#Rain world Fragile Compassion

[pikuniku53353358]

My au for "Rain world" - "Sinful world"

ATTENTION, FURTHER INFORMATION WILL TOUCH A LITTLE ON MY PERSONALITY AND INFORMATION ON MY AU on rain world "sinful world"! PLEASE READ ALL THE WAY TO THE END, THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT TO ME! AND I'M ALSO OPENING AN ASK BLOG ON MY AU, SO IF YOU WANT TO ASK MY CHARACTERS ANY QUESTIONS, THEN YOU'LL HAVE TO HAVE AT LEAST SOME INFORMATION ON Sinful world ANYWAY! (Link to ask blog: @rw-au-askblog-sinful-world) (and this post was written with the help of a translator, so I apologize in advance for any possible mistakes^^") So, if someone doesn't know, then I'm Piku_Niku, but you can just call me Piku. I am 14 years old, I draw on my phone with my finger in ibis paint. I'm looking for different fandoms, such as: rain world, hollow knight, ori and the blind forest, just shapes and beats, gravity falls, fundamental paper education, etc.I will mainly draw art for the rain world game.My favorite ships for this game:

Saint/Monk

Artificer/Rivulet

Gourmand/Survivor

Watcher/Enot

Spear master/Hunter

I also have my own au related to rain world, and now I will tell you a lot of it. However, I will not mention one part of the information, since my Persians themselves will be able to answer it in the form of an aska (so do not hesitate to write me messages with your questions about my au :)), and I will not be able to mention other information since I am currently writing fan fiction on a Russian platform called "Ficbook.net " by This week, and it's not finished yet. Some of my readers are following me on tumblr, which means I won't be able to drop plot spoilers here. Don't worry, you'll find out in time, but it will take some time :)

AU setting: all SW actions take place in a kind of simulation. The world is quite realistic and is located in three-dimensional space, however, by its very nature it obeys game laws and logic, which means that the creatures there have an indicator of karma, hunger, cycle duration report, etc., in general, everything that is in the base game.

Characters: Inv (Enot)

Fear (THE REAL NAME IS STILL UNKNOWN!)

Developers

Monk

Survivor

Hunter

Gourmand

Cold-blooded Wind (Golden Eye)

Fragile Compassion

Big Heart

Feeling of Fault

Hate

(the list of characters will be updated over time, but at the moment there are as many characters in the fanfiction as written above)

The plot in brief:The developers have already created many different mini-worlds called "campaigns" and placed slugs with different histories, chaoacters and goals for life there. But that wasn't enough for the gods. They became bored with ordinary worlds that follow some kind of rules. Therefore, they hastily created the "Enota campaign" and created almost simultaneously one of their most important and dominant persons in SW — Enota and Fear (he was not called that before, so I will call Whity in this period of time, BUT this is not the canonical name of this character, but only a temporary code name)). They were both immediately told that they existed in a fictional world and that they were created only so that both poor slugs would suffer. And Enota was also given out how pathetic and insignificant he was, and then they threw both slugs into their world. An important clarification: Whity and Enot had not seen each other before, the developers created them separately from all the others so that they would not see each other inadvertently.

Enot did not know how to survive in his world, which is why he spent a lot of effort to survive his first cycle. All this was observed by Whity, which in fact is essentially the soul of Enot, which is imprisoned in his consciousness, into which Enot himself can penetrate only when he is asleep. And so, in a dream, the slugs met and became friends. The developers also informed him about their nature when creating Whity, and also said that if Enot commits at least one sin, it will affect his soul, that is, on Whity itself. He will be in terrible pain and constantly writhing in pain. And knowing all this information from the developers, Whity asked his friend not to commit any sins. The soul was terribly paranoid and did not allow Enot to enter normally and step in. He even forbade slug to pick up a spear in principle, and as a result, to fight in order to banal self-defense.

Enot did not know how to survive in his world, which is why he spent a lot of effort to survive his first cycle. All this was observed by Whity, which in fact is essentially the soul of Enot, which is imprisoned in his consciousness, into which Enot himself can penetrate only when he is asleep. And so, in a dream, the slugs met and became friends. The developers also informed him about their nature when creating Whity, and also said that if Enot commits at least one sin, it will affect his soul, that is, on Whity itself. He will be in terrible pain and constantly writhing in pain. And knowing all this information from the developers, Whity asked his friend not to commit any sins. The soul was terribly paranoid and did not allow Enot to enter normally and step in.

No matter how hard Enot tried to rid his friend of these sins, there were more and more of them, and at the same time the pain from these sins only became stronger and more unbearable. At this point, a Feeling of Fault appears in the plot. This character is metaphorical, we can say that he does not exist in reality, he is needed so that one can understand the thoughts and feelings of one of the characters, in our case, Enot. That is, it means that only Enot can see Feeling of Fault and talk to him. Because of the fractures in the relationship with Whity, Feeling of Fault began to tell Enot that he was still a loser and a weakling, which only added more oil to the fire and made the whole situation only worse. At some point, a real scandal broke out between Enot and Whity during which they stopped being friends. After that, after a while, Whity was completely consumed by sins, and Enot's Feeling of Fault became especially strong during this period of time. Enot's consciousness, in order to protect him, sharpened Feeling of Fault and began to gradually erase all painful memories associated with Whity. At some point, he completely forgot about his former friend and can be said to have started life with a clean slate. And it would seem that this is a good thing, now Enot has become completely free from the prohibitions of his former friend, and even now no Feeling of Fault will bother him, but... The thirst for blood still remained in him. At first, Enot tried to suppress her and he killed especially only scavengers, because they had caused him too much pain in the past, but over time, Enot's moral compass completely erased and he began killing everyone indiscriminately in rather cruel ways, eager to hear the screams of his victims and taste their torn flesh and meat. Enot-maniac was very strong because he faced enemies every cycle and learned to defeat them. He became so strong that the scavengers, realizing that they could not resist this psychopath in any way, began to hide in secret bunkers underground without proper food, heat and much more. Enot-maniac destroyed the lives of many creatures, and those who miraculously survived were left with many mental injuries. The most revealing of them will be my scavenger character named Cold-blooded Wind. As a child, an Enot-maniac tore off his eye, but he was able to escape, however, this incident affected not only physically, but also mentally (you can learn the details of the Wind's background from ask. Believe me, everything is much worse there than you think. This is the third most tragic character in SW)

He even forbade slug to pick up a spear in principle, and as a result, to fight in order to banal self-defense. It seemed to Enot-maniac that he had reached the top and found his happiness and the meaning of life, but... That's not so. He actually needed companionship and good friends all this time. He began to wish for it as soon as the developers abandoned him to his fate. Throughout his life, Enot has never been able to feel real affection and support from others, and as a result, the murders of Enot-maniac began to get boring. What's the point of killing everyone and everything like that? He had tried all possible methods of murder on his victims anyway, everyone had long ago realized that Enota was a maniac worth being afraid of... A small piece of forgotten memories was able to remind Enot-maniac of the void sea, which Whity once told him about and he headed to it in order to finally find his long-awaited peace. But plunging into it, Enot found himself in a dating simulator. He spent a lot of time in it, and during this time, Enot, communicating with other slugs and not killing anyone, realized that he was wrong. That killing is not an option and that he wants to find friends! That's just how to do it if you can't get out of dating sim? But who said that it is ABSOLUTELY impossible to get out of dms? Remembering what kind of drug addiction an Enot egg could create in a dating simulator, he threw it at one of the buttons in this space and it was swallowed up by a singularity. Then the walls cracked and behind them was the code of all slug campaigns, as well as the code of the dms itself, which was also swallowed up by this black hole. After that, this hole in space and time turned into a portal and sucked Enot into it.He found himself back in his campaign, but now some of the chips from dms are now working in his world (that is, the egg can now create fierce nonsense and drug addiction here if desired), as well as slugs from its campaigns appeared in different parts of his world. The Raccoon has a new chance to start this life from scratch, make friends and find his happiness by ascending into the void sea. First of all, he changed his name to Eve, since the name Raccoon was now associated with his dark past. After meeting the Monk, he realized that there were probably a lot of such popadans in his world, so Inv decides to create his own gang called the "VC Gang" (VC - Void Cats). At the moment, this gang consists of Monk, Survivor, Hunter, Gourmet, their tamed red lizard and Inv himself, who is the leader here.On the way of our friends, there will be many obstacles that will mainly occur due to Fear (as Inv called Whity when they met again), which, due to sins, received quite a lot of power and authority. In order to put obstacles to slugs, he sends a black parasite blob into the real world, which infects a creature nearby that is afraid of Inv, which means that he cannot infect the same Inv friends, because slugcat is obviously not afraid of them. However, other obstacles will be encountered due to Inv's dark past, which he tries to hide from everyone. Scavengers still remember the time when the Enot Maniac raged in their world, and this will have its consequences...

That's all for now. I remind you that you can safely ask me additional questions about my au. My characters will answer them in the ask blog (@rw-au-askblog-sinful-world). I hope at least someone has read up to this point and is interested in my QwQ fanfiction, and I'll also give you a link to my fanfiction just in case, maybe someone won't be too lazy to read it with the help of a translator: https://ficbook.net/readfic/13570641

Additional content by my au:

Designs by Cold-Blooded Wind and his friends - Fragile Compassion and Big Heart.

[talafamily]

My name is Doaa, and I carry the weight of a family trapped in the crucible of war in Gaza. With me are my husband, Wissam, and our three beloved children: 9-year-old Tala, 7-year-old Sajid, and our youngest, 18-month-old Sanad. Our tale is one of endurance, displacement, and the relentless pursuit of safety amidst the chaos of conflict.

The Prelude to War:

Before the storm of October 7th, our lives in Gaza were a tenuous balance between hope and despair. But with the outbreak of war, our world crumbled beneath the onslaught of bombs and gunfire. For 220 days, we lived in constant fear as the violence engulfed our city, leaving behind a trail of destruction and death.

A Perilous Journey:

Our journey began In the heart of Gaza City, where we fled our home In search of safety. Seeking refuge, we found ourselves at Al-Rantisi Hospital, where the threat of attack loomed large. When the hospital became a target, we fled once more, seeking shelter in another hospital, where fear and illness afflicted our bodies and those of our children.

The Trek to Khan Yunis:

With nowhere left to turn, we embarked on a treacherous journey on foot to Khan Yunis. With bombs raining down around us and no food, water, or medicine to sustain us, each step felt like a gamble with our lives. The 7-kilometer trek was a test of endurance, as we braved the dangers of the road in search of sanctuary.

Displacement and Desperation:

Upon reaching Khan Yunis, we found ourselves thrust into a new nightmare. The danger intensified, driving us to flee once more, this time to Rafah. Here, amidst the biting cold, we found shelter in a tent, our only protection from the elements. But even here, the threat of war looms large, casting a shadow over our fragile existence.

A Daughter's Struggle

Adding to our burdens, my daughter Tala has been suffering from hypothyroidism since birth. Her condition weighs heavily on my heart, a constant reminder of the fragility of life and the need for urgent medical care.

The Price of Freedom:

In Rafah, the specter of war still haunts us, threatening to unravel the fragile threads of hope we cling to. The cost of leaving Gaza through the Egyptian Rafah crossing stands at $5,000 per person, an insurmountable barrier to our journey to safety.

A Cry for Help:

We are a family on the brink, teetering between despair and hope as we navigate the tumult of war. We plead for assistance, for a chance to break free from the cycle of violence and rebuild our lives in peace. With your support, we can overcome the trials that have befallen us and emerge stronger on the other side.

Conclusion:

Our journey is far from over, and the road ahead is fraught with uncertainty. But with your compassion and generosity, we can rewrite the ending of our story. Together, we can pave a path to safety and stability for Tala, Sajid, Sanad, Wissam, and me, ensuring that the horrors of war remain nothing more than a distant memory.

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@palipunk @dlxxv-vetted-donations

@illuminated-runas

#free palestine #palestine #free gaza

#gaza strip #donations #gazaunderattack

#gofundme #important #...

[essenteez]

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 || 𝑱𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒐 𝑽𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆

"Such fragile little thing, you are. Yet you managed to enslave me, the death itself."

“I won’t be gentle. I can't.” He warns, breaking away from the dazing kiss. "I waited a whole year. Twelve, long months. Over three hundred, fucking days controlling myself and keeping my hands to myself. No more."

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: A year passed after you were ostracized by everyone for being a fallen woman. You get the news of a tragic murder of your former fiancé, because of whom you were left with no family and friends. You feel no compassion, but pure joy. Now, you can let go of the past and focus on Jongho, a mysterious lord who saved you from a certain demise and took care of you. You're now ready to embrace your new life fully and the dark secret of your savior.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: vampire jongho x f!reader

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut, horror

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language, unprotected sex, thigh riding, inexperienced reader, fingering (f!recieving), rough sex, oral (f!recieving), creampie, overstimulation, blood mention, mention of revange murder, a little horror.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬: 6.6k

London, September 3rd, 1832, Monday.

11.25 PM.

Today is the first death anniversary of the old you. The old you who was disowned by your family, pushed away by your entourage, betrayed by the man you trusted the most. The person that you once wanted to spend your life with - your fiancé, who was found dead yesterday.

Do you feel grief? Of course not. Are you sad? He wishes you were. Although you have to admit that if ever, any wish of death for him had crossed your mind, it was never that brutal.

The headlines of today’s morning newspaper mention a dismembered body, completely drained of all blood. Shreds of your former fiancé were discovered somewhere in one of Oxford's slums. The incident probably makes people sick to their stomach, but your guts are fine. You only felt disgust while reading those lies about what a wonderful son and noble man he was, and what a loss to his parents and the country. It does hurt to see that no one knows what monster he truly was. Well, it is not your problem anymore. Actually, you could thank him for the chance he gave you to have a better life.

Much better life with your new protector. Your new world. Lord Choi Jongho.

However, the news has ruined your day. You have been feeling restless all day, missing him with all your being. You have barely touched any food or left your room. You also told your maids to not disturb you, letting them in only to prepare you a hot bath. He has not left your thoughts even for a second today, leaving you hoping he comes back as soon as possible.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you put on your white night dress. There is a little aching in your muscles from the lack of entertainment since morning. It makes you groan when you decide to massage your neck. The hot bath helped you feel a little better, so you are grateful to your lovely maids.

Phlegmatically, you start brushing your long locks when the rain outside suddenly grows stronger, now pelting at your window. At first you ignore it but the sound of a quiet thunder makes you turn your face towards the window. Lighting flashes on your face as you strongly pull the heavy blinds to one side, another roar of the storm follows after a few seconds.

"Perfect." You mumble, blinking quickly after the sudden flash of light manages to blind you. The weather only worsens your mood. You hate storms with a burning passion. It also reminds you of him as he always accompanies you when the brutal weather does not let you feel relaxed. But he’s not here right now.

You flinch at a sudden knocking on your door. In the manor you grew up in, you could hear someone approaching your room from meters away, because of the floor creaking. The floor here also isn't quiet, but somehow you never hear the maids, or Jongho coming.

You clear your throat before calling. "Come in!"

You let go of the blinds, reaching for the brush to resume combing your hair, as a short, skinny girl slides inside your bedroom, curtseying before you.

"My lady."

"What is it, Annabelle?” You ask dispassionately but still trying to make your tone sound kind. "I told you and Sybil to leave me alone, didn't I?"

"Yes, my lady, you certainly did. But you also ordered earlier that we inform you about the lord's whereabouts. I come to announce my lord's arrival back to the mansion. He is asking if you would like to join him for a glass of wine before going to bed.” She continues, her pretty face smiling from ear to ear, knowing well she brings good news to you. “The heavy storm is getting closer, so my lord also thought you would feel better if you had company until it calms down."

You stand up rapidly, almost dropping the brush on the ground as you turn to the maid. You can't hide your excitement. He finally came back. Thank God. He left a week ago and everyday was like torture for you. After hearing today's news, you have craved his presence more than ever.

"Alas-" You shout excitedly, quickly realizing how loud it sounded. "I mean... Yes, I would like to join Lord Choi for a glass of wine."

“My lord foresaw that answer.” Annabelle smiles at you, being vividly happy to see your mood change. "He will be waiting for you in ten minutes in the main saloon.”

When she sees your nod at her announcement, she curtseys again before leaving you. "My lady"

The moment the maid closes the door behind her, you run to your vanity. Your hair is already brushed but you notice how gray your skin looks. Still, not as gray as Annabelle or Sybil's, but the whole day of boredom and overthinking indeed seemed to exhaust you. Despite the lack of life on your face, your eyes start to shine with a familiar glow. A glow only he can awake in you. You bite your lips and pinch your cheeks to bring some blood to your face.

At the finish, you slide on a red, silk robe on. His favorite color as he once mentioned.

You already got used to the prevailing rules in this house; no lady and lord calling between you two, no severe etiquette. It was like stepping into a different world. It didn’t take you long to adapt since you hate hierarchy like that. You enjoy life now. If your mother only knew you were walking around in a thin night dress under a robe in the house of a man that you are not related to, she would surely faint. You couldn't care less though.

You no longer have a mother or family. All you have is him.

After ten minutes, you walk down the wide, winding stairs. It is pretty dark as the candles are unable to illuminate such a large, dark space. Fortunately, after a year of living here you already know every inch by heart.

The storm is getting closer with every second now. A glare of a lightning, soon followed by thunder, illuminates the whole mansion making you jump in fear.

While reaching the ground floor you notice a warm, weak light at the end of the main hall which makes you smile subconsciously. The light is leading you to the main saloon where he is supposedly waiting for you.

Your eyes go to him the same moment you enter the room. He is standing with his back facing you, looking at the unraveling storm outside the tall window. His palms are clasped behind his back as he faces the thunders, not bothered by the noise. Jongho is an embodiment of the peace you have craved for all week.

He is here. You do not want to think about what would've happened to you if he didn't find you back then, a year ago.

After your disappointed parents threw you out of your family house, you were wandering the misty streets of Oxford, completely soaked from pouring rain. Your fiancé's grand plan to ruin your family's reputation was a success. Deceived by his promises of mad love, you gave yourself to him before the wedding. And he used it to accuse you of betrayal with some non-existent man. With no way to prove your innocence, you were ostracized and your family immediately cut you off to save the last shreds of dignity. All that to take revenge on your father for some old grudge his family had against yours.

You were miserable, you had given up with no place to go. Since news about the lewd Lady (y/l/n) spread quickly, people passing you by looked at you with disgust on their face.

But suddenly someone stopped in front of you, putting their black umbrella above your head. A mysterious lord. His deep, black eyes and gentle smile helped you survive. Since you had nothing to lose and you needed to vent your pain, you didn't care if it was a stranger listening.

There was something about him that made you tell him your story. You were certain that he would act just like everyone else, but he didn’t. He took care of you, he listened. You could see the anger in his eyes when you uncovered the ugly truth about how you were treated.

Then, Jongho took you to London, gave you a new last name, a new life, far away from those rumors and hateful looks. You could finish your education and do more things than any other woman in England could. Just when you thought you would never trust anyone, there he was.

"Are you going to stare at me like that all night?" His gentle, amused voice interrupted you, drowning in your memories. You straighten your back at his words and gulp softly. A heat burns your cheeks at your own carelessness.

"Forgive me. I did not want to disturb you watching the storm. I know you love this type of..." You gasp quietly as he slowly turns and looks at you with that mysterious gaze that you know so well. After a year you still can't read him which was drawing you to him even more. “...weather.”

His raven black, tidy hair contrasts perfectly with his white colored blouse. A ruby brioche at his neck that shines with red glow.

Sudden lighting illuminates him entirely from behind, showing you the outlines of his perfect body underneath the shirt. His broad shoulders make you breathe faster. It is safe to say Jongho is the most beautiful man your eyes have ever seen.

Graceful in every movement. Eloquent with every word he says. So intimidating, which always makes you blush and loudly swallow. But he is also kind, with a one of a kind sense of humor. Each of your new London friends thinks he is none other than your distant cousin. And they all find him pretty scary but witheringly attractive.

"I have heard that you have not eaten anything today and that you did not leave your room until now.” A sudden change of his tone disturbs your inappropriate thoughts.

You drop your gaze to your feet.

"I presume birds brought you the news." You threw a look at Annabelle and Sybil, who are now preparing two glasses and a bottle of wine at the table. They are avoiding your eyes, feeling uncomfortable with your sharp gaze on them. You only reassure yourself in the conviction that the telegram you saw Sybil writing this morning was indeed for him.

"They really worry about you, (y/n). Especially Annabelle. I tried my best to come home as soon as I could after seeing the news." He lowers his head a little, vividly curious about your reaction.

You feel butterflies form in your stomach, hearing he rushed as fast as he could to you. You look at him with a gentle smile, thanking him.

Lighting flashes again, bringing loud thunder with it as he asks.

"Do you, perhaps, feel saddened?"

Your smile disappears. You look each other in the eyes for a longer second until you break eye contact so he doesn't see what your mind is full of right now. You start moving towards the black wooden table after the girls left you both alone. You pour wine into both glasses.

"No." You smile, licking your lips before taking a big sip of a red liquid.

Jongho observes your every move, visibly surprised with your tone.

"Do you think I should?”

"I do not think he deserves any compassion from you.” He moves closer, not taking his eyes off of you.

"Does it make me an evil person?” You ask, taking another sip of the alcohol. Your tolerance isn’t strong, so you already feel the wine messing with your head. Or maybe it is the effect of his simple existence.

"If all evil people were as evil as you, the world would be a paradise.” He halts right behind you, hoping you won't run away as you always have.

"Paradise…” You echo, surprised and amused at the same time. “I don’t think so. I'm stained after all. Sex before marriage is a big sin. My future lies in a convent anyway.”

You put the wineglass to your lips emptying the glass.

"Future and convent in one sentence.” He chuckles, standing dangerously close to you. “That’s new.”

"Well..." You start slowly, trying so hard to control your breathing. "I've been actually thinking about it. One day I will have to leave this place and since I'm a fallen woman, there is no chance for me to become what I was meant to become - a good wife and one day, a mother. England has no use of me. Convent is my only option, don't you think? You don’t want me to ruin your reputation."

"Can't you tell I don't really care about my reputation, darling?" His lips are right beside your ear, sending shivers down your heated body. "But if people finding out your true identity bothers you so much, we will move to another place. We can do it even tonight. France, Italy, Spain, China. We can leave here and now and be whoever we want to be. In France, I can be your cousin. In Italy, I can be my fiancé and in China... your husband?"

Each word recited with his hot breath teases the skin of your neck, his hard member boldly pressed against your back. When Jongho hears your soft gasp, he grabs your hips, spinning you around to face him.

You stare into his deep eyes, full with a growing fire. You can't help but breathe faster, feeling his body glued to yours. He, noticing that, smirks at you.

"You're not a fallen woman, (y/n). You're a free woman. Can I finally prove that to you?"

You don’t even have a chance to say anything before his long fingers entangle around the back of your neck, bringing you closer so your lips can finally meet. You are surprised at the suddenness and force, but you quickly adjust, equally as hungry. That kiss is long overdue.

The storm gains strength above the mansion, but all you can hear is your pounding heart and both your heated breaths.

You can't help but moan into the kiss you have dreamt of for so long. He pushes you back onto the table behind you, kissing you so passionately that you forget whose air you are breathing His knee suddenly thrusts between your thighs, stopping them from rubbing against each other.

Whimpering at the action, you grab his waist to not lose balance. Moans begin leaving your previously abused mouth, as he’s now mercilessly attacking your neck. The cotton fabric of his pants was rubbing against your core. With every move, Jongho deepens the intensity of his leg between your trembling thighs. You mewl in delight as he pulls you closer to his chest.

"Move your hips for me, darling. The same way you move them so seductively with the pillow between your legs at night when you're all alone." He groans into your ear, sucking on your earlobe.

You slightly open your eyes at his words. How does he know? You always try your best to be quiet and leave no traces of your moments of weakness. Did he hear you, see you?

The thought Jongho might've listened to your quiet whimpers or that he peeked inside while your neediness made you lower your guard adds another wave of arousal to your already weeping pussy.

"Ride my thigh. I want your essence all over my thigh.” He purrs.

You follow the command without hesitation, desperate for more friction. You feel the tension building up in your body as you are grinding at his thigh muscles. He bites his lower lip, watching how you repeat the dance of your hips from all the previous nights when you were pleasuring yourself and he fought hell to not storm in your bedchamber and ravage you sweet holes.

“Yes, just like that.” His groans have you trembling. With an impatient move he pulls your night dress up. “I fantasized about it way too many times. Ride it, darling.”

Jongho pins you even harder to the table, moving fast in an opposite direction which causes your mouth to let out silent moans and loud gasps. His hand never leaves your neck, only tightening the grasp to keep you where he wants to have you. The other impatient arm wraps around your waist to secure you from falling back onto the table.

"Cum as hard as you need, as loud as you want. No one will judge you here.” His burning eyes are now studying your face contorted with immense pleasure and desperation for release. Your eyes closed as you're indulging in the sensation.

"Look at me." He commands from behind his teeth. "I want you to look at me when you fall apart."

You half-open your eyes, but you can barely see him through your hazy sight. You are so close to the edge that the motion of your hips starts to become sloppy and uneven.

Lightning keeps flashing inside the room, and the walls shudder from the thunder that comes with the light.

And then you see it. A moment when two worlds meet. You swear you saw black voids for eyes staring right at you for a short second. You smile, happy that all your suspicions were true.

It finally showed up. Jongho's truth.

Even though the vision is gone, and you are looking Jongho's chocolate pupils again, you know it all now.

You have a creature of the night in front of you, with his thigh rubbing between your legs, making you see the stars. The view of his face watching you intensively with those lustful eyes and his clenching jaw is enough to bring you to your high fast, right on the edge.

"Jongho.. I…" You whine loudly as he pulls you as close to his body as possible, sliding his thigh back and forth.

“Yes, darling. Say my name.” He breathes out, before sucking on your neck’s pulsepoint.

Your eyes roll in the back of your head, as the bliss explodes within you. The waves of your overpowering heat hit one after another. You feel the strength leaving your body as the spasms slowly begin to fade. You give up completely, falling into his strong embrace.

Jongho slows down, peacefully rub the last ounces of high out of you while pressing you against his strong chest.

"You sing so sweetly from pleasure.” He whispers into your neck. "I want to hear it over and over again."

Pulling his thigh from underneath you, Jongho hisses in satisfaction at all the juices covering his pants. In gratitude, he reaches for your lips. He pampers your mouth with his eager kiss, his own tongue flicking over the soft flesh, gently caressing the sweet taste of you.

You're too enchanted by his perfect kiss to register that he begins to gently strip you of your robe. Your nightgown gets quickly unbuttoned by his skillful fingers and ends up on the floor in no time. Reluctantly, he breaks the kiss to sit you up onto the table. The coldness of the surface causes you to recover a bit from your high.

"Look at your painting, (y/n)." He looks down at his left thigh. You completely soaked it. Your face heats up. Your juices glistening in the pale candle light, and a series of lightning strikes.

He steals another kiss, finding your embarrassment cute.

"I want the same on my tongue."

Your eyes grow bigger. What does he mean? You have to admit you still have zero experience but tongue? Down there?

"What are you doing?” You panic, still panting as he spreads your quivering legs wider, kneeling between them.

"He never did it for you?" He asks, looking up at you in surprise.

"Umm, no." You can't focus due to his hot breath blowing at your puffy folds. His laugh caused by your answer only adds new waves of sensation. You lick your lips feeling their dryness caused by your excitement. Seeing his handsome face framed by your thighs, it stirs something inside you.

"Please." You whimper quietly.

"Since you're asking so nicely. I could never say no to you.” He teases, raising his brow at your shamelessness. He's visibly satisfied with your sudden change.

You don't mean to beg, you really don't. But every bit of your control goes out the window. Your body is speaking up for you, while your common sense and shame are locked up somewhere deep down.

His wet, lazy kisses make invisible marks on your inner thigh, preparing for the act. The sight, the feeling of him licking and sucking on your skin, cleaning you up from the previous release make you want to go insane. The sounds he makes while doing it, like he's tasting heaven, doesn’t help.

Jonghi lifts your legs, laying them over his shoulders for better access, causing you to fall back a little and support yourself with your hands behind.

He graces your clit with small kisses, receiving little whimpers from you. He smiles against your core before attacking your folds aggressively.

"Oh-"

There was no time for any proper reaction. Every muscle in your body tense up from the circling motions of his tongue. He runs it through your lower lips, pulling and sucking on them with a popping sound. You feel the heat quickly spreading through your whole body from the spot where he had been pleasing you.

“Fuuuck.” He mumbles with his mouth full of you. With his tongue he delves in your entrance, his brows frowning as he can't contain his arousal from the way you taste so good.

“Jongho…” You’re bewitched by the view of his restless mouth, feeding on your needy cunt. This feeling is new with the level of intimacy you have never reached before. You feel lewd, seen, absolutely scandalous. And you love it. All of it. Your hip begins to move to his rhythm, craving for more.

“Pass me the glass." He says suddenly, parting from your throbbing pussy, causing you to groan in disappointment. "Behind you, darling.”

You looked over your shoulder to see your empty glass and the glass with the wine he hasn't drunk yet.

Seeing your confusion, he chuckles, “The full one.”

You carefully hand him the liquor, sure that he wants to quench his thirst. But that is not his plan. He is going to quench his thirst but not with wine.

Out of nowhere he raises the glass in your direction and starts carefully pouring the wine down your chest.

You gasp, stunned, trying not to move and disturb him. You are just looking down at him, completely focused on the red streams that were slowly flowing between your breast, down your stomach and to your womanhood.

His tongue revisiting your pussy, nimbly licking off the wine.

"Oh my…" You moan loudly, as he starts drinking the liquor off your folds.

Satisfied with how the wine easily flows down its path, Jongho begins to pour more, creating a bigger and faster river that he messily slurps along with your juices until the glass is empty.

You can't keep yourself up any longer. Your hands give up on you causing you to fall back onto the table. The pleasure is overwhelming, making your back arch. Although your sight is hazy, you want to see him again, down there, devouring you like it was his last meal. The room is beginning to dim as the candles are on their last burn. Lighting was the only source of light now.

"J-Jongho!" You call to him among your loud moans.

Then you see it again, two black voids fixated on your face. The sight of Jongho's true side that he apparently can't control whilst being filled with lust, gives you greater satisfaction. He sharply throws the glass aside, shattering it on the wall. Then, he wraps his arms behind your thighs, pinning you down to the table. His tongue quickens, flicking across your clit making you see white.

"Jong- Oh!” You slip as a strong orgasm crashes over you, twisting your body with unimaginable pleasure. Your hands grab both sides of the table, feeling your warmth flooding on Jongho's tongue and lips. He sucks on your clit, bringing every last bit of your orgasm out of you and taking his time to clean your pussy of your essence and the rest of the wine.

"Mmmm. You taste too sweet. Too delicious for the covent." He coos, his voice heavy with arousal. He starts tracing his way back up your body with his tongue, slowly following the trails of sticky wine, ending it with hungry kisses all over your neck and jaw.

"So?" He asks as his face aligned with yours. You dare to look into his eyes as he hovers over you.

"So?" You repeat, out of breath.

"Are you feeling free yet?" He smirks with a sinful spark in his eyes.

You know exactly what he's asking about.

You return the smile, "Not yet."

With these words he straightens up and rips open his wine stained blouse, throwing its shreds on the floor. The ruby brooch clatters somewhere on the wooden panels.

You cannot take your eyes off his perfect body. You fantasized about it so many times but it's still more than you could ever imagine.

"Like what you see?" He asks, amused by your awe. He begins to unbelt, then takes off his black pants that were soaked with your cum. “Cause I like my view very much."

You wish to sit up but Jongho stops you, climbing on the table hovering over your body. His enormous frame towering over you makes you feel so small and vulnerable.

He leans down and kisses you incredibly slowly, you melt over the taste of his, yours and the wine that linger on his lips. You feel it with the deepest, darkest corners of your soul, returning the affection with quiet moans. You are his, from the first sight. Maybe it is an illness of falling in love with your savior or maybe it is real. You don't care. You stopped caring about details a long time ago.

"What happened, (y/n)?” He breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours. “You resisted me for so long and today you serve yourself on a golden platter."

You smile and flick your tongue on his lips.

“You killed him for me” You moan out, feeling his warm cock, throbbing against your abdomen. “Didn’t you?”

He pulls himself up, taken aback at your words. His dark eyes study your face, searching for any sign of fear or doubts. But he finds none of it.

“(Y/n), I…?”

“I know everything, Jongho. I’ve known for some time now.” You explain, almost moaning out every word. You’re squirming with neediness underneath him.

You heard Sybil tell the postman to take the telegram to Jongho. To Oxford. You connected everything in an instant. You couldn't help but imagine him covered in your fiancé's blood which made you go insane with lust.

“I’m all yours to take.” You declare.

With every word leaving your mouth his eyes are getting darker. It is his dream come true. You, accepting what he is and what he is able to do for you.

He claims your quivering lips once more. Wrapping your arms around his neck and shoulders you let his tongue penetrate your mouth, wrestling with yours while his length found its way to your pussy, rubbing on your dripping folds.

“I won’t be gentle. I can't.” He warns, breaking away from the dazing kiss. "I waited a whole year. Twelve, long months. Over three hundred, fucking days of controlling myself and keeping my hands to myself. No more."

"Take as much as you need. As rough as you want." You say, giving him the allowance, using your version of his own words. You want him to fuck you into that wooden table. "Just take me, Jongho."

Leaning down to your neck, he draws a long breath, inhaling your scent that turned his life upside down the moment he sensed it for the first time. He remembers vividly how you passed him by on one of the streets in Oxford. Despite the crowd, your scent was like vines, climbing up his legs and making them follow after you. As any vampire would, he craved to feed on you. The initial plan was to take you away, seduce you so he could sink his fangs anytime he felt thirsty. But then he heard your story. And to his own surprise, he didn't want to take advantage of it. He wanted to protect you, punish people who had hurt you and keep you under his wings. He dared to dream of having you near until the end of time.

“So delicate.” He hums against your neck and ear. “So fragile, so… human. Yet, your sweet blood has never tempted me to taste it. I want to make it burn your veins with lust, need and love. I want to smell it racing as I kiss you, touch you. I want to hear it pulsating in your thighs while I eat your precious pussy out for hours. I want to listen to it beat in your heart that I want to protect. I will never let a drop of it to shed. I swear it to you.”

You suck in a soft breath at his declaration. You are left speechless as he kisses your pulsepoint as a seal to his words.

Both don't speak as your faces align. Jongho holds your gaze as he starts kissing his way down the valley between your breasts. He places a sweet kiss on the left side of your chest to feel your heartbeat under his lips.

You tangle your fingers into his silky hair and gently tug on it. A breathy moan is ripped from your chords as he begins sucking on your nipple, while the other gets captured between his thumb and index finger. He keeps your gaze as he flicks his tongue on your bud.

Grabbing fistfulls of your bosoms, he scoops both and engulfs them with his mouth, sucking and pulling them. His hard cock keeps grinding against your leaking slit.

“Jongho… please.” You whine, feeling like overheating. “Ease this fire.”

At your plea, he lets go of your breasts with a pop sound. The vampire rises up, finally blessing you with all his grace. His impressive size makes you gasp, having your wetness increase instantly. He's so erect you see every little vein decorating his manhood. The tip glistens with precum that you get a sudden urge to taste, your tongue ghosts your dry lips.

Jongho spreads your trembling legs wider, placing them on his hips. The feeling of his hot skin and hardened muscles on your inner thighs causes your core throb with anticipation.

"You want to be fucked by a monster so bad, don’t you?" He taunts with a sinister smirk, guiding his length up and down your folds, spreading your wetness all over his tip. Your whimpers drive him to groan. He takes his time to prepare your pussy for sweet abuse.

"Jongho, please.” You can't take it anymore, but he seems to enjoy the torture. "Fallen or free, just take me."

These words work on him like magic. You hear his dangerous giggle before he grabs the flesh of your hips with his big, hungry hands and slams himself inside you.

You squeal at the sudden stretch of your tight walls and put your hands on his wrists. You haven't had a man inside you for a whole year. Not to mention, you never had someone that big.

Although he warned you about not being gentle with you, you still are not prepared for the power he starts to penetrate you with. He pounds into you hard without any mercy on your poor body and soul. He has all the control over your hips, pulling them and impaling you on his pulsating cock.

"Oo-h l-ord!” You cry out with pleasure.

"So tight, yes. " He growls out, instantly satisfied. “Ah, you're going to make me come quickly, love of mine.”

He slows down after a few more hard thrusts, lowering himself to hover over you again.

You are loudly gasping for air. It's difficult to breathe due to his previous enormous force. His cock, now torturing your insides with a painfully slow pace.

"That's exactly how I imagined you looking underneath me, darling. So tiny and defenseless. Entirely mine." He whispers, licking a long wet strip between your breast, bringing it up to your jaw.

You arch your back, tangling your fingers in his raven hair again.

He laughs quietly at the sudden swirling movement of your hips on his length.

"Mmmm, you're squeezing me so good."

After a few seconds of enjoying the moment, Jongho grabs your legs, placing them onto his shoulders. His cock sinks even deeper into you, making a new series of moans to leave your mouth.

His thrusts become even stronger, taking you beyond your imagination. Your head is spinning, the haze again falls upon your eyes as you hold tight the table's edges above your head. He fills you completely, his throbbing pride rubbing all the right places.

You can't make any kind of sound. The fire between your thighs starts spreading all over your body.

"I'm.. Jongh… please, please!" You scream repeatedly as waves of indescribable ecstasy start to flood you, making your body spasm again. Loud moans mixed with roars of thunder fills the mansion.

"Fuuck, yes, sweetheart." He joins you in the lewd ritual, feeling your walls closing around his length, squeezing him. Jongho straightens his back, throwing his head back, pushing into you slowly, riding both your highs.

You feel his cock twitch as he unloads his warmth inside you. And it’s followed by a sudden, loud, bloodcurdling laugh that makes you look up at him.

This time you see more than just two black voids instead of the chocolate eyes of your lover. Long fangs glisten in the dark. His whole face, covered in black veins as he's savoring in ecstasy.

"J-Jongho…" You call out breathlessly, feeling like your high grew back intensively, just at the view of his true form that you have fantasized about so many times.

Breathing heavily, he lets his gaze fall down at you. The sinister smile is still painted on his lips. He gives you a few last slow thrusts just so he can watch your face and listen to your adorable whimpers again. You then felt his length slowly sliding out of you followed by his thick seed dripping from your hole. He stared at his masterpiece for a short instant and laid himself on your side.

"You're so beautiful." You caress his cheek, not able to take your eyes off his face. A face that other people would call a monster. You stare at him in awe as his true form starts to fade, being replaced with his human side.

“Beautiful? You find this beautiful.?” He grins with his sharp teeth. You love when the real mischief takes over his lord persona. “And I am here, wondering why you're not having a heart attack. I tried to control my form to not come out but you feel oh so good.”

His finger runs down your body, that's covered and filled with liquids. You still want more, and Jongho can sense it.

“You are beautiful, no matter the form.” You insist, yet your voice sounds weak and shaky as his hand slides between your legs.

He captures your lips, teasing your tongue with his. He swallows your moans, as his hand massages your needy clit.

“You were truly made for me.” He whispers in your lips. “So unsatisfied, desperate for more… Do you want my fingers inside you, darling?”

“Yes…” You feel drunk. He makes you feel more intoxicated than any alcohol ever has.

“You want me to use my cum inside your precious little pussy as a lube and fuck you with my fingers, hm?”

You nod eagerly with no shame whatsoever.

“Say it, sweetness. Use your pretty voice and tell me what you want.”

“I want you… to fuck me… with your fingers, please.” You begged with a pathetic, high-pitched voice.

The confidence his digits slide into you steals the breath from your lungs. The squelching sounds immediately filled the room, disturbing the silence among your moans and the thunder. His fingers are restless as, thanks to his rich filling they go in and out of you like a knife in the most ripe fruit.

You arch your spine as Jongho curls them and his fingertips rub that sweet point that doubles the volume of your cries.

“Ah, yes, yes, right there!”

He uses the opportunity of your exposed neck, and he gently bites the soft skin, not enough to pierce through it, but enough to leave a trace.

“Fuck, (y/n).” He whispers, with a tone of praise. You reacting to everything he does to you, makes his chest swell with pride.

It encourages him.

As a vampire, his strength and never-ending stamina pushes you over the edge the next second after his hand starts racing up and down at a determined, overwhelming speed, playing your whole body like an instrument.

You come once, screaming against the thunder. Then again, but this time you make no sound. You can't, as the pleasure of a thousand suns cages the breath in your lungs.

With his lips glued to your throat, he groans at the way your body trembles as he forces his cum out of you.

“No, no… Jongo, wait… stop…”

He giggles as you push his hand away after his finger starts flicking your core again.

“I would’ve killed him much sooner if I knew it'd cause you to finally scream in pleasure underneath me.” He whispers, placing calming kisses on your marked neck as your hands are roaming all over his back.

You can only smile at his words, tired after the long awaited fulfillment. Seeing your state, Jongho carefully picks you up from the table. You feel him cover you with your robe he had ripped off you.

You don’t remember the trip to his chambers where he carried you in his arms. You don't know where you are until you feel warm water embracing your exhausted body. You open your eyes to see him gently wiping and massaging your skin.

"How delicate, Lord Choi." You give him a tired but content smile. "I clearly remember you saying you wouldn’t be gentle with me."

Jongho grins before saying, "Don't worry. This is only the beginning."

Every nerve in your body wakes up as he leans to your neck and places a gentle kiss.

“I need some time to shape you for me. I don't want to hurt you. Then, I swear there won't be any surface left in this house where I won't take you on, sweetness.”

Then his focus is back on cleaning your body, however the sinister spark never leaves his eyes. You know this night isn't over, wondering what the state the dawn will find you in.

Your eyes wander to the window in front of you. You see the lighting dancing in the distance but you don't hear any thunder accompanying it anymore.

The storm is over. You indulge in the peaceful darkness of the night.

I repost this one shot cause I wasn't satisfied with it. I couldn't even look at it anymore and I like the idea 🥲 Hope you like it! I added some new plot, too!

[fandomnerd9602]

Rusty Compass

Jack Reacher x Sibling!Reader

The neon sign of the Rusty Compass bar cast a jaundiced glow across Jack Reacher's face. He nursed a beer – his third, probably, judging by the empty bottles lining the counter. Rain splattered against the window, washing away the neon in blurry streaks. Not a bad night for a ghost town, Reacher thought, swirling the last drops of his beer.

Then, the bell above the door jangled. A gust of wind swept in, carrying with it the scent of wet asphalt and teenage angst. A skinny figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, blinking against the sudden brightness. Reacher squinted, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"You lost, kid?" he rumbled, his voice as gruff as his military background.

The figure stepped into the light, revealing a mop of rain-soaked hair and wide, eyes that seemed to hold the weight of the world. It was a young kid , barely sixteen, face pale and drawn. Yet there was a stubborn echo of Reacher's own face in there too.

"Are you Jack Reacher?" the person asked, with a voice barely a whisper.

Reacher raised an eyebrow, surprised by the question. He wasn't exactly in the habit of advertising himself. "Depends who's asking," he drawled, playing along.

The young adult took a shaky breath. "My name is Y/N. Y/N Reacher. I'm your sibling."

The words hung in the air, heavy and unexpected. Reacher had no siblings besides Joe, or so he thought. His past was a tangled mess, buried deep within him like a scar. This kid, with their haunted yet familiar eyes, was dredging up memories he'd spent years suppressing.

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken questions. Rain hammered against the roof, a drumming accompaniment to the internal war raging within Reacher. Curiosity battled distrust, a tug-of-war played out in the depths of his gaze.

Finally, he sighed, the sound like a weary sigh of an old mountain. "Get yourself a lemonade, kid," he muttered, gesturing to the bartender. "Let's talk."

The next few hours were a blur of stolen glances and hesitant words. Y/N, it turned out, was the result of an indiscretion, a secret Reacher never knew existed. Y/N spoke of a childhood spent in shadows, a mother's love a fragile shield against a harsh world. They spoke of searching, of yearning for a connection that felt undeserved.

Reacher listened, the calluses on his soul softening with each story. He saw himself in Y/N’s eyes, the same hunger for belonging, the same wariness of trust. It was a mirror he couldn't ignore, a reflection of the man he could have been, should have been.

By the time the bar closed, a silent pact had been forged. Reacher wouldn't turn this scrawny kid away, wouldn't let them wander the same lonely road he once had. He wouldn't be the father the kid never had, but maybe, just maybe, he could be the sibling he never knew was needed.

They stepped out into the rain, the moon a pale smudge behind the thick clouds. The road ahead was still shrouded in mist, but it didn't look like an endless escape anymore. It looked like a shared journey, two Reachers, bound by blood and circumstance, carving their own path through the storm. And for the first time in years, Jack Reacher didn't feel alone.

The Rusty Compass faded into the darkness, leaving behind the echo of unspoken promises and the flicker of a fragile hope. The rain kept falling like a baptism, washing away the past and paving the way for the new. Jack Reacher, the lone wolf, had found his pack. And sometimes, that’s all the shelter you needed from the storm.

[ltash]

If LOVE were all.

If I pen down 'love,' may you feel it all.

I’ve spent my entire life perceiving love through Rumi’s eyes, a longing, endless yet futile. When you and I got married, people often asked, "Simon, why did you marry so soon?" It was an arranged marriage, although most think it was love. The past was bitter, and honestly, it was that bitterness that gave my pen its strength. Pursuing an advanced fellowship in transplant hepatology in a remote, deprived region like was the fulfillment of a promise I made to my brother, a realization of my own dream that completed me in ways I cannot describe. Yet, late at night, when the Express train thunders past the rail line buried in sand nearby, I remember the bitterness of my youth and how it found its completion in the form of you.

No matter how deeply one loses themselves in the world, God never lets one stray from His love, and it’s in this love that the feminine audacity also travels, those fragile threads, young promises on a fraying string walked in darkness. The moment you display such audacity, you are grounded, humbled, and then it’s up to the Divine’s mercy whether He keeps you on that ground or lifts you to the heavens. In the rhythmic clinking of anklets on muddied feet, dancing in the rain-soaked earth, at any moment, spirituality may sweep you off your feet; this is the journey of Divine presence.

Whenever I looked at you, a question often surfaced in my mind: Can one truly fall in love after marriage? For love, after all, is synonymous with unattainability. How can one love what one already possesses? When Orion was born, he replaced you. This was a new rain of emotions, yet, was this love? He was but a part of my own being. This was affection. A love so pure it rivaled even that elusive love. In the search for an answer to this question, my journey brought me to compassion.

I have yet to meet compassion, but I have fallen in love with its love. It provided me an answer to a question I could never find in Rumi’s books. A part of my restless soul remained in search of it: Can one truly fall in love after marriage? Yes, if that love becomes unattainable. Even love takes the form of passion if it transcends and becomes eternal.

If I pen down an ‘L’, you begin to feel me,

Then with ‘O’, your sleep escapes,

When ‘V’ flows, a soft shiver awakens,

If I complete ‘LOVE’, may you feel it all.

[eunseoksimp]

CPR; Shotaro Osaki

Pairings: Healer! Osaki Shotaro x Heartbroken!Fem Reader

Genre: Fluff, Strangers to Lovers

Description: amidst the depths of heartbreak and endless gray, where every step felt heavy, you stumbled upon shotaro osaki. his quiet compassion and warmth cut through the cold, offering solace and his gentle presence beginning to mend your shattered heart. with his presence, he pulled you back from the brink, making you believe in the possibility of healing and reminding you what it feels like to be truly alive again.

Warnings: none

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

you don’t remember when it started, the endless aching numbness that wrapped itself around your heart like vines suffocating a fragile flower. but you remember the day you met shotaro osaki, the day the rain couldn’t wash away your pain. it wasn’t just any gloomy day; it was a day when the world felt like it was trying to drown itself in sorrow.

you had wandered the streets for hours that day, not knowing where you were going but unable to stay in one place. your legs moved without direction, your feet carrying you away from the apartment you had once shared with someone you thought loved you. now, it was just a hollow shell, much like you. 

the sky hung low with a dull grey weight, clouds so thick that they choked out the sun, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth. the rain wasn’t yet a downpour, just a faint drizzle that kissed your skin like a bitter lover’s caress. 

each drop was sharp, stinging as it met your skin, but the discomfort felt like a reminder that you were still alive. it wasn’t enough to pull you out of the emptiness, but it was something. you weren’t sure why you didn’t move, why you just stood there letting the rain batter you. perhaps you wanted to disappear into the storm, to let the world wash you away.

 you stood there, rooted to the spot as though the world had left you behind, and perhaps it had. your clothes clung to your body, drenched and heavy, but the discomfort of it was almost a welcome sensation. at least it was something you could feel.

after weeks of telling yourself that you were free, you had finally left him. that bastard. the man who had made you question your very existence, who had wrapped you in a twisted love that cut deeper than any blade. yet, even with the chains broken, there was no victory in it, no breath of fresh air. only a suffocating void, like you were standing at the edge of an abyss, tempted to jump just to feel the rush of anything at all.

you had made the choice to leave, but you hadn’t made peace with it. even now, part of you longed to go back, to let yourself be pulled into his orbit once more, even knowing it would destroy you. it was a dangerous pull, like gravity, like the sea calling to the shore, pulling away grains of sand with each crashing wave.

you didn’t even notice the rain getting heavier, didn’t see how the world began to blur around the edges, until the droplets became rivers running down your face. you stayed, numb and unmovable, letting the storm baptize you in cold. it felt like a punishment, and in a way, you thought you deserved it.

and then there he was.

he appeared out of the mist, a figure moving with a grace that seemed almost unnatural. you caught sight of him from the corner of your eye, just a shadow at first, but it wasn’t until he stopped right in front of you that you truly saw him.

shotaro osaki. his dark hair was plastered to his forehead, raindrops clinging to his long lashes, but he didn’t seem to mind the downpour. his eyes were what struck you—soft and deep, like pools of water reflecting the world back at you with a clarity you had long since lost.

"hey," he said, his voice a gentle warmth that cut through the storm. "are you okay?"

you blinked, startled by the warmth in the voice, and slowly lifted your head to meet the gaze of the stranger before you. his face was half-hidden beneath the hood of his jacket, raindrops clinging to the strands of dark hair that had escaped its cover.

his eyes—those eyes—were what stopped you in your tracks. they were deep, dark, filled with a kind of quiet compassion that you hadn’t seen in a long time. they weren’t full of pity, and somehow, that was what you needed most. 

for a long moment, you just stared at him, the rain still falling in heavy sheets around you, the world reduced to the two of you standing amidst the downpour. you didn’t know what to say. how could you explain the mess of emotions swirling inside you when you could barely make sense of them yourself?

"i... i don’t know," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the rain, fragile and unsure. it felt like admitting defeat, but it was the only truth you had in that moment. you didn’t know if you were okay. you didn’t know if you’d ever be okay again.

shotaro—though you didn’t know his name then—just nodded. he didn’t push, didn’t ask you for more than you could give. instead, he stood there with you, rain dripping down the edges of his jacket, soaking into his clothes, yet he didn’t seem to mind. his presence was a quiet, steady thing, like a rock in the middle of a river, unmoving even as the current raged around it.

"let’s get you out of this rain. you shouldn’t be out here like this. let’s find somewhere warm," he said, his voice tender but insistent, like he was offering you more than just shelter from the storm. like he was offering you refuge from the chaos inside your soul.

you hesitated, feeling the weight of your past like iron shackles, but something in his presence made you want to follow him. there was no pressure in his eyes, just an invitation. so, with a shaky breath, you nodded.

he didn’t grab your arm or pull you forward. instead, he simply walked beside you, his steps slow and measured, as though he was giving you time to decide if you wanted to follow. you did.

and soon, you found yourself stepping into a small café, the doorbell jingling softly as you entered. the sudden warmth of the place hit you like a shock, the smell of coffee and fresh pastries filling the air, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a flicker of comfort.

shotaro gestured for you to take a seat by the window, where the rain was still falling in thick, heavy drops, the world outside a blur of grey and water. you sat down slowly, feeling the weight of the wet clothes sticking to your skin, but the warmth of the café, hitting you like a physical force, was slowly beginning to seep into your bones, thawing the cold that had settled inside you.

"tea or coffee?" his voice broke through your haze, gentle and patient.

you looked up at him, his smile soft and patient, waiting for your answer. "tea," you said quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

he returned moments later with two steaming mugs, setting one in front of you with a small smile that didn’t demand anything from you. you wrapped your hands around the cup, letting the heat seep into your frozen fingers. 

for a long time, neither of you spoke. and yet, somehow, it didn’t feel awkward. shotaro didn’t force conversation or try to fill the silence with empty words. instead, he let you be, let you exist in whatever state you needed to be in at that moment.

"you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to," shotaro said after a long silence. his voice was low and steady, the kind of voice that didn’t demand anything from you. 

"sometimes it’s just nice to have someone sit with you."

you nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. you hadn’t realized how much you needed that. just someone to sit with you. someone who wasn’t trying to fix you, who wasn’t asking you to explain yourself, but who was simply willing to be there.

the silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable, but rather a shared space where the unspoken was allowed to exist without pressure. you found yourself relaxing, your shoulders slowly unknotting as the warmth of the café began to seep deeper into your skin.

after a while, the words began to come. haltingly at first, like trying to find your footing on unsteady ground, but once they started, you couldn’t stop them. you told him about the man you had left, the betrayal and the hurt, the way you had been chipped away piece by piece until there was almost nothing left of you. you didn’t cry; the tears had long since dried up, leaving only a dull ache in their wake.

 the story of your past spilled out in fragments, each piece sharp and painful, as if you were holding broken glass in your hands. and yet, shotaro listened.

he listened with a kind of quiet intensity that made you feel like your words mattered, like your pain wasn’t something to be dismissed or minimized. he didn’t offer empty platitudes, didn’t tell you that everything would be okay or that you were strong for having left. instead, he simply listened, letting you pour out the pain and the anger and the confusion that had been bottled up inside you for so long.

"you know," he said quietly, "i used to think i was invincible. like nothing could touch me. but life has a way of proving you wrong."

you frowned slightly, curious despite yourself. "what happened?"

his eyes grew distant, like he was looking at something far away, something painful. "i lost someone close to me," he said softly. "someone i thought would always be there. but life… life doesn’t always work out the way you think it will."

you could hear the sorrow in his voice, the weight of it, and it made your chest ache in a way you hadn’t expected. for the first time in a long time, you felt a flicker of connection, like maybe you weren’t the only one who had been broken by the world.

"i’m sorry," you whispered, your fingers tightening around the mug. "that must have been hard."

he nodded, his eyes meeting yours again, before his hand reached across the table, his touch gentle as it settled over yours. "but we find strength in the most unexpected places," he said softly. "and sometimes, in the most unexpected people."

you glanced down at his hand over yours, warm and steady, a quiet reassurance amid the storm. for the first time in a long while, the ache in your chest felt slightly less oppressive, if only for a moment. you offered a small, hesitant smile, the kind that carries more uncertainty than resolution, and looked up at him, wondering if perhaps, in this unexpected connection, there might be a small glimmer of something—anything—amid the lingering darkness.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

days turned into weeks, and you found yourself settling into an unexpected rhythm with shotaro. 

at first, his presence in your life felt like a fleeting kindness—something temporary and fragile, like a gust of wind passing through an open window.

you hadn't planned on seeing him again after that rainy afternoon in the café, hadn’t expected his warmth to become something steady. but the universe had a strange way of working, and soon enough, shotaro was there—texting you casually, showing up in places where you least expected him, as though the two of you had been woven into each other’s paths without realizing it.

"fancy seeing you here," he had said with a grin one evening as you stood in line at the small grocery store around the corner from your apartment. it was the kind of place you only went when you were too exhausted to deal with the larger crowds elsewhere. you hadn’t even noticed him at first, not until his voice broke through the fog in your mind.

you looked up from the rows of canned soup, startled by the familiar warmth in his eyes. "oh, hey," you replied, awkwardness creeping into your voice despite yourself.

you couldn’t quite place it, but something about his presence had always left you slightly off-balance, as if you were standing at the edge of a cliff with the wind tugging you forward.

"shopping for dinner?" he asked, his tone light but curious as he glanced at the few items you held in your basket—instant noodles, a carton of eggs, and a small box of tea.

you shrugged, feeling a bit sheepish under his gaze. "something like that," you mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

you hadn’t been paying much attention to what you were buying—just grabbing whatever was easiest and required the least effort.

shotaro smiled softly, as if he understood more than you were letting on. "well, if you’re up for it, i’m making curry tonight," he offered, his voice casual but with a hint of invitation. "you’re welcome to join me. no pressure, of course."

you hesitated, the idea of going to his place feeling like a leap you weren’t sure you were ready to take. but then again, the thought of eating instant noodles alone in your apartment felt equally unappealing. there was something about shotaro’s presence that made the weight of your loneliness a little more bearable, and the idea of spending another evening in his quiet company didn’t seem so daunting.

"okay," you agreed before you could second-guess yourself. "curry sounds nice."

that evening, you found yourself in shotaro’s small but cozy kitchen, the scent of simmering spices filling the air as he worked with practiced ease, chopping vegetables and stirring the pot with care. the warmth of the stove radiated through the space, chasing away the lingering chill in your bones, and you watched him with quiet fascination as he moved through the motions of cooking with the same calm grace he brought to everything.

"you know," he said at one point, glancing over his shoulder at you with a playful smile, "you don’t have to just sit there and watch. i could use an extra set of hands if you’re up for it."

you blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his invitation. it had been so long since anyone had asked for your help with something as simple as cooking, and the idea of contributing to a shared moment felt strange but oddly comforting.

"uh, sure," you replied, standing up from your spot at the small table. "what do you need me to do?"

"here," he said, handing you a knife and a cutting board. "you can chop these carrots. just... be careful not to cut your fingers. i’d hate to have to explain that to the hospital."

you chuckled softly, a rare smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you took the knife from him. the motion felt clumsy at first, your hands awkward as you tried to remember how to hold the blade properly. but shotaro didn’t seem to mind your lack of finesse; instead, he watched you with quiet encouragement, offering tips here and there but never making you feel inadequate.

"you’re doing great," he said at one point, his tone genuine despite the simplicity of the task. "see? you’re a natural."

"i doubt that," you muttered under your breath, though his words warmed you more than you cared to admit.

still, you couldn’t deny that it felt... good, to be doing something productive, to be contributing to a moment of shared creation rather than retreating into yourself as you so often did.

after a while, the two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm, the soft clatter of knives and the bubbling of the curry pot filling the space between you. it wasn’t until the food was ready and shotaro set two plates on the table that you realized how at ease you felt—how the anxiety that had been gnawing at the edges of your mind had faded into the background.

"here we go," he said with a grin as he set your plate down in front of you. "i hope it’s okay. i’m still perfecting the recipe."

you took a bite, the warmth of the curry spreading through you like a gentle hug. it wasn’t perfect—maybe a bit too much salt, and the carrots were a little overcooked—but it didn’t matter. what mattered was the effort, the care that shotaro had put into the meal, and the fact that for the first time in weeks, you weren’t eating alone.

"it’s good," you said softly, meeting his gaze across the table. "thank you."

he smiled, and for a moment, the quiet between you felt like something sacred, like a shared secret that neither of you needed to voice. it was in these moments, you realized, that you were learning to trust again—to believe, however cautiously, that there were people in the world who could be kind without expecting anything in return.

as the days slipped into weeks, your time with shotaro became a constant thread in the fabric of your life. there was a rhythm to it now, a pattern you had begun to rely on without even realizing it. he would text you in the mornings, sometimes just to say hello or share a random thought that had crossed his mind. other times, he would suggest meeting up for coffee or going for a walk through the park.

"the weather’s too nice to stay inside," he would say, his voice light and teasing. "come on, let’s take advantage of it while we can."

and more often than not, you would find yourself agreeing, even on the days when the weight of your past felt like too much to bear. somehow, shotaro always seemed to know when you needed a gentle push, when you needed someone to remind you that the world outside your apartment wasn’t as daunting as it seemed.

one saturday, he surprised you with tickets to a small art exhibit in the city. it was the kind of thing you would have never gone to on your own, but shotaro had a way of nudging you towards experiences that felt unfamiliar yet oddly safe in his company.

"i thought you might like this," he said as the two of you stood outside the gallery, a soft breeze ruffling his hair. "i remember you mentioned you used to love painting. figured maybe it’d be nice to see what other artists are up to."

you stared at him for a moment, taken aback by the simple thoughtfulness of his gesture. "you remembered that?" you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "of course i did."

the gallery was small and intimate, the walls lined with paintings that ranged from abstract bursts of color to delicate, intricate landscapes. as you walked through the space, your fingers itched with a familiar urge—the urge to create, to put brush to canvas and let your emotions flow out in ways words never could.

"this one’s beautiful," shotaro said softly as the two of you stopped in front of a painting that depicted a stormy sea, the waves crashing against jagged rocks with a force that seemed almost tangible. "it reminds me of that day in the rain. the way everything felt so chaotic, but also... cleansing, in a way."

you glanced at him, surprised by the depth of his observation. "yeah," you agreed quietly. "it does."

for a long moment, the two of you stood there in silence, your gazes locked on the swirling waves of the painting. and in that moment, something shifted between you—something unspoken but undeniably real. it was as if the storm inside you had calmed, just a little, soothed by the presence of someone who understood what it meant to weather the harshest of storms and still come out on the other side.

the weeks stretched on, and slowly, without you even realizing it at first, the walls around your heart began to soften. they didn’t crumble all at once—there were still days when the fear of getting hurt again kept you at arm’s length, days when the shadows of your past loomed too large to ignore. but shotaro never pushed, never demanded more than you were ready to give. he was simply there, a steady presence in the ebb and flow of your life.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

as the weeks melted into months, your life became intertwined with shotaro’s in ways that both frightened and comforted you.

the first time you realized you were falling for him, it was as if the ground beneath you had shifted, leaving you unsteady, unsure of where to place your next step. it wasn’t a grand revelation, no sudden bolt of lightning from the sky. it was quiet, almost subtle—a soft whisper in your chest that tugged at you in moments when you least expected it.

there was a night, late in october, when the air had taken on that first bite of autumn chill. the two of you had spent the day wandering through the city’s markets, weaving through the stalls lined with fresh produce and handmade crafts. shotaro had insisted on buying you a small bouquet of flowers—nothing fancy, just a bundle of lavender and wildflowers tied together with twine. at first, you resisted, uncomfortable with the gesture, but his smile was impossible to refuse.

“they remind me of you,” he said simply as he handed them to you. “beautiful, even when they’re a little wild.”

his words settled over you like a warm breeze, leaving you speechless. you tucked the flowers under your arm, the scent of lavender wrapping around you like a gentle embrace. you couldn’t remember the last time someone had given you flowers without expecting anything in return, and the simplicity of it caught you off guard.

later that evening, after you’d shared dinner at a small bistro tucked away on a quiet street, shotaro walked you home. the sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the streets bathed in the soft glow of streetlamps. the two of you walked in silence for a while, the cool air swirling around you as the city seemed to exhale, settling into its nighttime rhythm.

“thank you for today,” you said softly, your breath visible in the chill. your voice carried an unfamiliar weight, as though you were admitting to more than just your gratitude for his company. “i... i had a really nice time.”

“i’m glad,” shotaro replied, his eyes glancing down at you with that same gentle warmth that had become so familiar to you. “i enjoy spending time with you. you know that, right?”

you nodded, though the words felt heavy on your tongue. there was a part of you—still fractured, still fragile—that struggled to believe him. your heart had been scarred so many times before, left bruised and aching by people who had promised to care and protect it. now, you found yourself caught between the past and the present, torn between the desire to trust again and the fear of being broken once more.

when you reached your apartment building, you turned to face him, the bouquet still clutched in your hands. for a moment, you stood there, bathed in the soft light of the streetlamp, feeling the weight of the unspoken words between you.

“shotaro,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper, “i... i’m scared.”

he didn’t ask for clarification; he didn’t need to. the look in his eyes told you that he understood exactly what you meant. instead, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that sent a shiver down your spine.

“i know,” he said softly, his hand lingering near your cheek. “and i’m not going to rush you. we can take this at your pace.”

his words were a lifeline, something solid to hold onto in the midst of the storm raging inside you. but even as you nodded, even as you smiled softly in response, you could feel the old fears creeping in—the doubts, the what-ifs, the memories of betrayal that had been branded into your heart.

you wanted to believe in shotaro, to trust the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, but a part of you still flinched away from the idea of letting someone in so deeply again.

after all, you’d let someone in before, and it had nearly destroyed you.

that night, as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the bouquet of lavender and wildflowers resting on your nightstand, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were standing at the edge of a precipice.

falling for shotaro wasn’t like falling for anyone else—it wasn’t the reckless, headlong dive you’d experienced before. it was slower, gentler, like walking into the ocean one step at a time, feeling the water rise around you but not yet knowing if it would pull you under.

and yet, despite the fear gnawing at you, there was also a quiet, persistent hope blooming in your chest. it was terrifying, yes, but there was something beautiful in the terror—something that whispered that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

over the next few weeks, you found yourself battling the conflicting emotions inside you. there were days when the warmth of shotaro’s presence soothed you like a balm, his kindness seeping into the cracks of your heart and making you believe, for brief moments, that love didn’t have to hurt. he would reach for your hand in small, almost imperceptible ways—when the two of you crossed the street or when you stood side by side in a crowded café. his touch was always gentle, always asking without demanding.

“is this okay?” he would ask sometimes, his voice soft and filled with genuine care, as though he understood how easily you could retreat into yourself if you felt too overwhelmed.

and every time, you would nod, even when part of you wanted to pull away. you didn’t always trust the safety of the space between you, but you were learning—learning to lean into the moments when his touch didn’t feel like a threat, when it felt like an anchor instead.

but then there were the other days. the harder days, when the past reared its ugly head and your heart felt too heavy to carry. on those days, it was harder to let shotaro in. his presence, once so comforting, became a reminder of everything you were still afraid to lose, and your mind would spin with thoughts you couldn’t control.

what if this ended the way it always did? what if you let yourself love him, only to find yourself broken again, pieces scattered too far to ever be put back together? what if you weren’t enough?

“i don’t know if i can do this,” you admitted one evening, your voice trembling as you sat across from shotaro in your apartment.

it was raining outside again, the steady drumming against the windowpane mirroring the frantic beat of your heart. you hadn’t meant to say it—not out loud, not yet—but the words had tumbled out before you could stop them.

shotaro looked up from his tea, his expression soft but serious. “what do you mean?” he asked gently, though you could see the flicker of concern in his eyes.

“this,” you gestured vaguely between the two of you, as though the entire concept of love itself was too overwhelming to articulate. “i don’t know if i can let myself... feel this. not again.”

shotaro’s gaze held steady, his eyes searching yours as though he was carefully considering his next words. “i know it’s scary,” he said after a long pause, his voice measured. “and i know you’ve been hurt before. but you don’t have to do this alone. we’re in this together, remember?”

“together,” you repeated, the word tasting unfamiliar on your tongue. togetherness was something you’d never fully understood—it had always felt more like a trap, a way for someone to hold you close until they decided to let you go. “but what if it doesn’t work out? what if i’m not ready?”

“then we take it slow,” shotaro replied without hesitation. “there’s no rush. i’m not going anywhere.”

his certainty was disarming, and you found yourself blinking back tears that you hadn’t realized were forming. you wanted to believe him, wanted to trust that his words weren’t just temporary assurances, but the fear was still there, lingering like a shadow in the corners of your mind.

“it’s not that simple,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “i’m... i’m scared of losing myself again.”

shotaro’s expression softened even further, his eyes filled with a compassion that made your chest ache. “i won’t let that happen,” he said quietly, reaching across the table to take your hand in his. “i promise. you’re still you—no one can take that away from you. not even me.”

you squeezed his hand reflexively, your grip tighter than you intended, but he didn’t flinch. instead, he held on, grounding you in the moment, letting you know that he was there—that he wasn’t going to let go just because things were difficult.

“i’m not perfect,” shotaro continued, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in slow, soothing circles. “and i’m not going to pretend i have all the answers. but i care about you. a lot. and i want to be here for you, if you’ll let me.”

you looked at him through tear-filled eyes, the weight of his words sinking into you. there was a part of you that still didn’t fully believe him, that still expected him to turn and walk away when things got too hard. but there was another part of you—a quieter, more vulnerable part—that wanted desperately to believe that maybe this time could be different.

“i don’t want to hurt you,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper now.

 “i don’t want to mess this up.”

“you won’t,” shotaro said simply, his tone unwavering. “we’ll figure it out. together.”

and in that moment, something inside you shifted—not all at once, but just enough for you to take a deep breath and let yourself hold onto his words, if only for a little while. the fear was still there, lingering like a shadow, but there was also hope, fragile and delicate, but real.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the day you finally allowed yourself to give in to your feelings for shotaro came like the breaking of dawn after a long, endless night. it wasn’t a grand moment filled with fireworks or declarations of love that echoed across the universe.

instead, it was quiet, soft, and unassuming—like everything with shotaro. it was a moment that, when you looked back on it, felt inevitable, as though the two of you had been slowly moving toward this point all along, dancing around the edges of something so much bigger than either of you could have anticipated.

it was early spring. the air was cool, but the earth was beginning to thaw, and the trees were budding with the promise of new life. you had been spending more and more time with shotaro, the two of you slipping into a rhythm that felt natural and easy. 

he had become a constant in your life—not just as a friend, not just as someone you leaned on, but as someone you shared everything with. the more time you spent together, the more you realized that the walls you had so carefully built around yourself were beginning to crumble. shotaro hadn’t torn them down with force. no, he had simply waited, patiently, for you to let them fall on your own.

the moment came one evening as you sat together on your couch, the windows open just enough to let the cool breeze drift in, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming flowers. the two of you had spent the day walking through the park, watching the cherry blossoms begin to bloom. now, you were tucked beneath a blanket, your head resting on shotaro’s shoulder as he absently stroked your hair, his fingers moving in slow, soothing patterns.

“you know,” he said, his voice low and gentle, “i think this is my favorite time of year.”

you looked up at him, his profile bathed in the soft glow of the lamp beside the couch. “why’s that?”

“everything’s changing,” he said with a small smile, his eyes distant as though he was lost in thought. “the world is waking up again, you know? it’s like... there’s this sense of possibility in the air. like anything could happen.”

you watched him for a moment, his words settling over you like the softest of blankets. he had a way of seeing the world that you had never quite understood before—seeing beauty in the small, quiet things that most people overlooked. it was one of the things you loved most about him, though you hadn’t allowed yourself to fully admit that until now.

“yeah,” you murmured, resting your head back against his shoulder. “i get that.”

there was a long pause, the only sound between you the gentle rustling of the leaves outside and the rhythmic beating of your own heart. and then, without really meaning to, you found yourself speaking the words that had been sitting on the tip of your tongue for what felt like forever.

“i think... i think i’m falling in love with you, shotaro. and a part of me wants to take this feeling further.”

the words hung in the air, fragile and delicate, as though they might break if you spoke too loudly. you held your breath, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for his response. part of you wanted to take it back, to stuff the words back inside before they could cause any damage, but another part of you—a braver, stronger part—knew that this was the moment you had been waiting for.

shotaro’s hand stilled in your hair, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. you could feel his heart beating steadily beneath your cheek, and then, slowly, he turned to look at you, his eyes soft and full of something that made your breath catch in your throat.

“i’ve been in love with you for a while now, that’s all i’ve wanted to hear” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

and just like that, the tension that had been coiled inside you for so long began to unravel. you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your entire body relaxing as though the weight of the world had been lifted from your shoulders. you turned to face him fully, your eyes searching his for any hint of uncertainty, but all you found was warmth and affection—an unwavering kind of love that felt as steady and reliable as the earth beneath your feet.

“really?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly, as though you couldn’t quite believe what you were hearing.

shotaro smiled, his hand coming up to cup your cheek with the kind of tenderness that made your heart ache in the best possible way. “really,” he confirmed, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “i’ve been waiting for you to be ready, but i’ve known how i felt for a long time.”

you leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you let his words sink in. for so long, you had been afraid—afraid of letting someone in, of being vulnerable again, of opening your heart only to have it broken.

but with shotaro, it was different. he hadn’t just shown you love; he had shown you patience, understanding, and kindness in ways that you hadn’t even known you needed. he had been there for you, day after day, without ever asking for anything in return, and in doing so, he had quietly, steadily earned your trust.

“i was scared,” you admitted, your voice soft. “i’m still scared, sometimes.”

“i know,” he said, his voice just as soft, his eyes never leaving yours. “and that’s okay. i’ll be here, no matter how long it takes. i’m not going anywhere.”

his words settled in your chest, wrapping around your heart like the warmest embrace. and in that moment, you realized something that you hadn’t fully understood before: love wasn’t about being unbreakable. it wasn’t about never getting hurt or never feeling pain. 

it was about finding someone who was willing to stand by you, even when things were hard—someone who saw your scars and loved you not in spite of them, but because of them.

you reached for shotaro then, your hands trembling slightly as you cupped his face in your palms. he leaned into your touch, his eyes soft and warm as he looked at you with a kind of love that felt like the safest place you had ever known.

“i love you,” you said, the words coming easier this time, freer. “i love you, shotaro.”

his smile was small but full of so much emotion that it nearly took your breath away. “i love you, too,” he said, and then, with a tenderness that made your heart swell, he leaned in and kissed you.

the kiss was soft at first, tentative—like a question being asked without words. but as you pressed closer, your hands slipping around his neck, the kiss deepened, and suddenly, it wasn’t just a kiss anymore. it was an answer. it was a promise. it was the beginning of something new, something that had been slowly building between you for months but was finally finding its voice.

when you finally pulled away, your foreheads resting together, you both breathed in the same air, the silence between you filled with the quiet hum of something unspoken but deeply understood.

“this feels... right,” you whispered, your fingers tangling in his hair as you let your eyes drift shut, savoring the warmth of his presence.

“it does,” he agreed, his voice a soft rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. “you and me... it just makes sense, doesn’t it?”

you nodded, your heart feeling lighter than it had in years. because for the first time in a long time, you weren’t just hoping that things would be okay. you weren’t just waiting for the other shoe to drop. you were allowing yourself to be present, to feel the love that was right in front of you, and to trust that maybe—just maybe—you deserved it.

and that’s what you learned most of all in the weeks and months that followed—that you were worth it. 

that you deserved to be happy, to be loved, to be treated with kindness and respect. shotaro didn’t just teach you how to love again; he taught you how to love yourself, how to see your own value in a way that you had forgotten. being with him wasn’t about filling the empty spaces inside of you—it was about recognizing that you were whole all on your own, and that love was something that only added to your life, rather than defining it.

the day you had met him in the rain felt like a lifetime ago now, but whenever the sky darkened and the rain began to fall, you didn’t feel the same sense of dread that you once had. instead, you saw it as a reminder of how far you had come, of the healing that had taken place, of the love that had bloomed in the most unexpected of places. 

and in shotaro’s arms, you found the safety and warmth you had longed for. but more than that, you found the strength to be yourself again, to reclaim the parts of you that had been lost in the storm. because love, real love, wasn’t about losing yourself in someone else. it was about being seen, truly seen, and loved for exactly who you were—scars and all.

and that was the greatest gift shotaro had given you—not just his love, but the permission to love yourself in return. 

love, as you had known it before, had been like fire—burning, intense, destructive. it had consumed you until there was nothing left but ash. but with shotaro, it was different. it wasn’t a firestorm; it was a small, steady flame that brought warmth without the threat of being burned. it was a quiet kind of love, the kind that didn’t demand to be seen but was felt in every small gesture, in every smile that was offered with no strings attached.

in shotaro’s arms, you found the safety and warmth you had longed for. and more than that, you found the strength to be yourself again, to reclaim the parts of you that had been lost in the storm.

[fwoomp-me-up]

Cat Rescue

HDG fic, 2700 words. Anon requested sweet & gushy, which brought to mind some experience a friend had recently shared about providing comfort to those in shock. Not smut but the Human Domestication Guide setting is firmly "mature audiences."

The wind whistled through the narrow alleys, carrying with it the scent of toxic rain and the muted hum of decaying city life. Amidst the cold, sharp angles of towering buildings, a small cardboard box lay tucked away beneath a row of long-forgotten crates. It was a box meant for shipping, its edges soft and worn from exposure, yet it offered a semblance of shelter for the trembling young woman curled up inside. She had made a nest of the posters and papers found nearby, but they did little against the chill that seeped through her bones. 

Her eyes, bleary and sunken from fatigue, stared at the crinkled top of the box. It was the only world she'd known for days, a fragile refuge. Each breath was a struggle, drawing the cold, acrid air into her lungs. She was small, insignificant- a tiny leaf adrift in a vast, indifferent sea. Fear gripped her chest like an icy iron vice, she didn't know if she would see the morning sun again. 

She had no name, no papers, and no voice in this strange, massive city. Terran society had left her behind long before the invading ships reached this corner of the sector, and now she drifted through like a ghost. But for once, she wasn't truly alone. Unbeknownst to her, another pair of eyes watched from above, glimmering in the darkness.

The soft patter of paws against the alley floor heralded the approach of a sleek, gray-furred catgirl. Her ears twitched, and she sniffed the air curiously, tilting her head to catch the scent of something faint– sorrow and fear, wrapped in desperation. It drew her in, compelling her to investigate. Peeking over the edge of the crates, her eyes widened as she spotted the hunched figure inside the box. A gasp escaped the lips of Mewlin Frostpetal, first floret. 

"Hey… miss?" Her voice a gentle murmur,  hardly above a whisper. She reached out a hesitant paw but froze when the girl inside shrank away, curling up tighter.

The catgirl's heart ached at the sight. No sophont should be left like this–alone and afraid, hiding in the shadows. Her tail flicked with determination as she withdrew her paw and tapped a small comms unit clipped to her jacket.

"Lycina, I need help," she whispered urgently. "There's someone here. She's… she's all alone and scared. Please come quickly." 

Within moments, a towering figure appeared at the mouth of the alley radiating warmth and life. Lycina Frostpetal, a first bloom Affini, with seemingly ice-tipped vines woven through her shifting form, approached with a grace that seemed to calm the very air around her. Her eyes, softly glowing with compassion, swept over the scene, and she knelt beside the catgirl, her presence gentle but unyielding. 

"What have we here, little kitty?" Lycina's voice was a soothing melody, wrapping the terran like a warm embrace. She extended a slender vine into the box, its touch feather-soft as it brushed against the terran's trembling shoulder. "There's no need to hide, darling. We're here to help." 

She flinched, but didn't withdraw. Instead, she slowly lifted her head, eyes wide and brimming with uncertainty.  Lydia's smile was soft and patient as she extended more vines, weaving a cocoon of shelter around the box without touching it directly. A soft floral scent flooded the air, sweet and calming, coaxing the girl out of her shell, little by little. "See?" Lycina murmured, her snow-white leaves rustling at barely more than a breath. "It's all right. We'll take care of you."

Encouraged by the Affini's gentle tone and the web of vines to block the wind, the terran uncurled just enough to peek out. Lycina waited, unmoving, her eyes never leaving the girl's face. A minute passed, then another. Finally, with a soft, shuddering sigh, the girl shifted forward, her movements slow and hesitant. 

"There we go," the catgirl cooed, her ears perking up with joy. She leaned closer, her expression brightening. "I'm so glad you're okay. You must be so scared…"

The girl's gaze flitted between the two strangers, lingering on the looming mass of plant holding a strangely comforting smile, and what seemed to be an expression of earnest concern worn by a talking beast. Tears welled in her eyes, and before she knew it, she was sobbing–deep, wrenching sobs that shook her slight frame. She tried to bury her face, ashamed of her vulnerability, but Lycina's vines were there, cradling her, supporting her.

"Shh, it's all right, little one. Let it out," Lycina murmured, drawing the girl closer with infinite care. She gently lifted the girl from the box, swaddling her in a web of soft vines that pulsed with a subtle warmth. The catgirl hovered beside, her eyes glistening with tears of her own. 

As they carried her out of the alley and into open air, the girl felt something inside her shift. The cold, hard knot of fear and loneliness that had coiled around her heart began to loosen, replaced by a strange, unfamiliar sensation: Hope. An unfamiliar emotion stirred on by an encounter with the unknown. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt safe.

Lycina took her to an ad-hoc clinic nestled in a former office in the heart of the urban district. The space was filled with soft light and the quiet hum of gentle melodies. In a private room, Lycina set her down on a padded cot, vines tucking her into a cozy space before vanishing out into the hall. The catgirl flitted about, moving junk and supplies alike to clear space, her tail swishing energetically. The terran glanced up at her, still wary but less so now. The catgirl's fanged smile was so bright, so genuine, that it chased away remnants of her fear. 

"I'm Mewlin! What's your name?" the catgirl asked, squatting beside her. 

She hesitated, her voice barely more than a whisper. "...I don't remember."

The felid gasped before her expression softened, and she reached how to take the girls hand, squeezing with a soft paw. "That's okay. We'll find it together, okay? For now, I'll call you… Sweetpea? How's that sound?"

The terran–Sweetpea–nodded slowly. The name felt strange, foreign, but… nice? It was something to hold on to, at least.

Lycina returned with a tray of steaming soup and a cup of sweet herbal tea. "Here, little one. Drink this slowly. It will help warm you up."

Sweetpea accepted the cup with trembling hands. As she sipped the tea, its warmth spread through her chest, melting the last vestiges of the cold that had gripped her so fiercely. She took a deep breath, the scent of flowers and honey filling her senses, and let herself relax against the pillows. Mewlin perched beside her, setting the tray on an end table and fussing over the blankets and pillows, trying to make sure Sweetpea was as cozy as possible. She purred softly, the sound a gentle, soothing vibration she hoped could help lull Sweetpea into a sense of peace. 

She'd drift back into consciousness–a sudden breath, a sip of soup, a soft whimper–before fading back into peace. Her caretakers watched over her, their expressions tender. 

"She'll be all right now," Lycina murmured, brushing a vine gently across her forehead. "She just needs time and care."

The catgirl nodded, her ears twitching thoughtfully. "I'll stay with her, Lycina. I don't want her to be alone." 

"Of course, dear Mewlin," Lycina agreed, her voice a soft purr. "She'll have all the love and care she needs, thanks to you."

Mewlin remembered the soul-chilling cold. It lingered in her memory and in her bones. Like a ghost, whispering of a time that was not so long ago (though quite a good distance away) when she had been the one hiding in the dark, clutching scraps of warmth like a lifeline. She shuddered at the thought, glancing at the small, shivering figure huddled on the bed. The sight sent a pang through her heart. 

She's so scared…

Instinct urged her to pounce–to wrap this fragile girl in her arms and purr until the shivering stopped. That's what you did, right? Everyone loved a warm tackle-cuddle from a friendly kitty. Just close the distance and show her that she was safe now! But the girl's wary eyes, flitting nervously over every movement when she was awake, held Mewlin back. The catgirl swallowed, ears flattening as she fought down the impulse. No. She had learned better. Her mistress had left her with good enough sense–or maybe an unbreakable order, who was counting–to know this girl was hurt. Injured. Delicate. Just like she had been when she was found.

No sudden moves. No flying glomps. No matter how much she wanted to, and stars above did she want to. 

Instead, she tucked herself into a little loaf at the edge of the room. She flicked her tail slowly back and forth, doing her best impression of a relaxed, lazy feline. Safe. Comforting. No threat at all! The girl's gaze lingered on her as she sipped her dinner, nervous and unsure, but she didn't look away. That was good, right? Progress?

A sigh escaped the kitty, and she shifted. Rolling over onto her back and exposing her soft, fluffy belly. She kept one eye half-open, peeking to see if Sweetpea took the bait. Would she reach out? Maybe pet her? It would be a start! A first, tentative step towards breaking through that shell of fear and isolation…

But the girl just curled up again, watching with wide, distrustful eyes. Mewlin's ears drooped. She didn't want to push her luck, so she waited. Rolling over once more and holding her loafed position with all the patience she could muster. She needed time. Maybe if the kitty stayed like this–calm, collected–the girl would come around on her own. 

Time passed. Minutes? An hour? It didn't matter. She had nothing but time. 

When she (finally) sensed Sweetpea relaxing just the tiniest bit, the catgirl shifted again and stood up, moving with slow, deliberate care. The terran tensed, and Mewlin froze, then took a careful step towards the door, ears swiveling in an attempt to show she meant no harm. When the terran didn't flinch away, she let out a soft, happy purr. Just a little hum of sound, hardly more than a breath. A sound to say I'm here to help. It's fine! You're safe!

With that, the catgirl padded away quietly, slipping out of the room and down the hall. Her paws made no noise on the soft, carpeted floor. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe the terran wasn't ready for company. That was okay! Mewlin knew what to do now. She'd make the space cozier. Fill it with warmth and softness. Her tail twitched with determination. This time, she could be the safety she'd been searching for back then.

She rummaged through a linen closet first, pulling out a pile of blankets. She had to wrap them around her shoulders and drag them behind her like a heavy cape to get them all back to the room. She scampered off again, gathering plushies–soft, squishy ones with big, comforting eyes. A whole armful of them! Next she snagged pillows. A dozen or so, tucking them around the terran to create a nest so plush and inviting that even the most skittish would find it hard to resist.

Back and forth she went, making trips until the oversized bed looked more like a cushioned cloud than a clinic cot. She plopped down a final, oversized plushie, admiring her handiwork with a pleased flick of her tail. The girl was watching her with wide eyes, following each movement like she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. 

"Thought you could use a little more fluff," the catgirl murmured, smiling softly. She left one of the smaller plushies–a cute, floppy-eared doggy–on the side of the girl's bed, just within reach.

Sweetpea didn't move. Didn't say a word. But Mewlin noticed her gaze lingering on the plushie, the tiniest hint of something–curiosity, hopefully–flickering in those tired eyes. 

"Don't worry," the catgirl continued, voice gentle. "I'll stop fussing and leave you to sleep. But I'll be right here if you need anything. Anything at all, okay? Do you want the lights on?"

Sweetpea blinked, and gently shook her head.

With a final, hopeful glance, Mewlin dimmed the lights out and settled herself on a giant plush kitty bed she'd lugged into a corner during the earlier flurry. The pad was an oversized, cushy nest on its own, its soft fur-lined fabric made for lounging and catnaps alike. It took up a good section of the room, but it'd have to do. If it meant she could stay close to Sweetpea, then it was perfect. 

After her efforts setting up the room, she tried to keep her excitement in check and give the new girl space. She'd flopped down on her bed, watching the girl curled up alone in the little cocoon of blankets and plushies. Sweetpea hadn't made any moves to leave her nest, but that was okay. Mewlin was a patient kitty. If she'd learned anything from her time in the cold and dark, it was how much it could mean just to know someone was there. 

As the city hummed along outside, Mewlin yawned and stretched luxuriously, curling up into a ball on her bed. Her tail wrapped around her, and she felt herself start to drift. The sound of Sweetpea's soft, even breathing formed a comforting lullaby. It wasn't long before the catgirl was purring softly in her sleep. 

Hours passed in silence, the kind of quiet that blankets the world in peace. But deep into the night, Mewlin stirred. She felt the tiniest shift in the air, a subtle rustle of blankets–barely more than a whisper. Instinctively, her ears twitched, and her eyes fluttered open, scanning the dark room.

Sweetpea was there. Right there.

Mewlin's heart swelled, warmth spreading through her chest as she realized the girl had moved–slinking all the way across the floor from her cot to the oversized kitty bed. Sweetpea was curled up just a few inches away, so close Mewlin could feel the gentle heat of her body. 

For a moment, Mewlin didn't dare move. She just watched, her gaze soft and full of wonder. The girl was still trembling a little, her fingers clutching the edge of a blanket like it was a lifeline. Mewlin's breath caught. Sweetpea looked so small, so fragile, her face half-hidden by the folds of the blanket. But she was here. 

Mewlin's instinct screamed to snuggle closer, to wrap her arms around Sweetpea and never let go. But she held herself back, knowing that any sudden movement might startle the poor thing. Instead, she stretched out one paw-like hand, slowly and carefully, until it just barely brushed against Sweetpea's arm. When the girl didn't flinch or pull away, Mewlin let her claw slip into the edge of the blanket, gently tugging it up around her shoulder.

"There we go…" she murmured softly. "All tucked in."

Sweetpea shifted slightly, a small sound–something between a sigh and whimper–escaping her lips. Mewlin's heart melted. She couldn't help herself; the softest, most contented purr rumbled through her chest, vibrating through the bed and filling the room with a gentle, soothing hum. 

"It's okay," Mewlin purred, watching as Sweetpea's breathing slowed, becoming deep and even. "I've got you, we're safe here."

Carefully, she shifted just enough to drape her tail over Sweetpea's side, creating a loose, protective circle. She could feel Sweetpea's heartbeat–fast and fluttery, but steady. Gradually, it calmed, falling into rhythm with Mewlin's own. 

The catgirl closed her eyes, a contented smile spreading across her lips. She couldn't stop purring if she tried. Sweetpea was here, right beside her. Not alone. Not anymore.

As Mewlin settled back into sleep, her last conscious thought was a simple, joyous refrain: 

It's gonna be alright. It's gonna be alright.

And in the quiet darkness of the clinic, the two of them–lost and found, fragile and resolute–found peace in each other's warmth.

[nshtn]

Wesker has a massive ego to cover up his lack thereof within.

personal hc / just me illegibly scrawling about the nature of uro!wesker's narcissism <3 tw: medical, childhood trauma

The idea that he is Umbrella’s biggest failure keeps him up at night, swirling around his neck like a noose every time he has to inject PG67A/W – the insane, stark difference between properly medicated and missed by two hours flattens him and destabilizes his composition. It doesn't show outwardly as much other than irritation and snappiness, but it broils within.

Fighting Chris, holding back, not letting himself kill the man because of the very compassion they worked so hard to erase – it makes him feel weak. The conflict between hating what they’ve done to him and the urge to be the monster they’ve made is intense. He has blown people away for something as small as being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and yet something small and decrepit inside of him swells and blocks his perfect aim when the man who destroys his progress crawls back for another spar? Pathetic.

His laser focus on the sterile apathy of hypothesis, theory, test, production is a way of detaching from the fragile self within, allowing him to reprieve from his personal thoughts for as long as he can keep himself awake and slavering. You don’t question when you’re splicing. You don’t ponder the principles that guide you and the sanity of your slipping framework when you’re comparing before-and-after strands. The threat of having to think about something he perceives to be as useless as feelings and dealing with the buried, petrified remains of what were once his morals keeps his nose firmly in his work. He talks about his work. He debates on his work. He attends meetings on his work. He succeeds in his work. He does not tend to, discuss, or debate his feelings.

He covers this conflict up, mental bandaid and gauze, by outwardly projecting a massive, bloviating ego; focusing only on his worth as the world’s greatest virologist, the world’s most powerful bioweapons dealer, the world’s most benevolent, unshakable savior… being cold, cruel, heartless; entertaining no space of play, no downtime when he is sick or stumbling. It is what he knows, the harbor he has always thrown his rope to regardless of how he has been impaled by its’ rocks. He clings to these titles and his sycophants tread their legitimacy into a reality even as his big black boot suffocates the life around him.

The truth is, Wesker has no chance to survive, ultimately, as he is. His blathering about ‘delaying the inevitable’ finds its’ truth nestled in himself: he continually delays the ultimate, final mental break to destruct his sanity irreversibly and turn his mind feral to his own viruses, by drowning in his obsessions – obsessions that will ultimately betray him no matter how he fosters them.

And it is why, when Chris finally rains hell upon him in that volcano, he goes completely, utterly feral. He does not get the out that Hidalgo had to T-Veronica, or the reprieve of control that Ashford artificially chained to herself. The very last straw to grasp is attempting to execute him for the monster he is.

There is no ledge left to prop him up after that.

[knoepfl]

A Warm Embrace

Characters: - Arthur Fleck (Joker) – A complex and fragile man, struggling with loneliness and illness. - Reader (You) – A loving partner who wants to care for Arthur, showing him compassion and warmth. Trigger Warnings: - References to illness (fever, coughing) - Emotional vulnerability and self-doubt - Mentions of poor self-worth

Masterlist

Summary: Arthur Fleck returns home soaked from the rain and clearly unwell. Despite his resistance, the reader lovingly insists on taking care of him, giving him a warm bath and showing him that he is not alone. Through gentle touches and quiet moments, the reader provides the warmth Arthur so desperately needs, helping him open up emotionally.

Word Count:~5,013

---

The rain poured relentlessly outside, casting a dreary veil over the city. You sat curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the television but not really watching. Your mind was preoccupied, worry gnawing at you as the clock ticked on. Arthur should have been home by now, and the longer he was gone, the more your anxiety grew.

He had been feeling under the weather for the past few days, coughing and sneezing as he tried to carry on with his life. You knew he wasn’t taking care of himself as he should, and it made your heart ache. All you wanted was to nurture him, to be the light in his dark world, but it seemed like every time you reached out, he pulled away, too proud to accept help.

Just as you were about to call him, the front door creaked open, and the sound of dripping water echoed through the hallway. You shot up from the sofa, rushing to see him. Arthur staggered in, drenched from head to toe, his hair plastered to his forehead, and his clothes clinging to his skin. He looked utterly miserable.

“Hey,” he said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Arthur! You’re soaked!” You rushed over to him, instinctively reaching out to help him. “What happened?”

“Just got caught in the rain,” he replied, his voice hoarse and raspy.

“Yeah, I can see that. Come on, let’s get you out of those wet clothes.” You gently took his hand, leading him to the bathroom.

He hesitated, looking down at his drenched attire. “It’s fine. I’ll just change in a minute.

”You frowned, crossing your arms. “Arthur, you’re freezing! You need to warm up.”

He sighed but followed you to the bathroom. You turned on the hot water, letting it fill the tub while you rummaged through the linen closet for a towel and some clean clothes. You pulled out a fluffy towel and a pair of his soft pajamas, handing them to him.

“Here. Just take a quick bath to warm up, okay?” You offered a reassuring smile.

He looked at the tub, then back at you, and you could see the internal struggle in his eyes. “I don’t know. I’m not really the bathing type.

”You chuckled softly. “It’s just a bath, Arthur. You’ll feel better afterward, I promise. Plus, I’ll be here to help you.”

He looked uncertain, but the chill in the air seemed to urge him on. Finally, he nodded, and you stepped out of the bathroom, giving him a moment of privacy to undress. You could hear the water splashing as he climbed into the tub, and you felt a sense of relief that he was finally taking a moment for himself.

When you re-entered the bathroom, steam filled the air, and Arthur was sitting in the tub, his shoulders hunched, looking almost defeated. You knelt beside him, the warmth from the water radiating against your skin.

“See? Isn’t this nice?” you said, your voice gentle.

He offered a small smile, albeit a weary one. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

You took a washcloth and soaked it in the warm water before gently wiping his face. He leaned back a little, his eyes fluttering shut as you worked. “You’re really taking care of me,” he murmured, his voice quiet.

“Of course I am,” you replied softly. “You deserve it. You do so much for everyone else. Let me take care of you for a change.”

His eyes opened, meeting yours, and there was a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze. “I don’t want to be a burden.

”You shook your head firmly. “You’re not a burden, Arthur. You’re my partner. I love you, and I want to help.”

He looked away, his expression pained, and you could see the walls he had built up around himself. “I just... I feel weak sometimes.”

You paused, gently cupping his face, urging him to look at you. “It’s okay to feel weak. We all do. But it doesn’t mean you’re not strong, Arthur. Strength is about allowing yourself to be vulnerable.”

He sighed, letting his head fall back against the tub. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It can be. Just let go for a moment.”

You reached for the shampoo, pouring a small amount into your palm before lathering it into his hair. He closed his eyes again, and you could see the tension in his shoulders ease as you massaged his scalp, fingers working through the tangled strands.

“Your hands are magic,” he murmured, a hint of a smile on his lips.

You laughed softly, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest. “It’s just some shampoo and a little love.”

As you rinsed his hair, you couldn’t help but think about how lucky you were to have this moment with him. Arthur was often so consumed by his thoughts and struggles, but here, in the warmth of the bathroom, he felt almost at peace.

Once his hair was clean, you turned your attention to his body, gently washing away the grime and stress that clung to him. You took your time, careful to avoid any sensitive areas, but your touch was soft and soothing.

Arthur leaned into your touch, his eyes drifting shut again, and you could see the relief on his face. “You really care about me, don’t you?” he asked, his voice a whisper.

��More than anything,” you replied, your heart swelling with affection. “I just want you to feel better.”

He opened his eyes, looking at you with a mixture of appreciation and something deeper, something that made your heart race. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

You smiled brightly. “Well, you don’t have to find out. I’m here, remember?”

With that, you helped him rinse off, and as you wrapped a towel around him, you couldn’t help but notice how fragile he looked, standing there shivering in the warm air. You guided him back to the living room, wrapping him tightly in another blanket, trying to shield him from the chill of the world outside.

“Stay here. I’ll get you something warm to drink,” you said, heading back to the kitchen.

When you returned with a steaming cup of herbal tea, you found Arthur curled up on the sofa, looking far more comfortable than before. He took the mug from your hands, cradling it as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

“Thank you,” he said, taking a small sip and letting out a soft sigh of contentment.

You settled beside him, leaning into his side. “How do you feel?”

“Better. Much better.” He paused, looking down at you. “You really are amazing, you know that?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I’m just doing what anyone would do.”

“No, you’re special.” He turned to face you fully, his expression earnest. “I don’t deserve you.”

You frowned, shaking your head again. “Don’t say that. You deserve all the love in the world, Arthur.”

He looked away, his gaze heavy with unspoken thoughts. “It’s hard for me to accept that sometimes.”

You took his hand in yours, squeezing it gently. “It’s okay to feel that way. But I’m here, and I want you to lean on me.”

He took a deep breath, the weight of his struggles apparent in his eyes. “I’ll try. I just—sometimes I feel like I’m drowning in my own thoughts.”

You leaned in closer, resting your head against his shoulder. “Then let me be your life raft. I’ll always be here to pull you back.”

He smiled softly, his fingers intertwining with yours. “You really mean that?”

“Absolutely,” you replied, your heart swelling with sincerity.

For a moment, you both sat in silence, sipping your tea, simply enjoying each other’s presence. You could feel the warmth radiating between you, filling the space with a comforting energy.

Eventually, Arthur shifted, looking down at you. “You’re too good for me, you know?”

You raised an eyebrow playfully. “Oh really? Is that so?”

“Yeah,” he said, a hint of laughter in his voice. “I’m just a mess of a person, and you... you’re so much more.”

You shook your head, sitting up to meet his gaze. “I love you for who you are, Arthur. The messiness and all. You make me happy, and that’s what matters.”

His expression softened, and you could see the love shining in his eyes. “You make me want to be better.”

“Then let me help you be better,” you said softly, resting a hand on his cheek. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment. “Okay. I’ll try.”

As the rain continued to patter softly against the window, you wrapped your arms around Arthur, holding him close. He melted against you, the tension in his body dissipating as he relaxed into your embrace.

In that moment, you knew that together, you could weather any storm.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! I wanted this story to capture a softer, more vulnerable side of Arthur Fleck—a side that often gets overlooked. Arthur is a character burdened with pain and loneliness, so I thought it would be heartwarming to explore what it might be like for him to experience real care and kindness from someone who loves him.

If you’re here, I hope this little moment of fluff gave you some comfort too. We all deserve to feel seen and cared for, just like Arthur does in this story. Thank you again, and I’d love to hear your thoughts! Take care, and don’t forget to be kind to yourself. ~♡

[tyrantisterror]

At Sea Without a Map Pt. 5

The storm rages around you, battering your small vessel as the massive sea monster rises up out of the water in an effort to claim you as its supper. After several tedious days (weeks? months? you're pretty sure it hasn't been years) at sea with little to do, this certainly breaks up the monotony, though perhaps not in the way you'd prefer.

It speaks to your character that, when presented with this terrible threat, you neither ran nor hid away, but chose to face it head on. In fact, one could go so far to say that this has become a defining moment in your life - for when faced with the sea's wrath, you chose to be Brave and face it head on. Yet you also chose to be Compassionate, for when given a choice of weapons to face the sea monster, to left the harpoon behind, and chose instead the net in hopes that this conflict might find a nonlethal resolution.

Terror attempts to seize you, but you power through it and throw your net high at the looming beast bearing down at you. "A net? Are you serious?" the monster laughs. "I'm not a school of tuna, you know-ACK!"

Your aim is true, and your net drapes over the less serpentine bits of the monsters anatomy, quickly tangling her hair and limbs together as she splutters, "What the hell? Why is it so... so tangly?" She thrashes wildly in an attempt to tear free, and in the process her enormous serpentine tail swings back and forth around your boat, all while the waves do their best to toss both of your around for good measure.

One especially large swell pushes her forward as another rocks your boat in her direction. You watch helplessly as the monster crashes headfirst into the deck of your boat, her head smacking into the wood planks with a loud thud just as your boat rams into the belly of her serpent tail. The now-unconscious sea beast begins to slip off your deck as her now limp tail is tossed and turned by waves that finally meet no resistance from it.

You could just let her go, and watch as the unconscious, partially immobilized monster disappears beneath the waves. But you already resolved to end this without death, and you're not turning back from that now. Grabbing the netted part of her, you heave and lift with all your might to pull her further aboard, eventually getting her to the entrance of your boat's cabin. Unfortunately, the waves pick that moment to strike your boat again, making your hands slip as you drop the unconscious monster's human-ish body down the stairs.

She... she'll probably be fine. You assume sea monsters are made of hardy stuff.

Most of her coils are now on your boat's deck, and the few parts of her tail that hang off have become so entangled with your boat's sides and she is essentially safe and secured. With your unwary passenger taken care of, you finally return to your steering wheel and ride out the storm.

As thunder roars, lightning flashes, and the wind, rain, and waves all conspire to destroy your fragile vessel, you face a far greater fight than that with the monster. What follows is something of a blur, as the adrenaline racing through your veins, the increasingly dark sky clouding your vision, and the sheer chaos of the world around you all blends together in the most anxious and terrifying moment of your life so far. The longer it lasts, the more certain you are that you won't survive it.

Then... it's over. You don't actually know how you made it through, not fully, but you wake up with your hands still clutching the steering wheel of your ship, which, upon one glance outwards, seems to have landed safely on an island. You step out and see a clear, blue sky, sandy beaches, and several tall palm trees in the distance. You're safe, for the moment.

There are several things to attend to, so you consult your compass.

[teadari]

˃̵ᴗ˂̵Edgar Allan Poe x reader˃̵ᴗ˂̵

🐾Edgar Poe as a cat🐾

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - -୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - -୨˚̣̣̣͙

One evening, as the light slowly sank into the quietude of twilight, Ohiko, returning from work, froze, hearing a soft meow piercing the cool evening air with insistent, tender obstinacy. It sounded like a weary traveler's plea for help, a beckoning mystery, foreshadowing something greater than the everyday routine. Approaching, she found herself facing a small, thin, and dirty creature, trembling gently in the shadow of the corner.

The kitten, with large gray eyes full of both sorrow and hope, gazed at her, and in that genuine moment, flickering like a star at the edge of visibility, Ohiko couldn't walk away. Its piercing gaze seemed to evoke inexpressible feelings within her - kindness, tenderness, and a nagging anxiety, intertwined as one. How could she abandon a defenseless creature to the whims of fate?

Ohiko carefully lifted it, as if it were a crystal vessel, fragile enough to shatter with the slightest touch. Despite her usual caution, she decided to take it with her, a refuge in the abyss of her logical existence. A connection hummed in her heart, linking her actions, causing her to ponder the profound meaning of life and how, sometimes, an insignificant creature could stir within her a place long occupied by routine and mundanity.

She recalled how often she'd returned from the street, dragging along stray cats, tiny puppies, even trembling hedgehogs, all with a glimmer of hope for salvation in their eyes. Each time, these weren't just encounters - they were moments, fleeting moments, when she realized that humanity often manifested in the most ordinary things, and life held a wisdom revealed only to those willing to help the vulnerable.

Ohiko chuckled softly, acknowledging her own absurdity. She, who led such a rational life, now seemed to be drowning in immediate empathy for these creatures, as if they themselves were becoming her gateways to understanding herself and the world around her. And, looking at the little kitten, she decided that perhaps it was these beings who could teach her something greater than mere existence.

She had an immense love for animals, a love infused with such tenderness that it sometimes reached an absurd level. Her heart, consumed by compassion, stretched towards every lost gaze and mournful meow, as if life itself, cloaked in the fragments of wandering souls, sought her protection. In every creature, be it a furry ball of fluff or a sadly sighing dog, she saw a reflection of the anxieties and joys that crossed the path of human existence, hidden within its intricate fabric.

Her household pets, playfully hopping between pots in the kitchen, often consumed food generously seasoned with care and attention, even more so than she herself, barely able to squeeze in a quick, bland bite. And in this contrast - the little kings and queens, enthroned on their cozy cushions - lay a philosophy of its own: what is happiness if not caring for those who cannot care for themselves?

The situation became comical, and in this comicality, Ohiko found something deeper than mere charity. Giving herself completely, she realized – the true essence of life lies in caring for those who need that warmth, finding meaning in it. Each of her pets was not just a speechless creature, but the mouthpiece of a wisdom unknown to her; they whispered about something crucial: that even in the daily struggle for existence, one must remember love, the inalienable right of all living beings to kindness and care.

So, in her morning hours, when she, rising from under the warm blanket, watched her furry "subjects" enjoy their feast, she invariably smiled, understanding that the rain, falling on the city streets, had a profound meaning, just like life itself with its storms and joys. And it was in this, in the desire to share warmth with vulnerable creatures, that she found her own happiness – the kind that makes each morning a little brighter and each day a little more meaningful.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆

In the first days of his life in Ohiko's home, the cat named Edgar, christened by her with a light touch, exhibited an astonishing quietude and caution, clearly conveying the atmosphere of those wondrous details that filled the house, like mysterious shadows lurking in the corners of evening immersions. It seemed he was frightened not only by the world around him but also by his new existence, as if he were mastering an unfamiliar reality, listening to every rustle and tap, as if something sacred, demanding his attention, hid in this chaos of sounds.

At first, Edgar found solace in hiding under furniture, but gradually, like everything in nature has its own cycle, he began to explore the vastness of the apartment, slipping into every nook and cranny, seemingly trying to find something in this unseen space that could answer his unspoken questions about life and the place he held in this big, sometimes frightening, but so alluring world.

Ohiko, an integral part of this new reality, showed him boundless patience and affection, as if she knew how to see in him the reflection that needed understanding and attention. With each passing day, she delved deeper into his emotional world, enriching his existence not only with care but also with the understanding of what it meant to be together. She bought him the best food and soft toys, as if she could create an atmosphere of comfort through these small things, a comfort that would itself be like a warm hand embracing a little creature seeking safety.

Thus, in the quiet and unhurried rhythm of their lives, where motives of care and love intertwined, Edgar began to realize that happiness did not require a great feat or dazzling fame, but only humility in the soul and the possibility of being understood, surrounded by the warmth of someone who is ready to love unconditionally. In this seemingly small creature, there lay a whole world, which, like some inaccessible ancient text, required its reader, needing the ability to see the invisible and feel the deep, sometimes hidden from view, in the most ordinary things.

Edgar, the cat, over time, maintaining his acquired modest appearance with natural caution, often hid under furniture, occasionally peeking out from behind its edges, especially indulging in his musings under his mistress's bed, like a mysterious spirit dwelling in the shadowy corners of domestic comfort. He sought protection from the outside world, full of anxieties and bustle, finding quiet solace for his soul in the certainty of his haven.

However, despite his penchant for secrecy, Edgar had one particular preference—Ohiko's writing desk. When his mistress, immersed in writing her intricate texts, sat at the desk, the cat often found bliss in her lap, where the warmth of her body touched his fluffy fur, creating an almost cosmic unity, akin to what might unite hearts and minds.

˚₊‧ • 𓆩⚝𓆪 ♡ 𓆩⚝𓆪 ♡ 𓆩⚝𓆪 ♡ 𓆩⚝𓆪 ♡ •˚₊‧ • 𓆩⚝𓆪 ♡ 𓆩⚝𓆪 ♡ 𓆩⚝𓆪 ♡ 𓆩⚝𓆪 ♡ •

Though Edgar was a modest cat by nature, with a perpetual veil of shyness, he possessed, nonetheless, a wondrous, almost mystical, yearning for affection. As soon as someone else attempted to show him their tender affections, he would tremble like a frightened chick, hiding behind his mistress, as if seeking protection and support in her warmth, as in a shroud of kindness that gave him confidence in this crazy world. In this seclusion, where the cat eagerly awaited that very caress, there lay a small fragment—that in a world full of threats and misunderstanding, love can only be given to those you trust.

Ohiko began to notice that Edgar had moments when he appeared surprisingly intelligent, undoubtedly transcending the usual understanding of a common cat. His eyes, full of deep contemplation, seemed capable of capturing the essence of her words, like winds playing in the leaves, writing tales of life and its vicissitudes on the warm air. He intuitively anticipated her wishes, responding to her moods with the accuracy of Nordic prophets, and in these moments, Ohiko couldn't shake off the strange feeling that behind those big, deep-set eyes, something more, mysterious and important, lay hidden, something that sometimes left mere matter in the background.

It was hard to explain where this feeling came from, sometimes arriving in her mind like a bright spark in a dark room, reminding her that life could be full of not only everyday clutter but also an invisible thread of understanding between souls—human and feline. She sometimes wondered if Edgar had come into her life as a kind of sage, an old acquaintance, perceived with a sharp mind, to teach her something important about trust, love, and sincerity, which, like a sleeping potion, graced their days.

Becoming Human:

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

Well, it happened only after a year—a year that could have been stretched into eternity, but fate, like a persistent artist, decided to impose its strokes and envelop it in the embrace of circumstances. That evening, the light around Ohiko dimmed, and she felt her soul sinking into a gray blizzard of sorrow.

Everything was going awry for her: as if an invisible hand was holding back all her endeavors, causing objects to shatter and dreams to crumble like tattered pages of a book turned inside out by time. The house was not exactly cold, but the heating lacked its relentless, warming breath, and her personal life had devolved into sheer disappointment—a chaotic mess where her brightest hopes wandered aimlessly.

She reached her breaking point and seemed to lose what little balance she had left, bursting into tears and dissolving in her own sorrow, feeling the cold trail of invisible suffering as her tears rolled down her face. In that very moment, as her world shrank to the size of her inner turmoil, little Edgar the cat took a bold step—he approached her shyly and pressed his small head against her, purring softly.

This simple gesture, filled with boundless kindness, reminded her that even in the darkest hours, there are sparks of light—small yet profoundly important. It highlighted the connection between human and animal, a bond capable of miracles, revealing depths and understanding rooted in the notion that often, the most significant transformations occur during moments of vulnerability. In those times, love can lift the weight of sorrow and offer hope, like an invisible healer working magic over the souls of weary travelers.

Then, as if a cosmic event in its very inception, he placed his tiny paw on her, as though he wanted to draw a line between two worlds—the one she knew and the one just beginning to unfold before her. In this simplicity, he sought to reveal himself, his true "self," hidden behind the veil of the ordinary and the mundane.

The unveiled mystery of the human experience.

. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Yes, the girl was initially frightened, and it seemed that a small crack echoed in her heart—that's how fragile hopes sound when they clash with reality. This fear wrapped around her like a shadow, yet at the same time ignited a desire to understand what was truly happening, how this familiar and ordinary world had suddenly filled with magic and mystery.

Sensing her turmoil, Edgar gently took her hand. In that intimate moment, he explained that he was enchanted, and his form was limited to that of a cat—a wanderer drawn to her kindness like a moth to a flame. He shared the magical circumstances that had transformed him into this furry being, compelled to exist outside of human appearances, and revealed that only genuine care could restore him to his human form.

As she listened to him, Ohiko, despite her surprise, became engrossed in the story with lively interest, like an explorer uncovering new horizons.

Edgar's transformation into a human seemed to leave his inner essence unchanged; he remained the same simple and sincere being, immersed in the light of his own mind and heart. However, now in Ohiko's life, he was not just a cat, but a truly humble man with the same gentle yet profound nature that had characterized him even in his furry form.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────••───────•°•❀•°•───────•

🐾Эдгар По как котик🐾

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🐱°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🐱°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🐱°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🐱°

Однажды вечером, когда свет медленно погружался в вечернее безмолвие, Охико, возвращаясь с работы, замерла, услышав тихое мяуканье, пронзающее вечернюю прохладу настойчивым нежным упрямством. Оно звучало, как мольба утомленного путника о помощи, как зовущее за собой таинство, предвещавшее нечто большее, чем обыденная рутина. Подойдя ближе, она увидела перед собой маленькое, худое и грязное существо, что нежно дрожало в тени угла.

Котик, с крупными серыми глазами, полными жалости и надежды, смотрел на неё, и в этот неподдельный мгновение времени, мерцающем подобно звезде на краю видимости, Охико не смогла пройти мимо. A его пронзительный взгляд, казалось, вызывал в ней неизъяснимые чувства — доброту, нежность и тревогу, переплетённые в единое целое. Как можно оставить беззащитное создание на произвол судьбы?

Охико аккуратно подняла его, словно это был хрустальный сосуд, способный разбиться от легчайшего прикосновения, и, несмотря на свою обычную осторожность, решилась взять его с собой, укрывшегося в бездне свершений своего логичного существования. В её сердце таила связь её поступков, не раз заставлявшая задуматься о глубоком смысле жизни и о том, как порой ничтожное существование может всколыхнуть в душе место, которое давно заполнили быт и рутина.

Она вспомнила, как нередко возвращалась с улицы, таща за собой всяких бродячих котиков, маленьких щенков и даже дрожащих ёжиков, у которых тоже в глазах пряталась надежда на спасение. Каждый раз это были не просто встречи — это были мигновения, мгновения, когда она понимала, что человечность порой проявляется в самом обыденном, а жизнь таит в себе мудрость, которую раскрывают только те, кто готовы прийти на помощь беззащитным.

Охико тихо усмехнулась, признавая свою собственную нелепость — она, которая вела столь разумную жизнь, теперь, казалось, задыхалась в непосредственной эмпатии к этим созданиям, словно они сами становились её вратами к пониманию самой себя и окружающего мира. И, глядя на маленького котика, она решила, что, возможно, именно такие существа способны научить её чему-то большему, чем простое существование.

Уж очень она любила животных, и эта любовь, пронизанная нежностью, порой доходила до такого абсурда, что её сердце, увлеченное состраданием, тянулось к каждому пропавшему взгляду и жалобному мяуканью, словно и сама жизнь, облечённая в фрагменты заблудившихся душ, искала у неё защиты. В каждом существе, будь то мохнатый комок шерсти или печально вздохнувший пес, она видела отражение тех тревог и радостей, что пересекали путь человеческого бытия, кроясь в его сложной ткани.

Порой её домашние питомцы, плутовато перепрыгивая между кастрюлями на кухне, потребляли еду, богато приправленную заботой и вниманием, даже гораздо лучше, нежели она сама, еле успевая запихнуть в себя что-то быстрое и невыразительное. И в этом контрасте — маленькие короли и королевы, восседающие на своих уютных подушках, — пряталась своя философия: что такое счастье, если не забота о том, кто не в состоянии позаботиться о себе?

Ситуация становилась комичной, и в этом комизме Охико находила нечто более глубокое, чем простое подаяние. Отдавая себя без остатка, она осознавала — истинная суть жизни заключается в том, чтобы заботиться о тех, кто нуждается в этой теплоте, находя в этом смысл своего существования. Каждый её питомец был не просто бессловесным существом, но устами относительно неизвестной ей мудрости, они шептали о важном: о том, что даже в каждодневной борьбе за средства к существованию необходимо помнить о любви, о непреложном праве всех живых существ на ласку и заботу.

Так в её утренние часы, когда она, встав из-под теплого одеяла, наблюдала, как её пушистые «подданные» наслаждаются трапезой, она неизменно улыбалась, понимая, что дождь, налетавший на улицы города, имеет глубокий смысл, как и вся жизнь с её бурями и радостями. И именно в этом, в стремлении поделиться теплом с беззащитными существ��ми, она находила свою собственную радость — ту самую, что делает каждое утро чуть более светлым и каждый день чуть более значимым.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚

В первые дни своей жизни в доме Охико, кот по имени Эдгар, наречённый ею с лёгкой руки, проявлял поразительную тихость и осторожность, явно передавая атмосферу тех удивительных мелочей, что наполняли дом, подобно таинственным теням, скрывающимся в углах вечерних погружений. Кажется, он был испуган не только окружающим миром, но и своим новым существованием, как бы осваивая незнакомую реальность, прислушиваясь к каждому шороху и стуку, словно в этом хаосе звуков скрывалось нечто сакральное, требующее его внимания.

Сначала Эдгар находил утешение в укрытии под мебелью, однако постепенно, как всё в природе имеет свой цикл, он начал исследовать просторы квартиры, пробираясь в каждый уголок, и, казалось, пытался найти в этом невиданном пространстве нечто, что могло бы ответить на его невысказанные вопросы о жизни и о месте, которое он занимает в этом большом, порой пугающем, но таком притягательном мире.

Охико же, неотъемлемая часть этой новой реальности, проявляла к нему безграничное терпение и ласку, будто умела видеть в нём то отражение, которое нуждалось в понимании и внимании. С каждым днём она всё больше вникала в его эмоциональный мир, обогащая его бытие не только заботой, но и осмыслением того, что значит быть вместе. Она покупала ему лучшие корма и мягкие игрушки, как будто могла через эти мелочи создать атмосферу уюта, который сам по себе был бы сродни тёплой руке, обнимающей маленькое существо, стремящегося к безопасности.

Таким образом, в тихом и не спешном ритме их жизни, где мотивы заботы и любви переплетались, Эдгар начал осознавать, что для счастья вовсе не нужен великий подвиг или яркая слава, а достаточно лишь смирения в душе и возможности быть понятым, окружённым теплом того, кто готов любить без условий. В этом маленьком, на первый взгляд, существе, таился целый мир, который, как некий недоступный древний текст, требовал своего читателя, нуждающегося в умении видеть невидимое и чувствовать глубокое, порой укрытое от глаз, в самом обыденном.

Котик Эдгар, с течением времени, сохранив своим обретённым скромным обликом естественную осторожность, часто укрывался под мебелью, изредка выглядывая из-за её краёв, особенно предаваясь своим размышлениям под кроватью своей хозяйки, как таинственный дух, обитающий в затенённых уголках домашнего уюта, Он искал защиты от внешнего мира, полного тревог и суеты, находя в уверенности своего укрытия тихое успокоение души.

Тем не менее, несмотря на склонность к скрытности, у Эдгара имелось одно особое предпочтение — это был письменный стол Охико. Когда его хозяйка, погруженная в написание своих замысловатых текстов, сидела за столом, котик нередко находил блаженство в её коленках, где тепло её тела касалось его пушистой шерсти, создавая почти космическое единство, подобное тому, которое могло бы соединить в себе сердца и умы.

ᡣ𐭩ི𓂃 ࣪˖ ָ🐇་༘࿐ᡣ𐭩ི𓂃 ࣪˖ ָ🐇་༘࿐ᡣ𐭩ི𓂃 ࣪˖ ָ🐇་༘࿐ᡣ𐭩ི𓂃 ࣪˖ ָ🐇་༘࿐ᡣ𐭩ི𓂃 ࣪˖ ָ🐇་༘࿐ᡣ

Хоть Эдгар и был скромным котом по своей сути, с вечной вуалью застенчивости, он, тем не менее, обладал чудным, почти мистическим влечением к ласке. Как только кто-то другой пытался проявить к нему свои нежные порывы, он, как напуганный птенец, начинал трепетать, прячась за хозяйкой, словно искал защиту и опору в её теплоте, как в пелене доброты, что придаёт ему уверенности в этом безумном мире. В этом уединении, где котик жадно ждал той самой ласки, таилась маленькая частичка - о том, что в мире, полном угроз и непонимания, любовь может быть выдана только тем, кому ты доверяешь.

Охико начала замечать, что у Эдгара бывали моменты, когда он выглядел на удивление умным, несомненно, выходящим за пределы привычного понимания обычного кота. Его глаза, полные глубокой задумчивости, казались способными уловить суть её слов, как ветры, играющие в листве, что пишут на тёплом воздухе сказания о жизни и её перипетиях. Он интуитивно предугадывал её желания, реагируя на её настроения с точностью нордических пророков, и в эти моменты Охико не могла отделаться от странного ощущения, что за этими большими, полными глубины глазами скрывается нечто большее, таинственное и важное, что порой оставляет одну только материю на заднем плане.

Сложно было объяснить, откуда возникало это ощущение, порою придя в её разум как яркая искра в тёмной комнате, напоминающая о том, что жизнь может быть полна не только повседневного барахла, но и незримой нити понимания между душами — человеческой и кошачьей. Она иногда задумывалась, не явился ли Эдгар в её жизнь как своеобразный мудрец, давний знакомый, воспринятый в остриё ума, чтобы научить её нечто важному о доверии, любви и искренности, что, как снотворное, осеняет их дни.

Превращение в человека:

ᓚᘏᗢ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ᓚᘏᗢ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ᓚᘏᗢ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ᓚᘏᗢ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

Ну, это произошло лишь через год — год, который можно было бы растянуть до бесконечности, но судьба, подобно настойчивому художнику, решила наложить свои мазки и объять его в объятья обстоятельств. В тот вечер свет вокруг Охико тускнел, и она чувствовала, как её душа погружается в серую пургой печали.

Всё у неё шло наперекосяк: словно невидимая рука удерживала все её начинания, заставляя объекты разбиваться вдребезги, а мечты — рассыпаться, как ветхие страницы

книги, вывораченные временем наизнанку. В доме не то чтобы царила холода, но отопление было лишено его неумолимого, согревающего дыхания, и в личной жизни всё превратилось в сплошное разочарование — сплошной хаос, в котором блуждали её самые светлые надежды.

Вот она не выдержала и, казалось бы, утратила остатки равновесия, тупо заплакала, растворяясь в собственных слезах, ощущая, как они скатываются по её лицу, оставляя за собой холодный след невидимых страданий. И в ту же минуту, когда мир сжался до размеров её внутренней драмы, котик Эдгар решился на шаг, который стал бы для него благородным поступком — он скромно подошёл к девушке и прижал свою маленькую головушку к ней, мурлыкая тихо.

Этот простой жест, наполненный безмерной добротой, напомнил ей о том, что даже в самые тёмные часы существуют искры света, пусть и мелкие, но такие важные — о том, что эта связь между человеком и животным способна творить чудеса, ведь в каждом из них просматривается глубина и понимание, уходящие корнями в том, что порою наиболее значимые трансформации происходят именно в моменты уязвимости, когда любовь способна снять груз печали и подарить надежду, словно невидимый лекарь, что колдует над душами усталых путников.

Затем, будто происшествие мироздания в самом его зачатии, он положил свою маленькую лапку на неё, как будто хотел обозначить границу между двумя мирами — тем, что она знала, и тем, что только начинало раскрываться перед ней. Так, этой простотой он старался показать ей себя, своё настоящее «я», скрытое за завесой обычности и обыденности.

Раскрытая тайна человеческого вида

━─━────༺༻────━─━━─━────༺༻────━─━

Да, девушка изначально испугалась, и, казалось, в её сердце раздался небольшой треск — так звучит хрупкость надежд, несоответствующих действительности. Этот страх, подобно тени, окутал её, но в то же время породил в ней желание понять, что же на самом деле происходит, каким образом этот мир, столь знакомый и привычный, вдруг наполнился волшебством и тайной.

Эдгар, чувствуя её потрясение, с мягко взял её за руку. И тут, в этом интимном мгновении, он объяснил, что был заколдован, и его облик ограничивался лишь формой кота — странника, притянувшегося к её доброте как мотылёк к огню. Он поведал о магических обстоятельствах, что превратив его в пушистое существо, вынужденное существовать вне человеческих обликов, и лишь настоящая забота могла вернуть ему человеческую форму.

Слушая его, Охико, несмотря на своё удивление, погружалась в рассказ с живым интересом, как исследователь, открывающий новые горизонты .

Превращение Эдгара в человека, казалось бы, не изменило его внутренней сущности; он по-прежнему оставался тем же простым и искренним существом, погружённым в свет собственного ума и сердца. Однако теперь в жизни Охико был не просто кот, а настоящий скромный мужчина с той же нежной, но глубокой натурой, которая была свойственна ему ещё в его пушистом обличии.

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╝╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╝╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦

[pikuniku53353358]

A little doodle on my au "Sinful world"

Translation: idiot 1; idiot 2; idiot 3, but with brains

[skaruresonic]

I feel like there should be way more discussion around the fact that a piece of Maria's soul is imbued into Shadow

At the risk of sounding pedantic, technically speaking the game specifies that Gerald gave Emerl and Shadow souls "identical to" Maria's.

Hair-splitting, I know, but this could probably be taken to mean they retain their individual identities while sharing some of Maria's characteristics.

This is actually part of the reason it irritates me whenever people reduce her to "a boring fridged girl." Shadow's compassion and strength of character mirror Maria's. Imagine having only known the solitude of space since birth, essentially being confined to the world's biggest plastic bubble because your immune system would fail on Earth.

Imagine the alienation, the loneliness, the subtle cognitive dissonance between hearing about experiences you've never had yourself. Maria has never felt sand, or grass, or fog, or rain. She has never star-gazed the Milky Way from Earth. She has never swum in a pool, nor raced Shadow on a non-concrete surface. She has never attended a school with friends the same age.

And yet, in spite of all she lacks, Maria waits. There is no guarantee she will survive long enough to be cured. Yet it is because of her hope - and her faith in her grandfather and Shadow - that she retains the strength to keep surviving. To be an ordinary girl. Maria was a normal girl full of hope, and that is the entire point of her character. She represents the good in humanity; and how fragile, indeed, our good seems in the face of overwhelming madness and greed.

However, the sheer amount of strength it takes to see your unfulfilled dreams shattered with a bullet - to be bleeding, in pain, struggling for breath as your best friend gazes horrified at you - and have the grace not to condemn the ones who killed you, but to wish them well, must be immense. It's a feat even Gerald couldn't escape in his grief. In some people's eyes, Maria's last words may simply make her a martyr. But in my eyes... that's hardcore.

Shadow carries the same brand of strength, albeit he's covered in a thick layer of trauma and bristle. He hates humanity for what it has done to him, yet he still feels enough compassion never to abuse his power for selfish gain. In fact, he's willing to sacrifice himself for its sake. Again, imagine the amount of inner strength that must take. Perhaps the idea that Shadow is guided by Maria's wish vs. the idea that Shadow determines his own destiny is a false dichotomy. Shadow is Shadow, regardless of any other factors, yet he retains the best of those who loved him; Maria above all.

[naylamon102]

A cookie and they cat

It was a well-known fact that beast tamers were quite common in Earthbread, capable of taming beasts of all sizes and shapes with ease. Though among all the talented animal handlers, there was one Tamer who stood out above the rest

Y/N Cookie was their name, a tamer who managed to tame a beast that did not naturally occur within Earthbread. Instead, the peculiar creature hailed from the World of Witches.

The beast, who went by the name of Marinette, was not some cookie or cake, nor was it any sort of dish or dessert. Instead, the mysterious creature was a faithful black cat who followed her owner, Y/N Cookie, without question

Marinette and Y/N Cookie had an inseparable bond, despite their differences. Marinette's loyalty was unshakable, and together they formed an unbreakable team

3 years in the past

Y/N Cookie had escaped from a witch hut in a storm night

Y/N cookie: that was very close...

*heard a noise from afar*

Y/N cookie: huh?

As they made their run through the wild storms and rain, Y/N Cookie was alerted to a particular noise from among the rain. It was a faint but unmistakable sound, one that instantly caught Y/N Cookie's attention

Y/N cookie: what this?...

The distinct sound was coming from a crumbling box that had been left outside in the pouring rain. and it was clear that someone, or something, was hiding inside the box

Y/N cookie: ...

They approached and discovered...

Y/N cookie: Oh my god...

Y/N Cookie was amazed and shocked as they discovered a tiny black kitten huddled within the rain-soaked box. The poor creature was barely three weeks old and clearly abandoned. The tiny cat was trembling with cold and hunger, its cries and meows a desperate call for food and comfort

Y/N cookie: I can't believe what kind of monster would abandon a poor tiny creature like this?

They exclaimed in disbelief and disgust. The suffering of the tiny, helpless kitten was painful to witness, and it felt like a travesty that anyone could be so heartless as to abandon such a fragile being

they decided to do something

Upon seeing the suffering kitten Y/N Cookie's heart was filled with compassion and they immediately moved to help

Y/N cookie: Shh, shh, don't worry,"

Y/N Cookie soothingly whispered to the tiny kitten, their comforting tones a stark contrast to the storm raging around them. The frightened kitten seemed to recognize Y/N Cookie's voice as an ally, its cries and whimpers slowly beginning to subside as it sought assurance that the stranger was here to help rather than harm

Y/N cookie carried the kitten on their back as best they could

Y/N cookie: let's go before the storm gets worse little one

After navigating through the treacherous storm, Y/N Cookie managed to reach the safety of a large log which offered some protection from the elements. With the kitten at their back, they made their way to the log and sat down, allowing the kitten to nestle against their warm body for some much needed comfort and protection.

Y/N cookie: you know? It's normal to see a black cat accompanying a witch but I guess you're different

*awkward silence*

Y/N cookie: I'm surprised you survived here alone, soon we'll be at my house and I'll see if you're not sick or something like that

kitten: meow

Y/N: I say the same I think you earned a name but which one?...

Catberry? Nope very predictable

chat blanc? nope it's a black kitten

...how about...Marinette!

Y/N cookie: do you like that name marinette?

Marinette: *purr*

Y/N cookie: if you like it, I like it

@crisypop what you think?

[mommyofkittens]

A Court of Fallen Heroes: Chapter 11 - END OF PART 1: Pit of Despair

The Vespertus

Author's P.o.V:

          The night wasn't as merciful as Cyan had imagined before the mission started, as she had hoped and as that dreadful feeling of impending doom was settling deep inside her marrow, the only thought she had in mind w9as that someone betrayed them. Someone who played his cards better than her little band of bandits and outwitted them, outfoxed five brains.

           Hypnotized by the moving shadows she imagined, Cyan stared into the pitch-black fog that rose between the scrawny trees. There was only empty silence in her eardrums, broken only by Niven's sharp gasps or Malou's heavy breathing passing by the side of her head. They peered at her from behind those lanky trees, dancing on Kallus' splattered blood, following Cyan's arrythmic heartbeats.

          Someone sold us out. Someone killed Kallus. No. He's not dead. He can't be. But his blood is everywhere. Maybe he fought back, he's really hurt out there in the forest. Of course he fought back, but Malou said there's no trace of his scent anywhere near.

          " We have to keep moving. " Malou gathered her strength, refreshed by the freedom, and watched the brunette, whose name she hadn't quite caught yet. She tried to muster some empathy, some compassion for the faith of the girl's father, for her grief, but these long, never-ending years, the losses she, herself had suffered, left her feelings freeze to death. When no answer came from the one she thought was the leader, she turned to the human who was barely holding Malou on her narrow shoulders.

         Is this the Falling Star  the Old Word spoke of? Malou refrained from showing her distrust and studied the human's gentle profile. Tree digits were imprinted deep in the roundness of her cheek, rosy and anfractuous, murdering that innocent, smooth facade. By their color variation, from pink on the edges and fierce magenta in the center and the way they were perfectly aligned and symmetrical and the vague smell of sulfur, she guessed a creature gifted it to her. A departing memory.

          " The guards will discover us and your plan will fail. " She could feel the heaviness of her eyes settling on Malou's relentless features. This girl's green eyes did not know an easy life, her questioning gaze electrified Malou, somehow ravishing the last remnants of her warrior instincts she burried deeply inside her subconscious. Cyan's eyes reminded her of a long lost partner, of a forgotten devotion she had once bravely held.

          Malou's mouth went into a straight line, building back her strong, garnet walls. Cyan's eyes softened rapidly, letting the fragile side of humanity come back. 

      " You're weak. " Malou felt the need to strike the girl with ferocity, wanting that second of bravery she held moments ago to come back. " This is not a world where pretty eyes and soft souls survive. I can smell your emotions a mile away. Imagine what it feels like when I'm so suffocatingly close to you, girl. Do something and get us moving! "

          Cyan's face fell, her insides twisted once more before she erased those shadows from the corners of her eyes and tried to put her brain to work. It must've been at least twenty minutes since Niven sunk herself to the ground, moving back and forth, trapped in a trance. Her knees were probably frozen, soaked with mud. Cyan grimaced as she heard the ghostly sound of a heart breaking and breaking again and again, washed by the rain that fell more gently, as if taking pity on their misfortune.

           The wind, however, grew wilder, entering the corners of their massive armor, making a home inside their bones. Cyan's jaw started to tremble uncontrollable as she struggled to move Malou inside the carriage, her iron shoes slipping on the mixture of mud and blood. Their only luck tonight was the full moon, which provided enough light for them to see the disaster around them. 

         " I'll lock the door. Don't make a sound. If we lose you too, it will all be for nothing. " Cyan whispered so softly that even Malou's sharp hearing couldn't hear all the words, but she agreed, already reading her intentions to protect her at all costs.

          The old woman gasped, irritated at the way her body had grown heavy and useless. The only things that had remained untouched were her most primitive assets: her sense of smell, her sight, her hearing, even her ingrained instinct to fight. Malou gathered the velvet cushion in her bony fists and repositioned herself on the carriage floor. She sniffed her old woman scent and almost threw up, disgusted by her pathetic condition. But she should be back in shape in less than a day. If she even made it to the next day.

         Mother of all we know, keep my body agile and my soul free. Mother of all we feel, may my blade be sharp and my focus steady. Mother of all we are, let the path be hard and my enemy fierce so I can win my place beside your righteousness.

          Malou's prayer rose to the sky like a chanted spell, soothing the aching pain of the wind. A bandage on a stinging wound.

          Suddenly, she felt wrong as she thought about throwing those hostile words at the girl. A mentor shouldn't be angry and hateful, harsh, yes, but not hateful. She was showing hate towards a woman who came to save their world, who was about to experience the breaking point of her initiation tonight. A fatal heartbreak. Malou knew that the Vespertus could come in all shapes and forms: faes, half-faes, witches, elves, dwarves, even humans. But the latter died more easily during the transformation. The rate of a successful Passing was lower than that of any other species, but the powers they inherited when it was over could destroy this world as easily as they could protect it. Humans fed their fire with ambition and love.

          Malou gathered her palms and prayed again, this time for the girl who was fighting for their lives outside.

           In the middle of the night, Cyan's desperation flooded the area. Her hands shook as if she'd been drinking all night and her steps were hesitant. She felt the guilt eating away at her stomach, her lungs, her voice. In the back of her mind, she had a clue as to who might be the one to drag her through such misery, but she vehemently refused to admit that he was to blame for her failure and that she was guilty through him. She was the one who had betrayed them. 

          " Niven. " She calls for the millionth time, trying to lift the girl's limp body from the ground. How could she be heavier than Malou? '' We have to go, we need to finish the mission, otherwise Kallus's sacrifice will be for nothing. ''

          " I don't care. Soon, I'll be dead too... " 

          " Please, don't say this. You are my hope, Nivy. " The stinging in Cyan's eyes diminished the moment she let those hungry tears eat her face, the string in  her throat grew tighter around her vocal cords. " We have to live! "

          Niven's hollow gaze took in the desperation in Cyan's features, her rich brows now tossed by the helmet, her well-structured nose reddened by the cold air, her parted lips now cracked and bleeding from Cyan's white teeth. Nivy's tearful gaze made Cyan glow in the moonlight like a true goddess in disguise, the planet perfectly aligned with her head. She saw a crown of stars dancing around the redhead's temple, the darkness only helping it to shine brighter. " It's already happening... The Mother of the Helpless. "

          Cyan began to cry harder, sobbing louder as she watched her soul sister slowly lose her mind. She pulled harder, digging her gloves into Niven's shoulder blades, finally lifting her large body.

          Something else made them stop. It seemed like the sound was coming from everywhere, a rhythmic gallop rushing through the night, a terrifying sound when you're left all alone in the woods. Cyan felt an ache deep inside her heart, a warning from her vital organ that it was reaching its endurance limits. She straightened her back and muttered a curse in her native tongue. Niven's bloodshot eyes widened, her posture shifted a fraction, becoming slightly more aggressive, but the fire she held a few hours ago was clearly extinguished, only embers remaining beneath her skin.

          " I'll take care of it. " Niven stumbles on her wobbly legs and raises her palms above her head with her last ounce of strength, bringing a weak, flickering golden halo to life around her wrists. 

          Cyan lifted the spear from the ground, trying her best to concentrate on the sound and where it came from. She watched as it's sharp end glowed with yellow and white light coming from Nivy's moving fingers, reflecting her blossoming powers. The mixture of black wood and metal slid under Cyan's sweaty palms, shaking like a candlelight in the wind. Remnants of someone's blood got caught under her nails, raising the bile in her throat.

          The earth shakes beneath their feet, cracking and releasing thick tree roots, monstrous and twisted by time. Moles flee from under the ground, frightened by the sudden earthquake, and hide in the depths of the eerie forest. Wolves howl in the distance and birds of the night fill the sky, trying to escape. The redhead stares in awe as pure magic erupts from Niven's body, yellow as a sunny day, illuminating half the forest. A strong smell of freshly dug earth fills her nostrils, and she glances around, noticing the branches squeak as they are finally allowed to move, guided by the golden mist.

          By the second the sounds grew louder and closer, a shield had already formed around them.

          " Wait! Wait!..." Cyan cries, throwing down the spear. A familiar horse whine rises through the night, like a triumphant trumpet announcing victory. The girl almost kneels in relief, her nerves already stretched thin. " How is this possible? "

          The horse rose on her hind legs, as if to signal that she was no danger to them, and then, as she slowly approached them, another pair of small eyes came into view.

          Niven's hands remain suspended in the air as bewitched as her companion was, mouth slightly agape. " Did mom send you? "

          A small piece of content filled their hearts, knowing there was still a way out of this forest, a chance to find Kallus. Cyan rushes through the branches, not thinking clearly, and runs to hug her friends. A few thorns kiss the outside of her face, but she doesn't seem to feel anything as she presses her forehead against the horse's to show her appreciation. " Misty... What happened to the farm? " She asks, raising her palm to touch the cat's wet hair. " We have to go back!  "

𓆩✴𓆪

         As surprising as it sounded, the Spymaster managed to lose his only suspect faster than he expected. Or rather, faster than his hundreds of years of experience would have allowed. He let the girl go for a single reason: there were more important matters to attend to that required his attention more urgently than a deceptive hunch. Even if his instincts never lied to him, Eris and everything else could wait a little longer.

          By no means did he get rusty or too old. No. He just started the mission on the wrong foot. Everything tasted bitter on the tip of his tongue from the beginning, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He had to see it through. Even if they were a family, Rhysand wouldn't allow him to start picking and choosing which missions he wanted to go on. 

          Was this a bad time to consider that his younger brother was pulling rank on him? 

          After that upside down turning stomach of a dinner, the Shadowsinger was led into the chamber that was to be his home. He quickly had his companions search the large, dark room, lit only by a few candles. When no spells or dangers were found, he disappeared, hiding in the dungeons beneath the castle.  

          Azriel felt the dense layer of magic that prevented anyone from teleporting into the prison cells, but his way of traveling through shadows was no simple magic, and there weren't many wards that could prevent him from taking a look inside. After all, everything casted a shadow, from the most mundane objects to the darkest corners of the earth. Well, at least everything that was touched by a soul or had a soul. Wrapped in the compact layer of blackness, he followed the muffled sounds.

          No one was getting killed on his watch.

          With a deft finger, he covered the lower half of his face with his mask and drew two of his daggers from the shadows, ready to strike from the pitch-black corner. Two torches came into view and the other inmates began to shout and bang on the iron bars. The damp atmosphere grew louder with groans and the air became even harder to breathe, full of a fetid and cadaverous odor.  

          A harsh line appeared between Azriel's brows as he finally saw two guards dragging down the chopped stairs the servants from earlier, both half-unconscious. A sense of justice boiled inside his nerves, frigid as a bleak winter. His joints strained under the pressure of his arched stance, like a bow ready to shoot. The Shadowsinger waited no longer, already full of their poor ways of treating women. The hulking men suspected nothing as one of Azriel's daggers sliced through the night, fast and steady, and plunged into one of their throats. Blood splattered everywhere from the small and fatal wound, aided by the gurgling sound of him choking on his own fluids. In the blink of an eye, he was writhing like a fish on dry land, franticly trying to cover his sliced neck. 

          One of the women began to scream as red droplets landed on her uncovered face, waking her from her sleep. Two hands appeared from behind the iron bars, dirty and rat-nicked all over their forearms, and dragged the twitching body close to the cells. Everyone was horrified as another pair of hands emerged from another dark cell and began to rip the guard's skin off in a violent attempt to avenge the years they had been imprisoned down there and the horrors they had endured. Skinned alive, the man endured several minutes of torture, praying loudly to die faster.

          " Show yourself! " The other managed to scream, his black eyes desperately searching the empty halls. He tried to remove what was left of his friend from the cells, but the starving people they threw here were hungry for justice. The torch lay forgotten on the ground, sizzling in the pool of blood that was already forming.

          A riot broke out in the dungeons beneath the castle. Metal cups banged against the walls, people screamed and screamed as they pinned their limbs to the corridor separating the cells. Someone threw fecal matters on the guards armor, disturbing his stance.

          " La la, la la la, Death has come to collect the prize. La la, la la la, and he has you on his file. " A prisoner sings, laughing like a crow. The guard bangs his sword on the iron bars, trying to keep the situation under control, but he has no idea that Azriel could also thrive in chaos.

          The Shadowsinger reveals himself in the dim light, radiating power, terror, and a thirst to kill. His illyrian leathers were his second skin, molding into his muscles, instilling fear in his opponent. The only thing the poor man could see were the Spymaster's eyes, empty and sinister, like a dreadfull story told around a campfire.

          " I knew you were a bad omen. " The man squeaks, shivering.

         There was no point in wasting more time talking and as the man moves to deliver a blow, Azriel spins through the large opening created by the man's raised arms and stabs him between the ribs with lethal grace. The guard howls in agony, the prisoners cheering the pain, but the Shadowsinger has had enough of the show. To end the man's misery swifter, he silently moves behind him and breaks his neck with his bare hands.

          " Please don't hurt us. " The white-haired one speaks, holding the other woman tightly in her arms. " We are innocent, someone set us up... Please... "

          " I know. " Azriel speaks calmly and takes off his masks to ease the tension. All he needed now was to frighten them more than they already were, and he didn't want that. " I'm here to free you. I'll fly you to your homes, but you must leave the city tonight. Are you able to do that? "

          " There is a ship leaving for the continent tonight, but we are too many and I don't know if I can afford the price. " The older woman speaks, caressing the sleeping face of the other.

          There were no words left to say as Azriel places a bag of golden coins inside her fist, then winnows them both outside the castle, as far as possible from any danger. 

          " May the Daughter spare you... " Is all that he hears before he vanishes back to finish his bussiness.

          The Fallen Star to spare him? How many people knew about the existence of this woman? How many people were after her? Funny, The Shadowsinger snorted, I should be the one to show her mercy, not the other way around.

          Well, the man knew that after his little circus trick, he only had a day or two before anyone noticed the real culprit who managed to start a riot in those prison cells. Now he could finally focus on his real mission. Worryingly, the only thing he knew about the girl was the color of her eyes, and frankly, not even that was entirely true. 

          Were they slightly more blue, gray, or more green than usual because of the distance?

           Azriel shakes his head, feeling violated by the unexpeted toughts. Who cares what the girl's eyes looked like? Who cares why she was sent to their lands? Who cares about the girl's destiny as long as she tramples on the lives of others for her own sake? He was beginning to believe that she wasn't as blessed and holy as the pictures in the book made her out to be, how the stories he heard made her sound like a peace bringer. She was a ruthless human and all Azriel wanted was to finish the damn job and hand it over to Rhysand to take care of.

          As Azriel was striding through those empty halls, whispers caught his attention. He puffs, almost amused at how this night was going to unfold for him and anyone involved. He rubs his palms over his tired face, already tasting the last remnants of patience left in him. When was the last time he fucking slept for more than two hours without being disturbed by an emergency? 

          Swallowing his dissatisfaction, he gathers his strength and becomes a shadow. By the Mother, this was going to be a long and tiring mission for him. Azriel hoped to at least get a good night's sleep by the time he returned to the Night Court.

          As he reached the next corridor, the illyrian noticed a slender boy haggling with one of the onyx guards the king always carried for protection. From the look of the wing, luxurious and well-lit with large candles, Azriel guessed that this was Draegan's side of the castle, the one he shared with his accolites and whores. The guard nods and knocks three times on the carved door before slipping his covered head into the chamber.

          The human grows impatient, his raven hair tied in a low ponytail beginning to unravel from his frustrating lack of steadiness. He raises his hands and tries to tighten it a bit. Azriel squints, spoting the drops of blood at the bottom of his blouse and the large stains that cover his pants and shoes. His movements are nervous, his posture tense, as if he had just murdered someone and didn't want anyone to find out. He turns his head from side to side to make sure no one sees him, as if he was about to reveal a life-threatening secret. The Shadowsinger inhales, sniffing his emotions and chokes: panic, hesitation, anger, rage, thirst for vengeance, and guilt, guilt, so much guilt that Azriel nearly drowns from the smell alone.

          " What have you done, boy? " Azriel whispers, detecting the dubious amount of sulfur emanating from the human's body.

         Draegan steps out in the hallway, half naked, and grabs the boy by the collar of his blouse, throwing him against a wall. There's a quick exchange of information that Azriel doesn't hear very well, then he watches the boy stumble backwards, his green eyes wide in shock.

          " Take the Death Patrol, burn the town, burn the farm, burn the whole damn forest if you have to! " Draegan shouts, pushing his guard against the wall as well. " Don't let anyone live. I don't want hostages, I don't want witnesses, I don't want collateral damage. I don't care if you find them. I only want dead bodies! Do you understand?! The Dark One wants answers that I clearly don't have. How did they manage to walk right under my nose?! They want to crown her on my throne! "

           The guard nods almost hysterically as he takes in all of his king's wishes. The green-eyed boy bows his head deeply.

          " I did everything I could to buy some time. I even killed my father, for you, my fierce king! " The boy drops to his knees, kissing Draegan's feet. " She washed their minds, she stole their hearts and eaten their souls! If we get there fast enough, if we manage to end her life before anyone else, there will be a higher chance of turning her into a Tiamat - A Dark Verpertus, a star driven by chaos. "

          Tiamat? The Daughter... The Fallen Star. " Vespertus " Azriel mumbles, coming to the horrible realization that Hybern knew of the comet woman's existence. 

          " What the fuck... '' Draegan suddenly turns blue and places a ringed hand on his torso. Black vomit spews out of his mouth, scattering all over the red walls and blue carpets. " That bi-... Aaah! " The king screams in pain as he falls to the floor, convulsing like a rabid dog. " I can't breathe! Ugh... "

          " Sire! "

          Doors open on both sides of the corridor, and more faes gather around the king, trying to help him to his feet..

           " He's been poisoned! " A Fae shouts, sticking two fingers down Draegan's throat. " Call Nimue! Who was he with in his chamber?! "

         " She's gone, the blonde girl. " Another shouts after checking the bedroom. " You idiots, move faster! The king is dying! "

         " What was he poisoned with? " A white-haired man asks as he pours water on Draegan's twisted face. 

          One of the faes from the dinner table comes out with an empty glass of wine and inspects it. He rubbs his finger on the purple stains and smells them. " Tell that fucking witch to come faster, he's been poisoned with the Night Shade. "

𓆩✴𓆪

          Mother of all we feel, Mother of all we know, Mother of all we are, Mother, Mother...

          Malou's prayer seemed to surround them, to protect them, to purify them, but the Mother vowed never to interfere in human or fae affairs; the Mother bound herself to never be able to touch the material world. The Mother made her fair share of sacrifice when she allowed her only Daughter to be torn apart by the world the Mother's Father had created.

          The Goddess wasn't even able to persuade the Fates as they started to cut string after string that night. One blind, one deaf, one mute. More lives were taken in less than two hours than in a day of war. The blind one chooses the strings so that no one could say her judgment was unjust. The deaf one cuts so that she never hears the pleas. The mute one discards them so that she can never say where the Gardens are hidden.

          The Mother could only watch as Malou took her rigged breath inside the carriage, while Niven rode wildly back to what was left of the farm. The goddess only blew a gentle wind into the mare's hooves, making her faster, swifter, more agile and glued her eyes and prayers to her only child, now left alone in the viper's lair. The Fates could only guide Cyan to her destiny, but they could never warn her about those dangerous steps she was about to take. 

          Cyan hid her cat in her armor, needing the warmth and reassuring touch of her loyal companion, and entered the castle with a dagger in her hand. She left her helmet in those woods, as well as some of her innocence. Her face was dirty with mud and dust, droplets of dried blood were splattered across glher temples and nose. She berated herself for forcing her body through those branches, but the sting of those cuts kept her anchored in reality. The tree claw marks on her cheek turned blood red from the harsh wind they endured with the carriage in pieces to make it easier for the mare to carry all that road.

          Her scalp was itchy, the low bun she had made was disheveled, her eyes were teary and sore and she wanted someone to answer for the loss she had suffered tonight. Cyan kept doing it, losing her mind in that satisfying, grim fantasy: stabbing and stabbing and demanding one life in exchange for Kallus's, thirsty and twitching with anxiety. She could see the sharp blade make a precise incision right in that fae's Adam's apple, stealing his breath and voice forever.

          Brutally, Cyan shoved two fingers into her eyeholes, trying to stay as neuter as possible.

          To her surprise, the castle was... empty. Or at least asleep. Either way: it wasn't a good sign the fact that she could venture head straight into Hybern's heart. Cyan wondered if it wasn't a trap someone had set for her. She would be grateful. Maybe this joke of a life would end sooner than she expected and she could return to the other joke of a life in the other universe. She mustered a smile that she quickly wiped away in pain. Her lips were too chapped and dehydrated and any expression drew blood from her skin.

          " Where the hell am I going? " Cyan wondered, still walking between the corridors.

          Quick footsteps could be heard behind her, and she hid around the corner, ready to pounce on anyone who came her way. Her anger drove her mad and robbed her of her wise decision making. The cat dug her claws into her chest, a warning to be careful. Cyan blew out the candles on the walls and cloaked herself in the darkness, aware that there was someone in this castle who thrived in the shadows and never slept. As soon as the footsteps lined up with her position, she let out an angry moan and knocked one of the people down.

           " Eris?! " The blade nicked his perfect jaw, leaving a path of fresh blood to stain the collar of his green tunic, but she never withdrew the blade. " You betrayed me! "

          Eris Vanserra was as beautiful and graceful as ever, wide-eyed and a bit disheveled from the attack. Cyan nearly lost her grip on the dagger hill, too stunned. The girl opened her mouth to avoid inhaling his scent of leaves and embers, concentrating on the way his firm and narrow hips felt between her thighs. She realized too late that it was the wrong thing to do, shying away and losing her defiant posture.

          " Cyan... " His hands remained glued to the floor, fully aware of the woman's state of shock, and he pleaded with her gently. " I didn't say anything. I swear on my mother. ''

          The man looked a little bored by the situation, but treated Cyan like a porcelain doll as he gently stroked the side of her hip with his slender fingers, trying to bring her to a state of lucidity. He drew his thin brows high on his forehead, bombarding the poor girl with sincere and warm amber eyes.

           " Cyan, what happened to you? " A pale hand reaches for her shoulder and she wips her wild eyes at the woman behind her. " Oh... By the gods... He's telling the truth. "

" I could never do this to you. I promise... "

          Cyan felt a pang of guilt betray her confidence. She remembered from the books that the only person Eris loved most besides himself was his mother, and he had just taken a vow under her name. Her cruel eyes softened as she gazed at an angelic Aoife, barely covered by the horrible nightgown Draegan must have forced her to wear.

          " You managed to escape him... " Cyan muttered, observing a crimson pink blossom on her hollow cheeks. " Did he... "

          " Eris helped me. " Aoife praised Vanserra, staring at him as if he was a prince on a white horse. " Where is everyone else? "

          Aoife immediately regretted her question as she watched Cyan's entire complexion turn from red to white, as if she had seen a ghost.

          " Someone attacked and took Kallus while we were inside the prison. We don't know if he's still alive, but... The amount of blood -... It covered the whole damn place... " Cyan continues, strangling Eris with one shaky hand. She was on top of his large body, trying her best to keep him on the ground with the weight of her body. " Not even the storm was able to wash all that blood. Even the horses were killed. The blood dripped from everywhere - like a sacrifice. You were the only one who knew everything and I gave that information to you so freely! "

         A nerve pumped in her temple, making Cyan dizzy. She knew that Eris could topple her at any moment. He was a fae after all, he was stronger and faster, even smarter. But Cyan had a fierce fire burning in her veins, pumping and roaring. She would give her life to kill Eris if he was the traitor. But that ball of accumulated and trapped emotions made her chest swell, like a balloon ready to burst. 

          All of a sudden she regarded the blood covering her armour, moistening her hair, covering her face and palms like a plague. Kallus's blood was all over her body. Cyan bit her tongue until she felt iron drip down her throat. Tears streamed into her clouded irises as she saw Eris' pitiful face blurry. 

          Aoife covers her mouth with a thin hand and kneels beside their bodies, cupping Cyan's unrecognizable face in her cold palms, " It wasn't him. "

          Misty doesn't linger inside her master's armor and swings a sharp claw at Aoife, trying to protect Cyan from any harm that might come her way. The cat's still wet ears perk up and she hisses, warning Aoife to keep her hands to herself. Her eyes go wide in shock at the so-called ace up Cyan's sleeve. 

          A shudder breaks Cyan from her killing fantasy and she pulls the sharp end of the dagger from Eris' face, waiting. " It's true. " A rough voice finally comes from behind her, warming and cooling her at the same time. " Someone else ruined your plan. " He continues, moving closer to her compromising position.

          Bugs seem to crawl up Cyan's spine as she feels those hate-filled, glowing eyes clawing at her. She pushes her eyes with two fingers, trying to regain control of her toughts, and when Eris finally manages to escape between her legs, she collapses backwards, resting her weight on Azriel's knees. The cat recognizes him and hisses again, growling.

          Cyan lifts her head in time to see the corner of his full mouth move as if he recognized her cat, but his face suddenly changed to greet her with a death stare. " If your mouth runs as easily as your emotions drive you, then I can imagine why your plan went downhill. "

          " Don't be so harsh, Spymaster, not everyone is as perfect as you. " Eris helps Cyan to her shaky feet, trying to put some distance between the girl and the deadly assassin. A bold shadow curls toward them, but Aoife pulls Cyan further away, unsure of the fae's intentions and waves a hand in front of her, thinking that the tongue of darkness could dissipate as easily as smoke would.

          The redhead didn't have a comeback ready, still terrified by the way his form enveloped her in its own shadow, like a gigantic volcano ready to fry everything in its path. His bony, pointed wings rose behind him like two warning signs she was prepared to ignore. She was too exhausted, too traumatized, and too sad to be intimidated by anyone more than she already felt in this world.

          " We should leave, Cyan. " Aoife speaks, her eyes closely glued to Azriel's terrifying aura. She notices the sharp ends of several blades coming out of his pockets and swallows thickly. " I thought you were stripped of them ."

          " I was. " Azriel admits, scorching the green-eyed girl like a pig on a roaster. " Don't you want to find out who ratted you out? I'd be deadly curious. "

          Cyan slowly lifts her eyes and cursed herself for allowing such handsome and grim man to make her want to be small and unseen. She could swear he was jogging with the words in that sentence, but her mind was too foggy to play his game.

          " How do you know who betrayed us? " Cyan found her courage to speak, her voice barely above a whisper. God, that rage really ate her energy.

          Eris places himself strategically in front of the girls, his gold and green suit shinning boldly under the candlelight, " Don't let him fool you, the Shadowsinger always know everything. " Eris rises his chin to Azriel, disposing that charming facade he wore in the last days. 

          The illyrian can't help but chuckle in response to Vanserra's way of playing his cards and bows his head to the left, challenging the other male. He feels his shadows closing in on the redhead, trying to get inside her head. Out of the corner of his eye, Azriel watches the so-called Cyan, noticing her poor appearance. She seems to have been taken out of a book of horrors, the kind he used to read as a child, about witches, curses and deadly battles. From the looks of it, if he moved fast enough he could land a blow to her knees and have her winnowed by the time Eris even had the chance to look behind.

          " Much to your surprise, I don't. A boy came to Draegan's chamber and warned him right after he was poisoned. I don't know who he is. " Azriel gave in, stinging Aoife with an all knowing look. He held no remorse, no accusation against her, only a warning that he knew who did it. 

          " Night Shade. " Cyan lets a breath escape her dry lips, but does not return Aoife's stunned gaze. " But where is everyone else? "

          Azriel places a wide foot to the right, trying to get a better look at his most coveted prize, trying to memorize her features. Or whatever he could make out behind all the dirt and bruises that covered her oval face. " Indeed, it was Night Shade. They left towards the city. I managed to stop some of them, but they are too many and the onyx guards are harder to kill than the simple, fae ones. Who attacked you? "

          He had to admit that he was a little shocked to find himself in front of the comet woman, or The Fallen Star, as everyone preferred to call her, but he was also a little disappointed when he saw her size and the pitiful way she carried herself. How was a human like her going to save their world? Azriel just couldn't see it happen. Cyan was young, weak, and from the looks of it could barely take a few blows. She had no muscular build under that armor and he couldn't sense any type of magic, only sweat and rain. How could someone like her survive such a fall?

          Cyan's eyes were turbid, a mass of blue and green and gold - a chaotic ocean. She looked like she drank all night fae wine and never recovered. " That's none of your bussiness. When did they left? What did the boy look like? "

          " They must've really hit you in the head if you imagine I'll tell you so you can go around looking for him. " The Shadowsinger came closer, ready to snatch her and just leave Hybern behind, but Eris threw a hand in front of Cyan, sensing his intention.

          " She won't. " Vanserra swears, but Azriel could easily spit on any promise the Autumn Court made. " Now indulge the lady and answer! "

          " What do I get in return? "

          " I believe you're here for the same thing everyone is. " Cyan considered, watching Eris swallow his words. " So I'll come with you. "

         Aoife and Cyan stared at the Shadowsinger as he took his eyes off the pray he had finally caught and stabbed Eris with his piercing gaze instead, satisfied with the way everything had suddenly gone his way. " Tempting, but how do I know you're not going with the Autumn Heir? "

          " I'll let one of your shadows come close so it can bind me to you. "

          Soft green and violent amber crash together as Cyan finally finds the courage to set her eyes on Azriel's. Her mouth goes into a straight line letting her guard down, blown away by the power he held only in his gaze. She can see the wheels turning in his head, the barely visible tensed muscle in his fine jaw, the bright glow of victory in his irises. He seemed to have everything under control, calculating every outcome, solving every problem that might arise. Even if she managed to escape him, he would hunt her down on every continent, offended that she had broken her promise.

          Maybe this was her chance to go to Prythian and then back home. But there was no proof that they would help her, there was no proof that things weren't different in reality than in the books. What if they were evil and would do anything to save their world, including willingly letting her die? What if they tortured her to find out how she ended up here?

          In silence, a skilled tongue of smoke curls around Cyan's wrist. holding her in a leash. Goosebumps break out all over her forearm, sliding down to her fingers like a frozen ice cube. Their grip feels like millions of needles were pinching her skin, tight enough to leave a mark behind. She closes and opens her eyes a few times, convincing herself that the deep shadow is indeed alive and flattening around her. Before she can give Eris a sideways glance, Azriel is already blurting out all the information.

          " It was a raven haired boy, slender, not taller than the blonde girl, a pony tail, covered in blood, green eyes. "

          Cyan swallowed, taken aback. It was impossible. 

          " It can't be him. " Aoife spoke to the redhead, still clinging to her left arm. 

          Azriel didn't even notice the short chemise the blonde was wearing, as if she had been caught by the bandits in the middle of the night and barely managed to escape. He watched as Cyan took a deep breath, watched as her world crumbled over her head, as her shoulders slumped and realization took over her foggy mind.

          " We need to go to the farm. Right now. " Cyan announced calmly, feeling everything all at once. Her limbs began to shake violently when she realized that Niven and Malou were riding right into a trap.

          Azriel tsk-tsked in disapproval, ready to remember Cyan that she hadn't mentioned when she was going with him, but his breath was cut short as he watched the blonde draw a dagger from her thigh and gently place it in the redhead's gloved palm. A gift returned in the hope of bringing peace.  " Thank you. It protected me. " The blue stone upon it glowed brightly in the candlelight, blinding the Spymaster with cold rage. He remembered Amren mentioning something about its disappearance, he remembered how he felt that night, the nightmare he'd had, the smell, his agony. Azriel's hunting dagger lay stolen in the palms of the witch who had invaded their home.

        Voices scream in the distance, and Azriel's head whips around at the end of the hallway as he sees a handful of onyx guards running toward them.

          " Hurry! " Eris grabs the girls by their wrists and tries to drag them out of the castle. The Shadowsinger is faster and wraps a strong arm around Cyan's waist, blocking Eris's magic.

          " The witch is coming with me. " His voice thunderes, Truth Teller already dangerously close to Cyan's neck. Shadows rise around them, cocooning them protectively. One of them darts to Eris's feet, trying to drag him by his calves, but he scares it away with a burning orb send for those tongues of darkness.

           " Kill the traitors! Bring their bodies to king Draegan! " The one in the middle commands as one archer prepares to shoot them.

          Eris's fire ignites in his palms, throwing several fireballs at the guards, slowing them down. One of them screeches in pain as the hot armor melts atop his skin. Vanserra's orbs ricochet off Azriel's cobalt shield, bouncing off before hitting the marble on the ground.

          " Don't let him take her! " Aoife cries, throwing a vase in their direction, then another one.

          Digging her digits into the Spymaster's forearms, feeling those rippling muscles ready to suffocate her if need be, Cyan lifted her feet off the ground in an attempt to destabilize Azriel. In vain, his thighs were far stronger than a twenty-year-old girl, with half the weight of the huge man. The Illyrian raises another shield, blocking the Death Patrol a few feet away and hits his boot on the ground, a cobalt sound wave making the walls shake and the windows ring.

          A black sword appears in the captain's hands, smoke rising like fumes from the blade, cutting a long gash in Azriel's shield. Eris bends his arms and stirs the candle flames, burning the wooden archway. As it begins to crumble above their heads, shattering their helmets, the captain continues to deliver blow after blow in the Spymaster's flickering magic, creating a round opening in his defenses.

          " Let me go! " Cyan screams, managind to scrape her throat in Azriel's dagger. He doesn't seem to mind that danger was right behind them, less than a few meters away.

          " Witch! You stole from me, you broke into my house. Did you want to kill one of us? Did you want to have some fun by torturing us? I'll make you pay double the price... " He whispers in her ear, shaking her violently, sucking all the air out of her lungs. The scent of amber snickers from beneath her armor, mixed with sweat and mud and rain and blood. The Illyrian male goes wild, seeing black before his eyes as he holds his most coveted prize at his mercy.

          Don't break her neck. The bold shadow recommended, still gripping her left wrist.

          Too caught up in the act, Azriel seemed to forget that she wasn't really alone in that armor. Taking advantage of the proximity, the cat sees her chance for revenge and quickly claws at Azriel's right eye, blinding him for a second. The shadows, mesmerized by the fanged beast, released her and dropped Cyan brutally to the ground. A crack echoes in one of her knees, but she doesn't wait and limps to Eris's side.

          When Azriel is left alone to fight the Death Patrol, he throws Truth Teller after Cyan, assuming the guilt of the fatal blow. But time snaps, everyone seems to move more slowly, as if they had been immersed in tar, and only he and the witch were fully functional. He sees it happen, the black, sharp blade slicing through the air, creating a subtle hum of music as it heads for Cyan's head. 

          Aoife screams, but it's muffled, miles away. She waves her arms desperately, the strings holding her in place like a puppet preventing her from moving any further. Eris tries to launch himself in her direction, ready to be struck in Cyan's place, if only his legs didn't feel so heavy, so pinned to the ground. The redhead turns her face behind and watches as Death finally comes to claim her life. Relief is written all over her complexion, she can already taste the feeling of freedom, but she notices something strange happening in the atmosphere. The Shadowsinger is certain the dagger will land right between her serene eyes, but the Truth Teller's trajectory changes millimeters away from Cyan's forehead.

          And it lands. Right. Next. To. Her. Head.

          The dagger that never misses just missed its first target. 

          Azriel's whiskey eyes widen in awe. Cyan's green ones stare back, alive and unharmed. The contact is painful, and it brings the Shadowsinger a visceral agony as he lets her escape. Even if he has time to catch them, he lets them run to their freedom, his back turned to the danger the Death Patrol brought him.

          Eris winnows them right in the middle of Thaibar where chaos was just beginning to set. Flames as high as the mountains devoured houses and people, creating such blistering air that Cyan's armor instantly started to warm, boiling her inside of it. 

          " This is... devastating. " Eris says as he regains control of his mind and flips his palms. The fire consuming two twin buildings diminishes, absorbed into the fae's body. Cyan runs to the nearest well, only to find it blocked by a bundle of wood thrown into it.

          " They cut off the water supply a few hours ago. " A woman screams, running away with her child in her arms. " Run! Before these devils set you on fire! "

           Eris turns to another set of houses and extinguishes the flames. As sweat begins to dampen his smooth cheeks, a howl of pain erupts from behind them.

          Aoife watches in despair as her home is reduced to ashes and smoldering embers. Her screams echo through the night, joined by hundreds of others. Cyan manages to catch her before she falls to the ground and holds her tight as she screams and screams, mourning the years of hard work just to get her mother the medicine she needs.

          " Mom! Mom, get out! They'll burn you alive! " At the thought of her mother being in that cottage, Aoife chokes on her screams and tries to crawl away from Cyan. " Please don't leave me! "

          " Aoife, please, it's too late. " Cyan pleades, watching the foundation already crumbling to the ground. She closes her eyes tightly, Aoife's mother smiling at her from behind her eyelids. " Her suffering is finally over. "

          " No, no, it can't be!... May the god's fury bury you alive, Draegan! May you never see the light or the green fields! May you rot and writhe in the flames below! " Aoife's curse runs through the sky lit by those horrifying flames.

          Eris dodges an attack from a simple guard and burns him alive, melting his armor around his body. " We have to leave! Even if I estinguish these flames, the arrows keep bringing it back up again. " He announces loudly, his baritone voice barely audible in this hell. His handsome features were already covered in ash, which turned black at the contact with his sweating temples. 

          " Take Aoife to the ship! " Cyan wakes up, suffocating from the hot temperature. " Don't let her come back! Under no circumstances! "

          " What about you? " Vanserra kneels beside Cyan, watching her with his black irises. " I can't leave you here. "

          His burning hot hand cups her broken cheek, and Cyan suddenly feels the need to curl up in his arms and cry. " I'll go to the farm, see if there's anything left to save, then I'll come to the ship. " As Eris's worried gaze seems not to let her go, she continues. " I swear. I'll see you in Prythian. "

          A promise. A promise made in that pit of despair. Eris hesitated, searching a trace of doubt in her red eyes. His hand snakes around the back of her neck and pulls her closer, their foreheads touching. " I'll be waiting for you, remember that. I'll give you a week, then I'll come looking for you... " And in farewell, he places those thin, warm lips on her hair, blessing her, giving her a dose of his own ambition.

          Cyan's cheeks glowed like the flames around her, and she clenches her fist around his.

          " Run! I'll buy you time! " And so he did, grabbing Aoife by the waist and concentrating all his powers to raise a wall of flame that split Thaibar in half, wasting all the fire he had absorbed.

          Cyan began to sprint, her knees aching with each step, her amor heavy upon her body, ringing like cups smashed together. She dodged the corpses that littered the stony streets of Thaibar as best she could, avoiding stepping on and desecrating every unalived human that was scarced like trash. People in flames run around her, trying to keep the fire from burning them alive. Cyan hurriedly threw a blouse she found on a corpe at someone's head, cutting off the oxygen that was feeding the fire. She began to cry as she realized there wasn't much she could do and that it was too late for anyone to survive.

          Her tears stung the cuts and bruises from her face, making it harder to avoid the burning obstacles in her path. A few guards shout in the distance, unleashing a new set of burning arrows across Thaibar. She covers her mouth with her hands and watches as the night sky lits up with thousands of arrows. Her breath gets caught in her throat, her lungs burning from all the smoke and ash she inhaled, but she doesn't care. She prays and prays as she runs up the hill that Eris and Aoife would make it safely to the ship, that Niven and Malou would take Cynthia and make it aboard as well. She prayed that Kallus at least had a quick and painless death.

          A choked sound escapes her body. From pain, from exhaustion, from grief, she didn't know. Misty escapes from under her armor and follows her. The smell of Thaibar's flames traveled even here, in the open meadows.

          But as she got closer to the farm, she realized that the smell of burning bodies and houses was no longer coming from Thaibar. It was the farm. Her home.

          " No, no, no, no. No, please God! " She wheeps and starts running again towards the huge flames that seem to be eating the farm. " Why are you doing this to me?! No, no, no... "

          Cyan was no longer warm, even though the damned armor was almost red from the flames she passed through, she was freezing cold, her teeth trembling in her dry mouth. She couldn't remember how fast she went down the hill, if she fell, if she tripped. Cyan saw red in front of her, the tension restricting the blood flow to her brain. As fast as she could, she opened all the barns and released what was left of her animals. " Niven! " She cries desperately, running to the house where she used to sleep. " Malou! Niven! Please, please answer me! Cynthia! "

         Just as she was about to enter, a huge chunk of wood blocked her way. "Fuck! " The smoke grew thicker and denser, and she could barely see anything less than two meters from her feet.

          " In here... " A muffled voice called from the kitchen and Cyan darted in that direction. 

          " Stay outside, Misty! Run if I don't come out! " Cyan warns her cat, kicking it away with her foot. The cat meows in disapproval, but remains outside, frightened by the amount of smoke coming from the door. As Cyan rushes inside, she quickly covers her mouth and nose with her glove and waves her other hand in the air. Dark fumes bombard her watery eyes, making it almost impossible to see. " Dear God... Is anyone in here? Niven! " The temperature was so high that Cyan's breath burned her throat and lungs, coughing asthmatically.

          Everything was destroyed, the flames were everywhere, the tables were overturned, the chairs were thrown and scattered everywhere. It looked like someone was fighting in here. " Nivy? Cynthia?! "

          The darkest scenarios unfold in her mind, and to her dismay, they all seem true. Cyan screams as she steps on something mushy and feels fragile bones cracking under her foot. She stumbles, mortified, and falls face first, hitting her head hard enough to see stars. Bolts of pain thunder deep inside her skull as blood spurts from her broken nose. Trying to regain her sight, a wail of distress leaves her vocal cords as she's face to face with an eyeless Cynthia, gazing at Cyan with her toothless mouth wide open. Niven's mother, beaten to a pulp and brutally disfigured. The girl writhes in horror, dragging her body backwards, bumping into a pair of hanging legs. Trembling, Cyan turns around. A body is pending from the ceiling, armless and naked from the torso up.

          Drowning in her own tears, she clings to Kallus' feet, trying to lift him up to help him breathe.

          " He's... dead. " Cyan turns, her face baked by the hot temperature inside the kitchen and throws herself on the ground, next to Niven's body. " They were all dead when I got here. "

           " No... I shouldn't... " Cyan tears drop on Niven's dirty face, still as beautfiull as the first day she met her. " I'm so sorry. I sould have gotten here faster... "

          " Don't be. There was nothing you could do. It was our destiny, our only way to wash away our sin. In the time you've been here, we've breathed through you, we've lived through you, we've seen the sun finally rise for us through you.  "

          " Get up, Niven, let's leave while we still can... "

          " Let me finish! I'm not coming anywhere - they smashed my legs from the hips to the toes. I can't feel a damned thing. They're still here, searching... I think they corrupted Shum, the Dark One poisoned his toughts. He's not my brother anymore. Maybe you can save him... " Cyan refuses her request, kissing the palm of her sister that was now carresing her face. " You are the Vespertus, you'll carry on and avenge us. Listen to me!... This was the plan all along! "

           Pain crowns her scalp as she is suddenly yanked away from Niven by her hair. A fist collapses with her left jaw, leaving Cyan nearly unconscious.

         " You are here at last, mighty Daughter... " The reptilian voice laughs out of the smoke and another blow knocks the air out of her lungs as it lands right between her ribs. " I'm tired of waiting and so is the Dark One. Your existence is like mud under my nails. Strike her again! "

          Dizzy and unable to move, she takes the next blow without protesting. Cyan doesn't remember where it landed, fortunately her face was already numb. She watches through nearly closed lids as Draegan's twisted face emerges from the hungry flames, surrounded by six more onyx guards. He looked like he thrived in this chaos, in this misery, fed by their sorrow. Like shadows, his protectors emerge from behind him, swallowed by those hungry flames and drew a circle around them.

          " Take a good look at what you and your filthy bitch have done to me! " He shouts, pushing his face into Cyan's view.

          The girl begins to shake from her joints. She couldn't see much, her face was swollen and the atmosphere was thick with smoke. She prayed that she would pass out from all the pain cursing through her body, but it didn't happen and she had to endure all this torture.

          Cyan could barely make out the left side of Draegan's face staring back at her with crazy, black pupils. Ruined was a soft word to describe it. His expression seemed paralyzed, mauled. His lips were drawn back into his mouth, revealing a few remaining teeth and black gums. Not even his eye could be saved, eaten away by a white void riddled with black arteries.

          " You gave Aoife the Night Shade. You took half of my face. " He concluded, smaking her with his ringed fingers. " So I felt free to take something of yours. "

          Cyan pulled her head away from the guard and spat in Draegan's face with the last of her strength. The guard who was holding her hair punished her and with a quick movement cut off her long strands of red hair and threw them into the fire. Cyan remained face down on the ground, watching as the man behind her removed his ink-black helmet to reveal a painfully familiar face.

         " Shum... I tought- " 

          " I lied. " Shum rasped, his boyish features now morphed by Draegan's magic into a man's. " You stole my familly. You killed them. You are no blessing. "

          " Spit all you want, but tonight your life of eternal darkness begins. " Draegan laughs, letting the spit run down his face. " The Devourer of Worlds spoke in my ear of you, of your powers, of your destiny. Your whore of a mother thought she could shield you from him by hiding you in other constellations, but now you're licking my boots. We are many, many more. Allies from across the continent, ready to end humanity, Prythian, ready to let the Destroyer finally take us into his kingdom. ''

          " Why did you betray us, Shum? " Niven asks, her voice filled with remorse directed to her brother. " You murdered our father and stepped on our family name. "

          Cyan began to crawl beside Niven, her body a mass of painful movements and bloody wounds. Draegan made a sign to keep the guard from laying hands on her again, and left her to be with her sister, enjoying the show.

           " I was tired of waiting for a miracle. We prayed to the Mother for a thousand years and she never answered. She let us disappear one by one, she let our heritage be wasted. I was done the second Cynthia lost her mind because of the visions the Mother kept sending her, driving her crazy with time. She could barely get out of the house. We welcomed hundreds of strangers into our home before this one came. We have been robbed, beaten, captured, enslaved, and your Goddess has done nothing to help us. It took a single prayer to the Dark One to be heard, and then I realized who was truly on my side. "

          " You never understood did you? It was our punishment for letting those races be wiped from history, for losing a kingdom... "

           " I don't care anymore. I am reborn under his oath, I bear his mark. "

          Mercy, Cyan tought, but swallowed her tongue when a knife was thrown in front of her swollen eyes.

          " Enough! Kill her! " Draegan ordered, watching Cyan. " My guards have taken care of you other family members. Watch as your savior, your butcher queen, puts an end to your misery, Benefactor. " Draegan smiled, still shrouded in smoke and protected by flames. " Kill her, your soul sister! "

          " Do... It. " Niven whispers, her doe eyes pleading with Cyan. " Don't let him have my life. "

           " I can't... " She whisperes back, crawling to her knees to hug her inert body. " I can't... I love you... "

          " Please... If you love me, you will kill me! " Niven cries, tears streaming down her cheeks. " He claimed my parents for the Darkness when he took their lives. Spare me and let me go to the Gardens. You are my queen, you are the Daughter, the Blade. You are my saviour. Let my life end at your hands. "

          With trembling hands, Cyan finds the dagger tossed beside her and lifts it over Niven's heart, centimeters away. Still shaking her head in disapproval, she bites her salty lips, trying to gather her courage. With blurred vision, she scanns her surroundings once more, their father hanging from the ceiling, their mother lying on the floor and her sister at her mercy, waiting for her decision. They all planned this. They all watched her in the eyes knowing that they had to die at the end and never told her. 

          " Don't mourn me, Evening Star. Don't falter... You were worth it! " Niven smiles once more as Cyan screams in despair and plunges the dagger right through Niven's beating heart.

          The texture of the blade as it sliced through layer after layer, through skin and muscle and bone, made Cyan lose all control of her body. She could be dead by now, she couldn't tell, and it didn't matter. She killed the last person she loved unconditionally. She was a murderer, a kin slayer. 

          Draegan laughs loudly behind her, the guards lift her by the arms, but Cyan is pudding in their fingers, barely recording the film before her eyes. The Mother weeps above them as the Fates cut a golden strand - Niven's life.

          Everything else comes in waves. She sees the slender boy - Shum, dressed in the onyx uniform worn by Draegan's personal guards. The king whispers in his ears, limbs of darkness now at his control, moving like smoke through Shum's mind, controlling him like a puppet.

          " You betrayed us. " Cyan manages to say before she feels something breaking inside her chest, unraveling in her body from head to toe like a refreshing mist. She must be drowning in the ocean, her vision corrupted by green sparks and flowing waves of white steam. She smells the perfume of her old house, amber and musk. Her limbs begin to sting, as if small jolts of electricity were coursing through her veins, contracting her muscles. Cyan begins to light up, a fiery green light burst from her body.

          " Stop it before she fully Passes! " Someone screams, but there is only music in her ears, harps and violins soothing her toughts.

         Blind rage can be read in Shum's black orbs as he comes up behind her, possessed by whatever power Draegan wielded. He raises a hammer above Cyan's head, but the blow misses, striking and breaking her coxal bone.

          The light becomes unbearable to the eyes, and the force of the explosion throws everyone outside the burning house. The excruciating pain sends her body into an epileptic crisis, and she feels it - the heartbreak ripping through her heart muscles, her vital systems collapse one by one, exploding inside her now twisted body, eating away at her mind, her tissues, her emotions. Fatal for a human. And as she draws her last breath, she sees a man fighting to keep everyone away from her.

          Wings ruffle as Azriel tries to shield himself from the wave, and a mix of rage and cobalt fire rises right next to the burning farm where the Shadowsinger has been fighting to keep far away the black hounds trying to steal Cyan's body. The male is covered in blood and thirsty for more, fueled by a ghostly desire of revenge. His Illyrian blade clashes with an onyx guardian's flaming sword, while Truth Teller blocks the blow of another, aiming straight for his back. His shadows snake around their legs, throwing one to the ground and suffocating him. A dark sword rises to his side, slicing through his Illyrian leather. The sting only adds to the man's rage, which burns cruelly in his chest. The shakles he's been feeling since the witch's visit ring in his ears, vibrate through his body, and in a moment of blind madness, he cuts of the guardian's head from his body by forfecating his sword and Truth Teller, leaving it to roll on the ground.

          Shocked by the mania that has taken hold of him, Azriel steps back and watches as a fleeing Draegan rides back to his castle alongside the ponytail boy. He tries to follow, but an unseen thug holds him back, calling for attention. The barn.

          The Shadowsinger rushes inside, his face covered by his mask, and counts the victims. Checking the pulse of each corpse, he lets the flames carry a prayer to the heavens. A cry for help draws his attention to the one he seeks. An animal cry. Azriel's heart sinks as he sees Cyan's limp body covered by the fire, her furry friend desperately trying to bring her back to life.

          Lifting the cat in one hand and the woman's body on his shoulder, he flies them outside, away from the danger. There's not much he can do when the cat's curls itself on the girl's chest again, crying for him to help her, pleading him with her golden eyes to save her owner. 

          " I can try, but I don't know if it will work. " Azriel explains patiently, touching and examining the cats burned hair for any damage. " Wake up... " He speaks softly, inspecting the woman's severe wounds. Her nose was broken, her face was covered in bruises and various types of blood, her own and others. He felt sorry for her and gently removed the hairs from her temples. Azriel hated her, there was no doubt about it, but seeing her so unrecognizable from the beating she had taken, he couldn't help but feel guilty as well. " I hope your soul goes where it deserves to. "

          The woman was dead. It was easy to conclude. He dragged her into his lap, along with the crying cat and prepared to take them to the Night Court.

          " I'm sorry. " Azriel whispered, caressing her features. He unsheathed his sword as a pair of hooves landed right beside him, taking him by surprise. A mare, ridden by an old woman who looked at him as if she wanted to kill him. The horse was no better, huffing and puffing and baring her healthy teeth at him. " I assume you want the girl. "

          " This is a lost battle, illyrian " The woman nodds, her breathy voice filled with superiority. " Don't strike a wounded warrior. The girl is under my protection from now on. Let us gather our strength and then you can come and fight like a true man for your possesion. Spare us today and you won't regret meeting me next time. " 

          Azriel weighed his options, feeling the woman's cunning way of making him give up. His pointed blade was aimed at the old woman, but he couldn't move fast enough with the corpse on his lap. She was wise enough to speak of the honor of the illyrian race; to strike an already wounded warrior was a disgrace.

          But how can she protect this corpse? Who does she think she is? 

          Already tired from tonight's circus, Azriel takes the easy way out and agrees as he watches the girl's face again. The only victim to escape his dagger. " I'll let her go. " He decides, lifting her body and placing her and her cat on top of the stunning mare. " But I'll come back for her. Dead or alive, she made a promise to me. "

           " We'll be waiting. " The old woman said, leaving Azriel behind.

          You let her escape the second time tonight. The mass of darkness spoke in his ear, recalling his mistake from earlier. You got distracted... the amber...

          It's not in your nature...  The brave shadow curled, smelling the strands of hair Azriel clutched in his fist, collected from the girl's body.

           " Let's hope Amren is useful for something this time. "

[kalbimeyakin]

Please don't skip. This is the story of Anaam Okasha!!

Hello, my name is Anaam Okasha, and | am the sole survivor of a catastrophic

attack that claimed the lives of my

entire family. We were a close-knit

groupmy mother, six brothers, their

wives, their children, and my uncles-

all united by a common goal: to provide

a better future for our children.

In October, our dreams were shattered

when explosive barrels rained down

upon us, leaving nothing but devastation and heart-wrenching grief.

The haunting images of my family, torn

apart in an instant, plague my every

waking moment. While the world might

see mere headlines and statistics, they

cannot fathom the true horror--the

smell of blood, the desperate cries of

my loved ones, and the overwhelming

pain that lingers.

As the world turns a blind eye, I stand

alone, grappling with the unbearable

weight of survival. This GoFundMe

page is my final lifeline. I am without a

home, without hope, and clinging to the fragile thread of existence.

If you can find it in your heart to

contribute, no matter how small, it

would mean more to me than words

can express. Your generosity will be a

beacon of light in my darkest hour. Your support is not just a donation; it is a gesture of humanity and compassion

that I desperately need.

Please, help me rebuild my life from the ashes. May God bless you for your

kindness and support during this

unimaginable ordeal.

EVERYONE PLEASE PLEASE DONATE REBLOG AND SHARE AS YOU CAN TO HELP ANAAM!!!!

THERE HAVE BEEN ONLY 46 DONATIONS SO FAR. and unfortunately the LAST DONATION WAS 4 DAYS AGO. Which means anaam has reached only 2% of his goal. Please take out a little of your time and money to help him.

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