#a young candles flame side story

[azure-blaze92]

You Can't Save Him (An AYCF One Shot)

So, this is a little something for you all since chapter 24 will not be out this month. It is currently kicking my butt with writer's block, plus I am going away to Europe for two weeks at the end of the month.

It started out as just this drawing I did yesterday because I was rereading chapter 22 of AYCF, the line where Inner Caleb tells Evelyn how Caleb replays the memory of Mr. Mansell's death, thinking he can save him somehow. When I was finished with the drawing, I felt the need to write something to accompany it, so I took the idea, expanded upon it a bit, and came up with this one-shot. It takes place between chapter 17 and chapter 18.

And not to mention, I was listening to this song while writing it, and it sort of works?

And it coincidently fits with today's Wittetober theme of regret :D

I hope you enjoy the Witteangst.

[forcefemdemonprincess]

I finished a little fantasy themed short story I've been cooking up for the last few days, with lots of corruption and forcefem kinks, if anyone wants to give it a read!

One ordinary day, I sense something reaching out to me, from the faraway depths of the material plane; the feeble presence of a summoning spell, beckoning me towards it's caster. It would be simple to ignore the call, yet as my curiosity gets the best of me, I deign to answer, following the thread of conjuration magic to it's source.

My senses take in the sight of a stone tower, a summoning circle scribed upon the very center of the floor, the candles surrounding it flickering with a faint orange flame. Beyond it there is a wooden work desk and chair, a simple bed, and walls covered in bookshelves, all with disorganized tomes and scrolls strewn about; and a large window on either side through which the starlight shines in a moonless night, curtains billowing in the breeze.

Standing before the circle stands a half-elven wizard, seeming to be in his twenties in human years - though elven blood makes it difficult to ascertain, he could be anywhere from two decades to a couple centuries old - with short brown hair and the lithe, frail frame of a scholar and a smooth face with rather comely features. He chants the summoning spell, his voice filled with uncertainty as he slowly sounds out the incantation as if the words were alien to his lips.

And they likely are. Far from an archmage of yore, the young man seems to have little more skill than a mediocre apprentice. The binding runes around the summoning circle, meant to keep the caster safe and the fiend contained, are all written incorrectly, not that it would have worked with a demon of my caliber to begin with. Even the spellbook he holds is old, certainly passed down to his hands by another, perhaps a mentor or loving relative.

The candles flicker, then go out entirely. The wizard stops his chanting and takes a step back startled, and slowly I rise from the summoning circle. I choose a relatively nonthreatening form, a scantily clad, mostly human-looking woman, save for the pink skin, curved horns, and a thin tail which ends in a heart shape. The candles light up again, their flames painting the room a bright, pink hue.

He immediately looks surprised, as if he'd never expected his spell to work to begin with, but once the shock has passed, he speaks in a shaky voice:

"I-I am the mage Theodoros! I bind you to my service, o' fiend!"

It takes great effort to stifle the urge to laugh. Not only did the fool forget to put up wards or use any binding spells to speak of - not that it would have mattered - he made the oldest beginner's mistake in the book and told a demon his name, not to mention his utter lack of confidence and authority, the wizard paints a laughable picture.

Yet, it's been so long since I've had a mortal plaything to toy with... And this one is so cute and pathetic I simply must have him. And thus, I decide to play along:

"Of course... Master," I smirk deviously. His ecstatic grin makes it clear the half-elf holds no suspiscion of my subterfuge whatsoever. His naivete is baffling, truly. "What is it you desire? Power? Knowledge of dark, forbidden spells? Or are you simply looking to fulfill your wordly lusts?"

The adorable blush of embarrassment that quickly takes over his pale cheeks at the mere suggestion of sex is almost enough to make this worth it already. Virgins are especially fun to break.

"Uh, the spells and power, yes." He calms himself with deep breaths. "I want to become a powerful archmage."

"And you decided to take a shortcut, did you? Very intelligent. Why slave away over dusty old tomes if you can drink directly from the fountain."

He smiles wide at but a few honeyed words. "Exactly! You get it. Well then... Go ahead and uhm, make me stronger. With your demon magic and all."

"Gladly. Could you give me your hand, for but a moment?"

"What? Hells no, I'm not letting a demon touch me, that sounds far too dangerous!" Oh, now he's thinking about risks and consequences. I almost roll my eyes.

I pout. "Come now, it's only through contact that I could lend you my power. Besides! I'm bound to your service, remember? I couldn't harm you if I wanted to."

"Oh... That's true. Alright, do it." He extends his hand, as if for a handshake. I grasp it tightly, and pull him closer into the summoning circle, nearly making him trip, and bring his hand to my lips. They sear with infernal flames, branding a lipstick mark into the flesh of the back of his hand despite how he whimpers and uselessly tries to pull it away.

Before he can issue any further complaint, the blissful heat and raw strength of my demonic mana flows into his being, making him gasp, his eyes momentarily flashing a bright pink hue and his dick becoming painfully hard, his size... Unremarkable. Slightly below average, perhaps.

"I... I thought you said you couldn't harm me." Theodoros says, out of breath.

"Oh, don't be such a baby... A little bit of pain is no harm at all. Quite the opposite, in fact! Don't you feel it?"

"I feel... Hot?" He raises his hands, the tip of his fingers shimmering, brimming with arcane might.

"Go on, try it out!" I grin.

He walks over to a large window that leads to a balcony, trembling with anticipation. He extends his hands, and an unending torrent of fuchsia colored hellfire, hot enough to melt steel, erupts up into the air. He laughs maniacally, drunk with the power and the demonic magic seeping into his body and mind from the infernal brand on his hand. The lustful magic overtakes him, and his concentration in the spell is broken as he orgasms on the spot.

"Hah... I only ever managed to make sparks and light candles before. This is incredible!" He says, with a giddy smile and an unfocused gaze.

"And it's only the beginning," I reply with a smirk as he walks back to me.

"What more can you teach me?" He asks excitedly.

"Oh, plenty. You can manipulate hellfire, bend minds, change into whatever shape you like... And that's not even mentioning the libraries worth of knowledge I've accrued over the years."

"That's... Fucking hells, that's everything I wanted and more." His chest heaves up and down, the adrenaline not going down in the slightest... Nor does his raging arousal. "Can you... Do something about this?" He asks, pointing to the tent in his robes, which refuses to go down despite him already having finished once.

"Oh, plenty! Why don't you come over here and let me show you?"

"I meant more... Just make it stop? With magic or something? It's driving me mad!"

"It's a side effect of demonic magic. I can't make it go away... But I can help relieve you of it in a more direct, and much more pleasurable manner." I say, sliding aside the strap that holds my upper garments to my shoulder, revealing one of my beautifully shaped breasts, while pumping more arousal through his brand. "Just let me out of this summoming circle and I'll show you," I say, dropping the other strap to let my chest bare in it's entorety for his viewing pleasure. I could step out of the circle any time I wanted, but it's far more delicious to make him submit willingly to my whims.

"Hhrn... Alright, fine!" He walks over and rubs his sole on the chalk circle, opening a passage. I step through and put my hand on his chest, giving him a slight push against the wall before pressing my lips to his, forcing a delicious throaty moan out of him as I press my body into him.

My longue, forked tongues explores his mouth, swirling around his in a long, sloppy kiss, grabbing onto his ass roughly enough go make him squeal again. He eventually pushes me off to gasp for air, a strand of saliva lewdly connecting our mouths.

"Mo... More..." He pleads in a breathy voice. "I want to fuck you." He nearly growls, consumed with lust.

"As you wish," I say with a grin, and touch his forehead. With a flash of light the mage is teleported onto the bed, his clothes dropping onto the floor where he stood.

I slowly walks towards the bed, taking off the rest of my garments, making him writhe with anticipation as my curvy, hourglass shaped frame comes into view. I run my hand along my smooth pink skin as I get on the bed, getting between his legs.

He bites his thick, luscious lips as I lick his length from shaft to tip, nearly shooting his load then and there, before I hold it down with a bit of magic. Not yet.

I take his tip in my mouth, wrapping my lips tightly around it and swirling my tongue, feeling the cutie wizard get all wet for me with his pre. I suck aggressively hard, making him moan and twitch and give pathetic little bucks of his hips into my mouth as it envelops his unimpressive member completely.

I make him ride on that very edge of release for countless minutes each stretching on to feel like hour, watching him melt and turn into a writhing, mewling mess, trying everything, from thrusting his hips, to grabbing my horns to try and push me away, all to no avail, until he's barely forming coherent sentences, begging and pleading with tears in his eyes.

When I suddenly pull it out of my lips and release the spell, letting him drench himself in his seed in a mind-numbing orgasm that goes on and on endlessly, the wizard's wjole body shaking and spasming, howling moans escaping his throat.

Each spurt of his seed, that becomes increasingly thin and watery the longer his peak goes on, drains his already somewhat petite member slowly of it's size. When it subdues at last, he's lost about half of it, and with it, you can clearly see how his body and face have gotten softer, his hips wider, waist slimmer, and nipples puffier as his chest begins to form into breasts. His irises begin to glow with that unnatural pink glow from before, and two small pointy protrusions begin to subtly grow along the sides of his head.

Theodoros is, however, too much of a giggly, horny mess at this point to notice, let alone care. "His" eyes half-lidded and a giddy, drooling grin rests on the "man's" lips, nary a coherent thought in the mage's mind... Yet that diminutive dick remains hard, hips bucking needily. Theo's eyes find mine with a pleading look, and the slut manages to speak, in a moany voice:

"Ple... Please..."

I smirk wide, straddling the weak-willed wizard, and letting their now diminutive dick enter me. The pleasure of having it in me as I start riding it is negligible, but the delight and satisfaction of watching this pretty little thing unravel under my will more than makes up for it.

I bounce on it, roughly, wrapping my hand around the wizard's throat as they look into my eyes, pinned under my body as I fuck their brains out, riding their cock until they're chaining one orgasm right into another without stop.

This time, there's no spell to make their dicklet hold back. They cum over and over and over again, shallow spurts of weak, watery seed shooting again and again inside me as I quickly drain away their virility and the rest of their size until there's nearly nothing left anymore of the wizard's dick.

Their last spurt comes with great difficulty, painfully making them writhe and yielp until they shoot out a tiny, pretty little gemstone, brimming with life. Theodoros cums her soul out, and with it goes the rest of her masculinity and self, sealing her transformation into a lesser demon, with a cute, lithe frame, a pair of small horns on her head, a tail, with a heart shaped tip, and pink eyes with slitted pupils.

In a moment, a large demonic cock forms onto my crotch, and Theo instinctively spreads her legs, presenting a smooth, bare crotch. I press my tip between her legs and push, her body yielding to my will and my cock, shapeshifting her pussy and womb into existence to better serve my needs.

"Good girl. You'vrle yielded your soul to me, and now... You're bound into my service, eternally. From now on, I rename you... Theodora. And you may adress me as mistress, Thea."

"Yes... Mistress." Her mind seems to object momentarily to the idea, but the thought is quickly discarded. Whilst holding her soul, Thea's mind is as malleable as her body. The fledgling demoness can't even will herself to want to resist. The very thought brings her pain... And obedience brings bliss.

"That's my good girl... You and I are going to have a lot of fun."

[cvlutos]

OUR FAIRYTALE ENDING

✡︎ May.09.2023 | 2.3K| Commissioned by @starstruckcaptain

✡︎ Yandere! Kalim A. | Fem!Reader

✡︎ Yandere | Angst | Kidnapping | Stalking | Obsession | Lovesick | Different POVs | Timeskips | Noncon | Smut | Blood | Manipulation | Etc | Proceed with Caution, My Love.

✡︎ Synopsis: It started with a simple fairy tale, the devolved into a obbesassion, the became an illness. One that has no true cure.

| One | Two | Three | Four | Five |

“A true love kiss that seals is binding. Ties to lovers together. No matter the odds.”

— Childhood Fairy Tale

The thick pages of the large hard-covered book are heavy in his small hands, placed heavily in his lap, as his wide garnet red eyes dart quickly across the old, yellowed pages, reading the old fading ink. He hears the gentle rustling of wind that dances through wooden wind chimes, creating gentle clattering as he focuses on the pages. Lips a gap in utter awe with the old fairy tale.

The young heir is tucked away in a dimly lit corner of the ancient library, sitting crisscross beneath a dust-covered wooden desk, using a long wax candle, placed upon a golden hand-held candlestick, using the gentle orange flame to light the small corner of where he sat and give him the ability to see. Still dressed in his silk pajamas and barefoot as he sits upon the plush velvet cushion, one that he dragged from his bedroom with the help of his faithful servant and closest friend, Jamil Viper, who has currently disappeared somewhere in the library, though Kalim, knows he’s always near.

He always is.

Yet that isn't what the young heir cares for, not at this moment. He wants to fall in love like the prince in his story does. Who is so kind and sweet, who gives to the poor, who sees the good in everyone. The prince in his tale showers his love in gold and jewels, and dances within sunlit days and cool moonlit nights away. Who holds them close and seals their love with a kiss. Yes, this is what he desires more than anything.

To get married to his own love. To his princess.

══════ •✦• ════════════ •✦• ══════

“Shall I have you for all my own! Yes, I shall slay dragons, fight demons, and save you for all you are! Because I love you! And what is stronger than love?"

— Childhood Fairy Tale

“Do you think soulmates exist?”

Kalim walks along the towered wall, arms outstretched as he balances, placing one foot in front of the other, with Jamil by his side, holding the young heir’s belongings as they walk around the large vibrant courtyard, wasting time before Kalim's next school lesson, which is history. One of Kalim's least favorite, since the tutor is quite rude.

The large grassy courtyard is filled with unique plants--ranging from distant flowers, that fill the air with a rich fragrant aroma, and lush green bushes that hid colorful berries, to elegant and giving fruit trees, that Kalim occasionally takes from, filling his stomach with fresh oranges and plums.

“I don't see why they don't exist.” Jamil’s answer is simple, honest—like he hadn't bothered to think about it more than a mere moment, allowing Kalim to indulge in his fantasies, while he focused on making sure Kalim didn't topple off the stone wall and hurt himself. Which he knows Kalim wouldn't care about, wanting to immediately visit the palace doctor, desiring to be spoiled and given a handful of sweet candy for listening so well. Obviously trying to avoid the stern history tutor. While Jamil knows the doctor will send him to be scolded by his parents for being so careless about the young successor's health.

Which is something Jamil would rather avoid.

Charcoal grey eyes occasionally glance over, watching the heir’s feet skip and balance on the wall, occasionally wobbling, which nearly gave the young retainer a heart attack.

“I wonder where my soulmate is! She just has to be thinking about me!”

Not paying attention to Jamil's clear nervousness and annoyance with constantly having to divide his attention, Kalim continues hopping and bounding along the old wall carelessly. White hair shifting in the mild breeze as the loose clothing he wore sways and is pulled by the wind. Earning a delighted laugh from the young successor follows the wind’s pull, carelessly falling off the wall in one fluid motion. Jamil’s face pales as he rushes to the other side, jumping over the fence, still carrying the heavy school bag. Watching Kalim lay on his back, unphased as he lands in plush grass. Staring up at the bright blue sky, arms spread out gaily.

“And when we met Jamil! I'll give her the sweetest kiss! Then we’ll get married!”

Jamil bites his tongue and merely nods in return, gently placing the bag on the ground, taking the moment to sit in the shade of the stone wall, listening to Kalim laugh away. Letting the young heir to the Asim Family have his daydreams. Cause eventually, he will be saddled with reality, a harsh reality.

Even Kalim Al-Asim is not untouchable to the world of arranged marriages.

══════ •✦• ════════════ •✦• ══════

“Even in your faults of delusion. I shall cherish you—clear your mind of horrors and love you eternally.”

— Childhood Fairy Tale

The pen scratches along the paper, held by a shaky hand that moves across the page, quickly and frantically. Barely aware of what he writes, but knowing he has to write down what he remembers of his dream. A dream so vivid that it seemed real—that it was real. His milky white hair was in complete disarray, with drool decorating the side of his lips, and sweat coating his skin. The cool desert air does little to cool him, as the windows remain open, giving a clear view of the bright full moon that barely illuminates his pages. He can barely see, barely make out the words he writes messily, still in a half-sleep daze, but he needs to remember.

It’s late in the night, and he's awake before either Jamil or any of the other numerous servants checked on him, eager to serve every whim and need. While only the two guards were stationed outside his door possibly awake, but quite unaware of the quiet rambles of the heir, who drew a messy portrait of the woman in his dream. He sits upon the plushness of his bed, with a leather-bound journal in his lap, filled with other dreams of this same woman and stories that were written poorly but stories he adores that speak of you and him.

You have filled his life unlike any other.

Kalim dreamed of a pretty woman with pretty eyes. A woman that loved him, that desired him, heart and soul. That threw herself into his arms and held him so desperately. Cupping his face and whispering over and over and over how much she loved him. How she'd wait forever and ever and ever for him. Those dreams would matter less once they met.

The brain is a cruel thing.

══════ •✦• ════════════ •✦• ══════

“If you do not love me, then I accept that your feelings are your own. But I cannot deny mine, my pure feelings of want! I will love you. Forever.”

— Childhood Fairy Tale

There’s slight worry in his ways, a slight obsession that fills Kalim, as he turns woman after woman away, only holding eyes for one and giving no other a chance. Holding out for the woman he loves and loves him in return.

Still, kindness is etched into his being, rejecting each in utter honesty, speaking of why he cannot love them. Each woman leaves with nothing but understanding, that leaves with the feeling of rejection... Dull.

Leaves each to hope and to find love in one who's as devoted as he, as Kalim speaks of nothing but his true love. As his presence alone emits such devotion and passion with great fervor that you would think that his love was real.

That all he speaks was truth. That this mysterious woman was real—and she is. To him.

Jamil is the only one aware of the truth, the only one aware that Kalim lives within his own lies—within his own delusions.

Yet he keeps such thoughts to himself.

Allowing the young heir to ramble on and on, to speak endlessly about his beautiful, enchanting lover, to show sketch after sketch and mourn that he could never recreate her beauty, but once he found her, he would know immediately. Jamil says nothing, merely sits, and watches Kalim flip through his journal, page after page filled with nothing but her, her, her.

A Her without a name.

══════ •✦• ════════════ •✦• ══════

Night Raven College does nothing to curve his growing obsession. To stomp out this flame that burns and festers within his chest.

"I had another dream."

Jamil tries to keep his placated look, only sharing a brief look behind him, watching garnet eyes look utterly lovesick. Remembering not of his outbursts that follow after he awakes from his dreams—dreams that have Kalim waking up screaming—sobbing his eyes out in pain as if he was being stabbed and ripped apart. Screams that frighten the other dormmates, as their housewarden wakes up covered in sweat, tossing off his blankets and pillows in mass hysteria. While others desperately call and usher Jamil into the room. Who forces the others out as he holds Kalim onto the large bed, forcing his body to go limp from exhaustion. Sobs turning into faint mumbles, silently wailing about how badly he needs them, how he could die from the simple pain of being far from them, and how fate keeps them apart.

"It hurts," he cries, it hurts that he can't be with his love. Eyes fluttering close. After so many years, it's so painful to dream. Nights that force Jamil to remain by his side, forced to console his "friend" who doesn't want kind words but merely wants her.

And in the mornings, it is no better.

With Jamil ushered his heir awake, gently shaking his shoulders, waiting for Kalim to open his eyes—to open his eyes to the waking world. Only for him to throw tantrums, sobbing and begging for Jamil to let him go back. To let him her. "Please, let me see her. Please", Kalim sobs, body limp as Jamil practically drags him from bed.

Kalim wants to spend his days in his fantasy only.

His retainer does well to avoid the topics of love and dreaming, doing well to keep Kalim, for the most occupied with anything else. Leaving no time for Kalim to think about her--you--for a moment.

Yet sometimes this obsession seeps through the cracks. Slipping past the several walls Jamil has built to keep him sane.

Kalim's voice is a whisper amongst the sea of people, walking side by side with Jamil, who carries his and the heir's bag with a tepid look, more focused on navigating through the many students and not be late to their next class. Wanting Kalim to do anything but speak about you.

Kalim doesn't notice his friend's disinterest, used to Jamil's silent air, and far too deep in his mind, far too in love with the idea he has built.

He continues talking.

“But this time it wasn't in the courtyard, but the school gardens.” There’s an optimistic tone in his voice, one that makes Jamil sick. He says nothing, as Kalim walks with a certain breeze in his step as he moves, unconcerned by the weird glances he got as the two glid through the crowd, a delighted smile upon his face. Jamil gives a short hum, letting Kalim know he was somewhat listening, which Kalim believed was highly important. Jamil had to listen, and he had to absolutely like his lover, and care for her as his retainer cares for him.

Which is something Jamil has heard numerous times, from long-time friends to distant guests he was sure that Kalim would never see again. And under any other circumstances, Jamil would give a blunt ‘Absolutely. A friend of yours is a dear friend of mine’, with a deep bow, while easily lying through his teeth with a faux sweet tone, something that Kalim would believe without any worry.

Yet this time, Kalim was serious.

Garnet eyes were unmoving, and lips pressed together, sitting more poised like a ruler--like a king that deserved respect. Kalim was not asking, nor making a random comment nor gesture of goodwill. He was demanding that Jamil swear it--swear upon his oath that he made to Kalim since the day he was born. To vow that he would care for his love.

Forcing Jamil to not see him as an overly innocent man who was hopelessly in love, but as the next heir of the Al-Asim Family who had found his future bride. He, whose word is absolute. And Jamil did, pressing his forehead to the cold marble ground, swearing upon his life to care for her. And after a moment, Kalim was satisfied, returning back to his carefree self a moment later.

“Jamil… She said she was here. Waiting for me to find her.”

Kalim stops, the halls clearing slowly. His gaze stares out into the school courtyard below, standing silently in the open stone halls, wind rustling through his hair as he gathers his thoughts before the large open windows. His hand clutches the ends of his shirt with nothing but a grin.

A chill runs along Jamil’s spine, staring at Kalim with unrevealing eyes, lips pressed together as he gives a firm nod. Inching to move as he watches garnet eyes fill with something unlike him while searching his retainer’s before frowning.

“You don't seem happy—”

“I am.” Jamil’s words are quick, watching the dark look unfamiliar look disappear quickly, his smile automatically returns. Unable to hide his happiness nor remain still, he practically lunges onto his closest friend with a tight hug, squeezing tightly.

“You’ll help me find her…” Kalim speaks, but he follows with a gentle sigh and a headshake, “I know you will.” It’s a command. One that isn't forceful, nor threatening, but an expectation.

Jamil is his servant after all.

“Of course, I will.”

ⓒ 2023 cvlutos — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited.

[redrobin-detective]

Recent ATLA Fics I’ve Read

What is says on the tin, stories that I’ve read over the last month that I loved and wanted to share. Some of them are new, some old, some popular, some not but I’ve enjoyed them all and want to recommend them. As a heads up they’re either gen or Zukka.

In the Soft Light by CHSfic and VSfic

As the newly appointed cultural liaison to Northern Water Tribe, Zuko is the first Fire Nation Citizen to step foot inside the city's walls in nearly a century. He's determined to prove himself—to the Fire Lord and to his father—even if the Water Tribe's spirit-touched prince seems to want nothing to do with him. Moon Spirit Sokka, Zukka and Katara/Yue.

Healing Balm by burglar_bird

"Prince Zuko," Iroh began, but the prince wasn't having it. He stormed away and before he knew it he was in his quarters, flinging sparks from his fingers and hissing steam. When that passed, he aggressively lit his meditation candles and tried to calm down. It was difficult because unlike combat meditation came easily, which added insult to injury. Gentle flames licked the air and formed in his palms as well. They were warm and soothing, unlike how fire was supposed to be. Instead of stinging his skin with small burns, the flames numbed the scraps on his palms and the aches in his joints. He knew that by the time his meditation ended he would feel invigorated and new.

His heart burned with shame; no wonder father had discarded him. There was no greater disgrace than having a son who was a healer.

Zuko’s Evil Eye by exectutivedoughnut

Zuko is given a new chore to perform, which he does - to the best of his abilities. But just because he’s losing a fight with a needle doesn’t mean he’s blind (or at least, not blind-blind).

The Good Vanilla by Haircrescendo

Sokka’s beautiful friendship with Zuko doesn’t start with breaking Dad out of jail. That’s just what he tells people.Sokka’s beautiful friendship with Zuko started the day he realizes that he knows how to cook.Feat. breakup cake, an attempted assassination, and eating out of the pan like dirty heathens. Zukka

Blue by blacklipscurse

Iroh insists they create a new life and identity in Ba Sing Se. Zuko wants nothing more than to bide his time until his next opportunity to return home, until he realizes ‘Lee’ can get away with things Zuko never could. Zuko dons the mantle of the Blue Spirit again only to lose his focus when the Avatar comes to the city. This time, however, his attention is drawn to the annoying Southern Tribe warrior. Zukka.

WitchofEndor literally everything by them.

I’m obsessed with While Mighty Oaks Do Fall  and have read it no less than 3 times.

High Sage Kenji blesses Fire Prince Zuko with the resilience of the reed, who bends in the wind and never breaks. When he is done, Fire Prince Ozai narrows his eyes, seemingly displeased by this blessing. But Kenji does not speak for himself; he is only a vessel. 

The newly-crowned Fire Lord Ozai offers his firstborn son to service in the temple. This turns out to be a catastrophic mistake.

But also Life in Eden 

Her daughter is five years old when Ursa realises what she and Ozai have been doing to their children. By each choosing one to bestow with their approval, they’re pitting them against one another. Perhaps Ozai is doing it on purpose, but Ursa isn’t. She resolves to heal the damage she has done. In which Ursa tries to be a better parent to Azula, and it doesn’t change very much. And then, quite abruptly, it changes everything.

where the stars do not take sides

When Azula is nine, she becomes an only child. She hears the Fire Lord call for Zuko's life, and in the morning, her mother and brother are gone. Azula may be young, but she isn't naive. She knows what happened to them.

Which makes it all the more surprising when Azula tracks the Avatar down and fights his group of peasant friends, only to find herself staring into an eerily familiar face.

The Sweetheart Swindle

In which Zuko’s advisors won’t stop harassing him about suitable candidates for Fire Lady, and Zuko’s friends hatch an ingenious plan: pretend courtships.

illustrate the remnants of the life I used to live

Zuko's soul marks have been regularly burned away since before he knew what they meant. He knows that he cannot be loyal to his father and his nation while also being loyal to a soul family, so he doesn't look for them. Unfortunately, that means that he doesn't know when he's found them. 

The Family You Choose by TunaFishChris

Some people are born with soulmarks. Zuko has them, but his grandfather burned them off because they "make you weak."

Team Avatar has a few things to say about that.

Roll of Thunder, Hear my Cry by orphan_account

(“You’re not sleeping,” Mai says softly. “How’d you know?” Zuko asks.

To be honest, he’s kind of gotten to the point where he’s surprised that anyone can perceive him outside of his necessary functions- he exists solely to sit in council meetings and shoulder the blame for genocides and famines and the suffering of one-hundred years. Doesn’t he?)

The war is over, but the fallout is just beginning. And where lightning strikes, thunder is bound to follow.

Divergence of Destiny by Fernandidily_yo

This is his life now, here on this ship, serving tea with Uncle and the crew. Traveling the world and staying far, far away from the ongoing war.

The Jasmine Dragon is Zuko's home.

Meeting the Avatar does not change that.

It changes absolutely nothing.

  (Until, inevitably, it does.)

this love burns so yellow (becoming orange and in it’s time, exploding) by meliebee

Ten months after Zuko is crowned at seventeen, he faces his first coup. 

With Agni on Our Side by fanficreader5

After the fateful Agni Kai, instead of sending him off on a ship, Fire Lord Ozai decided to remove his son's title and relegate him to being part of the Palace staff.

Zuko's pretty sure he's going to go back to being Crown Prince any day now.

Just a few more days.

And then the Avatar and his companions are captured.

What We’re Given series by Haircresendo

Started out as a “What would happen if Zuko happened to rediscover sky bison while searching for the Avatar?” and turned into something more than that

[macolethings]

CLEXTOBER24!

The Scare - Six year old Lexa dresses up as a werewolf for Halloween to scare another Trikru kid that wronged her.

(Note, this story has spoilers if you haven't read through Chapter 5 of Sonraun Rein Kiken (A Life Worth Living) - Link here)

This idea came from a comment on my story. If there are other things you'd like to read about from any of the characters' pasts, or see in the future, feel free to share! Who knows, it may get added into the story, or be the reason for another snippet/one-shot.

Read below or on AO3 - here. Enjoy!

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The evening was cool and crisp when Lexa snuck out of the house to head into the forest. It wasn’t uncommon for her parents to let her explore the woods around their house during the day, even alone; after nightfall might be a different story, hence her need to sneak out.

Her skinny, six-year-old limbs did little to keep her body warm against the fall weather that had arrived a couple weeks ago. Not that she was worried about the cold. Soon she would be bundled up in a mix of tattered clothes that would surely keep her toasty. She also carried a water skin filled with a warm spiced tea, just in case.

Lexa had spent hours in the woods. Her nontu (father), Abe, taught her how to choose the best tree trunks for carving and building materials. Her nomon (mother), Ellyn, often requested her help in foraging for the best mushroom, berries, and roots, as well as hunting the small game that lived nearby. But her favorite times were playing in them with her older brother, Lincoln. Needless to say, she knew these woods like the back of her hand.

Lincoln, having recently reached his tenth summer, was given permission to venture out further into the world. With this new freedom, he and his friends had chosen tonight to explore an old, supposedly haunted, field from a war fought hundreds of years ago; for tonight was what the old world had called Halloween.

Halloween was viewed by Lexa’s people in a few different ways. Some feared the night, believing that spirits of dead ones could come back to the Earth to haunt those still living. Others thought it nonsense that such things could happen and believed it was purely an excuse for children to dress up and go to neighbors’ houses asking for sweets. The remaining ones gave it little to no thought.

Lexa fell somewhere in between thinking the whole thing nonsense, especially about old spirits, but also believing it would have been fun to dress up as something for a night. So, she decided that this Halloween, she would do just that.

For days she had debated on what she wanted to become. A princess didn’t fit her personality, and because she was a nightblood she had no desire to be a knight. She thought about being an animal, but none seemed to bring that idea of “fun” to mind.

Then, one night, snuggled into her nomon’s side on the couch, they read a story about a boy who became a werewolf and used his ability to scare the bullies of his school. An idea popped into her head so fast she nearly knocked the book out of her nomon’s hands and into the nearby candle flame.

Lexa would dress up as a werewolf and use the costume to scare her brother in retaliation for not allowing her to go with him and his friends on their day trip they were planning; the trip to the haunted fields she had begged him to let her go on with them. He had laughed and refused, saying she was too young and would scare too easily. Well, she would see who was easily frightened.

Keeping to the shadows in order to not get caught, Lexa finally reached the shed near their garden. Tucked behind some bags of chicken feed, she pulled one out that she had emptied days ago and filled with her costume.

Every day for the past week, after her chores were done, she would take to her favorite place in the woods to work on her costume. She started with the wolf mask, believing it the most important part of the whole thing. Her nontu had taught her how to carve wood, knowing the importance of such a skill if she were to ever get lost or abandoned in the woods, especially if she were to become Heda one day.

Lexa was proud of what she had whittled. The snout was hollowed out to fit her own nose, allowing her to breathe easily, and had two small holes on the side so she could secure it to her face. She even added a couple teeth to it, though the left side only had one instead of the two she’d planned after the knife slipped and cut into her hand. She flinched and dropped the snout on a rock, breaking one of the teeth off.

There was one good thing to come from her accident, though. Her black blood was the perfect way to paint the tip of the nose black. Dipping her finger into the trail of blood that dripped down her arm, she brushed the liquid where the nose was.

To cover her head, and appear more animal-like, she used an old, hooded shirt and glued a brown, somewhat bushy, moss onto it. From far away, and in the dark, it would easily pass as fur.

The last part of her costume was pieces of tattered, black, and brown clothes they normally used in the chicken coop to help keep the animals warm. Lexa had taken a few of the pieces that had only been there a day or two, meaning the horrendous stench had yet to really seep into the material. The rags made her look larger than her usual scrawny frame.

While in the shed, Lexa put everything on but the mask, including some “hairy” gloves covered with the same brown moss she used on the hood, and walked into the woods close to their home. Lincoln and his friends left earlier in the day but were to be back before midnight. Based on where the other children lived, and the direction they traveled, Lincoln would be the last one to get home.

Effortlessly climbing up into the tree she had scouted yesterday, she nestled down for the wait. Based on the placement of the moon, she wouldn’t have to wait long.

As she sat, she thought about her future. Soon, Lexa would be taken to Polis to begin her training as a novitiate. There was even a chance she would become Heda.

Her parents had worked hard to make sure Lexa was being trained daily, mostly using unconventional methods. She had learned the basics of how to survive alone in the forest during the two- and three-day tracks through the woods with her nontu. Her nomon had begun teaching Lexa to read and write earlier than was normal, knowing the ability to obtain and share knowledge would greatly benefit her. And daily sparring sessions with Lincoln, led by one of her parents of course, had taught Lexa how to protect herself.

Lost in her thoughts, it took the snap of a twig to bring her back to the present. Narrowing her eyes, she noticed the familiar figure of Lincoln, traipsing down the path. With practiced ease Lexa donned her wolf snout and brought the hood up over her head.

Lincoln's feet shuffled along the dirt trail, kicking small rocks as he mozied towards their home. Ever so quiet, Lexa moved into a squatting position and readied herself to jump out of the tree. Her goal was to land in front of him, so she could see the horror on his face, but also out of reach of any flying limbs he would use to protect himself.

 “Eight feet,” she thought to herself.

 “Seven. Steady.” She breathed.

 “Wait for it.”

She leapt out of the tree with unnatural grace considering all the clothes she had on, and roared as loud as her little lungs could.

Lincoln would forever deny the high-pitched screeching sound that passed by his lips that night, as he covered the sides of his head with his hands and sunk in on himself, doing as his father had taught them and protecting his vital organs.

Lexa wanted to keep it going, but she immediately burst out laughing at her older brother. Hunched over, trying to breathe through the giggling, she almost missed the realization spreading on Lincoln’s face as he took in his surroundings. He looked down towards his crotch, now darkened slightly from when he pissed his pants at the fear of being attacked by a bear. 

“You!” he growled, his hands clenched into fists.

“Now who scares too easily,” Lexa taunted. Throwing Lincoln’s words back into his face.

Lincoln’s eyes narrowed. “How could you!” he yelled, as he straightened himself upright; adrenaline coursing through his body. “You’re so going to pay for this.”

Lexa hadn’t planned for this part of the evening. She had planned to scare him, maybe have him run away. But the screech had her bowled over laughing, easily giving her away.

As he started towards her, she turned around and took over running back towards their house. Lexa was quick for her age, but Lincoln was taller and stronger. If she wasn’t bogged down with excessive clothing, she would have taken to the trees. The Trikru were known for their comfort and ease within the trees, and Lexa was no exception. In fact, her small stature allowed her to climb higher than others, and to use branches others couldn’t to jump from tree to tree. 

But she couldn’t waste time stripping everything off, so continued to run; the clothes slowed her down significantly. Her lungs gasped for air, and her legs were on fire as she tried to get away.

He caught up to her right outside the front of their cottage. The only light in the house was the soft glow coming from the living room where the fire would be lit. This meant that her parents were most likely still awake. The oil lamp that hung from the front door also still hung from its hook. Lexa hoped it meant that her parents had not realized that she wasn’t in bed, where she definitely should have been at this hour, and took off to look for her.

Panic started to set in as her only two options came to mind. If she ran into the house, she would reveal to her parents she wasn’t in bed. If she stayed outside, she was at her brother’s mercy. Lexa didn’t know which would be worse; angry parents or angry brother.

Then a thought occurred to her. Maybe she could negotiate with her brother. Take on his chores for a week. Or trade one of her books for drawing equipment he wanted. Anything that would keep her out of trouble.

She turned around to reason with him, when he slammed himself into her, tackling her to the ground.

Lexa’s training kicked in. She managed to turn in his arms just enough to land on her shoulder instead of her back. If the wind was knocked out of her, she would have no chance at winning the fight. 

Still caught underneath Lincoln, she twisted her waist and spine by shifting her hips. The movement lifted him just enough to give her room to rotate on the leg closest to the ground, throw her other leg up and over, and bring herself on top of his chest. It was a move she had recently perfected, her nontu continuously reminding her how important it was since she was small and could easily be strong armed onto the ground.

If they were sparring, Lexa would know exactly what to do to get Lincoln to yield. The fury she saw in his eyes though, revealed how angry he was, and angry people were unpredictable. She wasn’t even sure he would yield after the fright she had given him. 

Her thoughts drifted too long, and strong arms forced her backwards with a push. Next thing she knew, fists started to wildly rain down on her. The extra clothing she wore slightly softened the blows.  Pulling in her arms to protect her midsection, Lexa  started to kick, catching him on a tender spot of his thigh. The grunted “oomph” informing her she landed her mark. 

That seemed to anger him more. Try as she might, she couldn’t get an upper hand on him, and for the first time ever fighting Lincoln, she was afraid he might truly hurt her.

“Lincoln, stop.” Lexa called out. 

His anger slowed him from stopping as quickly as he should. Instead he worked to put her in a final hold.

“I yield!” she yelled, still trying to buck him off. 

He pulled back instantly, his arms still holding hers down on the ground by her wrists. She could see the hurt and embarrassment now in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Linc. I only meant it as a tease.”

Lincoln didn’t have a chance to respond. They heard the front door fly open, followed by a voice they both feared. 

“Spirits! Both of you!!” Their  nomon   stalked towards the two still laying on the ground, frozen. “Lincoln kom Trikru, off! Alexandria kom Trikru… I have no words!”

Lincoln rolled off Lexa and lowered his hand to help her up. 

“I have no idea what is going on, but I can tell you right now that you both are going to pay dearly unless there is a very compelling reason why you are out of bed so late at night," she pointed at Lexa, "and why you," she turned to Lincoln, "have taken it upon yourself to fight her."

Both ducked their heads. 

"Well?" Ellyn prodded, her eyebrows rising so high they almost disappeared into her hairline. 

Lexa and Lincoln looked at each other, a silent conversation between the two. Even when mad at one another, they always had each other's backs when a third party was involved, especially if that third person was their  nomon. A couple quick nods affirmed that nothing would be revealed by their lips. Turning back to their nomon  , they both squared their shoulders, ready for the punishment. 

Ellyn looked back and forth between the two, eyes narrowing. 

"I see," she said pointedly, knowing she would hear no reasoning from either of them. "Thick as thieves." She shook her head, but internally smiled at the bond her children shared. 

"I'm not sure what happened," she continued, "but you will both be punished for what I have witnessed. Since you are both so loyal, your punishment will be shared. You will both have chicken coop duties for the next two weeks." They groaned. 

"And," their nontu chimed in from the doorway, "you will take over my offer to chop wood for Glidea and old man Diksen for the winter." 

They both nodded their heads. 

"Nami (Understood)?" their mother asked firmly. 

"Sha, nomon.” they replied. 

"Now. Inside. Both of you." she demanded. 

The two walked into the warmth of the house, but Lexa didn't make it very far before her nomon stopped her. 

"Alexandria, you smell like chicken shit. Outside, and clean up before you come back into my house."

She hung her head as she sulked back outside, knowing the water would be freezing. But smiled slightly as she realized it had all been worth it. 

[becauseplot]

Thinking about what would happen if Chayanne died. Thinking about how q!Phil promised he would burn the server to the ground. Thinking about how q!Phil would want to raze the island until the earth itself felt a fucking fraction of the pain tearing through his heart, until the flames just narrowly held a candle to the fury burning in his veins.

Thinking about little hands, soft hands, trembling hands, curling into the hem of his haori and clinging to his side. Thinking about Tallulah doing everything in her power to keep him grounded, to keep him here.

It's a lot to ask of such a young girl, especially one who is grieving the same death as him. But, she knows her abuelito better than he thinks she does. She knows from his bedtime stories of his solitary travels, from his aversion to crowds, from his isolated, wall-top home that he is lonesome by nature. She knows from his ruthlessness in battle, from his sharp grin at the fall of a foe, from the binary axe hanging on his back that violence is like breathing to him.

She can lose him to this, well and truly lose him---and she is through with losing people.

So she clings. Despite how difficult it is, she pulls herself out of bed each morning and asks her abuelito if they can do the day's quests. She insists that, no, she doesn't want to stay home today, and no, she doesn't want to do them with Tio Bad or Tio Fit or Tio Cellbit or anyone else on the island, she wants to do them with him; and then she pesters him until he agrees. They explore caves and go fishing and fight monsters and make all manner of strange tools. She plays songs on her flute whenever she has a breath to spare, because she knows he can't stand the quiet. (She can't stand it either.) She complains about avocado toast until he caves and makes her something else to eat.

She remembers every single time he dried the tears from her cheeks---every time that he held her face in his hands and told her that her father loves her, and that her abuelito loves her, and that she would never be alone again, not if he had anything to say about it---and she sends all that love right back to him.

She makes sure he has a reason to stay. She makes sure that he knows that he is still needed. 

Because she needs him. Now, more than ever, she needs him here.

(And he needs her too.)

[whitedarkmoonflower]

The Curse

Pairing: Sihtric x Skade

Authors note: this story is for you my dear @alexagirlie and @thenameswinter99 I know Skade is not the most popular character and there probably won't be many readers to this fic but I loved her and I think she deserved better. So this is my attempt at giving her a happy ending.

Warnings: SMUT 18+, fluff, angst, mention of blood, curses, canon death of a character

Summary: as Uhtred's path crosses with the mighty seer Skade, there is only one way to break the pattern of violence and only one man capable of doing it as the power of love appears stronger than the power of hate

Word Count: 6,8 K 🙈 (I know, I'm sorry)

It was not the chill of the evening air, nor the fresh and cool breeze teasingly brushing its cold fingers against her skin, that made her shudder. She wouldn’t show it anyway. With fists clenched and nails digging into her flesh, her gaze lashed the group of men down the stairs, burning with hatred like a whip striking bare skin. 

It was that daunting feeling of utter helplessness, of being tossed and turned by the currents of fate, allowed only a sharp, desperate gasp that seared her aching lungs before being dragged back under the water, that made her stomach clench and her inner core tremble like a candle flame wavering in a draft. But not a muscle shuddered in her pale, sharply defined, beautiful face framed by an unruly swirl of blond hair. 

Once again, she was being betrayed and traded, passed from hand to hand like a mere commodity, a piece of silver exchanged for another's safety. In a different life, the naive girl she once was would have cried, bargained for her life and safety, begged not to be given away.

But that Skade no longer existed. She had drowned long ago in a sea of despairing tears, her grave dug by the greed and power-lust of men who saw her as nothing more than a plaything to fulfil their desires, a potion to quench their thirst for influence, a weapon to be used in their conquest for dominion. That small, trusting part of her died, killed by false promises and the realisation that there was no goodness left in those around her.

There had been times when she cursed her gift, praying to the gods to take it back, to release her from its crushing power. She had blamed it for her fate, for the darkness that trailed her, ripping away those she loved and leaving her alone and aching. But that was before. Before she surrendered and accepted the part of herself she had once despised. From the grave of her suffering, a new Skade was born – a proud creature of darkness, leaving a trail of pain and blood in her wake, destined to test those foolish enough to assume power over her, and to punish without remorse those who failed, and she had embraced that destiny fully. 

Heasten's ugly smirk and greedy, narrow eyes seemed to undress her with their gaze alone, making every hair on her body stand on end as she raised her head to meet the eyes of the men who dared treat her as a piece of merchandise.

The bearded Irishman's deep brown eyes looked back somewhat sheepishly, as if understanding the absurdity of the bargain struck moments ago. With her head held high, she turned to the young Dane standing on the other side of her.

His cautious mismatched gaze had puzzled her from the very beginning. She had been sure he despised her, anger flickering in the depths of those two pools, as he yanked her hands behind her back and put a gag on her mouth in an attempt to silence her. A coward, she had silently dubbed him. And yet it had been him who brought her fur and a bowl of hot stew on that first night in the dungeon. Why? What did he want from her? What hidden plan lurked behind those large, expressive eyes? What drove him? A yearning for power? Greed? Jealousy?

The annoying sound of the shutters creaking in the wind mixed with desperate cries of some lonely crow, slicing through the insidious calmness of the dark, added another layer of eeriness to the nightly scene. Sihtric could feel Skade’s frame trembling, though she tried to suppress it, to not show it, her words flowing from her full, sensual lips with the certainty of a queen. Yet he perceived it – that hidden inner quiver, the uneven shimmering of her misty breath in the air, her darting eyes like those of a trapped animal, her clenched fists betraying the facade. 

Uhtred and his ingenious plans - it was not the first time his lord's peculiar notions of honour and loyalty had brought them perilously close to the great gates of Valhalla. Sihtric did not mind, for it was part of the warrior's path he had willingly chosen when swearing his oath. He would have preferred to fight, to cleave through the Danes, painting the mud beneath his feet with their warm, thick blood. But the choice was made, and the bargain was struck although it didn’t feel right for him. 

Skade’s hair tickled Sihtric’s cheek, a fleeting feeling of unexpected softness alerting his already sharpened senses, as she turned her head, voice steady and laced with disdain, addressing Uhtred. 

“And you are cursed once more, Uhtred of Bebbanburg and you will wither.”

She was a danger, a venomous snake, her poison deadlier than the sharpest blade, seeping into the minds and souls of those who dared cross her path, twisting their thoughts, corrupting their very essence and bringing out the worst in men. A bringer of madness, a harbinger of chaos – those who underestimated her did so at their own peril. And yet, beneath the all consuming fire in those dazzling blue eyes, there was something fragile, a flicker of vulnerability that captured and didn’t let go of him. 

From the moment he first saw her, curses dripping from her lips, Sihtric felt an inexplicable urge to envelop her in the warmth of his embrace, offering a refuge from the darkness that had consumed her soul for too long.

Yet she wanted none of his comfort, her mind fixated on Uhtred from the instant their eyes met. She was a test sent by the gods, Sihtric was certain, and Uhtred was failing it spectacularly.

Skade turned, her burning gaze forcing Sihtric to meet her eyes, and for a fleeting moment  the world around him faded into an incoherent blur of sounds and images. "Cowards," her smirk seemed to challenge, or perhaps seek reassurance.

Sihtric longed to speak, but the words froze on his lips, the silent promise in his warm gaze swallowed by the night's darkness. She wanted none of his promises, yet he made one silently to himself - he would find her.

The old wooden steps creaked an eerie, mocking laugh as Skade took her first step down towards Heasten and his men. Unhurried yet unwavering, each measured stride carried her towards her new master and an altered fate, her steady gait betraying the admirable strength of will hidden beneath that fragile and slender frame. 

Heasten's extended hand remained frozen in midair, stopped by Skade's icy gaze, as she turned one last time towards the men standing on the top of the stairs. It was that last glance that remained burned into Sihtric’s mind - a warning, a challenge, an unspoken plea all mixed in one single flash of searing vulnerability. For the briefest of moments, her defiant mask slipped, offering him a glimpse of the fragile heart she guarded so fiercely, pleading for someone to finally see the woman beneath the iron shell.

"Sihtric, tell me this. Does Uhtred want me dead?" Skade's voice carried over the crackling fireplace, all eyes suddenly fixing on him.

A chill crept up his spine as he replied, "He's undecided. Can't make up his mind whether to hump you or kill you." The nonchalance in his voice sounded forced even to his own ears. It was the way she looked at him, suspicion sparking in her eyes. Though he may have fooled the men, blinded by ambition and rivalry, he had a feeling neither Brida nor Skade believed him completely. Yet neither woman had spoken against him either.

The atmosphere in the whole camp was more than peculiar, the air was charged with distrust and feuding. The gazes of drunken youngsters, drowning their concerns and boredom in ale, spoke of uncertainty and eagerness for something to happen, while the spirit between the older warriors ranged between cautious and openly disapproving. Ragnar's death had left the Danes completely rudderless, crushing their fighting spirit. And the pathetic pissing contest between Heasten, and Bloodhair only made things only worse.

“And what about you?” Skade continued, her scrutinising gaze not letting go of him. 

“What about me?” Sihtric tried to pretend clueless.

“Do you want to hump me or kill me?” 

Under the weight of all eyes awaiting his answer, the gentle roar of the fire seemed deafening to Sihtric's ears.

The flickering patterns of light and shadow danced over Skade’s face, making her look like some creature from an old legend. A small burst of sparks erupted from the fresh log as it slowly became engulfed in the blaze, dancing around her like small fading stars. 

She is like the fire itself, Sihtric thought, beautiful yet dangerous. Just as the flames could bring warmth and life or rage with destructive force, so too did she radiate a bewitching power that could either ignite a man's deepest passions or reduce him to ashes.

"Would you believe me if I said neither?" Sihtric raised his gaze from the flames to meet hers.

A mocking laugh escaped Skade's lips as disbelief gave way to a strange mix of surprise and puzzlement, her eyes locked with his unwavering stare. 

The young warrior was a mystery for her. Men were usually so transparent, easy to read and manipulate, but not him. What had she missed? And why was he here? That warm light dancing in his mismatched eyes whenever she caught his hidden glances - what did it mean? Time would tell. Few emotions drove men in this life, and sooner or later, the pretty boy would show his teeth and bare his true, ugly soul. Of that, she was certain, but her interest was piqued nonetheless.

The rhythmic sound of whetstone gliding over metal was always soothing to Sihtric, helping him gather his thoughts. So engrossed was he in the process that he almost didn't notice the tent flaps flutter open, only raising his head when a shadow obscured the candlelight.

"What the hell..." Sihtric jumped to his feet, sword pointing at the intruder who had snuck up on him, only to be met by the grinning stare of two incredibly blue, deep eyes.

"I came to see if you spoke true today by the fire," Skade's voice was barely above a whisper as she stepped closer, tilting her head back to let the blade graze her exposed skin. Sihtric remained motionless, muscles taut, his eyes tracing her every movement.

"Go on then, do it," she mocked, challenge dancing in the depths of her gaze. "Or perhaps you'd prefer to bed me?" With the tip of her finger, Skade slowly pushed the sword aside and began circling him like a predator stalking prey. "You crave me, I can see it. What are you waiting for? Claim me, if you dare."

Hips swinging, with deliberate slowness she placed one foot before the other as she drew nearer, teasingly biting on her index finger. The sweet fragrance of rose oil hit Sihtric’s nostrils, his breath hitching involuntary as his grip on the sword’s hilt loosened. Lowering the blade, he let it slip from his grasp to poke the ground.

"What do you want from me?" Sihtric’s voice came out all dry and gravelly.

“Tell me, what is it you desire?”  Skade purred, trailing her fingers up his chest to toy with the neckline of his armour. “Power? Wealth? Reputation? Do you wish to be the King of all Danes? Are you strong enough to own me?” her thumb brushed his lips as she looked up at him through the thickness of her lashes. 

“There is nothing I cannot give you, but you must choose your path now,” the strange gleam in Skade’s eyes was hypnotic, her voice a lullabying sough, washing against Sihtric’s heightened senses. For a second he forgot about everything – his mission, his lord, his oath, his friends – it all faded away, leaving just the two of them trapped in whatever spell she was weaving.

Was it the gentle whisper of the evening breeze against his skin, slipping through the half-closed tent flaps and extinguishing the flickering candles? Or was it that strange inner voice that had saved his life on the battlefield countless times, warning him of impending danger?  Sihtric couldn’t tell for certain, but a profound sense of presence enveloped him, an ineffable and tender force that broke through the veil of magic surrounding them and made him see her again  – that scared little girl who had looked at him from behind those guarded eyes on that first night in the dungeon when he brought her a blanket and a steaming bowl of stew. 

It had been just a fleeting glimpse, but he knew she was there, buried beneath layers of hatred and spite. This was the Skade he longed to pull closer, to embrace, to shield from the demons that haunted her. This was the Skade he reached out for as eyes radiating warmth he leaned in closer, and with a deep, rumbling sigh pressed his lips to hers. 

The kiss was achingly tender, his lips brushing against hers with the delicacy of a butterfly's wings. Sihtric's calloused fingers cradled her face with a featherlight touch, as if she were a fragile flower that might wither under firmer pressure. His mouth moved against hers in a slow, reverent dance, savouring every sensation without demanding or taking. It was a kiss born of pure affection, free of any desire to claim or possess.

Gradually, the kiss deepened, but the tenderness remained. Sihtric's tongue teased along the seam of Skade's lips, seeking entry, and when she parted them with a soft whimper, he tasted her fully – a sweet, intoxicating blend of innocence and longing. His kiss was worshipful, reverent, treating her like the most precious and delicate of treasures. It was the sweetest and breathtaking kiss that had ever touched Skade's lips, leaving her quenched and thirsting for more all at once.

A soft moan escaped her lips as Sihtric pulled away, his palm resting on her neck, and he tugged her back until their foreheads touched. "I don't want to possess you or demand anything from you," Sihtric murmured, slowly withdrawing himself from her space. "I'm not playing those games of yours. I simply want to know you, the real you." His tone was soft but resolute.

Skade tilted her head to the side, her large, inquisitive eyes scrutinising Sihtric's face, searching for deception, a trap, the real reason behind his withdrawal. The longer his gaze remained steady, locked with hers, the more she felt anger coil in the pit of her stomach. How dare he think he could understand her? How dare he reject her under the pretence of caring?  

A wry, mocking laugh tore from Skade's throat as her beautiful face contorted with fury, anger replacing the lingering warmth that had blossomed within her from Sihtric's kiss. He kept his distance, unmoving, and the icy rage of a spurned woman flooded her veins.

"You have chosen your path, Sihtric Kjartansson," the words left her mouth like arrows unleashed from a taut bowstring, meant to pierce and maim. "And you have chosen doom. You are cursed from this moment on, just as your former lord is cursed. Your life belongs to me now." Her voice grew louder, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, as she fought back tears—a crack in her defences she could not afford to reveal to anyone.

Sihtric's kiss had awakened something she thought long dead and buried—her hopes, her dreams of another life. A life where love's tender caresses might have a place. A life she had convinced herself she no longer wanted nor needed.

"What have I done to deserve your wrath?" Sihtric's simple question just intensified the fury burning within her.

"It's not about what you've done," Skade spat venomously, her voice quivering with shame and embarrassment. She couldn't admit, even to herself, the depth of the scars Sihtric's gentle kiss had reopened, scorching her soul and ravaging her heart. "It's about what you inevitably would do, what men always do. Traitors, cowards, cravens—you are either too weak to accept me or you use me for your purposes, only to discard me once the tide turns. No one has ever cared for me. Don’t pretend you do."

With those last, searing words, she whirled around and stormed out of the tent, fleeing Sihtric’s unblinking gaze.

Skade could barely recall how she stumbled back to her tent. Her vision blurred with tears she could no longer suppress, Skade collapsed to her knees, a soul-wrenching cry ripping through her. Her trembling fingers brushed against her lips, desperately trying to summon the memory of Sihtric's kiss—the tender touch of his mouth on hers, his uneven breath mingling with her own, the slight tremor in his fingers as they caressed her cheek, betraying his own nervousness. That feather-light, gentle touch had burned her to the very core, shattering the unyielding walls she had built around her heart, leaving her defenceless and raw.

Skade's chest heaved with sobs. She had convinced herself that she needed no one, that she was untouchable. Yet, here she was, brought to her knees by the simple, honest touch of a man who had dared to reach out to her. The gentle caress that had felt like a promise of something more now felt like a cruel reminder of what she could never have.

As the tears streamed down her face, she realised that the walls she had built were not just a defence against the world, but a prison that had kept her from feeling anything real. And now, with those walls in ruins, she was left to face the raw, aching truth of her loneliness and desire.

The clash of steel and the savage, earsplitting roars of the combatants filled the air, drawing an ever-growing crowd of spectators to the makeshift square at the camp's centre. The Norns, those inexorable weavers of fate, seemed to favour Bloodhair. With a deft manoeuvre, he disarmed Haesten, and the thunderous crash of Bloodhair's war axe against Haesten's splintering shield reverberated through the assembled throng.

At that very moment, as Bloodhair raised his axe to deliver the deathblow, the scales of destiny tipped with cruel inevitability. Sihtric's eyes locked onto the fearful, bewildered expression contorting Bloodhair's face. The mighty warrior's body seemed to betray him, refusing to obey his commands. Following Bloodhair's stricken gaze, Sihtric's eyes fell upon Skade.

With a beastly roar, Bloodhair swung his axe again, but realisation struck him like a dagger to the heart—the battle was inexplicably, irrevocably lost. He could do nothing but attempt to drag the source of his downfall into death with him. But Skade was faster.

Her knives shimmered in the air, winking maliciously before burying themselves in Bloodhair's flesh. Blood splattered Skade's hands in crimson droplets as she watched the warlord's body crumple to the ground and a satisfied smile curled her lips.

It was late when Sihtric finally returned to camp, having used the ensuing chaos to slip away unnoticed. He paused outside his tent, listening to the sounds of the encroaching night. It was quiet, even too quiet, the usual raucous laughter and drunken banter around the fire pits conspicuously absent. Bloodhair’s death so soon after Ragnar’s had hit the Danes hard again.

"They all want me dead," a voice greeted Sihtric from the corner of his tent, and even if he shuddered innerly, he didn’t dare to show it.

"I'm not surprised," he responded, slowly removing his heavy fur cloak and draping it over a bench. Turning, he faced Skade, sitting on the layer of furs that served as his bed, arms wrapped around her legs with knees pulled up and chin resting on them.

Sihtric lit a few candles, and their flickering light danced over Skade's face. He carefully approached her, stopping just before her small, crouched form on the ground, his well-built frame towering over her. Skade looked up at Sihtric, but quickly averted her gaze. Or did it merely appear that way? Had something truly changed in the way she regarded him?

Sihtric slowly crouched down before her. "Why did you do that?"

"Do what?" Defiance suddenly tainted Skade's voice.

"Why did you kill Bloodhair?"

"He wanted to kill me. Everybody saw that, he swung his axe at me." Sihtric could sense her body tensing again, the protective veil of anger and resentment clouding her beautiful blue eyes.

"I'm not judging you. I just want to know. You poisoned him, didn't you?" Sihtric was certain of his guess. There was no other rational explanation for what he had witnessed.

Slowly, he extended his hand, carefully brushing a strand of unruly hair behind her ear. Skade flinched at his touch, her breathing quickening, but she didn't attempt to avoid it as her gaze fell and fixated on the uneven ground before her feet.

"He deserved that," she finally spoke, her voice hoarse and lacking its usual mocking hardness.

Sihtric waited, keeping his eyes on Skade. The remarkable change in her demeanour both puzzled and filled him with hope. He didn't want to push her, but he couldn't shake the strange feeling that this was precisely what she had come for – to tell her side of the story.

Lowering himself to the ground, levelling with her, he began as the silence stretched, "You know I've never left Uhtred's service." He knew she didn't truly trust him, so offering her leverage might help. "You're too smart to believe that fairy tale of mine. Uhtred is here. He's come to claim you back, just as he promised."

Skade raised her head, eyes locking with Sihtric's for a fleeting moment before turning back to the ground, her gaze strangely empty.

"Winter was closing in," she said, her voice trembling as she tightened her arms around her knees, as if trying to hold herself together. "The harvest yielded little due to the unrelenting drought. Then the priests arrived with soldiers, taking half our meagre stores as tithes to the church and king. Father protested that as Danes we owed no dues to the church, but they would not listen. What remained could never nourish five hungry mouths."

Skade fell silent, but Sihtric patiently awaited her words.

"The slaver must have paid a hefty sum. At first, I didn't understand mom's reddened, tear-filled eyes when she pressed a small bundle of bread and cheese into my hands. It was my own father who took my hand and led me to that man, telling me to be a good girl and obey him. Only when father's hand opened to accept a weighty purse of silver did I grasp that this journey would never take me home again."

Sihtric rose to his knees and slowly crawled nearer until he settled on the furs beside Skade. He ached to enfold her in his arms, to draw her close, but hesitated, not knowing whether his solace was welcome.

"Can you...hold me?" Skade's whisper was barely audible, her gaze still fixed on the ground before her feet.

Cautiously, Sihtric slid his arms around her shoulders, pulling her slightly trembling form against him. To his surprise, she leaned into his embrace, resting her head against his chest as her eyes slipped closed.

"Is this alright?" he murmured, lips grazing her hair.

"Yes," she breathed out, the word a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

There was something so calming, so innocent and pure in the way he held her. His embrace, firm and unwavering,  grounded her, his heartbeat beneath her ear setting a new steady pace for her own racing heart. The warmth of his body gradually seeped into her chilled skin as the taut tension in her muscles yielded to a soothing lassitude.

"The next stop was a Danish settlement, where Bloodhair noticed me...and I was sold again." Skade's voice drifted away to a near-whisper. "It was there that I learned to curse each new dawn I awoke, not yet granted death's release. Half a year later, my first vision came," she continued. "I saw his brother and right hand crushed beneath a falling tree, so vividly, as if I were there. I told Bloodhair, but he only laughed. Three days later, a huge storm ambushed the scouting troop in the woods, and it transpired exactly as I had seen. I went to sleep as a pleasure slave and woke up as a seer."

Sihtric tightened his embrace, pulling her deeper into the protective circle of his arms. His calloused fingers began gently carding through her hair, stroking the unruly strands into soft waves.

With each soothing caress, he could feel the rigid tension slowly ebbing from her slight frame. Her breathing deepened and steadied against his chest and Skade melted further into his solid warmth.

Sihtric continued the tender ministrations, he mapped the contours of her face with feather-light trails of his fingertips - the delicate sweep of her brow, the curve of her cheekbone, the line of her jaw. Reverently, he smoothed away the worry lines etched around her eyes and mouth, as if he could wipe away the years of suffering with loving strokes.

"I'm scared, Sihtric," she said softly, her voice catching. "I have fulfilled my oath, I have revenged myself. The only purpose that kept driving me, that kept me alive, is gone."

Sihtric was silent for a long moment, holding her close as he gathered his thoughts. "There is so much more to this life than revenge," he murmured finally. "If only you would let me, I could show you. If only you could believe me, if only for a little while."

His motions slowed but did not cease, a silent promise to stay at her side for as long as she would allow. Sihtric planted a tender kiss to the crown of her head, then simply held her, letting the profound silence envelop them.

The solitary tree at the far end of the camp greeted them with outstretched branches like giant arms casting eerie shadows across the moonlit ground. Skade's gaze found him from afar - Uhtred, his broad frame leaning against the ancient trunk, waiting for her arrival.

She released Sihtric's hand, her steps measured and unhurried as ever. Yet she could not resist a backward glance, seeking reassurance in the tender warmth of his eyes. Something had indelibly shifted; her heart stuttered wildly in her breast, a hummingbird trapped behind bone.

Uhtred stepped towards her, one arm extending in mute invitation to draw her into his embrace. "I'm ready," he murmured, a wan smile ghosting across his lips though it failed to reach his eyes.

"I'm sorry..." Skade's voice emerged softened, lacking its usual steely edge. "But I'm not."

Bewilderment creased Uhtred's brow as his arm dropped limply to his side. "What do you mean?"

Meeting his stare unflinchingly, Skade replied with a melancholic smile, "You were never cursed, Uhtred of Bebbanburg. I wanted you to believe it, and like most men, you were easy to deceive." She shook her head slowly. "This is your life, shaped by your choices alone. You must learn to shoulder the weight of that responsibility, and it is no light load. It is always easier to blame others - a curse or the whims of gods."

Uhtred's face slowly contorted in rage. "You lied to me all this time?" he snarled, grabbing Skade's arm in a forceful grip and pulling her closer.

Sihtric watched the scene unfold with rising concern, jealousy coiling like a venomous snake around his pounding heart, sinking its fangs into vulnerable flesh. Had her vulnerability meant nothing? Was it merely a fleeting moment to be forgotten and cast aside at the first glimpse of a new prospect? 

Uhtred did not love her; he despised her, feared her - of that, Sihtric was certain. And yet there she stood, smiling up at the man, allowing herself to be drawn into his embrace. Sihtric's jaw clenched as he wrenched his gaze away, struggling to maintain an impassive front. 

"I merely told you what you wanted to hear, Lord," Skade said evenly, resolutely freeing her arm from Uhtred's grasp. "I'm sorry, but I have found a greater man to follow. Someone who does not fear who I am, someone who truly cares for me."

"Who? Haesten?" Uhtred's jaw went slack with disbelief that the woman he had risked everything to retrieve could choose someone as despicable over him.

"Sihtric, Lord," Skade corrected with a soft smile. She took a resolute step back, then another before turning to where Sihtric stood, chewing his lips bloody. His eyes widened as she approached, pausing before him to extend her arm. He could not help but reach out hastily, grasping her outstretched hand in his calloused palms and drawing her nearer.

"Show me," she said softly, averting her gaze in insecurity. "Please, show me that other life. Life beyond revenge and hurt."

Slowly, he reached up to tilt her chin towards him, thumb hovering over her lips as if struggling to believe the words that had left them.

"He is here! Uhtred is here!" A shout pierced the night's silence, and Sihtric's grip tightened around Skade's hand.

"Sihtric!" Uhtred's stern voice gave him pause.

"Lord, she is with me," Sihtric stated firmly, meeting his lord's gaze without a hint of hesitation as his hand cradled Skade's like the most precious treasure and in the next moment, they were propelled into frantic motion, running towards the boats.

The first rays of the rising sun streamed through the window, casting the small room in a tender glow of orange and blue. The bed's gentle creak elicited a soft giggle from Skade, the only sound breaking the serene silence that enveloped them.

Her head nestled on Sihtric’s bare chest, she listened to the rhythmic thumping of his heartbeat beneath her ear. Her fingers traced lazy circles over his abdomen, while his rough hand drew slow, deliberate patterns on her back, sending delightful shivers through her. Even if a horde of Danes were to storm into the room this very moment, she wouldn't notice; every fibre of her being was absorbed in the profound sense of peace.

Their forms pressed together, skin against skin, she welcomed the warmth of Sihtric’s body, letting it seep into her bones and dissolve any lingering chill.

“Am I still cursed?” Sihtric asked with a playful chuckle, his hand never pausing in its gentle caress of her back.

“You know you never were,” Skade replied, her voice dreamy and soft.

“But what if I don’t mind?” he teased. “What if I want my life to belong to you?” His tone grew serious, and Skade raised her head to meet his gaze. His eyes, one blue and one brown, held a warmth that had captivated her from the moment they first met.

Slowly, she draped her leg over his waist, encircling him with her thighs as she shifted to prop her head on her elbow. Sihtric reached for her other hand, bringing it to his lips to place tender kisses on her palm. The combination of his soft kisses and the gentle strokes of his fingers against her back filled her with a lightness that seemed to lift her soul.

The gentle sunlight grew warmer, and the room seemed to breathe with the slow rhythm of their embrace. Skade sighed contentedly, letting her head fall back onto Sihtric’s chest. 

“You make me forget there’s a world beyond these walls,” Sihtric murmured, his voice a soothing rumble that vibrated through his chest. He brushed a lock of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear with a tenderness that made her heart ache.

“Maybe that’s because, right now, there is no world beyond these walls,” she whispered back, her eyes half-closed, basking in the feeling of his hand on her skin.

Skade leaned in, letting her tongue savour the salty tang of Sihtric’s skin. She grazed his waistline with soft, teasing kisses, her lips and teeth exploring the terrain of his body. She moved upward, her warm breath fanning over his skin as she kissed her way to his chest. The hot sensation of her firm tongue circling his nipple, followed by a gentle nibble, drew a sharp hiss from Sihtric. His fingers involuntarily dug deeper into her soft flesh, a mix of pleasure and need rippling through him.

Sihtric’s hands glided down her spine, over the curve of her buttocks, and along her upper thighs, their hold tightening as he pulled her on top of him, legs on each side of his body to straddle his lap. A soft yet needy moan escaped Skade’s lips, feeling his hardening cock pressing against her core.

Her fingers trailed up his chest with a delicate touch until her hands rested on his broad shoulders. She leaned in closer and ran her fingers through his hair, her touch as light as a whisper. 

Sihtric’s calloused fingertips grazed the skin of her arms, further up over her shoulders until his hand rested on her neck. He pulled her closer and his mouth claimed hers in a searing kiss. This wasn't the achingly tender caress from before that had melted her resistance and crumbled her walls of protection. This kiss was hungry, passionate, a clash of wills and wants. Sihtric's tongue delved past her parted lips, tasting her, claiming her. His large hands slid into her hair, angling her head as he deepened the kiss with a low groan rumbling from his chest.

Skade melted against him, her nails digging into his shoulders as if he were the only thing anchoring her. She met his passion with her own, teeth nipping at his lower lip, her tongue dancing with his in a heady duel, fanning the heat kindling in the pit of her belly to a searing flame. Wetness pooled between her legs, as her hardened nipples brushed against Sihtric’s chest.

Hesitantly, unwillingly their lips let go of each other, chests heaving, and she buried her face in the curve of Sihtric’s neck, teeth scraping his skin, nipping and sucking marks on his sensitive flesh, sending a delightful shiver through Sihtric’s body.

Sihtric let his hands wander down her spine, teasing sensual strokes tickling her skin before he gripped her hips and urged her down against his crotch. Low groan rumbled through him at the feeling of Skade’s hot and dripping core sliding over his length, covering it with her slick.

Skade’s slender fingers traced the lines of his face with her fingertips, memorising every curve, every angle. "I was so lost before I met you," she breathed, rolling her hips against his, a breathy moan leaving her lips as Sihtric’s cock brushed against her perl. "Wandering through life like a ghost, haunted by my past. But you... you brought me back to life."

Sihtric looked at her, a gleam in his mismatched eyes, his hands cupping her breasts, eliciting another moan from Skade as his lips wrapped around her nipple, suckling on it gently at first. She moaned loudly and, feeling her body responding, he sucked harder, breathing in the floral aroma of her skin mingled with the salty scent of sweat. 

Sihtric’s lips were warm and inviting, the pink of his tongue gliding teasingly over her nipples as he tasted her. Skade’s hips started to move faster, needy moans and hisses rolling over her lips. 

She trembled, feeling arousal and pleasure building up in her with each lap of Sihtric’s tongue, each move of her hips, brushing her sensitive bundle against Sihtric’s fully hard and weeping cock, coating it with her wetness.

Sihtric moaned in pleasure, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He was burning with desire, but the last thing he wanted was for her to feel as if she didn’t have the choice but to give herself to him. He wanted it to be trully her decision. 

Skade felt her core starting to throb with a greedy need to feel him inside her. The way he surrendered himself to her touch, giving her the choice, letting her determine what will happen next, made her want him, desire clouding her mind, yet she hesitated, a strange fear lingering in the back of her mind, a remnant from her past.  

"I'm choosing you. All of you – the pain, the rage, the softness, the yearning. I want to know every part of you, if you'll let me," Sihtric’s voice was raw, thick with a mix of lust and longing. His eyes fluttered open, locking his gaze with Skade’s. “Will you let me? Will you have me?” he asked, the earnestness in his voice the final weight tipping the scales. 

Skade’s hand travelled down between them, aligning Sihtric’s cock with her cunt. A heavy sigh quivering in her chest she slowly sank down, taking in the whole length of him, savouring every inch of his thick and long cock filling and stretching her. They both moaned heavily as her hips met Sihtric’s, and he was finally fully sheathed within her. 

Sihtric remained still, his hands on her hips and his large, tender eyes studying Skade’s face. 

She felt her walls adjusting to Sihtric’s cock, embracing him and pulsing in arousal as she started to move. Sihtric groaned in pleasure, his hands grabbing tighter her hips. 

Palms pressed against Sihtric’s chest, Skade steadied herself, the grounding feeling of his warm and slightly sweaty skin filling her with a strange feeling of elation. She fastened her  movements, snapping her hips against his pelvis, and soon the air was filled with heavy whines and moans, rolling over their parted lips. 

Sihtric’s hands landed on her buttocks, holding them in a firm grip, as he started to thrust his hips up against her, his movements growing faster and deeper with each thrust as her back arched and her nails dug in Sihtric’s flesh, leaving marks in their wake. 

Skade didn’t expect her climax to build up so quickly, but there was no escape from the pleasure building up within her with increasing speed, her walls spasming and clenching stronger and stronger with each thrust, delight infiltrating every cell of her body. 

“Oh, Sihtric, I’m so close …” she whined, supporting herself by grabbing the edge of the headboard, her knuckles turning white from the restraint.

“Don’t fight against it, let it go. I got you,” Sihtric whispered.

“Oh gods,” a loud moan ripped through her trembling body as Sihtric licked his fingers and reached between them, placing his thumb at her sensitive perl and starting to move around it, putting just the right pressure to make her breath catch in her chest.

For the first time in her life, Skade felt ready and willing to let go, to surrender control and entrust herself to Sihtric’s gentle yet passionate touch. His hot, heavy breath teased her skin, leaving her trembling and aching with desire—craving more—more of his kisses, more of his heated touch, more of everything he had to give. 

Breath panting, she whined, as her eyes started to roll back in her head. 

“Good girl!” Sihtric praised her. “Cum for me. Let me show you the stars,” he whispered, watching as Skade rode him, bouncing wildly up and down on his cock, her last remnants of self control being washed away by the raspy sound of his voice.

Tears of raw happiness streamed down her flushed cheeks as she submitted herself to him wholly and completely, with no hesitation, no regret.

Skade came with a loud moan, her walls spasming around Sihtric’s cock and body shaking in waves of pure bliss, her climax sweeping her racing mind empty of all thoughts, all emotions apart from one. Love.

For the first time in her life, she felt truly loved, and it was beautiful. It was indescribable, like taking her first breath after a lifetime of suffocating.

Sihtric felt Skade’s walls spasming around him as he kept fucking her though her orgasm and after a few more thrusts he followed her, his groans filling the air as he spilled deep inside her, imprinting himself on her walls. 

Skade crushed against his chest, and Sihtric’s hands wrapped around her quivering body, pulling her tightly in his embrace as they both gasped for breath.

"I want to stay like this forever," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sihtric smiled, a mixture of mischief and sincerity in his expression. "Forever is a long time," he said, his fingers trailing down her spine, sending a delightful shiver through her body. "But I would gladly spend every moment of it with you."

“Then your life is mine, future Lord of Dunholm, but your path is your own.”

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[imeanyourmomsprettyhot]

You Have No Right || Aemond Targaryen

prologue

story masterlist / masterlist

summary: Driven by sheer desire, the One-Eyed Prince tries to find the woman that caused his sleepless nights full of lust and frustration.

warnings: female!reader, dark and possessive Aemond, sexual scenes, violent scenes

comment if you want to be on the tag list!

══════════════════

King's Landing at night was always a spectacle. The streets were filled with light, laughter, and sex. People were shouting, some fought, others stole. The town was never quiet and empty, but it was the brightest at night, that was for sure.

A young girl walked through the crowded town. In her pocket, a silver coin she got from her mother. She's supposed to buy something for her—a special tea.

She rushed between the people, trying her best to not be seen. It was a talent of her's to stay hidden and easy to oversight, tiptoeing around like a ghost—like she was never there.

She made it out of the thick and hot air of the loaded streets, to a much darker and gloomier side of the city. It was the part of humanity no one wanted to talk about. The place where inappropriate deals were made, ineffable topics discussed, and awful jobs done—and it was exactly this place that she had to go.

She was not a bad girl—she tried to be as virtuous as the daughter of a whore could be. She did not belong in the dark alleys of King's Landing, but she had to get Moon Tea for her mother. Otherwise she was forced to get another child she could not care for.

So the girl sneaked around the cold stones, the gaze of the walls following her around.

It took not long until she found the woman she was supposed to go to—people said she was a witch.

The girl knocked on the door of the witch to soon be greeted by an old pair of eyes. A wrinkly woman opened the door, a few strands of hair were laying over her face.

Before the girl could open her mouth, the witch has already pulled her into her home. She looked around the streets, if anyone was following her, before she closed the small door.

"What are you looking for?" She asked.

The girl was looking around the dark room which was only lit up by a few candles. Bundles of herbs were hanging on the walls and a lot of bottles, filled with all different types of liquids, were laying around.

"I need moon tea..." The girl whispered, ashamed of asking for such a thing.

Wordlessly, the witch went over to one of the cabinets, rummaging in the drawers.

"Are you a whore?" She suddenly asked.

"No, I'm not!" The girl quickly denied.

The witch didn't say anything more about it, as she was probably just asking out of curiosity. She came back to the girl. In her hand, a small bottle.

"Let it simmer on a low flame, and don't let it come to boil," the witch instructed.

A long silence followed, until the girl realized it came to the point of paying. She pulled the silver coin out of her pocket and gave it to the woman in exchange for the bottle.

The witch led the girl to the door, closing it behind her, before exchanging any more words with her. The young girl turned around, the tea secured in her bag.

She made her way through the murky streets, keeping her view down. She was as inconspicuous as she could, as she walked through the part of the town no one should go to.

A sudden noise made her jump up, turning her head. A shiver creeped up her spine, as she suddenly felt more uncomfortable than she already did. She noticed footsteps coming closer to her, as her feet stroke deeper and deeper roots down in the ground.

A shadow crawled out of the darkness of the alley, but the girl still couldn't move a muscle.

"Empty your pockets!" A deep voice commanded.

Before she could comprehend what was happening, the figure of a man was already standing right in front of her, pulling her on her arm and pushing her on the wall.

As the cold stone hit her back, her mind came back to her body. She finally realized what was happening and anxiously looked the man in the face.

"EMPTY YOUR POCKETS!" He barked.

The frightened girl slid her shaking hands in her bag and took all the coins she had left, out of it.

"I want all you have, girl!" His breath smelled like rum.

The weak-spirited girl fully emptied her pockets, giving the man anything she had. But he kept looking at her, observing her face.

"I gave you all I had," she quietly cried out.

She was scared for her life—scared that he might kill her. But he had completely different things in mind. He looked down on the girl, examining her body. At that moment, she knew what was going to happen.

She opened her mouth to scream for help—though she didn't believe anyone in those dark streets would want to help her. But only a short bawl came out of her mouth, before the man pressed his hand over it.

He forcefully turned her around, pressing her head on the ice cold bricks of the wall they were standing on. His hand was still tightly wrapped around her jar, making her unable to let any sound leave her lips.

She breathed heavily, while the man pulled up her dress. She tried her best to fight back, but he was stronger than her—drunk but still too strong. She closed her eyes, trying to leave her body again.

But before the man could do any more, he suddenly let go of her. She turned around, to find the man laying on the ground. Her body was still trembling from the rush of adrenaline.

She was so fixated on the man, who was soon standing on his feet again, that she almost didn't notice the figure standing beside her.

The cloaked shadow rushed over to the man, punching him in the face. He fell on the ground again, a loud hiss came from him. The other person sat on the man, continuing to punch him over and over again.

The man growled in pain, until the other one finally stopped. He pulled anything the man had, out of his pockets, before getting up from him. The man quickly got up too, running away, back into darkness.

The cloaked silhouette came over to the girl, while her heart leaped into her throat. She gripped onto the stone behind her, as the shadow approached her. But to her surprise, he handed her the things from the man's pockets over.

"Th-thank you," she silently stuttered.

"A young lady should stay away from this part of the city." The voice of a young man came from the silhouette.

The closer he got, the more she could make out what the man looked like. He had the hood of his cloak pulled over his face, yet she was able to see parts of his face. Like the piece of leather over one of his eyes, as well as a few white strands that fell over the other—he was her savior.

"I-I-I know, sir." She kept her view down, while he was carefully looking at her face.

"I'll bring you out of her, come."

She couldn't say anything more, before he already started walking down the street. She stuffed the things in her bag, and quickly followed behind.

"What is your name, young lady?" He suddenly asked.

'Why did he want to know that?' She asked herself. But he saved her from shame and violence, so she decided to not discuss his intentions any longer and told him her name.

He hummed in response.

"A beautiful name, if you ask me."

"Thank you, sir." She looked up to his face, but he was just blankly staring to the front, "And what's your name?"

"Not important." He replied.

The girl wondered what that was supposed to mean. Why didn't he want to tell her his name?

Meanwhile, the man debated in his head why he helped the girl. It was none of his business and he didn't care for anything happening to the lowborn. He didn't need to help anyone, he didn't want to—yet he did. And he had troubles understanding why. Why caring about a girl being raped? It was not his problem she got herself into this situation.

The dim streets came to an end, as laughter and music was heard in the distance. The sound approximated and the light started beaming through the windows of the houses, and they soon were standing in the crowded alleys again.

She turned around, wanting to thank her savior one last time, but he was already gone. She just saw his cloak disappear in the crowd, and it was the last time that she saw him.

<< next chapter >>

[diazheartsbuckley]

Inspiration Saturday + Seven Sentences Sunday 🫢

Tagged by @wikiangela @jamespearce9-1-1 @daffi-990 @hippolotamus @jeeyuns and @callmenewbie 🫶🏻

I made this moodboard like two weeks ago when the idea came to me but I was a little hesitant to post it because I don’t even have a plot for this story. Anyway, here it is and it’s bound to be a long one lol!

Priest/Mafia Boss AU

(or alternatively Good Vs. Evil AU)

Eddie is a man with a questionable past and after spending a few years in prison, he decided that he wants a different life for himself and to help others like him. So he become a priest and joins a church that it is known for its role in helping young people who’s going down the wrong path to become better people and not end up in jail. But Eddie’s past still haunts him.

Buck is the son of a notorious mob boss who was convicted of killing a police officer and sentenced to death. Destined for a life of crime, Buck rises against the expectations and become an enigmatic figure in the underworld. But one day something in him shifts.

As their paths intertwine, the echoes of a dark past and the allure of a dangerous present collide, unraveling a trail of transformation, unlikely connections, concealed identities and the enduring struggle for a life beyond the sins of yesterday

And a snippet from their first meeting beneath the cut!

In the quiet solitude of St. Michael's Church, Father Eddie Diaz stood before the flickering candles, their warm glow casting dancing shadows across the sacred space. As he carefully lit each candle, the subtle scent of burning wax filled the air. It was the only thing that seemed to be able to calm him down and hold the demons at bay.

The entrance creaked open, a sound almost drowned by the soft hymns echoing through the nave. Eddie, focused on the candles, felt a presence enter. Without turning, he sensed the weight of a gaze upon him.

“Welcome. What brings you here tonight?” He questioned. Unbeknownst to him, the lingering shadow behind him belonged to Evan Buckley, a man carrying the weight of a blood-stained linage. A man who had made a name for himself for being even more ruthless and powerful than his father.

Evan, standing in the shadows near the entrance, hesitated. He didn’t even know why he was here. The priest was seemingly unbothered by him, continuing his task without shifting his focus.

Feeling the tension rise, Eddie spoke once again. “The flicker of a flame can illuminate even the darkest corners on your soul. Speak and the light will guide you”

As the candles continued to cast their warm glow, Eddie sensed the weight of the man’s presence still lingering in the shadows. Without turning, he spoke with a calm authority.

“This house of worship welcomes all seeking solace, but it cannot harbor weapons. Leave your burdens at the door, return without the weight you carry, and find the peace you seek”

Evan, surprised by the priest's perceptiveness, questioned with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

“How do you know what I carry, Father? You haven't even looked at me” He spoke, his hand subconsciously moving towards the gun pressing against his side. Still with his back towards the man, Eddie stood his ground and stared into the flames. He didn’t need to turn around to get a clear picture of the man standing behind him. And it unsettled him.

Tagging!! @watchyourbuck @cal-daisies-and-briars @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @vampbuckley @honestlydarkprincess @wildlife4life @butraura @nmcggg @captain-hen @jesuisici33 @fionaswhvre @spotsandsocks @steadfastsaturnsrings @lover-of-mine @disasterbuckdiaz @loserdiaz @exhuastedpigeon 🦋💗

[enjoythesilentworld]

Simon's Month - Photos

here we are again. the final day @youngroyals-events technically it is still july for me

Photographs of Simon over the years, and those by his side.

read below or on ao3 (G, 900)

Label reads, in scratchy, all caps: SIMON’S 1ST BIRTHDAY! JULY 2005

A young baby, chubby enough to know he’s not a newborn, but still so tiny, so innocent. A huge head of brown curls, spraying out in every direction. They match that of the young woman holding him in her lap. She’s beautiful, and she’s saying something in his ear, pointing at the cake on the table in front of them — a typical chocolate frosted cake with big dollops of icing and swirling white letters. To the side, standing behind the chair the mother and son are sat in, is a tall man with a big smile. In his arms, he holds a young girl. She’s a bit older than the boy, but not by much. Her curls are more tamed, tied up in two pigtails, and her father laughs as she tries to escape his arms, reaching for the pretty candle on the cake, alight with flame: a big, colorful number one. A dozen blue balloons hover in the air behind them, only partially blocking the view to a living room with while walls, tan curtains, and a leather couch.

🍊

Label reads, in scratchy, all caps: JULY 2008 SIMON’S BIRTHDAY

Two young children. A boy and a girl, with matching curls and matching bright eyes. Each have messy hands, gripping half-eaten chocolate cupcakes, and messy faces, smeared with chocolate icing. A man squats between them, smiling at the young boy with amusement. The little girl holds out a napkin with her free, clean hand towards the young boy, but he’s too busy grinning like mad at whoever is holding the camera. The boy’s cupcake has a half-toppled number four candle. There’s confetti on the table and a pile of gifts in the background. White walls, tan curtains, and a leather couch.

🍊

Label reads, in careful, but shaky writing: My best freind Simon at his 8 birthday party! :-) And me (Ayub)

Three children sitting poolside, their feet in the water, turning over their shoulders towards the camera. The young, curly haired boy in the center wears purple patterned swim trunks, and his face is partially blurred because he’s laughing. The boy in his left, the same age, is looking at him, mouth open and smiling, like he’s saying something funny. The girl on his right, with big brown eyes and a shy smile, wears a pink and red one-piece, the only one actually focused on the camera. Blurry, in the foreground, there’s the vague outline of a balloon, shaped in the number 8. Dozens of other kids and families flit around in the background, a smear of summertime glee.

🍊

Label reads, in elegant script: Simon’s 13th – with Ayub and Rosh. July 2017.

Three young teens sitting around a table. The boy in the middle, with brown curls and sunny eyes, has his mouth open in a laughing shout. The two other sitting on either side of him, a boy with straight hair and a girl with a tight ponytail, push his head towards the cake sat before him, iced in purple and a dozen rainbow candles, a big number thirteen in the center. Behind them and to the right, a cutout window into a kitchen, where a young girl stands, rolling her eyes. She resembles the boy in the middle. Reflected in the window on the left behind the three kids, a woman holding the phone taking the photo, smiling at the scene before her, ballons scattered behind her.

🍊

Label reads, in elegant script: Simon’s 17th – with Ayub, Rosh, and Wille. July 2021

A lake in the background and a picnic table in the foreground, with four teenagers sitting around it. On one side of the table, a boy with auburn hair and a brilliant grin staring at the boy he has his arm around, this one with curly hair and wide eyes, expressive hands out in the middle of telling a story. On the other side, a boy with his hair tied back in a bun and a girl with a loose ponytail leaned forward on the table, engaged in the story the curly-headed one is telling. There’s not much on the table, save for a few half-eaten oranges and small sandwiches. Sun filters through the trees above them, scattering patterns across the ground. Way in the back, only half-visible in the bright glare, two shapes, two girls, swim in the water of the lake.

🍊

Label reads, in lopsided, goofy script, accompanied by a doodle of a fish: happy birthday my Simon. I can’t wait to spend a million more birthdays with you. I love you so much. Yours, Wille.

A polaroid picture. A young man with a floppy auburn hair holding the camera out with a long arm, a crooked grin on his face. Beside him, a young man with a mess of brown curls and half-squinted eyes. He looks a bit disgruntled, but as if he’s holding back a smile. He wears no shirt, the covers of the bed he sits in pooled around his lap. On his head, a tiny birthday hat with the number twenty inscribed in big, colorful, bubble letters. The man taking the photo holds a muffin in his other hand, halfway out of the frame. There are big pieces of purple confetti scattered across the bed. In the background, the small alarm clock on the nightstand reads 7:28 am. Beside it: a pair of reading glasses, a book, its title illegible, and a framed picture of the two men, arms around each other, grinning like the sun.

[apricotg0rl]

Wedding dresses and funerals 🕰️🪦📜

Tommy x reader

Genre: angst?

Word count: 540

Warnings: guns mentioned and blood as-well as a considerable age gap -forced marriage

(If there was a warning or something triggering I forgot to mention please message me so I can correct my mistake)

Side note: my small oneshot was inspired by this painting ‘signing the register’ 1920 by Edmond Blair Leighton as I feel it’s fitting once again towards the atmosphere of Tommys character and taking into the account of Mr Gold’s daughter and how arranged marriages have been a major topic of history and marriage was more a business arrangement than something to do with love.

So yeah if I got anything wrong tell me because I normally tend to not reread my writing out of embarrassment hence why the multiple incorrect grammar in the last post.

“And as I write this I scramble to find a drop of sincerity in this marriage and hope that I will find love within its contract that bind us together but deep within I mourn. Mourn for my innocence, mourn for the young girl who was promised jewels made from cut stone but here I stand with a ring stained with blood and the lives he took just to slip it on my raw fingers. “

After pondering at the scraps of paper Y/N carved into she looked around to see the presence of the monotonous man she was wedded off to.

“Will I just be another trophy for you to show off?” She asks with distain in her voice while dropping her head to the floor as she drowns in shame. “Or will I have a somewhat value to you other than being paraded around?” She knew her youth was a beneficial gain for him but the taboo circumstances circulating it left it to be unsaid leaving a lingering tension between the two and the spectators that had witnessed the ceremony. It was obvious that very little of his family agreed with the sickening idea as spiteful whispers lurked the halls of the house while she stayed locked up in her room suffocating in a ridiculous wedding dress.

“Can you just behave and come downstairs” tommy demanded while staring down the gaunt girl drowning in the white fabric that had her desperate for air as it clung tightly onto her skin.

“How can I possibly behave when I’ve been married off to a monster?!” She spat at him whilst attempting to soak up her translucent tears. Once her words reached his ears he wrinkled his nose in disgust “monster?!” He remarked at her tensed up expression and he took a glance at her following with an intense gaze at her heaving chest which resulted with a sharp pang of guilt.

“I am not to blame..it was your father who proposed the idea” he replied shaking his head in disbelief at the girls outlandish behaviour yet still acting like a child himself playing the silly game of who did it first.

Y/N’s jaw went slack at the idea of the very man who promised her own safety since her first breath selling her off to the next man who could “tame” her.

“I tried to take the responsibility but I can’t have my wife hating my very own existence and cursing the day I was born”

Y/N retched at his use of words and stood from her chair in pure disbelief that was now intertwined with venom. The assertive man stood within her eyeline and palmed the gun from his pocket and slammed it on the table infront of her looking for something other than contempt in her eyes. “If you want to take out your anger he’s downstairs with the rest of the family” he exclaimed, almost tempting her like the snake from the genesis story that had fooled Eve, as the choice of life and death rattled around her mind like a marble in a wheel.

“But if you decide to become vengeful you can no longer live on that pedestal that you look down on me from when blood is spilt on your hands” he spat as he roughly grabbed onto her shoulders trying to shake the insanity out of her that dwindled like a flickering candle flame.

“Is that what it takes to become a Shelby?”

[azure-blaze92]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Owl House (Cartoon) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Original The Owl House Character(s), Caleb Wittebane Additional Tags: Caleb Wittebane mentioned, Original Character(s), Angst and Drama, Gravesfield (The Owl House), Inspired by Fanart, Inspired by Fanfiction, Dialogue Heavy, Mild Language, One Shot, Not Beta Read Series: Part 1 of A Young Candle Flame Universe Summary:

After Caleb receives a harsh and brutal punishment for taking responsibility for his brother's crime of stealing bread, Mr. Mansell has finally had enough and can no longer stand by Minister Bastion's cruelty towards Caleb. So, he decides to confront his old friend.

Notes: This was a cut scene that was supposed to happen in chapter 7 of AYCF, but it took away from Caleb as the primary focus. Due to a whole bunch of character development over the past month that Mr. Mansell and Minister Bastion have received and a gift fic my friend wrote, I finally had enough material to work with and inspiration to make it a full-fledged one-shot.

[thequeenofthedisneyverse]

Encanto God au

I got another Alma and Mirabel bonding au! 

Ok so, what if the Madrigals were gods? Like: 

The story/au goes that Alma fell in love with a human man, Pedro. Her parents, friends, and even strangers told her that it won’t end well but Alma, being the young goddess she was, didn’t listen. The way they met was at the candle festival, Alma loved festivals, so she wasn’t going to pass up a fun time. 

So, she disguised herself as a human and went to the festival. Soon meeting the love of her life.  They dated, got married, and had three demigod children. Everyone on earth and above the clouds were of course happy for them. But her parents and friends couldn’t fight the feeling of something going wrong. 

On the night of the triplets' birth, Alma was in a deep coma like sleep, as any mother would be. While asleep with her three babies next to her, Pedro was outside talking to a “friend”. This “friend” got word of Pedro marrying a goddess and having children with her. His jealousy got the best of him and when Pedro was in his calmest and happiest state…he killed him. 

Not long after Alma woke up in a cold sweat and went outside to look for her husband. At the moment, a raid was going on. Houses and stores are up in flames, men with machetes on horses left and right and Pedro…After what seemed like days of weeping and sobbing, she found the man who killed her husband and…dealt with him properly, let's say. 

After that incident, the only humans allowed to come near her were Pedro’s parents, high up on Monte Encanto (Mount Encanto, Like Mount Olympus ). Humans can only go to Mount Olympus when they are invited, no other way. On the plus side, it’s incredibly too high for any human to climb. 

Alma was quite upset and hates herself for not being vigilant enough to protect her husband, therefore she’s going to protect her children and never let them near humans. In her mind, falling in love with them is the worst thing you can do, on both sides. 

Where does Mirabel come in? Give me a sec

Remember how I mentioned Pedro’s parents? Yeah, they wanted his grave to be on earth. They wanted it on earth because they didn’t want to constantly have to have Alma’s permission for them to see their own son’s grave on mount Encanto. So, out of respect of his parents, she lets the grave be on earth and every so often she visits it when she needs time alone or is too stressed out. 

Her children sometimes tag along with her on his birthday and leave some flowers or gifts for him to take into the afterlife. You know how the skeletons in Coco would take a magical version of the gift sat on their grave? 

Yeah, they believe that’s how he takes the gifts. On one of his birthdays, the triplets and Alma visited his grave with gifts to give him. While doing so, they heard a faint cry. A baby's cry, they looked around to see if there was any baby in the distance. They didn’t see anything. The cry was far but close enough to hear, which is strange, who would leave a baby at a graveyard of all places? 

After looking around a bit more, they found a little baby girl in a basket near a tree. She was small, very small, and she looked…new. Like not even a day new, like she was born mere hours ago. 

Julieta, being the caring mother she is, picked the baby up and held her close. The little infant was cold, very cold, and from the vibe she was giving Julieta, more than likely sick. 

“She’s just a baby, who would do such a thing?!” 

Alma stared at the little one and she knew right then and there, she had to care for this child. Unlike her granddaughters, who had been born within the safety of alabaster stone pylons, and in the presence of trained nursemaids draped in maroon and gold silks, this little baby had no such luxury.  

Unlike Isabela, whose head was christened in rosewater the minute she was birthed, or Luisa who was immediately coddled in the finest of linens to warm, or Dolores who was put in the finest cradle made of gold and calming scented clouds to lay her head on. Mirabel was in nothing but a withered old basket and wearing…nothing. There was a simple small blanket covering her, nothing more. 

And to top it all off, she was born on her late husband's birthday, March 6th. This little girl was a miracle. She would’ve called her a gift from the gods but she just went with a gift from her Pedro. 

So, from then on, little Mirabel (or sometimes Miracle) was welcomed into the family as a Madrigal. A mere human yes, but still an amazing little gift that Alma welcomed with open arms. 

She was going to teach her everything from literature, mathematics, combat, science, just anything in the little girl's early years to make sure that she was going to be strong, independent, and smart just like her. 

“I give you my word neita, you will be outstanding” 

Mirabel/Miracle was given to Julieta and Agustin to care for but…it’s more like Alma adopted her herself. She read her stories, gave her gifts, fed her, clothed in the best clothes, etc. To make sure absolutely nothing happened to her little Miracle, Alma made a potion for Mirabel to take everyday to make sure she’s immortal. 

The potion was supposed to give her other magical properties but it only gave her immortality, no god magic like her sisters or primos. No super strength, healing, no ability to control weather, ability to make plants, shapeshifting, or hear from far places, nothing. 

No matter how many potions Alma made, no magic from her family would stick besides immortality. No matter, she was still special, and will forever be special in Alma’s eyes. 

At school (for the god kids, but Mirabel was easily accepted in) Alma made sure she only had the best teachers, if she couldn’t always be the one teaching her then Alma was going to make sure gods who were well qualified were going to. 

Mirabel isn’t bullied per say but she isn’t well liked either. To gods, humans aren’t anything but an annoyance or something to play with. So seeing something you were taught to not see as anything but a speck is doing better in class than you…does get annoying. And most of them think she doesn’t deserve to be there

All of the god kids avoid her unless they are paired up with her for an assignment. Other than that, they don’t pay much attention to her, and it’s easier for them because they are much taller in comparison to her. They don’t even have to look down in her direction. 

God children ages 1-5 are about half her height at fifteen. So in this au, Antonio is at her shoulders, Camilo is four feet above her, Luisa is two feet above him, Isabela/Dolores are three feet over her, and the adults are a few inches above the two oldest girls. 

Alma keeps her height small in case she has to talk to Mirabel, who she knows can’t stand her smallness. Did I mention that Mirabel needs to nearly climb everything in her castle to get to it? If no one in the family is around she really has to climb her way to the kitchen counter just to make a snack. 

Oh, and Alma doesn’t look old is this au. From what I’ve read in Greek mythology and seen in Greek statues, none of the gods look or seem to be older than 30 so Alma looks 26 but she’s about the same age she is in canon. Same goes for the triplets, no gray hair or that much wrinkles. 

Mirabel does have her own room in this au and all that jazz. I’m not so sure what to do for dynamics but I think I’ll keep things the same? Idk, 

I was thinking that maybe Mirabel, Camilo, and Dolores are ok with each other, but leave them in a room alone and it’s just gonna be…awkward and silent. They don’t talk much seeing as they just have stuff to do but they're alright with each other. Antonio and Mira still have that cute little brother and older sister relationship though. 

Luisa and Mirabel are cool, Luisa is a little overprotective of her, but it’s not to the point of where it’s annoying. I’m not sure about Isabela and Mirabel’s relationship though. I feel like Isabela is slightly Jealous that Mirabel gets more attention from Alma in regards to gifts, excellent teachers, and knowledge about anything and everything she gives her. 

Don’t get me wrong, she loves her and would rip the entire fabric of the universe for her, but Isa just isn’t quite sure what to do with her. Julieta and Agustin are still loving parents and shower her with love and care when they can. 

Felix and Pepa love her too and speak to her when they have the time. Bruno does the same and cracks some jokes if she’s ever upset. 

The idea that I had is that Mirabel is like Ariel but different. She wants to go to the human world just to feel normal. Her thinking is that she's a person just like the rest of the people in the village she sees.

Nobody is up on some high horse of superiority; the people are just people. No one treats or looks at her like she's some omen you're not supposed to talk to.

On the plus side, they don't ignore her as if she isn't there and it's a rarity for anyone to be above 6'4, she's amazed by the simple fact that her height is average among girls and some boys.

The only problem is that she knows damn well she isn't supposed to be down there. Alma expects everyone, Including Mirabel, to not talk to humans.

"It'll be the worst thing you could do, for both ends"

But Mirabel isn't a goddess, just a human with immortality, so nothing can go wrong right?

That’s all I’ve got for now, if you have any ideas, let me know! Oh, and here's everyone's majors

Alma - Goddess of strength, independence, fertility, and festivity 

Julieta - Goddess of peace, healing and fertility

Agustin - God of loyalty, crafting, and perseverance 

Isabela - Goddess of flowers, elegance, and beauty

Luisa - Goddess of strength, independence, and loyalty

Pepa - Goddess of war, emotions, and storms

Felix - God of light, happiness, and love

Dolores - Goddess of silence, peace, and music

Camilo - God of trickery, comedy, and festivity 

Antonio - God of animals, happiness, and imagination

Bruno - God of Prophecy, wisdom, and laughter/comedy

[iknowwhatilikeperiod]

Hi, i have not been here for to long and this is my first time writing a story on this platform. This story has been haunting me for quite a while in my creative space, so i though what better way than to share it!

Shadows of the Belmont Legacy

chp. 1

1475

In the quiet outskirts of the village, nestled between the dense foliage and the towering stones of the Belmont hold, stood a small, unassuming house. Its wooden frame was aged, but the thatch roof remained steadfast, a silent sentinel against the elements. The windows glowed softly with the flicker of candlelight, casting an inviting warmth into the cool evening air. Inside, a young woman with eyes the colour of moonlit ice sat at a round table, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns of an ancient tome. Her name was Geneviève Belmont, and she had the unmistakable features of her lineage—sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline, and hair as dark as the night that surrounded her sanctuary.

Geneviève's eyes darted back and forth, her mind racing as she studied the arcane symbols scattered across the yellowed pages. Her long, graceful hands paused every so often to scribble notes onto a piece of parchment beside her. A soft rustle of feathers broke the silence as Persephone, her devoted crow companion, fluttered in from the open window. The bird's eyes gleamed with a hint of something otherworldly, a reflection of the chaos magic Geneviève had discovered within herself at a tender age.

"Persephone, my dear," Geneviève spoke in a hushed tone, not wanting to disturb the delicate balance of her thoughts. "Keep an eye on Trevor for me, will you?"

The crow cocked its head to the side, as if in question. Geneviève sighed, her gaze lingering on the crow for a moment before returning to her work. "I know you enjoy your independence, but I can't help but worry. We haven't seen each other in such a long time, the whispers of darkness are growing louder."

With a gentle caw, Persephone took flight once more, disappearing into the night. Geneviève watched her go, feeling the weight of her solitude settle back upon her shoulders. She knew her brother was out there, fighting the very shadows that she studied, and she couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for not being by his side. Yet, she had her own battles to wage, her own path to walk. Her studies of chaos magic, though misunderstood by many, were vital to the protection of their family and the world they knew.

The door to the small house creaked open, and a figure stepped in, the light from outside framing them in a halo of dust and moonbeams. Geneviève looked up, her heart racing for a brief second, until she recognized the weary silhouette. It was Trevor, his whip slung over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the room for any signs of danger before finally landing on her.

"Gene," he said, his voice a mix of exhaustion and relief. "It's been too long."

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the years melted away, revealing the bond of siblings who had once been inseparable. Geneviève rose to her feet, a warm smile spreading across her face as she set aside her book. "Trevor, welcome back. I've missed you."

He stepped further into the room, closing the door with a thud that echoed through the house. The candle flames danced in the sudden draft, casting shadows that played upon the walls like ghosts of battles past.

"I've missed you too," he said, his voice gruff. "But I've come for more than just a visit."

Geneviève's smile grew wider, revealing dimples in her cheeks. "Food, bath, and a bed to sleep in?"

"Exactly," Trevor chuckled, his eyes scanning the cozy room filled with books and the faint scent of incense. "And perhaps a little of your wisdom."

She rolled her eyes playfully, gesturing to the pot bubbling over the fire. "You're in luck. I've made stew. And as for wisdom, I'm afraid you're out of it."

They sat together, sharing the simple meal and stories of their adventures since they had last seen each other. Trevor spoke of his battles against the night's creatures, his whip crackling with holy power as he sent them back to the shadows from whence they came. Geneviève listened intently, her eyes sparkling with pride at her brother's bravery. She, in turn, spoke of her studies, her discoveries in their hold.

They enjoyed the comfort of their reunion, the warmth of the fireplace, and the familiarity of their sibling banter.

After the stew was finished, Trevor leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs. "Your place is as cozy as ever, Gene."

"Thanks to your help in building it," she said with a nod. "It's a good place to retreat and learn."

She stood up and started clearing the table of the dirty plates as trevor studied her for a moment, his gaze softening.

"How has it been..with you know..studying and all?" He asked.

Geneviève took a deep breath, her eyes flicking to the book she had been reading before his arrival. "I've been trying to understand the chaos within me," she admitted. "The more I know, the better I can control it and understand it."

Trevor laughed. "Good luck with the Church; they won't like that, but what can they do more than they have already done."

"Don't be a jackass! It's our magic, our heritage," she countered.

"Uu, what are you going to do? Turn me into a crow? Ooooo," Trevor teased his little sister as before with little remarks.

Geneviève snickered and struck a thinking pose. "Hmm, well, Persephone did seem a bit lonely lately.."

*CAW!*

They both looked over at Persephone who was cawing at them.

Geneviève laughed, understanding her cawing.

"What is she saying? She called me fat something?"

"No, she said that u are already a pain in her butt to watch over; she doesn't want u flying around with her," Gene said, laughing.

"Wooow not even a fucking bird wants anything to do with me"

-

The room grew quiet, the crackle of the fire and the silent conversation was the only sound between them. Trevor knew she was right, but the thought of his sister embracing the very power that had brought their family so much pain was difficult to accept.

As the night grew late, Trevor retreated to the bed she had prepared for him; after a long bath to scrub away the dirt and grime, the softness of the feather mattress was a welcoming feeling for his beat-up body. It really was a stark contrast to the hard ground he was used to. Soon he was out as a light with Persephone perched on the windowsill, her eyes unblinking as she watched over the slumbering warrior. Geneviève remained at her table, her thoughts racing. The whispers of chaos grew louder in her mind, beckoning her to delve deeper into the forbidden knowledge she had been studying.

The candle flame flickered, casting dancing shadows across the pages of the ancient tome. She could feel the power within her stirring, yearning to be released. But she knew better than to give in to such temptation without understanding the consequences. Carefully, she penned her thoughts and findings, her handwriting neat and precise.

Suddenly, the air grew heavy, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. A chill ran down her spine, and she knew that something was amiss. Persephone squawked loudly, her feathers ruffling as she took to the air.

Geneviève's eyes snapped to the crow, and she saw through her eyes. Trevor, in the throes of a nightmare, thrashed about the bed, his whip clutched tightly in his fist. He muttered incoherently, his face a mask of terror.

With a flick of her wrist, she sent a gentle breeze to caress her brother's face, whispering a calming incantation. Trevor's breathing evened out, and his grip on the whip loosened. Geneviève sighed in relief, watching over him for a few more moments before returning her focus to her studies.

The night was still; the only sound was the rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock in the corner. The candle wax pooled around the wick, casting a soft glow that illuminated the pages of the book.

After another hour of studying. Geneviève, with a firm resolve, closed the book, sealing away the whispers of chaos for the night, deciding it was enough for tonight. She walked over to her room and got in bed. Closing her eyes as sleep overtook her.

-

As the morning sun approached, Trevor stirred, his eyes opening to the light of a new day. He sat up, stretching his muscles and looking around the room with a sense of peace that had eluded him for so long; walking downstairs, he was met by the sight of Gene at the table with, as always, her nose deep in a book.

Geneviève looked up from her work, her eyes weary but determined.

"You okay?" she asked, her voice soft.

Trevor nodded. "Just a nightmare," he said, rubbing his eyes. "But I've had worse."

They shared a knowing look, the unspoken understanding of the battles they each faced—both in the world of the living and in their hearts.

She gave him one of her gentle smiles, closing her book and she stood up.

"Hungry?" She asked as she reached her fireplace.

"Very." Trevor smirked as he started setting the table. His sister cooked some pork belly in a pan over the fire, and with the fat she used for frying some sunnyside-up eggs just how he liked them.

When she was done, she set the pan on the table and took a bowl, cutting some veggies that she had grown in her garden. She cut some fresh sheep cheese on a different plate, set them on the table, and seasoned her veggies and eggs with some rough salt.

"This smells amazing," Trevor said as the aroma of the food filled the room.

They ate and talked, shared stories, and enjoyed the pleasure of a hot breakfast together. It's moments like these that reminded them of their childhood, how they used to dip their bread into the runny yoke of the egg and not eat the rest of it. Truly pleasant memories before the weight of their destinies had settled upon them.

After the meal, Trevor took the plates to the bowl of water that was set on a wooden bench and began washing them as Geneviève cleaned the rest from the table.

He watched her for a moment, her graceful movements a stark contrast to the fierce warrior he knew her to be.

"Hey Trefi, why don't we enjoy the day? It's been too long since we've just...been brother and sister."

"HEY! Don't call me that! And sure, dear sister, why not..I would like to be free for a day."

Silence overtook them as they got ready for the day, changing into clean and comfortable clothes, spending the morning exploring the woods surrounding the house, reminiscing about their childhood, and climbing their old tree where they used to play as kids. Having fun pretending to be kids again.

Geneviève's magic allowed her to show trevor the beauty of the natural world in a way he had never seen before, the flora and fauna responding to her touch with a gentle grace that made him feel a deep respect for the power she wielded.

But as always the day comes to an end as the sun started to go down, they decided to rest by a babbling brook, the water's song providing a soothing backdrop to their conversation. Trevor leaned against a tree, his eyes closed, as Geneviève sat cross-legged beside him, her head resting on his shoulder.

"I've missed this," he murmured, his voice filled with contentment.

"As have I," she replied.

Their bond was palpable, the unspoken understanding between them as strong as the steel. They were two halves of a whole, each with their strengths and weaknesses.

But even during their peaceful interlude, Genevième felt the chaos stirring within her, whispering to her of the battles to come. She knew she couldn't ignore it forever.

"Trev," she began, her voice tentative. "There's something I need to tell you."

He opened his eyes and looked at her, his gaze steady and unflinching.

"I've been having...visions," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Of a great evil, something very dark..and it has something to do with Dracula."

Trevor's expression grew serious. "What do you see?"

Geneviève took a deep breath, her eyes searching his for reassurance. "I see...the end of the world," she whispered. "Of humanity..I see pain and suffering, terror and bloodshed..horrible things will happen.."

The weight of her words hung in the air between them, a silent acknowledgement of the fate they might soon have. Trevor squeezed her shoulder, his grip firm and comforting.

"We'll face it together," he said, echoing her earlier sentiment. "Whatever it takes."

Geneviève nodded as she rested her head against Trevor his neck breathing in his scent as she did when she was younger..it was her the only thing that could comfort her.

-

"You're not so bad for a slob," she murmured teasingly, her voice light and airy as they made their way back home.

"Why you-!" Trevor chuckled, getting her into a headlock while rubbing his knuckles into her head as she shrieked playfully

They laughed as they made their way into the cottage. Geneviève lit the fire into the fire place with a whisper.

As the sound of the crackling fire and distant howling of the wolves outside startes filling the cozy space. The warmth of the hearth was a stark contrast to the chilling evening air that had seeped into the cottage.

She put the kettle back on the fire with the leftover stew.

Geneviève's smiled as she looked up at Trevor who was looking around the cottage. "You really should come by more often."

Trevor nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I know. I've had my hands full hunting vampires and such.. But I'll make it a point to visit more often." He said with a smirk as she laughed quietly.

"You better."

The conversation drifted to their parents, the stories of their ancestors, and the legacy they had left behind. As the fire burned lower and the shadows grew longer, Trevor could feel the weight of his travels lifting from his shoulders. The comfort of his sister's presence was something he hadn't realized he'd been missing. He sighed contentedly, feeling the warmth of the stew, the fire, the smell of the house and her warmth was just what he needed.

As they talked, Geneviève scooped some stew with her spoon and brought it up to her mouth but dropped the spoon back on her plate as different visions started to plage her sight as she started to breath heavily.

"GENE!? IS EVERYTHING OKAY!?" Trevor asked as he stood up and made his way to her side rubbing her back.

It was Persephone, who she allow to take a flight around wallachia for the day sight that disturbed her. She was in Târgoviște, perched on the church watching a woman being burned at the stake.

"NO! PLEASE DON'T HURT THEM! THEY DON'T KNOW WHAT THEIR DOING!"

'No...No..NO. NO. NO. NO!'

"NO!" Geneviève screamed in terror, scaring Trevor much more in the process.

"GENEVIÈVE, WHAT WRONG!? HEY TALK TO ME!"

She breathed heavily as she came back to her scenes looking over at her brother.

"The..the vision I've told u about today..it has come true..in one year..humanity will be whipped out by the night creatures and vampire's."

Trevor frown as he stepped away rubbing his eyes.

"Shit."

"The church has really fucked up now."

"Why do you say that Gene?" Trevor asked looking over at his sister.

Gene just glanced over at him with a much deeper frown.

"They just killed Vlad Dracula's wife."

Trevor looked gobsmacked at that threading his hand through his hair.

"Yep.. we're screwed."

[gamerbearmira]

I got another Alma and Mirabel bonding au! 

Ok so, what if the Madrigals were gods? Like: 

Alma - Goddess of strength, independence, fertility, and festivity 

Julieta - Goddess of peace, healing and fertility

Agustin - God of loyalty, crafting, and perseverance 

Isabela - Goddess of flowers, elegance, and beauty

Luisa - Goddess of strength, independence, and loyalty

Pepa - Goddess of war, emotions, and storms

Felix - God of light, happiness, and love

Dolores - Goddess of silence, peace, and hope

Camilo - God of trickery, comedy, and festivity 

Antonio - God of animals, happiness, and imagination

Bruno - God of Prophecy, wisdom, and laughter/comedy

The story/au goes that Alma fell in love with a human man, Pedro.Her parents, friends, and even strangers told her that it won’t end well but Alma, being the young goddess she was, didn’t listen. The way they met was at the candle festival, Alma loved festivals so she wasn’t going to pass up a fun time. 

So, she disguised herself as a human and went to the festival. Soon meeting the love of her life.  They dated, got married, and had three demigod children. Everyone on earth and above the clouds were of course happy for them. But her parents and friends couldn’t fight the feeling of something going wrong. 

On the night of the triplets' birth, Alma was in a deep coma like sleep, as any mother would be. While asleep with her three babies next to her, Pedro was outside talking to a “friend”. This “friend” got word of Pedro marrying a goddess and having children with her. His jealousy got the best of him and when Pedro was in his calmest and happiest state…he killed him. 

Not long after Alma woke up in a cold sweat and went outside to look for her husband. At the moment, a raid was going on. Houses and stores are up in flames, men with machetes on horses left and right and Pedro…After what seemed like days of weeping and sobbing, she found the man who killed her husband and…dealt with him properly, let's say. 

After that incident, the only humans allowed to come near her were Pedro’s parents, high up on Monte Encanto (Mount Encanto, Like Mount Olympus ). Humans can only go to Mount Olympus when they are invited, no other way. On the plus side, it’s incredibly too high for any human to climb. 

Alma was quite upset and hates herself for not being vigilant enough to protect her husband, therefore she’s going to protect her children and never let them near humans. In her mind, falling in love with them is the worst thing you can do, on both sides. 

Where does Mirabel come in? Give me a sec

Remember how I mentioned Pedro’s parents? Yeah, they wanted his grave to be on earth. They wanted it on earth because they didn’t want to constantly have to have Alma’s permission for them to see their own son’s grave on mount Encanto. So, out of respect of his parents, she lets the grave be on earth and every so often she visits it when she needs time alone or is too stressed out. 

Her children sometimes tag along with her on his birthday and leave some flowers or gifts for him to take into the afterlife. You know how the skeletons in Coco would take a magical version of the gift sat on their grave? 

Yeah, they believe that’s how he takes the gifts. On one of his birthdays, the triplets and Alma visited his grave with gifts to give him. While doing so, they heard a faint cry. A baby's cry, they looked around to see if there was any baby in the distance. They didn’t see anything. The cry was far but close enough to hear, which is strange, who would leave a baby at a graveyard of all places? 

After looking around a bit more, they found a little baby girl in a basket near a tree. She was small, very small, and she looked…new. Like not even a day new, like she was born mere hours ago. 

Julieta, being the caring mother she is, picked the baby up and held her close. The little infant was cold, very cold, and from the vibe she was giving Julieta, more than likely sick. 

“She’s just a baby, who would do such a thing?!” 

Alma stared at the little one and she knew right then and there, she had to care for this child. Unlike her granddaughters, who had been born within the safety of alabaster stone pylons, and in the presence of trained nursemaids draped in maroon and gold silks, this little baby had no such luxury.  

Unlike Isabela, whose head was christened in rosewater the minute she was birthed, or Luisa who was immediately coddled in the finest of linens to warm, or Dolores who was put in the finest cradle made of gold and calming scented clouds to lay her head on. Mirabel was in nothing but a withered old basket and wearing…nothing. There was a simple small blanket covering her, nothing more. 

And to top it all off, she was born on her late husband's birthday, March 6th. This little girl was a miracle. She would’ve called her a gift from the gods but she just went with a gift from her Pedro. 

So, from then on, little Mirabel (or sometimes Miracle) was welcomed into the family as a Madrigal. A mere human yes, but still an amazing little gift that Alma welcomed with open arms. 

She was going to teach her everything from literature, mathematics, combat, science, just anything in the little girl's early years to make sure that she was going to be strong, independent, and smart just like her. 

“I give you my word neita, you will be outstanding” 

Mirabel/Miracle was given to Julieta and Agustin to care for but…it’s more like Alma adopted her herself. She read her stories, gave her gifts, fed her, clothed in the best clothes, etc. To make sure absolutely nothing happened to her little Miracle, Alma made a potion for Mirabel to take everyday to make sure she’s immortal. 

The potion was supposed to give her other magical properties but it only gave her immortality, no god magic like her sisters or primos. No super strength, healing, no ability to control weather, ability to make plants, shapeshifting, or hear from far places, nothing. 

No matter how many potions Alma made, no magic from her family would stick besides immortality. No matter, she was still special, and will forever be special in Alma’s eyes. 

At school (for the god kids, but Mirabel was easily accepted in) Alma made sure she only had the best teachers, if she couldn’t always be the one teaching her then Alma was going to make sure gods who were well qualified were going to. 

Mirabel isn’t bullied per say but she isn’t well liked either. To gods, humans aren’t anything but an annoyance or something to play with. So seeing something you were taught to not see as anything but a speck is doing better in class than you…does get annoying. And most of them think she doesn’t deserve to be there

All of the god kids avoid her unless they are paired up with her for an assignment. Other than that, they don’t pay much attention to her, and it’s easier for them because they are much taller in comparison to her. They don’t even have to look down in her direction. 

God children ages 1-5 are about half her height at fifteen. So in this au, Antonio is at her shoulders, Camilo is four feet above her, Luisa is two feet above him, Isabela/Dolores are three feet over her, and the adults are a few inches above the two oldest girls. 

Alma keeps her height small in case she has to talk to Mirabel, who she knows can’t stand her smallness. Did I mention that Mirabel needs to nearly climb everything in her castle to get to it? If no one in the family is around she really has to climb her way to the kitchen counter just to make a snack. 

Oh, and Alma doesn’t look old is this au. From what I’ve read in Greek mythology and seen in Greek statues, none of the gods look or seem to be older than 30 so Alma looks 26 but she’s about the same age she is in canon. Same goes for the triplets, no gray hair or that much wrinkles. 

Mirabel does have her own room in this au and all that jazz. I’m not so sure what to do for dynamics but I think I’ll keep things the same? Idk, 

I was thinking that maybe Mirabel, Camilo, and Dolores are ok with each other, but leave them in a room alone and it’s just gonna be…awkward and silent. They don’t talk much seeing as they just have stuff to do but they're alright with each other. Antonio and Mira still have that cute little brother and older sister relationship though. 

Luisa and Mirabel are cool, Luisa is a little overprotective of her, but it’s not to the point of where it’s annoying. I’m not sure about Isabela and Mirabel’s relationship though. I feel like Isabela is slightly Jealous that Mirabel gets more attention from Alma in regards to gifts, excellent teachers, and knowledge about anything and everything she gives her. 

Don’t get me wrong, she loves her and would rip the entire fabric of the universe for her, but Isa just isn’t quite sure what to do with her. Julieta and Agustin are still loving parents and shower her with love and care when they can. 

Felix and Pepa love her too and speak to her when they have the time. Bruno does the same and cracks some jokes if she’s ever upset. 

Now in this au, Mirabel is like Ariel but different. She wants to be around people because that's what she knows she is. A person, not a goddess. So, when she has the chance, she goes down to the human world to just feel normal.

The adults, teens, and kids they're don't treat her like she's some creature you're not supposed to talk to. Down on earth she's seen as a regular human being, and she loves that. And the simple fact that it's a rarity for anyone to be above six feet, her smallness is seen as normal.

And to top it all off, not every person around her is on some high horse of importance. Humans are just simple Humans.

But girl knows damn well she's not supposed to be down there. Alma wants everyone, Including Mirabel, to follow the rule of not talking to humans.

"It causes nothing but trouble on both sides."

But Mirabel isn't a goddess so talking to people wouldn't hurt, right That’s all I’ve got for now, if you have any ideas, let me know!

This is sad :((( good idea❗❓ but like also sad :( like why???? Take a human child in knowing full and well that she might be excluded from things 😭😭 though they had good intentions, and obviously Alma means well. It does make me wonder, why doesn't Mirabel feel even the least bit above the normal humans? Also would Alma be able to give her some kind of "demi-god" status and give her more abilities???

Idk, still real cool <33

Imagine climbing a mountain just to leave a baby there and dip back down. You could do all that but care for the child 🤨

[simslegacy5083]

NSB (Straud Legacy) Gen 9

Today's (7/29/2024) Episode: Birthday With Family

After his fun pre-birthday party with his friends Luigi was excited to invite his relatives over for a Kava party on his actual birthday. 

This time Valentina stepped in to cook up a big pot of stew, freeing the usual chef to show off his grandbaby to all his nearest and dearest. Luigi, who had recently been focusing on embracing island life, was busy mixing big batches of the traditional island drink Kava at his well stocked home bar.

On the other side of the room Noemi was making an effort to be sociable, congratulating Fern on her incoming bundle of joy and thanking Cullen for some “fun ideas” to consider for her own quickly approaching birthday as well as the wedding that she and Luigi had yet to set a date for.

She did her best, but being around so many sims at once, many whom she was still getting to know, quickly drained Noemi’s social batteries.

When she made her way over to Luigi, snuggling up close and quiet, he picked up on her anxiety and invited one of their favorite relatives, Denton, to join them in the much less crowded living room.

Once she was in her small “friend bubble” Noemi began to relax and noticed Denton’s own pensive mood. He confided that one of his favorite horses back home had recently passed away and she offered her sincere condolences, wrapping him in a hug while telling him how sorry she was.

After that they settled nearby to watch Luigi “kick butt” on the big screen with his playthrough of a hot new videogame Denton was planning to stream the next day. According to Denton watching his cousin solve some of the trickier puzzles would help him be ready to showcase it for his own audience.

With his girl feeling a bit better, Luigi moved onto the main event of the night, blowing out the candles on the beautiful cake his dad had made.

He extinguished the flames and decided to take a victory lap around the table as his relatives cheered before spinning his way into adulthood.

In the excitement, no-one noticed Peachy slump gently over in the corner of the room, his vision dimming on his last living glimpse of his son.

The family quickly realized that Peachy had hit his final milestone, and an intense wave of grief hit the not so young Luigi. 

Everyone had known that the elder Lawbourne's life would soon be ending, but that didn’t make watching Grim collect his soul any easier.

Peachy’s sudden absence made continuing the celebration impossible. Luigi put the uneaten cake in the fridge and placed his dada's urn next to his papa's in the living room as all his grieving relatives made their farewells.

That night he clung tightly to Noemi as he fell asleep, hopeful that his dads were once again happily reunited in the ever after.

View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here