the only one who found him alluring.

With that thought, you placed a hand on his chest and pushed him off of you just enough to grab his attention. "And what about me?" You asked him quietly, staring straight into his lustful eyes.

His eyebrows drew together ever so slightly, and he didn't respond for a second. With a strong shove, you rolled him off of your body and hovered over his instead. Miguel seemed caught off guard as you straddled yourself across his torso, and when you grabbed his throat with your hand, he groaned softly and clenched his jaw.

"Am I the only one who gets to see you this way?" You asked softly, your innocent tone juxtaposing your domineering posture as you pinned him down firmly by his throat. Tracing your free hand across his chest, your fingers brushed over his skin with feather-light touches, making him squirm beneath you.

"Am I the only one who gets to touch you like this?" You questioned, bringing your face down to his and gently running your tongue over his bottom lip. His own tongue darted out and slid against yours, eliciting a smirk from you.

When you pulled back, you looked down at Miguel expectantly. There was lust burning in his eyes, and his hands slid up the sides of your thighs in admiration.

"Only you," he promised breathlessly.

You studied his face for a moment as a crooked grin grew slowly on your face. Your hand released his neck and wandered down to his chest, and you leaned over so that your face hovered over his. "Only me?" You repeated quietly, your nose brushing against his.

Under your hands, you could feel the heavy rise and fall of his chest. His head tilted upwards to try and kiss you, but you were just out of reach. "Only you," he breathed, and one hand came off your thigh and pulled you by the back of your neck down on his lips.

You smiled against his mouth and felt his hand return to your thigh. His fingers dug into your skin as he pulled your body upwards. You didn't realize what he was trying to do until he moved his arms under your thighs and hoisted you up toward his head.

You couldn't resist the giggle that sounded in your chest as he moved you upwards. "So impatient," you told him with a smile, his strong arms pulling you so quickly that you had to catch yourself from toppling over. He ignored you and kept pulling your hips toward his mouth, but you resisted, opting to see how he reacted to your denial.

He tried once more pulling you up to his face, but again, you resisted. His eyes flashed up to yours, and you could see the desire he had to taste you. His breathing was heavy, and he looked annoyed at your refusal.

"What do you say?" You asked sweetly, running a finger across his lips. Miguel's jaw clenched when he realized what you wanted him to say, and he closed his eyes for a moment to fight back his impatience. When he opened them again, you could see how his expression had morphed from frustration to restlessness.

"Please," he said finally, eyes burning impatiently. He didn't sound happy at all about having to beg, but you knew he was growing desperate to taste you. You smirked down at him and whispered, "Much better."

Miguel didn't waste another second before pulling you up to sit on his face. He pulled your hot entrance to his mouth and immediately began devouring you. A loud gasp was forced out of you by the hungry movements of his lips and tongue. You fell forward at the overwhelming sensation, your hands grasping the sheets beneath you with a vise grip.

He made you feel so good. His tongue moved eagerly between your folds before teasing your clit. Every time it brushed over your sensitivity, your thighs spasmed around his head, and you would quietly moan, "Fuck." Based on your cues, Miguel knew exactly where to focus to get the reactions he wanted. He would start building momentum with your clit, and just when your breathing started turning into panting, he would move his tongue further down your cunt to your entrance.

After the third time that he pulled that stunt, you realized he was teasing you. Frustration burned in your chest as he denied you yet again, and you released the sheets in one of your hands to grip his hair tightly. Tugging his hair harshly, you glared down at him and snapped, "If you don't stop fucking teasing, I'm getting off."

His eyes narrowed in displeasure. Before you could try to move yourself off of him, his hands tightened around your thighs, and he actually started sitting up. You gasped sharply in surprise as he lifted you up just enough to roll you over onto your back, your head against the wall so you couldn't crawl away from him as he trapped your thighs in his arms. Such a display of raw strength was both startling and incredibly arousing.

"You're not going anywhere until I fucking say so," he growled. Without another word, his mouth returned to your pussy, and he resumed eating you out like a man starved.

Any sharp retort you could have made was smothered as the pleasure you felt snatched the air from your lungs. Your back arched off the mattress as you gasped desperately, and your legs struggled against his firm grip in reaction to his mouth against you. His tongue moved so well against you, and between your gasps and moans, you could only whisper, "Fuck."

Miguel didn't seem so interested in his little teasing game anymore. His tongue focused entirely on your clit, and he experimented with his pace and strength. When he found the perfect tempo and pressure, the hand that was still gripping his hair would tighten, and a whine would rise up from your throat. Soon enough, your breathing was growing shallow, and every muscle in your body began tensing.

He could tell you were close, and it seemed to make him even more ravenous. His arms wrapped around your thighs to pull them open even further, and his whole body seemed to move in an effort to get you off. You blinked your eyes open to look down at him and saw that his dark eyes were staring up at you hungrily. His body was moving restlessly, and you realized that he was grinding his hips against the bed in an effort to give himself some relief.

That did it for you. Seeing him so turned on by eating you out that he was desperate for his own release tipped you over the edge, and your whole body began shaking as you cried out in pleasure. Miguel moaned against you as your legs tightened against his hands, the bass of his throat adding to the pleasure that coursed through your body.

Unlike last time, Miguel stopped right as it was becoming too much for you. He lifted his head off of you and watched as your body shuddered from your orgasm. As you started coming down from your high, Miguel started crawling slowly up your body while you recovered your trembling breath.

He trailed his wet kisses up your stomach with agonizing slowness. His hands were planted on either side of your body while he moved his mouth up your torso. You whimpered quietly when he placed his mouth over one of your breasts, running his tongue over your sensitive nipple. He continued moving upwards after a moment until his face was buried in the crook of your neck, and he took a deep breath as he inhaled your scent and sighed against your skin.

"Nobody can make you feel as good as I can," he whispered in your ear. Your ability to speak still hadn't fully returned, so you shook your head in agreement with his statement. He placed a kiss on your neck while one of his hands reached down to hold your thigh as he aligned himself to you.

You were holding your breath with eyes closed in anticipation as you felt the tip of his cock push just past the entrance of your pussy but not further. Miguel's forehead rested against yours, and he let out a small grunt as he restrained himself from pushing further into you.

"Look at me," he murmured, his voice deep and hoarse with desire.

With effort, you managed to blink your eyes open to look at him. Miguel's dark eyes were focused on your face with such intensity that despite all the sinful things you had done and were currently doing, you felt your cheeks grow warm, and you blushed. There was a moment of stillness between you with only the sounds of your quiet panting to fill the silence. Miguel was looking down at you with more than just lust. There was a softer element to his gaze, something like admiration or even adoration in his eyes. Whatever it was, it flustered you.

Then, that moment of stillness passed, and he pushed himself into you. A loud groan emerged from your lips as he stretched you out, and you squeezed your eyes shut again. Miguel exhaled a stuttering breath at the feeling of being inside you, and his head fell to rest on your shoulder.

"You always feel so good," he gasped softly as he started rolling his hips into yours. Your hands gripped at his back while you let out quiet moans with every thrust. His hand on your thigh drifted up your body to one of your gripping arms, and he pulled it off his back and laced his fingers with yours. He pinned your hand next to your head as he continued moving steadily inside you.

"Eres mía," he panted in your ear. "Solo mía." You understood the words he was saying, and they made you desperate for more. You are mine. Only mine. Fortunately, you knew exactly how to respond to him. Turning your lips to brush against his ear, you whispered, "Sí, soy tuya." I'm yours.

Hearing you whine like that in his native tongue drove Miguel wild. The grip he had on your hand tightened, and his pace quickened as he drove his cock deeper into you. Your head pressed back against the mattress with closed eyes, and a long, needy moan sounded from your throat.

Miguel's face was resting against your shoulder as he grunted with each drive of his hips into your pussy. His mouth moved restlessly over the skin of your throat, and his breathing was heavy in your ear. You could tell that even with his strong, steady thrusts, he wanted to do more to you. You knew it by the way he would place opened-mouth kisses on your neck and let his teeth barely graze your skin before pulling away with a muffled groan.

You turned your head slightly so that your cheek rested against his. "I know what you want to do," you whispered in his ear. "You don't have to hold back." Miguel's face turned, and his eyes opened to gauge whether or not you were saying what he thought you were. You pressed a kiss to his lips before turning your head away and exposing your neck for him.

Miguel didn't need any more prompting or encouragement from you. His fangs pierced your skin at the base of your neck, making you gasp sharply as his jaw firmly clamped around you. He moaned at the relief of being able to sink his teeth into you, and now that his restless desire to bite you was being satisfied, his thrusts grew faster and stronger. Loud gasps and long whines filled the air since his unrelenting pace made it impossible for you to be quiet. Your nails were digging into his back while your pinned hand squeezed his, and the combination of pleasure and pain left you unable to think straight.

You realized he was growing closer when he started making more noise. His hips were snapping harshly against yours while he was grunting and even moaning against your neck. His interlaced fingers tightened around yours as his body tensed and finally stilled with a groaning sigh of relief.

The stillness lasted for a moment as he remained on top of you with only the sounds of your accelerated breathing between you. When Miguel finally moved, it was to release your neck from his jaw. You were expecting it this time, but the sharp sensation of his fangs pulling out of your skin still made you flinch.

"Painful?" he asked quietly after a moment in a hoarse voice. You took a few breaths before admitting, "A little bit." He raised his head off of your neck, and you saw genuine concern in his eyes. You smiled softly and placed a quick kiss on his lips. "But you made me feel so good, it was worth it," you whispered to him.

He studied your face for a second before lowering his mouth back onto yours in a long, lazy kiss. He eventually moved his lips down to your neck where blood was beginning to bead up from his bite. As he kissed you, he let go of your hand and pulled out of you, causing you to groan quietly. Miguel pulled away from your skin after a few heartbeats and rolled over next to you with a soft grunt.

You both lay in silence for a little while as your breathing started to even out. Your eyes had been closed, but after after a moment, you opened them and turned your head to look at Miguel. He was staring up at the ceiling with a faraway gaze, and you noticed how his eyebrows twitched with a perplexed expression.

He knew that you were looking at him, and after a moment, he sighed and turned to look at you, too. "What?" he asked quietly, his eyes containing hints of suspicion. You paused, studying his face for a second. "I can never tell what you're thinking about," you said finally. Miguel turned his face back up to look at the ceiling before muttering, "Good."

You rolled your eyes with a little huff of amusement. "But I can tell when something is bothering you," you continued. "What is it?"

Miguel didn't respond for a while, and you were starting to think he wouldn't answer. Finally, he let out another sigh and stated quietly, "That anomaly is going to wreak havoc on the multiverse." It was your turn to sigh, and you rolled over onto your side and rested your head on your hand.

"If you get to have rules, then so do I," you told him. "My rule is that you are not allowed to talk about work while in bed." Miguel's face turned back to look at you, and a faint smile appeared on his lips.

"Alright," he conceded. "No work." You smiled in satisfaction and said, "Good," before rolling onto your stomach and resting your head on your pillow while still facing him. His eyes never left your face, and you saw a glimmer of amusement in his expression.

"Are you staying here tonight?" Miguel asked softly, shifting his body to face you better. You closed your eyes for a second and let out a short hum. "I don't think so," you admitted when you opened your eyes. "I've got things I need to take care of back home."

He nodded silently in understanding, his eyes looking away from you. "Plus, I need to fix my suit tonight," you continued, "and I never keep any of my supplies at Web-Quarters."

Miguel's eyebrows scrunched together, and he closed his eyes for a second. "Web-Quarters?" he repeated, sounding incredibly disappointed. You chuckled at his reaction. "Oh, c'mon," you laughed, nudging his arm with your hand. "It's funny."

"It's stupid," he countered flatly.

"You're the only one who thinks so," you told him. "All the other Spider-People think it's great." He raised an eyebrow at you. "You've called the compound 'Web-Quarters' to every single Spider here?" he asked doubtfully.

You rolled your eyes. "Well, not all of them," you admitted. "But everyone I've said it to thought it was hilarious." "Like who?" he questioned skeptically. You looked upward as you recounted everyone who you had shared your little pun with. "Jess, Pav, Peter B. from Earth-616, Peter from Earth-13122, Gwen Stacey, Ben Reilly," you listed out for him.

At that last name, Miguel's face darkened, and he let out an irritated huff. "I don't want to hear you mention Ben Reilly to me ever again," he told you in a low voice. You scoffed playfully and rolled your eyes at him. "I'm serious," he insisted in a grave voice.

You studied his face for a moment, and you could see just how serious he was being. After a pause, you pushed yourself up onto your elbows and moved closer to him so that your face hovered over his. You raised a hand up to his face to brush away some of the hair that had stuck to his forehead and asked with a smug grin, "Why does it bother you so much if I do?"

You knew the answer, but you wanted to hear it from him again. He didn't respond for a second, studying your face quietly as his hand slid under your stomach and snaked around your waist. "Because I don't want you to think about anyone else when you're with me," he murmured as his eyes fixed on your lips.

The corners of your mouth curled upward, and you ran a finger over the angles of his face. You noted how his dark eyebrows were relaxed instead of drawn in a scowl, his eyes were observant but not critical, and the shape his full lips looked more like a smile than a frown. He was at ease when it was only you, and that filled you with an unexpected sense of satisfaction.

"I already told you," you said softly. "There was never anyone else." He hummed, running his fingers up your back. "Good," he whispered before lifting his head up and kissing you gently. You smiled against his lips and savored the feeling of your body against his.

The quiet moment between you was interrupted when a yellow, holographic form appeared from Miguel's watch. "Aww, you guys are so cute," Lyla cooed. Her figure was postured on her stomach with her head in her hands and her legs swinging like a giddy schoolgirl.

You and Miguel both jumped and cursed in surprise. "Lyla!" Miguel snarled in admonition, obviously irritated and embarrassed at being caught in bed with you. You buried your face against his shoulder with an awkward laugh as you felt your cheeks grow warm in embarrassment.

"Aww, c'mon," she lilted in amusement. "You don't have to be shy. I've known since day one." "Go away, Lyla," he growled, pulling at the comforter of your bed to try and cover himself. "I just wanted to let you know that the anomaly popped up again," she explained, "but it's been tricky tracking him since he disengaged the homing device."

Miguel huffed an exasperated breath. "Can this wait?" He snapped, still pulling at the blanket beneath him. "Not for much longer," she told him with a shrug. He heaved a large sigh and ran his hand over his face. "Fine," he muttered. "Now, go away."

"Alright, alright," Lyla said dismissively. "And don't worry, your secret is safe with me." With a smile and a wink, she disappeared.

You and Miguel laid in silence for a moment until you broke it with your laughter. Your shoulders were shaking as you laughed out the embarrassment that had washed over you. Miguel sighed again and turned his head to look at you. Seeing your smiling face caused his to soften considerably.

"Remind me to reprogram her," he grumbled quietly. You hummed in amusement and placed another kiss on his lips. "I guess that means you should get going," you said. Miguel closed his eyes and pulled back his arm from around your body. "I guess so," he agreed reluctantly.

You moved off of his body to allow him to sit up. He rubbed his hand across his face and pushed himself up off the bed while his suit enveloped his body again.

"How is that not nanotech?" You asked curiously as you watched him stand up. "I told you, it's much cooler than that," he stated. You hummed indifferently. "Yeah, yeah," you mumbled as you stretched out on your bed. "You always keep the cool toys for yourself."

He smirked down at you before lifting his arm to type something on his watch. "Sounds like somebody's jealous," he commented without looking at you. You raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, I wouldn't say that I'm the jealous one out of the two of us," You shot back.

Miguel seemed amused at your comment but didn't respond to it. Instead, he said, "You're still on call, you know." You smiled while sitting up to get dressed again. "So, I'm not grounded anymore?" You asked teasingly.

He turned and looked down at you with a thoughtful smile for a moment. "Don't test your luck," he muttered as he turned and walked out, leaving you staring at the door and wishing he would stay just a little longer.

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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 3 months ago

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Heartbeat of Autumn

As new parents, Eris and Lyra Vanserra navigate the overwhelming challenges of caring for their newborn son. Amidst sleepless nights, overbearing family, and deep-seated fears they discover the unbreakable bond that comes with parenthood and the strength neither of them knew they possessed.

Content warnings: Postpartum struggles, emotional distress, tense familiar relationships.

Eris peered down at the patch of vibrant ginger hair nestled against his chest, the tiny bundle with porcelain skin swaddled tightly in a blanket, only a rosy hand peeking out from underneath. His son was perfection incarnate—every feature flawless and delicate. From the moment he was born, Thorne had been blessed with a full head of fiery red hair, just like all the other Vanserra boys. But as the weeks passed, some of it had fallen away, leaving behind soft tufts that tickled Eris's fingertips.

With a tender touch, Eris traced his fingers up and down the baby's tiny back, feeling the warmth of his body seep into his own. Thorne gurgled contentedly in his slumber, the sound like a symphony to Eris's ears. Plump lips puckered and parted with each gentle breath, and the sight filled Eris with an overwhelming love for his son.

From the moment Thorne was born, Eris had made a promise to himself: he would devote every waking second to his son. Despite his duties under his father's oppressive rule, Eris refused to be an absent father. He was determined to be there for every milestone and precious moment in Thorne's life, even if it meant going against Beron's expectations of him being "soft and weak". So every diaper change, feeding, burp, and bath was met with Eris's undivided attention and love for his son.

Despite enduring his father's constant verbal tirades, all it took was the warmth of Thorne's tiny body against his chest to make every anxiety and worry simply melt away. The soft skin of his baby boy merged seamlessly with his own, their scents mingling into a delightful mixture of cinnamon and apples.

Eris leaned down, breathing in the familiar scent of his son's hair as it tickled his nose. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, feeling the rise and fall of Thorne's chest against his own. Every detail of this new little life filled him with overwhelming love and joy. Though only two months old, Thorne already felt like a part of Eris that he had been missing for a lifetime. From the moment those bright green eyes opened and Thorne let out his first glorious battle cry, Eris had been reduced to a puddle on the floor. In that instant, he knew he would have been content to die right then and there, as nothing more than Thorne's devoted father—high lordship be damned.

Lyra's pregnancy had been anything but smooth sailing - a demanding and unrelenting trial that tested not only her physical strength, but also Eris's. From the very first month, she was plagued by a debilitating morning sickness that refused to abide by any schedule, often striking at any time throughout the day. The mere smell of food would send her sprinting towards the nearest bathroom, doubled over as she retched into the basin with little relief. She soon gave up on trying to eat anything more than a few sips of broth and small bites of dry bread, her once robust appetite now a distant memory. Eris could do nothing but watch in helpless despair as his beloved mate, the female he wanted to share the world with, seemed to waste away before his eyes. She lost an alarming amount of weight, her once radiant complexion replaced with a pale, sickly pallor and her once curvaceous figure reduced to skin and bones.

When the second trimester finally brought some respite from the sickness, Lyra regained some of her strength and color. However, sleep continued to elude her as their unborn child grew restless within her womb. Every night was a battle against exhaustion as she tried desperately to soothe the baby's constant kicking and squirming. Eris did his best to stay awake with her, sitting in their chambers bathed in the soft glow of firelight, singing tender lullabies in hopes of lulling both mother and child to sleep. His deep voice resonated with love and fervent prayers for their little one to finally find rest so that Lyra could have a moment's reprieve.

As they entered into the third trimester, Lyra's struggle only intensified. Each movement became a monumental effort as her body strained under the weight of her growing belly. Her joints constantly throbbed with pain, every step causing her immense discomfort as if her very bones were on fire. Eris's heart broke a little more each time she winced, her body forced to bear the burdens of pregnancy in ways that seemed almost cruel. Despite the overwhelming challenges, Lyra still managed to smile through the pain and tell Eris how excited she was to meet their little one. Her strained voice held a fierce determination and an unbreakable love that seemed to overshadow all the suffering she endured.

"It’s worth it," she would whisper, her voice trembling with both exhaustion and hope. "All of this is worth it, Eris. I’d endure it a thousand times over just to hold our babe in my arms."

In the crisp, autumn air of a new day, Lyra's labor began. The first hints of frost glinted on the windowpanes of their chambers, a silent but beautiful welcome for the newest member of the High Autumn Family. As she stirred awake, Lyra felt a sharp pain shoot through her lower back, but she dismissed it as just another discomfort in her long and difficult pregnancy. Yet as the morning progressed, the pain intensified, spreading like wildfire across her abdomen and pelvis. By midday, with weak rays of sunlight filtering through the orange and brown leaves on the trees, the contractions had hit full force - deep, wrenching waves that stole her breath and left her gripping the edges of her bed in desperation.

Eris stood by her side, his usually composed and reserved demeanor now cracking under the weight of worry and fear. His mate's face contorted in pain as she struggled through each contraction. Eris had thought he was prepared for this moment, but now as he watched her struggle, he felt a helplessness clawing at his insides like a caged animal. He frantically called for a healer, his voice echoing through the halls with a desperate panic that he couldn't contain.

Lyra's labor was a slow, grueling process, each contraction ripping through her body like a fiery inferno. Her fingernails dug into Eris's skin as she clung to him, seeking any bit of comfort and stability in the midst of the relentless pain. Hours passed, dragging on for what felt like an eternity as she labored through the day and well into the night. The healer's brow furrowed with concern as she checked Lyra's progress, her gentle reassurances becoming strained as each minute ticked by. Lyra's breaths came in short gasps, her strength depleting with each passing contraction. Eris remained steadfast by her side, his grip on her hand tight and unwavering, whispering words of encouragement and love. The only time he left her was when his father summoned him to the court room, insisting that it was not appropriate for a male to be present during the birth of his child. But Eris refused to leave his mate's side, determined to support her in whatever way he could. He calmly informed his father that he was not like any other male and that he would be there for Lyra, and he would witness the birth of his first born.

The pain was an all-encompassing force, a relentless attack on her body that felt as though it were tearing her apart. Lyra cried out, her voice hoarse from screaming through each contraction, her body trembling with exhaustion. She had been told that her body would know what to do, that it was designed for this purpose of bearing children, but now she wondered if her body had never been properly trained for this task. The agony seemed never-ending, consuming her every thought and movement. As the sun dipped below the horizon, Lyra's cries turned into desperate pleas, declaring that she couldn't endure any longer and that everything felt wrong. Eris, watching the strain in her eyes and feeling his own heart constrict with fear, knew Lyra was reaching her breaking point.

As the hours ticked by, Lyra's labor seemed to come to a halt. Her body refused to progress, as if frozen in time. The healer's expression grew grim as she quietly explained that the baby was not positioned for an easy delivery, and Lyra's body was struggling to push it down the birth canal. The suggestion of a medical intervention hung in the air like a dark cloud, a decision left to Eris and Lyra as they exchanged desperate glances. But Lyra, with a fierce determination in her eyes, refused to give up. She dug deep within herself and summoned every last ounce of strength she had, gritting her teeth against the pain.

The sun rose and set again, but still, Lyra labored on. The chamber filled with her cries, the calming words of the healer, and Eris's softly whispered prayers to any deity who would listen. His heart broke as he watched his beloved endure each wave of pain, her eyes pleading for relief.

As the sun began to rise on the second day of labor, a sense of urgency and determination filled Lyra's body. Her clothes were drenched in sweat, her hair matted against her forehead as she gasped for breath. The pain was intense, but she could feel her body taking over, pushing her onwards towards the end. Through the haze of agony, the healer's voice rang out like a beacon, guiding her through each contraction. Eris stood by her side, his hand clasping hers tightly as she gave everything she had.

With one final, guttural scream, Lyra pushed with all her might, every muscle in her body straining with a strength she didn't know she possessed. And then, just as the first rays of sunlight broke through the darkness, a cry pierced the air - loud and defiant, filling the room with its power and bringing tears to Eris's eyes.

Thorne had arrived. Their son. Their baby boy, who they had been waiting for with so much love and anticipation.

The healer moved with swift, practiced movements as she swaddled the tiny, squirming, screaming bundle and placed him on Lyra's chest. Her voice was soft with both praise and relief as she spoke to the new mother. Lyra, her body trembling with exhaustion, let out a choked sob as she looked down at her son, who immediately calmed upon feeling the warmth of his mother's skin and hearing the gentle lilt of her voice. The pain, fear, and hours of labor all faded into a distant memory as she gazed into the bright green eyes that met hers with a curious, unwavering stare.

Eris, tears streaming down his face, leaned over the bed to press a kiss to Lyra's sweat-soaked auburn hair. His heart swelled with a fierce love that bordered on painful, his chest tight with a mix of pride, relief, and overwhelming joy. The bond between himself and his son radiated as he felt himself drawn to the small, sweet face just minutes old.

"You did it," he whispered, his voice cracking as he gently brushed her hair from her forehead. "You did it, Lyra." He pressed another kiss to her forehead, savoring the familiar scent of his mate mixed with the new scent of their child.

Lyra smiled through her tears, momentarily forgetting her exhaustion as she cradled their son against her chest. Her fingers traced over the small ginger tufts that marked him unmistakably as a Vanserra. She didn't look at her mate; her focus solely on the newborn baby boy that she had longed to meet for months. "He's here," she murmured in awe, her voice thick with emotion. "He's finally here. We have a son."

The days following Thorne’s birth were a whirlwind of emotions and exhaustion, a blur of sleepless nights and endless moment’s of awe as Eris and Lyra adjusted to life with their newborn. The world outside their chambers seemed to fade into insignificance, their entire universe now centered around the life they had brought into it. Thorne, with his tuft of red hair and bright green eyes, demanded every ounce of their attention, which both mother and father were happy to supply.

But with the joy of Thorne’s arrival came the inevitable challenges. Everyday was a new relentless test of endurance. Thorne seemed to only sleep in short bursts, resting on his mothers chest. He awoke often with hungry cries that echoed through the quiet of night and day. Lyra, still recovering from the grueling labor was exhausted beyond measure, her body aching and sore, her emotions a fragile thing that verged on overwhelming. Eris, despite his best efforts, could do little to alleviate her pain, but he took on as much of the burden as he could, tending to Thorne at every opportunity to give Lyra even a moment to lie down.

He would rise in the middle of the night to the screaming babe, holding his son close as he paced the length of their chamber, humming lullabies, traditional of the Autumn Court that his nursemaids had sung to him. Eris learned quickly how to change a diaper with trembling hands and how to swaddle Thorne just right to ease his fussing. But despite his determination, there were moments when Eris felt the weight of it all—the exhaustion, the fear of being his father, the constant, gnawing worry for Lyra’s wellbeing.

On one particular night, after the sun had just dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the court, the once-golden leaves outside their chambers were now tinged with deep reds and purples of twilight. Inside, however, the world was far from calm. Thorne’s cried echoed through the room, piercing the silence and fraying Lyra’s already delicate nerves.

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the Autumn Court, and the once-golden leaves outside their chambers were now tinged with the deep reds and purples of twilight. Inside, however, the world was far from calm. Thorne’s cries echoed through the room, piercing the silence and fraying Lyra’s already delicate nerves.

It had been hours since the last time he had settled, and Lyra was at her wit’s end. She had fed him, changed him, rocked him, and sang to him until her voice was hoarse, but nothing seemed to soothe him. Thorne’s little face was red from crying, his tiny fists clenched as he screamed, the sound grating against her exhausted mind. Every time she tried to pass him to Eris for a moment’s respite, Thorne only screamed louder, his cries reaching a fever pitch until she had no choice but to take him back.

“Lyra, let me take him again,” Eris urged gently, his brow furrowed with concern as he watched her struggle.

But Lyra shook her head, her hands trembling as she clutched Thorne to her chest. “He doesn’t want you,” she whispered, her voice thick with frustration and fatigue. “He just wants me, but I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything, Eris. I don’t know how to make him stop.��

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision as she looked down at their son, whose cries had only grown more desperate. The sound was relentless, a high-pitched wail that seemed to vibrate through her entire body, leaving her feeling raw and frayed at the edges.

Eris moved closer, his hand resting on her back as he tried to comfort her. “Lyra, it’s not your fault. Babies cry—it’s what they do. He doesn’t know what he wants yet, but it’s not because you’re doing something wrong.”

But his words offered little solace. Lyra could feel herself unraveling, the weight of the past few days crushing her as Thorne’s cries grated against her already frazzled nerves. She was exhausted, her body still weak from labor, and she felt like she was failing at the one thing that mattered most—being the mother Thorne needed her to be.

“I can’t do this,” she finally broke, her voice shaking as tears spilled over her cheeks. “I’m so tired, Eris. He won’t stop crying, and I don’t know what to do. I just want him to stop. I need him to stop.”

Eris’s heart ached at the sight of her so broken, her usually strong demeanor crumbling under the weight of exhaustion and self-doubt. He wrapped his arms around her, careful not to press too tightly against Thorne, who was still squirming and wailing in her arms. “Lyra, it’s okay. You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here, and I’ll stay with you. We’ll figure it out together.”

But Lyra could barely hear him over the sound of Thorne’s cries, her own breath coming in short, panicked gasps as she tried to calm the baby, her hands shaking as she rocked him back and forth. “Please, Thorne,” she whispered desperately, her voice cracking with the weight of her emotions. “Please, just stop. I need you to stop.”

But Thorne only cried harder, his tiny body rigid with distress, his cries escalating to a pitch that seemed to pierce straight through her. It was too much—the constant crying, the overwhelming responsibility, the fear that she wasn’t enough. She felt as though she were drowning, the walls of their chamber closing in on her as Thorne’s cries became all she could hear, all she could think about.

Without another word, Lyra sank down onto the edge of the bed, her body trembling with exhaustion and despair. She clutched Thorne to her chest, her tears falling onto his tiny head as she rocked him back and forth, murmuring broken apologies that were swallowed up by his cries. “I’m sorry, Thorne. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what you want. I don’t know how to help you.”

Eris knelt beside her, his heart breaking as he watched her unravel, knowing there was little he could do to take away her pain. He reached out, his hand gently covering hers as she held Thorne. “Lyra, you’re doing everything you can. He’s just overwhelmed, just like you. But he’s safe, and he’s loved, and that’s what matters most. You’re enough, Lyra. You’re more than enough.”

But Lyra couldn’t see it, couldn’t feel it. All she could hear were Thorne’s cries, all she could feel was the crushing weight of inadequacy. She had thought she could handle this, had thought she was prepared, but nothing had prepared her for the relentless, unending demands of a newborn who needed her every moment of every day.

Her tears came faster now, her sobs mixing with Thorne’s cries as she leaned into Eris’s embrace, her body shaking with the force of her emotions. “I’m so tired, Eris,” she choked out. “I’m so, so tired. I don’t know how much more I can take.”

Eris pulled her closer, his heart breaking as he held both her and Thorne in his arms, wishing he could do more to ease her pain. “I know, my love. I know you’re tired. But you don’t have to do this alone. I’m here with you, and we’ll get through this together. I promise you, it will get better.”

But in that moment, Lyra couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. All she could feel was the crushing weight of exhaustion, the overwhelming pressure to be everything Thorne needed her to be, and the fear that she was failing him—failing both of them.

Eris held her through it, his own eyes damp with unshed tears as he whispered words of comfort, his voice steady even as his heart ached with helplessness. He knew this was only a passing storm, that they would find their way through it, but in that moment, all he could do was be there—hold them, love them, and wait for the storm to pass.

And eventually, slowly, it did. Thorne’s cries began to subside, his tiny body finally giving in to exhaustion as he quieted in Lyra’s arms. His little hands unclenched, his breathing evening out as he drifted off into a fitful sleep, his face still wet with tears. Lyra, too, began to calm, her sobs quieting as the tension in her body slowly eased, though the weight of her emotions still lingered.

Eris gently took Thorne from her arms, cradling the sleeping babe against his chest as he brushed a kiss to Lyra’s temple. “Rest now,” he whispered, his voice soft and filled with love. “I’ll take care of him. Just close your eyes and rest.”

Lyra nodded weakly, too drained to argue, too exhausted to do anything but lean into him as he carefully guided her to lie back on the bed. She closed her eyes, her body heavy with fatigue, and within moments, she was asleep, her breathing finally deep and even.

Eris stood there for a long time, holding Thorne close as he watched over Lyra, his heart aching with a mixture of love and sorrow.

And then there was his family.

Eris had anticipated his father’s reaction to Thorne’s birth, but nothing could have truly prepared him for Beron’s demands. Upon hearing that Lyra had given birth to a son, the High Lord of the Autumn Court had been insistent on meeting his grandson as soon as he could. Beron had sent word almost immediately, demanding an audience with the babe, his tone cold and authoritative, as though Thorne was just another asset to be inspected.

Eris’s jaw tightened with anger as he read the message, the familiar weight of his father’s expectations pressing down on him like a vice. Beron had never been a male to show warmth or tenderness, and the thought of his father laying eyes on his son filled Eris with a protective fury he had never known before. Thorne was only days old—fragile, innocent, and so very small—and the last thing Eris wanted was for him to be paraded before Beron like a trophy.

But Eris knew his father well enough to understand that defiance would come with a cost. Beron would not tolerate insubordination, even from his eldest son, and especially not when it came to a matter as significant as the birth of his heir’s firstborn. Eris could almost hear the words his father would say—the cutting remarks, the accusations of weakness, the thinly veiled threats that always lurked beneath the surface of their interactions.

Lyra, sensing Eris’s turmoil, placed a gentle hand on his arm as he stared down at the letter, Throne swaddled to her chest, his tiny whimpers and gurgles filling the air. Her touch brought him back to the present, grounding him. “You don’t have to let him in,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from exhaustion but firm with resolve. “Thorne isn’t ready for that. And neither are we.”

Eris looked at her, at the dark circles under her eyes, the pallor of her skin, and the way she clutched Thorne protectively to her chest. She was right, of course. They weren’t ready to face Beron’s scrutiny, not when they were still trying to navigate the fragile early days of parenthood. Eris knew his father had already made a judgement for Lyra not immediately presenting the babe to the court, but tried his best to shield her from direct scrutiny. But refusing Beron wasn’t a decision he could make lightly. It would be seen as a direct challenge to his authority—a challenge that could have far-reaching consequences for both of them.

Eris took a deep breath, steeling himself as he made his decision. “I’ll speak with him,” he said, his voice low and determined. “But he won’t come near Thorne. Not yet.”

The tension between Eris and his father crackled in the air like lightning, each of them radiating a palpable hatred towards the other. Beron's piercing gaze bore into his son, his expression cold and unreadable. "Where is the babe?" he barked, his voice sharp as a blade.

"He's with Lyra," Eris replied coolly, refusing to show any sign of fear or intimidation. "They're resting."

Beron's face twisted into a sneer, his anger boiling just below the surface. "Resting? Or hiding?" His eyes darkened with malice. "I expected more from you, Eris. You are meant to raise your son as a future ruler of this court, not coddle him like a weakling."

Eris felt a surge of rage at his father's words, but he kept his emotions in check, determined not to give Beron the satisfaction. "Thorne is an infant. He knows nothing of our world or our court. He needs time to be with his mother and to grow. When the time is right, I will present him before the court."

Beron's sneer deepened as he drew closer to Eris, his towering figure casting a menacing shadow over him. "You are becoming soft, boy. You were born to rule, not to be ruled by sentiment."

Eris clenched his fist at his side, but remained stoic. "My decision stands. Thorne will stay with Lyra until she is ready to face the courtiers once again. If you wish to see your grandson before then, you will have to make your own arrangements."

Beron stared down at his son with seething anger in his eyes. "You will teach him to be a true Vanserra, Eris. You will not let him become weak and feeble like you have."

Eris's jaw tightened, but he held his tongue as his father stormed out of the room, leaving a bitter trail behind him.

But for now, in this moment, Eris was bathed in the warm glow of the evening light, his newborn, barely two month old babe, slumbering on his chest. As he ran his hand gently up and down the length of Thorne’s back, Eris marveled at how small and delicate his son was. The baby gurgled happily in his sleep, his tiny lips puckered and parted with each soft breath, and the sight made Eris’s heart clench with a fierce, overwhelming love. This little boy, with his shock of red hair and his quiet strength, had captured his heart in a way that nothing else ever had.

Eris knew that these moments were fleeting, that Thorne would grow quickly, and soon enough, he’d be running around the halls of the estate, getting into mischief like any Vanserra boy. But for now, he was content to savor this—this quiet, peaceful bond that belonged to just the two of them.

He leaned down again, pressing a soft kiss to Thorne’s head, breathing in the scent of his son and feeling the weight of his responsibilities slip away. In this moment, there was no Beron, no Autumn Court, no expectations or pressures. There was only the warmth of Thorne’s skin against his own, the gentle rise and fall of his tiny chest, and the deep, abiding love that filled Eris’s heart to the brim.

He closed his eyes, letting the world outside fade away, and for the first time in a long while, Eris felt at peace. Holding Thorne, feeling the steady beat of his heart, Eris knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, no matter the battles he would have to fight, this—this was worth it all. Every sacrifice, every moment of fear, every tear shed—nothing mattered more than this little life he held in his arms.

In that stillness, with Thorne sleeping soundly against him, Eris made a silent vow. He would protect this boy with everything he had, would give him the love and the life that Eris himself had never known. He would be the father Thorne deserved, the one who would always be there—present, loving, and unwavering.

As he held Thorne close, Eris felt a tear slip down his cheek, a tear of joy, of relief, of pure, unadulterated love. And as Thorne stirred slightly in his sleep, his tiny hand curling against Eris’s chest, Eris smiled, knowing that in this moment, he had everything he had ever needed.

#eris vandaddy #eris vanserra fluff #eris vanserra #eris acotar #acotar fanfiction #eris fanfiction

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pxnsneverland · 3 months ago

Text

Something Immortal | Biker!Austin Butler x OC (part 13)

(gif source: redbelles)

plot summary: In the gritty underbelly of a city ruled by werewolf biker gangs, Austin Butler reigned supreme as the ruthless leader of his pack. A man of unwavering ferocity, he lied, killed, and stole without remorse, living by a code of violence that defined his kind. Yet, even Austin harbored a secret weakness – his childhood friend Bonnie Barlow, the one woman he had loved in silence for years. Bonnie's father had once been part of Austin's gang, but after his death, she fled the treacherous world of the werewolves, unable to stomach the endless cycle of crime and brutality. For five years, she remained a fugitive from her own nature, until a fateful night when her life took an irreversible turn. Freshly released from a two-year prison stint, Austin returned to his pack, reveling in the debauchery of their den. But his revelry was cut short by a frantic call from Bonnie, pleading for his aid. Rushing to her side, he uncovered a grim truth – in a desperate act of self-defense against her abusive boyfriend, Bonnie had taken a life, awakening the dormant werewolf within her. As the next full moon loomed, she would undergo her first agonizing transformation, a fate she had always dreaded. Defying the pack's ruthless code, Austin sheltered Bonnie, guiding her through the excruciating metamorphosis that tore through her body each lunar cycle. In the depths of her torment, their bond rekindled, blossoming into a love they had long suppressed. Nights of shared laughter and reminiscence gave way to stolen moments of tenderness, their connection deepening with every passing moon. Yet, their newfound bliss was a fragile thing, forever threatened by the harsh realities that governed their world. For Bonnie was branded a deserter, her very existence a betrayal in the eyes of the pack. If Austin's treachery was uncovered, retribution would be swift and merciless.

pairings: biker!austin butler x oc

word count: 1352

warnings/notes: violence, blood

Chapter 13: A Deadly Showdown

The crowd fell silent as he emerged, his rugged figure cutting an imposing image in the dim light. He fixed his icy gaze on Jerry, who held the attention of his own faction with a venomous tirade against him. Jerry turned and their eyes met. There was a long, tense pause.

"Jerry," Austin's voice sliced through the cold night air, silencing the last of the whispers like a fatal blow. "You've made your challenge. Now face me."

Jerry sneered in response. "With pleasure." He gestured towards an open area, signaling for the gang to make room.

In a world where physical power often dictated survival, a challenge between werewolves was a deadly dance - brutal, swift and unforgiving. The two men stepped into the cleared space; Austin’s muscles taut beneath his worn leather jacket, Jerry flexing his fingers in anticipation.

As the moon shone down upon them, they transformed in synchrony; bodies rippling and contorting as they took on their powerful wolf forms. The crowd watched in silence as Austin and Jerry circled one another, snarls echoing through the forest surrounding them.

They sprang at each other, a clash of fur and fangs that echoed through the silent woods. Austin landed a heavy blow on Jerry’s flank before being swiped aside by Jerry’s massive paw. With a growl that shook the trees around them, they engaged again, locked in a deadly battle for dominance.

Meanwhile Gwen ‘Black Widow’ Martin looked on with predatory interest as she saw her opportunity to seize control while everyone was distracted with the fight. She moved stealthily towards Bonnie but was stopped short by Bear standing protectively over her motionless form. His eyes flashed a warning that she didn't dare ignore.

Back in the clearing, Austin managed to sink his teeth into Jerry’s shoulder causing him to howl in pain and retreat momentarily. But Jerry was quick to retaliate, lunging at Austin with renewed vigor. Despite his injuries, Austin held his ground. The memory of Bonnie lying battered and bruised fueled a seething rage within him that no pain could quell.

He charged at Jerry, his sharp claws raking against the larger wolf’s side. Jerry tried to fight back but with each passing moment, Austin's attacks became more relentless, more unforgiving. His eyes told of a promise - a promise of retribution for every bruise on Bonnie’s body.

All around them, the gang watched in anticipation as Austin and Jerry battled with primal ferocity. Nature's law dictated the outcome: only the strongest would emerge victorious. And tonight, Austin was determined to be the victor for Bonnie.

As the fight wore on, Jerry found himself growing weaker as his injuries began to impair his movements. His once fierce snarls now mere whimpers, his formidable stature beginning to falter under Austin's relentless assault.

Seeing his opportunity, Austin lunged at Jerry, sinking his powerful jaws into Jerry's throat. Jerry let out a strangled, choked-off howl, struggling to free himself from Austin's iron grip. His struggles were futile and slowly, he began to weaken - his scarlet life ebbing away onto the dampened soil. The crowd watching in silence. Releasing his grip, Austin stepped back and watched as Jerry collapsed onto the ground, his breath coming out in harsh, ragged gasps.

Defeated, Jerry’s massive wolf form shrank back into his human figure. His eyes, once full of venomous wrath, were now glossed over with the blinding clarity of imminent death. He reached out a trembling hand towards Austin, his voice barely a whisper as he gasped, “You’ve won, Boss.”

Austin didn’t speak; his beastly form dissolved back to his human self as he stood over Jerry’s dying body. The silence that hung over the clearing was deafening, only broken by Jerry's rattling breaths fading slowly into the night. A sense of finality fell across the clearing as Jerry’s hand dropped to the ground, his eyes staring blindly into the moonlit sky. The tension that had been coiled so tightly within the onlookers seemed to collectively unwind in an audible sigh. Austin stood silent; his blonde hair and rugged features illuminated by the harsh moonlight.

He took a moment before turning towards the rest of the pack wiping the blood from his mouth. “Anyone else want to challenge me tonight?” His voice echoed through the still night. The crowd remained silent, none daring to meet his piercing gaze.

"Good," he murmured, “Those of you who don’t like the way I run things can pack your shit and go find another pack!” His eyes darkened. “And if any of you have anything to say about Bonnie…you’ll be the next to die.”

Austin's gaze roved over the pack, daring them to challenge him. His ironclad authority was absolute; there would be no more challenges tonight. The crowd began to disperse as Austin walked away from Jerry's lifeless body, leaving it as a gruesome testament to his power.

He made his way toward Bonnie. Bear's imposing figure hunch over protectively beside her. Austin paused in front of them, a dichotomy of emotions flickering within his icy eyes. He spared a glance at Bear, silently communicating his gratitude.

"Is she...?" Austin trailed off, unsure of what to say.

Bear looked up at Austin with a knowing look. "She's alive," he said softly, "But she's hurt bad."

Something clenched inside Austin. The sight of Bonnie’s delicate form marred by bruises brought forth an overwhelming tide of protective anger within him. His heart pounded against his ribs. He couldn’t lose her again.

He knelt down beside Bonnie, his rough hand gently brushing a stray lock from her face. As his fingers grazed her skin, she stirred slightly; her eyelids fluttering open to reveal hazy, pain-filled eyes that met his gaze.

"Austin," she rasped out weakly, reaching out with a trembling hand towards him.

"Shh..." Austin hushed her gently, "Save your strength."

He stood up abruptly and turned to Bear. "Get the first aid kit and water from my bike," he barked out.

As Bear hurriedly left to fetch the required items, Austin sat down beside Bonnie who was fighting to remain conscious. He gently took her hand in his, reassured by the faint squeeze she returned. Austin's piercing gaze never left Bonnie's face, drinking in the sight of her bruised and battered yet ever resilient figure. The promise of revenge he had silently made to himself was fulfilled yet its sweet taste was replaced with a bitter worry for Bonnie's wellbeing.

A sudden rustle broke him from his reverie as Bear lumbered back into view, balancing a large first aid kit and a water bottle precariously in his burly arms. He dumped the contents next to Austin before stepping back, allowing him space to work.

Austin opened the kit with hurried hands, pulling out bandages, disinfectants, and other necessary medical supplies. His hand was steady despite the turmoil raging inside him. All these years leading a gang taught him how to take care of wounds but never before did he wish this much for a real doctor. He cursed under his breath; the gang's secrecy meant hospitals were off-limits.

With grim determination set on his rugged face, Austin started applying the disinfectant to her wounds. Each time she winced or let out a small whimper of pain, guilt like a dagger pierced his heart, but he continued nonetheless. He cleaned and bandaged her wounds as gently as he could while murmuring comforting words that sounded hollow even to his own ears. She had slipped into unconsciousness once again but he hoped somehow she could hear him from the depths of her darkness.

When finally he was done, he found himself unable to let go of her hand, his thumb tracing absent patterns on her smooth skin. Her breathing seemed steadier now, but she was still pale against the moonlight.

Stay tuned for part 14!! Click HERE to view!

Taglist: @droopycoquette@buckysteveloki-me

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heronchildlove · 6 months ago

Note

39 for a Heronchildstairs/Heronfairstairs kiss (or kisses?) ☺️

Kiss roulette prompts - Accepting

39. A tentative kiss

When the ship docked, they were waiting for him at the pier. Even amongst the hundreds of people, Matthew spotted them immediately, James' close presence calling out to him and Cordelia's fiery hair catching his attention like a moth to a flame.

He ran down the ramp to meet them, caution be damned, and was still slightly surprised when they ran towards him, too, but the happiness of their presence and the warmth of their hugs drowned out that insecure part of himself that was always whispering on the back of his mind.

"Jamie bach," he called out startled when James finally let him go, "are you crying?"

"Of course not, why would I be crying? Just because you are finally here again after a whole year and I can finally see you and touch you and hear your voice and-"

"What James means-" Cordelia interrupted the tirade with a laugh, her eyes also a little teary. "Is that we missed you terribly and we are glad you are back and well."

"Angel." Matthew blinked rapidly and closed his eyes momentarily not to let his own tears fall lest their whole reunion turned into a very melodramatic and pathetic ordeal, then smiled to ease the tension. "It's not like I went to a demonic dimension. Uh, not again, anyway. I was just around the corner, and I sent plenty of letters."

The mention of letters brought up a memory that made his heart skip a beat, because on their last exchange... James and Cordelia couldn't possibly mean what he thought they had meant, could they?

James and Cordelia exchanged a cryptic look, Matthew hoped not because they had guessed at his swirling thoughts, though he couldn't fathom what else it ought to be about. Before he could ask or work himself into a frenzy, however, Cordelia was linking her arm with his and James was picking up his luggage.

"Let's get into the carriage before it starts raining and then we can speak more freely." James said, already clearing a way among the crowd for them.

"Yes, we have plenty to talk about. Specially because your letters were always less than reassuring. Must you always get yourself mixed up in seances, Matthew?"

Matthew groaned, always full of mixed feelings over the night he had "met" - and absolutely embarrassed himself in front of - his greatest idol. "Well, first of all..."

He launched himself into one of his stories and famous tirades, barely paying attention to what he was saying. His heart had taken to drumming into his chest and, instead of clearing, his thoughts kept spinning faster and faster.

One year he had spent away. One year he had taken to clear his head, lick his wounds and get over his feelings, but now that he was back it was as if no time had passed at all.

He just couldn't ignore the way his soul had settled into itself for the first time in a year once he saw James, the seemingly countless hooks that were always pricking under his skin and pulling him into his direction finally coming loose as if he was a magnet finally allowed to meet its other half. Or the way his heart had soared at the mere glimpse of Cordelia's hair in the distance, a dam he had battled hard to build coming undone at the first flood as if it was nothing.

He just couldn't deny how everything about them called out to him. How the scent of James' cologne still lingered under his nose from when he had pressed up to him, how Cordelia's arm around his was like a searing fire even through the layers of their clothes. How the world seemed brighter and warmer with them nearby, wonderful in the cosiness of their presence.

Maybe he could have, if it weren't for the letter. Maybe his defenses would have stayed up neatly and his hopes buried deep if it weren't for those words. He could still see them every time he closed his eyes, seared behind his eyelids in James' careful handwriting:

Now that your travel year is over, we urge you to hurry home. Your absence has left a gaping wound in both of us that we just can't bear anymore. It's been a sobering and painful realisation that, no matter what has been said or done, neither of us can live without you - nor do we wish to. I'm sorry if these words seem cruel, but I promise we'll explain everything once we meet, so please come home.

Cruel. Matthew tried to decide - as he did then - if they really were. Maybe. Sort of. Hope was a cruel thing, but only, he thought, if it was unfounded. Their words didn't make it sound unfounded. All they did was make Matthew feel as befuddled as he felt cautiously happy. Their letter exchanges had started distant and cold and full of guilt, but had become more relaxed slowly but surely, and then taken a definitely more intimate turn those last couple of months. Matthew had thought it had all been in his head, his own wishful thinking taking over again, but if that last letter really meant what he thought it did, he could not find them the littlest bit cruel.

Because he knew he couldn't live without them, either.

"Matthew? Matthew, are you okay?"

Cordelia's question brought him back and he smiled at her reassuringly.

"Yes, sorry. Just tired from the trip. I must have spaced out."

"That you did. You didn't even laugh when we told you lil Zachary threw up on Charles the one time he tried picking him up." James pointed out.

"He did?" Matthew repeated with a startled laugh now. "Remind me to pay him my respects next time I see him."

"Will do. He likes the colour green and, to the horror of all of us Herondales, ducks, if that helps."

"Quite."

Matthew felt a pang in his chest at their silly conversation as James helped the coachman secure his luggage to the carriage and he helped Cordelia climb up into it. All these little details and their shared quips were what had made James so unfathomably dear to him from the start. He hadn't realised just how much the years with the bracelet had robbed from James, or how much he had missed him.

"Alright, we are all set." James climbed in beside Cordelia and tapped the roof of the carriage to get them moving. "I've instructed the driver to take us to your flat. For now."

"For now?"

Cordelia elbowed James unceremoniously.

"Jamie is getting ahead of himself. We just entertained the idea that, considering our talk today goes well, if you would want to maybe someday move in with us. If you feel comfortable to, that is."

"Me? Move in with you? ...To Curzon Street?"

"Where else?"

Cordelia elbowed James again, and Matthew would have found it quite funny if he wasn't so busy being completely breathless.

"I think we should have that talk now."

"Don't you want to wait until you are home and settled-"

"No, now. If you are going to keep saying shocking things that make my heart give out, it's better if we stay in the carriage in case we need to quickly divert to a hospital."

Cordelia rolled her eyes as if she wanted to elbow him too, but then smiled.

"Very well, then, I suppose we should get the most shocking thing out of the way first just in case. If your heart survives that, we will be in the clear to finish the conversation. Ready?"

Matthew made a show out of steeling himself to hide the fact he was actually mentally preparing, then nodded. "Hit me."

"We are in love with you."

Simple and direct, one of the reasons why he had fallen in love with Cordelia. He did worry for a moment he was indeed having a heart attack and would need to be hospitalised, but a few deep breaths calmed him down enough to be able to answer.

"Still with us, Math?"

"Barely, but yes. I... have a few questions."

"As is your right. We are sure this is the last thing you were hoping to hear."

"No, in fact. Since we are saying shocking truths..." He closed his eyes and breathed deeply one more time before confessing. "That is exactly what I was hoping to hear, but I didn't really think it would really happen. If I remember well, just one year ago I was told very pointedly that you" he pointed at Cordelia "loved him and not me and that he was your one and only. And you" he pointed at James now "never once gave any sign of returning my affections or even knowing they were there, not even before we became parabatai, so... How? Why now? What could have possibly changed in a year?"

"Well..." Cordelia started, "you went away. For one."

"So what? Absence makes the heart grow fonder? That's a terrible cliche."

Cordelia chuckled.

"May be, but it was something like that. It's not that it made us fonder of you, as I do not think you could be any more dear to either of us, but it just made us more aware. Those feelings we shared in Paris that I thought would go away after I settled things with James just... never did. They remained here, and not having you near just made them that more apparent as I kept thinking of what you would do or say in a situation and missing you and wishing you were here."

"Yes, and you have to remember... I have not been all myself since I was young. I've been tattered to Grace and her whims for as long as I can remember, and it's only now that I'm learning how to be myself and how to handle my feelings as myself again, and you not being here made me realise there were ever only 2 people able to break through Grace's spell: one of them was Daisy, of course, but the other one was you, Matthew. But as you have always been here by my side, I didn't notice it as much as with Daisy, not until you went away and took half my soul and my heart with you. Or, well, one third of it."

Matthew closed his eyes again at the onslaught of emotions their words brought. "I am dreaming. I had way too much lobster for dinner last night and am now in my cabin having queer dreams from which I shall unfortunately wake from very soon."

He yelped when he felt something pinch the back of his hand and he opened his eyes to see James' mischievous smirk and outstretched hand.

"Was that enough to convince you you are not dreaming or should I do it again?"

"That was dreadful and uncalled for is what it was, I was merely being overdramatic. You have become less gracious during this time we have been apart, Jamie."

"And you have taken to stall things way too much. Speak honestly, Math, how do our confessions make you feel?"

"I am being honest, I feel like I am in a dream. A ridiculous wish-fulfilling one at that."

"So you are not displeased?"

"I have never been more pleased by anything in my life. I just still don't understand why or how."

"If you mean how we arrived at such insightful conclusions after being so obtuse about our own feelings for so long, you can thank my parents for that."

That was something Matthew wasn't expecting.

"Uncle Will and Aunt Tessa?"

"Yes." Cordelia confirmed. "It seems all very simple saying it now, but we agonised over this on our own for a long time. James thought he was misinterpreting or making a mock of the parabatai bond, I thought I was being cruel and selfish and unfaithful. It made me so distressed that Tessa noticed and she got me to confess what had been eating at me for the past months. I thought she would hate me for hurting her son even if only in my own heart and thoughts, but instead... She asked me if I thought her or Will were being unfaithful to each other every time they talked to or about Jem and that startled me so. I had never thought about it like that. She was the one that made me consider that this romantic idea I had been fed since young that there's only ever one person that is our soulmate wasn't always accurate and encouraged me to talk to James about it..."

"So she did, and it was not an easy conversation for either of us, but it did lead me to go talk to my father afterwards to get his perspective on things, which was, as my mother's, surprisingly simple: that you are mine as Jem is his. Or rather, that we belong to each other as they do."

Matthew couldn't help but smile. How many times had he looked at Aunt Tessa and Uncle Will and Uncle Jem and yearned for what they had? Sometimes just for someone that loved him as much as those three loved each other, other times that James would look at him and call his name as Will did Jem's. Then, when Cordelia came along, even though things were very messy for all of them at the time, he would be lying if he said that sometimes he didn't wonder if they could solve things as neatly as that. It looked like, even indirectly, his heroes had gotten him the happiness he had always craved, he still couldn't believe it.

"I'm starting to think I should have brought the three of them bigger presents. I've always admired them, did you know? Being in the Ruelle every night, I saw many arrangements like that that seemed amazing to me, and the fact there was one amongst the nephilim, even if none other recognised it, always gave me hope."

"You are wiser than me. Or maybe because I grew up with them I never noticed exactly what they were to each other, only when they pointed it out to us did I realise how clear it all was. Sorry if my being slow caused you even more unnecessary pain."

Matthew shook his head.

"You have nothing to apologise for, most people don't go around seeking what's outside the norm. I'm the one that has always lived in it. Which is why I still need to ask: are you both really sure? Is this not a passing fad, or curiosity, or a mistake? I... Honestly don't see what could be so interesting in me to earn and keep your affections when you already have each other or even why I would deserve them."

"Math..."

"You are you. You don't have to do anything to deserve us. We both know your light and your darkness, and we love you for who you are. Us being blind towards our own feelings is a fault in us, not in you, and we are sorry for having made you suffer so much for it until now."

"Exactly. Besides, you have it backwards. I still don't know what I did to deserve you. I was always just a friendless boring kid and you were like... the sun. But you have always loved me anyway, and I have always loved you. If you don't believe me, you should know: I didn't mention anything about our time in Edom to my father, mind you, but after we talked I realised what happened there, what I did, bringing you back like that... It wouldn't have been possible if my feelings for you weren't bigger than what I had ever allowed myself to notice either."

"Oh..." Was all Matthew could say.

"Exactly."

"Me and you love James enough to go to hell for him and he loves us enough to bring us back from it both times. I haven't had the chance to go to hell for you to prove my love for you, too, but I would if I had to."

"No, thank you. We have had enough visits to hell to last for the rest of our bloodlines."

He realised he sounded very frantic while saying it, which was probably what made Cordelia smile.

"So what should I do to prove my undying love for you so you'll take me seriously, Matthew?"

"Literally anything else. Buy me flowers, write me a poem, kiss me-"

"Oh, I can do that last one."

Matthew froze. He hadn't really meant to say the last one, it had just slipped out, and now he didn't know what to do.

"What?"

"I can kiss you. To show my love. It's a very good idea, actually. Can I?"

Cordelia moved to sit on the seat beside him and the carriage felt very stuffy suddenly.

"I think I'm having another heart attack."

"After she kisses you, can I do it, too? Since we have both started talking about this, I've been thinking about it. A lot. I would like to know what it would feel like or what - if anything - would change."

Matthew groaned.

"You are not helping, Jamie."

Cordelia put her hand on his face and caressed his cheekbone. He remembered what it was like to kiss her, jow soft and warm her lips were. She looked even more beautiful now than that night in Paris, because now he was certain her desire was meant for him.

"Can I?" She asked again.

"Yes." His response was almost a whisper, but it was enough. She leaned close and pressed their lips together slowly, tentatively. It made him gasp, fireworks exploding behind his eyelids. It was such a soft, cautious thing, but it made him more breathless than all their kisses in Paris had.

He had almost forgotten James was there, too, until he asked:

"How did it feel?"

"Right. So right. You should try it too, James." Cordelia answered against his lips and Matthew's head started to spin as he felt the seat dip again as James sat behind him, and a soft hand held him under his chin and tipped his head to the other side.

"Can I?" James asked too, voice more apprehensive than Cordelia's, and Matthew could never have James feeling unsure in any way.

"Please," he asked, and when their lips met, Matthew was sure he had been hit by lightning in that same moment. He and James both gasped, their relationship fundamentally changed forever, but it was a change none of them would ever wish to take back.

"So?" Cordelia asked, giddy.

"Yes, so right." James answered, and Matthew felt like he had been turned to jelly between their embraces.

"Yes," he breathed out. So right, the most righteous thing Matthew had ever felt or done his whole life. "So... What do we do now?"

"Your flat is just around the corner." Cordelia pointed out, looking out the window for a moment. "First, let's get you settled back home and then we can finish our talk and figure things out for now."

"And then we'll have the rest of our lives to figure everything else out together." James added, moving back to his seat and taking Matthew's hand in one of his and Cordelia's in the other.

Matthew looked down to where Cordelia extended him her other hand and smiled. For the first time in his life he knew exactly where he belonged, and he would do everything in his power to remain there. He took Cordelia's hand, too.

"Together." He promised, kissing both their hands to seal his vows.

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lulubelle814 · 1 year ago

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Prank Your Way In

Masterlist

It's never dull being with the God of Mischief. Dani found him intimidating at first, but Loki was smitten from the first moment he saw her, wanting to get to know this magnificent creature. Any time he attempted to approach her, she would scamper away, frustrating him to no end.

After a few failed attempts, he thought about giving up, but Thor would have none of it. He had noticed his brother's attempts and wanted him to be happy, at least have a friend, if not more.

"Don't worry, little brother. She's shy with almost everyone, mostly men. I do not know the exact reason why. Might I suggest talking to Lady Natasha? She and Dani have become good friends. "

"I do not know what you are referring to brother. I was merely attempting to discover if she was worthy of conversation. Apparently she is not."

Rather than allow his older brother to attempt more advice, Loki departed for the training room to blow off some steam from being caught out on his attempts to connect with Dani.

Conjuring up a few dummies, he practiced his knife throwing, not that he wasn't amazing at it already. When he grew tired of that, he took a page out of Roger's book and battled with a punching bag, using his magic to make it strong enough for an asgardian, or jotun in his case.

"She's not afraid of you if that's what you're thinking. Well, not your past anyways. "

Loki continued to punch the bag. "I do not know what you mean.

Natasha stayed in the doorway. "We've all seen you try to talk to her. It's ok. The problem isn't you specifically."

"Then, pray tell, what is the problem?" He continued on with the bag.

"She has severe trust issues with men. It's not my place to talk about it, but it takes a very long time for her to be comfortable being around men, much less talk to them. That's why she's always so quiet. She barely talks to Tony, and he's the one who rescued her. Don't beat yourself up about it."

Loki gave up with the pouncing bag and finally turned to face Nat. "It's not hard to deduce that she would naturally be afraid of me simply due to what I did a few years ago here in New York. "

"To be honest, when we found out you were coming here, it's the only time I've seen her speak up in front of everyone. She told them that you deserve a second chance and even she could tell from various footage that you were not yourself. The way she said it was that it was like someone locked a mask on you. I don't know how she knew, but she did. It's why Stark said yes to you staying with us."

That made his heart tingle. Maybe there was hope. He was grateful to being out of the dungeons in Asgard. Spending about 5 years there in mostly solitude was not what he would call a good time.

"I…..uh…..I would like to thank her if I could. If you would pass it on to her, I would most appreciate it. I would like to talk to her myself, but she seems to run when I try to approach her. So do you have any recommendations?"

Nat thought for a moment. "She loves a good prank. Not on her, but watching them. I know that's right up your alley. Just don't pull any on me, and we'll call it even."

"Thank you, Lady Natasha. I am most grateful for your suggestion."

Nat nodded and turned to leave. "I'm doing this for her, not you. If you hurt her in any way, I will come after you. "

"I would expect nothing less. "

It started out small. When he knew Dani was looking, he threw out a small spell to change Thor's hair hot pink. She giggled, and her laugh was music to Loki’s ears. Thor didn't car. He was used to his brother's pranks, but he was glad to see Dani laughing and would happily be the brunt of Loki’s jokes to brighten her day.

A couple of days later, Stark came to the kitchen a little too quiet, and a little too green. When he spotted Loki, he started to launch into a tirade until he heard Dani laughing, something he had never heard before.

He and Loki looked to Dani and then back to each other. "Watch it, reindeer games." Loki looked the perfect picture of sheer innocence paired with pouty lips and doe eyes causing Dani to laugh even harder.

Later that day, he contemplated what prank to pull on Bruce but decided against it. He had no desire to have another encounter with the Hulk, even by accident.

The next day, every time Clint spoke, he would cluck like a chicken, but only for an hour or so. Everyone got a good laugh out of that, but it was her laugh that he cherished.

That evening, he was reading his book in the library and contemplating his next prank. Oh how much he wanted to hear Dani laugh some more. Next thing he knew, he was screaming at the top of his lungs, Dani laughing harder than ever. She managed to sneak up on him and blast an air horn in his left ear.

When he finally caught his breath and regained his wits, he saw how much Dani was laughing, noting the ear plugs she had donned to protect herself.

"I cannot recall the last time someone successfully snuck up on me for a prank like that. I must commend you. "

Still laughing, she spoke to him for the first time. "That was so much fun. "

Her voice was the most beautiful melody he'd ever heard and craved to speak with her more.

"If you would like, perhaps we could team up on pranks? I'm sure You have many great ideas we could accomplish together. "

From that evening, they became thick as thieves. They glued Banner's door shut. Loki agreed to that as Bruce would likely just call Tony for help.

Loki enchanted Thor's hair and cape to change colors every hour for 24 hours. Of course the colors were matching, and Thor's cape stayed attached to him whether he liked it or not.

Dani wanted to prank Natasha, but Loki had made a promise. So without interfering, Dani placed bubble wrap under Nat's bath mat when she was out running errands.

Of course, when Nat went to take a shower later, she saw what Dani set up but played along anyways. It was worth it when she heard Dani's laughter from the hallway.

Finally, Loki was in the common room. Dani was passing through as Dani came in, going to sit on the other side of the couch.

From the kitchen, Tony started yelling as mounds of soap bubbles spread everywhere out of the dishwasher. Both Loki and Dani laughed hard at that. She laughed so hard that she didn't notice she ended up next to Loki, her face buried in his arm while they continued to laugh together. This, however, did not pass by Loki. It was a sign that maybe she was becoming more comfortable around him.

"That was a good one, darling. "

She looked up at him confused. "I thought that was you? "

"Definitely not me. "

They noticed Nat nearby, observing. "What? I wanted in on the pranks. " She smirked as she sauntered away.

As their laughter died down, Dani realized she was comfortable with Loki and didn't move. He took notice and was going to enjoy this as long as he could.

After a couple minutes, he spoke up.

"This has been so much fun. You are quite the prankster."

"As are you mister God of Mischief. "

He smiled. "Lady Natasha advised me you are the reason I was allowed to come stay in the tower, and I wanted to say thank you. I know I'm a monster but…"

She looked up at him, putting a hand over his mouth. "You deserve it. I've known monsters, real monsters. Monsters are those that are of their own mind and still choose to abuse people. I could tell by your eyes that you weren't yourself. I'm glad you are now. "

Loki was surprised at her statement. Whomever hurt her would pay, but he would not force the story from her until she was ready. "That truly means a great deal. I believe they can this the beginning of a beautiful friendship if I remember the line correctly? "

Dani beamed. She loved Casablanca, and somehow he found out about it, watching it late one night.

"You would be correct sir. "

And it was the beginning, not just of a friendship but two kindred spirits bonding, discovering something more and developing into true love. After that day, they could always be found together.

#loki #loki odinson #loki marvel #mcu loki #loki laufeyson #loki god of mischief #loki x reader fluff #loki x y/n #loki x you #loki x reader

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radyo-kabaw · 9 months ago

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The Philippine Revolution (with other documents of the Revolution), Apolinario Mabini, Vol. II (eng. translation of La Revolucion Filipina)

The Philippine Revolution, Apolinario Mabini (trans. Leon Ma. Guerrero)

The Court-Martial of Andres Bonifacio (trans. Paz Policarpio-Mendez)

Warfare by ‘Pulong’ Bonifacio, Aguinaldo, and the Philippine Revolution Against Spain, Glenn Anthony May

I'm currently assembling some kind of comparatives post about collective memory, trauma, and people whose death signifies a before/after in that memory, because the way that Bonifacio shows up in Mabini's writings reminds me a lot of how Crassus appears in Lucan's Pharsalia, in that: when there is a tragedy and you look back to see where it all went wrong, which mistake damned it all beyond repair, what moment signified the ultimate culmination of failure: if you look just a little bit further back from that point (the Battle of Pharsalus/the Battle of Tirad Pass), you can clearly see a body that continues to haunt the memory and has not been buried (Crassus/Bonifacio)

#there are TWO books i want to try and get my hands on (both about bonifacio) before i attempt to do this #ideally there's one more book on mabini i would also like to acquire but my god is it difficult #if i ever get a scanner the first thing im going to do is make archive pdfs of all of this #comparatives tag #shshdhd this essay is taking a long time to assemble either way. im not sure what the overlap between people who are #obsessed with the pharsalia and also bonifacio is but i want it to make sense even if you've never touched the pharsalia #or don't have 24/7 crassus brain rot and also a bonifacio obsession

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goggles-mcgee · 1 year ago

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Ashes of Rage: Act 1 - A Win...And A Lose

Chapter 3 of the story for @miner249er

AO3 Last Chapter

Summary: Nadja was prepared for a story, but not this one.

A Win...And A Lose:

Nadja barely had time to buckle her seat belt before the station van took off, if they had been in a cartoon, Nadja was sure they would have left a cloud of smoke in the shape of the van. Usually she would be annoyed at the driver, Adam, for his horrid driving and lack of consideration for her and her cameraman, Laurent, but at the moment it was a passing thought. They had the potential to get a big story before everyone else. One of their informants had notified the station of a big explosion, the location being the Agreste Mansion. The informant also told them that the local heroes were also there so there was a good chance this was the work of an akuma or sentimonster. Something in Nadja’s gut though felt like that was wrong, or not wrong but not the complete truth. Nadja was never a superstitious person but if her gut was telling her something, she was going to listen. It never steered her wrong, the only times things went wrong were when she ignored her gut, like that disastrous interview with Ladybug and Chat Noir.

Her gut had told her it was not a good idea to listen to her producers and director but in her fear to please them she ignored her gut. She had always been a people pleaser growing up so it should have been no surprise that she folded to their demands but Nadja still felt like the worst person in the world when she saw how Ladybug reacted to all her questions. Then, of course, Nadja broke under all the pressure and got akumatized, she had never been more ashamed. Especially when she got home and Manon told her Prime Time had been scary, she swore to never let it happen again. Manon was still dealing with her time as an akuma, more so since Hawkmoth used her once more. Nadja had to take her daughter out of the city just to get some therapy, though she didn’t have time to get her own therapist, Nadja would take that time to just have a good cry and curse the man who gave her daughter horrid nightmares.

Akumas were the number one cause of damage nowadays and boy could they cause some damage, but this…this was worse. This was something more and somehow Nadja just knew this was going to change Paris as a whole. She just hoped it would be for the better, they needed better, they deserved better after the long tirade of Hawkmoth. She fully believed in the heroes that protected Paris but it was hard to live in the shadow that was Hawkmoth and she could tell it had been wearing on the heroes after each battle with an akuma or sentimonster. Ladybug had stopped doing interviews after her battles and just gave a promise to the people of Paris that she would do everything in her power to protect them. Perhaps it had been the tone of her voice, or the look in her eyes or the way she held herself but after that day many news stations stopped badgering for interviews. Some of course still bothered the heroine but for the most part it was like they all saw how serious Ladybug had grown. Oh, she had always been serious but there was just something different that time.

Nadja had put her foot down after that, she refused to stalk the hero and it had almost been at the cost of her job but something miraculous had happened, her producers and director listened to her. She, of course, still covered the akum and sentimonster battles but instead of trying to question the heroes she instead interviewed the victims and those who were affected by the chaos. It turned out to be a great idea of hers and their station got more popular since others seemed to only try and interview the heroes about what happened. Sometimes they’d interview the victim but never as gently nor as in depth as Nadja did. It painted Bemused News in a new positive light and they got more traffic on their site. Nadja had even been given a raise for all her work. It was wonderful, it was great, but most of all, it was all because of Ladybug and Marinette.

Thinking of her goddaughter always brought a soft smile to Nadja’s face. Marinette had always been a kind kid and as she grew, so did her kindness. It was a wonderful thing to witness, Marinette was very special and Nadja thanked God that she was able to have the girl in her life, especially when Manon came along. Nadja still made mistakes as a single mom but Marinette helped her so much, she offered to watch Manon whenever she could and even when Nadja brought her at the last minute. It wasn’t fair to Marinette but the teen always took it in stride and Nadja made sure to pay her extra. Manon adored her god-sister and always ranted for hours after she spent the day with Marinette about everything they did and just how cool Marinette was. Manon loved the teen so much, it was clear to see, that’s why Nadja hadn’t found another sitter. Well, actually, that was a lie. She had tried to find another sitter to take some of the responsibility off of Marinette but none of them meshed well with Manon. Or Manon didn’t like them.

One quit before their shift was up and cited that her daughter was too difficult, okay that was not their original wording but if Nadja thought of what they had originally said she would feel compelled to find them and fight them. One was nice enough to quit after the first day with Manon, they just said they had thought they could handle being a babysitter since their mom thought they’d be good at it, but after watching Manon they didn’t think it was the job for them. One had been a lady who was a ‘professional’ nanny and it had seemed to go well until Manon had come home with a bruise on her backside. Apparently the nanny had been forced to punish Manon with a ‘good’ spanking after her daughter had acted out. Needless to say, Nadja stopped employing the woman and may or may not have found out the other customers the woman had and told them what she had done. It was one thing to put the child in timeout or take away treats, but she thought it was absolutely not necessary for a nanny to put their hands on the children in their care.

It was a lot, it still was a lot if Marinette wasn’t available but she would never fault the teen for…well, being a teen. The girl always had so much going on, what with being Class President, an upcoming designer, a helper at her parent’s shop and much and much more. The girl was like a professional multi-tasker if she focused, but she tended to have trouble with keeping time and being on time. It was part of her charm though. Though they were still working on the girl not falling for Manon’s puppy eyes, they were good but Nadja had built up a resistance to it. Marinette….not so much, it was funny but the teen swore she would get better and Nadja had nothing but faith in her. Thinking of the teen reminded her she wanted to commission her to make a birthday gift for Manon. The little one had been in a Barbie hyperfixation lately, but especially Island Princess and she had been wanting the fancy dress. She had begged her mom for one and Nadja said she might get it for her birthday, she tried to look for one but none were what she knew her daughter wanted so she had the idea to ask Marinette. Anything the teen made was fantastic and good quality.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the van screeched to a halt and Nadja felt the seatbelt dig into her body uncomfortably. She heard Laurent’s breath forced out of them and Nadja had been ready to yell at Adam until the doors to the van opened by none other than Adam, how he got out and to the door so fast Nadja would never know, the sight that greeted them was like nothing she had ever seen. A thin layer of dust was swirling and coating the air, rubble was everywhere and there was this… suppressive air that clung to everything it seemed. It was quiet. No one said a word nor breathed too loudly, this was more destruction than they were used to, than they ever hoped to see. The Agreste Mansion was no more, it looked like an abandoned sand castle on a beach that was left behind when the builder went home and the waves and other things destroyed the sand structure. It was surreal. Laurent was already filming but no words were said as they all took in the damage, Nadja sincerely hoped that no one had been in the mansion when the explosion happened but the dread she felt in her heart was not very convincing.

Everyone in Paris and maybe the whole world knew how much of a hermit Gabriel Agreste was, the times he actually left his home were rare and Adrien, everyone knew how packed his schedule was but they also knew he actually wasn’t away from his home a lot even with how busy he was. Nathalie, Nadja had only met her briefly, but where M Agreste was, there she was. Plus it was night, which didn’t exactly paint a hopeful picture, but Nadja still hoped, she still prayed that no one had been home. The silence started to feel oppressive and Nadja knew she had to start reporting so she took in a deep breath and turned towards Laurent who nodded at her signal. She opened her mouth to give her usual opening but closed it just as fast. It felt wrong to use the word ‘bemused’ in this context and this wasn’t a plan segment.

“This is Nadja Chamack. I am standing before the Agreste Mansion that, as you can see, has suffered great damage.” Nadja began a little stiltedly. She felt wrong-footed but knew she had to push on. “A source called the station to inform us of the…’explosion.’ No words can explain just how… haunting the scene is, how terrifying. There is no known sign pointing to the origin of said explosion but according to the eye witness, it wasn’t an akuma. They claim that the explosion came from the house itself.”

It felt wrong to speak so clinically but that was the job and if she even, for one moment, thought about the possibility that they would find a body or more as they filmed she would break down and possibly throw up. The dark, morbid thoughts made her stomach twist. “What happened to the famous Agreste Mansion if it was not the work of an akuma? Was it an accident? Perhaps a gas leak that wasn’t noticed until it was too late. Or was this a direct attack of the remaining Agreste’s?”

Nadja really hoped not. She knew Marinette and the boy, Adrien, were friends and she just knew if it was a direct attack or not, the girl would be very upset. She was fiercely protective of her friends and family. “Could it have been an upset competitor? Or maybe even an obsessed fan? We have yet to know but hopefully we’ll get more answers as we look around-”

The reporter was cut off when they heard a young voice squeal. They all looked up and saw as Noc-Turtle carried a child away from the scene. That’s when Nadja finally noticed that the scene had been a bit too quiet. People were nosy, especially Parisians who hoped to catch glimpses of the town’s heroes. But the scene they came upon had no observers which should have clearly been a sign that the heroes had gotten there first and did what they did best, protect. There were always some heroes who helped evacuate the masses when an akuma or sentimonster were on a rampage. That was one of the reasons that the media took a step back from hounding the heroes with personal questions and such. It was easy to see how seriously they took each attack and it made you feel shameful if you jeopardized the safety of yourself and others just to get a scoop or a half-answer. “It would appear that we are not the first to arrive at the scene but that is to be expected of Team Miraculous.”

“If the heroes got here so fast, it begs the question, where are the police?” All the media lately had been questioning the police, not so much the BSPP as they still did their jobs and did it well, but it seemed like the police were doing the bare minimum. Usually they pulled up to a scene later than most even if the problem wasn’t an akuma. Officer Raincomprix was the only one who seemed genuinely mad about not being to a scene faster, the man looked more and more stressed the longer it went on, but never resigned. It smelt of corruption, whether it be rookies or higher-ups and not for the first time, nor the last, did Nadja believe they were being bribed by Hawkmoth. As per the usual, the BSPP arrived to help manage the small fires that surrounded the destroyed mansion and the debris. She assumed they had already been called by eye-witnesses and therefore knew as much as she did. She just hoped they questioned her and her crew after they were done filming.

Another look around made Nadja aware of not just Noc-Turtle but also Bee-Witch and Fox-Tail clearing out civilians, they did so so swiftly it was like second nature for them. The thought hurt, that these heroes were so used to trying to keep everyone safe no matter the situation. It didn’t matter if the akuma was M Pidgeon levels of harm or worse…like Syren. Not many spoke of that akuma and that’s because not many had worked through the trauma it brought. No news reported on it because most news reporters were stuck somewhere high up, the water took out their power lines, thus their internet and the fact many people had died that day, news employees as well. No one wanted to talk about dying and being revived by the magical power of the ladybugs that washed over Paris, it became known as the Miraculous Cure. One of Nadja’s coworkers had been one of those many who had fallen victim to the water, the poor man was still afraid to go near any water. When they had a segment near the Seine who refused to go anywhere near it. No one could argue with him, not that they wanted to but still. It was hard to argue in the face of the outright terror the man had.

Looking at all the destruction though, Nadja just hoped that the Miraculous Cure came swiftly. There was no way that the people in the surrounding buildings or just in the area had not been hurt at the least. No the least would be leaving the area with no wounds or bruises, the most would be death and that was never an easy thing to swallow when in the face of such destruction. Nadja looked over everything once again and noted that Laurant was as well, though with the camera. It was definitely something to see, especially for those who knew how protected the mansion seemed to be. They had all seen pieces of the system when Jackady had taken over the TVi Station when they were filming The Challenge . It was as impressive as it was insane, the shutters on the windows, the amount of cameras, it was another thing many did not speak about publicly, but behind closed doors it was major gossip. The recluse Gabriel Agreste fashioned his house with military levels of security? It was odd. More than even. Of course there were some who argued for the man, he was famous, plus his wife was missing and it felt awful to call him crazy if he simply did it to protect his son and himself. But that was the thing, what if all that security was for something more?

Sabine and Nadja were no better than most when it came to gossip and it was one of the things they often spoke of. Nadja was always the one to bring up the outlandish theories, drug ring, trafficking, maybe even the corpse of Emilie Agreste hidden somewhere but Sabine was the one who argued for the man, well not really him but for Adrien. Sabine thought all the security was for Adrien’s safety even if it was over-the-top and worrisome. Sabine wanted to see the good while Nadja saw the odd, she saw the potential story. Looking at how far down the house went, Nadja would bet her entire salary that Gabriel Agreste had skeletons in his closet. She wasn’t the only one to notice how odd it was that the house went further down, way past a basement level. The BSPP members were all looking down too and were shouting if anyone was down there but Nadja could see the apprehension and confusion at the large hole in the mansion. Thankfully she wasn’t the only one weirded out by it.

“ Nadja .” Laurant whispered harshly which pulled Nadja’s attention back to the camera.

She quickly schooled her face into her ‘reporter’ face as Manon called it. “As you can see, myself and the BSPP have been caught off guard by a massive…er, hole in the Agreste Mansion. It suggests that the mansion itself had more levels than the public knew. Could this be why it is in such a state now? Was this an attack on Gabriel Agreste for whatever was going on in the house? Hopefully we’ll have answers soon.”

The sound of things moving within the hole had everyone near it step back in alarm but the BSPP acted fast after that and threw down some rope into the hole and yelled for whoever was in there that they would get them out and if they couldn’t move to tie the rope to themselves and tug. It was silent for a couple of seconds and everyone was straining their ears to hear anything. Then a tug of the rope and a pull later and out came Viperion and Donryu, but they weren’t alone, no, they had carried up three bodies with them. Three extremely broken bodies, it took all of Nadja’s willpower not to puke or cry at the sight. Donryu softly told them all that the three, Gabriel Agreste, Adrien Agreste and Nathalie Sancoeur were alive but very injured. The BSPP grabbed the three from the heroes in order to help and find out exactly just how injured all parties were. Nadja was going to continue talking about the new development but something stopped her. Well, more someone, it was Viperion.

The hero was normally one of the softer spoken members so it wasn’t out of the norm not to hear him speak but something about how quiet he was now rubbed Nadja the wrong way. It made her maternal instincts rear up. She was even going to go up to the boy and ask what was wrong but stopped short when she saw what he was cradling in his arms. She didn’t even realize her breath was coming out shorter and faster nor the fact she had pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed the number she needed. It was like she was on autopilot. She hadn't even noticed that she had started crying, but it was obvious she was when the person finally answered the phone and Nadja tearfully said,” Sabine?”

“Nadja?” Sabine’s voice was clearly drowsy, like she had just woken up, which considering the time she most likely did just wake up. “Nadja, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Is it Manon?”

Nadja’s heart broke further. “Sabine…Sabine I need you to tell me where Marinette is.”

“Marinette? Nadja, what?” It sounded like Sabine was still half-asleep.

“Sabine, please , is Marinette at home?”

“Of course she is! Nadja what is this about?” She was more awake now it seemed.

“Can you…Can you check?”

There was some shuffling and grumbling from the other side of the phone but it was muffled as Nadja could only hear the pounding of her heart. “I swear if this child snuck out again..”

Nadja tried not to sob when she heard Sabine mutter that sentence. She hoped, she hoped that what she saw was an illusion or just a coincidence or something other than the supposed truth. The shuffling on the other end turned to creaking and Nadja could see it in her mind how Sabine opened the trapdoor up to Marinette’s room. She could hear her friend calling out for her daughter and with each call of the name the panic in Sabine’s voice rose. “Nadja! Nadja, she left…Marinette left a note. Why would she leave a note?”

Her friend was in a deep panic but as much as Nadja wanted to reassure her it just confirmed the worst for her, because there, in Viperion’s arms was Marinette’s signature flats, the first shoes she ever made and had ranted about to Nadja before she started her college days. They had even had a celebration picnic after the girl’s successful craftsmanship. She had been so proud of herself and Manon had begged the girl to make her some shoes too and Marinette had laughed fondly and promised Manon she would. And she did, Manon had a matching pair of flats in her closet that she wore with her princess dresses or her ‘fancy’ dresses if they had to go to an event or something important. Those flats and her small little shoulder bag were in Viperion's arms and even from her distance she could spot the dried blood on the items. It covered some of her signature polka-dots and that finally made Nadja release the sob she had tried to hold in. Sabine was yelling on the other line and all Nadja could choke out as she fell to her knees was, “Something happened. Something bad.”

Notes:

*BSPP - The Paris Fire Brigade ( Brigade des sapeurs-pompiers de Paris): a French Army unit which serves as the primary fire and rescue service for Paris, the city's inner suburbs and certain sites of national strategic importance. * Jackady - Simon Says akuma

Next Chapter

#mldc crossover #ml x dc #mldccrossover #ml red lantern au #red lantern Marinette #mldccrossover Nadja Chamack #mldccrossover Luka Couffaine | Viperion #mldccrossover Kagami Tsurugi | Donryu #mentioned mldccrossover Team Miraculous #mldccrossover Sabine Cheng #angst #hurt no comfort #tw blood mention #tw aftermath of explosion #ml salt fic

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cberzuela · 1 year ago

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What Defines a Hero?written by CBerzuela

written: september 19, 2023; 21:38

concluded: september 20, 2023; 00:18

We have to stop seeing our heroes flawlessly. They may embody greatness, but that doesn't mean that they are the epitome of perfectness. Our heroes are also humans like us; they make mistakes, they have their own flaws and they are no exception to death. What's extraordinary about them is their notable love for our country along with their reamarkable actions and their undying commitment to protect it, no matter what.

But does a flaw enough to overshadow their greatness and disregard their sacrifices?

General Gregorio Del Pilar is one of our most controversial heroes with lots of conspiracies and misconceptions surrounding his name.

"arogante"

"tuta ni aguinaldo"

"vain"

---as they call him.

While it's true that Goyo's death in Tirad Pass isn't as heroic and valorous as we deemed it to be, does it automatically means that he didn't die for his beloved country?

Contrary to what most people think, Goyo didn't actually die gloriously riding his white horse and bravely shouting encouragements to his soldiers, that's the romanticized version of the Americans. What actually happened is that the general's rashness to discern the enemy and his order for a ceasefire is what gave the americans an opportunity to shoot him, according to the accounts of Vicente Enriquez, his aide-de-camp and Telesforo Carrasco who were with him during the "battle". It's kind of tragic and devastating that he died that way. His life (along with the 52 out of his 60 troop) ended due to a major fault; a consequence to lack of military planning and strategy. It is equally unfortunate that the humiliating disaster at Pasong Tirad became the reason why some or most people perceive him as an incompetent general and an ineffective military leader.

His hands were also tainted with blood, because apparently he tortured and killed the Bernal Brothers who were Luna's aide-de-camp and loyal soldiers under Aguinaldo's command. As Filipino National Artist for Literature, Nick Joaquin put it, he is "Aguinaldo's hatchetman."

All of his dedication and victories seem to be forgotten and overshadowed by his flaws. People may question his integrity as a hero, if he really deserves to be recognized as one. Some might say that he died to protect his "idol" in the form of Aguinaldo and not for the sake of the Philippines. Well, it's not really the case because even before serving Aguinaldo, he's already part of the revolution, doing his part to show his defiance against the Spanish conquerors. He first showed his prowess in the battlefield when he fought on Kakarong De Sili under Maestrong Sebio against the Spanish forces. He was so determined to defeat them that he didn't backed out eventhough Maestrong Sebio had already escaped leaving the battle to the ten of them (including Goyo's brother, Julian.) There, he was hit by a bullet in the forehead that he luckily survived. You see, the AGILA is already capable of great things even before his prestige as a general.

I hope that we don't only think of that disastrous battle in Tirad whenever we hear his name; i hope that we also look back to the Battle of Kakarong De Sili, the raid at Paombong, Battle of Pasong Balite, Battle of Quingua and Battle Of Calumpit. His flaws and shortcomings as a general is not what defines him as a hero. It is his love for the country that makes him a true hero. For the love to our country, always.

#generalgregoriodelpilar #gregorio del pilar #goyo #tirad pass

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thedalatribune · 5 months ago

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Sa Dagat At Bundok Na Simoy, At Sa Langit Mong Bughaw

I am a Filipino-inheritor of a glorious past, hostage to the uncertain future. As such I must prove equal to a two-fold task–the task of meeting my responsibility to the past, and the task of performing my obligation to the future.

I sprung from a hardy race, child many generations removed of ancient Malayan pioneers. Across the centuries the memory comes rushing back to me: of brown-skinned men putting out to sea in ships that were as frail as their hearts were stout. Over the sea I see them come, borne upon the billowing wave and the whistling wind, carried upon the mighty swell of hope-hope in the free abundance of new land that was to be their home and their children’s forever.

This is the land they sought and found. Every inch of shore that their eyes first set upon, every hill and mountain that beckoned to them with a green-and-purple invitation, every mile of rolling plain that their view encompassed, every river and lake that promised a plentiful living and the fruitfulness of commerce, is a hallowed spot to me.

By the strength of their hearts and hands, by every right of law, human and divine, this land and all the appurtenances thereof-the black and fertile soil, the seas and lakes and rivers teeming with fish, the forests with their inexhaustible wealth in wild life and timber, the mountains with their bowels swollen with minerals-the whole of this rich and happy land has been, for centuries without number, the land of my fathers. This land I received in trust from them and in trust will pass it to my children, and so on until the world is no more.

I am a Filipino. In my blood runs the immortal seed of heroes-seed that flowered down the centuries in deeds of courage and defiance. In my veins yet pulses the same hot blood that sent Lapulapu to battle against the first invader of this land, that nerved Lakandula in the combat against the alien foe, that drove Diego Silang and Dagohoy into rebellion against the foreign oppressor.

That seed is immortal. It is the self-same seed that flowered in the heart of Jose Rizal that morning in Bagumbayan when a volley of shots put an end to all that was mortal of him and made his spirit deathless forever, the same that flowered in the hearts of Bonifacio in Balintawak, of Gergorio del Pilar at Tirad Pass, of Antonio Luna at Calumpit; that bloomed in flowers of frustration in the sad heart of Emilio Aguinaldo at Palanan, and yet burst forth royally again in the proud heart of Manuel L. Quezon when he stood at last on the threshold of ancient Malacañan Palace, in the symbolic act of possession and racial vindication.

The seed I bear within me is an immortal seed. It is the mark of my manhood, the symbol of dignity as a human being. Like the seeds that were once buried in the tomb of Tutankhamen many thousand years ago, it shall grow and flower and bear fruit again. It is the insignia of my race, and my generation is but a stage in the unending search of my people for freedom and happiness.

I am a Filipino, child of the marriage of the East and the West. The East, with its languor and mysticism, its passivity and endurance, was my mother, and my sire was the West that came thundering across the seas with the Cross and Sword and the Machine. I am of the East, an eager participant in its spirit, and in its struggles for liberation from the imperialist yoke. But I also know that the East must awake from its centuried sleep, shake off the lethargy that has bound his limbs, and start moving where destiny awaits.

For I, too, am of the West, and the vigorous peoples of the West have destroyed forever the peace and quiet that once were ours. I can no longer live, a being apart from those whose world now trembles to the roar of bomb and cannon-shot. I cannot say of a matter of universal life-and-death, of freedom and slavery for all mankind, that it concerns me not. For no man and no nation is an island, but a part of the main, there is no longer any East and West–only individuals and nations making those momentous choices which are the hinges upon which history resolves.

At the vanguard of progress in this part of the world I stand–a forlorn figure in the eyes of some, but not one defeated and lost. For, through the thick, interlacing branches of habit and custom above me, I have seen the light of the sun, and I know that it is good. I have seen the light of justice and equality and freedom, my heart has been lifted by the vision of democracy, and I shall not rest until my land and my people shall have been blessed by these, beyond the power of any man or nation to subvert or destroy.

I am a Filipino, and this is my inheritance. What pledge shall I give that I may prove worthy of my inheritance? I shall give the pledge that has come ringing down the corridors of the centuries, and it shall be compounded of the joyous cries of my Malayan forebears when first they saw the contours of this land loom before their eyes, of the battle cries that have resounded in every field of combat from Mactan to Tirad Pass, of the voices of my people when they sing:

Land of the morning, Child of the sun returning– Ne’er shall invaders Trample thy sacred shore.

Out of the lush green of these seven thousand isles, out of the heartstrings of sixteen million people all vibrating to one song, I shall weave the mighty fabric of my pledge. Out of the songs of the farmers at sunrise when they go to labor in the fields, out of the sweat of the hard-bitten pioneers in Mal-lig and Koronadal, out of the silent endurance of stevedores at the piers and the ominous grumbling of peasants in Pampanga, out of the first cries of babies newly born and the lullabies that mothers sing, out of the crashing of gears and the whine of turbines in the factories, out of the crunch of plough-shares upturning the earth, out of the limitless patience of teachers in the classrooms and doctors in the clinics, out of the tramp of soldiers marching, I shall make the pattern of my pledge:

“I am a Filipino born to freedom, and I shall not rest until freedom shall have been added unto my inheritance-for myself and my children and my children’s children-forever.”

Carlos P. Romulo I am a Filipino

#Carlos P. Romulo #I am a Filipino #Independence Day #People #Soldier #Military #Filipino #Marawi City #Lanao del Sur #Philippines

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ongstephanie07 · 1 year ago

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My Literary Works

CRITICAL ESSAY

GOYO

Gregorio del Pilar, also known as the "Boy General," was a Filipino revolutionary and a hero during the Philippine Revolution and the Philippine-American War. He is remembered for his bravery and loyalty to his country, even in the face of overwhelming odds. This critical essay will examine the life and legacy of Gregorio del Pilar.

Gregorio del Pilar was born in Bulacan, Philippines in 1875. He was the youngest general in the Philippine Revolutionary Army, and he played a pivotal role in the Battle of Tirad Pass during the Philippine-American War. In this battle, del Pilar led a small group of soldiers against a much larger and better-equipped American force. Despite being outnumbered, they fought bravely and managed to hold off the Americans for several hours. However, in the end, del Pilar and his men were defeated, and he was killed.

Del Pilar's bravery and sacrifice made him a hero to the Filipino people. He became a symbol of the struggle for independence and self-determination, and his story inspired many others to join the fight against the American occupation. His life and legacy continue to be celebrated in the Philippines, where he is honored with monuments and memorials.

However, while del Pilar's bravery and loyalty to his country are admirable, his actions were not always without controversy. Some historians have criticized his decision to lead a small force against the much larger American army, arguing that he was reckless and put his men in unnecessary danger. Others have pointed out that del Pilar was just one of many Filipino revolutionaries who fought against the American occupation, and that his story should not overshadow the contributions of others who may have been equally brave.

Despite these criticisms, there is no doubt that Gregorio del Pilar was a hero to many Filipinos, and his legacy continues to inspire people to this day. He represents the struggle for independence and self-determination, and his memory serves as a reminder of the sacrifices made by those who fought for freedom.

EDITORIAL ESSAY

Vote-Buying in the Philippines

Vote- buying is a prevalent practice in the Philippine elections, especially in rural areas where poverty is rampant. It is a form of corruption that undermines democracy and the integrity of the electoral process. The act of vote buying is straightforward:a candidate, usually with more resources, offers money, goods, or services in exchange for a person's vote. This practice violates the essence of fair and free elections, as voters are not making their choices based on their own convictions and assessment of candidate's performance, but instead, they are influenced by money or other forms of bribery. The prevalence of vote-buying in the Philippine elections hinders the establishment of a genuine democratic system. The practice favors the rich and powerful, as well as the ruling elites, while disenfranchising the poor and marginalized sectors of society. It perpetuates the cycle of corruption, maintains the status quo, and slows down the process of socio-economic reform.Despite efforts to curb vote-buying, it remains a significant challenge during every electoral cycle. One main reason is that the laws and regulations that criminalize vote buying are not strictly enforced. Candidates found guilty of such acts often get away with minimal penalties, if any. Moreover, the socio-economic landscape of the country contributes to the existence of vote-buying. Poverty is widespread and deeply ingrained in many areas of the country, making people more susceptible to the temptation of accepting money or material goods in exchange for their vote. In such situations, only genuine reforms that address poverty and inequality can reduce the prevalence of vote buying. In conclusion, vote-buying remains a significant threat to democracy in the Philippines. It undermines the credibility of the electoral process, perpetuates socio-economic inequalities, and perpetuates corruption. The public and the government must work together to combat vote buying by enforcing relevant laws, providing anti-corruption programs, and promoting socio-economic reforms that empower the marginalized sectors of society. Lastly, it's crucial that every citizen realizes the importance of making their own informed decisions in selecting the leader of the country, for the sake of strengthening democracy.

NATURE ESSAY

Baguio City, also known as the summer capital of the Philippines, is a popular tourist destination located in the northern part of the Philippines. Situated in the Cordillera Mountains, Baguio City boasts of a cool climate and lush greenery that mesmerizes visitors.

The city's natural beauty starts with the breathtaking environment route to Baguio City. The winding roads and steep terrain provide a panoramic view of the mountains and valleys below. Upon reaching the city, one is greeted by the sight of towering pine trees that line the streets<,>giving off a refreshing scent and gently rustling in the cool breeze.

Moreover, Baguio City is home to several parks that showcase its natural beauty. The Burnham Park is one of the most popular parks in the city, offering pictures views of a man-made lake and lush greenery. The park features boating activities, a skating rink, picnic areas, and jogging trails for visitors to engage in various outdoor activities.

Another park that is worth visiting is the Botanical Garden, which is home to various plant species, including endemic species from the Cordillera Mountains. Visitors can take a stroll along the garden's pathways and immerse themselves in nature's beauty.

For those who seek a more adventurous experience, the Mount Santo Tomas Forest Reserve is a must-visit destination. The forest reserve offers various activities, including hiking, camping, and bird watching. Visitors can also enjoy the stunning views of Baguio City from the mountain's peak.

In conclusion, Baguio City's natural beauty is undoubtedly one of its main attractions. The scenic landscapes, lush greenery, and cool climate provide visitors with a refreshing escape from the hustle and bustle of city life. Whether you are seeking a peaceful retreat or an adventurous getaway, Baguio City's natural offerings are sure to provide an unforgettable experienced

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heartofspells · 2 years ago

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Along the Broken Edge - Chapter Five

"What the fuck is this?"

Remus would be lying if he'd told anyone he hadn't been expecting some sort of negative reaction from Sirius over his planned pedal boat excursion. He'd pinned that knowledge down from the beginning without ever having to ask. Sirius Black doesn't do fanciful and cheesy things like skimming a lake inside a whimsical boat, but Remus can't deny the fact that Sirius' starting tirade is far more than he'd ever anticipated.

He tries to fight it back, he does, that rising bubble of mirth swelling his chest and threatening to invade his throat as he watches Sirius rant, but as the other man begins talking about catering to grandmothers, Remus loses his battle, laughter pouring out of him that he can no longer contain. Sirius doesn't look very pleased, something that only increases Remus' amusement.

It's a battle getting him into the boat at all, filled with bribery that is far more lackluster than Remus had originally hoped for, though he knows that spark that had been gathering inside of him had been a terrible sort of wishful thinking that should and likely never will come to pass. Remus convinces himself it's for the better as they pedal their way across the lake's surface.

Sirius remains mostly quiet as they depart from the dock, though Remus can tell it's building, the other man grumbling under his breath, arms crossed over his chest. He's mildly impressed how long Sirius manages to hold it in, but when it comes, Remus bites back another laugh, though he's unable to tear his eyes away from Sirius no matter how hard he tries.

He's beautiful, really, cheeks flushed with an amusing but pointless sort of rage and disgruntlement. The sunlight filtering through the clouds above and reflecting off the water catching his chlorine-soaked hair, causing it to shine in a dazzling way, the light breeze fluttering the pieces that have escaped his half-destroyed knot on top of his head. The light and brooding determination in his face highlights his sharp features, softening their edges just enough, and Remus can't help wondering what those cheekbones and his jaw would feel like now, so much more defined than the last time he'd been able to touch.

Keep reading on AO3

#along the broken edge #at the healing edge of broken #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #sirius x remus #sirius/remus #snippet #my writing #holli writes

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dannyknowscomics · 2 years ago

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Pokémon Legends Kyurem Chapter 1

There is a bright light everything begins to shake and spin…..then your eyes open and you find yourself at lake

The air is crisp and cleaner than you have ever breathed, someone calls out to you, “Your Highness! I’ve been looking all over for you!” A concerned voice yells, you turn to find Ser Willem (a possible ancestor of Binaca perhaps?)

He informs you that your father the king has been waiting for you to arrive, the two of you journey toward the castle

As you arrive at the gates you are confronted by Ser Cyril (a possible ancestor of Cheren) who scolds Ser William for allowing you to leave the castle grounds unaccompanied, his tirade is introduced by your elder brother Agar (who is a spitting image of N)

He informs Ser Cyril that he gave you permission to leave the castle grounds and if Ser Cyril should be angry at anyone it should be him

Ser Cyril is taken a back and his bluster soon vanishes as he escorts both of you back to the castle

You are brought to your father, King Alaric’s throne room, where he scolds you for being late especially on such a special day as this

Your coronation day

The throne room fills with important peoples, various knights who will serve you and the hand of the king, The Sorceress Nimue (who suspiciously looks like Ghetsis)

Your father has you kneel as he placed a crown on your head, you are old enough to become part of the line of succession, old enough to serve the realm

As he placed his sword of both your shoulders he then asks all but Agar and Nimue to vacate his throne room,

He explains the path to proving yourself worthy of his throne and the magic that protects his kingdom, will be difficult and you must be selfless, brave and true to your path

He says however you need not walk the path alone and brings out three Pokémon

He explains that these three Pokémon were found by the kings guards and have been tended to by the Old Sage Jareth

Once you chose your partner your father hands you an amulet

(The amulet works just like a poke ball and will be this medieval version)

He then explains that you and your brother are both tasked with cataloguing a bestiary for the region

Whoever completes it first will be one step closer to becoming king when your father passes, however he also tasked you two with serving the realm, he explains that while the kingdom of Isshuian have a tentitive harmony with the pokemon that live along the borders there are still times when the harmony is at risk, so he encourages you both to protect your people and task both Ser Willem and Ser Cyril to assist you both in your journey.

As you two are dismissed Ser Willem suggests your hone your skills at capturing pokemon, he present you a red circular gem and explains that it is a tumblestone enchanted by the deep magic of witches and that you should be able to use them to capture various pokemon to assist you on your journey, after the catching tutorial, Ser Willem explains there has been a commotion in the forrests, he suggests the two of you check it out and the two of you head off on Rapidashes (your first mount pokemon) and head off to see what's the commotion.

as you journey in the forest you find a bunch of trees knocked down and burned to ash, Ser Willem draws his sword and is barely able to deflect the torrent of flames.

Hydreigon emerges and attacks, Ser Willem releases his partner pokemon, Musharna, he tries to put Hydreigon to sleep, but him and his partner are both defeated by a Hyper Beam.

You are forced to battle with your partner pokemon and try as you might Hydreigon is too powerful and easily defeats you two.

Agar and Ser Cyril emerge, with them sounding out there partner pokemon Ser Cyril's Gigalith and Agar's starter (2nd stage one strong against yours), however both are overwhelmed by the dragon.

Hydreigon fires off another Hyper Beam and pins the four of you under a tree, it glows with a purple aura as it charges another Hyper Beam

"ENOUGH!" the voice yells, you are shocked as your father the king arrives, he stares Hydreigon down and doesn't flinch as it begins to charge it's attack

He holds his hand up to the sky as the pendent around his neck crackles with black and white lighting "Kyrurem I Summon Thee!"

A loud roar is heard that shakes the forrest as Original Form Kyurem arrives.

Kyurem charges it's attack a pure white beam of energy with black lightning crackled around it.

Hydreigon is defeated and Kyrurem swipes the downed tree off of the four of you, your father picks you up and promises you'll be alright.

To Be Continued

#pokémon #Pokémon legends Kyurem

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tlacehualli · 2 years ago

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@femtaile

. // 𝘔𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 / 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨?; resisting? Assimilating. Fighting? Merely following established order. Directives, you ought to adhere to them. Back & forth; as if repeating the same variation over & over & over again. Here : you did not use your hands enough, feel it in your fingertips. There : no, no. Glissade. I need you to glide across the stage, Amé - [ memories intermingle / blend together; you & her & you & ⸻ are we doing this again?You might as well lay down & die. Stop talking. Oh, you would like that wouldn’t you? I need. To focus!]. Garbled French shot back & forth across the grand landscape of your mind. &&, as ever, indignantly, she glares at you / aggressively demanding room, demanding space, one step forward & another back. It is a never ending TIRADE of yelling & screaming & battle for control; in-between bullet hail & indoctrination, study of the English language, the covert arts [ what for? so you can go ahead & shot someone again? ] Maintenance. Another lab visit. Conditioning circle. You hear MOIRA curse under her breath. What follows is agony, for both of you [ hm? Am I supposed to just let you do that? ]; it starts again. New routine, old routine. Listen to the directives, you have been given a mission goal, Lacroix. You. Have. A. Mission ━ [ STOP IGNORING ME!! ]

...

⸻ fingers dig through black strands of hair, undo the unbearably tight ponytail. There is sweat on your brow & a pressure on your temples / as if bone is held in a vice grip; a tingle at the base of your skull / a constant, ever present ring. Second time this week / utter mission failure [ did you get shot? Mock question; you hesitate ]; a scrimmage, so they say, or so you have been told, & yet lack of consequences does not lessen the weight of scrutiny nor does it soothe the deeply seated distress coiling around your every bone [ either way,they will get rid of you. Of us. Yes... Finally ]. Exhaustion & a soreness had long settled in; a sentiment words failed to describe for its intensity grew gradually worse each passing day; commonplace & expected. You are supposed to pay it little heed & instead follow established routine ever so artfully / only to be greeted with a pang of nausea [ how... frustrating; it is unnerving, is it not? How your every ability to perceive emotional turmoil is dulled & yet the commotion inside your mind is driving you ━ ]

tired?

Whatever it is, the bustle stops / for a moment; long enough for you to readjust. To pick up the rifle you dropped, hard glare cast onto bullet hole & a scrape close to the fore-end; here’s to a single finger tracing the carving / trigger index, so pale against the inlaid dark material, the serial number found only centimeters to the left. ⸻ you exhale. The tension in your shoulders & the back of your skull unwinds somewhat, if only temporarily / go on then, shift position & continue rifle’s maintenance. Reflect : the bullet hole marks a scenario in which near-death occurred [ using the rifle to deflect a shot is not wise. The damage sustained could potentially ⸻ ]

cue a knock. ━ gaze shoots up; attention dwelling near the door. Spontaneous entry & just as unwanted commentary. Chest tightens; recently joined Talon-Operative, almost as recent as you, Callsign SOMBRA. ⸻ what could she possibly want? [ conscience tears / frays / you feel the chill & pull of her resurfacing. && you resist, have hands veering around weapon parts / digging nails in. Further, further until you seem anchored; biding time, establishing yourself. ]. SOMBRA talks readily & you only understand half of it.

‘ shot to shit. ’ How can a language be that coarse & vulgar?

“ laisse moi tranquille. “ ⸻ && the sudden sound of your own voice / the volume you use startles; velveteen, one-note. You sound impassive but interwoven in the curl of vowels & consonants is a certain undertone stressing something. Palms press against rifle’s barrel; a distraction, trick of the mind : from the growing unease in the depths of you stomach, the looming dread [ the cold that pulls & continues pulling; back & forth, she is there. Relentless ]. Whatever it is SOMBRA wants [ an ulterior motive? Likely. ⸻ non, you need solitude / calm; a certain make-shift tranquility ━ no you don’t! ].

Gold darts up / flits away from heavy weaponry, establishes eye-contact, musters, blinks. There is a moment of calculation; estimating what her purpose here could be [ surveillance. You failed. Consequences? stop, please,It hurts to think ] ere being quick to curtly continue, concentration back to the gun in your lap. “ va t'en. ”

⸻ when SOMBRA doesn’t move you have brows knit; accented tone, this time, sterner [ you were speaking French again... Don’t ]. “ I said go. I do not need your ‘elp “

It occurred to the smaller girl that it was probably a good idea to install some French language translation software or something, but something about the idea of actually understanding French seemed a little abhorrent to her. English was enough. Ridiculous language. So she just waited patiently. Fuck, she hated even having to be here, but...well, this was different.

Back in Los Muertos, they'd taken care of each other, after a fashion. Running one of many smaller cartels meant that their group had no real influence when it came to the police, or the hospitals, the politicians - when they got hurt, they were on their own. She was just a kid when she was already helping patch up bullet holes, her young mind adapting just as quickly to learn battlefield medic basics as it had been rapidly absorbing how to code. It was just one way of making herself useful, she had to be useful, she'd been learning that even at 12.

A part of her - a stupid, sentimental part that still refused to die - missed them. She knew that wasn't her path any longer. There was something that was hunting her, and she knew, she just knew, that it wouldn't just be her dying. It would have been everybody. Which was why she'd joined this fucking terrorist org in the first place. Talon had money. Talon had resources. She could use those and keep herself protected for now. It was what she needed to do to survive.

By all rights, Sombra should have hated this woman. Some part of her certainly did, but, well, she was a hacker and there was little in the way of information not readily at her fingertips. She was not quite so naive as to dive too deep into Talon's cybersecurity (nothing could keep her out, but the thought of Moira's eyes peering into her and deciding that she too would be better off controlled would surely join her nightmares soon), but she knew enough that this woman was suffering.

Olivia, que estupidez estas haciendo?

"Yeah you look like you're doing great." The hacker's tone and eyes were both sharp now after having gone through microseconds of concern and annoyance. Her chin jutted out towards the wound the sniper - ballerina - sniper? - ballerina ??? - carried on her arm. Blood was getting everywhere and she wasn't exactly a gunsmith or anything, but she didn't think it was exactly gonna help.

"Unless that's a fashion statement you're keeping around on purpose, I can patch it up. I've got a lot of practice. And my hands are a lot warmer than Moira's." Her eyes were probably warmer too, as unnatural as their purple glow was but - well, if she was scared of the doctor, she couldn't really imagine how the Widow felt.

#femtaile #sombra: trying to be nice #sombra: ah yes sarcasm

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