#after the death road despair

[villainartist]

i do not like when people say kaede would be a static protagonist if she survived the game like as if she wouldnt have 5 whole additional chapters for shit to be thrown her way and see how she'd change and adapt... plenty of writers have pulled off this idea with flying colors so idk why ppl say "ok but IN CANON kaede would just vote hope/despair in the end!" like LITERALLY WE DONT KNOW THATTT THOUGHHHH . shuichi was very different in ch1 compared to ch6 why is kaede exempt from this logic...............

[silicon-tmblr]

Found a good book series so I've been busy

[wisteriasonthemoon]

"And in the end...it still wasn't."

... and?

[punkshort]

Protect and Honor

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Summary: Marcus Acacius promised his best friend he would look after his wife if he ever perished in battle. What he didn't expect was to fall in love.

Warnings: OC death (reader's husband), grief, descriptions of battle/wounds/blood, guilt, angst, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, dry humping, cum eating, pining, language

WC: 6.6K

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

The entire city of Rome slept when the army returned. Warships quietly entered the port with another victory to announce, along with countless lifeless bodies in the hulls. Tomorrow, the emperors would rejoice, filling the streets and arena with games, wine, and laughter. But many families would be in mourning over the loss of fathers, brothers, children, and husbands.

It was those families Acacius thought about when he stood in between the young leaders of Rome, accepting praise and applause for leading those brave men into battle, then leaving their loved ones with holes in their hearts.

It wasn't unusual for him to feel burdened with responsibility and grief when he returned from war, but this time was especially painful because he lost someone very important: Antonius Sattius. His right hand man in battle, and his close friend since he was a boy. The man he celebrated with when he was married one year prior was now carefully carried from his ship, body draped in clean linen and emblazoned with gold.

His heart felt heavy in his chest as he made his way up the winding road to your modest home. Even though it was the middle of the night, he couldn't fathom not telling you the news right away. You deserved to know directly from him and not rumors that would inevitably flow through the streets at first light.

He knocked on your door, then stood with his head bowed and his hands clasped firmly at his waist. He wore his amour, although now clean, out of respect. His muscles were weary and everything ached, yet the thought of his own soft bed was distant in his mind when you swung open the door a moment later with a small lantern in your hand.

"Acacius?"

His head lifted and he met your gaze, eyes filled with sorrow, and watched while your expression changed from confusion to despair when you realized the reason he was alone at your door in the middle of the night.

"My lady, may I come in?"

Your lower lip trembled when you nodded and stepped aside, allowing his hulking frame to engulf your small sitting room as you hurried to light some candles with shaking hands.

"Was it quick?" you asked with your back to him. He nodded, standing stoically next to your furniture.

"Yes. He did not suffer."

Flashes of your husband's bloodied, dirt streaked face clouded his vision. He remembered voices shouting, swords clanging, and distant cries of pain as he hunched over Antonius's body, searching for signs of life.

You sighed and turned to face him, silent tears staining your cheeks, then slumped into a chair.

"Please, sit."

He relented and chose to sit across from you, perched on the edge of his seat, poised and ready but for what, he did not know. He watched you stare down at your tangled fingers in your lap, giving you time to process your loss.

"How will I ever go on? What am I going to do?" you whispered softly. Marcus pursed his lips, his heart breaking.

"I shall help you with anything you may need," he said. "I made a promise to him long ago. He was able to die with peace in his heart, knowing you would be watched over."

You gave him a weak smile. "And what was he to do for you, Acacius, if you had fallen first?" you asked. "No wife. No children. I have never heard you speak of family."

"He was my family," Marcus replied. "He promised to return my body to Rome, to be buried next to my mother and father."

You nodded solemnly and looked around the candlelit room. He could see the anguish flitting across your face as you tried to reconcile with the new life you would have come morning.

"If I had a choice, I would have taken his place."

"Do not say that," you said firmly. You narrowed your watery eyes at him and he fell silent. "We lost him for a reason. The gods - they have their reasons. Perhaps one day, we will discover what those are."

He held your gaze for a moment, a heaviness hanging in the air between you until the tears began to spill down your face and your vision blurred. Without considering decorum, Marcus stood and crossed the room to sit by your side. Tentatively, he reached for your hand, and you eagerly took it before leaning into his shoulder to sob quietly. All the while, Marcus sat strong beside you, letting you cry yourself out until your body sagged and your eyes could no longer remain open.

You didn't ask him to stay and he didn't ask permission. Once you disappeared into your bedroom, he removed his armor and made himself as comfortable as possible on your lounging chair before crossing his arms and willing himself to sleep.

The following morning you weren't surprised to hear Marcus stirring in your sitting room, no doubt being woken up by the two girls you had employed to assist with meals and laundry. A luxury, you realized, you would likely have to forgo as a widow.

You wrapped yourself in a fresh stola and splashed some water on your puffy face, trying to make yourself look halfway decent before exiting your bedroom. Marcus was just securing his armor when he turned to face you.

"I hope you were able to rest," he said. You saw some movement from the kitchen and your gaze slid over his shoulder to the two sets of eyes peering around the door. The girls saw you and quickly disappeared, but it didn't stop your face from warming when you realized they must have been whispering about Marcus being in your home so early in the morning.

"Some, yes," you replied. You swallowed thickly and stretched your arm towards the dining area. "Would you join me before you leave?"

"Of course, thank you," Marcus said, straightening his spine and following you into the room to sit at your table, where the two servants had already begun to place some food.

After you had filled your plates, you ate in silence, the only sound coming from the cleaning being done in the kitchen. As you stared down at your plate, you felt your stomach churn. The thought of eating while your husband lied dead somewhere in the city made you sick.

"What happens now?" you asked. Marcus set his fork down to look at you. "His body? Where is it? What do I need to do?"

"I was hoping to take some of his clothes to the mortuary while I am here," he said. "Whatever you prefer he be buried in, of course. If it is too much, I can assist in planning the ceremony."

"I do not wish to make a spectacle of it," you told him. "Antonius would not have cared for that."

"I will be sure to keep it small. The men will understand."

Marcus kept his promise. He planned most of the ceremony on your behalf and even stood valiantly at your side the entire time. He supplied the two coins for you to place upon your husband's closed eyes, then led you back home. You cried more tears you ever thought possible in the eight days you spent mourning while soldiers came to pay their respects in small groups, all the while Marcus sat by your side like a pillar of strength.

Once the typical mourning period passed, you expected Marcus to go back to his life where he might occasionally check in on you to uphold his promise, but to your surprise, he stopped by your home every day. It wasn't always the same time of day, nor for the same length of time, but every single day for months, you saw one another.

Eventually, you fell into a routine once a week where he would escort you to the markets. With your basket looped around one arm and your other hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, you meandered down the street together, wandering slowly from stall to stall until you gathered all the goods you needed for the week.

"I wish you would have kept the girls," Marcus told you for the third time that week. "I would have paid-"

"It was not about money," you reminded him, picking up a ripe piece of fruit and testing the firmness between your fingers. "It was unnecessary, I told you this already. What do I need servants for? To cook food for one? I hired them in anticipation of having children. My dream of being a mother is gone."

"You could remarry."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes before placing the fruit back and moving on.

"You know as well as I that suitors look for an untouched woman," you said quietly so that you couldn't be overheard.

Marcus remained silent by your side as you continued to stroll. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining but it wasn't terribly hot, and there was a slight breeze in the air, bringing with it the scent of lemon trees from a nearby orchard. You were about to open your mouth to remark on the perfect weather when Marcus spoke.

"I could help you find a suitor."

You twisted around and looked up at him in surprise. The sun glistened off his tanned, battle-scared face, his dark eyes gazing down at you without the faintest glimmer of humor.

"You are serious."

"If you like," he said, "I know there are some higher ranking officers who are still unwed. I would never bring any man who Antonius would not approve of."

The idea of moving on left you speechless. It was something you knew you should do, that otherwise you would live a long and lonely life, but it still unsettled you.

"Perhaps," you said slowly, then looked away. Marcus noticed your discomfort and patted your hand.

"If you are not ready, we can wait."

You nodded, pinching your lips together as you pretended to look at some flowers.

"And what of you, Acacius?" you asked, changing the subject. "Are you searching for a bride?"

Marcus chuckled and shook his head. "I fear the emperors have chosen war as my betrothed. It was a rare act of kindness they have allowed me this time of rest and mourning."

Your heart clenched in your chest, realizing for the first time that some day soon, Marcus would be sent off to a faraway land once again, leaving you all alone. Suddenly, the perfect weather and the sounds of the market was not enough to keep a smile on your face. You struggled to make sense of the mixed emotions you were feeling but did your best to shrug them off and carry on.

What you didn't realize that right next to you, Marcus was wrestling with the same uncertainty.

Just as you both expected but didn't want to acknowledge, three weeks later Marcus received word he was to lead Rome's army across the sea to conquer yet another distant city. When you heard the soft knock at your door far too early one morning, you sat up in bed, dread filling your chest.

With a cloak wrapped tightly around you, you slowly padded towards your door, only opening it timidly after taking a deep, shaky breath.

Marcus stood on the other side, clad in his black battle armor with a look of regret once again. Your heart sank as you tried not to slump against the doorframe.

"Come in," you said meekly. He nodded, jaw tense, and stepped inside your home the same way he had been every day for six months, only this time he set his sword by the door and turned to address you.

"I have my orders," he began, "I will be gone for a month or two, but I have asked a trusted retired general to check in on you in my absence."

You nodded and blinked away the tears that welled up in your eyes, but you weren't quick enough. Two fell down your cheeks and your lower lip quivered when his face softened and he stepped forward.

"Be brave," he murmured, cupping your jaw and swiping the tears away with his thumb. It was the most intimate thing he had done since you have known him. "I will return and escort you to the market in no time. Until then, do try to stay out of trouble. I do not want Julius to write of you injuring yourself chasing after the crows in your garden again."

You laughed as more tears spilled down your face. "I will try."

He smiled down warmly at you, eyes scanning your face and palm still cradling your jaw. You both felt something shift in that moment. The air grew thicker when your eyes met and your heart flipped when his gaze briefly fell to your lips. Your fingers itched to touch him, to pull him close and dispel of the gap between you, but you hesitated. Unknowingly, Marcus was doing the very same, swallowing nervously at the butterflies in his stomach, something he hadn't felt in years with a woman. But neither of you acted on your feelings, for the ghost of your husband still lingered in the room.

You cleared your throat and gently took his hand, the one that was pressed against your cheek, and pulled it down to hang between you.

"Please try not to die."

Marcus grinned and the air in the room instantly lifted.

"I will try."

Begrudgingly, he let go of your hand and took a step back. "I will return before you know it. And when I do," he said, bending to pick up his sword, "I expect to be inundated with all the exciting rumors around the city, first thing."

You bit your lower lip and swiped the back of your had across your cheek.

"I promise."

Marcus gave you one last lingering glance before forcing his feet to move. You watched with a heavy heart as he made his way down your walk, towards the road, towards the direction of the sea. From where you stood, you could just see the tops of the warships, their sails already fluffed in the dimness of the sliver of sun peaking over the horizon.

As it turned out, Julius was quite good company. He was old enough to have all grey hair and deep wrinkles around his eyes. He walked with a limp, which was assisted by a cane he had whittled when he was a much younger man. He would share a meal with you or sit in your garden a couple times a week, and he would tell you stories of war, his family, and the exciting adventures he had experienced throughout his long life.

"My wife passed on three years ago," he told you one morning while you watched the sun break through the clouds and warm up your vegetable garden, which was growing at a substantial rate. "She had grown quite ill for a long time. She suffered greatly, and it broke my heart to not be able to ease her burden."

You frowned and gently took his hand in yours. "I am so sorry, Julius. But I am sure she was grateful for every moment she had with you."

He smiled at you, yellowing teeth peeking out behind his lips.

"We had a lovely life together. I feel such sadness that you and Antonius were not afforded the same luxury."

"As do I," you sighed, then turned to look back out at your peaceful little garden. "But the time we had together was good. He was a kind and strong man. Marcus told me once in this very garden how he died. That he was saving the life of a young, scared soldier. He sacrificed himself for that young man, because that was the type of soul he had. Always looking out for others."

Julius ignored your slip of the tongue, using Marcus's informal name, and instead hummed quietly next to you as he considered your words.

"He sounds as though he would want you to find another," he said after a beat. "Am I wrong?"

You shrugged and fiddled nervously with the hem of your tunic.

"I suppose he would."

"So... will you allow yourself to find happiness once again?"

You pressed your lips together, gaze falling to your lap. "I would like to, but..."

You trailed off, cheeks burning from guilt. Julius gave you a moment before he spoke again.

"Do not tell me you cannot find any suitors. You are a beautiful woman."

You laughed and shook your head.

"I have not been interested in seeking out a courtship," you said, but Julius could hear the hesitation in your voice. Slowly, realization dawned on him.

"Acacius is a good man."

You whipped your head to the side, eyes wide with shock. "What are you implying?"

Julius shrugged. "He told me he has been here to visit you every day since the passing of your husband. He knows much about you, about your life. Spoke to me for what felt like hours before he left."

"Well, yes, he has been assisting me due to a past obligation he promised my husband," you assured him, sitting up straight.

"And what if he has been assisting you simply because he enjoys your company?" Julius asked. "That, perhaps, something has grown amongst the anguish, tethering his heart to your doorstep?"

You sputtered in surprise, struggling to come up with something to say. Julius just chuckled and patted your leg before standing.

"I am simply an old man," he told you, grabbing his cane and putting all his weight on the wood. "But I have experienced love. Despite what you may think, Acacius cares deeply for you, of that I am certain. And I do believe you feel the same for him."

He left you frozen on the worn bench in your garden, mind reeling and heart fluttering wildly in your chest. He spoke the very words you wished you could admit. Even in the solitude of your home, you could never say just how much you had grown to care for Marcus. And now that the words were out there, floating around in the summer breeze, you couldn't think about anything else.

Marcus had been gone nearly three months. Not one. Not two. But three whole months. Fear gripped your throat every passing day until finally you were walking along the shore one morning and far off in the distance, you could see the ships on the horizon. They were just a handful of black triangles, but you couldn't stop grinning. As each hour passed, they got closer and closer, pulling in groups of people all day long to watch, but they were so far away that by the time the sun set, all had retreated to their homes. It was too dark to watch the ships arrive, and citizens knew there would be a celebration in the morning, so everybody chose to go home and rest.

Everybody except for you.

You sat on the shore, the sea breeze whipping through your hair and cutting across your cheeks. You shivered from the spray of the ocean but you stood your post valiantly. When the first of the ships reached the docks, you stood and bounced nervously from foot to foot, yet still kept your distance.

It took nearly an hour for the ships to unload, but even in the darkness of night with only the dull flames from their lanterns to guide them, you saw a flash of bright red and your hands clamped excitedly over your mouth.

He was home. He lived and he was safe.

He was calling out orders to his men and ushering workers onto the ships to assist with the fallen and injured soldiers, his red cape draped around his broad shoulders, billowing in the wind. When he turned away to walk up the dock, head hung low and bones likely weary from battle, you couldn't hold back any longer.

"Acacius!"

His head snapped up and his eyes locked onto you immediately. Instantly, his face brightened and he smiled wide. His pace quickened to reach you and yours did the same until you finally found yourselves standing just a mere foot away, gazing up at his tired but happy face.

Neither of you knew what to say. Instead, you both let your eyes rake up and down the other, examining each other for any differences or maybe just to confirm it wasn't all a dream.

"You did not die," you breathed, both of you laughing.

"I did not," he said, smile still stretched across his face. A shiver shot down your spine at the sight of him, all tall and imposing and real. He quickly shed himself of his cape and wrapped it around your shoulders, pulling you close against his armor and breathing you in.

"You smell of the sea. How long have you been here?"

"All day," you confessed, already feeling warmer. He tutted under his breath and nodded towards the sleeping city.

"I will walk you home and tomorrow, we shall celebrate."

You allowed him to lead you through the streets, listening to him tell you tales, but none of battle. He told you of the different animals he saw, about a terrible storm that gripped the army for three straight days, and how a drunken solider swore up and down he spotted a mermaid and had the whole ship poking fun at him for the remainder of the voyage.

You walked past the statue of him that was erected in the center of the city after his last victory and you grinned.

"I have not seen you in so long, I began to think this is what you looked like."

Marcus rolled his eyes and tugged you closer. "I am sorry it took longer than expected. I trust Julius kept you in good company?"

"He was wonderful," you told him honestly, then nervously added, "but I would have preferred you."

If it wasn't so dark, you would have seen his face flush.

"I have been told we will remain home for several months now," Marcus told you. "Emperor Geta has sought a bride. He wishes to spend the next few months planning a wedding. It sounds as though his bloodlust has been assuaged for now."

"Ah, so you are saying I get you all to myself once again?"

Marcus laughed as his face grew even warmer than before. "So it seems, my lady."

He walked you up the familiar path to your door, waiting patiently as you unlocked it and hurried inside to fetch your lantern. When you returned, you sheepishly handed him his cape with your thanks.

He did not toss it over his shoulders. Instead, he gripped it in one hand while his eyes roamed over your beautiful face. He had missed you so much that it caused an ache in his chest the whole time he was gone, mind riddled with thoughts of you to the point where he felt like a madman.

Inviting him inside would be forward and untoward. You racked your mind for a legitimate reason, but you couldn't think of a single one. So, you resigned yourself to feeling grateful he was alive and unscathed, that you could sleep peacefully knowing he was home and you would see him tomorrow.

"You will be by in the morning?" you finally asked when the silence had gone on long enough. Marcus blinked and focused on your eyes.

"Yes," he said, "first thing. I shall be here as if no time had passed at all."

You grinned and bit your lip. "Wonderful. Then... I suppose I will release you. Please go home and rest, General, you have earned it."

He nodded in agreement, then forced his feet to move away from you, even though every fiber of his being screamed at him to go the opposite direction, into your arms.

"Sleep well," he croaked, eyes still glued to your face. You smiled shyly, the reaction so endearing it had his heart leaping.

"You as well. I am glad you are home safe."

He stumbled backwards but continued to gaze at you until you giggled and slowly shut the door. Once you were hidden in the safety of your home, you took a deep, ragged breath and fanned your face. Your pulse was racing and your blood was pumping so fast, you were certain you wouldn't sleep a wink all night. Instead, you set your lantern down and began to pace around your sitting room, wondering what you should do to exhaust yourself when suddenly, you heard a sharp rap on your door.

Without thinking, you rushed to open it, already knowing exactly who it was.

"Marcus," you breathed when you laid eyes on him once again. He looked slightly different now, a little more disheveled and filled with determination. "W-what is wrong?"

You watched his throat bob nervously before he stepped forward and cupped your face.

"My apologies," he said, "but I should have done this months ago."

His neck craned down and his lips pressed urgently against yours. You melted immediately, throwing one arm around the back of his neck to pull him inside so he could kick the door closed behind him. His tongue flicked across your lower lip and your jaw dropped, granting him access to deepen the kiss.

His hands dragged down your sides, fingers plucking at the fabric of your stola as you lead him further into your home.

When you staggered into your bedroom, his eyes popped open to look around. It was modest, just like the rest of your home. A soft, large enough bed sat in the middle of the room, along with a small wardrobe and a chair that sat next to it. It was quaint and unassuming, just like you.

"Wait," he whispered, breaking the kiss. His palms still pressed against your cheeks, fingertips curling around the backs of your ears. You looked up at him, lips wet and parted, panting for air. "Are you quite sure this is what you want? We can slow down, we can wait."

"I am sure," you replied. Your hands fell to the tie on your stola, blindly undoing the knot as you continued to hold his gaze. "I thought of you every day. I feared something would happen to you and you would never know my true feelings. My heart could hardly handle the stress."

You felt the fabric slip loose and fall to the floor. Marcus's eyes darted down and with pride blooming in your chest, noticed the hungry way he looked at your naked body for the first time.

"Thoughts of you were the only thing that kept me alive," he murmured, walking you backwards to lay you down on your bed. He began to unhook his armor, all the while his eyes remained roaming over you. "You saved me more ways than I could count, my lady."

You almost told him that he saved you, as well. But something about the look in his eye told you he already knew. After the loss of Antonius, you were not the only one who felt despair. You both were broken, the memory of Marcus's dearest friend, your husband, weighing heavy on both your hearts. But finally, after months and months, you came to the realization that Marcus was your husband's final gift to you.

Once he finally rid himself of the last of his clothes, you allowed yourself a moment to take him in. He was strong and broad, just as you imagined, and his body was littered with old scars. By all accounts, he looked like a rough man, but much to your delight, his touch was soft and his kiss was tender. When he climbed on top of you, settling his hips between your legs and sliding his tongue leisurely past your teeth, you didn't feel scared. You felt safe.

The tip of his cock nudged against your inner thigh when he shifted his weight. The subtle reminder of his thick length you had only gotten a glimpse of caused you to inhale sharply.

"You are so soft," he mumbled against your mouth. His calloused hand drifted up and down your side, gently grazing along your skin before it rested on your breast, cupping the heavy flesh in his palm and rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You moaned and lifted your back off the bed, pressing into his hold while your fingers got lost in his hair.

Something stirred inside of him when he heard the noise of pleasure escape your lips. His hips ground against you and his mouth trailed down to suck a mark on the sensitive skin of your throat, eager to pull more sounds from you. It took no time at all before you were whining and rolling your hips in rhythm with his, relishing in the feeling of his cock gliding between your folds, taunting you with his size.

The very same hand that took countless lives with the blade of his sword slipped between your bodies so he could stroke two fingers through your pussy, testing your arousal and making a pleased noise at what he found.

"Does that feel good?" he asked lowly. His chest had pressed against yours, desperate to feel as close to you as possible, with only his arm separating you.

"Yes," you gasped while wrapping your legs around his waist. It seemed you wanted to be closer, as well. "I wish to feel you. Please, my general, do not make me beg."

Marcus chuckled against your throat, fingers still petting at your entrance. "I am willing to wager you would sound so pretty begging for my cock."

You squirmed impatiently underneath him and nipped playfully at his scratchy cheek, making him smile.

"Fine. If I really must," you sighed, "please, Marcus. I have spent countless nights dreaming of all the ways you would make me yours." You felt his muscles tense and his lips paused against your neck. "I would lie in this very bed wondering what kind of lover you are, your favored position to take a woman, and how incredible it would feel to be split open by your thick cock."

Marcus reared back with a growl, fisting himself before lining up his cock at your opening. Blind with lust and need, he pushed forward, entering you with one swift pass. Your head flew back into the sheets at the sudden fullness, mouth opening and closing pathetically, unable to formulate a single sound.

"Breathe," Marcus reminded you when he fell forward to rest on his forearms which were braced on the sides of your head. "Breathe for me, my love."

You forced yourself to drag in a shuddering breath, the pressure between your legs stealing all your attention. You couldn't stop yourself from glancing down, mouth agape, to see where you were joined, almost as if you couldn't believe it unless you looked. Seeing yourself stretched around his considerable girth shook loose a shattered noise from the back of your throat. His nose brushed against the side of your head and you heard a similar noise from him when he followed your gaze.

"Look how beautiful," he murmured before slowly pulling back his hips, leaving just the tip of his cock nestled snugly inside your cunt. Your eyes widened when you saw how his length glistened in the candlelight, soaked with your arousal, then moaned his name into the night air when he sunk back inside you, parting your walls and carving a spot for himself to claim as his own.

"You are so tight," he grunted, jaw clenched from the way you squeezed around him every time he thrusted back inside you. "Next time, I will make you come from my tongue and fingers first. But tonight, I simply could not wait."

You huffed a breathless laugh and dragged your eyes up to meet his. "I had no idea the fearsome General of Rome was so indecent."

Marcus lifted the corner of his mouth in a smirk. "I look forward to showing you just how indecent I am."

With every thrust, he drove himself deeper, knocking the air from your lungs each time the tip of his cock met a place inside you that had your back arching off the bed and your nails leaving red marks down his back.

Your hips burned from how wide you stretched and your skin tingled everywhere his lips touched. He was gentle, but assertive, a lethal combination you didn't know you needed until it was between your legs, whispering filth in your ear while ramming himself inside of you over and over.

You whispered his name, voice broken and raspy, then said, "I am close... please, please-"

Before you had a chance to realize what was happening, he rolled over, pulling you with him so you sat slumped over his chest. You blinked and looked around before pushing yourself up. Straddling his hips, you gazed down at him, eyes unfocused and hazy with desire.

"I now see why I never felt the urge to seek out a wife," he whispered, watching when you got your bearings and began to bounce in his lap. His fingers gripped your hips, indenting your skin and helping you move. "None could ever compare to you. You are more beautiful than any flower, taste better than any sweet-" He groaned when you began to circle your hips faster, grinding down on him and breathing heavily. "Your eyes shine brighter than any star. And this fucking cunt-" he growled, roughly grabbing at your ass so he could pull you up and down on his shaft. You cried out, fingers scrambling for purchase on his chest. "Best fucking cunt I ever had. Gods above, Rome could be in flames and it would not keep me from between your legs."

"Marcus," you whined, gasping for air while the pressure mounted low in your belly. "So deep... s-so deep, I can hardly breathe."

"Come for me," he commanded, "come on my cock. I wish to see the look on your beautiful face when you fall apart."

Moments later, you did just as he asked. Your eyes squeezed shut but stars burst behind your lids as your orgasm rolled through you, hitting you in waves that had you cursing and crying his name. The blood rushing in your ears was so loud, you didn't even realize he was speaking until his massive hands lifted you off with an urgency that had your eyes snapping back open. When you looked down, he was furiously stroking his cock, chin tilted towards the ceiling and bronzed chest glistening with sweat.

As quickly as you could, you slid down to the floor, kneeling between his thighs and pulling on his free hand for attention. When he saw you gazing up at him with your mouth open, spent but eager for his seed in your mouth, he whimpered and pushed himself up.

"Stick out your tongue," he whispered. You did as he asked, a shiver shooting down your spine when you heard his voice so thick with desire.

The fat head of his cock rested on your warm tongue. When his eyes met yours, you preened at the instant look of relief you saw half a second before he spilled down your throat.

His jaw hung open wide, hypnotized as he watched thick streams of his seed paint your lips and tongue. It wasn't until he was milked dry and exhausted that he let go of his cock. With parted lips, he gently lifted your chin, closing your mouth and nodding at you to swallow. He gave you a satisfied smile when your throat bobbed and you licked your lips, shaking his head in disbelief.

"And you speak of indecency," he said, voice hoarse.

You giggled and climbed into his lap, slinging your arms around his neck and nuzzling against his throat. With a deep sigh, he leaned back, pulling you with him until your bodies were stretched out across your bed, limbs tangled together while you caught your breath.

"Will you stay?" you asked meekly as you traced invisible shapes over his chest. He kissed the top of your head and gently squeezed your arm.

"Of course."

You laid just like that, holding one another with only the sound of insects outside your window filling the silence. Eventually, Marcus shifted a bit and your chin tilted up.

"Are you..." he began, then you watched him swallow nervously as his eyes darted up towards the ceiling before trying again. "Do you feel any regret? Or... guilt?"

You turned so your chin rested on top of his chest. "No. Do you?"

He shook his head but kept his eyes pinned to the ceiling.

"Not anymore. But months ago, when I began to see you differently... yes, I did."

You pressed a soft kiss against his skin, making his eyes drift back down to you. "I believe I denied my feelings for a very long time for the same reason," you admitted, "but while you were gone, it afforded me the time to think. And I have concluded Antonius sent you to me for a reason. He requested you take care of me should anything happen." You shrugged and rested the side of your head against his shoulder. "I believe he trusted you more than anybody in his life. He would have been happier I chose you rather than some stranger."

He considered your words for a moment before nodding and turning on his side. You smiled up at him sleepily with your head resting on the inside of his bicep. He cupped your cheek and, after searching your eyes, slotted his lips with yours for a tender kiss.

"Do you think we can share a fruitful life together?" he asked with his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your cheek.

"Oh, yes. You ought to see my vegetable garden. I hardly need to go to the market for much any more," you joked.

He laughed, dark eyes sparkling in the dim candlelight.

"That is a good start," he said, and you giggled. When you both quieted down, he gave you another kiss before saying, "I would be honored to take care of you for the rest of our days, if that is something you want."

"It is," you replied a little too quickly.

His face lit up at your eagerness. "Good. Then let us rest. Tomorrow at the ceremonies, I shall announce our pending nuptials."

And although it felt a little fast, you didn't argue.

Marcus followed through with his promise, as he always did. The following morning, you both dressed in your finest clothes to attend the celebrations being held at the arena. It was never something you enjoyed attending, the ritual of sacrifice feeling barbaric, but on that particular day you didn't mind. You sat with Marcus in the emperor's box, a place you only ever saw from afar. He introduced you to the emperors and you tried your best not to let your nerves show. Before the games began, Marcus announced his plans to wed, which was met with polite acclaim by those seated in the box.

"That was a little scary," you admitted quietly to Marcus once everyone had found their seats and the first fight began. The loud cheering and yelling drowned out anything you said, but you still kept your voice low.

"Nothing to be scared of, my lady," he assured you with the squeeze of your hand. You smiled when he brought your knuckles to his lips for a brief kiss. "I told you I would protect you for the rest of our days."

Happiness bloomed in your chest, excited for what your future held. But there was one thing you knew for certain:

As long as Marcus was by your side, you would never know sadness again.

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

[gnomishcunning]

there’s something delightfully angsty thinking about rolan, trying and failing to cope with his (seemingly) unrequited feelings for tav.

there’s this person, this hero, who has a magnetic attraction or second sense for whenever rolan is experiencing despair. they swoop in and play a first-hand witness to every godawful moment in his life. from keeping them from leaving the grove and perishing on the road, to finding him drunk off his ass at last light, to walking into sorceries sundries and blatantly questioning the bruises on his face.

worst off, they do everything in their power to fix it: they keep him and his siblings together, they save his only family from the depths of moonlight towers and his own ass from the shadowlands, and then beat up his abusive master and hand him an Archmage’s title on a silver platter.

by act 3 of baldur’s gate he owes all his success to this person he can only mentally rectify as his personal guardian angel. he has his life, his family, and he’s living his lifelong dream thanks to them. they’ve seen him at his worse and they did everything in their power to help him anyways, and what does he get?

an ego that died a quiet death somewhere in the shadowlands, that got buried under Lorroakan’s boot heel. a tower and a magic canon that, gods help him, may help him find a way to repay a single iota of the multiple life debts he owes his hero. memories of his mistreatment of them along the road to baldur’s gate.

and these feelings, these godsawful feelings he can’t bring himself to put a name to. a longing so great it hurts, admiration so deep it he hasn’t found the depths of it, a love so great it scares him, so desperate it has him making awkward, stilted jokes about being friends, pledging his help to fight a literal netherbrain, jokingly (not jokingly) referring to himself as the dashing master - trying and failing to endear himself to his seemingly-insane savior while they prance about in a party full of insanely attractive bachelors, all gunning for their attention.

he knows he can’t compare, after how he treated them. he just doesn’t measure up. they’ve seen him at his worst and he can’t be loved by someone like them, after that, but-

his grumpy little jokes always earn him that weird little sideways smile, and it sends his heart a-fluttering.

so he’s going to try.

he’s always been good at embracing hopelessness, anyways

[acapelladitty]

bereft of grace

Summary: Defeated by Messmer, you find that his plans for you, a mongrel tarnished, are far different than what you might expect.

(tw: non-con, humiliation, forced stripping, restraints, mild tit torment, rough sex, size difference, stretching, vaginal fingering, creampie, overstimulation, pain)

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

You feel the infernal chill of his helm pressing against the side of your face as he lowers his head to your own. His words, soft-spoken and laced with cruelty, brush across your ears as your naked back remains pinned to his chest - restrained by both the strength of his arm pulling tightly across your stomach and the unshakeable wrap of the snakes which lace across your wrists to keep your hands useless and pinned against your sides.

"Mongrel tarnished." He growls the words like a slur, silken hatred pairing with the predatory knowledge that you were truly helpless in his arms. "Thy kind are good for naught."

A serpentine tongue slips free of his lips to stroke a languid line across your neck, tasting the sweat of your battle and the fear that had long since laced your skin since he had deprived you of your torn clothing; the shredded materials laying in a discarded pile below your suspended frame. His tongue is warm, wet and the sensation of it brushing along the sensitive skin of your throat is as arousing as it is repulsive.

"Stripped of gold."

Thin fingers force their way between your legs, widening your thighs as they push at and grope the skin there so roughly that you know small, circular bruises will be left in their wake. His hand slides further, your breath hitching with despair as he presses against your most private flesh; lengthy digits stroking along your slit to test the skin there as they tease your slightly-wet hole before slipping up to graze across the ultra-sensitive nub of your clit.

"Stripped of grace."

Gasping as he pushes two of his fingers within you with little preamble, the sudden stretch of the intrusion burns like hellfire and you cry out as he starts to pump them inside your walls. Your body responds despite itself, his long digits stroking areas which were quick to ignite a warmth in your cunt that made your brain feel fuzzy despite the hollowing discomfort.

"Stripped even of thy paltry linens."

The heat is oppressive, the flames which he was able to conjure in an instant making his body feel like a furnace where it touches your own - even through his armour - and it pairs with the shameful warmth which rolls from your own body as you find yourself pressing down into his hand like a bitch in heat.

As soon as he had robbed you of your weapon, you assumed death was to swiftly follow and a genuine fear of being impaled like so many of the corpses which littered the road to the Shadow Keep immediately made you compliant to his commands. You had dropped to the floor and awaited a swift death which was not to come as his hand had stayed, something almost like amusement playing in his drawn face as he noted the instant submission and ordered you to approach him.

He had ripped your clothing from you, tearing it with a demigods strength as you shivered and ignored the hot shame which paired with the fear in your heart. His snakes followed their masters will without verbal instruction, the infernal heat of them as they slid across your skin making you gasp as forked tongues tasted their way across your shuddering frame to lock your hands in place.

After that, it didn't take long for Messmer to make his move. His gaze, split between hues of gold and the abyssal void, had taken its time in your appraisal - peering into your anguish and fear-laced expression before roving across your ample breasts and lower half. A rail-thin hand had struck like one of his many serpents, harshly gripping at your upper arm to spin you in place and allowing him to scoop you close as inhumane strength lifted you from the floor as though you weighed nothing.

Nothing in the face of a demigod.

Thoughts snapping back into the moment as a third finger breaches your hole, a pained howl slips free of your lips as you writhe in place - attempting to pull away from the pleasurable pain with a futile struggle. Sex and bodily pleasure wasn't unknown to you, but the sheer power which rolled from the demigod who seemed determined to amuse himself with your flesh made it difficult to focus on anything outside of the humid air and the sensations he was forcing upon you.

"Thy kind are fit for use as a fleshly pleasure. No more. Strip all thoughts of lordship from thy desires before my hand is pushed to strip thy skin from such soft flesh."

Fresh snakes slither across your chest, the thin bodies wrapping around the globes of your breasts and tightenening to the point of true discomfort - the rope-like restraints making a wicked pressure quickly build up in your abused chest. Sinking their fangs into the sensitive skin just below your chest, the snakes showed no sign of letting up their firm hold and you almost sob with relief as Messmer's thick fingers pull free of your cunt.

It's a short-lived peace though, as his slickened fingers are quick to establish how tight the hold his snakes have achieved and a guttural cry breaks free of your throat as his large hands move to pinch at your chest roughly. Nipples perked due to the pressure and arousal which is rolling through your stimulated frame, he's careful to snatch the sensitive nubs between his fingers, one at time, until fresh tears spring into your eyes and your back arches violently into his chest while your lips form a constant stream of pleas and whines.

"For one so cursed and devoid of all, thy voice is surprisingly sweet." And although you cannot see his face, you can hear the predatory arousal which accompanies the words.

He was enjoying himself, attempting to force you to do the same.

"You are the cursed one."

Finding your voice, you yelp out the words like an accusation - arousal, shame, and mild horror sparking a momentary boldness which you immediately regret as his body stiffens and a sharp chill replaces the cruel warmth of his earlier tones.

"True, little tarnished. My curse is borne in the void of the abyssal serpent. Naught more than a monster, I will force thee to embrace thy oblivion and know such suffering."

Something blunted presses against your hole and your panicked struggle renews as you feel just how big he is, the girth making genuine fear lance your spine as you realise that his earlier rough treatment with his fingers was a necessity more than anything else. Aside from the stretch which his fingers provided, you were horrified to feel just how wet you were as his cock grazed along your slit; collecting your arousal to ensure an easier entry as he forced himself inside such a tight-fit space.

The noise that slips free of your throat is inhumane, guttural and raw, as the head of his cock breaches past your hole. It feels like it's going to split you apart and the sheer burning ache of the merciless stretch instantly overpowers any other feeling in your body - your toes curling as a wracked sob shakes your trembling frame.

"Please! Please, st-stop." The words are a babble, stuttered and broken, as you try to force yourself to relax around him, to adjust to his infernal size. "My lord, please."

The unexpected use of his title earns a rumble of approval and his lips are hot against your neck once more as his sharpened teeth graze across the sensitive flesh while he considers the plea with a low hum.

"Thy slickened folds tell of a differing desire, little tarnished." Messmer growls, keeping his cock still as he allows himself to acclimatise to his gripping tightness of your spasming cunt. "But I am not a rutting beast, devoid of all mercies. Ask it of me and I shall see to thy own pleasures."

Fresh shame flushed through your frame, adding another layer of heat to the already sweat-slicked skin as you listen to his offer. He would force you to ask this of him. To make you accomplice to your own unmaking. A cruel mercy, but a mercy which you would take him on as the alternative seemed impossible to bear.

"I beg you, my- my lord. Please, use me."

His chuckle is victorious and wicked in its joy as Messmer pulls you lower on to his cock, forcing another two inches of him within your aching hole. However, true to his word, his free arm, the one not pinning you to his chest, slips down between your legs and you gasp as his finger circles itself at the top of your cunt, seeking out your most sensitive flesh.

He knows he has found it when you jerk in his arms, an electric bolt of pleasure arcing across your skin as his calloused finger grazes your swollen clit. It sparks him to pick up a slow pace, his cock breaching your hole until it presses flush against your cervix before pulling free until only the head remains. A slow pace, but a brutal one as every thrust makes it feel like he is pulling your walls free with him - the friction immediately sending your body into overdrive.

His finger never lets up the pressure on your clit; alternating between grazing along it directly and gently thumbing circles around it as the dual manipulations forced your legs wider, your body seeking more pleasure to offset the ache of the stretch. Pain and pleasure, both sensations at war within your tortured flesh until his thumb presses just a little too roughly against your nub and you came undone.

Clenching around his cock, your release brings with it a low scream as waves of pleasure roll across your body. Messmer seems to appreciate the forced pleasure, if the growing pace of his cock is anything to go by, but the continued stimulation of his thrusts only serves to make your orgasm draw out until your body twitches from the aftershocks.

"So easily pleasured. Were it not for thy warriors garb and weaponry, I would have assumed thee a courtesan. A temptress, well-versed in the pleasures of men."

Messmer grunts the insult as he continues to fuck you without mercy but his humiliating words barely register within your overstimulated mind as your whimpers fill the large room. His voice is full of excitement and you can hear the slight gasps which exist between the words and how they speak of his own coming release.

His cock having ruined your most sensitive walls, the dull ache of the stretch now only serves to enhance the pleasure and you cannot help but clench around him, pulling him to his finish as his cock twitches within you.

The arm around your stomach tightens, as do the snakes which remain bound across your suffering frame and you feel the heat of his release as it scorches you from the inside out, much hotter than any man you had been with before. Seeking his own pleasure, Messmer pulls you tight, forcing his cock up hard against your battered cervix as his mouth buries itself into your neck - teeth and tongue making a mess of your skin as he marks the territory like a beast.

It all proves too much and you come again, your cunt fluttering and squeezing his cock as low, animalistic noises break free of your lips. Your strength leaves you in an instant after the initial high and the loose limbs of your frame are only supported by his arm and snakes as he keeps you suspended like a puppet until he's finished with you.

His cock pulls out, the movement slow and certain, and the moment his cockhead slips free you feel the heat of his release trickle down your thighs as a gaping emptiness seems to fill the space between your legs. Despite the heat, you feel cold and you whimper anew as his snakes unlatch themselves from your chest and retreat back to their master.

Messmer's breathing is heavy and his chest feels as hot as ever against your naked back, even his armour having lost its metallic chill, as he continues to hold you in place. Aching, twitching, and thoroughly fucked you lay passively in his arm, your entire body feeling loose and untrustworthy.

After a minute has passed, Messmer speaks once more and his hoarse words are delivered to your ear as he lifts you slightly higher.

"My vague amusement with thee requires further consideration." As silken as before, you shudder at the close proximity as you rub your mess-slickened thighs together. "And so my offer is thus: remain in the Shadow Keep as a personal courtesan to myself, a role in which no other man nor beast shall lay hand on thee, or choose to return to ash and I shall grant thee a swift death until thy body is restored by the grace of gold which thee are unworthy of."

Your breath hitches, both options relaying in your mind as you recover from the shock of the unexpected offer. Messmer, however, did not appear to be a patient man and his arm jostled you slightly as he instsntly pushed for a response.

"Well, little tarnished, what is thy choice?"

[lalunanymph]

MARRY THE TRAITOR ; gojo satoru

⟡ the day you met your demise is the same day you met gojo satoru, your betrothed from a world so different from yours—a cruel prince who is undoubtedly in love with someone else. as the stakes rise and you race against the clock to beat your brutal fate, can you make the ultimate choice between your heart or your happily ever after?

includes: fem!reader, reader is a florist in our world, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, slow burn, yandere!gojo, prince!gojo, princess!reader, reader is in cerena's body, princess cerena is described to have pink hair and feminine features, isekai-ed reader, mentions of death, mentions of blood, assault, injuries, smoking, mentions of terminal illnesses (cancer), language

⟡ masterlist

ACT 1, SCENE 1: MIRI'S REPRIEVE

It was horrifyingly cold tonight. 

Your body seized with bouts of shivers the second you stepped out of your shop, the smell of roses lingering in your hair. The lights are already switched off, the tulips you were shearing just a few seconds ago placed in crystal vases by the shop window to keep them from wilting overnight. 

However, as much as you try to distract yourself, there’s a shake in your hands you cannot ignore.

Pulling out a crumpled cigarette from your jacket pocket, you burn the end of the white stick with your cheap convenience store lighter, watching the flickering flames cast shadows across the wet road as you’re suddenly struck by a thought from a long, long time ago. 

The great Greek philosopher, Plato, once theorized that humans were born whole. 

Each of us, regardless of race, creed, or religion, shared one body, four arms, four legs and two faces fused together on a singular head. 

However, the gods—vain as they were—feared the human’s increasing power and Zeus himself devised to split them into two separate parts, forever condemning mortals to search for their other half in a journey filled with despair, longing and loneliness.  

The first time you heard this in Philosophy 101, a part of you was intrigued, if not a little terrified at the notion. While you weren’t a particularly huge subscriber to the idea of having a soulmate, it did have a sense of appeal for a girl raised on stories of handsome princes saving dainty princesses from their castles of grief and isolation. 

But, tonight, your jumbled mind can’t stay on Plato or distractions for too long. It constantly circles back to your mom.  

The scans she took had came back positive, and the doctor’s bleak voice on the other end of the line read like a death knell to your flimsy hopes that the cancer hadn’t spread further than her stomach. 

Your eyes weighed heavily, the burden of knowing sanding you to the bare bones till you felt close to breaking down on the cold road, screaming and shaking your fist at the night sky; cursing the gods for tearing the only person in the world who still loved you from your side.

Why they did it, you will never know. 

You weren’t exceptionally powerful nor did you pose a threat to the deities above. You were a simple florist in the middle of the city, trying to make ends meet and pay all your bills on time; nothing but a tax-paying citizen and a role model for small business women trying to make it big in a competitive city.

Smoke curls around your figure and you suck on the nicotine, letting it coat the back of your throat and numb the ends of your fingers.

Oblivious to your surroundings, you tread past an alleyway, ignoring the scampering of rats and smell of garbage burning through your nose. You inhale another toxic breath, expelling it out and watching the plume of smoke disappear upwards.

“Hey.” 

Nothing could prepare you for what came next. 

Turning around to appraise the voice calling you from the shadows, white hot pain cracks through your head, leaving you blind from the sudden assault.

Your cigarette falls somewhere at your feet, and you tumble to the gravelly ground on your hands and knees, skinning your palms as your ragged breaths echo in this dilapidated and abandoned alleyway. 

A hand shoots out to grab your purse, and before you can croak a yell or blindly turn to confront your assailant, another blow cracks down your skull, making you collide face first into the dirt-packed ground. 

Pain explodes in your face, white-hot and agonizing. Your breathing and the sound of blood rushing through your ears is the only thing you can hear as you breathe in the smell of dirt and blood, your head feeling like a thousand sparks of pain were going off at once. 

Cracking open your good eye, you catch a sliver of light in the distance; it washes over you, potent and soothing. The light at the end of the alleyway shimmers, and you think this is it—this is the last thing you will see from this world. 

Not your mother’s smile, or your best friend’s laugh. There are no flowers in your hand, no loved ones standing over your sickbed to kiss your cheek one last time before you depart this world.

It’s you, the floor, the blood trickling in your mouth, and your consciousness slowly ebbing away.

The last thing you remember before your world snuffs out like a pathetic candle is seeing the beady eyes of a rat shining in the dark, its long tail curling around its dirty body as it scampers closer and closer to you. 

And then, nothing else remains.

“... care to explain yourself?” 

The world is too bright, much too loud and you cringe back, a loud ringing clanging in your ears like the high-pitched squeal of a thousand nails on a chalkboard. 

What… is this scene? 

Your eyes struggle against the bright light and you wince, throwing your hand up to your face to ward off the glare. 

When your gaze finally focuses, you’re confronted by a pair of ice cold blue eyes, his sneer tearing through your mind like a bloody gash on white canvas. 

“Are you an imbecile?” His chilling tone laced with arrogance and contempt sears through you, leaving you mute and dumbstruck from this stranger’s sudden hostility. “I asked you if you would like to explain the accusations brought against you for hurting Miri.”

A girl with bright red hair and freckles splashed across her cheeks looks up at you with fear in her eyes. You take a step back, assessing her attire and countenance with open horror. Her pale face like the moon, dirt-streaked hands with stubby nails and a uniform splotched with indiscernible stains. 

But, that isn’t what draws your attention: it’s the look of contempt secretly masked under her woeful and pitiful expression. Those green eyes burn through you with the force of a thousand deaths, each one more painful than the last.

“Cerena.” 

Your eyes grow wider when you realize this strange man is speaking to you—calling you by an unknown name. 

As your attention shifts back to him, you’re stunned and breathless. His shock of pure white hair, towering stature and cruel, azure gaze never yields from your expressions, thin lips twisted into a baleful grimace. His attire is one you have never seen before: a regal, embroidered jacket and matching pants in the darkest shade of navy blue. Regalia and military medals drip from the lapels of his jacket like icy tears, each metallic glint striking more fear into your heart as you take in his majestic and imposing demeanor.

“I said, speak, wench!” 

Dexterous and pale fingers, like that of a violinist, grasps your jaw painfully as he jerks your face towards him. Instinctively, you tense and push him away, a petrified look on your face.

“Who are you?” 

Obviously, it wasn’t a question he was expecting. The princely man gives a dignified scoff, the corners of his lips twisting into a terrifying sneer. 

“Oh, so now you're playing the short term memory loss card? Stop begging for attention, Cerena, and own up to your mistakes.” He moves aside and the maid cowering behind him lifts her teary eyes to him, her pitiful state clearly tugging on his heart strings and his protective instincts. “Miri told me you slapped her when she wouldn’t braid your hair fast enough, and you even threw your tea at her. Pray tell, is that a way how a princess acts, Your Highness?” 

His words drip with venomous sarcasm. You open your mouth and then close it, unsure of how to respond to him—what you could even say in these circumstances.

But inside of you, welling deeply and painfully, is a surge of anger at being falsely accused for something you did not do. You have no idea who he is, who Miri was to him and who even is this woman called ‘Cerena’ he keeps on referring to you as.

What you do know is that he has slighted you with his openly hostile tone and body language, and if years of being a florist in a cutthroat business has taught you, it’s that you should always stand your ground against unruly customers to safeguard your reputation and dignity.

“I have no idea what you are speaking of,” your words come out frostier than you intended. Your sharp gaze sweeps to the other maids observing the spectacle with stony faces. “I wish to go back to my room.” 

Turning on your heel, you take one step forward and realize just how heavy your gown is. Lace and organza with dangling pendants woven through the thick fabric, you move as if walking in a vat of molasses, slow and controlled, when all you want to do is storm off. 

“Hey. I am not done speaking to you—”

It’s easy for him to catch up and grab your arm, impeding you from making your swift exit.

“Is this how you are to treat your subjects when we become wedded, Cerena? I would think that the princess of Kraith herself would have better manners and not behave like a barbarian!” 

His words snap something tight in your chest, and your nostrils flare. You break free from his grasp and spin around, fists clenched to your sides.

“Do not touch me,” your deathly warning stills the entire room. “Do not speak to me like this and if you wish to protect her reputation—”

Your eyes fall on the maid still cowering on the floor, her eyes turned to the ground, but a shadow of a smirk on her face belies her true intentions. 

She was attempting to frame me… or, Cerena. She is trying to get us in trouble with this powerful, spiteful man. 

“—next time, choose someone else who doesn’t make it obvious that this is all a ploy to smear my name.”

mtt fun fact: maids are divided into different tiers according to the nobles they serve. miri is at the bottom tier, and her scope of work mainly focuses on cleaning the hallways and stables

dawn says: it's bit of a shorter chapter, but trust, the drama is gonna hit you like thief-kun when he smashed our heads in yayy <33

!! reblogs and feedback and asks about this series are so beloved and appreciated and will motivate me to update and write faster <3

©️ all rights reserve to lalunanymph. do not copy elements of my story, repost or claim as your own.

[maenefa]

This kind of Denethor discourse is so frustrating to me that I am literally pacing back and forth like a panther in a zoo enclosure. Ugggggggghhhhh

A lot of people will tell you that the moral of The Lord of the Rings is “never lose hope,” and that Denethor is bad because he loses hope.

Please read THIS and THIS and especially THIS, which is one of the most beautiful and heartbreaking meditations on LotR you’ll ever read. Tolkien’s ideas about hope are so much more radical than “hope good despair bad.”

Denethor—Tolkien’s Denethor, not Peter Jackson’s Denethor—is unsettling because he tries to hope, but his hope isn’t strong enough to save him. Here are his thoughts on hope, just a few days before his death:

The time will not be long. In what is left, let all who fight the Enemy in their fashion be at one, and keep hope while they may, and after hope still the hardihood to die free.

Denethor has a more “realist” worldview than Gandalf or Faramir, but he’s not a nihilist. He’s still hanging onto hope even though he’s grieving Boromir and he’s positive that Frodo is going to be captured by Sauron. He only breaks when Faramir is mortally wounded and he sees the black ships in the palantir. And I don’t mean he gives up, I mean his mind snaps:

And as [Pippin] watched, it seemed to him that Denethor grew old before his eyes, as if something had snapped in his proud will, and his stern mind was overthrown.

Tolkien repeatedly uses language like “madness,” “madman,” “he is not himself” and “his mind was overthrown.” It’s not subtle!

Denethor is having a psychotic episode. His culpability is reduced, either partially or totally; we can’t know for certain. But I don’t think that everything he says and does in his last moments is “the real Denethor.”

We can do our best and try to have hope, but sometimes life crushes us. How are we supposed to live with the knowledge that this can happen?

Tolkien was haunted by the idea of heroes who fail, heroes who are crushed by their burdens:

Frodo indeed 'failed' as a hero, as conceived by simple minds: he did not endure to the end; he gave in, ratted. (Letter 246)

….I think it can be observed in history and experience that some individuals seem to be placed in 'sacrificial' positions: situations or tasks that for perfection of solution demand powers beyond their utmost limits, even beyond all possible limits for an incarnate creature in a physical world – in which a body may be destroyed, or so maimed that it affects the mind and will. Judgement upon any such case should then depend on the motives and disposition with which he started out, and should weigh his actions against the utmost possibility of his powers, all along the road to whatever proved the breaking-point. (Letter 246)

Tolkien himself tended to judge Denethor harshly, but the character fits very well into the same template as Frodo: a “sacrificial” person who is pushed beyond his limits. The palantir aged him and weakened his mental health, but what truly pushed him over the edge was the wounding of Faramir: Tolkien says that Denethor “maintained the integrity of his personality until the final blow of the (apparently) mortal wound of his only surviving son.”

It’s easy to judge Denethor for using the palantir (although Tolkien said that he had the right to use it and Gandalf admitted that the palantir’s knowledge had often proved useful!) but what should Denethor have done differently regarding sending Faramir into battle? We know that the defense of Osgiliath was necessary because Tolkien had the Rohirrim arrive at the exact moment the Witch King is about to ride through the gate of Minas Tirith. If Faramir hadn’t delayed Mordor’s army, the Rohirrim would have showed up to a conquered city.

Denethor believed that it was necessary to send Faramir to Osgiliath… and he was right! But the pain of being responsible for Faramir’s death was too great for him to bear. You can say that his craving for information killed him, but it’s just as accurate to say that his love for Faramir killed him.

Gandalf tells Denethor’s servants that they were “caught in a net of warring duties,” and this is also true of Denethor. His duty as a father conflicts with his duty as the leader of Gondor, and the strain destroys him.

It may be true that Denethor’s need for control is a character flaw, but I wonder about his final use of the palantir. His son appears to be dying: why does he leave his side to go look in the palantir? I actually think this was a hopeful act: Denethor was hoping to see the Rohirrim, or some kind of good news about the war, some indication that Faramir’s death would not be in vain. But the palantir shows him that he sent his son to die for nothing.

It’s the tragedy of Denethor lamenting “I sent my son forth, unthanked, unblessed, out into needless peril” and dying before he can learn that the battle wasn’t needless… you can’t reduce this tragedy to a morality play!

Okay, I can’t deny that the palantir is a very topical analogy for the internet/smartphones/the tyranny of “data” in general.

But Denethor is so much more than a blackpilled internet doomer, and I will defend him forever.

[needfantasticstories]

“Many places I have been

Many sorrows I have seen

But I don't regret

Nor will I forget

All who took that road with me”

-The Last Goodbye by Billy Boyd

This is an Adjuration by @not-freyja, after 86 chapters, 300k words, and 10 months of joy, laughter, tears, heartbreak and love, has finally reached its end. 

Adjuration is a tragedy that is nothing short of an act of love. That much is clear in the passion and dedication put towards the story, the characters, and the message Freyja is trying to convey. This fic will teach you about love. About death. About the inevitability of existence and why despite knowing it will all come to an end, there is still meaning in trying and hoping and loving each other. In loving yourself. You will laugh, you will cry, you will hope and you will despair as you read this story, but you will not be able to put it down.

It’s hard to say goodbye to something that has been so important to and loved by so many people. So we won’t. Instead, we will say thank you for this incredible journey and the community this fic has built. For the friendships that have been made and the endless inspiration you have given us. Thank you for wanting to tell a story, and for letting us join you around the campfire to listen.

Thank you.

(If you like Linked Universe and haven’t yet read Adjuration, see below for spoiler free reviews of this fic and artist credits.)

This is an Adjuration is the kind of story you fall in love with, the kind of story you think keep thinking about long after you put it down. The kind you keep finding hidden details in after you think you’ve got it figured out. 

The characters are distinct and people with their own voices, motivations, relationships and histories. You’ll have your favourites but love them all. They influence how you’ll see the characters in everything else. 

It’s full of moments where everything clicks and everything before is recontextualised in a way that’s so satisfying and make the whole story very re-readable. A time travel story where all loops are already closed, where you can know but not yet understand what will happen. It’s long, complex, and beautifully, meticulously planned and detailed. It’s clever and considered, funny and heartbreaking. 

A story that whispers ‘it matters’ over and over. It is worth it to love, it is worth it if it doesn’t last forever, it is worth it to give someone a little more time, it is worth it to fight. It’s about loving others and your world and finding grace for yourself. 

It’s loss and tragedy and the cruelness of fate. It is the sacrifice and the breaking. 

Full of heart to both fill yours and break it in the best possible way. 

It’s about love. Always.

By @toyouhellohowareyou

Sometimes, it’s hard to explain to others why art moves us.

I could tell you This is an Adjuration will make you cry, laugh, and sit at the edge of your seat in anticipation. And it’s probably true - I did all of that as I read, often with a coffee in one hand, early in the morning as I got ready for the day. 

But that’s not the reason why I’m writing this.

The real reason is how it followed me during the rest of the day.

You see, at a certain point I realized this isn’t a story about Links going on adventures. Well, it does feature Links, and they do go on adventures, so let’s talk about that for a minute.

The first thing that caught my attention about this book was the characters. Each individual is unique, interesting, and exciting to follow. Not only are the Links individually compelling, but one thing that stands out in Adjuration is how the relationship between each Hero and their own worlds matter, and these connections shift, evolve, break and grow as the plot progresses.

Freyja does an incredible job of bringing together impactful storytelling with humor and heart. This is an Adjuration starts with an interesting premise, and then twists and turns in directions you wouldn’t expect. It’s rich in thought-provoking moments, soft joy and intense action, blended in with carefully crafted time travel and magic.

Adjuration sucked me into the world it builds, combining believable characters with fascinating stories, an unnervingly devious antagonist, plot twists, and lovingly crafted details that slip unnoticed until you’re surrounded on all sides. It made me cheer for characters I feel as if I’ve known intimately for years, made me worry for their safety as I would for that of a loved one, kept me hunting for hints and hidden references, pulling on a thread to try to find the end only for it to twist and loop into itself and show me a completely new side to the story.

Yes, This is an Adjuration is a fanfiction piece that explores the winding river flow of the Legend of Zelda timeline and how the stories of each Hero merge into each other. It also stands out for its heavy emotional content, and it doesn’t shy away from angst and hurt.

But to me, Adjuration is an epic journey that taught me how the choices we make, make us in turn. It’s a tragedy that deals with pain and healing, and it bares naked the non-linear nature of grief. It’s a celebration of the things that make us unique, of our flaws, an essay of the impact of little acts of love. Indeed, it’s a story about love.

I can tell you now, This is an Adjuration moved me. It still does. It has a special way to surface in my mind in unexpected ways at seemingly random times, from something as simple as tossing an apple core, to watching a lightning storm in the distance, or finding a picture of an old friend.

And every time, without fail, it makes me think about love.

By @sunny-porridge

This is an Adjuration is a wonderfully and beautifully crafted story about love, loss, and choice as the various incarnations of Link come together and travel through time. Freyja seamlessly weaves a tapestry of setup and payoff across different timelines and loops, in the best-constructed time travel plot I’ve ever seen on page or screen. Even at its surface, Adjuration is an emotional rollercoaster involving tragedy and the soft moments that make that tragedy worth it. But the deeper you look, the more meaning you can pull from every chapter of this amazing work. This work has made me cry, squeal with delight, and think more deeply about its themes all while having an absolute blast reading it. So in summary: READ IT. READ IT. READ IT NOW. YOU WILL NOT REGRET IT.

By @life-in-winter

While I love that every chapter is emotionally enthralling, with carefully woven, visceral tension you crave in any good story, yet Adjuration is more than that, and you feel it in the careful weave of each character and plot point. Nothing is lost or unanswered. It's the kind of story that, by the end, makes you stop and take a hard look at your own life. Are you appreciating the now? Are you savoring joy? Are you so wrapped up in fear that you can hardly take care of yourself? Do you know who you are?

This story is more like an external experience. It's riding atop a tsunami. How do you handle that ride, Link?

There aren't enough words to describe how amazing this fic is.

@needfantasticstories

Artist credit

Legend: @gia-d

Hyrule: @bittirsweeteer

Time: @toonblade

Sky: @noorahqar

Warriors: @whitewinterstar

Wild: @weavingstarlight

Twilight: @bluury2

Wind: @thewitchdoctor39

Four: @lunaopus

Red: @peepthatbish

Blue: @glowingmin

Green: @winterfen

Vio: @waterfallstream

Shadow: @deleetrix

Wolfie: @linkiscool333

Fierce Deity: @awildsilver

Ravio: @lele5429

Malon: @tooner-tastic

Dink: @passerinesoncaffeine

[fire-of-the-sun]

Noctis and The 'Black Moment' That Never Was

Given the recent discovery of an earlier version of a Final Fantasy XV scene featuring Noctis being imprisoned by Bahamut in Angelgard instead of the Crystal and him showing genuine fear about his destiny (here), I'm reminded of how unfortunate it is that the final game didn't explore the reaction to his fate as well as it deserved and how it could have been one of the most significant scenes in the game. In light of this new scene, I want to use it as an opportunity to address this vital plot point, how it affects Noctis' arc and the story as a whole and why what we got just didn't quite hit the mark.

THE 'BLACK MOMENT'

In typical story structure, this plot point would represent the "The Black Moment" or "The Dark Night of the Soul" among other titles. Taking place before the climax of a story, this pivotal moment is intended to feel like all hope is now lost and showcase the protagonist at their lowest and, in many cases, physically alone. To overcome this, these scenes demand that they gain new insight and understanding - essentially to realize the lesson meant to be learned that defines the thematic core of the story - to pull them out of their despair and carry them across the threshold to the final act. In the above image, you can see that this event precedes the "Road Back" which, in the case of this story, is obviously represented by Noctis returning to the world and regrouping with his allies before entering the climax to face Ardyn and fulfill his calling. Of course, everything leading to the end hinges on the 'Black Moment' beat, so let's explore how each version of this scene tried to tackle this and how they could have been improved:

SCENE COMPARISON

In the original version of the scene, Noctis is physically imprisoned in a dark and gloomy cell in Angelgard - a fitting choice that helps to highlight the tragedy of his circumstances and reflect how he feels trapped by his destiny as well as parallel Ardyn's own imprisonment. Noctis verbally lashes out at Bahamut and expresses genuine anger and fear towards the newly discovered truth of his impending demise.

"'Returned to naught'? I just... fade away? Wait - no! Lemme out of here! - Noctis

Though this missing scene does a better job portraying a stronger reaction from Noctis than the final game, it does still fail to give credible evidence to validate his decision to accept his fate beyond the player simply selecting an option to continue. As such, Noctis and the player may feel more coerced into saying 'yes' here without actually going through the time and processing necessary to truly accept it. Though I'm sure this scene doesn't fully represent the developer's initial intentions and there could have been far more to it, as it stands, it's still not enough to create a successful 'Black Moment".

"Only at the throne can the Chosen receive [the power] and only at the cost of a life: his own. The King of Kings shall be granted the power to banish the darkness, but the blood price must be paid. To cast out the Usurper and usher in Dawn's light will cost the life of the Chosen. Many sacrificed all for the King so must the King sacrifice himself for all. Now enter into Reflection, that the Light of Providence shine within." - Bahamut

In the final version of the game, the essential elements needed for this scene to work are... present to a degree but could have been greatly improved as these aspects are implied rather than explored. After being told the news of his impending death, Noctis does make a distressed expression, but he never gets to voice or process his feelings about it and the moment quickly moves away to show him being forced into slumber.

This is supposed to be a huge turning point. A gut punch to the character and audience and it deserved a stronger reaction - one more akin to the panic and anger that is showcased in the original scene. On the heels of this devastating news, discovering Ardyn's true identity and nefarious intentions and finding himself utterly alone without his friends, Noctis is understandably at his lowest and we need to feel that. Light shines brightest in the dark and the darker we allow this scene the be, the brighter hope can shine after and the more satisfying it will be.

By way of processing, we see a brief montage of footage from previous moments in the game to show Noctis reflecting on them and then he awakens 10 years later having completely worked through all of his trauma, grief and guilt and the sudden transformation naturally feels a bit jarring. Progress is assumed through the passage of time and the natural maturation that comes from age, but this simply isn't enough. There is a lot to unpack here and it deserves to be. The game can't simply rely on a time skip to produce a grudging acceptance. It needs to be a choice - one that he makes wholeheartedly and that the audience fully understands.

I will say, I do like physically seeing the power entering Noctis via the Ring of the Lucii in this version rather than implying he's powering up off-screen, but it's something he should earn after accepting his fate rather than it being forced on him without his consent. Gaining the power he needs to save the world needs to act as the reward for choosing to do so.

DIGGING DEEPER

So, what is necessary for him to grow here? What is the thing that truly awakens the inner King in Noctis and brings him out of the depths of his despair? What makes him choose to willingly sacrifice his life? Though it's an amalgam of a number of things, above all, it is love. Love for his father, love for Luna, love for his friends, love for the people he's met and the world he lives in. Love that counteracts his fear. He has to remember what and who he's doing this for. Though the cost is steep, he has to determine it's worth it to fulfill his duty and save the world.

Of course, Noctis' opinion about his calling changes throughout the story. After Luna first introduces him to the reality that he is the Chosen one as a child, he's hesitant at first, but promises he won't let her down. He has no real idea of what his task will truly be but shows enthusiasm anyway most likely because it was Luna herself who showed such belief in him. As an adult, Noctis begins to struggle with his new reality after the death of his father and shows great anxiety about the mounting responsibilities thrust upon him including his kingly duties, upcoming marriage and the growing burden of his calling. After the loss of Luna, his dedication to continue feels largely driven by immense guilt and need for revenge. In Episode Ignis, after Ignis suggests they end their quest due to suffering so much loss (and now knowing about Noctis' fate), he responds:

"Are you kidding me? That's exactly why I have to keep going - because if I give up now, their sacrifices would have been for nothing!" - Noctis

Though not wanting their sacrifices to be in vain is noble, this should not be his main driving force, especially if his desire to press forward comes from a place of pain and contrition more than anything else. He even refuses to put on the Ring - the symbol of his Kingship and destiny - which shows his lack of true commitment to what is expected of him. At this point, he still has a lot to process and understand before he can fully accept the reality of a fate he is still largely unaware of and truly let go of the fears and anxieties surrounding it.

Noctis has had little time to process his emotions on his journey thus far and the respite afforded by the 'Black Moment' now allows him the opportunity to do so. Whether through playable content that permits Noctis and the audience to tangibly explore his past and current emotions or a prolonged cutscene in either the prison or Crystal, we definitely needed to see him confront what's happened thus far - the good and the bad - and grow from it.

In the Dawn of the Future version of the story, we learn more about what Noctis was dreaming about in the Crystal which included witnessing some of the history of the world, seeing insightful pieces of the lives of characters such as Ardyn and Luna and even getting to interact with his father again. Given this was added to the book and therefore indicative of the developer's intention to feature it in Episode Noctis, I wonder if it had always been their desire to explore his time in the Crystal this way but never got the time to realize in the final game. Noctis actually getting to see and interact with the past and other significant figures would have made for a far more effective 'Black Moment' given its prolonged introspective and revelatory nature.

THE LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS

To help guide and comfort him as she always has, I believe that somehow seeing or hearing Luna's spirit again in some way during the 'Black Moment' would have been essential given her narrative purpose and provide a satisfying reference back to her dying promise to him:

"When the world falls down around you and hope is lost. When you find yourself alone amid a lightless place. Look to the distance, know that I am there and that I watch over you always." - Lunafreya

Like the moon shining in his dark prison cell in the old version - the literal light in the night sky - she is the reminder of love and hope to cling to when the darkness threatens to swallow him. This dialogue is so accurate to this scene that I feel it was foreshadowing it specifically to payoff here. Also, if they had gone with the idea of Noctis drawing his power from the moon instead of the Crystal, her presence would be even more significant here and it certainly seems like the original version in Angelgard attempted to spotlight her to a degree as the translated dialogue after he accepts his charge reveals:

"No one tells me anything. I'm always late accepting. Luna, I'm sorry. I will fulfill my duty." - Noctis (Translated by K as in Kei)

This situation creates an even deeper connection between them as, to save the world together like they were destined to do, both Noctis and Luna have to die and surrender their personal desires for a future. As in life, Noctis has to continue to follow her lead and example to become the man she always knew he could be. If she could be dutiful and walk boldly to her fate, so can he and that knowledge would be paramount in helping to encourage him to complete his journey as he remembers his promise not to let her down.

Of course, to truly accept his death, Noctis would naturally have to mourn the life he won't get to live. So many aspects of his life have been derailed already and, after the loss of his father, his home and his fiancé, he now has to face that he has no future beyond being a sacrifice. This is a reality that Luna had to face as well, which would help him better understand what she had to go through and even come to terms with her death as he comes to terms with his own. By letting go of the guilt he feels and truly recognizing that it was an inevitable and accepted part of her calling and not a product of his own mistakes, can he start to forgive himself for everything else, too.

"[...] That may be but it's my choice. If only... if only I could hear his voice once more. If we could laugh together as we did as children. If we could live out our days together as we once dreamed. [...] Forgive me, I vowed to only cry where prying eyes could not see the tears in mine. [...] No, she is no different at all. She wants exactly what they do: to be with the one she loves. But want though she may, it is not to be." - Lunafreya

In a moving flashback, we see Luna grieve the life she wanted and knew she would never have but emphasize that, despite her sorrow, it was still her choice to "throw her life away" and one that she accepted fully with humility and grace. We see her persist to the end due to her strong sense of duty and, most importantly, her love and dedication to Noctis and the people of the world which is what he must use to guide him as well.

To me, this moment feels reminiscent of the campfire scene where Noctis also tearfully voices his acceptance of his fate while allowing himself to uncharacteristically reveal the pain of it, too. Though Noctis has had a decade to process these feelings by this point and fully come to terms with them, he's still a person mourning the sudden finality of his life and the now fleeting moments he'll get to spend with his remaining loved ones. The emotional strength of this scene could act as a reflection of his initial despair as the pain becomes fresh once more but, this time, Noctis is more readily able to tame it. As he stands and looks to each of his friends in turn, reflecting on their friendship and his love for them, he allows that love to outweigh fear and grief. As we watch his tears turn into a smile, it is a perfect display of how he's grown from the 'Black Moment' and a fitting final scene to the game.

"So, I... I've made my peace. Still, knowing this is it and seeing you here, now, it's... more than I can take. Well, what can I say? You guys are the best." - Noctis

All of this emotional progress would also lead him to simply start believing in himself and his worth. He has to remember that he has the support of so many who truly have faith in his ability to fulfill his duty and it's something he needs to accept in himself, too. If they had gone with the Angelgard prison version, a place once defined by punishment would herald Noctis' liberation and, instead of succumbing to darkness like Ardyn, he found light.

METAMORPHOSIS

By reflecting on and embracing his past and remembering what drives him, Noctis would then be ready to finally accept the reality of his calling and begin his metamorphosis, both physically and emotionally, into the King of Light. The man that emerges 10 years later is wise, mature and at peace with his fate. Though the sudden change may not feel as congruent in the final game without taking the time and necessary steps to get there, there are still many moments depicting just how far Noctis has come after the time skip that leave an impact regardless. Beyond the campfire scene, another great example that comes to mind is his conversation with Ignis, showcasing that he can now look back on his life fondly and doesn't hold onto negative emotions:

"You know, looking back, it wasn't all bad. [...] And our fair share of trouble too... but I don't have any regrets. Luna and you guys brought me this far and now I'm on my own." - Noctis

We can also see how much he's grown in his final battle with Ardyn. Not only is he physically stronger, but he's also gained the mental and emotional fortitude to withstand Ardyn's denigrations regarding his efficacy as the Chosen One and his guilt about his father and Luna. Though these barbs would have hit their mark in the past, Noctis is now resistant to them as he's fully processed those emotions and no longer gives them credence. Noctis has tasted the darkness Ardyn once knew but come out of it intact due to the strength of his relationships that ushered him through it. Unlike Ardyn, he is not alone and he fights for love instead of revenge and that is why he succeeds.

"Yet when your father died, you were off playing with your friends! When your beloved died, you lay watching powerless to stop it! You think 10 years is a long time? It is nothing to me! I have lived in darkness for ages!" - Ardyn

Despite what some might think, defeating Ardyn in the physical world is not the Climax. It's in the throne room that Noctis must face the true test of his calling and finally allow himself to be sacrificed. This is where the themes and the lessons he's embraced from the 'Black Moment' rise to the forefront and lead to Ardyn's ultimate demise. It is here that Noctis walks to his death without visible fear, summoning his own executioners with steeled resolve. There are no tears. No second thoughts. Just an unwavering determination to fulfill his calling and save the world once and for all as he assures his father to trust in his ability to do so.

"I'm home. I walked tall and though it took me a while, I'm ready now. I love you all. Luna, guys, dad. The time we had together, I cherish." - Noctis

Through dialogue, the scene reminds us that Noctis' relationships are his driving force and, in what could have been an even more moving parallel to the 'Black Moment', the flashback footage of his loved ones that he remembers at his lowest once more is what helps him endure the agony of his sacrifice and is enough to sustain his strength to continue to the end.

"It's finally over." - Noctis

As Noctis utters these final words at the culmination of years spent in turmoil facing the obstacles of his unjust fate, Noctis dies with a small smile on his face, relieved that his struggles are finally over. He has restored light and hope to the world, fulfilled his calling and can now rest with his lost love knowing he succeeded in safeguarding his remaining loved ones and provided a future for generations to come. It's a bittersweet conclusion to his life - one filled with great strife and heartache but also great love - love that was essential to save the world.

In another parallel between them, Noctis' end reminds me of Ravus' words regarding the death of his sister, Luna, in Episode Ignis and further showcases how much Noctis succeeded in following her footsteps:

"I always knew that [Luna] would face [her] fate without fear, fulfill [her] duty without regret. But part of me always hoped... she would get the chance to live and love as she pleased. [...] And, as in life, I know she will confront that challenge with a smile on her face." - Ravus

CONCLUSION

In conclusion, allowing Noctis to have a stronger reaction to the devastating news of his fate and exploring his passage to acceptance to provide necessary character growth would have been a huge improvement and further embodied and enhanced the heart of this story, one that, though touched upon to a degree, is lacking the immense impact it could have had. Though this game is full of powerful, moving moments, a more successful 'Black Moment' could have been one of the strongest and added more weight to an already emotionally resonant conclusion.

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this meta, please like and reblog to help spread it around and check out my #ffmeta and #ffedit tag for more!

[mandalhoerian]

Come on in, brave souls.

Welcome to a Halloween event where there are no happily ever afters, only the darkest and most twisted outcomes. During the last week of October, you're cordially invited to step into the world of Resident Evil with me, where every installment leads to either heartbreak, bloodshed, or loss.

Each story explores a different horror genre, dragging your favorite characters into the depths of despair with no chance of escape. Heroes are twisted, relationships shattered, and the very concept of survival comes at an unimaginable cost.

In this anthology, no one is spared the horrors that await.

Will you dare to face these bloody endings?

Read the summaries, and reserve your spot on this form (CLOSED.)

Edit: most works are deleted due to me not liking them anymore.

🥩 ⸺ you were the last good thing about this town

» jill x f!reader: jennifer's body, supernatural horror

In this town, no one leaves. You’re born here, you live here, and you die here—and for as long as you can remember, it’s been the same with you and Jill Valentine. You fall for the wrong men, she pulls you out, and the cycle repeats with neither of you leaving. It’s a pattern you’ve come to rely on, a safety net in a place where nothing ever changes. But, things start to unravel that one fateful week when Jill shows up in your house all bloody and out of it on the same day your ex's body is found in the woods, mutilated. The once predictable rhythm of your lives shifts, and now you find yourself the one chasing her, trying to understand why she's refusing that ever happened, gaslighting you into thinking it's your fear and grief talking. At the end of this road, this time Jill might not be the one pulling you out—she may be what pulls you under.

♾ ⸺ fortunate son

» chris x reader: groundhog day, psychological horror

Chris Redfield has faced nightmares before, but nothing like this. Sent on a mission to a remote island facility, he and his team believe they’re there to contain a bioweapon outbreak. But they end up being contained in a time loop instead. Every day begins the same—"Fortunate Son" blaring on the radio, the island looming in the distance, and the same mission ahead that leads them to the lone survivor of the experimentations, you, who remembers the resets along with him. And every day, no matter how hard Chris fights, his friends die. One by one, in increasingly brutal ways he can save none of them from. As Chris’s desperation mounts, he’s forced to question everything—and everyone—around him. And his prime suspect naturally happens to be you.

🩸 ⸺ offer me that deathless death

» ada x f!reader: dracula, gothic horror

In the shadow of the 19th century, where ancient traditions meet modern curiosities, you—a driven historian—have received an invitation to the secluded estate of Ada Wong, a mysterious noblewoman whose family’s shadowed history has eluded scholars for decades. Drawn in by the promise of being the first and only one to record it all down, you soon find yourself in a place where the boundaries between academic fascination and forbidden desire begin to blur, and the woman at the center of it all is as alluring as she is unknowable. Yet beneath the surface of your growing bond with Ada, there’s something you can’t quite grasp—strange occurrences that leave you drained, dreams that feel too vivid, and a constant sense that you’re slowly losing yourself. The more you uncover, the more you wonder if you're truly a guest in Ada's world. But the question isn't what you are, but what you will be. A sacrificial lamb, or scapegoat?

[storiesfromgaza]

"Mom, does it hurt when we get bombarded? Do we feel the pain, or do we just die at once?"

These are the questions that Reporter Youmna El Sayed began with in her interview conducted by the AJ+ network to document her struggles with her children and the suffering of all the people of Gaza

When my kids ask me, 'Mom, does it hurt when we get bombarded? Do we feel the pain, or do we just die at once?' and I have to tell them, 'No, don't worry. It's not going to hurt.' Their father reassures them, saying, 'Don't worry. It just happens once, and that's it.' In the past, we would comfort our children, saying, 'Don't worry. It's going to be okay. It's going to end soon. You'll be fine. We'll be fine.' Everything is shaking—constantly. But now, every night, we tell them, 'Don't worry. We're together, sticking together. If we die, we die together.' Death has become a looming reality since the Israeli army encircled Gaza city. The bombardments have been relentless—from the land, air, and sea. Our building is in a perpetual state of tremor. Three days ago, we awoke to the smoke of nearby fires filling our homes. We sought refuge in the basement, the best option with the least smoke, but it was still overwhelming. The kids were coughing, suffocating, and their eyes were itching. But when it comes to my children, it just hits me so hard, Dina, and I just feel that I can't control it anymore. I can't be that strong, brave woman who's able to control things or get things under control because they're my weak part. I feel a loss of control, unable to maintain the facade of strength and bravery. Judy, usually full of life, now appears quiet and terrified

She doesn't eat much. She doesn't feel like doing anything. I tried to speak to her about things, you know, bring back some happy memories, and I said, as usual, 'What would you like to do the first thing after this war ends?' She told me, 'Mommy, I don't want to do anything except for this war to end. I just want these bombardments to end, everything—the destruction, the despair, the loss.'

I think they tell you that now—we're just hearing news of people dying every now and then—people that we know, friends, colleagues, everyone around us. And it just, you know, really, like, 'May he rest in peace,' and that's it. I just—we just go on because we were just waiting for our turn. You mentioned to me that food is scarce and supplies are low. What is the water situation? We can starve, right? We can go on without food, even as adults. But without water, I'd rather die from bombardments than die from thirst. I don't want my kids at the end to die from thirst. Are you still thinking to move south, and what would that look like? The last attempt was a couple of days ago, and we found out that to move south, we need to walk for at least 6 to 7 km on foot and not carry anything at all with us—none of our belongings. Basically, walk this distance while we raise our hands to show that we surrender, just holding our IDs in one hand and raising the other. And I think that's just extremely humiliating. And it's not just that, you know?

You remember the massacre that everyone saw on TV screens for the civilians that were bombarded on the road? They're still lying there. Until this day, lying there in the streets, their bodies. The crows and the birds are eating from them, and no one has been able to pick them up. The Israeli army has not allowed anyone or ambulances or any medical teams to come to pick these people up and to bury them. How can I let my kids go through a street while they see other children and other people killed and thrown just like that, lying in the street like that, while birds are eating from them? I think that this is just inhumane and more cruel than anything. This is not to worry about fighting Hamas or Palestinian fighters. This war began by eliminating and wiping out the Palestinian people in Gaza. This isn't a war against Palestinian fighters nor Hamas; it's a genocide against Gaza.

[apricot-blossomss]

I love your latest Apollo story! This line "Let's release her into no man's land, make sacrafices to Apollo to soothe him and hope for his mercy." give me an idea for a request. What about an actual sacrifice story where reader is offered to Apollo as an exchange for the reward as people have hoped, but he falls in love with her at the first sight and treasure her contrary to her expectations?

☛ mortal! fem! reader is sacrificed to apollo

☛ sfw, tw: disease/epidemic(the plague), threats of violence/death; this was such a fun request to write, thank you very much!

Two weeks. The plague had been raging in your city for two weeks, and it was on the brink of collapse. Bodies lined up on the sides of the streets, too many to bury, the cries and sighs of the dying to be heard from out of the houses. Louder than the weakened bawling of the sick were the screams of the relatives, losing loved ones, that cut through the horrid symphony of suffering.

Of course, you knew how precarious the situation was. You knew you had an obligation to your people after your father, the king that was supposed to protect them, had drowned them in such misery. He had insulted the god Apollo and now, innocents were dying in the hundreds for his blasphemy. When he had turned to the city's seer, the old man had prophecied that only one thing could save the city: sacrificing you to the god to appease him.

Other than your father, you were ready to give everything for your people, but the thought of your impending death made a cold wash over you, your heart squeezed in an unforgiving panic as tears ran down your cheeks. Without so much as a second thought, your father had ordered you to be locked in a cell until the sacrifice tomorrow morning. It hit you like a flash that it had to be morning already, you only had so little time left, and you were spending it chained like an animal in a cold, moldy dungeon, shivering in terror and crying cold tears over your fate.

Another tremble shook your body and you pressed it into the corner you were sitting in, longing for the smallest bit of comfort. Your stomach was empty, but you weren't hungry, you felt too sick. If only you could have spent your last night in your room with your pets and your instruments, where it was warm and bright and the memories of better times lingered. They hid under the covers, lurked behind the doors and would have brought you comfort. Instead, your end would be thoroughly miserable.

You had overheard what the soldiers had said. Chained up, you would be brought before the city gates to an altar, built quickly to serve its purpose, and an archer on top of the city walls would end your life for your sacrifice to be collected by the god. You sniffled and tried to think of something beautiful as your hand squeezed the place over your heart that would soon be pierced by the arrow. It was as if you could feel it already.

Eventually though, the despair in combination with your exhaustion must have overwhelmed you, because the next thing you knew was that two guards were waking you up, releasing your chains and guiding you up the stairs. Over the night, the cold had settled in your bones, but that wasn't the only reason your legs were wobbly and unstable as you ascended into the palace. Your father wasn't there, but that didn't surprise you. Only a group of scholars, magistrates and officials had gathered to lead the procession out of the city.

The moment you left the palace, still guarded, though you assumed it wasn't for your protection but rather your safekeeping, the horrible smell of rotting flesh and burning bodies hit you. If it hadn't been for your empty stomach, the urge to puke would have overwhelmed you. That would not have been a very graceful last walk. Looking forward, you saw that the people, sick and healthy, but all dirty and with grief written into the hollows of their eyes, had gathered along the sides of the road to watch the procession.

There was no music played, and the usual sound of screams and cries had given way to a haunting silence. Ignoring the piercing smell, you allowed yourself to bask in the bright sunlight for a moment, dwelling in the irony that it would be your downfall.

When you were almost by the city gates and your feet started to hurt, a commotion disrupted the eerily still crowd of onlookers and the procession halted, guards stepping forward to protect it. An elderly woman broke free from the assembly. Her thin hair, sickly complexion and buboes on her face and neck left no doubt that she was very sick. When she called out, her voice was but a rasp. "Princess!"

Surprisingly, the guards didn't stop you when you stepped forward, towards the woman. Though you could see why. Even if you got infested, it wouldn't matter, your life would end before the sun had risen to its peak. Unable to stabilize herself, the woman had fallen to her knees and you crouched down to her. A stifled gasp erupted from the crowd when you placed your hand on her shoulder. "It'll be alright," you said, not knowing where you got the sudden calmness. "It's all going to be over soon."

"Thank you," the woman sobbed, cradling your hand as dirty tears got caught up in the deep wrinkles of her face. "Thank you for your sacrifice, princess." Two young women stepped forward and helped her up as the guards took you between themselves once more, and as the procession moved forward, you felt strengthened. That was right. What did your life matter if you could save the lives of thousands?

Only the guards proceeded with you once you reached the gate. You took a nervous look upwards that made fear jolt through you once more. The archer was already in place. The archer that would seal your fate once you were displayed upon the altar.

The alter itself was a few hundred steps from the walls, a quick construction for this purpose only. The guards chained you onto it, so that you were displayed upon it like a sacrificial lamb. How fitting. When they left, you could barely sit up enough that your back didn't bow under the metal pressure, but you wanted to die with dignity. That was why you stricktly forbade yourself to cry, but you couldn't stop the trembling of your body and the racing of your heart, it's beat drumming in your ears, running in its last moments to its inevitable end.

Shivering and heaving, you awaited the arrow. This was so much worse than if they had killed you right away. It was torture not to see it coming. Managing a quick look back at the city gates, you saw the archer draw his bow. Despite yourself, a fearful sob left your throat and you closed your eyes, waiting. Almost anticipating. Any second now. The darkness was comforting.

The touch on your chin made you jolt. There was a hand, gently lifting your chin. Was it Thanatos, death itself? Death had an unexpectedly gentle touch.

"Open your eyes."

Without thinking, you did and froze. Your heart, that had been beating as fast as a dragon-flies' wings, halted for just a second. A breathless second, because in front of you stood the most beautiful creature you had ever seen. He was no man, he couldn't be. Emitting an otherworldly glow, his hair seemed to be woven out of gold, his skin as spotless as marble and his eyes a golden color. No, he was no man. The bow draped over it's shoulder, with which he had unleashed despair onto your city, sealed the deal. It was the mighty god Apollo himself.

You couldn't read his expression, but it was neither happy nor angry. He didn't present himself as a vengeful, destructive force of divinity, yet his might you could feel in every fiber of your being. His touch on your skin burned, as if you were too close to his godliness. Only now you followed his other arm with your eyes, that was stretched behind you, and gasped. It held the arrow meant for you, as if he had grabbed it out of the air right before it would have hit your body.

His surprisingly soft fingers tilted your chin further upwards, not meeting any resistance. Your body surrendered to his touch automatically. Golden eyes studied your features with such interest that it made you sweat. The weight of his godly eyes on you was almost painful. With a courage you didn't know you had in you, you looked up, right into those hard, unforgiving eyes. They widened slightly as you did and the god tilted his head. When he spoke, his voice shook you to your core.

"Who are you?"

Too caught up in the melody of his smooth voice, the grave sound of centuries and eternities, you almost missed the question. For a second, you contemplated wether you should tell him, but you didn't see what use there was in lying. And you knew you couldn't lie to him. It was time to meet your purpose.

"I am the eldest daughter of the king that offended you, and who's city is suffering the hail of your arrows, Lord Apollo. I am a sacrifice to you. Please-," your voice broke, but you forbade yourself to cry. "Take me, let me die for my city and have mercy on my people." You could have cursed yourself for the way your lip was trembling, and you added a choked "if it pleases you."

They had chained you down like an animal. Apollo knew that the king was a scumbag, but so much of a scumbag that he would leave his daughter to die without a second thought. The audacity to think that he would be satisfied with this, that he would be granted mercy. And such a pretty little thing you were, too. And obviously way more interested in your people than their king.

All you could hear was your heaving breath as you averted your eyes. His hand left your chin and when he lifted it, you ducked under the impending hit, but it didn't come. When you looked up carefully, he had only placed his hand on the altar next to you. Still, his golden eyes studied your face, though you thought that they looked just a little softer than before. His other hand dropped the arrow and came up to your face to brush strands of hair behind your ear. "What is your name?"

You told him, but he showed no reaction. Were you not enough to satisfy his vengeance? "Please," you begged, "accept me as sacrifice and forgive my father's sins."

The god only scoffed. "Who had that idea? What moron prompted you to be sent out here?" Again, you told him of the seer and his prophecy, shaking under the weight of the chains and your fear. "So, he told your father he would be forgiven if he sacrifices you to me?" the god said. "How could such an error happen to him? He is a very skilled seer." He wasn't talking to you but to himself, glaring at your city in the distance. The waves of his godly anger rolled off of him and left you breathless. You cursed yourself. Was this all you could do? Shiver, die, cover?

The god let out a sigh that sounded like a tragic tune. Such grace, even in the most minor of his mannerisms. He spared another glance at you and again, you felt like blinded by the sun itself. "How would you like a new home, Princess?" there was a scornful tone to his voice when talking about your former home. His lips twitched in mocking amusement. "The old one produces such horrid smells."

You felt your chest constrict with a sudden surge of anger. "And who's fault is that?"

Oh gods.

You had not just said that. What had you been thinking? You didn't dare to breathe as both you and him were, for a moment, stunned by your words. Because you didn't want to see the extent of his eternal anger at your defiance, you chose to look on the ground, expecting the death blow any moment now. But no, he would not make it quick for you, not when you had shown such impudence. Would it be a torturous death? But if it was already set in stone...

You didn't know what prompted you to look up again, but you did, and found him with a stunned expression only making his features prettier. "You hold a grudge against my father because of his blasphemy, fine. Give him the torturous death he deserves. But if you think bodies thrown in the sewers for the rats to eat because there is not enough wood to burn them would touch my father, you are wrong. But it does touch me, and I care about my people. You can do whatever you want to me, and I know you will, but I am begging you to end this punishment!"

You were fierce. Apollo was stunned by your bravery, not many had ever dared to talk to him like that. His sister would like you. There was such clear directness in your words, he could tell you were intelligent, smarter than your father, and you could articulate it even under godly scrutiny. You were interesting. And even more pretty glaring at him. Something tingled inside him, as if you had touched a nerve, but a good one.

"Heh"

It was a slight sound, almost swallowed up by the wind, but it made you look up in disbelief. But it was true. The smile on Apollo's features stunned you, he was too beautiful to be beheld by mortal eyes like yours. Your amazement by his grin almost washed away your confusion about his amusement. Why was he smiling? Why weren't you dead yet?

You flinched away when his hand touched your waist, but you were surprised by how gentle it was. It wrapped around the chains that tied down your whole body and dug painfully into your flesh and they dissipated. A wave of his hand and the bruises that had formed under their pressure healed in front of your eyes. "Hm," he hummed and you looked back at him. "Such a shame, those bindings taking up the view."

"Uh," was all you could say, still half lying on the altar. His smile widened, but it was not malicious. No, it was ... charming. Flirty. Stunningly beautiful.

"Tell me, pretty lady, do you sing?" he asked, leaning on the altar with his two arms caging you in as he leaned towards you. He was so close you could feel it radiating off of him. It felt like heat, only that it buzzed that air in a way that made your lungs constrict. Pure power.

"Ye- I mean, a little," you said, trying to follow his sudden mood shift. "Why?" Because boldness had been the most effective diplomatic tactic so far, and because you felt the strong urge to say it, you added: "Do you want me to sing for you?"

His eyes gleamed with... something. Now, he was truly shining. "Yeah, real interesting," he smiled, leaning even closer. Your heart was racing. "How about I rephrase my previous question, darling. You can either go back to your city and your father, or you can come with me. Your choice. Either way, your city will be forgiven and have peace."

The proposal knocked the breath out of your lungs and the flirtatious smile on his face didn't make it any better. You looked back at your city. Back to your father, who was so willing to sacrifice your life for his, who hadn't even had the decency to see you one last time before sending you out to die, alone and scared, paying for his mistakes. There was nothing there for you, but something was pulling you to the man in front of you that you couldn't quite explain.

"I want to leave with you," you said, surprised by the firmness of your voice. And even more surprised at the way he lit up, emitting a soft golden glow. The stone cold gold of his eyes had melted into warm honey as his arms sneaked under your body and lifted you up. You couldn't help but smile back, as if you were out of control of your face muscles.

"That little smile of yours is almost as irresistible as mine," the god grinned down at you and you felt yourself blush, slapping his chest out of embarrassment as you would have done any man's. For a moment, you were mortified by your own actions, but it turned into relief the next moment because Apollo let out a hearty laugh. A little chuckle left your own lips and for a second, his eyes lingered on them.

The next, he was shielding your eyes with his hand and you could only hear and feel him all around you now. "You might want to close your eyes for a bit. It might get bright."

As you did, he removed the hand, held you gently and looked down upon your face as a hail of golden light engulfed the two of you. Your fingers dug into his tunic but he couldn't have minded it any less. There was something about you that fascinated him. You were interesting, and the god liked interesting people. Eyes still closed, one of your hands found his and squeezed, and he was glad your eyes were closed, or you would haves even the bright pink blush on his marble cheeks.

Yeah, real interesting.

[anqar-salem]

🔥 Cry for Salvation: Salem and His Family in the Heart of Hell 💔🍉🕊🇵🇸

https://gofund.me/aa452f97

https://gofund.me/aa452f97

I am Salem, 27 years old, from Gaza. My life used to be simple, full of hope and ambition. After graduating from university, I dreamed of becoming an electrical engineer, but harsh circumstances forced me to migrate before the war broke out. 🏚️ My dreams were shattered under the fire of bombardment, and now I live far from my family, in a camp on the shores of Greece, facing darkness from every side. 🏝️

After graduation, I faced a harsh reality: the lack of job opportunities pushed me to find any way to earn a living, so I was forced to work in a sanitary ware factory. 🏭 This job was far from my dream, but I had to support my family. However, in a tragic moment, I suffered a severe injury to my leg, leaving me 85% disabled, and robbing me of the ability to work and provide for my family.

My family, whom I left behind, is now living a daily nightmare. After being displaced from northern Gaza, they were crowded into a school 🏫 turned into a shelter for the displaced, where five families are crammed into one classroom, after our home was completely destroyed under heavy bombing. No privacy, no hope, and with every passing moment, tension and fear grow. 🏘️

My mother, who suffers from diabetes and high blood pressure 💉, endures without treatment, and my father, who was once our support, has become immobile, unable to move. Whenever I speak to them, I see despair in their eyes, as if they are waiting for a tragic end.

I am here asking for your help, as I am unable to save them on my own. I migrated in search of treatment for myself and to help my family improve their circumstances, but the road remains difficult.

The goal of this campaign is to help them migrate from this nightmare to a place that offers them safety and dignity. 🇵🇸

Your donation is not just financial aid—it's a lifeline for my family, a chance to escape this hell. 🙏**

Don't wait for tomorrow. Donate now, because every passing second adds to their suffering. You are the hope that can save my family. 🚨 Every dirham, every dinar, every dollar means the difference between life and death.

https://gofund.me/aa452f97

https://gofund.me/aa452f97

Be the light in the darkness, donate now, and give my family a chance to live with dignity once again. 🕊️💔

@heritageposts @turtletoria @valtsv @anneemay @tamamita @annabelle--cane @schoolhatergirl

@prinnay @pregnantseinfeld @bigandgreedy @pcktknife @punkitt-is-here @paper-mario-wiki

@ot3 @tamamita @killy @4ft10tvlandfangirl @nabulsi @27moremoons @90-ghost @palms-upturned

@palipunk @komsomolka @comrademango @sabertoothwalrus @quasi-normalcy @3000s

@victoriawhimsey @irhen07 @irhabiya @davepeta @eternal-fractal @shencomix @miiilowo

@crapscicle @autisticmudkip @apollo

My campaign vetted by @gazavetters My number on the list is (20)

[rainybubbles]

What are COD men and women missions as your guardian angel ?

Ghost, Price, Soap, Gaz, Laswell, Farah, Valeria, Alejandro, König, Roach, Nikolai

(Sorry in advance for my mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. So sorry if it's badly written or if they're OOC.)

G H O S T :

-He was sent to prevent you from accepting a job opportunity that would lead to your death. 

-The prospective boss was destined to be tyrannical, pushing you to overwork, neglect your health, sever ties with loved ones, and gradually spiral into a state of despair. 

-Ultimately, exhaustion would compel you to cross a road, only to be struck by a truck. 

-Simon's purpose was to avert this tragic fate.

-Simon exerted considerable effort attempting to erase all traces of the job offers and announcements from your computer, eager to fulfill his mission swiftly. 

-However, you persisted in pursuing your dream job, repeatedly defying his interventions. 

-”Fucking hell” he whispered one night after passing hours on Indeed to delete everything.

-He realized he had to convince you. But it means getting to know you. 

-He sighed and moved in, thanks to his power, the flat next to yours was magically free.

-Despite his strategic move, Simon struggled with social interactions. 

- He tried the “have you any sugar ?” but it was 1AM, so it scared you.

-God, Simon and his social skills.

- One day, you, alarmed by a peculiar noise, knocked on his door, convinced that an intruder had breached your home. 

-Trusting Simon's intimidating presence to scare off anyone, you spent the night at his flat for reassurance. 

-This incident marked the beginning of a gradual acquaintance.

-As Simon got to know you, a mutual exchange of pastries became a regular occurrence. You started it to thank him for that night, and he offered you ones, and it has became a regular thing.

- Friday nights turned into joint activities like watching matches or cooking together. 

-During these moments, you opened up about your dream job, and Simon, in turn, disclosed the harsh realities about the company.

-The realization dawned upon him as he witnessed the trust you placed in him.

- When you decided not to pursue the ominous job, he felt a sense of joy until the weight of the truth settled in—his mission was complete. 

-Simon waited in anticipation for the next assignment.

-He waited.

-Days

-For another name, another mission.

-Nothing came.

-And he saw Laswell.

-He knew what it meant.

-“Simon, they decide you can either continue as an angel or stay with her and become human”Laswell says.

-Being with you.

-Waking up with you, living a life with you…

-It sounded perfect.

-He didn’t deserve that. Not after all what he had done, not…him with you, you deserved better.

-The following morning, you knocked on his door, only to find the flat deserted.

- Frantically searching for Simon Riley on social media, you discovered an unsettling absence—like a ghost, he had vanished, leaving you with a broken heart.

-“He fucking ghost me”, you cried on the floor of your flat, not knowing the truth.

P R I C E :

-He had not been sent for you, but for a boy named Clark. 

-Clark was on the verge of homelessness, and John's mission was to help him develop an idea to secure some much-needed money.

-As John succeeded in his task, he couldn't help but notice the negative transformation in Clark.

- The influx of money had turned Clark into a selfish person, threatening his friends if they considered leaving him. And that's how he encountered you—a kind soul who had been there for Clark since the beginning.

-You, always supportive, witnessed how toxic Clark had become towards you.

- Slowly, you began to believe you deserved such treatment, unable to find better friends. 

-John, disturbed by this realization, hoped for another mission to rescue Clark's friend from the clutches of his destructive behavior.

-But nothing changed.

-Frustrated, John couldn't stand idly by while people suffered for the sake of his mission. 

-His purpose was to rectify injustice, not allow someone to turn into a despicable person.

-During a party, he found you outside and couldn't help but express his thoughts

- "I'm glad you're in his life. He's so much better now. He was really broke, and I was scared he'd end up alone on the streets. He lived at my house for a long time." you said.

-"He should have end up in the streets," Price asserted without regret.

-Your eyes widened, but a chuckle escaped you. "You shouldn't say that."

-"But you agree.

-”Money got to his head, but he's a good guy."

-"He's not, and you know it, love."

-"I don't want to lose him. I love him." you admitted.

-And then it clicked. You loved Clark before he became the person he was now.

-"You loved him before all of this." he realized.

-"I know. And it hurts because I still hold onto the hope that he'll realize and suddenly become better."

-"I'm sorry." Price said.

-"It's not your fault."

-It was, but you couldn't know.

-"Maybe in another life, I'll be as happy as he seems to be?"

-Price could have read your life with his power and gotten to know your future. But he didn’t.

-"I hope you deserve it." he answered.

-"Hey John, if I'm not happy, could I count on you? You're always here for me."

-"I promise, love."

-You smiled.

-Later, when John received his new mission, he decided to peek into your future to protect you one last time—only to realize there was no future.

-He rushed to your flat.

-The police were there.

-Clark had been arrested.

-And a body was being taken to the morgue.

-Maybe he should have looked at your future earlier.

S O A P

-He had been dispatched to safeguard your moral values from crumbling into ruin. 

-The situation was straightforward; you were shattered, and a friend of yours suggested a lucrative opportunity to intimidate someone for a hefty sum. 

-In simpler terms, you were on the verge of joining a gang for the sake of money. 

-Broke, homeless, unwilling to burden your family, and unable to afford food, you were desperate enough to consider anything that paid, given the absence of job offers.

-Soap's mission was to avert this downward spiral, to prevent you from evolving into a heartless figure with bloodstained hands, a potential mafia leader. 

-Naturally, he couldn't just hand you money; you wouldn't accept it from a stranger. So, he devised a plan to hire you at his bakery.

-Initially taken aback, because hell you couldn’t even say or bake croissant. 

-Nevertheless, your role was strictly to sell, not to bake. 

-Moreover, your boss, Soap, emanated a comforting presence. 

-He treated you kindly, just as he did with everyone on his missions

-But to him, your smile was more than just a pleasant sight; it stirred something within him.

-Your laughter, dry and infrequent, motivated him to ensure you laughed more often, even if it meant he made a fool of himself with sugar or butter.

-When your friend said you couldn’t stay at their place, Soap went a step further and provided you with one.

- As you began accumulating enough funds to secure a flat, you encountered difficulties in finding one. 

-Leveraging his magical abilities, Soap helped locate a suitable residence for you. 

-Once settled, he taught you the art of baking, gradually helping you to take charge of the bakery.

-A year later, you had become a skilled baker, and Soap realized his mission was accomplished. 

-Independent and content, you were ready to take over the bakery. 

-Craftily, he fabricated a story about relocating to another country and passing the bakery on to you. 

-Initially hesitant, you eventually agreed after lengthy discussions.

-As Soap sensed the emergence of a new name and mission on the paper, he looked at you and sighed, "I'll miss you, love."

-"Me too, Johnny," you replied.

-Little did you know it was the final time you would see him, but Soap was acutely aware.

- So, for the first time, he allowed himself to act on impulse and kissed you. In that fleeting moment, he wished he could relinquish his wings and live with you indefinitely.

G A Z :

-TW : social anxiety :) !

-He was sent to help you with your health.

-You grappled with social anxiety, a condition so severe that the fact of being in a crowded bus could make you faint

- Asking for a bag at the cashier's counter filled you with fear, and even a simple "hello" caused three weeks of overthinking

- You existed in a state of solitude, ensnared within a relentless cycle of anxiety.

- Your mental health had plummeted, yet the luxury of a therapist was beyond your means.

-Social anxiety, insidiously, severs connections, making it difficult to seek help, leaving you trapped in an endless loop of overthinking. 

-The act of breathing itself became a struggle

-Walking in the streets became a nightmare, convinced that every passerby scrutinized your every move. Life, for you, felt burdensome, your very existence a weight upon others.

-Enter Gaz, sent to prevent you from venturing too close to the precipice. 

-He initiated contact through social media, engaging you in conversation within a fandom you both shared.

- He witnessed the genuine joy in your smiles as you responded to his messages, the relief emanating from having notifications from a real person rather than an automated system.

- Talking to him felt right, providing a respite from the isolation.

-Gradually, your interactions with Gaz progressed beyond the digital realm.

- Attempts to meet in person were met with reluctance or last-minute cancellations, fueled by fears of judgment, rejection, or even the possibility of an elaborate prank. 

-However, perseverance prevailed, and one day, he succeeded in meeting you face-to-face.

-The anxiety lingered, but Gaz's warmth created a sanctuary, a safe space for you.

- Together, you confronted the formidable adversary that was social anxiety.

-Gaz became your anchor during the lows, comforting you when crowds induced panic or tears flowed at the thought of being among people.

-Of course there were downs, where you couldn’t go out, where you would cry just by the idea of being in a crowd. But he was here for you.

-Every Monday, he accompanied you through bustling streets, holding your hand as you breathed through the anxiety. 

-Small victories were celebrated, such as summoning the courage to ask for water from a waiter. 

-To some, these achievements may seem ridiculous, but Gaz understood the immense courage they required.

-He cherished the moments you shared, the progress you made—ordering food by phone, making a call—each step a triumph on the arduous road of overcoming social anxiety.

- In these moments, Gaz recognized that this was more than a mere mission; it was a lifelong commitment. 

-Social anxiety was not a battle with a finite resolution; rather, it was a continuous struggle.

-A knowing chuckle escaped him. 

-Captain Price, knowingly, had bestowed upon Gaz a life mission. 

-In a quiet moment, Gaz whispered his gratitude, acknowledging that if his mission was to love and support you, there was no doubt he would embrace it for eternity.

V A L E R I A :

-She was sent to save your marriage.

- Angels, renowned for their influence on matters of the heart, and Valeria, in particular, was on a divine mission to salvage the threads that held your union together. 

-However, as of late, doubt began to creep into her convictions as a guardian angel.

-In numerous assignments, she found herself helping individuals of questionable character.

- Then, she met you—a person ensnared in a wretched marriage. 

- Your wife treated you poorly, arguing with you for trivial matters, asserting your worthlessness without her, forgetting your birthday and engaging in infidelity with others.

-Valeria questioned the purpose of preserving such a toxic bond.

- Was she supposed to save this tormented marriage?

- Was the sanctity of matrimony so sacred that it should endure despite the evident misery it caused?

-No, she had enough..

- She reached a breaking point, disenchanted with being the obedient savior in every situation. 

-She wasn't Rudy or Alejandro—she wouldn't blindly adhere to a mission that clashed with her newfound convictions. 

-Instead, she took a daring step and seduced you, believing you deserved better, deserving her.

-You, with your kindness and generosity, deserved someone who would treat you with the respect and love you lacked in your current relationship. 

-Valeria refused to surrender you to the shackles of your miserable marriage.

- She cared not for the rules of her celestial role; she wasn't a guardian angel any longer. 

-That night, driven by an irrepressible desire for change, she made a drastic choice—she cut off her wings. 

-The pain was excruciating, but amidst the agony, she found relief and liberation.

- She knew this act condemned her to damnation, but the prospect of being with you made it inconsequential.

- Morality blurred into shades of gray as she willingly became a fallen angel, abandoning her celestial duties for the ecstasy of earthly love.

- The sensation of your lips against hers eclipsed any impending punishment, and in that moment, she embraced the fall from grace for the happiness she found in your arms.

N I K O L A I :

-He was the one training guardian angels. 

-Nikolai wasn't a guardian angel, but a fallen one. 

-In the past, he had fallen in love with the one he was supposed to guard.

- As a consequence, they severed one of his wings and stripped him of his celestial status. 

-To prove his devotion, Nik decided to assist in the formation of guardian angels.

- Laswell and Price supported him, and they agreed.

-So, he began training new guardian angels, and you happened to be one of them.

- He admired how you struggled to fly, resembling a fawn. 

-"Солнце (=sun), use your back muscles, not your arms," he teased as you tumbled to the ground once again. 

-"How could you know?" you snapped back, frustrated.

-He stopped, his lone wing retracting. 

-You realized the impact of your words.

- "Shit, Nik, sorry, that's not what I meant."

-"It's okay, but I used to fly in the past, you know. Don't doubt my abilities again."

-"Of course, I... It's just frustrating to see everyone else succeeding."

"-It's okay. Ghost took six months to fly; Soap burned his wing three times," Nikolai said. "So, don't doubt, Солнце."

-"Really?" you laughed.

-"Yes, so don't doubt, Солнце."

-"Isn't it difficult to watch all those angels and not feel free like them?" you asked, a question no one had posed to him before.

-"It is, but I deserved it."

-"You just loved someone. I don't think it was worth the punishment," you whispered.

-"Maybe, but I betrayed my mission."

-"I still think you did it for good reasons. The world isn't black and white. Sometimes we have to be gray. Loving them, it's not a crime."

-He stayed silent. "Maybe."

-"Sorry, I overstepped, but I think it's unfair they treat you like this. Graves is keeping his wings when he had killed people to succeed in his missions, not very guardian angel of him."

-"You're right, but we can't do anything."

-"I will. I'll fight for you. Use my wings to give yours back," you said, determined.

-That day, Nik felt a spark—the same one that had cost him his wings. 

-The one who was back with you. 

-He ignored it. 

-"If you say so, I'll watch you doing it," he chuckled.

-Little did he know, you would succeed and restore his wings. 

-Perhaps, one day, Nikolai would fly again with his wings and not a helicopter.

A L E J A N D R O :

-He was sent to protect you, to help you to expose the truth.

-You, a journalist delving into a precarious story surrounding the cartel's sway

-. Alejandro understood the gravity of this mission; his entire previous life had been defined by this relentless fight against the cartel.

- With unwavering dedication, he vowed to shield you with all his heart.

-Thus, he concealed himself, surveilling your residence, neutralizing all dangers, confronting cartel members seeking to harm you under the cover of darkness.

- His magic thwarted explosive threats, and he meticulously tarnished the reputations of those aiming to intimidate you after your initial article.

- He stood watch, silently guarding you.

-His cover was blown one day. In your apartment, a cartel member lay unconscious at his feet.

-"So it was you?" you inquired.

-"I can explain," he stammered.

-"You were the one protecting me, weren't you? I've never felt threatened since my colleagues shared their ordeals. Only words, never physical harm or bombs. My family is unharmed. Someone protected me. It's you, isn't it?"

-Your perceptiveness impressed him.

-"Yes," he admitted.

-"You should have said something. I can pay you if needed. Being a bodyguard for someone who challenges cartels must be challenging."

-"Not as challenging as being a colonel fighting the cartel in my previous life," he thought but refrained from saying.

-"It's okay. I don't need a salary."

-"Then live with me. Let me repay you, in a way. This way, you can keep an eye on me 24/7 but still have a place to stay."

-It was tempting, avoiding the need to surveil you from across the street, being able to follow you closely to prevent traps.

-"Okay," he accepted.

-Gradually, he became a fixture in your life. You shared your findings, and he assisted during investigations, often necessitating clandestine break-ins to gather information. 

-He marveled at how you managed to stay alive with your audacious pursuits.

-But with each cartel member arrested due to your articles, he felt satisfaction and pride. You were making a difference.

-Until one day, the absence of the familiar sound of typing alarmed him. 

-Racing to your room, he found you lifeless, a bullet wound in your head. 

-How was this possible? He had used his magic for protective measures, installed cameras.

- Then he noticed it—a black wing on the floor, a fallen angel turned malevolent.

-He knew who was responsible—Valeria. Of course, she would be entangled in the sinister web of cartels. Mierda...

L A S S W E L L :

--She was sent to ensure peace.

-You, a fledgling diplomat, had just entered the scene.

-In a matter of months, a critical meeting loomed on the horizon. 

-Unfortunately, one of the other ambassadors harbored nefarious plans. 

-Their aim? To ensnare you, hold your country responsible for an attack, derail any alliance, shatter hopes of peace, and plunge nations into war.

-Laswell, tasked with preventing this diplomatic catastrophe, sought to guide you through the treacherous world of international relations.

-Gaining your trust, however, proved to be a formidable challenge.

-You toiled in isolation, reluctant to confide even in an assistant. 

-Acutely aware of the sordid nature of politics, you had no intention of succumbing to manipulation or falling prey to powerful lobby interests.

-To demonstrate her capabilities, Laswell embarked on a mission to help you confront a corrupt mayor. 

-When she successfully ousted him and exposed the truth, despite the mayor's pervasive connections, you were compelled to extend a job offer.

-"Thanks for this. I couldn't have done it without you. He had connections everywhere," you expressed your gratitude.

-"I have connections too, but I guess mine are just better than his," she replied with a hint of confidence.

-A chuckle escaped your lips.

-It was evident that Laswell, fueled by a genuine commitment to peace, would prevail. 

-Witnessing the purity of your heart, she found solace.

- She had observed how the hearts of political figures often tarnished when power came into play, but you remained an exception.

-"You're a remarkable diplomat, never doubt that," she reassured.

-"Maybe, but niceties don't seal alliances or foster peace," you sighed. "Money does, and we don't have it."

-Together, you delved into the intricacies of contracts and gathered information about other nations.

- Nights were spent in your office, surrounded by take-out containers, punctuated by jokes that lightened the mood while maintaining a serious focus on work.

-Gradually, Laswell began to open up to you. 

-Of course, she concealed her past as a CIA agent, weaving a narrative that shielded her secrets. Yet, you felt a sense of security in her presence.

-One evening during a break, you asked,

-"Do you have someone, Kate? You're always here with me, and I wouldn't want your significant other to worry."

-"I had someone," she admitted.

-"Sorry to hear that," you responded.

-"It's okay. It was a long time ago, like a previous life," she joked, though the truth lingered beneath the surface.

-"How were they?" you inquired.

-"She, and she was wonderful. My wife. I could have given everything to her, except I didn't. I didn't give her my time. I was working too hard."

-"Did you divorce?" you asked.

-"No, but I quitted my job for her."

-"Oh."

-"It was the right thing to do. She deserved it," she smiled.

-"And you never met anyone after?"

-"No.”

-Because after that, she died old and happy with her wife, before becoming a guardian angel.

-She never looked for love.

-"No, but maybe someday." Laswell said

-"I don't doubt it," you chuckled.

-"And you?"

-"I'm too busy with my work. They say I'm mostly married to it," you attempted to joke, but Kate sensed the underlying sadness.

-"You'll meet someone. You're a great person."

-"Thanks," you replied, returning to your work. 

-After weeks of collaboration, Kate unearthed a drug affair involving the other diplomat and dealt with it discreetly.

-On the day of the crucial meeting, the peace offer was accepted without hesitation, thanks to the covert threat.

- The treaties were signed, and a sigh of relief echoed through the diplomatic corridors.

-However, when Laswell awaited her next mission, she discovered a surprise.

-Your name resurfaced, but the mission had taken an unexpected turn.

-"Marry them."

-Confused, Laswell pondered the note. Guardian angels can't love humans. Then, she noticed a message on the back.

-"You deserve a retreat, Kate. And they're your type. Enjoy it. - John."

-She chuckled. John, always meddling where he wasn't needed.

- However, she didn’t know if she would marry you or not but this life as a diplomat, reshaping the world for the better, was the love she had found."

F A R A H :

-She had been sent to infuse you with the strength to confront adversity with courage and resilience.

- Once a firefighter, you had walked away from the profession after a tragic incident where a child lost his life in a fire. 

-Your attempts to alert your boss about the suspicious nature of the recent fires fell on deaf ears, and disillusioned, you resigned. 

-The question lingered: Why be a firefighter if you couldn't save lives?

-Farah had been dispatched to restore your inner fortitude because, deep down, you were right

-Those recent fires were no accidents. 

-Only you had the power to uncover the truth, having been the sole observer of the pattern.

- Fate placed her as your neighbor, but your demeanor was reticent, a mere husk of your former self.

-Observing your silent suffering, Farah chose a bold approach. 

-She ignited a fire in her own apartment using a toaster, triggering your instincts. 

-Without hesitation, you rushed to her aid with a fire extinguisher, quelling the flames.

-"Thanks, I don't know what happened," she lied, keenly observing the adrenaline coursing through your veins and the relief in your eyes.

-"It's okay; toasters can be tricky, many of them catch fire," you reassured her.

-"Do you often see that?" she inquired.

-"I'm a firefighter," you paused, correcting yourself, "was, sorry."

-She smiled, finding solace in your continued identification with the role.

-"You quit? Injuries?" she probed.

-"No, I... it just wasn't for me."

-"It doesn't seem that way," she said, nodding towards the fire extinguisher still in your grasp.

-"It was just a reflex."

-"Hmm, if you say so. You know, just because there are some bad firefighters doesn't mean you have to quit," she remarked.

-"True, but sometimes it's hard to... fight when you're alone."

-She understood. Without the support of people in her past as Karim, Farah would never have succeeded. 

-"But without brave people like you, the bad ones win," she emphasized.

-"Maybe," you conceded, "but... why am I discussing this with you? I don't even know you," you whispered.

-"It's easier to confess to a stranger, especially one with a burnt toaster," she joked.

-You chuckled, finding an unexpected comfort in her presence.

-"Maybe you're right. I just... I felt useless. I knew something was wrong with those fires, that we should have saved those kids, but... no one believed me. Maybe they're right."

-"Or maybe not. Now we'll never know since you quit," she countered.

"-Maybe..." you sighed.

-"I can help you," she offered.

-"How?" you inquired.

-"I'm a journalist," she lied, "if those fires are really peculiar, then I have a great article, and you could regain your job."

-"…But it means investigating my own brigade."

-"Betrayal often comes from those close to us," she said, recalling what did Hadir.

-"You're right, okay," you agreed.

-And so, the investigation began. Farah watched as the embers of your internal fire reignited. You didn't give up. 

-Gathering evidence, taking photographs, you uncovered a shocking revelation: a colleague was a pyromaniac, deliberately setting fires to play the role of a savior, to feel godlike.

-Presenting the proof to journalists, your chief could no longer cover for the rogue colleague. Farah felt a surge of pride for you.

-"You fought well," she commended.

-"I'll continue, thanks, Farah," you said, embracing her, the lingering scent of burnt still on your clothes after your mission.

-"Never give up, even when I'm gone," she whispered.

-"Never," you smiled.

-When her mission changed, she left you a collar. Months later, Farah noticed how you kept it as a talisman.

- She smiled, realizing that although she couldn't stay, your strength and hers would forever be intertwined.

K Ö N I G :

-He had been sent to rekindle your passion, to bring happiness back into your life. 

-Once a talented dancer, you had abandoned your love for dance in favor of a more practical career, burdened by financial responsibilities. 

-Your parents, disapproving of a dancing career, further added to the weight on your shoulders.

-König, however, was on a mission to reignite your love for your hobby and give your heart what it truly desired.

- So, in your building, he discreetly posted a classified ad seeking a dance teacher for the waltz.

-When you stumbled upon the ad, you thought, "Why not?"

-A little extra income wouldn't hurt, and you missed the joy of dancing. Intrigued, you decided to respond to his ad, accepting his offer.

-Little did König anticipate that it would work. 

-Now, with his towering 2-meter frame, he found himself awkwardly attempting to move like a swan without crushing your feet. The stress was palpable.

-“Breathe and focus on me, not on yourself,” you instructed, guiding his hands to rest on your waist. 

-Slowly, with the accompaniment of a piano, you led him through the graceful movements of the waltz.

-Suddenly, it felt like home. Memories flooded back – the aroma of onions and Zwiebelrostbraten cooking, the cramped kitchen adorned with peculiar pictures, his mother's gentle dance, and him on her feet as she attempted to teach him how to dance. 

-Dancing, he thought, could be so beautiful, and those who tried to prevent such feelings were truly awful.

-You noticed the sparkle in König's eyes, a reflection of the passion you had years ago.

- “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” you remarked.

-“Yes, it’s like we’re floating,” he responded.

-“Waltz is beautiful. I…I wanted to compete when I was younger – waltz, salsa, and more.”

-“What stopped you?”

-“My parents. They said I would never be good enough to make a living from it. And they're right; only a few dancers can sustain themselves.”

-“But you could still live through it in a different way.”

-“How?”

-“Teaching it. Many dancers become teachers.”

-“I don’t have connections, König. Studios prefer people with a reputation.”

-“Then I’ll spread the word. You’re a great teacher. I mean, you made me dance the waltz, and I'm a giant,” he joked.

-You smiled. “Because you’re a great student.”

-“Nein, believe me, I can’t dance without you.”

-And so, König set his plans into motion, praising your classes to everyone. 

-Soon, a married couple sought your expertise, and as their marriage flourished, the word spread. 

-Requests poured in, and slowly you amassed a following.

-König, with his mysterious charm, helped you secure a studio.

- Although you maintained your part-time job, you now knew you could live from dance.

-“I’ll quit,” you whispered, nervous. “I need to quit to have more classes and finally be happy.”

-“Good, you deserve it,” he smiled.

-“Thanks. Without you, I probably would never have been brave enough to do it.”

-“I’m here to support you,” he assured, even though he missed holding you in his arms and waltzing with you.

-He asked for one last dance to celebrate. Unbeknownst to you, he would soon leave.

-As you danced, he felt your heart beating fast, resonating with happiness. 

-When a paper appeared in his pocket with another name and another mission, he looked back at you. 

-Perhaps now, when alone, König would practice the waltz for the day he would meet you again.

R O A C H :

 

TW : death (not of Roach or you though) + (i kinda create a past for him, I know it's not canon)

-He was sent to help you to protect Orion.

-The problem was, he had no clue who Orion was.

- Despite attempting to tap into his powers, all he could extract were names: Orion and yours. 

-Thus, he met you out and forged a close friendship, yet Orion remained elusive.

- Not in your familial ties, not as a romantic interest or enemies—nowhere. 

-Until one day, after returning from work, you shared an anecdote about Orion.

-Orion.

- A four-year-old boy. 

-Suddenly, it dawned on him; he comprehended his purpose

-. Roach, with his own history in foster care, knew he was selected because he understood the flaws in the system and how one could make a difference by adopting a child.

- However, Orion had loving parents, leaving Roach perplexed.

-"He's a sweet boy," you smiled.

-He reciprocated with a smile, albeit tinged with fear. 

-Did this mean Orion would lose his parents? 

-Or was he expected to kill them? 

-Roach was uncertain, prompting him to shadow Orion's residence, using his expertise in navigating air ducts, he was not called  Roach for nothing, air ducts were his things.

-As he observed, nothing seemed amiss until he spotted it: a crack in the wall. 

- Regrettably, before he could extricate himself from the air duct, the building collapsed. 

-The landlords had ignored warnings about the need for renovations, leading to the tragedy. 

-Roach barely escaped the ruins, coughing and trying to find his way out.

-Then, he heard Orion's voice. 

-Under a table, the little boy clutched his deceased mother's hand. 

-Roach froze; there was no doubt, Orion's parents were gone. 

-Why was he sent to manage this? 

- Why wasn't he tasked with preventing the tragedy or saving them?

- Why did Orion have to endure such a harrowing experience?

-He crawled to Orion, embracing him as the boy cried and screamed. 

-He waited with him at ER, refusing to leave despite your attempts to reach him. He only sent you a text “at ER”

-You joined him and he…he could only express his pain through a silent hug.

-You and Roach became determined to ensure Orion wouldn't be left in the system after such trauma.

- Despite the challenges, you visited every day, dealing with bureaucracy and, with Roach's magical assistance, eventually adopting Orion

-. Roach didn't leave; he remained a steadfast companion in your collective journey.

-It wasn't easy—Orion was confused, lost, and traumatized. 

-Yet, through your unwavering support, he slowly began to open up to both you and Roach.

- A family emerged, something Roach had only discovered in his twenties during his time in the military.

- He was grateful that Orion could experience it now, but he couldn't bring himself to leave.

-Each day brought the fear of a new mission, a new departure. Until one day, Ghost appeared in your flat.

-"What are you doing here?" Roach questioned.

-"Cutting your wings," Ghost responded.

-Roach recoiled. "I never kissed them." he said, yes he loved you, but he never tried…

-"Roach…"

-"You can't take them away from me, please L.T. I don't want to lose everyone like I lost you and the unit."

-"I’ll cut your wings so you can become human, Roach, not to punish you."

-Roach halted. "You—"

-"You deserve it."

-"Thanks, L.T."

-"You're welcome," Ghost whispered, cutting his wings.

-Roach felt pain but also a strange sense of freedom. He smiled at Ghost and let him leave. Finally, he had found a family.

_____

_If you want more : my COD masterlist

_My masterlist

[jayaury]

Warm Comforts

Mistakes had been made.

Possibly even by Evan, though it was too soon to be sure.

After all, his plan had been perfect. The Longdale Pass wasn’t supposed to snow up for weeks when he’d set out. And yes, maybe he’d lingered a little too long in Lucena bartering for those diamonds, but he’d made so much money. And there’d still been time.

So, naturally, it wasn’t really his fault that he was currently trudging through the Mountains of Despair while one of its infamous blizzards howled around him. Whose fault this was remained a bit of an open question, but he was sure he’d have an answer for it.

Provided he didn’t freeze to death first.

Fortunately, he had always been a practical man, and had dressed in the anticipation of being on the road when the first snows hit. And he was… he was utterly confident he was on the right path, despite the whiteout. He just needed to get somewhere warm. Get out of the cold for a bit and recover his bearings.

But that was looking to be a problem.

He squinted through the white of the blizzard. By his calculations, he shouldn’t be far from the town of Gibran. Once there, he’d be able to hunker down for the winter, and when spring rolled in, he’d be able to pop through the pass without issue, hit the main road, and be in the capital before the harvest.

And he was sure he was going in the right direction.

Though, it was starting to feel like an awfully long walk…

But… wait.

Was that a light?

Hope bloomed in Evan’s breast and he forced his legs into motion again, wading through the rising snow with the urgency of the damned. For a moment the cold receded in his limbs as he struggled through the drifting white banks, his scarf sucking against his mouth with every laboured breath.

It was a light! And more. Buildings formed out of the darkness. Near buried, their eaves covered in snow, yet from frosted windows light spilled out, promising heat and warmth and comfort. One in particular loomed ahead. More a lodge than a home, it spread itself forth in a dark mass, the windows glowing gold with heat. With life-giving warmth.

Evan staggered into the smaller drifts around the building. He trudged about to the front, finding himself before a large door. Elaborate carvings covered it, and twin totems that he couldn’t make out due to the snow flanked it. But he paid them little attention as he searched for a handle. He almost sobbed when he found it, turned it, and fell inside.

The cozy heat from within hit him like a golden wave.

Warm.

Blessed, life giving warmth.

He groaned as he went to his knees, panting, head swimming as he swung the door shut behind him, silencing the howling storm. For a moment he could only kneel there, breathing heavily in relief and exhaustion.

“Well wel! What have we here?”

Wearily, Evan raised his eyes towards the voice.

And stiffened anew.

A woman stood before him, and what a woman she was. All curves, she was soft and tall, and not just because she sported a pair of bovine horns. Huge breasts stretched a downy gown while a fur-trimmed cloak draped her shoulders. Amulets and charms hung off her, while pigtails of golden blonde spilled down her shoulders and the curve of her chest. She smiled with a warm delight that made Evan’s cock throb in his pants.

But a chill went down his spine at the sight of her nonetheless, for he knew a holstaur when he saw one, and he’d heard the rumours of the mountainous cowgirl breed, as had anyone else.

Naturally, he didn’t put too much stock in them. He was a man of the world, after all, but enough stories floated around about the gorgeous cow women who populated villages along the high passes that it warranted some caution. Stories like how their milk was corruptive to those who drank it. That holstaurs were always seeking males to entrance with their breasts and cream, turning poor fools who stumbled upon their homes into happy, obedient slaves who never thought of anything but how to better serve the buxom beauties and pump their heavy, sloshing breasts.

Rumours as far as he knew.

Still…

Evan grunted and heaved himself back to his feet. “Sorry,” he gasped. “Just… needed to get out of the cold.”

“I imagine so,” the holstaur said, her voice thick with a mountain accent. “You look half frozen! Please. Come in. Come in! Let’s get you over to the fire.”

“I-I can stay here,” he quickly said.

“Not at all. You’re still shivering! And never let it be said the Bovam tribe left a poor soul to the winter’s bite. We must get you all warmed up.”

Evan hadn’t the will to argue. Not as the stinging ache of the cold buzzed in his extremities. And the warmth deeper in the lodge drew him in like a moth to flames.

He found himself being ushered out of the receiving room and into a large hall. The high ceiling was held aloft by arching wooden beams and the walls were inlaid with elaborate carvings of bovine figures and geometric designs. A huge fire roared in the middle of the room, the smoke sucked up through a chimney and into the freezing night. Benches were arrayed around tables layered with food.

And everywhere were the holstaurs.

There had to be more than a dozen of the bovine beauties about the room, all dressed in the loose, heavy robes that draped their tall frames, curving over their plump chests. Many wore bracers or ringlets made of gold and silver around their horns. More than a few held steins of foaming ale and were deep in merry conversation.

And all looked his way as he entered the room.

He stopped, eyes panning the interior, freezing under the very interested gaze of the assembled cow women.

Then he jumped as his guide’s heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “Ladies,” the cowgirl beside him declared. “This poor fellow just came in from the cold. Please, I invite you all make him welcome.”

Smiles fluttered to soft lips all around the room, and a chorus of greetings met him. Evan felt his face warm under the attention of so many beautiful women and he cleared his throat.

“Ah, hello. My name is Evan. I’m a… ah, a merchant. Just happened to have been passing by and needed to warm up a bit.”

“And we’re all so pleased you decided to join us tonight,” the blonde cowgirl with him said, smiling down at him. “Bellia? Some ale for our guest.”

“Right away, Clara,” a tanned holstaur giggled, brushing back her fiery red hair as she made her way to some tankards on a nearby table.

“You’re quite fortunate to have stopped by tonight as well,” Clara said as she walked Evan towards the hearth.

“I am? Why?” he asked, his eyes darting about warily.

“Because it’s our festival of the Hollydays. A celebration of our company, and a prayer to the goddess to see the winter is not so bitter, and spring will be long and soon. But really,” she said with another reassuring squeeze of his shoulder. “It’s an excuse for the village to get together in these frigid months and get pleasantly drunk. Why, one could go mad all alone in their huts during this weather.”

“Right,” Evan said as he was sat down on a bench near the flames. Wonderful flames. No sooner had he done so than Bellia had plopped down on his other side, pushing a stein of ale into his hands.

“Here you are! Nice and warm.”

“Thanks,” Evan said, looking at the foaming drink. He gave it a sniff, but it didn’t seem to have anything wrong with it. Maybe he was just being paranoid.

“So, do you intend to stay long?” Bellia asked, squeezing in closer.

“Long? Oh, no. Just… need to warm up. Then I’ll be heading out. Thinking about trying to reach Grevin. Shouldn’t be too far. Another day or so of walking.”

“Maybe. But in this blustering wind?” Clara said, settling on his other side and scooting in towards him. “Trudging through that deep, deep snow? All the while the freezing air whips at you? The cold sucks at you? Numbs you?”

Evan shivered at the reminder and took a quick sip of the ale. It was quite good, though different from any he’d tried before. Thick and warm, yet smooth. Almost… creamy.

“What an awful thing,” Bellia cooed.

He shrugged. “It’s not so bad. Not the life for many, true. But I do love to travel. Just… made a small timing error.”

“How terrible,” Bellia said, stroking his shoulder before her arm slid around him, pulling him against her curves. “It must have been just awful out there. Why, you’re still shivering! It must be those clothes you’re wearing. Still so cold. Why not take them off?”

Evan almost choked on his ale. “M-my clothes?”

“Bellia, really now,” Clara sighed. “He doesn’t need to get naked here. At least, not until he’s in his bed.”

“Bed?” Evan looked between them uncertainly. “Oh, no. I couldn’t. I’ll just warm up and then head out.”

“Oh, but you’re still so terribly cold,” Clara put in gently. “Why, I imagine you’re already feeling the weakness of your journey.”

Evan shifted. She wasn’t wrong. His muscles throbbed with exhaustion and the cold, to say nothing of the sting of returning feeling in his hands and feet. “I really can’t afford…”

“It would be free, of course,” Clara noted.

His ears perked up. “Free?”

He saw Clara exchange a glance with Bellia. The pale holstaur’s lips curved up further. “Of course,” Clara said, wriggling in closer, squeezing him against Bellia. Against her breasts. Such big breasts. Gods. They were bigger than his head. Evan tried to ignore them, but they were so close. Close and soft.

Close and warm.

He hastily took another drink of his ale, the smooth taste tingling on his tongue and buzzing through his body. “Well…” he said, sneaking another glance at Bellia and Clara.

“We wouldn’t dream of charging you to stay in our little village,” Clara continued. “The laws of hospitality would never permit it. We don’t have much, but what we have we gladly share. Especially with such a worldly young man. We so rarely get news from the outside here. Especially during winter.”

“I imagine,” he said.

“Of course. And we’d not dare send you out there again. Not with the brutal weather. Although…”

Evan frowned. Of course there would be a catch. “What?” he asked as he took another sip of his ale.

“Well,” Clara said gently. “Unfortunately, we don’t have enough beds for a newcomer, so I’m afraid you may have to… stay with some of us while you’re here.”

His eyes widened. Snapped between the two holstaurs. “Stay? But, I…”

“Oh, we don’t mind,” Bellia giggled.

“Exactly. In fact, we’d consider it our duty. Especially tonight. You need to do whatever you can to warm up, lest the shock kill you dead! I’ve seen it happen so often.”

“Just tragic,” Bellia sniffed, wiping her eye.

Evan hesitated. But she… did have a point. It would be pretty stupid to charge out there after just warming up. Especially for a trip that may take more than a day. And he had heard of the cold doing what she described. Men who warmed up too fast, then went back out into the freezing cold quickly grew disoriented, the shock of the change in temperature causing limbs to seize up, and the cold burying them quickly.

He took another drink of his ale, feeling the warmth of it ooze through him and settle in his arms and legs. Gods that was good stuff. He had been walking an awful long time, he really needed that drink. And a rest wouldn’t be so bad. It wouldn’t be a terrible idea to maybe… take a rest. Get warm and ready for the next stage of his journey.

His eyes again crept to the holstaurs.

Lingered on their straining busts…

“I… suppose I could,” he admitted.

“Wonderful,” Clara said, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly. “Simply wonderful. Oh, and I see you’re still shivering. How terrible. I imagine you can already feel all those aching pins and needles. We really must help you get the blood flowing. Bellia? Could you help our guest?”

“Gladly, chief,” Bellia giggled, rising and taking his hand.

Evan found himself being drawn to his feet. “Er…”

“Now now! No argument,” Clara said warmly as Evan found himself tucked against Bellia’s side. “Not unless you’d like to lose those fingers and toes to frostbite.”

“I… guess not,” he admitted.

“Exactly,” Bellia said with a lazy smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you keep nice… and warm…”

Evan smiled back, albeit a little uncertainly. He soon found himself brought down a dim hall and to a door. Bellia pushed it open, admitting him into a dark room. The curtains were drawn on its single window, but just the sound of the storm battering against the shutters and glass made him shiver anew. Bellia left him and lit a lonely lamp, the single flame revealing in its orange glow thick rugs hanging off the walls, many sewn with pastoral scenes. Scents lingered in the air, and he spotted a number of incense burners before a carved altar, wafting their scents into the air on thin trails of smoke.

He realized he was still holding the stein and finished it off in one go, the warm ale seeping down into him in a tingling rush.

“Now,” Bellia cooed, patting the heavy blankets of a large, strongly built bed, “Time to get those clothes off.”

“E-excuse me?” Evan stammered, blinking.

“I need to massage the feeling back into you, silly,” Bellia said, smiling. “Don’t worry. I’m well trained in it. All the village girls are. It’s our way of strengthening our bonds. A deeply personal ritual.”

Evan considered refusing, but it wasn’t unreasonable. Again, he found his eyes wandering to her plump, bronzed breasts before he forced his eyes away.

“Sure. Alright,” he said, and began to strip off his clothes, which proved somewhat difficult with his numb fingers.

“Let me help,” Bellia said, moving in.

Evan sighed and decided he may as well. He shivered as her gentle fingers helped undo his jacket and stripped it away. Soon more of his clothes came off, revealing his shirt and pants, though even those soon went, leaving him in nothing but his underclothes.

Which failed utterly to hide how aware he was of her body.

“Oh,” Bellia said, a smoky look in her eyes as she looked at the tent he’d pitched. “Oh…”

“Uh,” Evan coughed. “So, massage?”

“Hm? Oh! Right. Of course. Please, sit down on the bed.”

Evan did so, Bellia kneeling before him. Her eyes were low and lidded as she took his foot and began to gently knead the sole with her fingers.

Evan tried not to react, but it was terribly hard not to. It was like she was rolling all the aches from them, leaving only a warm looseness. A groan escaped him as her fingers rubbed his feet, another throb of heat moving through him.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” she asked sweetly.

“Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

“Good. Then just relax. Let me help you get what you need…”

Evan sighed, laying back as Bellia’s wonderful fingers worked their magic on him. And it did almost feel like magic. The way her touch seemed to still the painful tingling and replace it with warm heaviness. He sighed, head lolling as more of the wonderful, heady pleasure went through him. And when it hit his stomach, it seemed to mingle with the ale that heated his blood.

“Mmmm,” Evan sighed.

“Enjoying that?” Bellia cooed.

“Verrrry,” he sighed.

“Thank you. But we should also get your blood pumping a bit harder, shouldn’t we?”

“Blood? Sure. Sounds… sounds good.”

“That it does,” she breathed.

Evan gasped as he felt fingers hook in his boxers and ease them down. He groggily raised his head, discovering Bellia eye-level with his cock, which jutted up shamelessly from his lap. The cowgirl’s eyes burned hot, her tongue teasing along her lips.

Evan’s mouth opened, but the words died as Bellia grasped the front of her gown and unlaced the threads. His eyes widened as the fabric fell open, her immense breasts spilling forth. Tanned to a chocolate brown, her nipples plump and seeming to quiver as she hefted them, leaned forward.

And wrapped her massive breasts around his cock.

“Oh f-fuuuuuuck,” Evan groaned, head falling back as sweet, aching pleasure surged up through him, throbbing in his balls.

“The best way to get a man’s blood pumping,” Bellia cooed as she squeezed her breasts around his manhood, massaging him with her plump, warm orbs, “is with his big… hard… cock… Don’t you agree?”

“Y-yeaaaah,” Evan gasped, hands clutching the sheets as he arched beneath her, muscles tightening in sweet pleasure.

“That’s so good to hear,” Bellia crooned, and Evan swore he could hear her breasts sloshing as she bounced them around his shaft. “Getting that blood pumping… That cum frothing… That tension tightening. Get you nice and warm. Nice and relaxed. Oh Evan… it’s going to feel so goooood.”

“Ohhhhh,” Evan moaned, panting, breathing hot and fast, biting his lip as she continued to bounce and massage her breasts.

“Feels so gooood,” Bellia breathed.

There was no denying that. Evan tried hard to resist the allure of the pleasure as it surged through him. He bit his lip, tensing in pleasure. But he couldn’t last long. Not after the trek. Not with the heat rushing through his veins. Not with those perfect, massive breasts squeezing his throbbing cokc.

“Oh… Oh! Oh f-fuuuuck!” Evan cried out as he felt his balls tighten, his cock throb, and spurts of hot, heavy cum pulse from his balls.

White spurted from between Bellia’s breasts, splashing across the surface of those chocolatey orbs. Bellia cooed, lifting the plump heaviness from his cock. Meeting his eyes, she hefted her breasts and lovingly licked the creamy whiteness off her tits.

Evan watched, mouth open, breath hot and warm as she finished. Smirking wider, she rose and moved into the bed beside him.

“Here we are,” she said, pulling him close, pressing him against her breasts and cuddling him like he was a giant teddy. “Let’s get you nice and warm… all night…”

Evan sighed, his eyes sliding shut, exhaustion seeping through him as he slumped against the gorgeous cowgirl. Yes. A quick… quick nap sounded pretty good.

Sounded very good…

#

Gods, what a strange dream.

Because, most assuredly, what had happened yesterday had to be a dream. It certainly felt like it.

Then, Evan peeled his eyes open, and found himself confronted by a pair of impossibly large, tanned breasts nearly enveloping his face.

He blinked dully, then glanced up at the face above those teats. He recognized Bellia in an instant, the holstaur looking so soft in her sleep, her lips parted, her cheeks rosy as she snuggled into the blankets with him.

Evan swallowed thickly, tasting again the heavy creaminess of the ale. A part of him desired to bury himself once more between those breasts, close his eyes, and slip back into a long, deep slumber. But he knew he had to get moving. It had been a long night, but one thing was for sure, he was very warmed up.

With exceptional care he slipped out of bed, Bellia murmuring but failing to wake up. He managed to find his pants and shirt and pulled them on, then eased open the door and peeked out.

The wooden hall of the lodge was empty, and once he was sure there was no one else about he slipped out the door. His winter clothes couldn’t be far. Once he had them on, he could just slip out and get back on the road.

He found his way to the main hall of the lodge. The hearth was extinguished and a coolness pervaded the room.  

He exhaled in relief at finding no one. Good. He could leave easily now. He did feel a bit bad about not saying goodbye. Especially after the delights of last night and what the holstaurs had done for him. But at the same time, there was just something… off about the whole situation. He wasn’t sure what. It was just a nagging feeling of unease about the lodge and its residents.

Either way, best to be gone soon. Hefting his gear, he made his way towards the exit and reached for the handle.

Only for the door to fly open, knocking him off his feet.

“Oh my! Evan, I’m so sorry!”

Evan shook off the shock of his fall and looked up. Clara stood before him, her curvy form bundled in heavy winter clothes. She leaned forward and over him, her eyes warm with concern, her breasts bouncing with the motion and straining the woolly fabric.

Her breasts.

Her big… soft breasts…

“Goodness me, I didn’t see you there! I’m so sorry. Here, let me help you up.”

Evan shook himself back to the present. “Thanks,” he said, accepting her hand. She pulled him to his feet with surprising strength, and Evan jolted as he found himself pressed against her breasts.

Her big… soft… warm breasts.

“Are you alright, Evan?” Clara cooed.

Evan jumped, realizing he’d been leaning into her chest. “I-I’m fine. Absolutely,” he said, taking a quick step back.

“I see. But whatever are you up to?” she asked, looking him over.

“Just… heading out onto the road,” he said.

Clara’s face dipped into a disappointed frown. “Already?”

“I do need to get on my way.”

“Really?” Clara asked, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, a pout on her lips. “With the storm still raging? I was just out checking on the rest of the village, and the weather is even worse than yesterday. Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

Evan found his eyes drifting back down to her breasts. The memory of how they’d felt as he pressed against them rose in his mind and he hastily shook it off. Though… was that a sparkle in Clara’s eye?

“What’s going on?”

Evan turned quickly to see a number of other holstaurs filling up the hall. Most were dressed in simple sleeping robes, blinking sleepily and looking his way with docile interest. Again Evan found himself looking at their chests. At the way the filmy fabric hugged those curves. Gods, they were almost transparent…

“Evan was thinking of leaving,” Clara said, gently resting a hand on his shoulder.

A chorus of disappointed sounds came from the holstaurs as they crowded in closer.

“Are you sure?” one asked.

“In this cold?”

“Oh, it’d be so very chilly out there.”

“Poor boy.”

Evan swallowed hard. His nose twitched as he inhaled the sweet, creamy scent of the gorgeously busty women. He shifted where he stood. “Well, I…”

“I was just telling Evan all about the storm,” Clara put in. “But if he wants to go, we can’t stop him. Although…”

Evan’s ear twitched and he looked at the chief of the clan. “Although?”

“Well,” Clara said with a gentle smile. “You did promise to tell some stories of your travels. And I’m sure the girls would just love to hear them. Wouldn’t you?”

Gasps and trills of eagerness came from the holstaurs. Evan bit his lip at their pleading eyes. Again he looked out a window as the howling wind battered at the shutters.

“I… suppose it wouldn’t be the worst thing to… to wait out the storm,” he finally mumbled.

A great cheer went up and Clara squeezed his shoulder, leaning in with a smile. “A wonderful idea,” she said, her breasts swaying softly with her breathing. “The weather will clear up in a few days too. The storm will go. It’ll be sunny and warm. Doesn’t that sound good?”

It… it did sound good, he had to admit. The thought of trudging back into that storm was very unappealing. Especially with Clara’s soft curves so close. So warm.

“I… I guess you have a point,” he said.

“Exactly,” Clara crooned, guiding him back into the lodge. “What’s a few days rest? And really, you’d be doing us a favour! All us girls are so desperate for conversation. And I imagine you have the most fascinating stories to tell around the fire. Stories us poor provincial girls would never hear all alone up here. Would you like to hear them, girls?”

There was a chorus of agreements from the crowd of cowgirls, and facing that busty, eager audience, Evan found his protests fading away.

“I… guess I could. For a little while,” he admitted.

“Of course,” Clara said, gently pushing him down onto a bench, the gorgeous holstaur taking a seat beside him. “We’d love to hear them. And here. To help keep your throat… moist…”

Evan found a stein of ale being pushed into his hands, and the moment he saw the foaming waters he felt the dryness of his throat. Eagerly, he took a long draw from the warm, creamy brew (creamier than last night, he seemed to notice).

Setting the mug aside, Evan smiled, the familiar lazy warmth filling him as he settled before the fire, surrounded by gorgeous, rapt women. “Well,” he began huskily, “my last journey took me near Metrolin. A huge city near the coast. There…”

Never had he had a more eager audience. The cowgirls hung off his every word, and Evan actually began to enjoy himself. He’d never thought of himself as much of a storyteller, but the words seemed to flow out of him so easily. And the ale kept him going. Whenever his mug went empty, it would almost instantly be replaced with a full one.

He could feel the ale and warmth of the room work its magic on him, and soon he’d even shed his coats and boots. Much too hot, and the room was so very warm. As he finished another story involving a nearsighted wizard, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Evan, dear. Are you starting to feel a bit tired?”

He blinked up at Clara. Or, more specifically, her chest. “Mmm? Tired? Oh, well, maybe a bit.”

He heard a smile in her voice. “Oh yes. It is quite late.”

“Late?”

He looked towards a window, staring blankly at the darkness beyond. Night? Already.

“Oh,” he said groggily. “That’s…”

“Sorry, ladies,” Clara called, rising, her hand easing Evan to his feet as well. “Looks like we’ll have to call it a night. You’ve all been splendid audience, but our dear guest needs to get some rest now.”

“Awww,” came the reply.

“But not to worry,” Clara added, easing Evan against her curves. Something that seemed so natural to him he didn’t question, nor try to pull away. “Evan will have plenty more stories tomorrow, won’t you?”

“Mmm. Yeah,” Evan sighed happily, beaming.

“Goodnight, Evan,” chorused the lovely women all around the room.

“Myeah. Night,” Evan said, waving his empty stein in farewell as Clara guided him away from the hearth and bench.

He walked heavily. Gods, he was feeling tired. Was he still recovering from the cold? Made sense. It had been a hell of a journey to even get this far. Imagine if he’d tried to make the trek through the snow in his condition, he’d surely have collapsed and died in the snow. He smiled, realizing how lucky he was to have found the holstaur town. How caring they were. How tender and loving.

And warm.

So very warm.

He sighed, leaning into Clara’s body. Her softness like a full-bodied pillow. And the sound of the heavy sloshing of her breasts filling him with another warmth. One that stirred in his pants and thickened his cock. He licked his lips again. Maybe… maybe Clara and the others were right. He’d best not try the trek until he really felt himself. Felt fully recovered. Felt ready to undertake such a journey.

It only made sense…

“Here we are.”

He shook his head, coming somewhat back to himself as he found himself in a large room with an extensive, heavily blanketed bed. What looked like totems rose in the corners. Pillars of carved wood designed like great, bovine figures rearing up. A hearth burned warm in the corner, its glow sending strange, incredible shadows moving among the carvings. Bringing to life scenes that he couldn’t quite make out in his tired state, but that made his cheeks grow warm and cock even harder.

“Here we are,” Clara repeated softly, tenderly, leading him inside. “Take off your clothes, Evan. You look just exhausted.”

“Sure…” he said, tugging his shirt and pants off. It took him a bit to to do so. His fingers felt so thick. His mind so sluggish.

“Here. Let me help.”

“Thanks,” Evan said as Clara’s hands wound their way around his front and helped him undress. When he finally was he turned around and gave a start.

Clara loomed before him, already naked. Her pale curves seemed to glow in the light of the flames, illuminating the fullness of her figure like some primeval fertility goddess made flesh. Her huge breasts nearly dwarfed his head, and her hips swelled out in tantalizing curves. Her smile was warm, indulgent, but something in her eyes made a shiver race up Evan’s back, and blood rush to his cock.

“Oh my,” Clara said, glancing down at his blatantly hard manhood. “Evan, you’ll never be able to get a proper rest like that. Here. Let me… take care of it.”

“Uh… o-okay”

Evan blinked, his mind struggling to come to grips with what was happening. A hesitation that Clara didn’t share as she sank to her knees before him and gently pushed him down until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He watched, jaw hanging open as the gorgeous cow woman shuffled between his legs, her eyes meeting his from beneath her long lashes as she licked her lips and leaned forward, her fingers grasping his cock, angling it towards her mouth.

“O-oh!” Evan gasped as her soft lips kissed his tip. “Ohhhhhh,” he groaned, head falling back as her lips sank around his length, the gorgeously busty woman beginning to gently bob, sucking him off with a tender passion.

“Oh f-fuuuuck,” Evan gasped as he fell back, laid out on the bed, his hands gripping the sheets as Clara sucked him off. The pleasure of it throbbed down into his balls, aching through him with unimaginable ecstasy.

“Mmmm,” Clara hummed, the vibrations thrumming up his shaft as she began to bob faster. She leaned in, and Evan grunted as he felt her delicate fingers cup his balls and begin to gently massage them.

“Ho… holy f-fuck,” he gasped.

He could actually feel Clara’s smile around his cock as she suddenly began to bob faster. He cried out, grabbing her horns, gripping them tight as she took him deep into her warm mouth and throat, the sensations wonderful. Glorious!

“F-fuck!” he gasped, panting hard and fast. “Oh. Oh f-fuck. Clara. Clara I… I don’t think I… I can… oh. Oh! Ohhhhh!”

He cried out, pushed past the brink, his mind going white as he came. Clara moaned, slowing as his warm seed pumped into her mouth, her throat working as she expertly swallowed, her eyes lidding with sensuous enjoyment as she milked him of every spurt.

The sensation seemed to suck every ounce of energy he had left. Evan’s fingers slipped off Clara’s horns and he fell back among the blankets, breathing hard and fast, as if he’d just run a marathon.

He heard a gentle laugh, and then Clara was climbing into bed beside him, snuggling up against him as she lifted the blankets over the both of them. “There we are. Now, don’t you feel ready for a nice, long, relaxing nap?”

“Mmm,” Evan sighed contentedly, his eyelids feeling so terribly heavy. “Yeah. Does feel… feel good…”

“Wonderful,” Clara cooed, stroking his hair. “But I have something that will make it feel even better, Evan.”

“O-oh?”

He looked up at he as she lazily smiled and arched over him. His eyes widened as her breasts came level with his head, her nipples plump and needy. His jaw dropped, and… and dear gods, there was a bead of cream on that nipple.

“It’ll make you feel so very warm,” Clara murmured, stroking his hair, easing him towards her nipple. “So happy and relaxed. Would you like a taste, Evan?”

He licked his lips. Gods. Gods above, he did. He really, really did. But… but a part of him shivered. Some sort of uneasiness about it. What was it? Rumours he’d heard. What were they again…

“Only if you want to, sweet Evan,” she breathed. “Only if you really… really… want to…”

Evan swallowed. Because he did. He wanted it so bad. And it wasn’t like she was forcing him. It was utterly up to him. Up to him whether he wanted to suckle those big, soft breasts. Drink that sweet… sweet, heavenly cream. His mouth was so dry. His body hot. His cock hard again.

Why… why not?

Yes.

Why not?

Evan leaned up, his head cradled by Clara and to her breast. His lips latched on to a plump nipple.

And gave a gentle suck.

He moaned as rich, thick cream burst into his mouth and onto his tongue. He moaned as he suckled, drinking it down, his toes curling with pleasure. Oh gods. It was like the ale. Even better than the ale. So good. So… so good…

“Mmm,” Clara hummed above him, pulling him closer to her body, fairly enveloping him in her curves as she snuggled with him under the blanket, pressing him against her spurting breast as he greedily suckled and massaged her full, plump teats. “There… ah… there we go. Good boy. Oh Evan, that’s it. That’s so… so goooood. Mmm. And I was thinking, Evan, it’s wrong for just… just me and Bellia to monopolize you. Would you like to stay with the other girls too each night? I just know they’d appreciate it.”

“Mmm. Stay? Sure,” Evan murmured, snuggling deeper into the pillows of her breasts, barely able to spare a moment from that gushing nipple. “Probably won’t… won’t be long. Leaving soon…”

“Of course, sweet thing,” Clara cooed as she stroked his hair. “I know. But until then, the other girls would just love to have you by.”

“Sure,” Evan yawned, his eyes sliding shut. “Sure. No… no problem…”

“Good boy,” Clara crooned, her voice whispering in his ear as he drifted off, still drinking that sweet ambrosia from her teat. “Such a good boy…”

#

It was morning again.

Which morning? That was a good question.

Evan blinked groggily as he stared at the ceiling. How many days had it been now? He wasn’t sure. They all started to run together. The only way he could even begin to make sense of the passage of time was when he found himself in the bed of a new holstaur.

He yawned, stretching and lazily rolling out of bed. He heard a soft murmur and glanced back to see Clara roll over into the warm spot he’d vacated, the busty holstaur stretching out and nuzzling his pillow. Just a glimpse of her plump, heavy breasts made Evan shudder in desire to crawl back into bed with her, snuggle up against her, and bury his head between those plump, pale pillows. So, it had been Clara’s turn again last night? Good to know.

He smiled, then turned his head towards the window.

And stared.

He slammed his hands against the glass and pressed his nose to it.

Outside.

Things were… were green.

True, there were still a few banks of snow, but he could see grass sprouting on the field outside and even the beginning buds of flowers. Several trees were no longer skeletons, but growing the beginnings of leaves.

Spring?

It was spring?

But… but how? Surely he hadn’t been in the village that long. He hadn’t spent all winter among the busty holstaurs.

Had he?

He felt a shiver of horror. Of amazement. He stumbled back a step.

And his head landed between a pair of plump, perfect breasts.

“What’s wrong?” Clara asked, her arms winding around him, tugging him back against the warm softness of her body. “You’re up so early, Evan.”

“I-it’s spring!” he gasped.

He saw Clara look up and through the window without interest. “Hmm. So it is. And?”

“And? And! I… I was supposed to be on the road. In… in Gibran by now!”

“I think you mentioned that, yes,” she mused, her hands beginning to move over his naked chest, stroking him and making him shudder in dazed pleasure. His body warm and thoughts growing sluggish. “But does that really matter? Isn’t this good? I mean, walking all the way to another town in the depth of winter? Much too hard for such a lovely boy to do. Such a good, snuggly boy…”

Evan shuddered, then gasped as he felt Clara ease back down to sit on the side of the bed, taking him with her so her breasts bounced around his head, the sloshing of her cream making his legs feel wobbly.

“N-no. I need to… need to go, though…”

“Right?” Clara hummed, still stroking his chest, her hands wandering lower. “But you just got up. You still need to get yourself organized. Spend a few days getting supplies. Properly rested. Prepared…”

Evan groaned as her hand found his lap, her fingers wrapping around his cock and giving a slow pump. He was already hard. Already sensitive. The feel of her gentle touch running up and down his manhood ached through his balls and made his mind swim and swirl.

“I… I need to…”

“No one’s stopping you,” Clara murmured, her voice sliding into his thoughts, diluting them like cream in water as she continued to stroke him, easing him down onto the bed. “You can go whenever you want. Whenever you need to. I just want to make sure… you feel ready…”

“I… I am ready,” Evan said, finding himself lying down on the bed, looking up at Clara as she loomed above him, straddling him, her smile warm, one hand supporting herself, the other continuing to stroke him.

“Of course you are, Evan,” she said, her voice soft. Gentle. Sensuous as her hand pumping his cock. His heavy, heavy balls throbbing. “Of course you are. But you didn’t get much sleep last night. You must still be so tired. So horny. Surely you aren’t thinking of heading off before breakfast? Before you have a nice… long… suck…”

Evan’s mouth fell open, but no words came out as she arched above him, her breasts dangling above his face. Her nipples plump and needy. Beading with cream.

An ache like a physical need throbbed through him. “I… I really do need to…”

“Later,” she breathed, leaning in closer, her breast hovering above his head. Her scent wafting to him. Heavy. Wonderful. Thick cream and sex and sweat.

Evan licked his lips. “I… w-well… maybe a… a little later…”

“Just a little,” Clara crooned, easing down.

Burying his face beneath the heaviness of her breast.

His lips automatically latching on to a nipple.

And he gave a great, hungry suck.

“Ohhh,” Clara moaned, shuddering above him as sweet, heavy cream burst into his mouth. Flooding him as he moaned, eyes sliding shut as glorious pleasure consumed him in a rush.

“Good boy,” Clara murmured above him, her voice smooth as warm molasses. “That’s it. So thirsty. So tired. Just relax, Evan. I’ll take care of it. Take care of you. You’re so tired. Can’t get up now. So heavy. So relaxed…”

He was.

He really was.

Evan groaned in happiness as he felt her hand slide off his cock. Her thighs straddle his hips and the velvety smoothness of her pink pussy rub against his length. He shuddered as sweet, languid heat oozed through him, concentrating in his balls as the tip of his manhood rubbed against her folds. As her hips slid up, burying him beneath the soft warmth of her breast as his cock found the tender sweetness of her womanhood.

Then she slid back, burying him deep within that warm, wonderful tightness.

And Evan knew he wouldn’t be getting out of bed today.

Not when he could moan and squeeze the full, wonderful, sloshing breasts above him, flooding his mouth with gloriously good cream.

Not when he could listen to Clara moo and moan, telling him he was such a good boy as she rode his cock, burying him under her warm curves with every twitch of her hips.

Not when he could moan around her breast about how much he loved her.

Adored her.

Enjoyed every minute under her as she rode his cock and let him milk her breast. The two of them panting and gasping, their warm bodies moving together under the cozy blankets and he grew closer to climax.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer to that wonderful peak.

Closer until Clara cried out atop him, mooing with pleasure as she came. “Yes! Yes! More! Mooooooore!” the beautiful cowgirl cried, her silken depths tightening deliciously around his cock.

And he came.

Moaning.

Shuddering as his cock surrendered, his balls tightening, pumping what felt like gallons of his seed into the gorgeous holstaur. Every pulse of his manhood sinking him deeper, deeper, deeper into the misty ecstasy of that pleasured moment. The strength fleeing his limbs. The will evaporating from his body.

“Mmm,” Clara hummed, easing herself back down atop him, snuggling against him lovingly. “There we are. Isn’t that much better, Evan?”

“Mmyesss,” Evan moaned blissfully, all but buried beneath her teats.

Clara cooed, snuggling him against her soft breasts. “See? A nice, warm drink. But now, I wonder if you’re feeling too heavy to start off? Maybe you should go… tomorrow…”

“T-tomorrow? Tomorrow sounds… sounds good,” Evan breathed groggily as he stroked her pillowy breasts.

Clara laughed softly. “I knew you’d come around. I mean, spring is such a terrible season to travel in. All muddy and much too warm. It’d be much easier to travel later. Maybe even later in the year. And don’t worry, you can stay here until you’re ready. Until you feel up for it. I just hope you don’t mind helping keep all the girls in the village nice and snuggly.”

Evan blinked. “A-all?” he breathed.

He heard soft laughter and looked towards the door, where a number of gorgeous holstaurs were squeezed, eying him and Clara with obvious amusement and undisguised desire.

“Of course,” Clara breathed in his ear, pulling him deeper into the soft globes of her breasts. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Evan shuddered in delight, his eyes glued to the soft curves of breasts, all straining the fabric of warm, woolly fabric.

“N-no. Don’t… don’t mind at all.”

“Good boy,” Clara cooed, kissing his hair as she squeezed him lovingly, guiding his head back to her nipple. “You’ll know when it’s time to leave. But until then…”

Evan nodded, sinking back into her breast, moaning as he resumed sucking her nipple, his cock throbbing back to full length and beginning to thrust into the warm heat of her pussy.

Yes.

Yes, he could leave… leave any time he wanted now. He just… just needed to wait for the right time.

The perfect time.

And that could take a very… very… long time…