#and ash has a sister too it’s so perfect

[p0pp3t]

how mfs draw baabe and asher

[seeingivy]

donuts

megumi fushiguro x f!reader

content: IMPLIED MANGA SPOILERS, hormonal pregnant reader, dad!megs, gojo being a dad to megumi

an: dad gojo this, dad gojo that. WHAT ABOUT DAD MEGUMI. anyways im sick and I am 90% sure I have covid but alas I spit this out before I study. it's like a reward.

--

recently, megumi has been letting things happen. 

and by recently, he means two years ago, when his little star boy was born. or even at large, five years ago, when he met you, his sun. an fellow sorcerer who he easily fell for, like it was something inevitable. something necessary, involuntary even - like it was the air he breathed or his heart beating. 

and since then he’s been letting things happen. he’s been letting gojo come around - so that he can spend time with ash. so that ash can have a grandfather, not that megumi would ever say that out loud. 

he lets nobara and yuuji spoil him rotten, lets maki teach him self-defense (which is just swatting at this point), and yuuta explain the rules of chess to him for hours even though ash barely has coordinated motor functions. 

he lets things happen. especially when ash asks him, the pouty face that he’s entirely gotten from you pressed on his face. like today, when he feels a little fist tugging on the end of his shirt. 

“yes, ash?” 

“i want donuts.” 

megumi squints, like he’s questioning him. every bit his son, ash has fully inherited the full breadth of megumi’s dna - dark hair, green eyes. but every one of his expressions, those are all all you. 

“ash.” 

“yes?” 

“do you want donuts or does mommy want donuts?” 

ash stands there for a few seconds, deep in thought, before answering. 

“sticky wants donuts!” 

megumi sighs, picking him up and dragging him out of the room with him, to find the culprit of this entire plot - you. that deliberation means that ash was trying to remember what it was you had told him. and truly, only you would use his unborn daughter against him. 

he finds you splayed on the couch, a heating pad pressed into the small of your back, as you talk, directed down to your stomach to tsumiki. or sticky, as ash calls her since he can’t pronounce all the syllables just yet. 

“megs?” 

“yeah?” 

“i thought of a name for her.” 

megumi leans against the counter, half turned away from you, where he watches gojo and ash snuggled up on the couch, ash excitedly explaining the plot of his current favorite movie to gojo. gojo’s all too absorbed, though he does get offended every time ash says that elsa is cooler than him. and even more offended that when gojo calls elsa pretty, ash says that elsa would never like him. 

“well. ash is our little star boy. his name is perfect for him. and you’re my blessing so megumi is perfect for you. but our little girl-” 

you reach forward for his hand, placing it on top of your teeny tiny bump, which just started protruding, as you squeeze his hand. 

“she’s precious. she’s our only girl and, and she’s so gentle already. ash was a little heathen, always kicking and excited in there. but she’s so soft, i already know she’s special. she should have a name that reflects that.” 

megumi reaches up, cupping the side of your face, where tears are now sprouting out of your eyes. one of megumi’s favorite things about you being pregnant, besides the disgusting concoctions you eat because of your cravings, is this. your out of whack hormones that have your lip jutting out, that little whiny, cute pout he fell in love with on your face at all times. 

“what’s the name, sweetheart?” 

“tsumiki.” you whispers. 

you look up at his green eyes, wide and filled with an emotion that you can’t quite discern. and you can feel the immediate panic at the reaction and try to backtrack as fast as you can. surely, he’s simmering with rage under there. 

why would you name your daughter after his dead sister? 

“megs. i-i just thought it would be nice because i never got to meet her and i know she was special to you. i’m not saying she’s replacing her, but i just-” 

megumi puts his hand on your mouth, his finger brushing across your soft lips, as he pushes you into his embrace, hugging so hard he’s sure even the baby, tsumiki, must be feeling it. he holds you there for a while, not saying much, as his hands rub into the small of your back. 

and you wait for it, because you know megumi like the back of your hand. touch first, words second. and right on cue, minutes later, you hear it, the soft whisper on your skin that makes your cheeks burn. 

“my tsumiki would have really loved you, you know that?” 

you look up from the conversation you were having with tsumiki - telling her that she always has to side with you and ash instead of megumi - to find him standing there, glaring at you. 

“hello, love of my life.” you say, tapping the spot on the couch next to you. 

megumi takes the seat, trying to hide the smile on his face, as he gives you a suspicious look. he places a kiss to your temple before placing his hand over your bump, something he does every time he walks into the room. it’s his way of saying hello to her. 

“sweetheart.” 

“yes, megs?” 

“ash is telling me that sticky wants donuts.” 

“stickyyy does want donuts. and ash does too.” you respond, giving him your best smile. 

“you know, if you want something from me, you don’t have to use my son and my unborn child against me to get it.” 

“how dare you bring tsumiki into this. she wants donuts, that’s why i’m craving them. take it up with her.” 

ash crawls into the space between you two, resting his head in your lap and his legs in megumi’s as he reaches forward to tickle his sides, eliciting a screaming laugh from ash who is begging him to stop. you smack megumi’s hands off, running your hands through ash’s dark black locks as he calms down and looking at megumi. you pinch ash’s side a little, giving him a non-discrete wink. 

“daddy. I really want donuts.” 

“oh im sure you do ash. i’ll go get them” megumi responds, swinging his legs off and standing up. 

“can i come?” ash asks, excitedly wrapping his hands around his knees. 

“buddy. it’s nap time. you have to sleep.” 

ash juts his lower lip out, mustering the frowniest face he can, as his little green eyes look up into megumi’s. and of course, he immediately gives in, because he can never say no to his little star boy. 

“fine. get your shoes.” 

ash turns excitedly to you, giving you a grinning smile. 

“did i do good, mama?” 

“perfect, star boy. just like i taught you.” 

ash excitedly runs off as megumi gives you a soul crushing glare, which you pointedly ignore. the two of them shuffle out of the apartment, the smile spreading across your face as you watch megumi swing ash onto his back to close the door. 

--

an hour later, megumi walks into his apartment to find you, yuuji, nobara, and gojo on his couch. the three of you are crouched over the table and he can see that your face is all pink, surely from crying. 

ash runs into the apartment, taking turns giving everyone a big hug, before climbing into gojo’s lap, and reaching up to play with gojo’s hair. megumi sets the box of donuts down and takes the seat next to you, wiping the wetness away on your cheek. 

“hi y/n.” he whispers. 

“h-hi megs.” you whisper back, interlocking your hands with his to squish. 

he smiles as he reaches for the box of donuts, equipping you with the maple bar he knows you’ve been craving, as he watches you nearly inhale it in five seconds. 

“god. you’re like a vacuum.” nobara says, a horrified look on her face. 

“s-not me. miki.” you respond, now pounding through your donut. 

“are you really blaming it on your unborn daughter?” nobara asks. 

“she blames everything on her. yesterday, she made me come all the way out here just to hand her the remote because it was too far away. claimed that the baby really wanted to see me at that second.” megumi deadpans, earning laughs from the group of them. 

“she did.” you respond, defensively. 

megumi leans his arm against the back of where you’re sitting, twisting one of your locks of hair in his fingers. he looks over at the table to find an array of colorful ribbons on the table, which he’s sure is the culprit of your crying since the baby section at target always works you up. 

“what’s that?” he asks. 

“nobara and yuuji gifted us a ribbon set for the baby. we can use it when tsumiki’s hair gets long, do little ponytails in her hair and put cute little ribbons in them.” you respond. 

megumi can feel his throat constricting at the thought of it, the wave of emotions that have been resurfacing lately reaching his cheeks. he gives gojo a look and you a kiss on the cheek, before he stands up and heads to the kitchen, focused on brewing a cup of coffee for himself. 

you frown as you watch him walk away, nobara and yuuji halfheartedly asking him if he’s okay as he waves them off. you turn to gojo, giving him an inquisitive look, as gojo places ash in between nobara and yuuji. 

“is he okay?” you whisper. 

“let me talk to him first.” he responds, giving you a reassuring smile.  you watch gojo run off behind him, the two of them leaning against the counter as they talk in hushed voices. 

“it’s the ribbons isn’t it?” gojo asks, watching ash play rock paper scissors with an overly enthusiastic yuuji from afar. 

megumi doesn’t respond, instead focusing on stirring the spoon through the coffee he freshly brewed. 

of course, it’s the ribbons. 

after gojo took tsumiki and megumi in, megumi made it a point to not ask gojo for much. a facet of his childhood stubbornness, of course. though gojo was more than willing to throw his money in any direction, megumi was in no part receptive to that. except in april, when tsumiki’s birthday came around. 

after watching her stare at ribbons in windows as they passed, complimenting strangers on the train on how pretty ribbons looked in ponytails, megumi made it a point that when he could, he would buy them for her. god forbid, she would never get them for herself. 

so he asked gojo, awkwardly knocked on his door well after bedtime and shyly asked. and of course, gojo never disappoints, buying every color, array, fabric of ribbons for tsumiki to wear in her hair to school now. and he watched her do it a hundred times - the satisfied smile she gave herself in the mirror every time it fell perfectly before walking away. 

and the thought of watching his daughter, being the one putting the ribbons in her hair and getting that little smile on her face, is too much for megumi at the current moment. 

“don’t ask dumb questions, gojo.” he responds. 

he turns around to face the same way as gojo now, watching the four of you have the most intense rock paper scissors battle he’s seen yet. granted, you’re all letting ash win but trying to predict his moves gets more difficult as time goes on. 

“did y/n tell you what we’re naming her?” megumi asks. 

“no.” 

“tsumiki.” he responds, not missing the soft smile on gojo’s face. 

gojo smiles, squeezing megumi’s shoulder. one of the nice things about megumi becoming a father is that he finally understands gojo’s frustrations. of what it feels like to see your kids in pain and not being able to do anything about it. 

“not my idea, by the way. all y/n.”

gojo focuses in on you, on how you look over and give megumi a big smile which he returns, before focusing back on ash. 

“i guess these things always have a way of working themselves out, megumi.” 

“what do you mean?” 

gojo inhales, twisting his sunglasses in his fingers before placing them in his pocket. 

“tsumiki always had a way of reading your mind. every time you and i would argue, she was always the one who soothed you down and not me. i-i was never really good at that. and you lost her but you got y/n. and she does it for you now. ash does too. i-it just worked out megs, that’s all.” 

and megumi looks over - at his sun, his star boy, and soon to be the most precious thing he’s ever had. and he knows that gojo is right. That he’s been letting things happen lately, because that insurmountable heaviness that’s been on his chest for years has finally been lifted. that it’s there, but he can breathe through it now. 

not that he would ever tell gojo. he'll just enjoy a donut with his coffee instead. 

--

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[hello-sweetheart]

Fame and Fortune

Do you dream of glory? Crowds of thousands all adoring beneath you. The roaring cheers echoing in the arena. Countless of small white lights held up like beacons creating a sea of waving stars all for you. Breathless exhilaration has your chest heaving, skin glistening and damn. To feel like a god: never ending, eternal.

What would you be willing to do to get it?

What are you willing to sacrifice for fame?

Who are you prepared to lose?

Could the love of millions be worth the love of one?

——

[Backstage: Corroded Coffin Global Tour-Los Angeles, Ca]

Eddie is pacing, more than just pre-show nerves numb his hands. His cigarette burns quickly, ash falling on the carpeted floor, but no amount of nicotine filled lungs will fix this. Gareth, his drummer and long time friend, is watching him pace, eyes pleading.

“Is it worth it, Eddie?

We all got what we wanted; why are we miserable? You can’t lie to me, we all feel it. I see it in everyone, even you! You haven’t been the same since—“ He receives a withering glare from the frontman and sighs, speaking softer.

“I miss mom and my little sister. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them… I’m no longer drawn in her crayon family portraits, did you know that? Does Anne even remember me, anymore?

How can you keep going like this and expect us to do the same? I’m grateful—I really am—for you. You got us where we are now, a fantasy that we never even dreamed would become reality. It was amazing, I’m glad I got to experience it all with you, but I’m tired. I’m so tired guys.

I just want to go home.”

The long drag he takes burns his throat,

“Look, we’re all tired, I get it. Really, I do, this tour has been… particularly grueling I’ll admit, but come on. This is our last show, the big finale! We’ll give them all we got and then we’ll be able to take a break to freshen up before doing what we do best: creating kick ass music.

Like always. You’ll feel better after this, we always do after the last show—“

Gareth cuts him off, his patience clearly stretched thin.

“No, Eddie, listen to me! It’s different this time. I’m happy with the money we’ve made, we all have enough to live comfortably and I’ve been thinking that, you know, it’s time to settle down. I can’t do that if I’m always working. This, the band, it doesn’t… it doesn’t make me happy anymore.”

Jeff stands and his imposing figure makes Eddie pause from wearing a path into the floor.

“He’s not the only one, man. Im sorry, but its killing me. We don’t expect you to give it up either, you can keep the band name, find new members, keep signing… But for us? We can’t keep going, man. This is the end of the line.”

‘Not him too. Fuck. Fuck!’

“No! What am I—I’ve given up too much for this, you can’t just, fucking, bail on me!” This band, playing with his friends, it’s become his entire world. He’s lost too much to get here.

“Woah, woah, hey! No one fucking told you to and you know it. We’ve always had your back no matter what, but anything you chose to do is on you. Not us. The least you could do is extend us the same fucking curtesy and respect the fact that we’re fucking done with this bullshit.”

His gaze is venom as he looks at band, Grant and ‘Freak’ silent but agreeing with the rest. They refuse to meet his gaze.

“Fine. Do whatever you want.” He turns and leaves. They’ll be starting in 15 minutes.

Fucking cowards. Ungrateful bastards.

A memory plays in his head. Brief and intrusive. The voice of someone long gone from his life rings in his mind.

“I’ve missed you, Ed. Are you done at the studio, yet? When are you coming home?”

“Steve, this is important. You know this. I’ll be pulling a few more all nighters here—this album has to be perfect, baby.”

A crackling sigh is barely audible through the phone.

“I know, I know. I’m just being selfish. I’m sorry. Miss waking up to you next to me.”

“Miss you too, baby. You’re my world you know. Love you more than anything.”

“More than music?” It’s a timid question.

“Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he’s the only one to laugh into the receiver.

“Right… night, Eddie.”

“Wait, Stev—“ fuck. It was only joke. Whatever, he’ll apologize tomorrow.

Right now, he has music history in the making.

[rowretro]

𝕹𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖞

✧warnings: Yandere themes, toxic themes, unhealthy love, mentions of blood, manipulation(?), suggestive

♡synopsis: Sunghoon, a rich, handsome, perfect man in all ways.... Though he's an extremely dangerous demon. Women fall head over heels for the prince charming. All except one. A godess. Lee Y/n, the woman whom he only has eyes for. Rumour has it she's still a virgin, single, and has never been a relationship. It's quite shocking, the Lee Heeseung's stunning younger sister? never had a boyfriend?!, purely because any man who dares approach her ends up dead. Of course she has never hurt a single soul.... Yet why was she cursed without love?

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Sunghoon isn't one for love nor lust, sure he'd have thought about falling in love with a loyal woman many times before... but all the girls that cross his path fall purely for his looks. How could they not? His features, his build, everything about him is so perfect. Those bushy brows, perfectly sculptured face, his eyes shining with stars, pretty moles scattered across his smooth skin, and his lips oh so kissable, anyone who gets to marry such a prince charming must be the luckiest human alive.

For the first time in his life he decided to go to a pretty popular bar, he was accompanied by Jake, one of his closest friends who was known to be quite the party goer. The bar was known for the women, one woman specifically, they would say she's a stripper, but she wasn't exactly like the other strippers. More a belly dancer. But Sunghoon realized it was no lie, the way they described her beauty.

Her smooth, coloured skin, visible through the lacy, rose gold material of the stunning dress, her legs, and navel exposed through the slits, her fairly sharp jawline, followed by the doll-like appearance which was accentuated by her make up, the way she bats her lashes, and the many moles that painted her face. She was a breathtakingly gorgeous woman.

Sunghoon was mesmerized by the way her body moved. Nothing too provocative, if anything, more of an elegant dance, but something distracted him, the burning gazes of other men, something he hated entirely. She belonged to him now. The Demon of all demons, the soon to be king of the underworld, a man everyone must fear. Park Sunghoon has set his eyes on something he wants, and if anyone dares to even want it, they will die a brutal death.

That night Y/n walked home, hugging her jacket due to the cold. She shivered at the icy air biting at her exposed skin, specifically her face which has now gone numb. There were specs of blood splattered across her white trousers from a previous encounter... A rather shocking and scarring encouter one shld say.

It isnt a first time a man had come up to her with lustful intentions, but she always managed to escape, not a scratch evident on her body. However.... the man didnt even get the chance to touch her, his eyes ended up bleeding everso randomly, he floated mid air as his limbs shatterred, and his body burnt to the ground. Seeing something so violent, the woman ran, not letting a single noise leave her mouth.

Perhaps it's an evil spirit she may have escaped, or a ghost, like ones in some ghost movies where a motherly ghost would be there to protect her children, or any woman that looks in the face of danger. She wasn't one to take chances though. "Sis I think you're on something... either that or a demon was stalking you." Heeseung simply said as he heard her little horror story.

"Heeseung you don't understand- nothing touched him he just floated in the air and- it was like in stranger things season 4 when Vecna gets into peoples head- except only this time, they burn to ashes!" she simply said as Heeseung placed down his book, sliding up his glasses as a look of horror was evident on his face. "Heeseung?" "Park Sunghoon. He has eyes for you.... he probably cursed you...." he simply cut her off, and walked out coldly.

It was exactly what he said. Sunghoon walked around her in a circle, admiring every inch of her, as she stood there "Lift the curse?... why would I darling?... you were clearly made for me." He said, tilting his head as his fingers softly grazed the skin on her face, his lips leaning in to peck hers. There's no going back. The way his hands trailed up her curves, wrapping around her waist, as her body pressed against his.

He kissed her again, more passionately "You've no way out my darling.... once I want something..... I get it. no matter the cost... you fucking understand me?!" he asked through gritted teeth as he yanked her hair. she'd be stupid to disagree... after all she had no way out "I-I understand..." she managed to say as his grip loosened, his dark glare replaced with a soft, sweet smile.

She couldn't deny it, he's a stunner. Absolutely gorgeous, from head to toe, despite being so scary and psychotic, if she could just look past that she'd realize she hit jackpot. Y/n remained silent as Sunghoon ran his fingers through her silky, dark hair, twirling it at the end, she silently snuggled into his chest as he smirked. "That's right.... you should give in" he said with a smirk, snuggling her...

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A/N: Idk if y'all liked this, but feel free to suggest any yandere, fluff, or just crazy plots idm (no smut, but I may do slightly suggestive stories<3)

[threepandas]

After The War: Foxx Hunting (Prev <-)

"Commander."

On anyone else, the tone would suggest simple statement. But there was a lilt. A slight inflection, I had long learned to spot, at the end of the word. That made it a greeting. A call. Monotone filled with subtle, near untraceable mocking.

"Tired of running yet, Commander? Or do you want to struggle more? You can, if you want. I can let you. We have time. After all, it really won't change much. There's no where you can go."

Head tilted ever so slightly, at an almost an invisible angle. Posture, military perfect, impossibly so. That perfection bought with pain, torture, born out of brutal necessity. His lips quirked, in an amused curl. At just that same, impossibly slight amount. Too small and indistinct for his tormentors to notice. To take from him.

Just enough to stay human, I had thought. Too stay sane, I had hoped.

I was wrong.

My biggest mistake hunted me. Had all the power in the GALAXY now, to hunt me. All the time he could ever dream, in which to do so. And it was all my fault. Me. It had to be. I... I was the only thing that changed. Tried to make things... things BETTER!

How arrogant. Hubristic. Who the fuck was I? To think I had the RIGHT, to shape and change the fate of an entire GALAXY to my whims? I didn't even know the story. Had been GUESSING, based off STAR WARS. So... so fucking confident. A-and what did that get me? Oh god. O-Oh god!

The blaster burns on my arms and legs screamed, as I forced myself up, one more time. Always, please god, always! J-just one more time! Don't give out on me yet. Not.. not until we are safe. Then. Then! We can cry. Howl and weep, break down and scream.

(My fault. My Fault. MY FAUL-)

None of the characters were an exact match. People were and weren't where they should be. Plots happened out of sequence or not at all. So why? WHY? Did I believe so hard in the Clones? IS it because I loved, still LOVE, the Vode? Did that trust transfer? That emotional connection? Was I tricked? Or was I just a fool? Does it MATTER in the end? If the result is the same?

I brought a monster, straight to Power.

Now they're dead. All my brothers, my sisters, my mentors and friends. Dead, dead, DEAD! Glowing weapons on the ground and a temple filled with DEATH. D-Did the nurseries get out? Please, oh god, let the children have survived my mistake.

Blood stains my robes. Only a tiny fraction of it, is mine.

Sticky and slick, oily and so many colors. The blood does not mix. Too many species, too much ash from the air. If I do not clean or remove it soon? I am likely to get chemical burns, from the reactions developing on the cloth. But again and again. My mistake finds me. A pursuit predator. Intent on wearing me down.

"How long will you try, Commander? You know just as well as I do, that I can afford to wait you out. You'll drop eventually." His tone was so mild, even as his words were horrifying. Overhead, a transport kept steady pace, as I desperately ran from commandos on the streets. "How many days has it been without proper rest? Rations? To stop and think? We've survived far worse then this, Commander. For far longer. We can endure, can you?"

I pull my magic around me, through my screaming legs, to fling myself across a jump they shouldn't be able to make.

Despair surges, as behind me... I hear jetpacks. Ah. They've gotten better gear, at long last. E-Everything I've ever wished for them. Gear and food and safety, at long last! A-At long last. I have to laugh, hysterical and afraid. I just... I just never thought my wish? Would be fulfilled for the purpose of hunting me down.

(I'm so tired. Please, god. No more. Let it stop. Let this nightmare END!)

Jumping, I land in a roll on a level several floors down. The impact is ugly. Agony on my burns and bruises. I may have not taken any direct hits? But those glancing strikes? Still leave marks. Trails of seared, blistering, blaster burns. Like tiger strips. As though you hade been struck, by whip made of fire. Not to mention the concussion grenades.

Yeah, half way through the attack, the Clones had stumbled. Either broken free of the Not Sith's control or come to their senses, deciding to switch to non-lethal weapons. Probably trying to go for the capture instead of the kill. But given the sheer variety of the Knights? One Being's sedative was another's lethal toxin. And the gas attacks...

I... I'm still not even sure if... if Master Rim'Llahiy survived long enough, to get to the healers. The seizures were BAD. He... he didn't deserve that. All he'd ever done, was keep the gardens. Live a quite life. T...Try to defend his home.

Around me, as I run, screens light up. Somehow, I'm the focal point. I... I don't know how he's doing this. It has to be Sketch or Gear, one of the Slicers. Who else could hack into so many systems so easily? The... the knowledge that they're helping him? That everyone of the Guard is HELPING him hunt me? I feel sick.

Was any of it real? Was I friends with ANY of them? Or... Or was I just them happy little slave master, patting myself on the back, because I didn't beat them, unlike the others? Aren't I gracious. Don't you just love me? Say thank you for my grace. Let me feel good about my self! My pretty little charity of the day! Before I skip back off to fairy land! Leaving you all in hell.

Do I deserve this? I... I have to deserve this... right?

Even though I tried. Even though I fought and fought and FOUGHT. Even when that Not A Sith BASTARD tried to kill me at every turn, just to shut me the fuck up, and I WOULDN'T. Because they deserved to be free. Because it was WRONG. Because we took VOWS, remember? Days and days, convincing and campaigning.

I have to... to somehow, deserve this. Because? B-because if I DON'T?

Then What Have I DONE?

City levels and blocks blur together. I couldn't tell you where on this god forsaken ecumenopolis I am anymore. But the others! The others have gotten off planet by now. Surely... surely! They have escaped! Right? They HAVE too. I-It HAS to have been worth it. Becoming bait. M-making myself a target. This... this one last time?

It.. it was WORTH it. Right? Right?!

Please! Please god! Let it have been WORTH IT!!

I skid around a corner. Too tight, not judging it right in my panic, my shoulder clipping the wall hard. Scraping flesh through my robes. Just more bruises and hurt to add to the pile. I don't slow. Can't slow. Feel it but push the pain away. The crash later will be ugly, when I release the magics flowing through me. When the adrenaline fades. But... but either I will live to endure it? Or it will not matter at all.

Too late, though, I see the trap.

I have been corralled. Like a a sheep from my first life, harried by dogs into a pen. Tricked into a corner. No where left to go. The platform I thought was a street? Was an alley between two buildings, leading to a third. A perfect little killbox with only one way out. I stumble, horrified, as I register the truth too late. Spin, already knowing it's too late to double back. But hoping... HOPING....!

Jetpacks. The commando squadron of the guards, touching down at the entrance, a solid line of armor and skill. Better weapons, jet packs, upgraded armor. They... they even seem rested. For the first time in years.

A stark reversal. Now it is I, who is barely holding on. Now I am the one, who has been ground to dust, by the exhaustion of fighting without end. Of running and running. No real food and no real rest. No medicine. No help coming. I want to laugh, scream, weep. So it's to be poetic justice, is it?

But I can not give in.

Forgive me. But I can not, WILL NOT give in. Body exhausted, I draw my blade. The plasma humming as the magics charge. The alleyway fills with light. I took Vows. Owe my soul to the Galaxy and it's people. Regardless of Regime, I have service I must complete. And to do that? I have to be alive.

(I don't care, that they took over. Let them have it. But how could you? How COULD YOU?! The Temple was my home. I am a hypocrite. Here, at the end, I must face that. And now I know it to be true.)

The ship over head dips lower, kicking up a hurricane of wind. My robes whip around me, but I do not move from my opening stance. Ready, not ready, but resigned to it none the less. The Commandos are a silent wall as, from above, a rip cord descends. Clipped to it? Marshall Commander... no, Supreme Commander Foxx.

The Clones newly elected Emperor.

A man I THOUGHT was my friend.

He looked nothing like Commander Fox of the Vode. Hair too long and curling. Face deceptively young looking and boyish. Non regulation piercing hidden under the helmet all Guards wore, day in and day out. They hadn't been able to customize their armor like the others. So they customized themselves.

He wasn't in armor, now. It was somehow worse. The dress uniform an affront, a reminder, like a curse of broken glass. I... I hadn't even known he owned such a thing. It made sense, given his old position. Yet, somehow... somehow? I doubted this was the uniform he had been given. It looked... looked Regal.

"Are we done, now? Got it out of your system? Or should one of us put you on the ground first? Grind your face right against the filthy floor?"

His voice was mild as ever, as he calmly unclipped himself, let the cord retract. He tucked his hands behind his back. Strolled forward with measured steps, assessing eyes, like a general examining untested troops. Picking me apart for weakness, looking for openings in my stance. Injuries on my body. I had seen him do this before. Just... just never thought... it'd be used... a-against me. (How arrogant, I had been.)

"This can stop at any time, Commander. All you have to do? Is stop running. You don't have to worry anymore. I'm not going to hurt you. We're not going to hurt you. You've struggled long enough, don't you think? It's time to be done. To come home. Be taken care off. That's all we want to do, Darling. Commander."

"Surely you can see, that it's BETTER this way? No more war. No more Knights on sabotaged missions. Diplomats to war zones. Children where they shouldn't BE. The Order can be SAFE now. YOU can be safe now. Loved and precious as you always should have been. It's okay now, Commander. Come here. It's okay..."

Foxx's eyes blazed with conviction. They had been brown, like his brothers. They... oh god, they SHOULD have been brown. But as I stared into his face, at those unfamiliar eyes on what should be so familiar a form? Red stared back. The red, Red, RED, of the Fallen.

Foxx had been... had been Energy Sensitive. The Cloners had fucking LIED, when they said it wasn't possible. I had always suspected. Didn't dare bring attention to it. Didn't want my friend to be... to be KILLED. Experimented on. I should have trained him. Done more.

Desperate people will reach for anything, to stop themselves from drowning. And the Dark offers such tempting things. Vengeance and Power. Freedom, no matter the cost. It pays sweetly then corrupts slow. There is always a cost.

I can not risk it.

Shifting my weight to my front leg, in preparation to surge forward, I never get the chance. A two fold thwip! And sharp pinch in my upper arm. I got the first. But the second... a? Dart? No. NO! Panicked, I flood my body with the magics meant to purge drugs and... instantly the world spins. I have somehow just made it worse. W-what?

"Confiscated from slavers, 'bout five months back. It's a high end drug." The Commando with the dart gun said, as though commentingon the weather. "Fairly new, too. Made to react specifically to the Cosmic Energies. Our esteemed Chancellor, may he rot as he deserves, had them developed through several shell companies."

"Really wish you hadn't done that, Commander. Cause, see, the side effects? Are pretty nasty." Foxx commented. Various helmets nodded, the guards body language sympathetic but lacking any remorse. What ever it took to bring me in. To make me Safe.

"Now you're going to be sick for a while. But on the other hand? You are a stubborn one. So maybe this'll give you time to think, hmm? Time to enjoy the pampering a bit. You'll get used to it, learn to be good for me. I know you. You're a smart girl."

My legs couldn't hold me anymore. Despite struggling, I couldn't keep my blade at the ready. Helplessly, I watched as he watched forward. Used a single finger, on the hilt, to push my blade to the side. The lightest of tugs, stealing it from me entirely. At long last, the tears came. I... I was scared. Really, really scared. P-please... Foxx, please...

"Hunts over, Commander. It's time to stop running. You've lost."

"But, that? That's okay. You can lose now. Be weak. Wretched and pathetic and flawed. You don't have to be perfect any more, Commander. I've got you. You're Mine. Ours. Perfect, just the way you are. And today?"

"Today is the start of the rest of your new life, Commander."

"Welcome to the Empire."

[https-furina]

✎ when you love someone. ft. lyney x fem!reader content: heavy angst, death/murder, fontaine archon quest spoilers, detail to injury, ooc lyney while i’m practising. not proofread. w.c. tba.

there's a melancholic harmony that comes with dating that infamous, ash blond magician who's name is uttered from every fontainian's mouth across the country. 'he's miraculous!' they exclaim, eyes glittering like stars as they leave the opera epiclese, grins wide on their faces. he truly is, you think to yourself as you follow the crowds out on some evenings after witnessing your boyfriend's abilities for the nth time. yet you also know better than this. the lies intertwined between soft kisses shared in the moonlight and the forced smiles he'll throw in anyone's direction.

lyney knows better too when he fumbles for his house key, a gloved hand fishing into his pockets to pull out the cold metal. a prospect he never thought he'd grasp when he devoted himself to the orphanage beside his sister, starved and defensive. there's almost a pained smile on his face when he calls out to you that he's home. at this hour of the night, the court of fontaine is a quiet city, especially in this quarter. the night life clings to the hotels that bustle with activity, drinks and other numerous acts that people indulge themselves in to drown their pains out - but he knows that the house he'd made a home with you was never this quiet.

it's a strange thought to him that you'd ever go to bed without waiting up for him first - that was your favourite routine, curled up on the couch with a plate of fresh conch madeleines you'd baked earlier in the day. a crocheted blanket would be draped over your bare legs, one of lyney's own white dress shirts hanging flimsily from your frame with the buttons done up. he would grin at the imagery if only it wasn't for the slow, tense anxiety creeping up his spine, leaving a trail of hairs standing on edge at the silence you'd left him with.

"ma chérie?" he calls out again, that sweet nickname rolls from his tongue like it has a thousand times before since you started dating. it's familiar, it tastes warm and like your homemade cooking you'll bring to him before his shows - a comfort he'll cherish no matter how much his acts crumble him.

you knew months into speaking with lyney that he worked for the fatui behind that whimsical act of a magician. you remember that tight feeling that choked your lungs for breath, you remember the vivid way the corners of your vision darkened and his words echoed in your head. he looked so pitiful, his brows knit together and a beautiful glitter to his lilac eyes when he's on the brink of tears from your lack of response.

growing up, you recall the stories your parents and elders had spat in distaste regarding the fatui - snezhnayan scum, good-for-nothings, troublemakers that cause nought but harm wherever they go. you truly believed that lyney was none of these, how could he be? he'd swooned you so lovingly after one of his shows on a starry night, having caught your eyes in his audience. he claims it was love at first sight, the cheesy phrase making you giggle whenever he'd reference it. he'd whispered sweet nothings in your ear the first night you'd shared a bed together, fingers dusting down your body in feather light touches like he considered you porcelain.

surely these were things that proved his innocence? that proved the truth in his words when he first mumbled 'i love you' against your soft lips midway through a kiss? you gave him his chance and lyney was determined to not let his affairs as a fatui member ruin what he had with you. things were perfect for the upcoming year, even if that smile he flashed to anyone who looked in his direction was so fake that you could almost grimace.

it is not lyney that anyone should have doubted the faithfulness of - the safety that his arms brought you. it is the fatui, the harbingers, the organisation that tears lives apart for their personal gains. it's the promises to protect their members' families and loved ones that fall on deaf ears yet feed their members' minds with relief and keeps that every faltering loyalty in check. they have them wrapped around gloved fingers that are ready to snap at any moment.

lyney kicks off his boots by the front door, twirling his hat as he hangs it next to your coat. in his younger years, he'd debated what the meaning of love was. he'd thought over the concept of a home - of four walls that were safe and permanent. every time something took a wrong turn in his life, he considered if he was capable of being loved, perhaps if he was even capable of loving too. if there was one thing he was certain from his time with you, it was that you'd proved him wrong.

his legs carry him tiredly up the staircase, his footsteps light as he steps over a particular floorboard he has memorised that creaks - just in case you'd truly gone to sleep without him tonight. the silence is deafening, he can't even hear the faint sounds of your breathing from your shared bedroom where the door is cracked open and the moonlight floods out like a liquid river. he glimpses red through the crack and his brow furrows in concern, picking up the pace of his steps.

the world you'd built with lyney crashes down the moment his hand - free of its glove - pushes the bedroom door further open and his eyes fall onto your body. you're limp on the floor, laid on the soft, fur rug you'd begged lyney to buy when you were furnishing your first home together. he still vividly remembers the beam you gave him when he caved and agreed. there's a pool of blood around you, drenching that cream fur and seeping into the floorboards beneath you. it's oxidising, darkening - how long had you been here like this?

lyney falls to his knees beside you, your blood soaking through his stockings and wetting his skin but he shrugs the uncomfortable feeling away when his hands push you onto your back, your head rolling to the side limply. your eyes are white, rolled back but there's a look of fear written across your face and lyney's eyes begin to sting with the idea that you'd been scared in your final moments; no, he refuses to accept that you're dead. you're simply injured, passed out - he'll get you to a doctor and he'll never let you out of his sight again.

but the waterfall of red that decorates your neck and stains his white shirt he knew you'd be wearing tell him otherwise. his hands clasp at your cheeks, cupping the cold skin as his thumbs desperately rub at you in hopes that you'll come to, smiling and reassuring him. he blinks the tears in his eyes away but all they do is fall down his pale cheeks in precious streams of emotion when he doesn't wake up. he doesn't open his eyes again to see sunlight streaming through the light fabric of your bedroom curtains. he doesn't hear his favourite laugh in the whole of teyvat when you notice he's woke up. the silent atmosphere is still very much present, tense and ready to be sliced with a knife.

the only sounds are lyney's jagged breaths, desperate as he starts to hyperventilate to get air into his lungs. he presses his ear to your chest, not caring if his blond locks fall into your blood as he frantically searches for your pulse, a sign of life. there is not even a shallow breath that falls from your chapped lips.

you had taught lyney many things in the time you'd devoted at his side, things that the fatui could never teach him. you taught him how it feels when you love someone but as he releases a pained cry into the night, you'd also taught him the anguish that comes from the decision of trusting the fatui the way he had before.

© https-heizou 2023.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

When We Howl, the Moon Will Cower: Chapter 6

A/N: Happy Day 2 of @nessianweek! Sometimes, yearning is looking at another male who clearly loves his wife and going huh, why do I suddenly feel jealous? 😂 But please enjoy this update! And enjoy Nesta and Cassian being idiots. Because there's nothing quite like clearly having feelings for your husband/wife, but refusing to acknowledge it

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Cassian

Cassian never thought he’d see the day where he visits the estate of the Vanserra coven not once but twice, and especially not within the span of the same day. And after today, he can confidently say he never wants to be between these four walls again. The library looks exactly the same as it did the previous evening, but the tension in the room is even thicker than it was when the Archeron sisters were scrying for the Cauldron. It sits like a weight on everyone’s shoulders. Writhes in the shadows and curls around Cassian’s chest, threatening to crush the air right out of his lungs.

Lucien paces back and forth across the room, practically leaving a simmering trail of ash beneath his feet the way he stalks across the rug. It’s almost strange seeing the male so out of sorts. Every time that Cassian has ever seen the witch, he’s looked impeccable, not a single piece of clothing or hair out of place.

The same can’t be said for the moment.

Lucien’s red hair is a mess where it hangs around his face, tangled and knotted from the way he’s been repeatedly running his fingers through the long strands. His skin is unusually ragged and pale, dark circles clinging beneath his bloodshot eyes. He’s long discarded his jacket into a crumpled heap in one of the large armchairs, his shirt creased and wrinkled where it hangs only half tucked into his pants.

“We’re wasting time,” Lucien growls out for the second time tonight, turning his attention toward his brother.

“I told you, we have to be smart about this,” Eris reminds him, his voice low with warning.

“Every moment we sit around here talking in circles, the Mother only knows what Hybern is doing to Elain.”

Sitting as close to her as he is, Cassian doesn’t miss Nesta’s almost imperceptible flinch at Lucien’s words. She’s been quiet and the picture perfect of calm ever since Baz informed them of the news about Elain, but Cassian has gotten to know his wife too well since their marriage. He knows that the press of her lips conceals the sharp words sitting on her tongue that she’s holding back. Knows that her narrowed blue eyes hide the fire burning just behind them.

He knows that deep down, she’s afraid.

Knows that her straightened spine and held back shoulders are the armor she wears to cover her concern. Knows that the way her fingers flex, her arm jumping back to brush against his own, means her own mind is conjuring images the same if not worse than whatever Lucien might be imagining.

It’s practically instinct, the way Cassian reaches a hand out toward her. His fingertips just barely brush along the back of Nesta’s hand before he thinks better of himself. Before he catches himself. He pulls his hand away again, fingers curling tight until his nails cut into the palm, the pain a reminder of himself, and resettles his hands back in his lap again.

“You’re assuming the worst,” Rhys pipes up from where he and Feyre sit. “They’re probably just keeping her to use as a bargaining chip.”

“Probably?” Lucien snaps, whirling on the vampire. “You expect me to be alright with probably?”

Eris sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And what would you have us do? Storm through Hybern’s gates?”

“Yes. They have my wife.”

He says the words with no hesitation, with a sheer surety and determination that has Cassian tilting his head curiously. He’d noticed the way Lucien and Elain seemed unusually close, strangely comfortable in each other’s gravity the other night. The way the two seemed less like two people who had married for an alliance and more like two people who actually chose one another.

But this, watching Lucien now, watching his reaction, is somehow different than the other night, something more than just amicability. It’s almost like…

Cassian refuses to finish the thought, refuses to give the notion any sort of weight. But it’s still there, niggling in the back of his mind. It still has an ache threatening to build and sink its roots into Cassian’s chest. Threatening to twist and shift into begrudging anger.

“We don’t even know for sure that’s where Elain was taken,” Nesta finally speaks up, her voice surprisingly cool and calm. “Our best bet is having Feyre and I scry again for her before we make any rash decisions.”

Lucien scoffs, but Eris nods his agreement at her words, pulling back out a map and spreading it across the table. Nesta stands up, taking a moment to fix the skirts of her dress before she strides forward. She holds her hand out, waiting until Eris hands over the bowl of bones and stones, to turn expectantly toward her younger sister. Feyre hesitates for only a moment before she stands as well, stepping over to Nesta and the table.

“What if it sees us too?” Feyre asks quietly, Cassian’s wolf hearing still picking up the question.

“We’re not looking for it,” Nesta tells her, taking Feyre’s hand in her free one. “We’re looking for our sister.”

Feyre swallows hard, but she nods her head, squaring her shoulders and focusing on the map before them both. Both sisters close their eyes, murmuring whatever scrying incantation they need, the words still so unfamiliar to Cassian. Just like the previous night, the temperature in the room seems to drop, the air stilling and prickling with static electricity. Cassian scoots forward in his seat, keeping his eyes pinned on Nesta.

He swears he can see a slight tremble to her hand where she has her closed fist extended over the map, can see where the blood’s been cut off, her skin pale from the tight grip she has over the bones and stones in her palm. Her whole body stiffens, and Cassian almost rises from his seat before he catches himself again, closing his own hands into fists to keep himself together.

There’s nothing comforting about the silence that settles over the room. It’s more like a yawning void with the promise of teeth and claws. It reminds Cassian of when he was young, of those dark nights in the woods where he swore something watched him back from between the tall, shadowed bark of the trees. Something wrong and twisted.

A minute passes.

And then another.

Something changes in the air, a crackling spark that steals the breath even from Cassian’s lungs. Nesta’s breath starts to come fast and hard, her lip curling back as she pants between her gritted teeth, and Cassian can’t take it anymore, pushing to his feet and striding toward the table. There’s a small noise, one that Cassian can only describe as pure terror, but it doesn’t come from Nesta.

It comes from Feyre.

The youngest Archeron gasps, pressing her free hand to her heaving chest as she all but curls over the table. “I… I can’t…” She turns her attention toward Nesta, blue eyes wide with fear. “Open your fist. Now.”

“No,” Lucien growls, stalking closer to the table again. “We can’t stop. Find Elain.”

“You have no idea what we saw,” Feyre snaps.

The two continue to bicker and snarl at one another, but Cassian tunes it all out. He settles one hand along Nesta’s lower back, able to feel the tension in her body beneath his touch, the small trembles and shakes that rattle her limbs. With his other hand, he reaches up toward her face, gently sliding the backs of his fingers down her cheek.

“Nesta.”

Nesta’s eyes snap open, zeroing in on him, and Cassian once again gets a glimpse of the magic that rages like a wildfire beneath her skin, of the silver flames that flicker around her irises. He doesn’t remove his touch though, doesn’t step away.

“Open your fist, Nes.”

Nesta’s fingers splay, bones and stones clattering against the table as they’re released from her hold, slightly pink from where her grip was tight enough to break skin. Cassian slides his hand around to Nesta’s waist, catching her and holding her steady when she sways. He tilts his head down enough that he can press his lips to the crown of her head, tuck his nose to the golden brown strands of her hair.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” he speaks quietly, only loud enough for Nesta to hear.

“Look.”

Eris’s words are enough to have Nesta pulling away from Cassian, and he refuses to acknowledge the coldness that burrows beneath his skin at the loss. Refuses to name or give in to what feels suspiciously like disappointment creeping up and between his ribs. Instead, he swallows hard and rolls his shoulders, joining everyone else in the room leaning over the table to see.

To see the bones and stones standing on end upon the map, to see them forming a perfect, unnatural circle.

“Good. Now we know where she is, for sure,” Lucien says, pushing off the table’s edge and offering his brother a pointed, sardonic, look before striding toward the library doors.

“Lucien–”

“Try and stop me. I dare you.” Lucien whirls around, and Cassian catches a glimpse of the burning flames infamous to the Vanserras flickering in his russet eyes. “If I have to march into Hybern by myself, then so be it, but I am getting back my wife.”

Cassian half wonders if Eris would, if he’d stop his own brother in order to save Lucien from himself. He half wonders how Lucien might claw his way out of whatever restraints Eris put him in, how he might cleave through any chains or spells to get to Elain. Cassian has to give the male credit for his dedication.

For his devotion to his wife.

That dark, twisting feeling climbs back up Cassian’s chest, twining like brambled vines around his ribs. Around his heart. It feels an awful lot like bitterness, but he’s quick to shove it back down. It doesn’t stop that dark part of him that revels in seeing the mess of emotions wreaking havoc on the youngest Vanserra, to see some semblance of his own emotions and experience finally reflected back at him, especially after how happy Lucien and Elain had looked together the previous night.

It doesn’t stop the voice that whispers in the back of Cassian’s mind, wondering what it would take to draw such a visceral reaction from himself.

“I can offer a squadron of wolves. Just one, though. I won’t risk any more than that.”

Despite the words being for Lucien, it’s Nesta that Cassian doesn’t take his eyes off of. He knows how important her sisters are to her, how much she cares about them. He can still remember their wedding day, when Nesta told him plain and simple that she only agreed because of them. That she chose him over the other factions in the name of protecting them.

The declaration has a new emotion sparking amongst the icy blues of Nesta’s eyes, one that Cassian doesn’t quite recognize. It’s a look he hasn’t yet cataloged, hasn’t yet named, that takes over her expression. Cassian’s heart squeezes in response, and he has to swallow hard against the way his breath threatens to catch in his throat.

“Thank you,” Nesta tells him, her voice quiet and sincere. Just for him.

Cassian nods his head once, determined to keep his own emotions tampered, his own face neutral. “Guess we’re going to Hybern.”

~ * * * ~

Nesta

Nesta twists enough that she can secure the final buckle, pulling at the strap until it tightens. She slides her hands down along her waist and hips, stepping over to the small mirror in the bedroom. It’s almost uncanny, the reflection staring back at her. She had been unsure when Emerie had handed her a pair of leathers to wear, and it’s as strange seeing them on as the fabric feels against her skin.

Still, the Mother only knows what could be waiting for them at Hybern, and Nesta will take any extra protection and armor she can get.

It had been one of the easiest decisions she had ever made, agreeing to help Lucien and rescue Elain. One she’d made as soon as those bones and stones had landed across the map, before she could even voice it. She’d do anything for her sisters, even if it meant storming into what was most likely a trap. Even if it was the last thing she ever did. And she didn’t care what anyone said, including her dear wolf of a husband.

Although, she hadn’t needed to worry about that last one in the end.

She still can’t quite wrap her mind around Cassian not fighting her about going to Hybern, how the only “order” he gave was for Emerie to locate some leathers for her to wear. She still can’t wrap her mind around him offering up his own wolves to help with the rescue. Elain means nothing to him, he has no reason to volunteer his help, and yet…

And that look on his face… Nesta still can’t get it out of her head. The way the hazel of his eyes seemed to burn in a way she’d never seen before. The way that gaze had been pinned to her as he spoke the words. It had been indescribable. It had something warm threatening to unfurl in her chest.

It was dangerous.

Sighing softly and shaking her head of those thoughts, Nesta steps out of the bedroom. She finds Cassian standing in the front room of the cabin, the alpha already wearing his own leathers. It’s certainly a sight, the way the fabric clings to his frame and emphasizes the large muscles of his chest, his arms, his thighs, the way the red hued scales along the shoulders seem to flicker in the low light of the room. With the stubble along his jaw, his hair scraped back away from his face, and the twin blades strapped along his back, he certainly paints the image of a warrior prince.

His eyes sweep over Nesta before he offers a single nod of approval. “This is for you.”

Nesta looks down at the blade Cassian slides across the table over to her, blinking in surprise. Slowly, she reaches her hand out, picking it up. She examines the leather criss crossed tightly along the hilt, pulling the blade free from the scabbard to reveal the Illyrian steel.

“I had Elis make it,” Cassian continues. “Had him make sure it was the perfect weight and balance for you. I know you have your magic, but considering what Hybern may have, better safe than sorry.”

Nesta curls her fingers tighter around the sword, taking a moment to swallow hard and secure it to her belt. “Thanks.”

The silence that settles around them feels charged somehow, prickling along Nesta’s skin. She dares to meet Cassian’s gaze again, but he has that same burning, piercing look painted across his face, and she has to look away. When there’s a short rap to the cabin door, she’s never been more grateful.

It’s time.

It takes a large amount of magic to travel to Hybern, to keep everyone cloaked, and Nesta’s hands are clammy and shaking by the time they’re landing beneath the stretching bark and branches, the dark canopy of trees. There’s the threat of a migraine building in her head, a pressure just behind her eyes, but Nesta breathes through it all, taking in gulps of the cool night air around her.

She can feel Cassian’s presence beside her, feel the warmth that radiates off him from where he’s standing close. She can feel his attention solely on her, the barest brush of his fingertips along her arm.

“You made it.”

Nesta snaps her attention toward the sound of the voice, watching as Lucien stalks out from between the trees, members of the Vanserra coven that she doesn’t recognize following behind him. They’re all dressed in leathers of their own, reds and greens and golds befitting of the coven’s autumnal ties. Lucien has his curtain of red hair tied off away from his face, and beneath the moonlight, the scar across his face stands out especially stark and the flames in his eyes burn especially bright, flickering with anxious determination.

Nesta almost feels bad for whatever Hybernian soldier tries to come between him and Elain.

Almost.

“We’re just waiting for Feyre then,” Nesta offers, glancing around the wood in search of her youngest sister.

“She’s not coming.”

Nesta frowns at Lucien. “What do you mean?”

“I mean she’s not coming. From what I overheard with Eris, it sounds like Rhysand wasn’t as forgiving about his wife in Hybern,” Lucien explains; although, his eyes flick to Nesta’s right as he says the words. “Sounds like there may have been some locked doors involved.”

Nesta has to swallow down a wince. She remembers the quiet, but harsh words spoken between Feyre and Rhysand at the Vanserra manor, remembers the way her sister loudly proclaimed her husband to be a prick. There had been glares and snarls, and Feyre had stormed off in the end, but Nesta thought her sister’s stubborn recklessness would win out in the end.

“If that’s the next rescue mission, you can count me out,” Baz speaks up from Nesta’s left, his whole body shuddering. “I am not going in that place.”

Nesta snorts softly. “Really? Hybern is fine, but you won’t go to the vampire den?”

“I’ll do most things for the Pack, but I have to draw the line somewhere.”

It’s an odd thing to say. Nesta half expected him to make a joke about how Cassian could never order him into the den the way he was ordered here tonight. After all, there’s nothing here for the Pack tonight. Elain has nothing to do with them.

“How about you do something useful and sweep the perimeter.”

Baz makes a big show of rolling his eyes at Cassian’s words, but he gestures with his head, and the other wolves follow him as they vanish amongst the shadows of the wood around them. Lucien leads the smaller group that remains away, daring to press right up to where the treeline ends and crouching down amongst the brush there.

Looking out across the field of tall grass, Nesta gets her first look at the fortress the king of Hybern calls home. Dark stone stretches high and wide, a wall hiding away the towers and keep just beyond. It’s like something out of a fairytale. Or a nightmare. The almost black hue of the stone, the ivy and bramble that creeps along it, the spikes, it all reminds Nesta of a dark thunderstorm.

“There’s a servants’ entrance through that gatehouse there,” Lucien says, his voice quiet. “According to the intel Rhysand’s spymaster offered, many of the servants don’t live within the walls, they come and go each day.”

“A good entrance for us to use then as well,” Cassian comments with a nod of his head.

“My thoughts exactly. If we’re lucky, we can get in and get out without starting a war.”

“Bit late for that, don’t you think?”

“Even so, we clearly don’t have the numbers for a big fight. I doubt you want to lose any wolves tonight.”

Cassian doesn’t say anything, but Nesta doesn’t miss the way a muscle in his jaw ticks, Lucien’s words clearly having hit their mark. He crosses his arms and focuses his attention back on the fortress, eyes flickering as he takes in every detail, as he devises his own plan with all the prowess Nesta expects from an alpha general.

“Well, then,” Cassian finally says. “Let’s not waste any more time.”

They make it inside the fortress with surprisingly little fanfare. There’s only a trio of guards at the gatehouse, Cassian trapping one in a headlock until he loses consciousness while Lucien and one of his other witches take out the other two. They encounter even fewer as they cross to the servants’ entrance, stepping inside an empty and dark kitchen, stoves and flames long gone cold and the staff long retiring for the night.

“We’ll cover more ground if we split up,” Cassian suggests.

At Lucien’s agreement, he sends the other Vanserra witches to the western wing, offering to take the main house himself. It leaves Nesta and Cassian to search the eastern wing in hopes of locating Elain.

As they creep up one of the servants’ stairwells, Nesta reaches within for her magic. Just as she always does, she imagines stroking her fingers through soft fur, but this time, she gets a growl in response, leaving the hairs on the back of her neck standing on edge, a shiver skittering across her skin. It’s a warning.

It means something’s wrong.

Swallowing hard around that feeling, Nesta tightens her grip around her magic, pulling it forward forcibly until silver flames curl between her fingers, wreathing her wrists and providing light through the winding dark corridors. The distinct sound of blades unsheathing has Nesta’s entire body tensing on instinct, but when she whips around she finds it’s merely Cassian, both his blades raised and ready.

“You feel it too, then.”

Cassian’s lips press into a thin line. “Coming here may have been a mistake.”

“Don’t let Lucien hear you say… that…”

Nesta’s voice trails off as they reach the end of the corridor, her steps stuttering to a stop. The caress up her arm, along the back of her neck is undeniable, and it’s wrong. It curls around her ear until the ringing taking up home there morphs into a whisper, a temptation. A siren song. A sudden pressure starts to build in her chest, wrapping like cold, spindly fingers between her ribs and around her lungs until the air is squeezed out of them. And that grip on her tugs, calling her down and down and down.

Nesta’s entire world tilts as her body is yanked back, the hand pressed to her mouth muffling her yelp of surprise. She tries to struggle against the tight hold before she realizes she recognizes the warmth, the body, pressed along her spine. With a huff, she shoves Cassian’s hand away from her face, turning to glare at him. But Cassian has a single finger pressed to his own lips, signaling quiet.

Carefully, Nesta leans forward enough that she can peer out of the alcove Cassian has pulled them into. She frowns at the dark corridor, as empty as it was before. What has his wolf hearing picked up that she can’t see?

Cassian yanks Nesta back again, out of view just as a pair of Hybernian soldiers come stalking around the corner and down the corridor. Nesta holds her breath as they come to a stop right where she and Cassian are hiding. Her heart skips and starts to pound in her chest. Why haven’t they continued on with their patrol?

“What have we here?” One of the soldiers turns with a sneer, somehow looking directly at Nesta through the shadows. “A little mouse just for me?”

“More like a wolf,” Cassian growls, stepping out of the alcove.

Nesta barely has time to blink before Cassian is leaping forward, both his swords swinging. He takes down the soldier who spoke with ease, a feral grin on his face despite the blood now staining his leathers. Nesta focuses her own attention on the remaining soldier, reaching once again for her magic. She sends silver flames cascading toward the male, but not before he gets off a spell of his own, alarm bells blaring around them.

“Well, there goes our element of surprise,” Cassian comments.

He sheathes one of his swords and grabs hold of Nesta’s hand, pulling her down the large, main staircase. They burst through the large, wooden doors that lead in and out of the eastern wing, coming face to face with even more soldiers rushing toward them. Cassian drops her hand to free his second blade again, resetting his stance so his back is to her. Nesta takes it as the cue that it is. She takes a moment, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. She can feel the swell of her magic, feel the familiar burn through her veins, across her skin, in her eyes.

A smirk pulls up her lips as her eyes snap open again, zeroing in on the soldiers standing before her. Zeroing in on her prey. It’s the only warning she gives them before she unleashes the beast writhing and skulking within, towering flames arcing away from her and swallowing every soldier in their path.

She turns on the spot, toward the next round of soldiers who dare to step up against her. She’s surprised to find a soldier closer than she expects, dark eyes narrowed and lips curled back in a leer. He raises his hand, so Nesta summons what remains in that well of her magic, wills it to thread between her fingers again. But before she can strike, the soldier unfurls his fingers, revealing some sort of blue powder that he blows directly into Nesta’s face.

Nesta coughs, turning her head away, but whatever the substance was, it’s too late. Her vision starts to blur around the edges, and she tries to blink around it, tries to shake it. All the sounds around her seem to fade, the shouts and cries of soldiers falling, replaced by an almost buzzing that presses into her ears. Her limbs feel strangely heavy, and when Nesta reaches inside herself she finds… nothing. There’s just emptiness.

A roar breaks through the haze to Nesta’s right, warm liquid splattering across her cheek, her neck. Greens and golds flood her vision, and it takes her a moment too long to realize it’s Cassian in front of her, his eyes dark with fury, with worry.

“Nesta, run,” Cassian tells her, clearly repeating himself. “Make for the woods, but run.”

Nesta doesn’t need to be told again. She somehow gets her legs under herself again, breathing through her pounding heart, through the hollowness clawing in her chest, as she pushes toward the tree line.

As she gets closer, she spots two wolves charging right for her, one dark gray with a silver underside and the other an almost shaggy brown in color. The gray one rushes ahead, leaping right at Nesta, and she drops to her knees on instinct, a terrified gasp clogging up her throat. She waits for the pain, for teeth to sink into her flesh, but all there is is a pained cry from behind her. She whips around, only to find the wolf tearing a Hybernian soldier to shreds with its teeth.

“Nesta.” Nesta turns around, meeting Baz’s face, the Pack’s third now back in human form. “Are you alright?”

Nesta nods, taking Baz’s proffered hand and allowing him to pull her back to her feet. Whatever magic she was hit with, she still feels out of sorts, still feels unsteady, and she stumbles back a few steps, right into a firm, hard body. Hands on her shoulders catch her, but then they’re sliding down to lift her fully off her feet, cradling her against a chest and enveloping her in the familiar scent of pine and low burning embers. She wants to protest, but she’s tired, so tired, and she slumps fully against Cassian.

“Lucien has Elain. Now, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @lady-nestas @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies @freakingata

[zebaji]

au where I mix up all of the Ninja's powers and backstories into a slushie mess and see what happens.

So far I have:

Wu gets bitten by the Great Devourer and becomes super manipulative and toxic, as he tries to make Ninjago perfect, neat, and orderly with the Golden weapons. (Think lord business from the lego movie) Too bad he refuses to use his Oni side to obtain four arms to use them together.

Garmadon still trains under Chen and practices the Dark arts, but understands the balance of good and evil, and is filled with guilt over the fact that Wu got bitten when it should have been him. Wu, who doesn't like that Garmadon leans into "evil" practices and banishes him to the underworld.

The Green Ninja is Morro, who is biologically Wu’s son. (yeah, you thought canon morro was bad, this morro is so much worse since he's literally the weapon in making Ninjago in Wu's image) His personality is pretty much the same as canon (perfectionist, obsessive, crazy) it's just that he is in fact the Green Ninja and Wu enables him a lot.

Before everyone figures out that Morro is the Green Ninja, they think it might be Kai, who is the brother of Maya and has the power of Wind. He's Morro's replacement in this au, in the sense that he is also desperate to become the Green Ninja by whatever means necessary, and Wu pits Morro and Kai in a rivalry to see who becomes the Green Ninja. And Morro, who cannot fail his father, becomes violent and kills Kai. Kai isn't great in this au either and ends up in the cursed realm and later becomes a ghost.

Misako sees how problematic Wu is and after Garmadon gets banished, she runs away with baby Lloyd and tries to take Morro too, but Wu freaks out and thinks she tried to kidnap Morro so that she could use the Green Ninja's power for her own gain and he kills her to "save Morro," and thinks he kills Lloyd too.

Lloyd's actually fine, and just grows up at Darkley's until he gets adopted by the Royal Family, much to his dismay, and becomes the Quiet One who is willing to punch a dude to get his dad back. Because he doesn't have his powers, he relies a lot on his dragon and Oni heritage.

Nya is the only child of Ray and Maya, and when they disappear, Chen finds and adopts her, and she becomes the sister of Skylor. Despite having the element of fire, she relies heavily on mechs, and loves to invent, letting her sister use her powers while she designs Chen’s button chair.

Pixal is Ninja of Ice and still was created by Cyrus Borg, so Zane is still in the Birchwood Forest, forgotten and stuck there until Lloyd finds him and offers him a place in the cult group he’s starting.

Cole's dad dies, and while he tries to honor his dad's dancing legacy, he still inherits his powers and is forced to become a ninja. He's still a popular entertainer and pretty well known in Ninjago as such, and he really doesn't want to be a Ninja full-time and is only doing it because he's scared of what Wu will do to his loved ones. I do not know what power he should get and I am open to ideas.

Jay was raised as Cliff Gordon's son and so he's wealthy but he is also extremely talented in robotics. He and Cyrus Borg collaborate a lot and is best friends with Pixal. He does not have powers and tries to help Cole get out of the team. Honestly, I have no idea about Jay either.

Harumi releases the Serpentine after her parent sends her to a boarding school and forget about her. She does not want to be forgotten, and in a rage over it, discovers she can control Lightning.

Morro finds her and takes her in, reassuring her that there is a place for her on his team.

The team consists of Morro, Ash, Cole, Pixal, and now Harumi, all trained under Wu.

And then Lord Garmadon crawls out of the Underworld, eyes glowing purple and with four arms, demanding to see his son, and everyone starts to panic because they are pretty sure Lloyd is dead.

[supercorpkid]

Baby Danvers who is Kara's bio little sister sent to earth with Kara in the pod as a baby. Has a crush on Ruby Arias, they bond over being Kryptonian and teenagers not allowed to use their powers in public. Please 🙏

(love your work)

Everything Has Changed.

Supergirl. Baby Danvers. Kara Danvers x Sister!Reader, Alex Danvers x Sister!Reader, Ruby Arias x Reader. Sam Arias.

Word Count: 2310.

"No," Kara repeats, speaking to you as if you were a toddler. "You can't join the track team when you have super speed. You know that."

"You just won't let me do anything!" You scowl, showing your sister how upset you are. Usually, that's all it takes, but when it comes to your powers, Kara never budges.

"Yeah, because it's not fair to other people, Y/N! You have superpowers," Alex chimes in from the kitchen. You roll your eyes, knowing this was bound to happen. The open concept in Kara's apartment really doesn't help when you're trying to have a conversation with just one of them.

"What good are all these powers if I'm not allowed to use them?" You turn on your heel, quickly going to your bedroom and slamming the door behind you. You hear a crack in the wood and curse under your breath.

"If you break another door, you won't get a replacement!" Alex yells, and you grunt in frustration.

God! You break a few things around the house or bump into someone and break their arm on the street a couple of times and now you're treated as a menace! Sure, it doesn't help that your bedroom door looks like it might turn into ashes if you slam it one more time, but most of the time it isn't on purpose. 

Do you really want to join the track team? Not necessarily. What you really want is a way to use your powers without Kara and Alex yelling at you. You can't wait until you're an adult.

When you were younger, you couldn't wait to get your powers. When you and Kara crashed on this planet, she was already a teenager, so she immediately got all of them—the flying, super speed, super strength—everything you always wanted. But since you were a baby when you came to Earth, you had to wait until puberty.

Now, you finally have them. You can fly around the world, save people, hear all the gossip at school, and yet your sisters insist that you mustn't use them.

"How did Eliza do it?" Kara asks, and you put your headphones on mute to hear the conversation better. "I seriously don't remember what she used to do when it was me."

"Well, if I remember correctly, it was basically the same," Alex says, and you can't help but roll your eyes again. Perfect Kara Danvers wasn't so perfect after all.

"Eliza was more composed after it, though." Kara takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. You slide your glasses down to look at them moving to the couch. "Did I mess up her life by bringing her to live with me? Eliza said she wanted Y/N to stay there."

"Kara," Alex reaches for Kara's arm, giving it a gentle stroke, "you wanted to bring her here so you could teach her about her powers, to help her feel how normal it is to have them. Besides, you promised your mom you'd take care of her."

"Alex, I know all the reasons, but what if they're not enough? Having me fly around, saving people, using my powers daily, and not being able to use hers—I don't think it's helping as much as I thought it would."

Alex is silent for a moment. "You know, Sam has told me the same thing about Ruby. Maybe we need to get them together, so she can see that even though her experience feels singular, it really isn't."

"That's a good idea, actually." Kara grabs her phone right away. "I'll ask Sam if they're free this weekend. Oh! And Lena can come too."

You smirk — of course Kara would want to bring Lena everywhere.

Kara knocks on your door a while later. You take your headphones off and watch as she slowly approaches, testing the waters. "I'm sorry you can't join the track team. You do understand why, right?"

You sit up in bed and give her a soft, "Yeah" so she knows you're no longer upset. She sits in front of you, grabbing one of your stuffed animals on the bed so she has something to do with her hands.

It takes a couple of seconds and a long breath from her to add, "I love you, baby. I'm just trying to protect you." Kara blinks at you, and you can see how sad she is about fighting with you all the time.

It's not fair that she had to take care of you all your life. Sure, Eliza was an incredible mother figure to both of you, but Kara is 13 years older than you, and she promised your mom she'd care for you when Alura put you both in that pod. And that's what she's done her entire life. She fed you, changed you, taught you both English and Kryptonese, told you about your planet, and showed you its place in the sky. She's the blood relative who truly raised you (sorry, Kal, but it's true).

As soon as she graduated from college and got a job, she brought you to National City to live with her. Eliza wasn't happy about it, but you were over the moon. You'd never say this out loud, but deep down you know Kara is your mom. Not Alura, not Eliza, not even Alex (though she sometimes feels like one). Kara cradled your baby self in her arms all those years ago, and she has yet to let go.

You throw yourself into her arms, hugging her with all your strength, grateful you can't hurt her with it. "I know. I'm sorry." Tears threaten to leave your eyes, and you swallow them. "Kar, I – I know you're doing more than you should as a sister. And so I don't want to be a burden to you."

"You are not a burden!" She squeezes you tighter. "You could never be a burden, little one. You are my whole world." Kara holds your face between her hands, her eyes full of tears, and when you look at her, you know exactly why. "You are the most important person to me in any universe. That's why I don't want you in any kind of danger."

"I know, but I just want to make you proud."

"Oh, baby. I couldn't be prouder of the girl you are, trust me. But we still need some rules about using your powers. You're all I have left," she reassures you.

"I mean, did I die at some point?" Alex asks, leaning against the doorway.

You smile. "Pretty sure you're a ghost, and this house is haunted, yeah."

Alex opens her arms and joins the hug. "You'll have a nice weekend with Ruby and will stop breaking the doors, right?"

You crack a smirk. "I'll try. No promises."

They let you fly to Metropolis, and you appreciate it, even if it's just a less-than-five-minute flight. You get to carry Alex, while Kara carries Lena—because, of course, Lena was coming.

You've met Sam before, though you don’t remember much about it. However, you’re sure you’ve never met Ruby. Usually, you dislike when people dictate who you should or shouldn’t be friends with, but that changes when you meet Ruby.

You love her excitement about things, which mirrors your own enthusiasm, often dimmed by other teenagers who want to look cool. Ruby is nice, has superpowers, and is best friends with her mom (which is similar to your relationship with your older sisters). So when Sam says you’ll have to share a room with Ruby, you’re thrilled.

It's refreshing to have someone you can confide in about your powers, your frustration with not being able to use them freely, and how much you love your sisters despite their misunderstandings.

"I know! Like, okay, I get it. I can't use my powers to gain an advantage in life, but maybe I want to play volleyball!"

"Or join the track team!" You agree, pointing at her. Ruby’s smile widens, and you stare up at her from your spot on the sleeping bag on the floor.

"And honestly, she gets so mad when I break something, like it’s my fault I have super strength." Ruby makes space for you in bed and invites you up with a gesture. You promptly sit in front of her without a word, too preoccupied with your complaints to talk.

"And yes, I understand it's hard to explain why my door keeps breaking, but I’m a teenager! I’m supposed to slam doors behind me."

Ruby laughs in agreement. "It probably doesn’t help when I break things at school, though."

"One time I stopped suddenly in P.E. class, and a kid running behind me ran into me. He broke his nose. I didn’t even move." You give her a sheepish smile. "That was hard to explain."

"That’s nothing! We were playing dodgeball, and I sent someone flying across the room." Your eyes widen at the image. "I was banned from P.E. for weeks, and everyone started calling me 'Wonder Chick.'"

"Uh," You smile. "Did you tell them they got the planets mixed up?"

"Tried to. Mom wouldn’t let me."

You laugh loudly, and although Ruby laughs too, she shushes you so none of the adults come to check on you.

You talk all night, and as the hours pass, the connection between you deepens. You can’t believe how easy it is to open up to Ruby, sharing things you’ve never felt comfortable saying before. After showing her where Krypton would have been if it still existed and teaching her a few Kryptonian words, you both lie side by side on the roof, gazing at the early morning sky.

The sun rises, casting an orange glow that makes Ruby's chestnut eyes shine even more than when she’s telling a story. You think it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Her eyes feel like coming home.

The conversation eventually slows, and a comfortable silence settles between you. You’re both exhausted, but there’s a sense of peace that neither of you wants to break.

“I’m really glad I came here,” you murmur, your eyes heavy with sleep.

"Yeah," She scoots a little closer. "I’m really glad you came too. I’ve never met anyone who understands me so much."

"I know! Same." You bite your lower lip, looking at Ruby's lips. "I think you might be one of my favorite people already." Your cheeks flush when you realize what you just said. "Is that weird?"

"No." She shakes her head, eyes flicking between your eyes and lips. "It can’t be weird to meet your soulmate."

Soulmate? Oh.

"May I ask what you two are doing out here?" Kara’s voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin.

"Shit." You place a hand on your chest, checking if it’s still there. "Kara! You scared us!"

"You two should be in bed!" You open your mouth to argue, but your sister cuts you off. "Come on, go get some sleep. You guys can talk more before we have to leave."

Your face drops at the thought of leaving, and you see the same sadness on Ruby’s face when Kara’s eyes soften. "You guys will see each other again. Rao, why are teenagers so dramatic?" When she doesn’t see you moving, she adds, "Bed! Now!"

You obey her orders, Ruby slipping into bed and you into the uncomfortable sleeping bag on the floor. You drift off quickly, a sense of contentment washing over you. Despite only getting a couple of hours of sleep, you don’t regret it one bit.

"Ruby! Y/N! Come down for breakfast!" Sam calls from downstairs. Even though more sleep sounds tempting, breakfast sounds even better. You both rush to the kitchen.

"Oh, cool sweater, by the way!" Ruby points at the "Power to the Girls" slogan, and you beam.

"Thanks," Kara’s voice comes from the couch. You can see her snuggled up with a mug and Lena, but she’s not looking at you. "It’s mine. And no, I didn’t let her borrow it."

You glance down at the sweater. "It was mixed with my laundry. I thought you’d given it to me!"

"Nice try." Her voice comes a second later. "Stop stealing my clothes."

You shrug. "I tried."

The rest of the day passes in a dreamlike haze. You find yourself wishing your sisters had thought of this sooner, but you’re incredibly grateful they finally did. Meeting Ruby, your soulmate, has changed everything. For the first time, you don’t feel so alone with your powers. You have someone who truly understands you.

When it’s time to say goodbye, you feel a pang of sadness, but you know this isn’t the end.

"You’ll come visit next weekend, right?" You ask again, even though both Sam and Ruby have reassured you several times.

"Yeah. And you’ll text before that, right?"

"As soon as I get home!" You smile proudly. "So in like, five minutes."

"Cool."

You can’t suppress your smile as you look at her one last time before taking flight. "Cool."

As you fly back home, you feel a sense of peace you hadn’t expected. Meeting Ruby is one of the best things that has happened in your life, and you’re already certain of it. Maybe your sisters are right about some things, but that doesn’t mean you’re alone. You now have Ruby, someone who understands you like no one else ever will.

You: Photo 📸 You: Guess what? It turns out you can break doors when you're too happy too! Rubes: Love the pic. Alex looks thrilled 😆 Rubes: Please get a new one before I visit.

You smile at your phone. For the first time in a long while, you feel that things are going to be okay. Your life isn’t as bad as you thought. In fact, it might just be pretty great.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 79 (Winter is Here and Ash Has Another Sibling!)

Brindleton Bay's first snowfall of the year was picturesque, but the light dusting of white on the ground was merely a tease. The snow didn't stop once winter had begun and it wasn't long before the coastal town was coated in thick white powder.

Ash loved hanging out in the snow, and he and Conrad loved to make snowmen while Heather took care of his baby sister.

They wanted to get to the city to visit Heather's sister, Holly, who had recently welcomed her second daughter with her husband, Kris. In keeping with their commitment to fish names, Tetra's little sister was named Betta.

(Tetra Daisy and Betta Cecilia Bell, for those interested!)

But newborns in both households made it difficult to travel, so they settled for sharing updates by phone and made plans to spend time together in the city for the upcoming Winterfest holidays.

Genius Ash wasn't all that interested in the crying, stinky baby who now lived in his house, and with one sister at home in Brindleton Bay, Ash met his other new sister, Bridgette, on his first weekend at his dad's after she was born.

"What do you think of your new sister, there, Ash?" Geoffrey warmly embraced his grandson, while Malcolm was prouder than he thought he'd be to introduce his son to his new daughter.

"Lavender and Bridgette don't do much," Ash complained. "But they're pretty cute, I guess."

"What sort of name is Lavender, anyway?" Nancy scoffed and Geoffrey shushed her.

"Where's Bridgette gonna sleep when she's out of her bassinet? I sleep on the pullout bed when I'm here, but there isn't room for two pullout beds in the living room!"

"Your Gramma and I used to talk about adding a third bedroom, but we never really needed the extra space before now."

Nancy forced a grin in front of her grandson. "And we decided adding another room to the top floor would disrupt our morning view, Geoffrey."

"We've got enough views," he said. "I'd rather see our grandkids well-rested and happy."

"You are always complaining that you can't turn your music on when Ash is asleep in the living room," said Miko sweetly. "Ash, would you mind sharing a room with your sister when you visit?"

"If she cries a lot, I might, but I'm almost used to Lavender. I bet I can get used to Bridgette's crying, too!"

While the Landgraabs set to work finally building Ash a bedroom at the penthouse, he bonded with his second little sister. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: The boujis medieval cc crib I downloaded for my UDC and haven't deleted appeared randomly but is honestly perfect for a Landgraab princess. And technically the lack of a bedroom for Ash is my fault. He was small and wasn't there that often so I could stick a toddler bed wherever, and it took me a while to figure out where to build the third bedroom in the Spire Tower suite without gutting the layout, which is my nightmare. But they needed that third bedroom and I figured it out. I'll debut it once Bridgette is an infant, because when I took photos of it that's how big she was.

ALSO at Heather and Conrad's he technically has his own room but he's sleeping in the guest room. I'm waiting for Lavender to grow up a little before renovating some spaces! I think they'll lose their guest room but I haven't decided yet. So we can give Nancy hell for this, sure, but it's redirecting wrath that should actually be on me. 😂

[bonefall]

I will cry (in a good way) if the theme of the arc is “the love was there. it didnt change anything. it didnt save anyone. there were just too many forces against it. but it still matters that the love was there”

I REALLY hope that I can do something like that. Again, BB really tries to stay in line with where canon goes and follow it while fixing its themes, but like...

With all the fixes I've done for TBC and below, where the last arc left off on Shadowsight giving up something he'd always wanted (his lightning-based connection to StarClan, blasting it back at Ashfur to hold him down) and the sacrifice of Bristlefrost to knock the holy beast out of heaven... something feels really cool about being able to follow that up with an arc that's very melancholic and painful.

Heartstar doing something DRASTIC to try and stop another Clan from falling apart, compelled to get more violent to keep her claws over it, driven by the fear of The Kin repeating itself and the fury of her dead child

Dovewing watching her sister take power in ThunderClan, knowing things are going to get VERY frustrating

Ivypool herself vowing she's not going to use this new status for personal gain... but then she kinda Does, unable to put down a DESPERATION to reconnect to a sister who doesn't want to see her

I kinda hope I can also find a way to explore Bumblestripe's feelings here, too. He JUSt had a whole journey in Ferncloud's Parting, and he comes back and LOOK! A perfect opportunity to justify how much you HATE Heartstar and Dovewing and all of ShadowClan! It would be SO easy to let your heart grow bitter again, wouldn't it? What will you decide, Bumblestripe?

Lightleap struggling with her failure to enter the Dark Forest, feelings of uselessness and helplessness, losing her best friend

Berryheart herself radicalizing a portion of ShadowClan, as Heartstar tries to prevent another Clan from falling apart, her own is pulling at its stitches.

Squirrelflight having saved Bramblestar from the Dark Forest, NO CAT LEFT BEHIND, only for him to show his true colors AGAIN and try to get into petty drama with her, her sympathy evaporating in an instant

Just. Everything with Sparkpelt and her kids. She ISN'T Firekin in BB-- she chose the names Finch and Flame WITH and FOR her mate Larksong.

Nightheart having a new name foisted on him and making himself believe it was a choice-- and then Bramblestar is dethroned, Sunbeam is telling him how much she loves his family, there's a new journey for glory in front of him, and... there's so many things to think about that he just doesn't.

And then he comes home to find they're OUT of chances to give him. And he's traveled far and is able to FINALLY internalize... he blew it. Didn't recognize or appreciate what he had, when he had it

Bramblestar isn't the big strong cool grandpa leader he thought he was, he's a disgraced elder, and he has to wonder... how much of this HATE for his family was Nightheart's own? How much was the Impostor? How much was Bramblestar? How much was his own inability to self-reflect?

Frostpaw's entire family turning on itself

Finding out that Curlfeather was behind the plot that killed her own father, Reedwhisker.

That Podlight, her funny sillyman uncle, was ALSO in on this the whole time, plus her dear friend Splashtail.

Still just a kid, left to agonize over how much of it was LOVE and how much of it was MANIPULATION. Where one ended and where the other began.

The love is there. The love was always there-- even when you didn't know it. It was strong, and it was beautiful, but it's NOT a fix-all. It isn't the hero that will save you. It isn't the medicine to fix you. It isn't the shield that will protect you. Love is mortal.

And when it dies, it dies in pieces. Like a fire in its ashes and its embers. The same love in one heart will burn forever, and for others, its cinders are quickly doused.

A painful arc, of betrayals, broken promises, last chances blown to rubble, and good intentions paving the way to hell.

[holybibly]

Divine Rosa  ❢ot8xreader❣ 

❣ Pairing: yandere!otx8 x reader ❣ Genre: Dark Romance, vampire au, angst, horror, yandere au, smut ❣ Summary: The moth always pours itself into the flame; what a pity that in the end it burns out. After the tragic death of her sister, MС tries to find answers to the questions she left behind. This leads her to a gated cottage town known for its luxurious rose gardens. In addition, there are also these mysterious men who manage all the affairs in the city. Too sweet, too helpful, too intrusive, and too in love. ❣ WARNING: only!18+ Themes of death, suicide, severe depression, stalking, blood, yandere behavior. ❣ Disclaimer: I don't support yandere behavior, stalking, or religious imposition. Themes include violence, obsession, possessiveness, and emotional or psychological manipulation. This book is intended solely for entertainment purposes.

English is not my native language, so if you see any mistakes, please let me know.

Published on AO3 like FleurRi

❣ Prologue: Roses scarlet like blood ❣

 Every story has a beginning: a magical, inexplicable moment—an elusive contact between reality and dreams. When thoughts emerge from the edge of consciousness, a stream of colorless letters appears on the parchment of our fate, eventually becoming an event. Life's intersections, fragments of various plots, are continuously repeated, lost, or deliberately forgotten. They are like unwritten melodies; the echo of their angelic voices follows us through life, like the bright tent of a wandering circus that incessantly makes noise. is full of tinsel, and raves with dreams.

  There are millions of them. No. Billions, like the sleeping stars, sway peacefully on the sky-blue wire; their scattered light tells the wayward souls the way in the velvet folds of the night's darkness. These are our memories. Some are dazzlingly bright, as fresh as summer breezes, while others are barely flickering, covered in the marble ashes of time and a diamond crumb of emotion. And they all live so far away and at the same time prohibitively close together, there, in the labyrinth of the underground sky and on the endless roads of the blood rivers, where it is impossible to find them: in our memory.

  Just as a pebble thrown into the ocean sinks into the murky depths, so does memory. Drowning into the viscous muddy depths without a bottom, in that rich and uncharted area that we call “oblivion,” it sinks in time. And few of us have been given the opportunity to preserve living images of memories of the feelings we have ever experienced: to drown in the bittersweet water of sorrow and joy; to fill our consciousness to the brim, like a vessel with golden honey, with the feelings of pain and keen passion, and to die. Die happy. The greatest privilege of all.

  Seconds, minutes, days, and years—colorful fragments of time; sharp crumbs scattered under our feet. Unlike us, those who plunge into eternal sleep, our memories that have insidiously dissolved in ink in our blood will not disappear. They fear death, flee from it, and hide in the thick of the earth that blossoms with fluttering glass, forget-me-nots and drunken petunias that, in their intoxicating happiness, kiss the eyelashes of the blind God. You hear them whisper, “I’ll never forget you…”

  My story begins with an innocent question that I’m sure you’ve heard more than once: “Do you like roses?”

  Once upon a time, I would have answered, "Yes, I love roses." But, as it turns out, all our words are followed by consequences, and small rosy spikes can be much more dangerous than they seem at first glance, just like in the fairy tales that we were told in childhood.   You know, there are things that we might call fatal: people who decide other people’s lives as long as they reach out to them like they're God. And then there are the flowers, which keep the mysteries tenebrous and ancient.   I'm almost a hundred years old, maybe more. I should start my story right now; this is the perfect moment.

  I will tell you about who I once was and who I am now. I will tell you about love, which is akin to obsession, and the death of her faithful friend. I will also tell you about the people, ghosts, or maybe illusions that were around me. They were with me once…   Now, there are others, but they’ll be in my story later. They will come into my life with a chorus of angelic voices; the sound of a heavy autumn downpour, and the pretentious solemnity of death. Yeah, they’ll be there, though, if you think about it, they were always there, from my first breath to my last breath, by my side.   But I’m forgetting what’s important.   I have to tell you about the roses, and only about them.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

Mina's long hair shimmered like luxurious silk under the early morning light. Bloody strands fell in curled doll curls onto her bare shoulders, as if in Baroque paintings. The lush blossoms of white roses woven together in her hair made her look like the ancient Greek goddess of spring.   Her appearance has always been astonishing, blatantly perfect rather than real, but that was sometime in the past. Now she was like a pale ghost of herself, a blurry reflection on a black surface of water on a moonlit night. The only thing that reminded her of her former beauty was her hair, which remained perfectly groomed and scarlet, like blood. Oh yeah, there are still roses.  These flowers… there was something unnatural about them, something otherworldly. Each petal was painfully perfect, as if made of satin. But the flowers were real; they were alive and breathing and too demanding. It seemed that just because they wanted this, Mina could wear them in her hair. It was their choice, not hers.  “Do you like roses, Rosa?” · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

This is the moment when my life changed forever. If I had known that this innocent question would be the beginning of my end, but can this be called the end? Would my answer have been different?

  I’ve thought about it a thousand times. Over and over again, I played this scene like a broken record, crossed my answer out of the script, wrote a new one, and made comments and footnotes, but…   But the answer was the same. I couldn’t change anything; it was destined. Much later, when I fall asleep in a warm bed, I will feel a gentle kiss on my closed eyelids and hear San’s angelic voice whisper in my ear that fate is never wrong. That they would find me or that I would come to them does not matter; in the end, we would still be together in life and in death. In eternity.

  I’ll come back to that later, I promise. In the meantime, I’ll continue. · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

“They’re beautiful, Mina, but I don’t like them anymore.”  I sounded terribly rude from the outside, and I could see Mina’s eyes filled with tears, as if I had slapped her.

 “But Rosa!” Mina reached out her pale arms to me. “Look how perfect they are; don’t you care about their beauty? Doesn’t your heart beat faster when you look at them? O Rosa, these flowers are special; they never wilt.” She shook her head, as if confirming her words. “Yeosang gave them to me before I left” Her long, thin fingers reaching for the white rosebuds in her hair. “I want to give you one.” Hooking the flower, Mina gently pulled it out of her curls and stretched it towards me. I didn't have the desire to accept her gift; something in her behavior and her voice caused me anxiety. And there was this name: Yeosang. It wasn’t the first time I heard it, but it was a long time ago, and I still remember that Mina mentioned others with that name: Hongjoong, San, and Mingi. They sounded familiar to me as a song once learned by heart. She pronounced them in a special way: with a gentle intonation and an exciting euphoria. As if it had been repeated countless times at the same completely new to her.  All I could hear was the echo of that song, which came along with those names in the conversation. It was an ominous echo, like an impending, inevitable storm. Mina was still holding out a rose, and I looked at her hands. Arms with a faint web of blue veins that looked like dried stems of faint flowers. For some reason, I came up with the idea of sirens holding out their hands to pirates while their voices led them into the welcome embrace of death. Did they look like Mina’s hands now?

I remember these hands weaving long pearl threads into my hair during festivals. I remember the feeling of intertwined fingers as Mina led me down the dark corridors of my grandmother's old house. I remember them gently wiping my tears when I was rubbing my feet until I bled in ballet class.

I remember the touch of those hands… I know him. These cold fingers that so carefully hold the snow-white flower no longer belong to my sister. Their touch changed, becoming foreign and distant, as did the mysterious land where these perfect, never-fading roses grew.

Didn’t that sound like a fairy tale? Just in our history, there has been no magic mirror, no Queen-Witch whose crown shines like a star, and no apple full of poison, but there is a coffin of shimmering crystal, and a prince that sleeps in it. Of course, there are also roses—thousands of roses.

“Rosa” Mina turned to me again. “Please take them; you will surely love them. Just try to feel them…”

She put a flower in my hands. The drops of nectar froze on the wax petals, and the first rays of the dawn sun made them sparkle like diamonds. “This variety is special.” Her voice sounded soft. “It's called the Deva-Rosa. I want to show you where they grow. It’s so beautiful. I want you to come with me, Rosa. We’ll be there together, you and me.” Mina smiled dazzlingly, but something was wrong with that smile. The once-sensual kiss lips were painfully curved, the corners awfully lifted, like the forever-frozen smile of a Venetian mask, and the warm pink shade was gone.

I was always jealous of her lips. They were so tender, plump, and enticing. All her features attracted attention, but it was her lips that made Mina's beauty unique.

She shone like the sun, easily becoming the center of everyone's attention—a beautiful white swan. The main heroine of the story. 

Then there was me, only a shadow of her perfection—gloomy and pale as the moon, the complete opposite of the burning heat and the sexuality of my sister. Unlike Mina's, my features were not sensual and breathtaking; no, they were old-fashioned, like those of a porcelain doll. I didn’t find myself ugly or unattractive; just ordinary. One of a hundred million. The classic tragic heroine of a Gothic novel, someone like me, doesn’t make it to the finale.

Now looking at Mina, I can no longer see her life; her fire has almost been extinguished, leaving embers smoldering. And only her hair, like a burning sunset, was the only bright spot in her appearance. They crimson her white dress like blood rivers in the snow. 

 “Rosa, come with me.” The touch of her hands was icy and gave me a nasty shiver. It wasn’t Mina anymore. “Let's go, please. We can admire roses together. We can be together, Rosa. Remember what we promised each other when we were kids? Forever.”   Mina leaned towards me with her whole body, completely trespassing into my space, and with her intimacy came the suffocating, sugary smell of roses. It was a thick, enveloping aroma that instantly sat in the lungs. I thought that if I breathed it in deeper, these strange, unnatural flowers would sprout in my veins, intertwine with my bones, and create a new home for themselves in my body.

 “No!” I exclaimed, pushing Mina away from me. “I don’t want that, Mina. I don’t want you or those freaking roses in my life.”

  Suddenly on my feet, I took a few steps away from the pale Mina, who was staring at a rose that had fallen to the ground. Her posture was as vulnerable as that of a wounded animal, and her limp arms reached for the flower, which, surprisingly, began to darken and fade, touching the ground.   In her eyes, once radiant with happiness and dreaming, stood tears, and her lips began to tremble. It was as if a child whose beloved toy had been mercilessly abused had fallen to her knees, picked up a dying bud, and, in despair, pinned it to her lips.

“How can you be so cruel, Rosa?” Mina whispered, her lips gently touching the petals. “You hurt them; it breaks their heart. Can’t you just accept their love? Accept the roses?” She continued to kiss the petals.

 “What are you talking about, Mina? Whose love should I accept?” I asked cautiously. Her behavior began to frighten me.

 “You must give yourself to them, Rosa; I must give you to them.” Mina ignored my question, methodically kissing a faded flower. His dead petals began to fall away, slowly, baring his heart. “O Rosa, the rose is a rose; the rose is a deva; the deva is a rose; is a rose.”

 “Mina!” I called her by her name in an alarm. The entire situation had me in a state of primitive terror.   Mina began slowly swaying from side to side in time to your words, all the while continuing to say, “Rose is a rose, the rose is a deva.” It was meaningless, like the ravings of a madman.  The words were repeated in an endless circle, like a prayer or a ritual chant. Mina’s voice grew louder, higher, and higher until it broke, and abruptly she stopped all movement, standing there like a graceful statue.

  Once I admired her every move; now I want to cover my eyes so I never have to see her again.   What happened after became the most traumatic thing in my life. I can never forget it, no matter how much I want it. It seemed to be imprinted on my eyelids, and even after closing my eyes in my sleep, I couldn’t get rid of those memories.

  Her movements were fleeting, like the wings of a butterfly. Here she is before me, tense and waiting, and then her throat crosses a ragged line, and blood rushes through her body like a waterfall.

  Eyes shining from tears are wide open and so resemble smooth black pearls, and lips are opened as if waiting for a kiss.   For a second, Mina's body stretched like a thin string and then softened, falling on the grass.   I heard someone start screaming; the sound was so deafening and heartbreaking that I wanted to curl up in a ball and cover my ears with my hands, so I couldn’t hear.

  I found myself screaming. I needed to call for help; I had to call an ambulance, and I had to try to help her. Put my arms around her neck and cover her gaping red velvet wound.

  But I was yelling about something else instead.   My name is not Rosa; you hear me, Mina!   I am not her. · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

I awoke in a frenzy, sweating profusely and with a wildly pounding heart from an endlessly recurring nightmare.

 This dream has haunted me for months since Mina’s funeral. Night after night, I have lived this sunrise over and over again. I didn’t like morning anymore; I started avoiding sunlight and hiding in the velvet folds of the night, sharing my loneliness with the darkness. I made the moon my friend, and the stars my silent witnesses.

  My memory is folded paper, folded a thousand times. Sometimes, I want to unwrap it, but not completely: open the brittle edges of the fragile sashes, smooth out the folds and creases with my fingers, spread out the time sequence. Unwrap it just a little, and then fold again, mixing letters and days, reality and dreams. I never want to open the pages where the memories of that morning are stored. Every time I get almost to the end, moments before the final, I run away to the safety of happy days.

  I try to come up with a new ending to this story, a different ending, but the dream comes to me like a cat, gently calling me into its embrace, and I find myself again in a place I don’t want to be.

  It’s early in the morning, and the sun is just rising above the horizon, shimmering like a limitless purple-pink ocean.

 In Mina’s crimson hair are snow-white roses, and her dress looks like an intricately woven ruffle and lace. Her pale hands holding flowers, her puffy lips in a painful smile, and her bare feet—the ground must be cold since it was the middle of October.  Her blood… and the roses.   And if it were possible to personify hatred and death, then for me, it would be roses.

  I hated and despised these flowers with all my heart. They brought only sorrow and gloominess into my life. The beautiful symbol of mourning solemnity.   They started it. They ended it all.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

I was sixteen when Mina first called me Rosa. One January afternoon, she came home with a basket of the most gorgeous flowers I’ve ever seen in my life. Scarlet like the blood of a rose, they were magnificent and perfect. From that day on, I became Rosa. Why did Mina start calling me that? She never spoke.   But she completely forgot my real name. For the whole world, I was now Rosa.   After this case, every day in our small apartment, the roses became more and more numerous, until every inch of free space was filled with scarlet buds. Their smell was suffocating, thick, and sticky like honey. It is absorbed into the skin, hair, and dissolved in the blood. It made me dizzy and nauseous, and I could taste it on my tongue with every breath.   But it wasn’t just a smell. It was a color that screamed “red,” like blood itself. It poured over our house, coloring the entire apartment in a disturbing shade.

  After that, every day in our house, the roses became more and more numerous until they filled all the surrounding space.

  Soon, they became so numerous that our house looked like a tomb filled with scarlet petals hanging from the ceiling. We've been arranging here with all honors, breathing in a haze as imperceptible as rose-scented mist. 

  In all the time I lived there, not a single flower withered. It was frightening and exciting at the same time. Day followed night, and night gave way to day; but no petal lost its pristine beauty, and no bud bowed its heavy head in sorrow. There was not a single bouquet that would dilute this velvet sea with its mourning black.

  And if that did happen, Mina cried long and hard over these flowers and blamed herself for not saving them. At night, I heard the sound of her apologies and her fanatical prayers. 

  Whether she prayed to God or to the Devil, I couldn't tell. I'll find out for whom these prayers were intended many years later.

  Roses were always sent with a postcard and a box of expensive chocolates with some intricate filling. The box was necessarily in the form of a heart. The signature was also one; once the unchanged calligraphic handwriting deduced only one phrase, “For you,”

  Mina never told me who gave her these magic flowers or why the roses didn’t wither.

  I tried to ask her these questions several times, but she only brushed them off, throwing her long hair from one shoulder to the other and angrily declaring, “You must love them; you don't need to know more.”

 Mina also dyed her hair scarlet, like roses.

  I couldn’t take it anymore. Constantly surrounded by these flowers was unbearable, and one day I packed up all my things and moved in with a friend, leaving Mina alone in her regal rosary.

  My first night away from home, away from the roses and Mina, I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned anxiously in bed hour after hour; but the dream never came, and then the phone rang. Mina called. Crying, she begged to come home, and when I asked her why, she barely whispered, “The roses are wilted.”

  I hung up, and Mina never called me again. Two years had passed. My life had changed, and I think my luck had smiled. I found wonderful friends who were eccentric and bright. I had a great and caring boyfriend, and the internship at ballet school was promising. Everything worked out perfectly, and there were no more roses.

 Until my twentieth birthday, a huge bleeding bouquet of scarlet roses tied with topaz-embroidered ribbon appeared in my new apartment. The candy box was heart-shaped, and the caption read, “For You.”

  I burned the bouquet, threw out the chocolate, and tore the note apart, and blew it to the wind.

  No one was supposed to see or know.   Even me.    Exactly eight days after these flowers appeared, I got a call from former neighbors in the apartment complex Mina was still living in.   I was urged to come and deal with the situation; the smell of rot and death was unbearable, and Mina didn't open the doors or answer the phone.   I opened the door with my key. Opening it wide, I crossed the threshold and could not contain a short scream. All the once-luxurious roses had rotted, dripping thick, stinking jugs on the floor and accumulating in gleaming poisonous lakes. Every corner of the space was occupied by large vases with black velvet buds and tall candles. After my move, Mina got rid of all the furniture, leaving only the big bed, which was now covered with dried stems strewn with thorns.

 This place was like a grave — cold and dark — where my sister was supposed to rest.   Going deeper, I found no hint of Mina's presence. Absolutely nothing.     Only putrid roses and an empty heart-shaped box.

  Mina was gone. For a whole year, I tried to find her without success. Old friends, distant relatives, acquaintances, and any other connections she might have ever had—I checked everything, but there was nothing to help me find her. It’s like she never existed.

 In the two years we’ve been apart, I didn’t know anything about her. Mina didn’t call, and when I tried to contact her, she would reply with a short message, always the same: "Roses have wilted; come back." just like the night I left her.

  All Mina had ever thought about since that unfortunate January day were these sinister roses.

  The police began an investigation. Two years after her disappearance, Mina became officially missing.

  And a year after that, she showed up at my door in the twilight of the fall morning, barefoot, in a sophisticated lace dress with a rose crown on her head. From the Mina that I knew, all that remained was her hair—long, silky, and crimson like blood and roses.

  She still kept calling me Rosa, calling me out, and promising that we’d be happy together. That it will be only us, forever. She promised to show me where these strange flowers bloom, which she called the Deva-Rose, although these were not her words, but those of someone distant and unfamiliar to me, Hongjoong.

  And then...then Mina died. The dawn painted her body in pink shades, flooded the grass with sparkling gold, and dyed the white roses of her crown scarlet. She slit her throat. Ragged a sharp spike into it. As it turned out, even the tiniest rose spikes were deadly.   It was a nightmarish and, at the same time, majestic end to her story.   The image of Mina haunts me in dreams even now—this distant gaze in her pearly eyes and a complete absence of fear of death. No, Mina wasn't afraid. She welcomed death as an old friend, graciously opening her arms.

  It was her exodus.   I remember screaming loudly. Blood thundered in my ears, and tears flowed in an endless crystal stream. I screamed that my name wasn’t Rosa; that I wasn’t her, and never would be.

  Her funeral was truly a royal one. Rain and thunder rattle in the sky, as if raising a toast in her honor. The flat haloes of the black umbrellas swayed peacefully as the guests made their sorrowful speeches.

  Mina seemed to fall asleep, dressed in an old-fashioned wedding dress, lying there like a princess, drowning in thousands of roses.   The flowers were brought at dawn. Their color was deep and dark, as if every petal was filled with the gloaming of the night. They mourned with me.   But I knew better. It wasn’t the end; it was the beginning.  Death follows life in an endless cycle of rebirth. When one flower fades, plant a new one.  Back home that night, I found a black envelope at my door, sealed with a monogram wax seal.

  It lacked an address and the sender's signature. The message was clear and concise. "I live for you, my Rosa."

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·   I went to the window and opened the curtains with my newfound determination. It’s time to stop being afraid and run away. Whatever it is, I’ll find out what happened to Mina. Let her start it all, but I’ll be the one to finish the story.   The last surviving girl.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·   How naive I was then, how stupid. The moth always flies to the flame, attracted by the warm fluttering light; he himself goes to his death.

I was that moth. Without realizing it, I came to my inevitable fate, which has been waiting for me for centuries, maybe longer. Their hands have stretched out since the darkest times, when the light didn't exist, and the Devil was as real as you and I. At that time, everyone knew his face, felt his hot breath on his skin.   The story I’m going to tell you isn't going to be bright and sweet; we’re going to go down to hell and come back. I'll take you through the dark woods to the horrors of uncharted lands where barefoot priestesses rock their sharp teeth in alluring smiles. I will take you to the castle where the prince rests in a crystal coffin and make you drink wine that tastes like blood.

  Now I have to ask you, "Are you afraid of the dark and what’s hidden in it?"   But my question is, "Love, do you like roses?"

[achaoticalien]

A Court of Deceit and Decay

Chapter Two- Nesta Archeron

“I will not go.” Nesta, even dragged across the Hewn City’s cold floors, did not regret her decision. The words spat in Rhysand’s face, a sneer on her own. He had simply turned to Morrigan and said, “Perhaps, Mor, we will go with your idea.”

After Nesta’s clear defiance, Feyre had simply cast her eyes down, shame and disgust wrinkled on her youthful face. Nesta had felt her gut sink into the lowest pits of her core, not even for how Morrigan barely hid her grin of pleasure at getting to order Cassian and Azriel to prepare to take Nesta to the Hewn City. But at Feyre’s face. How she didn’t have an ounce of so much as concern on her face. All of it, every inch of it, was just about how Nesta had embarrassed her. 

It filled her to the brim with such hot, heavy hatred, she didn’t even pull away when she felt large hands grip her arms and take her away. As Morrigan prepared to call for a gathering in the Hewn City. A public shaming. 

As she had been forcibly winnowed to the gates of the Hewn City. Cold frigid air whipping in her face from the outside. She turned to Morrigan, dressed in red and decorated with gold, she had a wild grin on her pretty face when she turned to Nesta. Giddy at the idea of getting too exact revenge for Nesta’s commentary on her dress, the Archeron sister supposed. 

“You enjoy this.” Nesta commented, voice as blank and numb as she felt. After the months of harassment from the entirety of the Inner Circle, she could honestly say, this was something she wasn’t surprised by. 

Morrigan smoothed over her expression with one of pity and sadness. Directing her eyes to Feyre, who looked back, Morrigan turned up the teary doe eyes, and the High Lady nodded, turning a sharp gaze to Nesta. For daring to upset her friend. 

Morrigan then leaned in, the perfect display of the humble, sympathetic ambassador. 

“Immensely.” She whispered, before standing straight up again, heels clicking as they entered the Hewn City. Masks on, the play began. 

She walked as best she could with much larger males pulling her along. She tripped and fell, they kept dragging her as per orders, Cassian let out a low scoff. Only Azriel turned an eye to her, lessening his grip, but turning away when she met his gaze. 

The Hewn City doors flung open with a bang, and she was brought before the throne. 

She hung her head, letting the numbness wash over her as her heartbeat picked up being in front of so many people. She hoped this would be over quickly. 

Nesta hoped she would feel nothing as she was thrown to her knees. 

But she did. It made her eyes snap up, like something in between her ribs had fluttered, had struck the nerve and caused electricity to snap up the side of her body. Quickly her eyes darted around. 

Then they landed on a moving shadow. 

Staring out from amongst the darkness of the corners, a pair of amber eyes gazed down on her. Widened, in the dim lighting, Nesta could make out an open mouth. Dressed in Night Court black, however golden jewellery rather than silver adored his ears and fingers. 

Eris, she thought. The male Azriel had choked for insulting Morrigan. 

Thinking back on that night, a tilt to her lips nearly escaped. 

She stared at him, at him and no one else. And he stared at her. Nothing else registered in her head. 

“After deeming yourself unworthy of serving amongst the Court, you are to stay within the restraints of the Hewn City. The Court of Nightmares will decide your place down here Until your High Lady has deemed you worthy of returning to the land above, you will serve as whatever you are appointed to.”

Nesta barely heard her own sentence, as the taste of ash and heat spread over her skin. A fire that spiked up in her gut. Bruising grips held her frail arms once more and she was being dragged out. 

The jeers suddenly hit her, they stabbed into her skin, into her body, like they were scarring her. It all felt real, like she had been snapped from a dream. As something seemed to tingle in the air, a trail that led back to a pair of flaming amber eyes. 

She managed to move her head as she began to pass the doors. And saw him there, their eyes locked once more, and something sparked, like wood catching alight. 

Nesta smelt smoke. 

Cassian and Azriel dropped her in a room, in a house she did not know.  A part of the cavernous tunnels. It looked like an office, hidden in the cracks of the Hewn City. 

Against her will, water peeked in her vision. She blinked them away as her vision became blurry. Looking up she saw Cassian, baring her fangs, she forced herself to her feet and dusted herself off. 

Cassian opened his mouth like he might try to say something, but ultimately, he just turned to Azriel and said, “Come on, Az, we have important work to do.”

It was to brush her aside. 

Important work, that isn’t you. He meant. 

Azriel nodded once, Cassian went out the door first, fists clenched but saying nothing else as his hulking frame disappeared into the darkness. 

Azriel, his hand caught the threshold, he sucked in a breath and looked over his shoulder, “You…

Nesta folded her arms neatly in front of her, as she tilted her head and watched him. 

“You could have just agreed.” He hissed, before leaving, slamming the door shut behind him. 

Nesta stared at the oak door, the hinges, the handle. She looked around. It was a large office. With a few chairs before a desk at the far side, walls lined with books of old, many of which were most likely older than her father. Possibly older than Rhysand. 

Would have been older than her father, she clarified in her own mind. 

She hummed. Taking in a breath, then another, then another shaking one. 

Nesta swallowed hard, she patted herself down. Trying to find something, anything, a distraction of any kind at all. 

The Archeron sister turned and saw a mirror. It was large and oval shaped, with a golden edging, real gold, pure and likely mined from before Rhysand was High lord. But Nesta did not focus on that. 

She stared at herself, at her dirty image. At the tattered cloak she wore, the thinness of her frame, the deep dark circles under her eyes, the oily slightly matted hair. And the points of her ears. 

She looked like back when they were in that cottage. Back in that weak body, back in those dirty clothes, back in that place that made sleeping, breathing, eating, thinking harder than it ever needed to be. 

Tears welled in her eyes. 

She became someone after that, when they were sent money, when they were given back their life originally taken from their father’s poor decisions. People knew her name, she was going to travel. She was going to finally see what a woman with money and a good name could do in this world. 

Now look at her, she lost everything again, and then some. 

Nesta shook. Tremors rippled through her body as tears on end poured from her eyes. She hugged herself as she fell hung over herself, falling to her knees. She cried and cried, putting a hand over her mouth as her wails became too loud to not be heard by outsiders. She sucked in harsh, short breaths that hurt her lungs and throat. A headache pounded, she felt herself go so weak. 

Everything was taken from her, stripped and destroyed. Her body was violated, broken, twisted and assaulted. Forced into something else. Tongue, teeth, eyes, all shredded, until there was nothing left to take. 

Those nights in taverns, out in clubs, it was high that reminded her of living. Reminded her body it was no longer destroyed, just different. 

But it embarrassed them. 

Nesta hugged herself tighter as her eyes squeezed closed, unable to stop herself from falling apart on the floor. 

The door creaked as it swung open. 

Netsa flung herself back, scrambling to stand, scrubbing her face with her hands, she tried to hide her face. But then her eyes caught onto the intruder. 

Amber. It bore into her. 

Eris stood there, face caught in an array of emotions. The shock of seeing her catching him completely off guard. 

He blinked multiple times, quickly closing his mouth, and bowing his head, “Lady Nesta.”

[artemis-73]

Suptober Day 14: Fave Episode

"…I need you to keep the faith, for both of us. ‘Cause right now, I… Right now, I don’t believe in a damn thing," Dean says, heartbroken eyes glimmering with tears.

Chuck hits pause. The shot holds on a closeup of Dean, so obviously changed by everything he's lost. With a thought, the lights in the movie theatre raise. "A perfect ending to the episode, right? All of Dean's angst and pain and suffering stewing in what was once a hopeful, bright-eyed and bushytailed kid. Him needing to lean on Sam. You love that, right?"

Becky hasn't moved. She's staring up at the screen with tears in her eyes. She looks back at Chuck. "What… No! What happens next? Does Cas come back? Does Mary?"

There's satisfaction in knowing that she's hooked on the story, even if she's being a little pushier than he'd like and is focused on all the wrong things. "Who cares? Mary's resurrection was Amara's failed experiment. I love my sister, but she's got no instinct for what makes a good story. And Cas? Cas should've been gone years ago. It's time for Dean to get over it. He's in the Empty, which is where he'll stay. Think of it as the cutting room floor. I can't see them; they can't see me. Come on. Let's focus on what matters: Lucifer's kid, huh? That's a fun villain."

Becky swipes at her eyes with shaking hands. "Jack?" she asks. "He's just a kid. He hasn't done anything wrong. He seems to really care about Cas, too. Maybe he can help Sam and Dean get Cas back."

"Enough about Cas!" The lights flicker, and the theater shakes. Chuck wishes he could find anyone else to be a part of his focus group, but Becky's the only one he can trust with all the lore. Sure, he doesn't always listen, but he has to know the rules before he can break them. "Now, Cas is gone for good. So let's talk about my outline for the rest of the season—"

"Wait," Becky interrupts, always so inconsiderate. "There's still a minute left in the episode."

Chuck whirls to face the screen. His little outburst must have jolted the electrical because below Dean's devastated face is the scrub bar with the episode length. It should only have a couple of seconds left, after all, there's no need for credits during a private screening with the Creator. Chuck is sure that when he cut the episode together, this was the last shot he chose.

But there's a still a minute and change left.

He scrambles for the remote. He has to know, even though he dreads what comes next. It has to be Amara. It has to be.

Dean's face twitches into action as he breaths raggedly for another second. Then it cuts to a shot of Castiel lying in a field. A familiar field.

"No, no, no, NO! I cut the meadow. I cut Dean spreading his ashes, and I cut Castiel."

Castiel stands in the sun, his smiling face tilted toward the sun, and then the episode ends, and the screen goes black. In the silence that follows, Chuck seethes. Bringing Cas back from the Empty would've taken some serious mojo. More than anyone but Amara has, but Amara doesn't care about the angel. She doesn't care about Dean, really. She wouldn't intervene. Maybe to spite—

"Jack," he breathes. He remembers the last episode when Jack overheard Sam and Dean's big knockdown drag out, and his eyes had glowed golden, and he'd said Castiel's name right before the episode ended. "It's impossible. He can't be that powerful already."

"Wait, so Jack saved his dad?" Becky is beaming because she has no taste.

"Shut up." Chuck snaps his fingers and sends her back to her boring life. He'll need to work through a couple drafts before bringing her back. He'd hoped for more time to pick her brain before wiping it again, but he has so much work to do.

Step One: Get rid of Jack.

Step Two: Get rid of Castiel.

[ranchracoon]

"Blood, Flesh, and Bones" Prologue

Master Post

Long ago we used to be worshiped. Before those claiming to be righteous and holy came; they burned our alters, raped our followers' minds, their bodies, and we were forgotten. Except for a few who continued to worship in secret but one by one they were found and burned in front of a false idol. Then there was one. Then there was you. 

"When I die, come here to this spot. Light a candle and repeat these words exactly as written. Bring something of mine, steal my ashes, and lay me here. Otherwise, I will never know peace. Remember dear, these are the ones you call to."

You were a little girl, only 6 or 7, when your grandmother told you this. It was the first day you went to church to take communion, and you rejected it; you turned it down so loudly that afterwards your father beat you until you accepted. You ran away to your grandmother's house just a couple blocks away and she tended to your black eye, your bruised wrists, and your fractured ribs. Then she took you out into the woods, deep where no one would see, no one would hear, and no one would find you. The elders, the priests, forbid going into the forest for they speak of evils beyond human imagination. Creatures that feast on those who wander, creatures of unholy nature. If they were to find you, you would be subjected to worst punishment than your father's beating. Yet here surrounded by trees, and whispers on the wind, you felt safe, not like in the church where you felt watched, scrutinized, and damned. For once, you are at peace. You grandma knelt in front of a stone with unknown writing on it, but she knew the words and she recited them to you. She assured you; they are not the ones to fear. 

You began that mantra, whispering those names and prayer you've committed to memory. It was time to accept the things they told you to ignore. You saw them in the corner of your eyes, shadows that loomed and disappeared when you acknowledged its presence. If you stared too long in a mirror or the river, you could see them on the outskirts of your vision. You heard the whistles, clicks, and whispers when you shut the windows at night. You repeated the names whispered to you when alone until you felt the words glued to your tongue.

Even now, twenty years later, your grandmother's words echo in the back of your mind as you walk her urn down the aisle amongst the pews of people. Little do they know what she has filled your head with, even as you set her urn on the table next to the priest, you tell yourself your mantra.  Since that day you've hated this church, hated your parents for forcing you here, but you played the role assigned to you. That's what your grandmother told you; be the perfect daughter, and one day the time will come when your faith will be rewarded. As you sit beside your smirking father, weeping mother, and fidgeting siblings you do not shed a tear. You will not cry here. The funeral goes as planned, people speak of stories because like you, your grandmother was a master of disguise. No one knew about the two of you sneaking off into the woods, and no one ever would. 

When the funeral ended, you pick at your dinner as your family scarfs it down like they are starving. Your father finishes first and his silverware clanks onto his plate, grabbing the attention of the table. He looks right at you with a wide grin. You would rather face a pack of ravenous wolves than be alone in a room with him.

"Well, now that dear granny is gone there's no one left to protect you." You don't bother looking away, you know he's right. Your grandmother was the only one who kept you and your siblings safe from his wrath and the archaic views this village holds, "and that means, tomorrow, I will go out and find a husband for you. You're almost 30, you should have been married off years ago like your brother. Ania, you better pretty yourself up. I don't have high hopes for your sister."

"Harold, Ania just turned 18, surely we can-" your mother begins. 

"Shut it!" He slams his hand onto the table making your mother and your siblings flinch back. 

Ania, your sister doesn't look up from her plate, she knew this day was coming the moment grandmother got sick. Farkus, your brother, is only a few years younger than you and got married to his high school sweetheart. He says nothing either, only reaches under the table to hold his wife's hand. You excuse yourself from the table and head toward your room where you lock and secure the door. It takes a few hours, but you know the routine; Farkus returns to his home, Ania is in bed shortly after dinner, your mother too, and your dad drinks himself into a sleep within two hours. Then you do exactly what you promised all those years ago. You had swapped your grandmother's ashes with dirt and bone bits from various animals, and her real ashes are tucked away under your bed. You take the plain box and escape through your window; you have secretly marked each trail you've taken. You cannot take the same trail numerous times, otherwise someone would catch on. 

You arrive to the stone, the whispers just outside your hearing guide you through the pitch-black night. You strike a match and light a small candle before burying your grandmother's ashes adjacent to the stone and beginning your prayer. The wind picks up and howls in your ears, but you continue your prayer, you bow your head and rest your forehead onto the dirt. There, for the first time, you hear them. The footsteps crunching on the fallen leaves, they are heavy, they are many, but you do not look up. You repeat the prayer until the footsteps stop right beside you, and you hear the heavy heaving of breathing. As you open your eyes and sit up on your heels, the creature is still there only as a shadow in the corner of your eye. You stare forward at the stone, at the mound where you buried your grandmother as tears unleash down your cheeks. 

"It's up to me now."

Chapter 1

[sublimecatgalaxy]

Cruel Summer; Part 1

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Kook!Reader

Summary: The reader comes in from out of town to OBX with her family when she bumps into JJ (quite literally) at a party which spurs an awkward family bathroom situation and a 'get to know you' conversation.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Flirting, swearing, mentions of drugs and alcohol, mentions of family death.

Song: "Bellyache" by Billie Eilish

A/n: This fic, by the time I post it, will have been two months in the making. I've been planning and writing it for about a month and I'm so happy that @tee-swizzle helped fuel the fire behind my passion for this character! I hope you guys love it, this is part 1 of 5.

The Outerbanks has always been like a fever dream. 

Warm amber skies, pristine blue ocean waves, green grass and flowering trees, seemingly perfect people. 

It seems that the tourists and the natives are all on the same page, just different parts of town come with different responsibilities and different roles in the socioeconomic hierarchy of the island. Some people get up to go to work their asses off all day, fishing, selling, participating in good, honest blue collar work; but others are trust fund babies, people who hit it rich and decided to buy a big fancy boat and a big luxurious house right on the water. Both are lucky to live there but there’s downsides to each, I’m sure. 

My family is… different.

My grandmother was a family woman. She and my grandfather would chalk up the money to take us to Outerbanks once a year, sometimes every other year depending on if money was tight. My grandfather worked with gears- creating and selling them- and he owned his own business and made an honest living so he was proud to spend it on his family for a nice vacation with his wife and loved ones. 

There were about twelve of us at the time; we’d all pack up our things and make the long journey down to the island with bright smiles on our faces and excitement bubbling in our veins. It was exciting- it was all I looked forward to as a child when school would come to an end in June. I just knew that if I counted down, made the two month paper chain, we would soon venture down to Nags Head to kick back for a few weeks.

When my grandfather died, the family went their separate ways and we didn’t go back on our little adventure for nearly a decade. It was heartbreaking to see my grandmother not even want to touch any of the money the love of her life left behind, money he wanted us to spend on spending time together in his favorite place, but it was just too much for her. And when she died and left a ton of money to my mom and stepdad, we knew exactly what we had to do to make both of them proud. 

We had a trip booked within a month after the funeral, planning to spread both of their ashes in their favorite places on the anniversaries of both of their deaths, which just happened to be one day apart by a decade.

Since we’ve been back we’ve done just that, scattered their ashes (with permission of course) and celebrated their lives as a family; just me, my sister Katie, my mom and step dad, all together under one roof. We’ve played games, gone shopping, gone to the beach (obviously) and overall just had a great time like we would’ve when Katie and I were younger. There is this lingering sadness, it’s no longer a group of us, we’re no longer being corralled by my grandma and grandfather and I kept help but sense this silence that just swarms around us which makes the blue skies look a little darker, the waves a little more violent and the heat a bit more harsh. 

“Are you having fun?” Katie yells loudly over the booming music, long hair whipping in her face as the beach wind blows against us, sending shivers down my spine. I should’ve brought a sweater. 

“Yeah, I’m having fun! Just thinking about how grandma and grandpa would not approve of us getting drunk under the age of twenty one with a bunch of people we don’t know.” Katie’s head tossed back in laughter as she grabs my hands in hers, urging me to sway with her to the music and I let her with a defeated smile. “Like it’s not exactly the safest thing to do.” She gives me a tired, deadpanned look and she reaches out to smack at my arm, disapproving of my caution that I always seem to be stuck with, even in situations like this where I’m supposed to be relaxing and letting loose.

“At least we’re not like the rest of our family, they barely go on any vacations anymore- they’re practically hermits.” I chuckle, letting her twirl me under her arm as my skirt flows in the wind. She’s not exactly wrong- there are pictures all over social media of their bland life, going to their nine-to-fives before coming home and drinking themselves into a stupor. I think that’s called depression but we’re not for technicalities in this family. “Gran and gram would be happy we’re living.” I smile foldly at her with a firm nod, knowing that my grandma would’ve loved the women that my sister and I turned into. We’re free spirits, just like her, taking leaps, smiling at strangers (especially those who are rude or mean), and we’re trying our best to carry on her legacy the best we can, with each other. 

“You’re right.” I fall into her arms, wrapping mine around her in a tight hug as she lets a sigh of relief escape her lips. “Oh that note, wanna do shots?” I ask, pulling a squeal of excitement out of her as she begins to jump up and down, clapping her hands like an excited child. 

“Now we’re talking!” She cheers, dragging in glances from those close to us and I feel my cheeks growing warmer at the unwanted but earned attention. “I’ve trained you well, young Skywalker.” She yells as I walk away, my eyes rolling at her overall silliness.

I sift through the crowd of people, bumping into teens left and right as I try not to stumble onto my ass,  and I can see the bar in sight. So close yet so far. There’s about twenty feet of sand and young adults between me and the bar and I can practically feel the cold steel but before I reach it, I feel a cold substance dump down the front of my shirt and a mess of blond hair in front of me.

“Oh my god, fuck-“ I look up at to see a blue eyed boy, probably my age, standing, shocked, in front of me with a wide eyed look on his face, cheeks reddening in embarrassment as he looks square at my chest, or more at the red drink he just dumped down my bra.  “You came out of nowhere.” Definitely should’ve brought a sweater. I’m still standing, surprised, looking at him with wide eyes as I try to think of what to say but nothing can come up but curse words.

“I’m sorry, shit!” I take a step away from him, going to escape and to deal with my awkward embarrassment elsewhere but the attractive stranger reaches out to wrap his fingers around my wrist seamlessly, pulling me back towards him as I gasp, hitting his chest with a firm thud. His eyes are kind and soft, hand reaching up in surrender to show me that he means no harm and, for some reason, I choose to believe him.

“Woah, woah woah- not so fast.” He nods in the direction of the bathrooms, silently offering to help me with the mess that he made and I take a leap of faith, nodding my head, allowing him to lead me hand in hand towards the bathrooms, away from the bar and my sister and the rest of civilization. Alone with a cute, random stranger… Maybe not the best idea to wander off with a random guy at a party but there’s something about him that just makes him so easy to trust.

“It’s fine, seriously, I’ll just go clean it off.” I call out to him as the noise from the party dies down and I jog ahead so I can turn around to look back at him with a shrug but he just looks down at my shirt and frowns.

“Let me help. I feel like a dick.” He pouts, reaching past me to hold the door open to the family restroom and I take one more look back at the party and, when I see Katie talking to a handsome guy, I decide to go ahead and step under the cute stranger’s arm into the bathroom without any questions. I hoist myself up into the vanity with a sigh, head thumping back against the mirror as I avoid looking at my ruined shirt, wondering how I’m supposed to clean up a red stain this big and have it actually come clean. “It’s my friend's drink anyway so I don’t care. I’ll get a new one when I come back from helping you clean up.” 

“My knight in not so shining armor.” I laugh nervously with a gentle blush, watching him pull a few paper towels out of the dispenser before handing them to me and I try to wipe it off but to no avail, the red drink seeping further into my tan shirt with every wipe without care and I look up at the blonde with a frown. He looks nervous, biting at his lip as he watches me rub at the cotton.

“You know it.” He laughs awkwardly, taking the paper towels from me, wetting them before handing them back to me. “What’s your name?” He asks finally, leaning up against the wall in front of me, kicking his leg back to rest on the tile with a dopey smile on his face.

“Y/n. Yours?” 

“JJ Maybank.” How cute. It matches him perfectly, his baby blue eyes and soft blonde hair- the fact that he’s so tall and handsome as hell- like a prince from a Disney Princess movie. Or maybe he’s more like the boy that the Princess falls in love with because he’s not a prince. “Nice to meet you, JJ Maybank.” I hold my hand out to him which he takes almost immediately, shaking it sternly with a bright, pretty smile on his lips. “Wish we could’ve met in different circumstances.”

“Nah, spilling a drink on a pretty girl is sort of par-for-the-course for me.” He blushes, reaching up to rub bashfully at the back of his neck, bicep tensing breathtakingly, and my brows pinch together in a teasing look of confusion, head tilting at him.

“Oh you have a habit of doing it?” I ask with a snicker, watching his face pale, his finger raising to point at me, stopping me before I can get the wrong idea.

“That’s not what I meant.” I giggle, slapping a hand over my mouth as he scoffs, reaching out to slap my knee. “Oh, so you’re funny?” He smiles sarcastically as he sends me a dramatic eye roll. 

After a few seconds of silence, both of our eyes flicker down to my shirt once more to address the elephant in the room and we both wonder for a moment as to how we can clean my shirt or find another one in the meantime. It isn’t until JJ’s pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it in my direction that I realize what his idea is. My jaw drops as I look down at the shirt in my lap, not appalled at all but instead incredibly more attracted to him. How chivalrous. 

“Take it.” He offers with flushed cheeks, leaning against the cold wall as I fight the urge to drift my eyes lower, seeing obvious and apparent abs in my peripheral vision as I desperately keep my gaze on his face. 

Fuck me, please. 

“Really?” I ask hesitantly, not sure if I should really just be taking a random person's shirt but I guess if it’s just out of the kindness of his own heart then… sure. He spins around on his heels, subtly offering me privacy as I slip out of my ruined shirt before throwing on his t-shirt that is definitely way too big on him which means it’s practically a dress on me. 

“Yeah, it’s not shocking for me to be lacking a shirt.” His head tilts back so he can stare at the ceiling with a chuckle and- I watch him, the way his jaw elongates into an michelangelo type curve, his shoulders, his back- he’s just sculpted- after a few moments, I give him the okay to turn around. His pupils seem to dilate in size the minute he sets eyes on me, and I can feel myself flushing just from his heated gaze. Stupid boys and their hormones.

“So you’re from here? Obviously, that was a stupid question.” I scoff at myself, reaching up to facepalm but he reaches out, fingers wrapping around my wrist to stop me with a bright smile, almost asking ‘how could you tell?’ He takes a step  towards me, almost stepping fully between my legs and I suck in a breath, trying my best to remember to breathe when all I want to do is just-

“Home sweet home, born and raised a pogue on the cut.” He shrugs proudly, arms fanning out as he bows dramatically and I give him a big round of applause which pulls a hearty laugh from him.

“I just learned that term not too long ago.”

“I was testing you, to see if you knew it. Most tourists don’t.” How could he tell I was a tourist? He winks, reaching out to pat the side of my thigh as he hops up onto the counter beside me, thigh pressing against mine and I suck in a much needed breath that I didn’t realize I was holding. What am I, twelve? Why can’t I just talk to this guy?

“We’ll I’ve been here a lot since I was younger so-”

“Honorary Kook.” He tips his hat to me with a shit eating smirk and he knocks me with his shoulder. 

“Not a Kook.” I start but he cuts me off with the clicking of his tongue in a playful tut.

“You sort of look like one.” He sighs and, though I can’t completely tell if it’s a compliment, the way he looks me over, getting a good look before meeting my gaze, makes me realize he meant it in all the best ways.  “Nice, expensive clothes, hell you can pay for the rental houses down here- that’s impressive.”

“I’m here with my family.” I huff, acting like that makes it any different but it doesn’t.

“Ah, a family of Kooks.” He says in a singsong voice but decides to cut me some slack by switching the subject after a moment of my defeated smiling. “Is that your sister you were with?”

“You were watching me prior to spilling a drink down my shirt?” I gasp, feigning shock as I press a hand to my chest, eyes widening at him as he suddenly flushes, face paling at his accidental confession and he nervously pulls his cap off to run a hand through his messy hair.

“That gave me away didn’t it?” He whispers with an awkward smile.

“Cutely, it did.” He laughs as I nudge him with my elbow, unable to maintain eye contact with him out of fear that I’ll explode from how damn cute he is. He’s so frustratingly handsome and funny and sexy- woah.

“How long are you down here for?”

“Three weeks. We got here a few days ago.” I offer, knowing exactly why he’s asking me and I feel overwhelmed with a new sense of excitement regarding this whole trip. Katie is going to hate me for abandoning her but she’ll understand when she sees him. 

“Damn, well…” He pauses, hopping down from the counter and his bashful gaze stays focused on the ground.  “Plenty of time for us to bump into each other huh?” His flirtatious offer makes me grin ten times wider, watching his hand reach out to take mine in his, pulling me back into him before I can escape from him, return to the party and not see him for the rest of the night. 

But after this interaction, I’ll look for him everywhere I go while I’m on this trip. 

“Guess so.” I smirk softly, reaching out to pat his shoulder with my free hand, not ignoring the dense, toned muscle beneath my fingertips. “You’re slick, I’ll give you that.” I laugh bashfully, looking down at his hand that still holds mine as I allow him to walk us towards the party. His thumb brushes gently across mine and I don’t miss the protective gaze in his eyes as he looks around, making sure we’re not only safe but that no one is giving us any eyes for us leaving the bathroom, him lacking a shirt and me gaining one. I can only imagine how this looks.

“I am a self proclaimed ladies man.” 

“Self proclaimed huh?” I ask, brows pulling together teasingly.  “I’ll back that up then.” He smiles excitedly then leans in towards me, lips brushing against the shell of my ear and I nearly trip over my damn feet at the feeling.

“I’m going to need to record you agreeing to that.” He whispers and I burst out in laughter, head tipping back as we reach the bar, his hand finally leaving mine, cold and empty, at my side.

“Hey JJ!” A pretty girl appears at our right about ten feet away and JJ pales and gives me an awkward smile before flagging the bartender down, ordering a quick drink before giving me his undivided attention once more. 

“Shit I gotta go. Kie was expecting that drink like twenty minutes ago. Baby gets grumpy without her bottle.” He pouts playfully and I chuckle before motioning in her direction, feeling an evident pit in the bottom of my stomach at the thought of him possibly being taken.

“Girlfriend?” I ask nervously but he shakes his head with a wicked, devilish grin.

“Single.” He nods sternly, head tilting cutely at me as he asks, “boyfriend?”

“Also single.” I shrug, backing away from him slowly as he processes the new information, eyes swimming with mischievous ideas already.

“Alright… See you around Kook!” He sends me a polite tip of his hat with a teasing smile and, in return, I send him my middle finger and a wink.

“Not a Kook!"