#and discovering another forbidden kid???

[melsun7]

Pov Thalia when she comes back to consciousness and the guy who was supposed to be her best friend turned to Kronos, committed numerous crimes (including POISONING HER TREE)

[sstarsalignn]

Forbidden

Synopsis ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

The new teaching assistant is too hot for his own good, distracting most of the girls in your class.You're not too bothered by him, he's just another pretty face- until you get pulled by him for failing the class. It's every girls wet dream, getting taught by the hot new teacher- and you find yourself slowly falling into a sickly sweet situation.

Warnings ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

Age gap, inappropriate touching, arguments, angst, eventual smut, obsession, hidden relationship, public sex.

Word count ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

2.9k

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I II III IV V

You’re going out. You’re not quite sure how you’ve let Molly drag you out, convincing you that you just need to drink a bit and clear up some head space from what’s been happening recently. Once you told her what had happened, and how you’d stopped again, she’d be adamant that you just needed to see what ‘competition’ was out there- aka, all the ‘ugly boys in town have nothing on Rafe’ and then you’d be okay shagging him.

“Do I look okay?” You ask her, standing in front of the mirror as she applies the final bit of her lipstick. Molly scoffs, rolling her eyes at you.

“Are you kidding? It’s any girls wet dream to look like you, yes you look okay.”

She finishes her lipstick and you take a step back, looking at your outfit one final time before you’re being dragged out of your apartment and to Ryan’s car outside. He doesn’t drink, you’ve discovered, so he’ll happily drop you and Molly off and pick you up once you’re finished. You both clamber into the back seat, adjusting your skirt once you’re sat and listening to Molly talk her boyfriends ear off.

It’s not long before he pulls up at the side of the road, wishing you both a fun time as Molly is practically dragging you out of the car and into the bar right next to it. It’s Friday night, loud, lots of people pushing around and you eye the crowd.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” You yell over the music, as Molly looks over at you, gaze hardened. She’s still got her hand wrapped around your arm as she drags you up to the bar, waiting to be served.

You have a look around. There’s plenty of guys here who aren’t that bad looking, yet you’re just not interested. Molly hands you a glass of something that you don’t bother to question as she leads to over to a table in a far corner, a bit further away from the crowds. You take a seat, face crinkling when you take a sip of your drink and it’s straight vodka.

Molly giggles at you spluttering, taking a sip of her own drink. “So, you need to tell me more about Rafe. You can’t just tell me you’ve kissed him and think I’m okay not knowing more,” she leans forward on the palm of her hand.

“It literally was just a kiss, Mol. He touched me a little but I froze up before he could do anything else,” she nods, staring at you like she’s expecting more.

“Go on,” she says, and you’re not quite sure what else she wants from you, so you say the only thing that comes to mind.

“When I told him to stop, he turned 60 degrees on me, like he thought I regretted it or something,”

Molly takes another sip of her drink. “Doll, that man is totally obsessed with you! Of course he’s gonna be upset when you tell him to stop something he thought you were both enjoying.”

You were enjoying it, you think- the way you reacted to him would tell you exactly that. You can’t, though, get it out of your head that he’s your teacher.

“I don’t know Mol, it just seems weird because he’s our teacher,” she raises an eyebrow at you.

“Teaching assistant. Maybe that’s what’s stopping you, the thought of shagging a teaching assistant even though he’s hot,” the crowd gets especially loud after her statement and you look up, half expecting everyone in the bar to be listening in and judging you- but they’re just watching some sport on the tv.

You sigh, swirling your straw in your drink as you think about it. If that’s the bit that’s holding you back, then how do you get around it? Molly reaches over the table, grabbing your hand.

“Girl, don’t worry. Tonight I’m gonna convince you that it’s okay to shag him, hand on heart,” she smirks at you, raising her glass and clinking it against your own. The notion brings a smile to your face.

So far, Molly has had a great time convincing you that all the other guys in town aren’t worth your time- and so far, it’s working. You’ve had three guys try their luck and each time, you’ve turned them down.

You’re sat in the fifth bar of the night, feeling a little tipsy from whatever Molly has been passing you to drink, and you’re actually enjoying yourself. You're thinking more and more about Rafe- about how he looks, how he smells, how he acts.

It’s confusing you, you’ll admit- you’re not sure what exactly it is about him that makes you so nervous. You’re not grabbing for his attention like everyone else in class- yet you find yourself slowly wishing to see him more and more. You’re not quite sure what to make of those feelings, or how to even put them into words for Molly to give you advice.

Five minutes later, Molly comes back from the bathroom, phone in hand. “I’m so sorry babe, I’ve got to go- Ryan’s had a bit of an emergency.” You nod your head, downing your drink with her before hugging her goodbye. She turns to leave, before turning back to you.

“Are you gonna get home okay?” She asks, and you swallow, standing on shaky legs. You’re a little more drunk than you thought.

“Yeah- I- I should be fine,” you muster out, smiling at your friend. She raises an eyebrow, contemplating, before giving you a kiss on the cheek and rushing out the bar.

You decide to wait a few minutes before exiting yourself, pushing the bar door and being blasted by the cold night air. It makes you regret wearing so little, as you pull your phone out of your bag and opening Uber.

Molly is already long gone, the sidewalk littered with other drunk people. It’s currently seven o’clock, already dark- and people are drunk. You scoff, realising you’re just as bad as everyone else.

You stand, looking at the prices to go to your home when an idea pops into your head. Campus is still open, and most of the teachers stay late on Friday so they don’t have to work weekends.

You could, in theory, go see Rafe. While you’re not level headed- while you’re not thinking straight, because you’ll be able to speak easier and maybe even move a little further with him.

Maybe. Maybe doesn’t stop drunk you from selecting your building on campus, and climbing inside the Uber when he pulls up in front of you. You hiccup as the Uber pulls away, and he looks at you through the rear view mirror.

“Fun night love?” He asks and you smile.

“Yeah, not been bad,”

He clears his throat, turning onto the Main Street that leads to campus. “And you’re headed to the university now? Why’s that?”

You smile again, looking down at your nails. “I’m going to see my boyfriend, he’s working late,”

The words fall from your lips and you don’t even mind them, drunken stupor fueling you along. The driver nods as he pulls into the campus, navigating the windy roads before you see your building and he pulls into the car park. You thank him as he stops and he wishes you a goodnight as you shut the door and watch him drive away.

You breath out, wrapping your flimsy little cardigan around you as you turn to face the building. You’ve no time for normal thoughts as you see Rafe’s classroom light is on and you grin, slightly stumbling as you walk towards the front doors of the building.

The hallways are quiet, apart from the clicking of your heels as you make your way towards the door of your class. You’re thinking about all the possibilities, all the outcomes of what might happen. You know you’re tipsy, but you’d remember every second of tonight.

You hiccup, giggling as you think about Rafe’s biceps, hand hovering above the handle of the door, when you finally look through the little window on the door.

And your heart stops. You think this is the fastest you’ve sobered up, blinking your eyes a few times to make sure you’re seeing what you’re seeing. It’s not a mirage. No smoke screens.

Rafe’s sat in his chair, legs spread, chin resting on the palm of his hand as Kendra sits cross legged on his desk, holding something out of your view. You can see her twirling her hair around her finger, and Rafe laughs at something she says. You can’t swallow. You breathe out, shallow and ragged, the all too familiar feeling of bile rising in your throat.

Why does this bother you so much? Why do you want to cry, want to scream, want to rip her head off her shoulders? You’re not sure.

You’re frozen on the spot, watching as she pushes his shoulder back and he swings around in his chair, smile on his face. You’re locked onto the two of them, unable to shift your eyes- until you see the smile drop from Rafe’s face, his eyes gazing directly back into your own. Kendra turns, looking at what Rafe is looking at, and when she sees you, she smirks.

Like she’s proud.

“I won, bitch,” she mouths, and you finally unfreeze. A tear slips down your cheek and you’re mad you’re crying over a guy you’ve kissed once. Once. And he started it. That, somehow, makes it worse. You turn, setting a quick pace back down the hall. You hear the door open behind you, barely, but nothing else when your ears are ringing this loud.

Why is it bothering you that much? Why?

You swing the front doors of the building open, out into the cold, which has started a spout of pelting rain, really adding to the way you feel. Your ears are blaring at you as you walk down the sidewalk, pulling your phone out of your bag and tapping the screen, ordering an Uber to pick you up at the end of the block.

A hand reaches for you, grasping your arm and spinning you. It’s Rafe, to your displeasure, saying something to you. His mouth is moving, but you’re not hearing him.

“Will you just stop? It’s not what it looks like,” you make out and you scoff, ripping your arm from his grasp. You shrug, ignoring the way you want to cry, trying to act indifferent. You should have known better.

The ringing subsides as you continue to walk down the sidewalk, hearing Rafe’s footsteps behind you, his voice sounding like background noise. You turn.

“I’m not bothered about what you’re got to say, to be honest. You can go,” you say, turning around again. You can see your Uber from where you are and you speed up a little, hoping to make it to the car before you’re completely soaked.

“Look- let me explain, please,” he all but begs, and you’re sure you can hear the desperation in his tone. You don’t give him the pleasure of seeing your face crumple, wanting to give in.

“I don’t care Rafe. It’s not like we’re together, you can see who you want.” You reach your Uber and feel his fingers slide against your arm, leaving a tingle- but you’re too quick, opening the door and sliding inside the backseat, telling the driver you’re ready to go.

When you’re pulling away, you look over your shoulder out of the window to see him still stood in the rain, watching the car pull away.

You can’t believe you could have been so stupid. How could you have not seen? It should have been so obvious to you, so fucking obvious- but you were gullible, stupid. You let yourself believe tonight that he wanted you, and for the first time, you knew you wanted him too.

The Uber pulls up outside your estate and you thank the driver, using your card to get into the side gate as you walk around to your flat. With shaky hands, you open the door and are greeted by whiskers, who meows at you from the hallway table. You smile down at him, scratching between his ears.

“You’re the only guy who won’t let me down, huh?” He blinks up at you slowly as you sigh, giving him a final scratch before dropping your keys into the bowl and taking your heels off, padding down the hall.

Whiskers follows as you head into your bedroom, taking off your soaked clothes and wrapping yourself in a towel to dry off, finding some old clothes to change into.

You chuck your phone onto your bed, taking a seat on the edge. Your head falls into your hands, breathing deeply as the scene flashes through your mind again. And again. And again.

Even when you try to sleep, it plays. Kendra’s mocking words haunt you, even in deep sleep- and you wake up in the morning, feeling heavy. Despite the lack of good sleep, you get up, getting yourself ready for work.

You feed whiskers, wishing him a good day before leaving the house. You see a flash of red on your doorstep and you back up, pulling your key from the lock.

Red roses. A dozen, along with a box with a bow on the top. They’re wet, a card stuck in the top of the roses soggy as you pick them up and read the card.

All it says is sorry, but somehow, you know who they’re from- and it makes you wonder how he knows where you live. Or how he got in. You scoff, walking down your front path to the bin and chucking it all in, before unlocking your car and heading to work.

It’s a slow day in the coffee shop, despite it being a Saturday. You’re exhausted, messing up orders and just being overall clumsy. Lots of familiar faces come and go, and you hate seeing people you know when you’re at work.

You’re stood at the counter, drawing up some signs for some new treats when the bell above the door chimes.

“Welcome in, what can I get for you?” You ask, out of instinct, not looking up as you finish the last parts of the last sign.

“I’ll have a black coffee and your number, please,” you recognise the voice and flutter your eyes up, to see Tobey stood at the counter, smiling down at you. You blush, processing his order.

“Six dollars, please,” he plucks his wallet from his pocket and hands you a twenty, and you give him his change before making his coffee. When you hand it to him, he inspects the cup before looking back at you.

“My order is wrong,” he says, and you furrow your eyebrows, confused. “Oh? How so?”

He grins down at you. “I haven’t got your number yet.”

You roll your eyes, turning around to slot the sign into the baking tray with the right sweets. “Have a nice day, Tobey,” you sigh, picking the tray up and walking it over to the big display. You don’t hear the door bell again and glance over to see him watching you.

You observe him back. He’s not bad looking, dark brown hair falling in a neat fringe over his forehead, green eyes and a fairly sharp jaw. Today, he’s wearing some sweats and a hoodie, different from the jeans you remember last time.

You sigh, walking back to the counter and looking up at him expectantly. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah. Let me take you out,” he responds straight away, taking a sip of his coffee. He smiles, holding it out. “This is good, thank you.”

You’ll admit, this is a different side to him from what you saw in class that time. Yeah, he’s still as persistent, but he’s been nicer about it this time.

“I don’t know,” you begin, trailing off as you stare out of the window, images of last night flashing through your head again. It angers you, pisses you off, to even think about thinking about it.

“Cmon, just one? If you don’t like it, then fair enough. I’ll back off.” He tells you, running a hand through his hair. You weigh out your options, contemplating what could happen. And then you remember last night again.

“Okay, what the hell. I’ll give you my number and you can pick me up sometime.”

Note ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

Helloooooo 🫶🏻 sorry this took me so long I’ve been at work 😪 anyway, I’ve just watched the new Noah beck movie, Sidelined, and was wondering if any of you guys would be interested in me writing something for Rafe inspired by that? Love yas, let me know what you think 🥰

Check out a teaser for a new series here <3

Tags ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

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Just forbidden

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[theorphicangel]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 | 𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

wc: 2.2k

tags: heian era!sukuna, true form! sukuna, reader is a villager and wears a kimono, gn!reader, mentions of cannibalism (brief), eventual fluff, strangers to lovers??, threat of death, reader has a sense of humor, reader risks life for a peach (real),

synopsis: stumbling in a random field, the gods have granted you the luxury of discovering a rare peach tree and it's all yours for the takings. at least that's what you're mistaken to think before you're confronted by the king of curses himself. coming close to death, you're forbidden to ever return.

it's just a shame you're incapable of listening to rules.

part one | part three | bonus scene

Part 2: Committing the sin

“...And I told him to stick his peaches where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“And then what?!”

“Well, he was so shocked that I spoke to him in that manner and his jaw fell wide open. Then I told him that I wasn’t scared of him and informed him that the tree was public property.”

“What did he say back?” Multiple sets of eyes peer into your face with eagerness and pure excitement. 

You pause for a moment –  for dramatic effect. With a deep breath, you speak again.

“He said, ‘do you not care for your life?’

“What did you say back?! What did you tell him?!” A dark haired child rose in front of you, his eyes wide. 

“I said I wouldn’t regret dying after tasting those appetizing peaches, so if he killed me right there and  then I would nonetheless be happy and satisfied.”

The children sit in a small circle around you, some expressing their glee aloud as their faces were filled with awe of your encounter with the king of curses.

“I squared up to him, unafraid to fight and he walked away first.” You let out a laugh. “His tail was between his legs like a dog,  I doubt he’ll ever come back to that tree!”

“Does he actually have a tail?” a child asked. 

“I thought he had 6 arms.” another child spoke, curiosity filling their tone. 

“I thought he had 9?!”

“No, there was no tail. The king of curses only has 4 arms and really ugly eyes.”

“How many?”

“Four!” You reply and you giggle as the children shudder. “All the better to see you with, I think. Very scary.”

One child says, “I don’t ever want to see him!”

“He’s a monster!” Another spoke. 

“Well, you won’t ever meet the monster if you all promise to obey your parents and not misbehave?”

They nod diligently, hanging onto your every word. One by one they disperse, breaking off into their own stories about the king of curses now based on the new information you had told. 

Among them, your eyes fell upon Miko. She stood alone, waiting for the others to drift away before speaking. You’ve known her to be the shyest girl in the village, with the other kids she doesn’t seem to speak or interact. You usually find her off on her own in the corner, playing on her own in a corner. 

Recently, you’ve taken her under your wing. Whilst her parents work away in the village, you made sure that not all of her hours are spent entirely alone. Interacting with her, you take her along with you on your errands or play along with her games. Even in your company she’s still a quiet kid but you don’t mind as long as she has someone to be with. 

She waits until the majority of children have gone, their conversation too loud to overhear her question. It slips out so quietly you almost think you’ve missed it but you manage to read her lips. 

“Can you get me one?” Miko looks down at her sandals, shy and timid.

You hum, wanting to know what she’s referring to. 

“A peach.” She speaks again, her small lips moving. Again her voice is quiet and her eyes are glued to the ground. “Could you get me one?”

Your heart yearns at the sight. You knew all too well that her family doesn’t have much. They barely manage to get the bare necessities monthly, so the simple act of indulging in the taste of a sweet ripe peach wouldn’t just be a luxury but equate to rich reward for her entire family and their hard work.

Crouching, you meet her eyes. 

“If you’re not scared of the king of curses could you do it?” She mumbles. “If you’re sure that he won’t come back.”

A small part of you hesitates, maybe your exaggeration went too far. The truth of the story weighs heavy in your gut and a part of you considers confessing your dishonesty. But just one glimpse into Miko’s warm coffee eyes and you melt again. You couldn’t break her heart and say no. It would kill you.  

Your gut churns as you mull over your answer. 

There was no part in your body capable of telling her ‘no’ so the corners of your lips flip up into a smile. 

“Of course, I can.”

/

The king of curses is away at battle. For the next two weeks to be presumed. 

Him and his army traveled past the village, heading down with their carts and horses. Obviously, you weren’t present and chose to  hide away to watch from afar. Even from a large distance you couldn’t help but feel his presence, his overwhelming aura seeping into every crevice of your skin.

But at least now you had your chance.

Just one week after his departure, you gained up the courage to return to the forbidden peach tree. You’d hope no one would be present at the estate, perhaps a few servants here and there, but you doubt they would commit to the long walk to the edge of the estate for a mere peach tree.

With a large basket in hand, you set out as early as you could, the sunrise warming up your cheeks. Rays of orange and red mix in the sky, the sunlight fixing its spot in the blue summer sky. 

You retrace your steps you had previously taken a few weeks prior, straying away from the original path. Again, the grass blades tickle at your ankles. Certain that the king of curses has disappeared, you take your time through the field watching as different species of birds fly over your head and how the bees keep obedient to their flowers, collecting their sweet nectar. 

Soon the shadow of the tree comes into view. 

At first glance it seems to be unchanged, however a new difference you picked up on is the range of new peaches available. With adrenaline running, you don’t hesitate to pluck the peaches, multiple at a time. In a span of five minutes your basket is already half full, emerging from your task. You start with the peaches which are easier to reach before dealing with the dreadful task of resorting to your tippy toes.

Before you know it, your eyes are caught once upon a scarlet red peach, perfectly ripe and round. Of course you have to get it, this one would be especially for Miko you think.

The only problem which rose was that the peach was located on the highest branch, straining, it was only a few inches away from your fingertips.

“Almost—” you strain, your tongue pokes out the side of your mouth.

“Seems like insolent fools never learn.”

A rough voice echoes into the distance at the exact moment that you manage to pluck a peach from the highest branch.  At the sound of a gruff tone,  a shiver runs up your body and the peach falls from your hand, dropping to the grass and rolling away.

Just as you felt previously, a menacing aura came over you, washing over your body like a heavy tide. Your temperature drops and your mind freezes, his ever so familiar aura now hitting you like a slap to the face. 

Of course, you turn to find the king of curses standing behind you. Tall and treacherous, you cower away, dropping to your knees.

He’s back. One week earlier than expected. 

Bowing your head, your mind runs over the brutal image of his appearance. Blood stains over his body and skin, dry of course and scars litter his chest, shirtless in front of you. 

“I thought I warned you to stay away, did I not?”

You clear your throat before speaking, your voice shakes. “You did, my lord.”

“So why did you not heed my warning? Do you wish death upon yourself?”

“No my lord, I-” you cut yourself off, searching for words which fail to leave your lips. Your hesitation and silence only seems to aggravate Sukuna.

“Speak.” He orders.

“I wanted to bring peaches back for the villagers.”

Sukuna doesn’t speak again. Trembling, you keep your eyes down onto the grass. He must be eyeing your basket right now.

You were definitely going to die. This was it. You had gotten away with it before and by the gods he was not going to let you leave alive again. 

The king of curses wouldn’t make that same mistake twice. 

Suddenly you find your chin in his palm and he forces you to look up at him. His eyes are cold and deadly. No ounce of human empathy or compassion lingers in his pupils. 

“You wanted to bring some peaches back for the villagers.”

You nod, a quiet whisper leaving your lips. “Yes.”

“Pathetic.” He spat.

From then on you expected to feel some form of pain. You have heard multiple stories about his brutal killings, simply decapitating limbs of people without a single care. Some people say it’s best to be killed right away by the King of Curses rather than his cruel method of allowing his victims to bleed out and die slowly.

Your body freezes to expect a pinch of pain, a stab, a slice – anything, anything at all yet it doesn’t seem to hit you. Tilting your head upwards ever so slightly you notice a wound on the right side of his torso. . Blood, freshly red, drips down his side, staining his skin and clothes. 

“You’re injured.” It comes out as a murmur, pathetic and weak. 

Sukuna says nothing more as if he hadn’t heard you in the first place. You bow your head deeper, almost ashamed for pointing it out. Perhaps it would come across that you intercepted the King of curses as weak. A king having a deep wound is something that he wouldn’t want others to know. 

But— you could still use it as some sort of excuse. 

“It’ll get infected.” You speak again, gaining more confidence in your tone. “If you don’t clean it up soon.”

“I have taken care of it.” Sukuna speaks. “It’s just a scratch.“

You let out a scoff. “Barely, you’re bleeding out heavily.” 

“What’s it to you? It has nothing to do with you.” He snaps, his tone rising. 

“I have a speciality in helping people with wounds and illnesses. I could help you.” You raise your head slightly at your offer. You outstretch your hand towards his blood drenched clothes. 

“I do not like to be touched, I will heal myself.” 

You glance up at the king of curses, studying his face. For the first time you sense a feeling of exhaustion within Sukuna’s eyes, heavy lidded and tired. The king of curses was on the verge of passing out.

“I could help you–”

“I don’t need help from a thief.”

“A thief!?”

“The tree is on my property is it not?”

“I–”

“And this is the second time you have been caught stealing, correct?”

“My lord—”

“Correct?” His tone is rough, cutting you off with a sharpness that causes goosebumps to appear on your body. 

You say nothing, looking down at your feet. You can feel his eyes bore into you. “Pathetic human.” He mumbles.

You swallow, saying nothing more. Your hands turn into fists by your side. Just from your expression and energy Sukuna  feels your growing anger with every second that passes.

All of a sudden, the band snaps and you can’t hold in your emotions anymore. The next time you speak, you refuse to cover up your venomous tone.  

“And you’re just as pathetic as me if you can barely heal your own wound. You call yourself the king of curses for what?”

A silence comes after your words, not even the sound of rustling trees or tall grass can be heard. It takes no longer than a second for you to feel deep regret for your words. Similar to your first ever encounter with the king of curses, the fear of death looms upon you. 

If you thought he wouldn’t kill you the first time then he definitely will now. 

You await the moment for him to strike you. A pinch of pain, a slice, a beheading or even a stab to your stomach. Anything to disperse you as soon as possible. 

Instead of a violent action, he chooses to speak again with a challenging invite.

“So how would you suggest you would heal me?”

Did you hear him right?

You stammer, words failing to leave your mouth. “To heal you?”

He stares at you in contempt, “You said you knew how to take care of wounds, do you not?”

“I do.” 

“So…?” Sukuna raises a brow.

Your mind searches for a solution, malfunctioning under his venomous gaze. 

There’s a stream nearby, I could guide you to it so you can clean it.”

A pause.

“Where is this stream you think of?”

“Over there.” You point behind him.

“So be it.” He speaks in a gruff tone. “Lead the way”

You manage to get your feet whilst succumbing to a daze.

How have you managed to escape the punishment of death a second time from the King of curses?

Glancing behind you, the basket of peaches tempts you. There would be no point in taking it and running, you knew that he could kill you in an instant. The plump peaches would have to wait, for now you have to focus on surviving Sukuna.

You leave the basket behind.

thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

lmk if you would like to be tagged for part three!

[threewaywithdelusion]

Can we talk about how tightly written the themes are in Lady Midnight?

~~~ SPOILERS ~~~~

Malcolm is the perfect villain for Emma and Julian, because he’s a foil to both of them. When we meet Emma, she is entirely devoted to finding her parents’ killer and getting revenge. The only thing keeping her grounded is the relationships she has with Julian, the kids, and Cristina. She has her Wall of Crazy and multiple times considers placing her need for revenge above other considerations (investigating faerie deaths being illegal, the fact that she could endanger Julian’s attempts to get Mark back, etc).

Malcolm is Emma in another world. Emma where revenge became her be-all end-all. Her dark mirror.

Malcolm is also a foil to Julian. He’s a liar and a ruthless man who will do anything for the one he loves. Once the Blackthorns discover the murders are caused by someone trying to bring their love back from the dead, Julian immediately feels kinship with the killer. He says that if it were Emma who was dead, he would do the same. Julian isn’t driven by revenge the way Emma is, but his loyalty is just as dangerous. Julian is also playing a part the way Malcolm is — pretending that Uncle Arthur is running the Institute — but unlike Malcolm, he has not become completely severed from his true self. Not yet.

So both Emma and Julian can see the worst parts of themselves in Malcolm and both can empathize with his motivations. And that’s before we throw the forbidden love thing into the mix. In the first book, neither Emma nor Julian know about the parabatai curse. They both think their love is only forbidden by law, the way Annabel Blackthorn’s love for a downworlder was forbidden by law. Julian keeps thinking this for another whole book.

More than any of the other series, the Dark Artifices is about the interaction of love and law and government. About Aline choosing to be exiled with Helen and Mark’s relationship with a faerie prince and a Shadowhunter girl (being forced to choose whether he is a Shadowhunter or a faerie and eventually picking both). But especially with Emma and Julian, their story — their fear of discovery, the way they know their relationship is taboo, the close childhood friendship that became love — parallels Malcolm’s story almost exactly.

He is a warning of who they can become if they lose each other, and simultaneously a warning of who they become if they cleave to each other too tightly and put their love above all.

[b33zlebubz]

Ingydar | light

joel miller x reader | mdni 18+ | ao3

previous | next

tags: reader uses she/her pronouns, blood gore and death, mentioned cannibalism, sexual tension, frostbite/hypothermia, amputation, everyone is touch-starved

You're a loner in the woods. A ghost story to the kids, a tale of caution to the hunters. A rumor of smoke on the mountain and a glow between the trees. Joel Miller finds himself tangled up in your story and slowly discovers that you're not nearly as dangerous as you've made yourself out to be.

Joel’s breath fogs out into the chill of the winter air in heavy clouds as his eyes scan the white of the valley below.  If he thought everything was dead before, he was wrong.  The storm seems to have brought on a whole new stillness to his home; trees choked in white, branches broken and buried.  Ice coated thick over layers of snow.  The sun is out now, bright and bleak in the baren, pale-blue sky.  It irritates his eyes.

Not a thing moves, not even the wind.  As if time itself is frozen stiff.  There’s just the steps of the horse underneath Joel’s feet and the quiet breathing of Ellie in front of him, wrapped in blankets to keep the worst of the chill off until they get back to Jackson.  Warmth radiates off her skin in waves, no doubt a fever. 

He’s tired.  More so than he’s been in weeks.  He should tell off Ellie for what she did, though a part of him supposes it's his fault she snuck out.  At the worst possible time, of course, tired of being cooped up by his orders.  Another line in the long list of reasons Ellie might want him gone, he thinks.

He’s got too much on his mind.

His hands are still red and numb with early frostbite, though the warmth you supplied him with helped ease some of the bone-deep ache on his knuckles.  His face still stings from the intensity of the snow whipped at his face all night, but he’s almost certain Ellie is worse off; if her sneezing and shivering is any clue.

Still, it never stopped her from talking.

“She seems nice,”  she pipes up suddenly.  High voice rough and nasally with illness.  “A little feral, maybe, but nice.”

Joel sighs hard and heavy.  He realizes he could only hide his visits with you for so long, and he can feel the teasing coming on before it even begins. 

“‘Been around here a while.  Don’t think she likes much company.”

“Well she seemed pretty welcoming for you,”  Ellie comments, tilting her head back to look at Joel.  “You been busy, huh?”

Joel stays silent.  Ellie leans into him, smiles, and he tries not to notice.  Tries not to acknowledge the unexpected embarrassment that creeps up his spine, like he’s been caught in the middle of something forbidden.

“Your silence speaks volumes, Joel.”

He sighs again, “it’s just hunting.  ‘Been showing me some spots in exchange for pot, that’s all.”

She rolls her eyes,  “oh, but when I go smoke weed with girls—”

“Ellie.”

“Alright, alright,”  She huffs a laugh.  Joel finds himself envying her strange ability to find humor in anything, even when her face is still pink with hypothermia and hands clutch shakily at the blanket around her.  She elbows his side gently through the blankets.  “Just teasin’ you.  Sheesh.”

He only grunts, and there’s a few moments of blissful quiet before she speaks again.

“Should bring her to town sometime,”  Ellie offers.  “Considering she’s probably not eating people, if you’ve been hanging around her.”

He doesn’t reply.  Not when her words rub him unexpectedly wrong.  Not when the image of you consoling Ellie the night before still fills his mind, like at one point you might’ve once been gentle.  Loving.  Something not so clipped, cold, and untouchable.  The smile you offered him before he left—tired, but warm—lingers heavy in his head.  Not something you’d flash just anyone, not something fleeting.

Something of trust.  Something of attachment.  Something not like you at all.  Or, at least, the version he’s gotten to know.

It sticks with him more than he’d like.  Like a dream his brain just won’t let go, it sits in the background of his thoughts like thick syrup.  Draws him in to you, makes him want to go back even when he just left.  See that smile again.

He doesn’t reply, but he lets the idea fester in his mind anyway.

***

Joel’s visits become more frequent, after that first night.

He shows up uninvited, usually.  Sitting at your desk or working on something random that needed done around the lookout.  Oftentimes you'd hike up and catch him cutting firewood, organizing your shed, or breaking the ice off your steps from the chill the night before.  You even caught him chasing one of your escaped chickens down, one afternoon.

You’d make dinner.  Eat.  Sometimes drink or smoke, but always talk.  Well into the night, sometimes, until laughing and talking turned into huffed breaths into his mouth.  Pressed against the counter or the softness of the bed.  Sometimes, even still at the table. 

Neither of you talked about it, really.  Just an exchange of services.  Fleeting warmth in long cold.  He was always gone by morning, and you never held it against him. 

Until one day he isn't. 

The morning is hazy.  Soft, as you breathe and turn over in bed to the sound of the fire crackling and the birds chirping outside.  Golden sunlight floods in through a crack in the heavy curtains and falls over the one remaining blanket on your bed.  The others have been kicked off over the course of the night, likely strewn across the floor in favor of the dying fire and the warmth of the body next to you.

As usual, Joel’s already awake.

He stirs, just a little, whenever you shift under the covers.  Throws a heavy arm over your waist and tugs you closer just as your eyes flutter open.  You doubt he’s even fully awake as he presses a soft kiss to the muscle behind your shoulder, another against your spine.

The warmth that floods your mind knowing he stayed surprises even yourself.

“Morning,”  you murmur, voice hoarse, and you barely get a grumble back before he’s shifting again.  Running his hand over the curve of your waist, burying his face into your shoulder.  He’s hard again, and he nudges your legs apart to make room for it, the insatiable bastard.

You hum softly, closing your eyes.

“Sleep well?”  He mumbles, kissing the word into your skin.  You sigh at the feeling and the gentle pulse it shoots between your legs, weak from last night’s excitement.

“Yeah,”  you answer.  Sleep came much easier, these days.

He grunts quietly as he slides himself into you once more.  He’s much more gentle, now, than he had been whenever you started sleeping together.  Movements slow and tender.  It makes your breath rougher than anything he pulled from you before, makes you clutch the pillow harder under your head.  He keeps kissing you, slow and soft, up your neck and back down again.  You grunt quietly, barely a breath, and he shushes you gently.  Pulls you closer, runs a comforting hand through your tangled hair.

Your orgasm comes quick, but it's quiet.  Easy.  Warm.  Washes over you in gentle, dizzy waves instead of the tsunami of feeling from nights before.  He pulls out with a breath, running his member in long, sticky strokes up and down your lower back.  You doubt you’d be able to get pregnant, between his age and the state this winter has left your body, but you both stay careful anyway.

You run your hand back through his hair, fingers scratching his scalp, and he groans into your skin as he spills against your back.  Relaxes into you.  You both bask in the silence, in the quiet, for a few moments.  Whenever you finally shift away, go to grab a washcloth, he grunts softly.

“You alright?”  You murmur.

“Come home with me,”  he whispers, for the second time, as if the orgasm pulled the very four words from his chest.  Come home, he says, as opposed to the hesitant come down he offered you before.  As if you already lived there.  As if you somehow already integrated with civilization, already shared a place with him and his family.  A subtle change in tone, but a change nonetheless.

Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

Maybe it’s the sex clouding your foresight, the warmth or the exhaustion, but your mouth runs before you can stop it.

“Okay,”  you sigh into his skin.  “I’ll come.”

***

Jackson is an intimidating thing.  Always has been, probably always will be.  Billowing smoke from campfires and repaired H-VAC.  Electricity that pumps a warm haze between the mountains at night, visible from miles in any direction.  People always filtering in and out of the gates.  Some stay, others pass through within several days.  Or weeks.  Months.

Up close, it's bigger than you thought. 

Wooden walls tower high above your head as you wander in at Joel’s six, Ingydar underneath you.  Your heart thunders loud in your ears as, immediately, a commotion stirs at Joel’s return.  Guards hustle to and fro, confused.  Rightfully so, you suppose.  You’d be disoriented too if the town contractor came back unannounced with an urban legend in tow.

The guards are startled.  Reluctant.  High-strung as Joel calls out and they open the gates, clutching guns tight to their chest.  Two raise their weapons, keeping them trained on you.  A simple precaution, but instinct makes you spring your rifle up, anyway.

Joel immediately sputters, batting the muzzle of your weapon off-target,  “easy.”

Despite the tightness in your throat, you do as you're told, forcefully lowering the weapon to your lap.  Keeping it in a vice grip, fingernails picked down to the point of pain.

You’re quick to realize they have a system for newcomers.  A cordycep test, first and foremost, a little device with a needle before you even reach the gates.  It aches where they prod you with it, leaving your arm stiff at your side.  After proving you’re clean, they reach for your weapons.

“Fuck you,”  you growl, nearly interrupting a poor Tommy, who actually flinches at your tone.  Rightfully so, after how you had reacted upon speaking to him for the first time.  A guard is quick to step in, expression tightening, barely opening her mouth before Joel steps in front of you.

“It's just protocol.”

You grind your teeth.  “Joel.”

“Nobody inside has weapons,”  Tommy explains, leveling you with his understanding but expectant stare.  “It’s a promise.  Can’t make exceptions.” 

Joel’s hand settles on your shoulder, reassuring.

“‘Wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t know it was safe,”  Joel insists, quiet against your ear.  “We can leave whenever you want.  I promise.”

You shoot him a look he returns with patient eyes.  Despite how fast your pulse rages in your ears, his words offer some solstice.  A gentle reminder that although you’re gunless, you’re not stuck here.  You take a breath, take a second to tell yourself that this will be good for you.  People and community.  You did it before and you'll do it again, this time a little differently.

Still, the expecting gaze of three people makes your hands shake as they slide over the strap of your rifle and duck it over your head.  Place it in Tommy’s arms.  Joel squeezes your shoulder.

You’d be lying if you didn't half-expect something less quiet, shoulders tense enough to cause a headache as Joel leads you carefully into town.  Although you can’t say for sure exactly what you expected.  A curious crowd, maybe.  Expecting and accusing.  At least one person you’d recognize from Ingydar.  Suffocating questions and immediate hostility.

You’re met with none of that.

People stop to look, pausing in their day-to-day business talking with friends or hauling supplies, but eventually carry on.  Maybe the occasional welcome in from passers by as you walk with Joel at your back, but nothing else.  You’d be lying if you said you weren’t high-strung the whole way to a building just inside, though.  A rehab center for refugees.  Quiet.  Empty, aside from a few volunteers and injured who kept to their business, averting equally as bewildered eyes.

It’s surreal.  A working ceiling fan above your head.  Windows cracked open to allow the cool breeze to stir the cream-colored curtains.  A desk with two chairs scattered with boxes of various supplies of all kinds.  You feel almost rude; quietly padding in with muddy boots and a dirty coat, trying not to take up any more space than you need to.

You let out a quiet breath, running your hand along the clean wood of the desk.  Basking in the quiet and wondering how they hell they did it; clean this place up.

Joel steps in behind you, your bag over his shoulder.  “Nice, isn’t it?”  

“More than nice,”  you murmur in response.  “It's impossible.”

He hums, amused as he watches you take it all in.  The normalcy that had once amazed him just as much, a time capsule of peace.  An oasis amongst chaos.

“There’s running water, too,”  he chimes in, and you perk up once more.

“You’re fucking with me.”

He smiles and nods towards the door on the other end of the room.  You quickly pad over, nudging the door open to be met with a bathroom.  A clean shower, a working, white porcelain sink.  Cream-colored curtains over a cracked window, fluttering from the chilly breeze.  You blink before turning to Joel.

“Can I shower?”

He chuckles, dawning one of the warmest smiles you’ve ever seen from him as he nods.  “Knock yourself out.”

You spend what must be an hour under the hot water, letting it run over your skin and through your hair.  It's heaven over sore joints, working free the chill that has burrowed itself deep into your bones over the course of the past several, freezing months.  You could cry at the feeling alone, feet meeting the linoleum whenever you step out with steam wafting off your skin.    

A woman is there whenever you step out of the bathroom.  Maria, you assume.

“You must be who bruised Tommy’s ribs,”  she says, lighthearted.  A tick of a smile tugging at her lip and a gold ring in her nose.  You shake her hand hesitantly and its firm.  Confident. 

“Yeah,”  a beat passes as you shift your feet. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,”  she waves it off, padding across the room to the table covered in supplies.  “He probably deserved it.”

She pulls out a chair and gestures to it.  You linger there in the doorway, tense and confused as you rub at your arms, fidget with the ends of your sleeves.  Joel’s hand finds your back and you blink, turning to him.

“Go on,”  he encourages, quiet.  Only for you.  “She won’t bite.”

You take a breath.  Step forward before hesitantly seating yourself in front of her.

She talks.  Tells you about her place here in Jackson as a leader, and you find yourself steadily relaxing as she runs her hands through your hair.  A stern, proud, gentle woman you’ve come to respect deeply just in the half an hour or so you grow to know her.

You clutch the rough of your jeans in your hands as you stare down at the wooden floorboards between your boots.  A lightbulb buzzes above your head and the sound of it is foreign.  Familiar, but distant.  A memory come to life.  Paired with the warm light that cascades down over your legs and feet, the wisps of hair over your eyes and the clip of the scissors, you feel generally unreal.  Stuck in a dream, as you get your hair cut semi-professionally for the first time in over ten years.

“You’ve been here longer than anyone,”  she says.  “‘Remember spotting your lookout just a few days after settling.  Didn’t realize anyone actually lived there until Ellie found you.”

You huff.  Closing your eyes as she tilts your head down.

“Found is a funny way of putting it,”  you mutter, still bitter.

“You didn’t hurt them,”  she says, as if she expected the opposite.  Not because you were you, per say, but maybe just because that was how things were, now.  What anyone would have done.  You don’t take offense to it.

“They were kids.  Only took what they obviously needed,”  A moment passes and you look up to meet Joel’s gaze for a moment.  “One of them was Joel’s, anyway.”

“You two know each other long?”

You shake your head softly.

“No,”  you murmur.  “Just seen him around.”

The image flashes through your mind again; Joel meeting your gaze through the scope of your rifle.  Brown eyes exhausted in a way that was deeper than poor sleep and shit weather.  Shocked.  Wary.  Surprised.  It's much different than how he looks at you now, all softer edges and a relaxed kind of tired.

“He talks about you often,”  Maria says over your shoulder, stealing you from your thoughts.  Dark hands steady as she snips at split-ends and tangled matts.  “Says you were a ranger.  A good one.  Know the mountains better than he does.”

“Can confirm,”  she tilts your chin to your left as you speak.  “Saved his dumbass too many times.”

“Jesus,” Joel huffs from where he lingers in the doorway. 

She scoffs, gently tugging your hair this way and that.  Joel meets your gaze for a second before rolling his eyes at your remark, although he smiles just the same.

“Anyway,”  her voice turns sincere.  “Your help is appreciated, really.  Wouldn’t have made it through the winter without it.  Or found where that horde is.”

You think about the box on your doorstep.  The pig-headed, nervous determination in Tommy’s eyes whenever you first met him earlier that winter and the first time you talked—really talked—to Joel.  How he’d go on and on about the funniest thing his new nephew did, drunk at your table.  How Maria would rip into Tommy.  How happy they seemed, his brother and his in-laws.

It brings a strange relief, a hesitant satisfaction knowing you helped a family prosper even just a little, donating meat or offering advice.  Hunting or otherwise.

“It’s nothing,”  you murmur, dismissing her praise as she smoothes a hand through your hair. 

She turns you in the chair towards a mirror to your right and you blink back at what stares back at you.  Clean hair, evenly cut and brushed.  Skin clean of sweat, mud, or snow.  Eyes tired but brighter, now.  You’re skinnier than back then, but it steals the breath from your lungs just the same: recognizing yourself.  Staring back at something not quite what it used to be, but familiar.  Familiar enough to stall your breath. 

“What do you think?”  Maria asks, just as you realize your eyes are wet.  You blink, wiping at them, trying to remember the last time you were reduced to tears over something so stupid as your hair.  Years.  Decades, maybe.

“I—good,”  you speak around the heavy lump in your throat, righting yourself.  “It’s good.”

“Joel?”

“Hm?”  He blinks, surprised when he’s pulled from his thoughts and back into the conversation, then softens when his eyes land on you.  Shoulders relaxing over crossed arms.

It sits unspoken between you both; the change in your relationship.  Heavy but comfortable during small moments of silence, softening words and causing touch to linger.  Like it's been happening all along, settling into it easily.  You and him—it’s easy.  Natural.

You see it, then, sitting in that chair as he grapples with his words for a moment.  Shifts his weight.  Clears his throat.  That maybe there is more for you out there beyond endless silence and the golden ring on your finger.  That maybe, just maybe, you could get used to this. 

He nods once.

“Beautiful,” he offers.  Quietly.  Unexpectedly.  Hesitantly and maybe a little choked, but still sincere, even as he ducks his head away as he says it.

***

Joel sits in his usual spot in the town hall, late that afternoon.  Back against the wood of his chair and a cold drink in his hand.  He traces the edge of it with his finger as he watches the people around him, talking under the beat of a slightly out-of-tune guitar and the quiet feedback of a microphone.  

He never used to come to anything like this; preferring the quiet whine of the space heater on his front porch over the laugh of inebriated teenagers and small talk of the adults.  Not until his brother started loring him out every month or so, forcing him to get acquainted with the rest of the commune.  Socialize.  Joel still can’t decide if he’s grateful, but people still generally prefer the bright company of Tommy just the same.  Leave him to his devices unless they need something.

Usually, he’d convince himself that he was just here to keep an eye on Ellie.  That he doesn’t choose to come out here because the house is too quiet and his thoughts too loud, that it's simply too dark to do much else.  But while normally his gaze is on the teenaged girl currently getting her hair played with by a tipsy Dina, he finds his eyes equally drawn to where you stand.

You’ve relaxed quite a bit since he brought you in.  More than he ever thought you would.

You’re still wary, lingering in corners and disappearing into shadows like a stray dog too stubborn to socialize.  A little blunt and fidgety in conversation, maybe, but otherwise fine.  Not quite as stuck to his side as you were when you got here.  Smiling a little, even, as you talk to Maria at the bar and sip on a drink—although that would just be the alcohol dampening your nerves.

He doesn’t even realize he’s been staring until Ellie disappears from her spot and suddenly slides in beside him, burnt arm reaching for his drink to take a sip off it.  It looks better, nowadays.  Bright pink fading to bumpy, rough skin stretched over her forearm.  Joel turns his nose up at it every time he looks at it too hard, feels a fierce sorrow in his ribs every time he sees it, but he supposes he would've done something similar much sooner if he were in her shoes.  The sun does get too hot in the summer for long sleeves.

“You just gonna stare at her all night or are you actually gonna say something?”  She says after a moment, prying him from deep in his thoughts.  

He sighs, long and heavy.  Rolls his eyes and shakes his head as he takes another sip of his whiskey.  Bitter and woody, it burns the back of his throat on the way down.   “The hell’s with you and my lovelife recently?”

“You bring home a chick like that and expect me not to get curious?”

He furrows his brow and tries to ignore how embarrassment flickers hot under his skin, “‘chick like that’?”

Ellie lazily nods her head in your direction, where Maria pulls a quiet laugh from your throat.  Joel follows her gaze, watches you.  Wondering, for a second, if seeing you in public before the outbreak would’ve been similar—leaning against the counter with tired eyes and an easy smile.  At a bar somewhere, maybe, or at some concert.

“Like Tess,”  she clarifies, and it pulls another sigh—longer, heavier—from his throat.

Tess’s death hurt more than he ever figured it would.  Yet another relationship fucked up, there for years and never acknowledged.  Warmth never truly returned, never appreciated until it was pried from his hands.  Joel would be lying if he said you didn’t remind him of her sometimes; clever and resourceful.  Funny in a blunt kind of way, even when things didn’t look so great.  Determined.  Strong.

But this was more than just that.  Something deeper.  An understanding, maybe, that he wouldn’t find anywhere else in the room.  A feral part of him that still fears the worst, that still stays up at night on his porch with a gun because he can’t stop thinking—paranoid just like you.  

“Tess was a long time ago,”  he says, even and low, because explaining what it's not is far easier than what it is.  “This is somethin’ different.”

Ellie believes him, because for once she doesn’t fight him on it.  Just nods thoughtfully and sits for a moment, watching Joel’s face as he tries to keep his eyes everywhere but where you stand beneath warm fairy lights.

“Well…”  Ellie leans back as she pulls him from his trance again, smiling that smile that means Joel is about to take the piss.  “If you’re not gonna make a move on her…”

Joel shoots Ellie a look, appalled.  She only grins wider.

“I’m joking,”  she says, and rests her head against her fist, smug.  “Unless—?”

“Ellie.”

“Still joking.”

Joel shakes his head, waves her off with a huff of a breath and the tick of a smile.  Moments like these were rare nowadays, where things weren’t so complicated.  Weighted.  Where him and Ellie could just talk, like this.  And while a past version of him would’ve shut such a topic down immediately, he lets it sit.  Relishes in the teasing he misses so dearly, now that she doesn’t need him.

Until Dina calls her name and the moment is gone.  She stands, but before she runs off, she gives his shoulder a playful smack.

“Go talk to her, dumbass,”  she says, and fuck him, because he downs the rest of his drink and does just that.

***

“You want me to…”

“Dance with me,”  Joel says, and a part of it sounds like he’s forcing the words from his throat.  A question that seems harder for him to say than anything he’s asked of you so far.  He rubs at his neck nervously as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, nervous—just as he had been earlier, after your hair was cut.  “Just for a bit…if you’re willin’.”

He says it like it could be a chore for you, like you didn’t come here just because he asked.  But you don’t say all that.  Just blink for a moment and look at Maria for direction.  She shrugs and gestures vaguely towards Joel, your conversation about the tunnel forgotten.

“By all means.”  

You nod and set your drink down.  Step towards him shyly.  The band continues its slow beat, a cover of a song you distantly recognize, and although the instruments aren’t great and most of the songs sound the same, hearing live music again is strange.  You didn’t think you ever would again.

Your arm rests over his shoulder, the other finds his hand.  Rough from his work.  Fingernails clipped too short from picking at them endlessly, they hold you carefully just the same.  One hand clutching your own, the other resting at the small of your waist.  You smile, just a little, huffing in amusement as you both struggle to find your footing.

“Enjoying the music?”  You murmur.

He shrugs, hums thoughtfully as he runs his thumb over the side of your hand.  “I could do better.”

The thought of Joel on stage is enough to pull a quiet scoff from your throat.  

“Singing?”  You question, raising an eyebrow.  “Or playing?”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead singing up there.”

You shake your head, reaching up to pull at where the collar of his flannel is flipped over.  “What a shame.  I’d pay money to see that.”

He chuckles, warm and deep.  “Maybe one day.”

You feel strangely shy under his stare, warm under your skin from more than just alcohol.  A familiar kind of nervous that pulls flashbacks up from deep in your mind.  Dancing in the firewatch tower with Markus, drunk and carefree.  They don’t bring as much sadness as they used to, just a quiet kind of resignation.

“You doin’ alright?”  Joel asks, checking in.  Patient.  Kinder than you deserve, and you shake the memories from your head and reel yourself back into the present.

You nod a little.

“Yeah,”  you breathe, relaxing.  “I’m alright.”

“Not overwhelmed?”

“Oh, definitely,”  you breathe.  “But I’m warming up to it.”

A moment passes as you both sway back and forth.  You feel people looking, eyes lingering on you and Joel through the crowd and the fairy lights.  Curious.  Joel’s hold on your hand tightens just a little—grounding.  Soft with you, now, despite being all hard edges and clipped words towards almost everyone else.  Like he’s a completely different person than the man who pointed a gun at you just a few months ago.

“You n’ Maria talkin’ about the tunnel?”

You nod, “she wants to check it out.  See if there’s a way we can block it up or redirect the infected away from Jackson, somehow.”

“‘Could be possible.”

“Yeah.  It's getting a team there and back that’ll be difficult, putting together a plan.”  You mutter, thinking.  “She wants my help leading it.”

He lets out a breath, thoughts dancing behind his eyes as he intertwines his fingers with yours.

“Yeah, well,”  Joel runs his calloused thumb along the cold of your ring, fidgeting with it gently.  “Don’t gotta think about all that right now.”

You sigh softly, “that’s true.”

A moment of quiet passes and it's not awkward.  Charged, maybe, but not awkward, as he holds your hand and sways gently.  You catch something out of the corner of your eye, a familiar face.  It's gone as soon as you catch it, though.  

“Hey.”

“Hm?”  You hum, meeting Joel’s gaze again just in time for him to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.  A small gesture, but it makes you feel warm all over just the same. 

He keeps his voice low.  Deep brown, tired eyes gazing down at you like you’ll bolt if he moves too fast, like a skittish animal.  He clears his throat and visibly swallows, runs his thumb over the curve of your hand. 

“I reckon we should talk about it.”

You blink, half-listening, eyes scanning the room over his shoulder for that face.  “About the sex?”

“More so…”  he clears his throat.  “More so us.  What you want this to be.”

You purse your lips, eyes flitting back to focus on him.  He squeezes your hand, nervous.  You feel your heart flutter in your chest, unsure how to navigate it all.  Really, you haven’t given it much thought, just slipped into it easily.  Let Joel’s feelings seep in deep without resistance because maybe some part of you was tired of being alone.

“I ain’t the best partner,”  he tells you softly, like it's a warning.  “Not easy to get along with, I know it.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m all there either.”

He huffs, but it’s short lived.  He means it, what he’s saying, and something about it makes your chest ache.  The fact that he thinks he’s hard to love.

“‘Guess you got me there,”  he murmurs, and smiles.  It's contagious, and you find your cheeks are warm when he pulls you close. You wrap your arms around his neck as you both sway slowly, easily.  Chuckling when you trip over each other's feet.

“You’re drunk,”  you say into his shoulder, amused.

“You’re drunk,”  he teases against your ear.  “Lightweight.”

“Hush.”

“Never, sweetheart.”

Your eyes flicker open, adjusting your head so that you can see over his shoulder.  People talking, drinking, eating and lingering.  Laughing, smiling, caught up in their own world.  It was easy to forget about the world outside, about the dead stumbling through Ingydar.  The buzzing dread that worked itself into the atmosphere and made a home there is somehow absent, here, and you begin to understand why people do this.  Try to recreate the old world.

Then, your eyes land on a man.

You catch his gaze, blue and piercing from a corner.  A drink in his hand he keeps in a vice grip, knuckles white against the glass.  Your blood runs cold through your veins as your eyes meet, locked together across the room.  Staring right through your skin.  Familiar.  So familiar it makes your heart drop clear down into the earth.

“You should move here, if we’re gonna be somethin’,”  Joel says, soft.  His words fall on deaf ears.  “Stay with me.”

The man across the room’s eyes narrow in on you.  A million things unspoken as he pushes himself away from the wall and saunters towards the exit, eyes trained on you until they aren’t.  Until his hand touches the door and he disappears outside.

Suddenly, everything is too much.  The lights too bright and people too loud.  Walls suffocating, Joel’s gentle hands harsh.  Dizzy.  Spinning.  Constricting.  Panic wells in your stomach, climbing your spine and blooming through your skull.

“I need some air,”  you croak, sliding free.  Stepping away.  Joel’s contact lingers, his hand pried from yours as you power through the crowd towards the door.  If he protests, confused, you don’t hear it.  Barely register it.

Warm fairy lights and music give way to a dark, cold rain.  Static in your ears and pinpricks across your skin.  Your heartbeat in your skull, you stumble and run.  Run until your calves sting and your chest hurts.  Run until your hands meet the cold wood of the East wall.

You retch.  Hands shaky and wet against the cold wood.  You can’t catch your breath.  Not even when you lean your forehead against the freezing wall, cold water tapping on your back as you tremble.

A hand grabs the back of your shirt and you yelp as you’re yanked around and slammed back against the wall.  Blue eyes inches from your voice.

“Hey, kid,”  he rasps, voice deep and quiet and angry.  Breath seething through rotten teeth.  “‘Been looking for you.”

Your mind scrambles for his name against the searing pain in your skull, fingers digging into your neck.  Memories of the older man fleeting and distant, his name escaping you.  He was retired, military.  Had a son that worked at the lake.  You go to talk, maybe ask what this is about, but the look on his face and the burns up his forearm answer the question for you.  His hand clamps down harder on your neck and tears prick your eyes.

“I’m—”  You croak, and he punches you.

The first one hurts.  Rings loud in your ears and turns your vision dark.  When it comes back, you’re in the mud, spitting blood to the dirt.  He’s looming over you with blood on his fist and you barely get the chance to lift your hand before he grabs the front of your shirt and spits in your face as he talks.

“My son was in that fire,”  he snarls, face red.  “The entire fuckin’ town coulda lived if it weren’t for you, you know that?  A whole fifteen people.  Farmers.  Hunters.  Useful people.”

You try to fight, try to scramble away, but you can only muster the strength to shift your legs dumbly.  Open your mouth and choke on the words.  He yanks you closer.

“Fucking say something.”

“I did.”  You manage to spit through your teeth, voice shattered and painful.  “I burnt it down.  All of it.  Didn’t look back.”

He clenches his bloody fist again,  “do you regret it?”

Markus’s face flashes through your mind again.  Dancing with him.  Smoking with him.  Learning the stars and sticking at his side through it all, leading the people of Ingydar.  Planting food, talking by fires, listening to records.  His safety.  Having that arm to hide behind until it was ripped away.

You clench your jaw.  Bare your teeth against the throbbing pain in your skull.  Your chest is warm, flickering with stubborn anger and something darker, uglier.  Something that fills every inch of your body as you squeeze dirt and mud in your palms.  Stare your punishment with piercing blue eyes down hard, stubborn.

“You fucking murdered him,”  you tel the truth.  “No.  I don’t.  I don’t.”

It only makes him angrier.

“Been waiting fucking years for this,”  the man seethes back.  Raising his bloody fist, scarred knuckles shifting before everything goes blank again. 

You lose track of how many punches you take.  Eventually, they all blur together.  You try blocking them, raising your hands.  Kicking and squirming.  But somewhere along the way, you stop seeing the point.

You deserve this.

You don’t know how long you lay there.  How many hits you take.  All you know is your vision goes dark around the edges and you can’t open one of your eyes.  It’s cold.  It’s dark.  Everything hurts.  You think you’re crying, but you’re not sure.

Until it’s over.

You just barely catch it through bleary eyes, the dark blur that bursts out from around the building.  Takes the man on top of you and slams him to the ground.  The instinct to get away finally rears its head and you sputter, shifting upright as the ground spins and tilts beneath you.  You manage to get yourself against the wall, but you can’t see.

The scene before you unfolds in flashes.

Joel.  Beating the man senseless.  Your eyes are locked on him, each punch he lands equivalent to each one he landed on your face.  You swallow, flinch at every crunch and every shout until your mind comes back to you.

“Joel,”  you rasp.

He doesn't stop.  The man cries out.

“Stop!”  You shove yourself up, scramble over to Joel’s shoulders.  “Fucking stop that’s enough!”

When you finally tear him off, the man at your feet is unresponsive and bleeding.  Red swirls with the brown mud under his head, busted open at the temple.  Nose gushing over his mouth and into the dirt.  Staining blond, balding hair crimson.  

Then, Joel’s face fills your vision.  His hands come to your face.  Warm, soothing, as he turns your head this way and that before pulling you close.  His shirt sticks to your face whenever he holds you, strong hands soothing over your back as his erratic heartbeat pounds in your ears.

“I got you,”  he says, breathing heavy.  You clutch his wrists, grounding.  Trying to calm your raging pulse.  “I got you.  S’alright.  He’s out.”

Tears well up in your eyes before you can stop them,  “he’s dead, Joel.”

Joel glances back towards the man, seeing the truth to your words whenever the rise and fall of his chest is shallow, damn near absent.  He swallows heavily between breaths, panic dancing in his eyes for a moment before it's gone.  Mouth opening and closing.  Before he can say anything, you turn away from his hands.

“You killed him.”

His jaw ticks.  “He was gonna kill you.”

“Good,”  you shove him away, shift to stand.  “He deserved to.”

That makes something in Joel’s eyes flash, hair getting plastered to his face from the rain as he stumbles upright.  Boots squelching in the mud as he steps towards you.

“He deserved to?”  He growls.

You huff, shake your head and decide it's not worth explaining.  You step away to leave, but Joel grabs your arm.

“No,”  he breathes, low and heavy.  “I’m not lettin’ you run from this.”

“I have been alone here for sixteen years,”  you tell him pointedly, voice cracking.  “I murdered my town.  Burnt it to the ground.  And now him—”

You gesture to the man unconscious in the mud.

“I’m not gonna drag you down to my level, Joel.”

He swallows heavily.  The distant sound of guitar sounds muffled under the rain, and even more dampened by the ringing in your ears.

“They don’t have to know shit,”  he says to you, brow furrowed as he steps closer.  “I’ll make sure they don’t know.”

You let out a breath and turn away, exacerbated.  Pull your arm from his grasp.

“That’s not the issue,”  you insist.  

He follows you, hovering over your shoulder.  “Then what is?”

“The issue is he’s dead!”  You damn near yell,  “and it's my fucking fault!  All of it is!  He started a new life here away from it all, found safety whenever I took it from him.  And I come back and he watches me get welcomed.  New clothes, a shower, food, alcohol, dancing—”

Your voice cracks as a lump in your throat lurches.  Tears roll down your face.  You swallow and force yourself to continue.

“He deserved to kill me,”  you manage, looking up at Joel and spitting the words out through your bloody teeth.  “I deserve it.”

Joel only stares at you, wide-eyed and speechless.  Chest rising and falling.  There’s commotion some ways away, someone female yelling for Joel, voices far off on the other side of town.

You turn.  Like a scared animal, you bolt for the stables to retrieve your horse.  Put some distance between yourself and Jackson before they spotted and questioned you.  Boots sliding in the mud as you abandon Joel in the rain and pooling crimson at his feet.  Heart thundering in your ears, tears stinging your eyes.  Anger red hot in your limbs as you bolt for the gates and disappear into the rain once more.

He doesn’t follow.

previous | next

@astrid-sorensen

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Ghost From The Barrow

Source for pic

Word Count: 6049

Tags: Fem!Reader, NSFW - Oral - you giving and creampie, alternate universe - Scotland, 13th century - cursing, angst, angst without happy ending, gore, blood, death, MDNI!!! 🔞

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: You are the daughter of a clan chief in the Highlands, though you are more trouble than you are worth. Some thugs capture you and attempt to demand a ransom, but things don't exactly go their way when their leader, Kid, discovers what you are truly made of.

Notes: This was heavily inspired by the song “The Ghost From The Barrow” by Paddy and the Rats. It was going to go in a very different direction, much similar to the lyrics of the song, but the story took its own turn and I liked it like this! I hope you do too. Also, the research I did was very shallow, so if you're from Scotland and I got something wrong, I'm so sorry! Also, I had to go with Kilt wearing Kid. 🥴🤤 Have fun! 

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 (if you don't want to be tagged for other stories other than the meet-cute, please tell me!)

Sidenote: I used a real sigil for the reader’s clan: Clan MacKenzie. 

Terms: 

Barrow - An ancient burial mound;

Tartan - A woolen cloth with a specific design associated to a specific clan;

Laird - A lord, someone who owns a large estate;

The early morning mist left a familiar dampness upon your hair. Rolling hills of verdant expanse stretched lazily before you. Ancient stone markings of softly defined borders marked one pasture from another, the neighbours, practically family, not caring if the cattle meandered from one side to the other. Heavy tendrils of fog still permeated the mountains and mounds above and you had to cut your morning walk short. You knew those barrows like the back of your hand, but the legends of ancient restless souls still lurked freshly in your mind. 

Turning back around, you gathered the skirts of your woollen dress, which hung loosely over your chemise, so you wouldn’t wet the hem of the dress this early in the day. You wore the clan’s tartan over your shoulders to protect you from the earlier chill. The blues and greens of the plaid fabric contrasted heavily with the simple brown you chose to wear. Your mother would be sick to her stomach upon your sight, once more. You were the unruly daughter, the one that could not be tamed and you knew your parents cursed the day you were born. 

As wild as the Highlands, as stubborn as a mare. Your father used to jest that no man would ever want you for a wife because you were not docile enough to be domesticated. Respect came with a heavy price in your household and you held your tongue back from lashing at him. But the sting his words left upon you was enough to completely destroy the bundle of hay you used to practise your archery shots. 

Your father was a laird of the most prominent households of the Highlands, and the current head of the clan. You were the daughter of the chief. You were supposed to act with the status that your lineage carried. Except you very rarely did. And you had the nagging feeling your father wished to have killed you at birth, as they do with unwanted kittens. 

This was a day like any other. You fled your castle without the consent of your family, escaping through one of the many passages you knew by heart, so you could absorb the peace that the morning brought you. The eerie quietness of the barrows, the rustles of the leaves from the forest and, here and there, the lonesome call of the ravens. 

Your father had warned you a million times not to leave without guards.

Your mother had forbidden you a million and one times from walking out the door at all. 

Your older brother had always counselled you to take your bow anywhere you went.

You heeded none of them.

Yet, it was still with some surprise and with a heavy pounding of your heart, that you realised you were being surrounded. Four mighty horses as black as the night approached fast, their nostrils flaring and smoking. You didn’t even try to outrun them for it would have been an impossible task. The men mounting them surrounded you quickly, using the horses to keep pacing a tight circle around you. There were grins on their faces, each taller than the last, each scarier.

Scars and untreated wounds, long unkempt hair, one even had a rudimentary mask over his face. They were terrifying. You searched for a tartan but the plaids they wore belonged to no clan. You had never seen the yellow and black in any of your father’s gatherings and the sigil they wore was clearly one of outcasts and thieves: a burning skull with the same yellow and black plaid tied to the head.

“What do we have here?” The one in the mask asked, his voice thick with delight, a hint of a mischievous smile you were not privy to. 

“A little lass, eh?” The tallest one replied. He was the only one without a smile on his face, his voice thundering around you.

“She seems sweet.” The one with hollow eyes and scars on his mouth spoke softly.

Your hands shook and the shiver that coursed through you had nothing to do with the biting wind of the Highlands. The red-headed man pursed his lips as he looked you over. If they found out you were the chief’s daughter, you would surely be used as ransom bait.

Or worse. 

Inhaling deeply, you fought to find your voice. “I am a mere villager, good sirs. I was going to collect some herbs for healing, nothing more. Some lavender and calendula. Chamomile to soothe aches. Please let me return to my home. I have young children to care for.” You tried your best to lace your voice with humility and sweetness, fighting against all of your instincts to spit at their feet and demand their heads for this outrage. 

The one who spoke with a soft voice smiled at you. “Poor thing, she looks scared, Captain.” He was looking at the redhead. He was the leader then. So he was the one you had to reason with.

“Yes, Captain, I am so very frightened. Please, I just want to return home.” Trying your best to look terrified - which wasn’t that hard since you were frightened - you warmed your features and fell to your knees, adding dramatics to your reaction. 

“Maybe we should let her go.” The one with the mask replied, tilting his head to one side. “She does look like a commoner.”

The captain dismounted his horse and you gulped as he approached you. He was tall and bulky, with an impressive figure. His lips were tinted red and he wore a piece of cloth on his head to keep the hair out of his eyes with the same yellow and black plaid of their sigil. His kilt was of dark brown plaid, resembling dried blood, and his legs were as thick as logs. 

“Sir…” You whimpered and tried to appear small. His face kept drawing near and you held your breath as his cloak slipped and you realised he was missing an arm. “Please…” Another whimper.

His lips pursed further as he raised an eyebrow and he sniffed you.

A gasp left your lips at the outrage and your cheeks flushed crimson. How dared he? His hand darted forward and he pulled the tartan off your chest, revealing the brooch you had on your dress, the one with your father’s sigil: a mountain in flames with the words ‘I shine, not burn’ engraved.

His lips pulled back to reveal a frightening set of sharp canines and he finally spoke. It was akin to a roar and it managed to bristle all the hairs on your body. “Take her, ya fools. She smells clean. She’s highborn, for sure.”

You made sure the whole of the Highlands heard you screaming and you wouldn’t go down without a proper fight. You bit and sank your nails into flesh, you kicked and punched all while sputtering curses upon curses over the group. Vile words, not fit for a lady of your status, filled with hate, brimming with rage.

And they all laughed at you.

Your efforts were for naught. You were easily captured.

-*-

You were held like a sack of potatoes, hanging limply over the masked man’s shoulder. They had subdued you easily and tied your hands behind your back. You were still kicking, so with more rumbling laughs, they tied your feet for good measure. 

They rode with you on their horses for the entire day, placing a blindfold over your eyes to disorient you to where their hideout was. You were passed around from mount to mount - never to the leader’s horse, though - as if you were a plaything and a new toy for them to play with. 

You should be trembling with fear, yet all the trembling came from pure rage. You wanted to punch something, claw, bite, anything! This feeling of helplessness was overwhelming and intensified by the second.

The masked man set you down ungracefully by a fire and removed the blindfold, making you blink to adjust your vision. 

“Here we are, lass. Make yourself at home.” He chuckled low and you gritted your teeth. They hadn’t roughed you up, but you were still sore from the daylong horse ride. Your throat was dry and your lips were cracked. 

“Can…” You cleared your throat to find your voice again, but it was raw from screaming. “Can I get some water?”

He tsked and turned his back on you, leaving you slumped and looking defeated. Your wrists and ankles were sore from the tightness of the rope and you were pretty sure there was blood as well. 

They left you alone in that position for a while, until the man with the scars on his mouth approached you slowly. Using a knife, he cut the ropes from your ankles and then the ones on your wrists.

Whimpering you brought your hands close to your chest and rubbed your wrists softly. You were right, they were bloodied and bruised. 

“Here.” He extended a wooden bowl filled with water, which you immediately downed with a heavy sigh.

“Thank you.” You mumbled noticing your voice was less coarse now. 

He smiled softly and took out some mashed herbs from a leather pouch, applying the mixture to your wrists. You could smell lavender, calendula and yarrow in the mixture. Someone knew what they were doing, for they were healing herbs. 

“You did this?” You asked softly. Clearly this man was the one you could easily approach since all the others were too closed off. He nodded proudly and you patted his hand. “Thank you. What’s your name?” You gave him your name as well so he felt more confident in sharing his.

“I’m Heat.”

“That is a lovely name. Thanks for helping me, Heat.” Another smile. Maybe you could work him well enough to flee.

“Get away from her.” The leader’s orders made Heat stiffen up and he got up with a slight jump, leaving your side without looking back.

“I know what yer doing, lil’ lass.” His thick accent became more enunciated because he was angry, you noticed. So you decided to make him angrier and see where that would get you. Crossing your arms over your chest, you offered him your best annoyed look.

“I’m afraid I do not know what you mean. Thug.” You finished with a smirk.

Grunting, his lips curled upwards, drawing that dangerous smile that made your heart pound.

“Ya want to domesticate my men, lil’ lass, ya can’t! They obey my command.” His figure towered over yours and he was intimidating you. Wincing in pain and discomfort, you got up, still nowhere near his face, fists clenched into tiny little balls of fury as your eyes sparkled with rage.

“What do you want from me? A ransom? Well, send the letter! I’m sure my father will be more than happy to pay you scoundrels to get me back! Or do you not know how to write?” You stomped your foot right in the middle of his parted legs and stood almost flush to his frame, a snide crossing your lips, taunting him. “I’m not afraid of you!”

Yet, you were. Pretty scared, actually. Even more so because you doubted your father would care enough about you to pay a ransom. 

You could feel rage seething from his body in short waves. His orange eyes flaming like burning fire, the same fire you felt coursing through your veins in defiance. He gave no warning as his hand wrapped around your throat, tight enough to prevent almost all of the air from coursing freely, enough to leave a bruise, but not enough to truly hurt and cut your air supply.

He lifted you up to his eye level easily, as your nails scratched and clawed at his forearm, leaving red angry trails on his skin, yet he showed no signs of being hurt by your flailing.

“Ya should be. Ya should be pissin’ yer pants.” His jaw kept clenching and unclenching as his eyes raked over your body. He took out his long, wet tongue and licked a stripe from your neck to your ear, making your insides burn and your legs clench together with want. “Tasty.” He grumbled as your eyes bore into his.

“Taste this, then.” You grunted between gasps and, clenching your own jaw, you bent your knee and hit him right in his balls, making him grunt and bend forward, letting go of your neck at the same time as he curled, his hand holding his dick tight.

You coughed and wheezed for air, falling on your knees and taking deep gasps to try and steady your breathing. Your hands pressed and soothed the burn in your throat. 

“You lil’ whore!” He grumbled as he strode towards you again.

“I’ve been called worse!” You grinned with bravado you didn’t have, waiting for the blow to come, for his hand to strike, or his feet. Whatever he wanted to use, and you knew it would hurt. Your eyes shut in anticipation as your heart created its own insane rhythm in your chest.

Yet the blow didn’t come.

All you heard was the leader’s rumbling laugh echoing in the forest as he paced away from you.

-*-

Days passed and you remained a prisoner. They left you unbound because there was no way you could ever escape their watch. Heat brought you food and water and sometimes talked with you, when the leader wasn't around to scold him. 

You learned that the letter had been sent to your father, yet he still hadn't responded. So they sent another one. 

There was a feeling of dread coiling around your stomach. What if your father didn’t want to pay your ransom? You had more brothers and sisters. What good would a bratty child who obeyed no orders do in his household? Perhaps it was better for him to say that you lost your life to the whims of thieves.

It might even grant him more support. 

You spent a restless night worrying about this and you cried your heart out. Heat noticed your forlorn expression and defeated demeanour in the morning and returned to you with clean clothes. A plain dress and a worn out man’s shirt. You looked at him warily until he grabbed your hand and led you to the forest.

For a moment you thought he might be setting you free. A rush of happiness spread its tendrils across your heart and you grinned. Until you realised he was only taking you to a lake.

He seemed so happy, though, that you still smiled softly at him. “You can bathe.” He whispered your name softly. “I’ll keep watch.”

His offer was tempting. There was grime under your fingernails, caked blood on your wrists, knees and ankles and your hair… you didn’t even want to get started on your hair.

So you thanked him politely and he turned to give you some privacy, leaving a bundle of soapwort in your hands. A plant that, if wet, creates a lather that can cleanse grime and leave a nice herbal scent behind. You were sure he would turn around as soon as you took off your clothes, but he was still the sweetest of the thugs and you had warmed up to him. You doubted he would try something with you. 

Leaving your stained clothes in a pile so you could wash them later, you dipped your toes in the water. It was ice cold, despite the warm weather outside. Still, you really needed to bathe. So, closing your eyes, you dove gracefully, emerging only once the burn settled against your lungs from lack of air. 

Letting out an unbridled laugh, you splashed a bit of water before using the soapwort plant to cleanse yourself properly. You used it on your hair as well and, after a little bit, you started to make your way back so you could wash your clothes. You didn’t want to take too long in the lake because you didn’t want to cause any trouble for Heat. 

However, the sight that greeted you when you turned around made you freeze as your eyes widened and your breath caught in your throat. The leader, the captain. He was staring at you, his back leaning against the trunk of a tree and his lips pursed. Heat was nowhere to be found. He must have discovered both of you here and sent Heat away. 

You swallowed a lump in your throat but made no motion to cover yourself. Your breasts were out of the water, nipples erect from the cold and goosebumps all over your skin. He was close enough to see the way you were shivering and the way your chest rose with each gasping breath. 

He pulled away from the tree and with nimble fingers began to untie his kilt. First the knot over his shoulder, then he started untucking the sides until it finally fell down in a heap. The shivers that shook your body now had definitely nothing to do with the chilliness of the lake. He took a long stride forward and with one swift movement of his arm, the shirt came off. 

Biting your lower lip you took in his muscular form. He was bulky and heavy, built like a strong bull. His chest was made of ripped muscles and heavy scars. Lowering your eyes, you couldn't stop your thighs from clenching together, seeking some friction. His cock was big, girthy and already half hard. It would be monstrous at full length. 

He took off the cloth holding his hair back and finally entered the water with a hiss. His eyes never left you nor did yours leave him. 

You were no stranger to desire and intercourse. You were the chief's daughter, but you were no maiden. And what you felt for your captor now was true, unbridled desire. And you could see that he felt the same toward you. 

Would either of you act upon it? 

Shaking your head and gulping, you strode forward, aiming to leave the lake, perhaps? Yet he blocked your path easily. The water hit him around the knees and a quick look down told you he was now standing at full attention. 

Screw it. 

You were wound as tight as a rope and release would probably do you some good. Besides, he seemed like a good lay. 

You approached him, slowly climbing out to the shallow part of the lake, the water lowering until he could see your mound. His lips curled up and he licked them at a leisurely pace. 

“Kneel, lil’ lass.” He grunted and, for once, you obeyed him willingly. 

Falling forward on your knees, you wasted no time. Using your hands to pump his cock a few times, you gathered the precum at the top and then used your tongue to lather it around his girth. He hummed low when you brought your other hand to cup his balls and squeeze. 

“Fuck. That's good.” 

His praise made you mewl into him as you hollowed your cheeks and fought against the gag reflex to take all of him inside your mouth. It was a stretch, but you could do it. 

Hissing, he tangled his fingers in your wet hair, holding your head in place as he took over and fucked your mouth with relentless thrusts. Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes when his tip bullied the back of your throat. Heat began pooling in your abdomen, its tendrils spreading slowly and steadily, burning at your core, demanding attention. 

You used one hand to grab his thick, hairy thighs for purchase, and another to friction against your throbbing clit, moaning into him, the vibrato of your mewls making him fasten his pace with sloppier thrusts. “Fuck, fuck. Open wide lass.” And that was all the warning you got before his thick, salty cum dripped down your throat as you swallowed and he pulled out, a small string of saliva connecting him to you still. 

He stared at your face, swollen lips, teary eyes and jaw standing open as your hand continued to press and circle against your clit, small moans leaving your parted lips. 

“Fuck. C’mere.” Resting his large hand on your chin, he motioned for you to stand up, and you obeyed. He pried your fingers away from yourself and pressed your hand so you could spread them open. A string of your own slick connected your index and middle fingers and you blushed. The Captain chuckled and swirled his tongue around them, collecting any remaining drops of your juices as you gasped and stifled a moan. “Hmm, none of that lil’ lass. Yer going to scream my name. Don't ye dare hold back.”

“I don't know your name.” You said, your eyes sparkling with mischievousness. 

Curling his lips back, he grasped your wet hair again, pulling you for an open mouthed kiss, combining your juices with the lingering taste of his cum until your head was spinning and begging for air. “It's Kid.” He panted as he pulled apart from you. 

“Fuck me, Kid.” Your hand found his cock already hard again and you had no doubt that this man had the stamina of a horse. 

“Will do, lass.” His fingers dug into your mound and you moaned as they descended to your swollen clit. “Let's see how ready ye are for me.” His fingers were long and thick and as he inserted one inside you to collect some slick, you arched your back and rolled your hips against his touch. “Hmm, needy, are ye?”

He rolled his wet finger against the bundle of nerves and then inserted two digits, stretching them and then letting them go further, deeper. Your nails dug into his chest as your head fell back in abandonment. “Kid!” You panted, his fingers filling you up deliciously. A gasp left you breathless as he inserted a third finger, using his thumb to press against your clit as he stretched you further. “Gods! Kid!”

“I know, lass, I know.” He grunted near your ear and the deep rumbling that came from his voice made you snap as you came in his hand. Arching your back and clawing his chest you moaned loud, repeating his name in a crescendo as you reached your high. “That was a good one, lass.” He sucked at your neck and bit hard to bring you back but you mewled again as you leaned into him, too dazed out to do anything else. 

But he was not done. Using his arm, he lifted you up and with a swift motion, impaled his cock inside your slick hole, making you scream as you clenched your legs around his waist. 

“Hold on, lass, this will be a rough ride.” His digits dug into your flesh as his arm circled your hips holding you in place as he pounded relentlessly, his pace brutal, and you didn't know how he could stay standing up because you could barely open your eyes, let alone stand. 

The pleasure built in waves that kept crashing and chasing away your sanity. You had never been fucked like this before. Captain Kid was fucking you senseless. Your pants increased in fervour as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to coming again. His dick filled you perfectly and hit spots inside you that made you see white. 

“Kid, fuck, gods!”

“Scream louder!” He growled and thrust faster, making your toes curl as you crushed him in a hug, thighs clenching tight against him and nails drawing blood from his back. You did scream. Loud as a banshee and you were positive his entire camp heard you scream his name like a whore.

His release was not far behind, and you knew that because there were beads of sweat on his temples, his thrusts were sloppier and he was grunting heavily. But you were so close again. “Harder.” You begged against his ear, your fingers circling your burning and overstimulated clit, trying to chase that last high. 

“Lil’ whore.” He growled and gave you what you wanted. Three fast thrusts that made you shake and come with a flash of white as he followed suit. You felt his release inside you, filling you up and dripping down your legs into the lake in soundly, heavy plops. 

You were still clinging to him like he was your lifeline, both panting and sweating, chests heaving and legs trembling. 

“I'm putting ya down, now.” He said between pants and you whined when he pulled out of you, leaving you empty. You were not steady on your legs so he still held your waist. 

“Fuck.” You muttered, still catching your breath, a wave of dizziness overcoming your senses. 

“I thought maidens didn't curse.” He chuckled. 

“Yeah? Well, maidens don't suck cocks either. So why do you think I'm one?” His genuine laughter made your heart tingle and constrict against your chest and you were not quite sure what this foreign feeling was. What you did know was that you wanted to hear it again. 

-*-

Days passed, yet you didn't really think you were a prisoner anymore. You slept with Kid every night and he took you whenever he felt like it, making good on the claim that you were his good little whore. You couldn't care less. You felt free. 

One night, after screaming his name until your throat was raw - you've come to realise he loves it when you scream his name - you asked him bluntly. 

“My father refused to pay the ransom, did he not?” The scoff that left your throat was meant to be dismissive and aloof, yet there was also the bitter taste of tart tears in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. 

“Aye.” He grunted as he pulled your naked body closer to his. “I'm sorry.”

You didn't want his compassion, it wasn't what you were looking for. Yet, it felt nice. As if you meant something more to him than just his prisoner whore. 

“I was never good for anything but to cause trouble for him, anyway. Like this he doesn't need to find me a husband.” You snorted. “You know what I did to the last one he tried to set me up with? The one who said I couldn't be ‘domesticated’?” Kid's gaze fell on yours, an amused expression wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “I bit off his balls when he tried to fuck me into submission.” Shrugging, you threw out your tongue as Kid burst into a fit of laughter. 

“Aren't ya a feisty lil’ lass?” His chest heaved until his laughter died down. You felt droopy and your eyes started to close, drifting closer and closer to sleep. “Maybe ya can be my wife. We'll see if I can domesticate ya.”

You didn't quite know if he was kidding or not, but sleep claimed you with a smile on your lips at the thought of being Kid's wife. 

-*-

You were woken up in the middle of the night by loud screams and the clangs of swords and axes. Kid wasn't by your side when you rolled over and got up, hastily dressing in your chemise and dress. It sounded like a battle, so you grabbed the bow you kept by your side of the bed. Kid made you that bow once he realised you were very good with it. 

You had been by his side for over a year now. He made you his wife, as he said he would, and there were more nights when you actually made love instead of just fucking. 

You had come to love him. Deeply. And you were positive he loved you back, even though he wouldn't admit it to a soul. He would say love made you weaker or something like that. Times had been kind for your new clan and you had all found peace. 

Yet that thought was quickly swept away once you stepped outside of your hut and were greeted with the sight of burning buildings, slaughtered people and Kid and his men fighting. 

Gripping your bow harder and tighter, you found a secluded perch by climbing onto the roof of the hut and started to take out man after man. They didn't even realise what happened until they were left bleeding on the floor, meeting their final demise at the hands of one of Kid's men or Kid himself, who saw you immediately when an arrow whizzed past his ear. 

It wasn't until the tenth body hit the floor that you realised that these men belonged to your father's clan. Their tartan was clearly the pattern you were so familiar with. That realisation gave away your location and in a heartbeat you were being dragged by your hair, your body hitting the ground with a loud oof, as the air was sucked out of your lungs. As the assailant grabbed his sword, ready to pierce you with the blade, you kicked him hard in the shin and you heard the sickening crunch of bone breaking before he screamed. 

Getting up with a pained grunt, you realise that you must also have broken a few ribs as you were pulled down from the roof, because it hurt to breathe. Still clutching your bow to your chest, you made your way forward, shooting arrows as you went, aiding people in their escape. All the while your eyes were searching for Kid as your heart hammered against your chest. He was nowhere to be seen and that left you anxious. 

And distracted. 

A sharp pain travelled from your thigh to your groin and shot everywhere in short stabbing bursts of pain. There was a blade protruding from your leg and hot droplets of tears threatened to escape your eyes. “Fuck.” You grunted as you turned around, searching for whoever was responsible for this, bow stretched and arrow already in place. 

“It's true, then.” The familiar voice of your brother left you breathless for a moment, making you lose your focus. “You really have become that scoundrel’s whore. I couldn't believe it until I saw it.”

Your jaw clenched as you inhaled short breaths, trying to focus on something other than the throbbing pain in your thigh. He was standing too close for a proper arrow shot and your vision was getting blurry. You would never make the shot even if you wanted to. 

“I'm not his whore. I'm his wife.” You spat at him, rage making your voice tremble. 

Your brother's cackles were like another knife piercing your heart. 

“That's precious. You're still dying. You're no longer family.”

And he lunged forward, sword raised in the air in a stance you'd known your whole life as you'd watched your brothers learn how to fight in the shadows. You knew when to duck, when to move away, and when to jump. He was predictable and his moves were still the same after all these years. You could win this. 

If you weren't bleeding and your movements weren't impaired. 

He struck forward and you knew you had to move left. It was all you had to do, really. But your leg gave out, and he stabbed his sword into your sternum. 

You had never felt pain like this before. It started slowly, in the middle of your chest, but then, as if in waves, it began to spread, leaving you numb and cold. As you fell to your knees, you could see the snicker spreading on your brother's lips. Until it turned into a grimace and blood started to sputter from his mouth as he grunted. 

There was a heavy blade sticking out of his chest, followed by a pained grunt as the sword climbed up his torso, ripping him in two right before your eyes. 

You saw the panting figure of Kid behind him, his breaths coming out in shaken gasps as his face contorted into a pained frown when he laid eyes on you. “No! No, no, no!”

He rushed forward, letting his blade fall to the ground, and his arm circled you desperately. 

You were dying. You knew that. 

A smile found its way to your blood-stained lips as your eyes locked with bright orange ones. Caressing his cheek left a red streak of blood on his skin, but it was quickly washed away by a stream of tears from his eyes. 

“Hey, no crying.” You whispered slowly. The pain was drifting away. “Thank you.”

“No, no. Ye can't leave lil’ lass! I didn't give ya permission!”

Your chuckle turned into a coughing fit, blood spurting everywhere as Kid cradled you in his big arm. Around you shouts were heard, soldiers sounding the retreat. The threat had been thwarted for now. 

“Kid.” Your voice could barely be heard, but you needed to get his attention. “Kid, please. Don't hold a grudge. Please.” You whined and closed your eyes as the numbness relented and gave way to the pain. 

He pulled you against him, trying to hold you carefully but, at the same time, holding you firmly as if it were the last time - it was the last time - his kilt was now completely soaked in your blood. 

“Promise me.” You said firmly, your hand trying to find his cheek again, but failing miserably as you could barely find the strength. “Grudges create lost souls. I can't have you away from me in the afterlife. Promise.” You admonished him. 

He nodded against your face, taking your lips with his, trying to stifle a sob as his shoulders heaved and rocked with the effort. 

“I love you…” Your whisper got lost somewhere in the limbo of eternity as the sparkle of life burned away in your eyes. There was a moment of stillness, Heat, Killer and Wire gathered behind Kid, still as logs. The forest ceased its rustling, and even the animals stopped their sounds. The world stopped spinning when you left it, and Kid lost a piece of himself. 

It was his piercing agonising scream that brought the world back, crashing into rotation, but never the same. 

-*-

Kid didn't really promise you not to hold a grudge. He just nodded. And even if he had made a promise, he was a thief and a scoundrel. Lying was a part of him. 

He did hold a grudge. 

A huge one. He hunted down every single member of your family and slaughtered them all. No one associated with your clan was left alive to tell the tale. Be they elderly or children, Kid was merciless. 

He would not rest until his vengeance was fulfilled. He had never felt love the way he did for you. He had never felt affection the way he did for you. 

And he had never grieved harder. 

If he was suffering, those that caused that suffering should be put to the same misery. 

And he fulfilled that vow. Until he was caught and sentenced to hang in the gallows. 

Yet, he would hang with a smile upon his tainted lips. He had avenged you. None of your clan was left alive to tell the tale, he had made sure of it. And he was hopeful that once his body turned cold and lifeless, he would meet you, in the afterlife. 

So you could spend eternity together, as it should have been. 

The clock struck the hour and Kid was hanged. Killer, Wire and Heat stood watching, heads low and hidden behind cloaks, as their captain paid the price of vengeance. 

Killer was proud of his fearless friend. 

Wire was saddened that it ended this way. 

Heat was worried, because he knew vengeful spirits could not find rest in eternity. 

Heat was right. 

The spirit of Eustass Captain Kid roamed the Highlands. A ghoulish spectre haunting the barrow, searching for his lost wife, forever aiming to find her in the eternity of the afterlife. 

Yet she had warned him. 

Grudges create lost souls. 

So if you find yourself roaming any barrow in the Highlands, whether at night or during the day, know that the wailing you hear is that of the captain, grieving his lost love and the life he was denied. 

Though he avenged her in the end. 

But at what cost? 

[wherevenusholdssomeofficespace]

Linda Flynn-Fletcher

I think Linda Flynn-Fletcher is potentially one of the most misunderstood characters in the show.

It think comes from a natural enough place. Her role in the show is of course, to act as the potential threat to their summers of fun. While they boys never see her as a threat, narratively she's the big bad. If she sees it, its game over.

Here's the thing though. She's a not a bad mom. Her children LOVE her. Similarly to how Phineas and Ferb absolutely adore Candace and would do nearly anything she asked, Phineas, Ferb and Candace all love and respect their mother and don't disobey her. Now a bit of this is clearly Linda being a more permissive parent, but any rules that Linda has Phineas and Ferb never do anything to disobey their mother. While I wouldn't be surprised if there were one or two instances where Candace disobeyed her mother willfully, the closest I can think off off hand is Candace not doing a bunch of chores that she was supposed to do. Really, the fact that all her kids love her, shows how much all her kids feel loved in their household. And I think that's super important. Candace wrote a song about how much she feels loved by her mom, even if her mom is dismissive of Candace. But she still goes with Candace to see what the boys are up to even if she doesn't believe it. She sets boundaries on how often Candace can bust the boys sure. But she hasn't forbidden Candace from doing it altogether. Nor does she punish Candace for presumably lying?

At MOST Linda will say something like: "let's get you out of the sun" after a failed bust. The worst of it I think is probably the time Linda made her promise not to try or suffer the Pharaohs curse. Which, was just some guy in a Pharaoh costume telling Candace curse you. Linda goes out of her way to read books to try and deal with her daughter. She and Candace still clearly hold a lot of affection for each other and do spend a decent amount of mother daughter time together. Linda gives books to her daughter, tries to direct her to other activities, and finds her sleep busting cute, and sometimes goes out of her way to do activities her daughter wants to do with her. All things considered Linda is REALLY patient about Candace's busting. Could she be doing more to get to the bottom of why Candace is presumably acting out? Sure. But Doofensmirtz could also be doing a better job of listening to his daughter and not insulting her (or do we not remember why Vanessa wears earbuds around the house) but we all call him a really good dad.

A LOT of shows have kids hiding a secret from a parent for one reason of another. But while the crux of the show rests on Linda not knowing what her sons are doing, its not because its a secret. The boys aren't hiding it from her. The boys genuinely believe she knows. Lawrence genuinely believes she knows. Candace is the only one in the family who really grasps the situation.

Linda's ignorance, her disbelief of the wild shenanigans that her children get into is easily mistakable for normality. For representing the oppressive day to day. The same thematic antagonist as school. A mom who wants whats best for her kids, and thinks that whats best for them is them being normal, without realizing what's really best for them. After all why else we saw what would happen if she found out in Quantum Boogaloo. But the fact of the matter is aside from that one future (which also featured an effectively evil leader in Doofensmirtz, and therefore implies more factors at play than just Doofensmirtz and Linda's characters), we don't really know how it would play out in the long term. Future Linda even just kinda moves on after discovering the truth.

Linda is exactly like her kids. She just does the same things on a less physics breaking scale. The woman has like 37 different hobbies. She takes a cooking class, donated an art sculpture, is part of a jazz group. She has a background in astrophysics. She was a pop star. She won a meatloaf contest. She takes french lessons. The fact that Linda has several hobbies is part of the reason the formula works at all. Linda is constantly trying new things which gets her out of the house, while her sons are trying their own new things. Her absence is what prompts Candace to have to go looking for her. Also, What Do It Do when the moment Linda gets put in Candace's position she acts the exact same way.

Also it's why she and Lawrence are so compatible. They have a lot of weird hobbies they spend together. She likes Lawrence's history references. They watch car racing together. They went spelunking together. They go bowling regularly enough to have equipment. She has played the bagpipes while Lawrence danced (which sidenote: do you think she taught Candace how to play the bagpipes?).

Not to mention her extended family. Think about it. Her mom was a competitive roller derby skater who once bit a skate and shook it like a dog with a chew toy and pulls elaborate pranks with her identical twin. Really she's a lot like Candace with her aggressive passion. Her dad apparently won a balloon race, but tells the story in the most straightforward way possible, sometimes very oblivious, but is overall a lot like Phineas. Her sister is an adrenaline junky. And back to Quantum Boogaloo for a minute: Her granddaughter is just like Candace, Grown up Candace is a lot like Linda. Do you not see the implications!!?!?!? LIKE???? DO YOU NOT REALIZE THAT LINDA WAS PROBABLY A LOT LIKE CANDACE AND PHINEAS WHEN SHE WAS YOUNGER?!!?! YOU THINK IT SKIPPED A GENERATION OR SOMETHING???

Do you think Linda used to complain about Tiana??? Do you think Linda thought her family was weird and was embarrassed by them??? Do you think Linda ever called herself the only mature/normal member of her family?? LIKE CANDACE DOES????

Anyway, Linda is just like her family. Sure, she is RELATIVELY more normal, but that's relative, and probably simply because the universe bends itself around to keep her from knowing. Linda literally cannot find out about the real nature of her universe. Linda is just a grown up version of her children, seeking to make the most of each day, but within the bounds the universe has set upon her, both as an adult woman and mother, but also in the laws of physics expected of her. But she still makes the most of her life. You don't have to build a roller coaster to make the most of each day and all that.

I think if Linda is representing anything its that even parents can have rich fulfilling lives. Where they make the most out of each day. Having fun with your life doesn't stop with adulthood. Even if you have more responsibilities doesn't mean you can't have fun? Sure childhood is something you can't get back but growing up isn't inherently bad either?

[artist-issues]

also, about Anakin—I distinctly remember realizing when I was first watching Star Wars that part of what makes Anakin’s relationship with Obi-Wan so compelling is that his love for Obi-Wan is as much forbidden as his love for Padme.

I mean, here’s this kid who’s too old to be trained as a Jedi, not because he’ll be prideful or have to catch up or anything, but because he’s old enough to have already learned how to get attached. And the Council was right; he never, ever unlearns that.

But the very first person aside from Padme that Padawan Anakin got attached to was Obi-Wan. And so all through his training, as he’s growing up and Obi-Wan is growing up too, Anakin is thinking “this is my guy. This is my older brother, this is my best friend, this is the only father I’ve ever known” and just recently discovered that someone like that (Qui-Gonn) can be killed and ripped away from you.

All through his training, that fierce attachment is growing, even more steadily than his love for Padme because he’s never separate from Obi-Wan…and the difference is, Obi-Wan shuts it down. It’s obvious that they love one another like brothers, but Obi-Wan never says it until Anakin is lying like chopped-up charred hibachi on the banks of Mustafar.

I mean, imagine having a father or older brother who you know loves you, but who refuses to say so? Except through his actions, almost in spite of himself?

And then imagine yourself as someone who never gets on board and believes in the code that says you can’t attach? So you know that your father-brother-figure is a hypocrite, about, like, the thing you think is the most important and also the stupidest part of the code?

Because he can’t say it! Because he’s supposed to be teaching Anakin not to get attached—what’s he gonna do, tell Anakin “I’m so glad you’re safe” every time they escape an adventure? Tell Anakin he doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost him? Remind Anakin that he cares? And then say “but attachment is bad. Trust the Force.” No, he’s not going to do that. He’s going to keep that aloof-thing going, even though Anakin knows Obi-Wan loves him.

So Anakin, a very dramatic young man who likes his declarations of affection super up-front, never gets that from Obi-Wan. And he’s so sensitive in the Force, and they’re so connected for such a long time—he must be feeling, constantly, that Obi-Wan loves him too. But Obi-Wan never says it. And even though Anakin knows why, it’s a constant source of frustration, because Anakin doesn’t actually respect the code and he doesn’t see why Obi-Wan does.

So constantly, Anakin feels like Obi-Wan is hiding affection for him, or withholding it. Keeping something good for him back. He’s feeling like Obi-Wan is, on some level, a little two-faced. He’s feeling like Obi-Wan’s willing enough to save his life and stick up for him—clearly Obi-Wan is attached—but coming out and saying it? Admitting it: “hey little bro, I know you’re attached to me but you have to stop; it’s not the Jedi way. I know how you feel, I’m attached to you too—we’ll just have to figure that out together?”

No, he never does that. Not until it’s way too late, and Anakin has already conflated Obi-Wan’s refusal to express their bond out loud with how deceitful and two-faced the Jedi are, and they have to be enemies.

which, you know, understandable, considering who Obi-Wan is as a character. but still.

Yeesh. I love this character, I feel like he was when I first started thinking about the tangled web of character motivations and conflicts, but the poor guy.

[thelibrarian1895]

Bruce is the restraining bolt

Let's say that Bruce "dies" again. Tim, of course, figures it's another temporary thing and bonus he doesn't need to risk another organ to prove it this time. That being said, Bruce isn't around to stop them now. Dick doesn't feel the need to be the dad this time since Bruce will be back. He's the big brother, the babysitter at best. Jason has never felt the need to step up into a parental role for any of his sibs before and he's not going to stop now. Cass won't kill, that is her line, beyond that, she's not anyone's parent either. Tim is one bad day away from being a supervillain, he seriously needs a vacation but at the same time he needs something that will keep him busy or he will get paranoid (thanks B for the trauma) and so he's not going to stop anyone, Duke doesn't have the experience to know when or if he should stop any of his sibs, steph and barbara are staying out of it as while they are family they consider themselves cousins at best no matter what B says, and no one is going to let Damian boss them around.

That being established, B is gone, Alfred is fretting but not inclined to stop anyone anyway, the kids decide that while the bat is away...

When Bruce returns, Alfred is just returning from a spa trip his beloved grandchildren insisted that he go on since he deserved a nice break and they even investigated to make sure the spa wasn't a scam or front! While Alfred was gone and Bruce was "dead", all Black Mask's warehouses had been mysteriously destroyed with large explosions that Bruce had previously forbidden because he was worried about collateral damage since some of those warehouses were sandwiched by other storage facilities and places where people squatted. (Steph and Jason, both very affronted because they are professionals B! And yes, there were also glitter bombs involved, it made the fire extra pretty with the different colors).

Furthermore, Lex Luthor is no longer the majority shareholder of his own company anymore, that would be Tim now, and all of Lex's employees are rejoicing since they're all getting a pay raise that brings them from the legal bare minimum to not just a living wage but twice that plus benefits even for those who aren't full timers (which is basically everyone, lex never wanted to get benefits for anyone). Lex is also being investigated for embezzling, money laundering, domestic and international terrorism, and the trafficking of minors (kon). Lex chose a very bad time to make Kon sad and Tim took that personally.

Bruce also discovered that Tim's childhood home, aka the drake's old place next door for the given value of next door, has been demolished and that whole area is now a botanical garden and registered wildlife sanctuary. (Damian with assistance and permission from Tim since technically the land was in Tim's name, Damian persuaded Poison Ivy to help while also monitoring to ensure she didn't slip in anything detrimental and also breaking up the exotic animal smuggling ring that B had been trying to keep from him to prevent this very thing. Tim, in the meantime, just happened to have a number of people on hand more than happy to work in a botanical garden/wildlife sanctuary and no, none of those people were ever formerly ninja who answered to Ra's before realizing that Red Robin was a far better employer, why would you ever think they were?)

And of course, the Joker is dead. None of his kids are fessing up to this. If pressed, they will cry, even Jason, and say that they thought Joker killed their dad and they wished it had been them because they missed him so much! (It was Dick and Barbara, Babs faked the paperwork for Dick to go in as an orderly, Dick, in disguise, gave the Joker altered medication via injection and made sure to get some air bubbles in for good measure, official COD was a totally natural brain aneurysm, so sad, no autopsy needed, burn the body)

Duke was a bit of a wild card and ended up hanging out with Selina, picking up a few extra skills, and using those skills to break into various mansions and apartments of the filthy rich to steal back stolen art and artifacts and return them to museums in their country of origin so they can be enjoyed by everyone (he watched indiana jones recently and the "it belongs in a museum" popped into his head a lot, he did wear a particular hat while he was committing his heists) It was nice potential step mother and step son bonding time

And finally, Cass causes Ra's Al Ghul to lose a particular appendage, one that the lazarus pit hasn't been able to grow back for him thanks to a little consultation with Constantine beforehand. She then went to hang out at Themyscira and got some very pretty bracelets.

Bruce is thinking very hard about just turning around. He takes a nap instead and then he lectures his beloved nutcases about personal safety, the law, respecting what is essentially dibs on certain super villains, and all the other boring stuff he's tried to impose on them over the years.

[axkirak]

Special : My mother is my enemy│(Qimir x Reader)

Remark : This one-shot is a special chapter from The Curse of Cassandra series. I recommend reading the main series first before reading this one.

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings:  Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader)  [The Acolyte]

Content Rating : Mature 18+  Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

A/N : another special chapter because I still can’t move on from The Curse of Cassandra

This special chapter is inspired by the love-hate relationship between Paul, Alia, and Jessica (in the novels. Paul and Alia both hate and love their mom, while Jessica fears her kids and what she's created.)

The story might seem confusing since it's closely tied to the main plot. It ends a bit open-ended, but that’s intentional. It's meant to fill in gaps and explain certain things. Not sure if it'll leave you more confused, though—like about who Alia really is and whether she's Qimir's daughter. But I’ll leave that open for you to interpret. No right or wrong here. I wanted Alia's identity to stay unclear.

[Special II ] My mother is my enemy

My mother is my enemy. She does not know it, but she is. She bore me; she trained me. She is my enemy.

Paul Atreides (Dune Book One)

As you reflect on your past, a deep regret lingers for the choices you've made. 

You wonder: if you hadn’t chosen to drink the Water of Life that day, would things have turned out differently?

You wouldn’t have uncovered the truth about Qimir being a Sith Lord, nor would you have had to face the looming catastrophe threatening the universe. Most importantly, your daughter wouldn’t have been born with this 'abnormality.'

You had never considered having children, as the Bene Gesserit trained you to control your body with meticulous precision, down to the exact timing of ovulation. You were confident you had taken every precaution, but fate has a way of slipping through even the smallest cracks. By the time you noticed the changes in your body, it was already too late.

You discovered your pregnancy after drinking the Water of Life. Paul Atreides himself delivered the grim news: “I’m sorry to tell you this, but your child will not be normal. I’ve done everything in my power to help, but I don’t know if it will work.”

You knew well the consequences of drinking the Water of Life while pregnant: if the child was male, he would die in the womb immediately. But if female, she would be born with a curse—an 'Abomination' a forbidden being by the Bene Gesserit’s teachings. Just like you. Just like Alia Atreides.

And unfortunately, your child was a girl.

While your Ruh-spirit drifts through Al’am Al-Mithal, teetering on the edge of life and death, you are haunted by visions of intertwined destinies—yours and your unborn child’s. This pregnancy is entwined with the Kwisatz Haderach’s destined path, an unavoidable twist in the tapestry of fate.

Years from now, your daughter will bear another daughter. This cycle will repeat until a son is finally born—Anakin Skywalker, the second Kwisatz Haderach.

Your child’s entire life has been predetermined, even before she was born.

What have I brought into this world? you wonder.

This question comes to your mind as you hold the infant in your arms, after enduring the long, torturous labor on Tatooine. The baby’s skin is flushed red, her small body eerily still, making no sound, For a terrifying moment, she seems lifeless. until she opens her eyes—striking blue and filled with an awareness far beyond her age, as though she has lived through lifetimes.

The baby reaches out, her tiny fingers curling around your pinky finger. That first touch stirs a bond that has existed since she was in your womb. The gradual mental connection reveals a chilling truth: the Water of Life has completely altered the child’s soul. Her essence has been bathed in ancestral memories, leaving almost nothing of her own self intact.

This child is mine, you think with sorrow and fear as you look at your daughter's face, but she is also not mine.

Paul’s voice echoes in your mind, confirming your thoughts. You are right.

In that instant, you feel Paul’s essence radiating from somewhere deep within your consciousness. You clearly sense that his emotions at this moment are trembling no differently from your own.

“Alia,” the name slips from your lips, but it is Paul who speaks.

And the baby, wrapped in a clean white cloth, responds with a faint, enigmatic smile that stops you cold.

On that day, you decided to name your daughter 'Alia the Second' after Paul Atreides’ sister

Alia, the Strange One—that’s what they call her.

Alia speaks her first words at just six months old. Unlike typical infant babbling, her speech shifts between the tones of a child and moments of clarity so profound, it feels almost out of place for a baby.

And the first word she says is “Paul.”

The name she utters almost causes family problems, as Qimir doesn't understand who this 'Paul' is, and why his daughter would call out another man’s name instead of his.

But you know well that Alia isn't speaking to you or Qimir—she is communicating with Paul Atreides.

“I love you, Paul,” the little girl tells you once. Her simple words strike a deep chord with your soul.

You turn to look at the child lying in her cradle, and suddenly, a wave of emotions surges through you. The feeling isn’t yours—it’s Paul’s. Sorrow, longing, regret, guilt—they crash over you all at once, leaving you in tears before you even realize it.

“I love you too, Alia,” Paul responds.

Alia reveals her Force abilities for the first time when she’s only three years old. The incident happens unintentionally and nearly turns disastrous had you not intervened in time.

At first, you don’t understand what’s happening. All you see are several children lying on the ground, writhing in pain, their cries of anguish filling the air. Only Alia stands amidst the chaos, her expression cold and detached, a trickle of blood running down from her nose to her chin. She seems unaware of her actions, as though lost in her own world—or perhaps another realm entirely.

It’s not until you shout, using the Voice, "Alia, stop this now!" that she snaps back to reality, and everything halts immediately

You quickly scoop her up and rush home, your heart pounding with indescribable anxiety. You realize this is far more serious than you had anticipated. Alia has never shown any signs of Force sensitivity—not to mention the Bene Gesserit techniques you haven’t even begun to teach her. Yet the child somehow wields both powers simultaneously. Worse still, she uses them to harm others.

Soon, this news is bound to reach other ears, and if it reaches the Jedi or other dangerous factions in the galaxy—your family’s safety, especially Alia’s, will be in grave jeopardy.

When the door closes shut, you kneel before Alia, placing your hands firmly on her small shoulders. Staring into her face, discomfort grows within you. Alia doesn’t resemble you or Qimir at all. Instead, she eerily resembles Paul Atreides—especially her large, deep blue eyes that hold a wisdom far beyond her years. You tell yourself that Alia is still a child, your daughter, no matter what essence dwells within her spirit.

“What did you do to those children? Why?” Your voice grows harsh, almost angry, though you manage to keep control over your temper.

“They called me a freak. I was so angry I wanted them to hurt... and then they just fell down,” Alia whispers, her head bowed, refusing to meet your gaze. “I really am a freak.”

You can feel her emotions—deep sadness and guilt radiating through her small frame. She’s not lying. She didn’t mean for it to happen. But controlling one’s emotions and powers is extremely difficult for a child this age. It’s even harder for someone who has been different since birth.

You hug your daughter tightly, silent tears streaming down your face. Guilt consumes you. This isn’t Alia’s fault—it’s yours. You are the one who brought this child into this world, knowing full well what Alia is, and knowing what fate awaits her ahead.

For a moment, you can't help but think that giving birth to Alia was a grave mistake, a mistake you cannot go back and fix.

“You’re not a freak, Alia. You’re special,” you protest with a trembling voice. Yet, deep down, you know those words are nothing more than a comforting lie.

Your child is a freak, and so are you. That’s an undeniable truth.

Qimir isn’t particularly shocked when he learns of Alia’s powerful display of the Force. You can tell he has sensed something unusual about her all along, even though he has never asked you about it directly. Which is a relief, as you’re not ready to explain everything to him—not just about Paul’s spirit but also the complexities of Alia’s nature, a mystery no ordinary person, let alone one who isn’t Bene Gesserit, could ever truly understand.

Still, conflict within your family becomes inevitable. Qimir wants Alia to become his apprentice, to inherit the Sith ways—an idea you adamantly refuse. You know the cruelty of the Sith path, especially the ritual that demands the apprentice to take their master’s life to ascend as the new Sith Lord.

You know Alia has the potential to do it—her powers are formidable. With proper training, defeating Qimir wouldn’t be difficult. But you would never let that happen. "The Sith way will not be used on my child. I will not let her kill her own father!" you declare with unyielding determination. It’s the first time you dare to defy the agreement between you and Qimir, and the only time he cannot override your will.

You vow that Alia’s hands will never be stained with blood like yours or Qimir’s. You don’t want her to face the same cruelty. That’s why you are determined to protect her completely, allowing her to grow up as a normal person, free from the paths of the Sith, the Jedi, or the Bene Gesserit. You believe this is the only thing you, as a mother, can do for your child.

Yet, in the end, you still fail.

Alia committed her first murder at the age of five. This time was different from the previous incidents—she did it with deliberate intent, not by accident or carelessness.

Your family’s sense of security began to erode two years ago, the moment Alia started using her powers. Stories of a strange young girl harnessing both the Force and the ancient magic of the Bene Gesserit eventually caught the attention of certain bounty hunters.

Being hunted was nothing new to you and Qimir. Over the years, the two of you had become adept at forging identities, blending in, and disappearing whenever danger came too close. But things were far more complicated now that you had a child to protect. Relocating and covering your tracks became increasingly difficult, especially since the bounty hunters no longer targeted you or Qimir. Their focus was entirely on Alia.

What better target could there be than a seemingly harmless child, easy to capture?

That’s what they thought, and it turned out to be a fatal mistake.

You watch Alia, your daughter, sitting with her legs gently swinging over the edge of a wooden chair in the secret hideout. Her gray aba[1] robe remains pristine, free of bloodstains—a stark contrast to the blood-soaked concrete floor surrounding her. Scattered across the room are the corpses of several men, their lifeless bodies lying in disarray.

Using the observation techniques of the Bene Gesserit, you quickly discern that none of the corpses show any signs of struggle. The absence of resistance and the unnatural positioning of their bodies make it clear: they willingly turned their weapons on one another.

There is only one explanation for this—the Voice.

Despite being surrounded by this gruesome bloodbath, Alia shows no trace of fear. You know immediately, without needing any special techniques, that your daughter caused all this.

Fortunately, Qimir isn’t here to witness this, you think. If he were, I wouldn’t know how to explain what our daughter has done.

“I had to do it, Mother,” Alia says, calling you “Mother” for the first time. Her voice is steady, too composed for a child of her age. “If I hadn’t acted, they would have kept coming after us.” She sighs softly, then offers you an innocent smile. “Father will understand. He might even be proud that I can defend myself.”

She’s not wrong. The Sith revere strength above all else. It’s this very philosophy that made Qimir a Sith Lord after he slaughtered countless Jedi—and his own master.

But you are not a Sith. And for the first time, you feel a deep, visceral fear toward your own daughter—something you’ve never felt before “Alia, this isn’t something a child like you should—”

“I am a woman of the desert,” she cuts in, her tone resolute, her words sharp as a blade. “And this is what every Fremen child does when faced with threats. You should be proud too, Mother.”

You stare at your daughter, stunned by the ferocity concealed within the eyes of this five-year-old girl.

You’ve always known Alia wasn’t an ordinary child, but now there’s something about her that shakes you to your core—something alien, otherworldly, and incomprehensibly vast. In that fleeting moment, it feels as if the emotional bond between you and your daughter has vanished.

She’s not my child. The thought crystallizes in your mind with harrowing clarity. You mutter under your breath, your gaze hollow, “I should have killed you…”

Alia shakes her head slowly, a soft, amused laugh slipping from her lips. “Father said the same thing to you once, didn’t he? But he couldn’t do it.” She stops swinging her legs and locks eyes with you, her piercing blue gaze unsettlingly profound. “And I know you can’t, either. You love me, even if you try to deny it.”

Your throat tightens, dry as desert sand, leaving you speechless—because every word Alia says cuts through to the truth.

That’s when it dawns on you—Alia has become another Reverend Mother, one who transcends the boundaries of past, present, and future. She is a Truthsayer who sees all, who knows all.

Because I drank the Water of Life. That’s why she became this.

The thought invades your mind, and you can’t help but wonder—if you hadn’t made that choice, could everything have turned out differently?

Alia moves calmly, rising from her chair and stepping onto the blood-soaked floor without a moment’s hesitation. She walks toward you, extending her small hand to take yours. In that simple touch, the bond between mother and daughter is reignited, their emotions fusing as one. You feel her thoughts, her emotions, as she feels yours.

“Don’t blame yourself, Mother,” Alia says softly, her tiny hand gently stroking the back of yours. She is unnervingly composed, her presence both calming and unsettling. “You know this was the only choice you had.”

“I just hope I made the right choice,” you whisper, exhaustion thickening your voice.

“I cannot say for sure, Mother,” Alia replies evenly. “But you’ve reshaped history. Humanity will owe its survival to you—and to Atreides.”

History—The word rings bitterly in your mind.

Yes, they will owe you everything. But what value does that have? In the end, your story will fade into obscurity, lost to the sands of time. No one will remember your name. The only trace of your existence will be a brief entry: ‘The last Bene Gesserit who perished on Eiram’

And no one in this vast universe will ever understand the sacrifices you made to save it all.

Footnotes:

[1]An aba (or abayah) is a loose, simple robe worn by Muslim women (and is mentioned in the Dune novels as the traditional garment of Fremen women).

[go-spotlight-author]

Past Spotlight Author Posts

✨AlwaysBeMyBaby ✨

Continuing to share previous Spotlight Authors from the original Facebook posts to help catch everyone up with this fun and informative campaign.

Our second post featured AlwaysBeMyBaby and was shared in April '25. Keep reading to learn more about their Good Omens-influenced works and participation in this ineffable fandom.

Here’s some more info about AlwaysBeMyBaby’s life outside of the Good Omens fandom:

“I grew up in Guam and Hawai’i and I currently live in Northern California with my partner, child, and two cats. I’m an English professor interested in race, empire, and colonization as well as poetry, media, and popular culture. My hobbies include U-Jam dance and hot yoga. As a teenager in the 1980s, my favorite poet was Anne Sexton and my favorite band was The Clash.”

AlwaysBeMyBaby is fairly new to the Good Omens fandom - and actually discovered it after participating in another popular fandom! 

“My first online fandom was Our Flag Means Death. I started watching OFMD because it seemed like a cool show to watch with my kid. When Good Omens 2 aired, my OFMD friends watched it but I was a month behind because I was finishing up a writing event. After I watched S2, of course I immediately joined all the Facebook GO fan groups and found other GO fans online so we could cry and yell together about the ending and get hooked on all the speculation, fanfics, memes, etc.”

Poetry is a beautiful genre of writing, and our Ineffable Duo’s relationship brought a special inspiration for AlwaysBeMyBaby:

“I write poems to play and experiment with words, to put words together that might not have been put together that way before.

My first Good Omens poems were written for the Scribbling Vaguely Downwards 2024 Valentine’s Day prompts. The prompts included Valentine’s Day imagery like flowers, gifts, hearts, romantic dinners, and bubble baths.

Because of the taboo nature of Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship, so much had to be unspoken and coded. Their nonhuman essence also means that there is more to them than human language can grasp. Poetry, meanwhile, is a practice of bringing new language into being. So maybe flowers don’t mean a typical Valentine’s Day bouquet for them. Maybe a flower is something fragile and impossible that blooms between them after the scorching fire of the Kiss. Maybe a gift between them is not a pretty trinket. Maybe it is something devastating like a thermos of holy water. I turn to poetry to reach for understanding their mystery.”

Writing poetry and prose are very different, and AlwaysBeMyBaby had this to say when asked about writing both (and which one was easier of the two):

“I hear words as sound and music first, then I see and feel them as the visual and tactile images they evoke. Writing poems feels natural to me because it allows me to listen to the sound of words and to see the images they call forth.

I find writing stories very hard! Plot and dialogue don’t come naturally to me. I admire fiction writers who can keep momentum going with action and blocking and plot, or who can write that delicious banter between our angel and demon.”

AlwaysBeMyBaby’s favorite pairing and writing themes in the Good Omens fandom revolve around a certain angel 😇 and demon😈- obviously 😀: 

“I write primarily about Aziraphale and Crowley because the forbidden aspect of their relationship resonates so much with what many of us have struggled with, whether it’s religious trauma, family expectations, the treatment of queer, interracial, or otherwise taboo relationships, etc. I did write one poem for Shax/Furfur and that was very fun because Shax is so commanding and fierce.”

“In my writing, I try to capture moments between Aziraphale and Crowley that really touch me – moments of tenderness, moments of longing, moments of joy. I also try to capture moments of delight and anticipation for the fandom – anticipation for their happily ever after ending, for example. In capturing a moment, poetry is a form of writing that can stop time.”

Of all the works AlwaysBeMyBaby has written, there are two that stand out as personal favorites:

“I wrote “Rondel: Resistance” in November 2024. It’s about finding and building community even when you yourself feel too tired to fight. There are repeated lines in the form of the rondel, and the repetition gives the poem a feeling of determination.  The second one is “The Demon’s Howl,” written as an homage to Allen Ginsberg’s iconic poem “Howl.” The poem describes the terrors that Crowley witnesses and the hope that he nevertheless harbors. One of my mantras from the book is “Because, underneath it all, Crowley was an optimist” (361). I admire how resourceful our Ineffables are.”

There are a few other fandoms in addition to Good Omens that AlwaysBeMyBaby enjoys participating in with writing - and has an amazing idea that I hope we get to read one day!!

“I've written for the fandoms of Our Flag Means Death, Black Sails, and Good Omens. I would like to write an essay one day about exile and unforgivability in Black Sails and Good Omens.”

AlwaysBeMyBaby has met BOTH David and Michael (so jealous!!!) 

“I made some chapbooks of my Good Omens poems and gave them as gifts to Michael Sheen and David Tennant at cons. I know they get a lot of gifts but they were fun interactions and I think it’s nice for them to see that they inspire creativity in fans.”

Also encourage you to read this work - it’s fantastic!!

“I wrote a song parody of Aziraphale channeling 50 Cent and I would love to do more song parodies and homages.”

Here are a few words of wisdom from AlwaysBeMyBaby for other authors and those aspiring to write:

“Write something that makes *you* feel something–whether it’s sadness, hope, joy, humor–anything. What makes you catch your breath when you read a story or look at a piece of art? Can you create a feeling like that?

Writing is conversation. In your head, you might be saying to your favorite authors, “yes! You gave me courage to try this trope.” You might be saying to Crowley and Aziraphale, “I know you are clever enough to survive this crazy situation.” You might be talking to yourself! That is okay. As a poet, my audience is smaller but I think small communities can be very fruitful.”

Final thoughts?

“In difficult times, it is so important to find and create beauty, joy, humor, and a caring community who will fight for us all. Thank you to all of you for being part of this community.” 

From the Spotlight Author team, and all of the GO fandom, thank you AlwaysBeMyBaby for bringing so much beautiful work to this fandom!!!

Here's some links where you can continue to follow AlwaysBeMyBaby:

Archive of Our Own [AO3]

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@alwaysbemybae

[justbelievinginmagic]

starstruck - part 1: star-crossed.

pairing(s): yeonjun x reader, huening kai x reader, txt & reader. series summary: All you've ever known was that you were divine. A celestial gift from the Ever-Lasting Star, a fallen starling who would bring the people of Stellare Soleil together as the Ever-Radiant. But when a darkness is cast over the lands, when the Ever-Lasting Star refuses to shine and count the day's hours with its familiar tick-tocking, it is up to you to save the world... isn't it? Little did you know that on your savior journey you'd find five shining souls that seemed to have had their lives turned upside down with the silencing of the Star. Together, you fight against beasts, witches, warlocks, and curses to find your true place in the universe. glimpse: Once upon a time, six friends made a promise beneath a magical star. warnings/tags: for mature audiences! inspired by txt's star seekers universe, heavy inspiration from txt's nap of star mv + txt's the doom's night animation, fantasy au, 3rd person POV, fem!reader, use of YN, fantasy lore, heavy religious themes, unequal power dynamics, txt & yn are all children in this chapter, minor injuries, magic, healing, tantrums, kids being kids, let me know if there should be more tags! word count: 5.5k -> next chapter series masterlist

Once upon a time, there was a star.

Hanging high in the dark navy-blue blanket of a sky, it tick-tocked every day, every hour, every minute; its cogs spinning, the star turning circles and shining its radiant light over the land called Stellare Soleil. Day and night, star-rise and star-set, it was there, ever-present, ever-shing, ever-lasting.

The Ever-Lasting Star, some called it.

Now, the story that is about to be told had been told before in different ways. Its tale has been repeated over and over – like a clock chiming out every hour. Their lives will play out in the same loop no matter what universe or backdrop they may have. Lives linked together forever until the Star ceases to exist.

On the day with the shortest starlight, five souls would meet deep in a forest they had been told was forbidden, but felt a magnetic pull towards. Five children wandering from home to stumble upon one another beneath the Ever-Lasting Star. However, most storytellers get the story wrong by this point. Most don’t know the true story for they were missing a piece.

There were not five souls in the story, but six souls that met under the Ever-Lasting Star that day and spun their fate into existence.

The sixth soul was called YN.

-

The forests of Zorya were not forbidden to YN. They were sacred. For as long as she’s remembered, they called to her. After all, it was, in some ways, her first home. It was where she had been discovered, only a few cycles of the clock ago, as a babe.

Draped in starshine, kissed by the Star, she was found in a crater by the Life River beneath the Ever-Lasting Star. Star-struck eyes and the milky-scar of a kiss on her forehead, she wailed out. Her discovery was made by the Time-Keeper, an old-man who worshipped the grand star with his sect of Luminaries. They cared for it through old magic. Ceremonies and temples were erected across the land of Stellare Soleil. In his long walk of blessing and checking upon the land the Star shone over, he found her. A gift he had proclaimed to the lands – a divine droplet of the Ever-Lasting Star. A starling. As a babe, she was gifted the title that a select few had bestowed upon them: the Ever-Radiant.

Over the years, she grew up and was meticulously taught. The ways of the Ever-Radiant were surprising simple. She was told of the magic in her vitae, taught that her existence was to bring the masses together beneath the Ever-Lasting Star once more. She was their hope, their Ever-Radiant starling.

As a youngling, it was common for her to be… well, spoiled. Despite having anything her little soul desired, all she wanted was what any child wanted. Happiness. Everything. Anything. She didn’t want to sit and learn. She didn’t want to be told what to do or to eat her vegetables or to go to sleep when the Ever-Lasting Star’s softened to usher in the velveteen night or to wake when the water-colored skies of morning glowed by the Ever-Lasting Star’s radiance. While she had lived in a castle, the Grand Solarium, there was always something pulling her towards the forests like a siren’s call. Her nannies and maids had chased after her too often with cries of ‘stop’ and ‘come back’.

“Please, your Ever-Radiance,” they called as she giggled and ran through the well-tamed gardens of the Grand Solarium’s grounds. For what could they do with a spoiled Ever-Radiant. She was their guardian, their holiness. Their starling.

A celeste-guard would always sweep her up into their arms as she wiggled this way and that. “You mustn’t without a chaperone, your Ever-Radiance.” The guard would advise, guiding her back to the supervision of a nanny.

The Time-Keeper never approved of a chaperone, no matter how much she whined.

“Your youth blinds you, my Starling,” he tutted. “You’ll see when you are older.”

But today she made it. Today, she had snuck past her guards, her nannies, her Luminaries, the Time-Keeper and was wandering throughout the forests that had tempted her for years. It was cold; the harvest season was in full-swing, and her attire was not at all suited for it at all. She needed a coat made of fur not her ritual-wear. Her deep-navy dress was of a velveteen fabric, expensive and shimmering with golden stitches mimicking stars, but certainly not thick enough for the chill that danced between the trees. Her haloed headdress heavied her head this way and that, reflecting the starlight all about her like she had her own congregation of following constellations. Wiggling like a child did when uncomfortable, she whined in distress. It’s cold; her neck hurt; she wanted a blanket. She didn’t like it. She wanted aid.

There was a flicker of anxiety that crashed over her like the first chill of autumn. Making the fine hair on her arms raise and her stomach churn unpleasantly. There was no one to help her. She was all alone. Alone. It was a frightening thought. She had always had someone near her, just a call away. Her little heart burned as she tried to swallow down her discomfort. Alone… A cold sweat dripped down her forehead from the starlight beating down through the aspen trees’ fiery-orange leaves. The grand star in the sky winked at her, shining brightly.

“I’m not alone though,” she said, shading her eyes as she looked up. “Am I?”

The Ever-Lasting Star tick-tocked in response. Its cogs creaked familiarly, and she smiled.

“Are you crazy?” a voice asked.

She let out a scream, jumping as she turned to face the noise. Her hands went into little fists as she searched through the skinny aspen trees for the source. And she found it quickly. The figure wasn’t even able to hide behind the skinny white trees. It was a boy or what she thought was a boy. It was hard to tell. The youngling in front of her was wearing a scary mask, made from cardboard and hand painted to look frightening. Sharp teeth of torn paper, eye holes shadowed his real eyes, and what looked like ruby blood dripped down its boxy face. He had jumped back at her screech and clung to his home-made mask.

“Why are you wearing that?” she demanded, pointing. “Why are you out here?”

“It’s for the Shortest Day of the Star-Clock! Why are you out here?”

“Why does a mask matter for the Shortest Day?” she asked again, peering at the strange mask.

Their tones shared a childish whine; they both wanted to be deemed right.

The little Ever-Radiant looked the other up and down. The more she looked, the less frightening the mask was. Even with the paint that looked like blood dribbling down the mask’s face and the over-sized big paper-mâchéd horns, she could see that it was just a mask. Hand-made. The ‘blood’ was too orange-y like the sunset leaves on the aspen trees and the horns were just too big that they made the boy tilt on his axis. His tiny hands rose to adjust the box, holding it up to stand straight once more.

“What do you mean why?  Dressing up is the best part of the holiday.” He complained. “Where’s your mask? Why are you dressed that way?”

She couldn’t see his eyes look her up and down, but the cardboard box bounced as if he had moved his head in defiance. His questions made a flare of insecurity rise up her spine, a foreign feeling for the Ever-Radiant. Her arms crossed defensively. 

“Dressed like what? This is my finest dress,” she argued with a pout.

“It’s pretty, but it looks cold,” he said.

She looked away, her crossed arms feeling chilly. Her hands rubbed up and down them softly. The young girl was cold.

“Here,” the boy walked forward to grab her arm gently. He began to tug her further into the woods. “It’s warmer underneath the Star-Clock.”

“I kn-know that,” she replied as she stumbled over a rock. She huffed a bit as she tried to catch herself.

“But you didn’t know about wearing masks on the Shortest Day. Wait- are you… dressed up as, like, as the Star-Clock for the Shortest Day?” he eyed her tiara. “The crown looks like it’s made up of cogs and its glowing. Your dress is full of stars too.” He put the pieces together quietly, sounding like he’s pouting.

He said star-clock again… didn’t he know it was called the Ever-Lasting Star? And didn’t he know she was from it? She was the Ever-Radiant. The only Ever-Radiant of this era. Yet he was half-dragging her along like she was her aids or maids or nannies.

“I’m dressed up as monster!” he added, not giving her time to reply as he weaved in between trees. “My friends are too. We didn’t plan it! And we were catching starbugs! Want to join us?”

“F-friends?” she stuttered out. She had never met other kids her age before. Were they all like this boy?

“Yeah, they’re great! I just met them today,” he admitted, bashfully. “But they’re fun! Taehyun brought a telescope to watch the starset, and Beomgyu had the nets for catching fragles for his family, but theyre way better for starbugs.”

His rambles were cut off at the sound of children laughing.

“Look, you can see the cogs in the sky behind the clouds!” there was a voice, almost instructive in its tone, as he pointed out the inner-workings of the Ever-Lasting Star.

“Woah,” a voice murmured in awe.

“Don’t look too long; you’ll go blind,” one of them warned.

“No way, the Star-Clock wouldn’t do that!” another cried out.

Coming into a clearing within the forest, there were four other masked boys. The forest framed them in a grand circle; there was the flowing water of the Life River beside them, cutting through the aspen trees and berry bushes. There were five trailing white-stone rock paths coming together beneath the Ever-Lasting Star, forming a small circular platform of stones. There, a large-metallic tube of a telescope stood on a tripod. Three masked boys, all as short as her, huddled around the telescope. One boy was running in circles around them with a net on a stick. Flickering starbugs twinkled in the netting. 

“Hey guys!” her Monster called out. “I brought a friend with me!”

Their heads turned and she could see only their equally-handmade masks, all made of cardboard boxes in varying sizes.

“Hello!” one of the chimed excited, waving cutely at her.

He pushed his mask up over his head to reveal his face. His face was flushed-red probably from the lack of air circulation beneath the cardboard box. His hair was long, a whisp-y dark brown around his oval-face and… pointed ears? A sweet, almost ‘w’ smile was on his lips as he grinned over to her.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Soobin,” one of the boys cried out. “You’re not supposed to take your mask off; it brings bad luck.”

The boy called Soobin made a shocked face, a soft ‘o’ of his lips and his ears trembled in alert. “Oh,” he let out a sad sound before shrugging lightly and tugging the mask back over his face.

“She isn’t wearing a mask,” one of the boys pointed out, gesturing to her with his net grandiosely. As if she was a problem!

“She’s dressed up!” her Monster cried. “She’s like a princess. A Star-Clock princess!”

“You’re very pretty,” one of the boys chimed out sweetly. 

It made the young girl shift side to side in bashfulness.

“I said that, too!” her Monster countered eagerly. It was almost like a competition. He turned and continued. “I told you that, didn’t I—uh, what’s-what’s your name?”

“That’s what I was asking,” the one they called Soobin exclaimed, abandoning the telescope to approach the duo.

The Ever-Radiant had only been called that – the Ever-Radiant. Her title was her name to everyone at the Solarium. Or her Ever-Radiance or Starling by the Time-Keeper. Never just her name. Which she did have. Everyone had a name after all, and hers had been sewn into her baby blanket that had kept her warm beneath the Ever-Lasting Star on the brightest night of the year.

“I’m YN,” she told them. Her real name was breathed out into the air for the first time, really ever.

“I’m Yeonjun,” her Monster said.

Her head turned to glance at the other, her tiara sent flurries of sparkling rainbows casting over them in a constellation of light flares.

“Soobin,” the one in the blue painted card-board mask. His mask had equally gruesome marks. But with pretty aspen-leaves acting as ears, there was a softer element to his; glitter was painted in long stripes over the face, too.

“I’m Taehyun,” the one holding onto the telescope greeted, timidly. He shifted this way and that on his feet, shyly. His cardboard box was taller than the others and more often than not his little hands rose to keep it steady on his head.

“I’m Kai!” It was a boy in an olive-green cardboard mask and fabric wings. His mask didn’t look as frightening as the others. There were almost dopey-looking tubes making up his eye holes. He waved excitedly.

The last boy to answer was the one who pointed at her with his net. His mask was a reddish pink with fuzzy yarn making up a head of hair on the top of the cardboard box and sharp pine needles sticking out wildly.

He waved the net in greeting. “I’m Beomgyu.”

“Hi,” she greeted again.

The six children who met beneath the Ever-Lasting Star gasped as the starshine began to set and the velvet-blue of night tumbled in a whoosh. It wasn’t slow like a sunset, instead it was almost instantaneous. Like dropping food coloring into water, the colors bloomed across the light sky in a watercolor blur.

“Woah,” Taehyun murmured out, head tilting to peer into the telescope as he stared at the flurry of colors, mixing and melting into one another before the deep blue took over. It was a beautiful sight a starset. It was always jaw-dropping. The Ever-Lasting Star beamed and sparkled, the tick tocking brought in a fresh wave of night stars, dropping down from the night sky.

YN’s dress matched the night sky in this moment, a deep velvet with perfectly placed jewels matching the constellations high above them. She knew the sky by heart. Knew the stars by heart. And of course, she knew the Ever-Lasting Star like it was part of her. She smiled, happily.

The world didn’t cool beneath the Star; it was just warm enough to be comfortable and aglow beneath the Star-Clock. It was called the warmest part of the world regardless of day or night some said. The further you traveled from its epicenter, the more cool it grew.

“It’s so pretty,” Beomgyu said in awe, spinning a bit as he looked upwards.

“Did you come out to see the starset?” Taehyun asked her as he finally pried himself away from the telescope to give Soobin a turn. The boy once more took off his mask to do so – bad luck wasn’t that real (maybe his Mama will cast a luck charm for him if he asked nicely.)

“Oh, oh,” the girl stuttered before shaking her head.

No, she had just… felt the pull of the forest. She didn’t even know it was a holiday. It wasn’t a holiday in the Solarium. The Day of Eternal Light was celebrated when the air turned hot and humid. Sometimes they’d perform a ritual during the winter – when the star burned so hot, it was icy. When the cogs would stick and make the day or night feel like forever. Their prayers, the sacrifices, the offerings – everything gave the Ever-Lasting Star strength to carry on. 

“What’re you doing out here then?” The one named Kai asked.

He was now lying on the grassy knoll beside the river. Staring up at the stars she assumed. When she hadn’t replied quick enough, his head turned on its axis and he pushed up the edge of his mask up with a fist.

His face was round with cherubic features. Flushed cheeks and pouty lips and the most blinding icy-blonde hair she had ever seen was mussed over his forehead and ears. He tilted his head like a creature would.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I wanted to be away from home.”

Kai offered her a comforting look, his lips pursing in an approving way. He nodded. Not that he was happy for her yearning to be away from home, but like it was acceptable of a reason to the six-year-old.

“Where do you live?” he asked. “I don’t like the place I live either. It’s scary.”

“Scary?” she asked, brow pursing.  

“Yeah, dark and cold – the Star doesn’t like to shine there too often.” He admitted before looking up at the Ever-Lasting Star once more. His smile was fond, at peace. The cardboard box had been half-abandoned as he gazed up, the mask fell to the ground in a clatter.

 “Kaiii,” the one with the fuzzy-yarned cardboard mask, Beomgyu, whined, wiggling his arms back and forth in a tantrum. “You can’t take your mask off! We’re going to get bad luck for sure!”

The starbugs in his net buzzed in irritation at their trap being flung this way and that. It’s almost like in that moment he remembered what he was doing and he threw his arms out. “Do you want to catch starbugs, YN?” Beomgyu cried out, waving his net wildly in excitement.

A giggle broke free from her mouth at his erratic antics as she nodded. “Sure.”

She had never caught starbugs before. She had watched them light up the woods with their gentle glow. They looked magical from her tower – even if their glow dulled when caught. Sometimes they celeste-guards captured them and use them as lantern fodder across the Solarium. She liked to let them go free – they always beamed brightest when she did. Even now, their little lights ebbed and flowed as they wriggled against the netting.

“OK, Taehyun, YN’s going to use your net,” Beomgyu told him as he ran towards the other and scooped up the net he had left near the telescope.

Taehyun nodded, his cardboard head shifting this way and that unsteadily before he plopped down besides Kai to look up at the skies.

Together, the two children ran about catching star bugs with the nets. Beomgyu was really good. He would catch any bugs that flew away from YN’s reckless swiping. It wasn’t long before he had managed to have a net full of buggies while YN hadnt caught one yet.

“How are you so good?” YN complained, pouting. It wasn’t fair. She wanted a starbug! “They keep moving!”

“It’s harder than it looks,” Soobin giggled from his spot beside the telescope. The Star-Clock glimmered down at him with a twinkle and tick-tock. He awed.

“I’m the best starbug catcher,” Beomgyu declared. “Ever!”

“I want some!” YN stomped her foot, spoiled.

“I’ve got them all,” he teased, shaking the net at her. His bugs buzzed unhappily; their lights flickering in and out.

“Stop that,” Kai insisted, glaring at the other. “You’re hurting them.”

Beomgyu stopped suddenly, holding the net still as he peered at the bugs. Their glow was dim and faint.

“Oh,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry, buggies.”

A little finger rose to caress the net as if he was petting the starbugs.

“Maybe you should let them go,” Yeonjun prompted, joining the boy and girl. “Maybe YN could catch them then. She isn’t from the forest like you.”

“None of you are, stupid village-dwellers,” Beomgyu countered but tipped his net over and the bugs scurried out in a whirl of wings and squeaking sounds. Directly into their faces.

The three squealed childishly and ducked away from the flurry of bugs. YN fell back onto her back, painfully. Giggles escaped Beomgyu; meanwhile, YN had begun to cry, frightened. Everything had been so fast, the bugs were so wild, and her back hurt, and her elbow stung. In this moment, YN wasn’t an Ever-Radiant; she was just a little girl who got scared.

“Are you crying?” Taehyun asked, leaning up from the hillside.

Her cries were loud, big teardrops dripping down her cheeks.

“Oh, c’mon,” Beomgyu crowed nearby, hands going to his hips in defiance.

“YN,” Yeonjun approached with concern. He had lifted his mask to look at her clearer. He tossed it aside, dark brown hair mussed.

Taehyun was quick to join. He looked scary, towering over her with his cardboard mask.

“You’re being a baby,” Beomgyu complained nearby.  “Big baby, big baby!”

“Stop it, Beomgyu,” Soobin scolded.

The younger went quiet, underneath his mask he frowned. Petulantly, he went back to swinging his net, childishly. His family always made fun of him when he was got startled… it was normal. Why did he get scolded here?

Taehyun and Yeonjun crowded around YN as she remained in the grass, crying. Her tears stained her blue dress, and her hands wiped at her cheeks helplessly. Taehyun was silent as he watched; stoic with his mask on. Yeonjun stared at her with deep brown eyes, his little brows crinkled in concern. His hand reached out to rub her shoulder lightly, almost nervously.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyun asked.

Yeonjun wasn’t crying and neither was Beomgyu. Why was she being so strange? Taehyun wondered.

“Is it because you didn’t catch any bugs?” Yeonjun supported.

Innocently, he wrapped her into a hug. He always felt better after hugs.

“We can catch some together,” he encouraged.

Her cries turned to sobs, the type where she couldn’t catch her breath, gasping and gulping down air. He squeezed her tighter, and Taehyun even shifted to kneel beside her.

“We can catch the star bugs together.” Taehyun echoed.

She didn’t care. She didn’t care. She was hurt, and she felt hot and stuffy in her dress and the Ever-Lasting Star was too hot. Her arm hurt. And she just felt everything so much. She clung to her new friend and hugged him tight, sniffling.

“It’s okay,” he reassured. “It’s okay, YN.”

“I hurt my arm,” she finally managed to gasp out.

“Oh,” Taehyun cried out in understanding.

The masked boy looked closer at the scrape on her arm, the sleeve of her fancy dress torn and turned ruddy from the grass and blood. It didn’t look too bad. He got scraped up all the time from playing. Taehyun took to climbing trees like mushroom-toads took to jumping across lily pads.

“I can help!” Kai chimed out, hopping up and bolting over to them. It almost looked like he was levitating he was so quick.

He shuffled past the others, shoving his shoulders in between them. YN looked up at him with watery eyes, her cheeks red and blotchy from her tears. He frowned at the sight.

“Here! I can make it better,” he reached out for her arm, holding it in between his hands. His palm covered her injury and he shut his eyes. A murmur of an incantation escaped his mouth low and eerie.

“You’re a witch?” Soobin asked, nosing his way into the circle.

Yeonjun, Taehyun, Kai, and now Soobin were crowded around the crying Ever-Radiant. Beomgyu watched from afar, raising his mask up little by little to stare after them with a pout. Jealousy burned over him in a red flare across his cheeks. Kai didn’t reply to Soobin’s question as he continued to murmur ancient sounding words. Her arm tingled warmly like she had been laying out in the starlight for too long and, when he pulled his hand away, the cut was gone.

“All better,” Kai smiled at her brightly, his eyes opening to reveal a strange glow in his blue-ish eyes.

YN awed up at him. The faint thought of ‘was he like her?’ whispered through her. He seemed magical, more magical than her. She couldn’t heal someone… at least she didn’t think she could.

“Woah,” they all chorused in surprise.

“You must be a witch!” Soobin exclaimed with a bright grin of his own.

Witch? She hadnt heard about witches… were they like Luminaries? Her tear-soaked eyes looked between Kai and Soobin.

“No,” Kai said, turning to look at Soobin surprised. He hadn’t heard of witches before. “What are those?”

“My mama is a witch; she can cast spells and do magic things like that,” Soobin argued. “I can’t, because I’m a boy but if you can maybe I can one day!”

The sweet elf-eared boy chimed out optimistically as he grinned.

Huh. YN never knew magic was something other people could do. She thought only the Time-Keeper and the Luminaries held that power, and only through the grace of the Ever-Lasting Star. Just like how she was special because of the Ever-Lasting Star. Was Kai special? Was Soobin’s family… his mother? How many people were so-called special?

Kai’s eyes slowly dulled to a normal hue, and he went to fiddle with the back of his shirt, rubbing at his neck. “Oh, I don’t know my Mama, but maybe?” he offered warmly.

YN rubbed a finger over her injury-no-more; it was tender the touch but it didn’t hurt anymore. She sniffled.

“You okay, YN?” Yeonjun asked quietly. He was still hugging her close, his hands interlocked on her shoulder

Her eyes raised from her arm to look at her first friend. Without his mask, she could see that Yeonjun had a gentle pout, a flurry of messy brown hair, and eyes that were gentle and kind as he searched her expression. She nodded slowly.

“Yeah,” she replied, her other arm raising to wipe at her overwhelmed face.

“Here, we’ll help you catch some starbugs,” Soobin offered, his hand reaching for her. “Beomgyu!”

The boy was nearby watching intently. But at Soobin’s call, he dropped his cardboard mask back over his face. 

“What?” his voice muffled by the cardboard.

“Can you teach us?” Soobin asked. “I grew up in the Valley so I know how to catch butterflies, but these bugs are tricky.”

Beomgyu shifted back and forth on his feet, staring at them. The few bugs in his net flew away without him noticing.

“Please,” Soobin added, tilting his head a bit in exasperation.

The headstrong child contemplated for a moment longer before he huffed.

“Fineee,” he complained. “C’mon, I’ll help you, YN.”

The rest of the evening was spent capturing starbugs with the help of Beomgyu. The first one she manages to capture on her own sent the young Ever-Radiant into a fit of triumphant ‘I did it, I did it’ across the clearing. She ran and ran in excited circles making her new friends chuckle. Kai joined her in the care-free circles.

The night crept further in. Owls hooted in their tree-branches. The Ever-Lasting Star glowed bright, casting a ray of light over their little spot of land as they continued to play and talk.

Beomgyu bragged about his family and their ability to live in the woods, but at a scary hoot of an owl he jumped closer to the group. Taehyun spoke of how he loved to watch the star back home, on top of his roof. Yeonjun talked about how he had a cooler mask at home made of wood. Soobin talked about his family, referring to them as his colony, and said how his mama makes dancing lights. Kai was quiet but was happy, talking about games they could play and star-bathing in the light. YN was just in awe of all the different things they said.

All she had known was her Luminaries and the Time Keeper. She knew of rituals and rules and history. Not… games and woodmaking and family. What was a family…? Did she have one? There were others who had magic and didn’t need to confine themselves to rules. They lived and did more than just sit inside a Solarium reading rituals of old. She didn’t have magic – that she knew of. She was a Starling but what did that mean other than being of the Ever-Lasting Star? Kai seemed to glow like a star too!

She was baffled and overwhelmed but also happy. She liked chasing star bugs and playing hand games and singing lullabies about stars and light and treats. YN liked having friends she decided.

“I have to get going now,” Beomgyu was the first to say. She had yet to see his face; he had kept his mask on religiously. But he had sounded sad. “My dad will wonder where the fragles are by now.”

“My mom and dad will be checking on me soon too,” Yeonjun admitted, rubbing the back of his head.

Who was her mom and dad? YN wondered. She knew the Ever-Lasting Star was her origin; was it her mom or dad?

YN frowned as the pair stood. The others muttered similar excuses. Kai remained lying on his back, fabric wings splayed out behind him.

“Can we see each other again?” she asked softly.

Kai smiled brightly turning to look at her. “I’d love to play with you guys again!”

“Yeah!” Taehyun exclaimed.

“Let’s promise to meet up again,” Yeonjun prompted, standing forward and putting his pinky finger out.

The other boys chimed out in agreement standing up and interlacing their pinkies as they stood in a circle.

“C’mon, YN,” Soobin encouraged with a nod of his head.

“Is this like those clapping games?” she asked with a confused look. She had liked those and the silly rhymes they chanted out.

“You’ve never made a pinky promise on the Star-Clock?” Beomgyu outraged.

She gave a soft shake of her head as she stood and joined the boys.

“You’re weird,” Beomgyu commented.

“Hey,” Yeonjun exclaimed. “That’s mean.”

“You interlace pinkies, and you promise whatever and it has to come true,” Taehyun explained.

“That’s magical!” she chimed.

Yeonjun nodded excitedly. She interlaced her one of her pinkies with Yeonjun and her other pinky with Beomgyu.

“Let’s meet here again! No matter what, we shall come back here to see each other.” They wished below the Ever-Lasting Star.

And then they went their separate ways.

She snuck back into the Solarium walls; her dress scuffed up with grass stains. A guard caught her easily and scolded her with a gentle “Your Ever-Radiance, we’ve been looking for you!”

Her face looked like a child’s in that moment and not an Ever-Radiant. She was rebellious, her smile mischievous as she was brought before the Time-Keeper.

It was then she saw his rage. He fumed and ranted about how she had frightened the entire sect. She was henceforth forbidden from leaving the Solarium, scolded for putting herself into danger. Even if she declared it was the Ever-Lasting Star’s will, the Time-Keeper disagreed and raised the alarm. The Ever-Radiant wasn’t to be unattended until he deemed it appropriate. It was an order from the Ever-Lasting Star. She argued but was quickly shut down and sent to her room.

“If you wish to act like a child, you shall be treated that way, Starling!” he bit out as he turned the key to her bedroom, trapping her inside.

She slammed a fist painfully against the door before huffing and turning to look at her bedroom. Its grandness and many glass-windows revealing the skies made her huff. She didn’t want to be stuck here; she wanted to be with her friends in the forests again. She shouldn’t have even left them! The Ever-Lasting Star twinkled and shined through a nearby open window. She rushed to the bay-window’s bench, a place where she’d spend time with the Star. Talking and asking questions about this ritual and that ritual. But tonight, she stared down at the whole of Stellare Soleil rather than the Ever-Lasting Star. The lands she was fated to bring together under the radiance of the Ever-Lasting Star. The deep valleys, the forbidden forests, the rolling quilt-like hills, and the nearby stacked-upon-stacked village. Where were her friends? Would she see them again? How would she if she was forbidden and locked in her tower in the grand Solarium?

Every night since that night, YN would sit there, and think the same thing. The Shortest Day of Starlight wasn’t anything remarkable. Just six children running around, playing, catching starbugs, and stargazing, but YN remembered it so fondly. It helped her throughout her lessons, her rituals, the ceremonies. She yearned to just be as free as she felt that night.

Staring up at the Ever-Lasting Star from her tower window, she’d wish and wish, her pink outstretched as if wrapping around a phantom’s phalange. I want to meet them again please. Were her friends okay? Were they happy? Did they meet up without her? Did they remember her? Did they know she wished she could keep their promise but couldn’t?  

Were they looking up at the Ever-Lasting Star, too? 

[dbnightingale24]

React

A Stepcest Love Story About Jim

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Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

I think my internet has finally stopped hating me, but I can't be too sure. We'll see what happens.

Word Count: 5,531

Warning(s): SMUT (MINORS DNI), Swearing, Stepcest, Infidelity, Step-Daughter/Step-Father relations, Family Drama, Forbidden Love, Lying, Sneaking Around, Emotional Cheating, Drinking, Self Loathing, FLUFF, Crying...I think that's it?

Summary: You and Jim have discovered that you don't want to stop, and don't even want to entertain the idea of it.

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I do not give permission/consent for my stories/works to get posted elsewhere. I do not condone this type of behavior/relationship, this is for entertainment purposes only.

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Chapter 4

You and Jim are horrible people, there’s no other way to put it. Jim woke you up the next day with his head between your legs, and you didn’t even attempt to stop him. Nor did you stop him when he told you get on top of him and get yourself off on him. The first two hours of the day were spent getting lost in one another and, for a moment, you forgot why it was wrong.

Then, you heard your Mother the second you opened the basement door.

“Well, why did ya sleep on the sofa, Jim?!” she snapped.

“My kids are still asleep, Y/M/N,” he huffed as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “You were a mess yesterday and-”

“I wasn’t that bad.”

“I had to carry you up the stairs in the middle of the movie.”

“Listen, I’m sorry, okay? I got nervous and they seemed to take more to-”

“That’s been your reason for every time your shit faced now, and it’s always Y/N’s fault.”

“I don’t say that it is-”

“Yes you do, and she’s only here because you asked her to come! Jesus, where’s the woman I met? The woman I fell in love with?!” he snipped and your heart broke.

You wished you’d never come back.

“And you? What do you think?” your Mother asked once she spotted you trying to creep out of the kitchen.

“Please, leave me out-”

“What do you think?” she snapped.

You let out a heavy sigh, because you knew how the rest of the day was going to go.

“I think I should’ve never come back,” you sighed as you leaned against the entry way. “I feel like you do better when we don’t see each other, and I’m not even mad about that. That’s how things have always been between us, and I don’t know why I expected it to change. Since I’ve been home, you’ve been drinking non-stop and an emotional wreck. You asked me to come back and I feel like it’s something I shouldn’t have done. I messed up your progress,” you finished softly as you toyed with your fingers, avoiding her hurt and irritated gaze.

As far as she was concerned, you and Jim were ganging up on her. Hell, if you hadn’t spent the previous night and that morning fucking her husband, you would’ve been able to feel like you weren’t ganging up on her. However, the guilt was eating you alive instantly, and it only got worse when she grabbed a bottle of whiskey off of the top of the fridge. 

It wasn’t even 10am and she’d snapped.

She was drunk off of her ass by 12pm, which meant that it was up to you to save the day for your...step-siblings. 

The day wasn’t even hard because you didn’t like them, it was hard because of what you’d done. With their Father. It didn’t help that they really had seemed to take a liking to you, and they wanted to do everything with you. Especially after your Mother passed out at 1:30pm.

“You alright, Angel?” Jim asked softly once he’d closed the door behind him to your bedroom.

The room that was right next to your Mother’s.

“It’s fine. They go back tomorrow and I’ll go to Ciara’s-”

“I want you here-”

“We already had this talk. Once was enough, Jim.”

“Angel-”

“It’s wrong! You’re married to her! Even if you get a divorce, she’s still my Mother! We can’t just...no, this can’t happen again.”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about ya all day, Angel,” he confessed softly as he made his way closer to your bed.

“You’ve been thinkin’ about fuckin’ me.”

“No, I’ve been thinkin’ about you,” he confirmed softly. “Your smile, the way you laugh, the sound of your laugh, how caring and sincere you are, how thoughtful-”

“Jim-”

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he promised as his right hand cupped the side of your face. “Have you been thinking about me?”

“Jim-”

“Have you?” he asked sincerely as he focused your gaze on him.

It slipped out before you even had a chance to stop yourself.

“Yes.”

You honestly hadn’t meant to get so caught up in the kiss, and you hadn’t meant to give him a blowjob. However, both of those things happened, which led to him fucking senseless in your bed.

Which is, once again, right next to your Mother’s bedroom. The bedroom that she shares with your Stepfather.

You couldn’t get out of that house fast enough the following day. However, when you got to Ciara’s, she wasn’t proving to be much help either. 

“I’m sorry, you two did what?! How many times?!” she squealed before she took a sip of wine.

“We only did that position once, but we had sex.. a few times,” you mumbled, very clearly ashamed of yourself. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“You’re in love,” she shrugged as if it was the most simple thing in the world.

“I’m in love with my Stepfather. He’s married to my Mother-”

“Your Mother is awful.”

“Be that as it may, she’s my Mother. She wanted to start a new chapter with Jim, and her new found sense of-”

“She did this, love. She created this fake version of herself, then let it all come crumbling down when you came home. She invited you back, then had a meltdown on the both of you. Is this right? Of course not. However, do I understand it? Of course. I know you feel terrible, and I would too, but lets not pretend you meant for any of this to happen. Hell, you didn’t even know she’d gotten married. Yes, it’s wrong, but you both did your best to fight this and seemed like the harder you two fought against it, the more she went out of her way to be problematic,” she sighed as your phone went off again. “What’s goin’ on there?”

“Jim and my Mother have been messaging me all day,” you muttered with an eye roll. “She wants me to come back because she feels awful and is tired of driving me away. He wants me to come back because he misses me and wants to fall asleep next to me. I’m staying far the fuck away from both of them.” 

“You’ll be goin’ back soon enough, and that should help,” she smiled mournfully.

Honestly? It should’ve. It should’ve been enough to keep you focused and your thoughts away from all of the other bullshit. It’s your final year, and you have so many things to figure out. You need to decide on a job, figuring out living arrangements, where you’re going to live, and a million other things. However, Jim was persistent. If he wasn’t calling and texting, he was sending you flowers with the cutest notes attached. 

By day four, you’d crumbled and told him to come to Ciara’s. 

He took you out to dinner at a cute little restaurant outside of town, and spent the entire time picking your brain. He wanted to know if you were excited or nervous about graduating (you told him that it’s an evil mixture of both), he wanted to know if there’s anything in particular you’re excited about getting back to (you told him about the cute dog adoption center that’s not too far from campus that you visit when you’re feeling too overwhelmed), and he wanted to know your favorite things (that had you rambling longer than you meant to).

Yes, the whole thing was sweet, but you rightfully had your reservations.

“Jim, how do you know this is real? No to be a total fucking cunt, but this will be your second failed marriage. What makes you so sure this will work?” you asked softly before you took a sip of your drink.

“This isn’t like what Yvonne and I did. I was in a good marriage and I fucked it up. I fucked it up for selfish reasons and looked for everyone to blame but myself. This...I honestly never knew this side to your Mum. If I had, I wouldn’t have married her in the first place. Yvonne and I...it started for all the wrong reasons. It started for selfish reasons on both of our parts, but this isn’t wrong or selfish, I promise.”

“Your wife made you unhappy-”

“Don’t. This isn’t something I started because I was havin’ a bad day. You just...you’re so beautiful, Angel. I don’t just mean on the outside. You step up when you shouldn’t have to, you’re thoughtful, you’re so damn funny, you’re witty, you’re patient, you’re painfully considerate...I could go on for hours. When everything started to fall apart, you stepped up and kept a level head. Between the two of us, you were the more mature and calm one. Hell, this whole thing started because I can’t control my feelings for you.”

“What about when I make you mad?” you asked timidly as you toyed with your fingers. 

“You’re not your Mum, Angel. We can talk things out and make it work. We can have an actual relationship that works.”

“Your kids-”

“They love you-”

“As their step-sister.”

“They’ll get used to it.”

“Jim-”

“Angel, I love you and I want this with you. I know I have a lot to prove, but I’m willing to try if you are. We’ll...test this out for a few months and you can decide-”

“A few months?! Jim, she’s my Mother-”

“I’m filing for a divorce, Angel. No matter what we do, I’m filing for a divorce. Things aren’t what they were and they never will be again,” he confessed with a scoff, but you could hear the pain in his voice.

He really thought he got it right with your Mother.

“We can’t...we have to take our time with this,” you told him softly as you tried to force yourself to come to terms with what you were saying.

What you were agreeing to.

“We can do whatever you want, Angel. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“We should wait until we have sex again.”

“If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do,” he promised with a nod as the waiter came over to ask if you both if you wanted anything else.

You folded like a lawn chair the second you and Jim were in front of Ciara’s house. You pulled him to the backseat of his car and had him until you were both spent. He ended up sleeping over Ciara’s that night, and he held you so close, as if he were afraid you’d run off in the night.

No, none of it had gone ideally. You and Jim spent every moment you could together, and he made it so easy to ignore the guilt. Every kiss, every touch, every date, every laugh...he made you forget how wrong all of it was. He made you forget that the both of you were committing the worst kind of betrayal.

Which is why you’re now pacing around your dorm room, waiting for his phone call. It doesn’t matter that you have an essay you need to start on, or that you have job applications to fill out, because you miss him and he makes you feel like a lovesick idiot. It also doesn’t help that he sent you a beautiful bouquet of pink peonies earlier in the day.

The second your phone goes off, you almost pounce to answer it.

“Baby?” you ask breathlessly, a smile coming to your lips.

A horrible way to answer the phone for the current situation you’re in, honestly. 

“It’s me, Angel,” he chuckles softly. “I miss you too.”

“In my defense I ‘aven’t been this excited to speak to someone...ever,” you giggle softly and he laughs. “How was your day?”

“A bit stressful, but it was good. I hate drivin’.”

“Why were you driving?”

“Had some things to take care of,” he sighs as someone knocks on your door. “Who’s that?”

“I’ve no clue. I didn’t make any plans with anyone,” you shrug as you make your way to the door and unlock it. “JIM!” you scream, throwing your phone to the side and jumping on him as your legs wrap around him, and he laughs softly. “Why are you here?! How?!” you giggle as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Hi to you too, Angel,” he laughs, carrying you inside with a smile, before kicking the door shut behind him. “I missed you, and I wanted you to have a good few days before...”

“Before what?” you question with a cocked eyebrow.

“When I go back....I’m filing.”

“Jim...”

“I want this, Angel. I want us. I’m not gonna regret this and I hope you won’t either.”

“I just...Jim...”

“Do you still want this?”

“You know I do, but...you have to really commit. You’re leaving your wife for her daughter. Are you truly sure this is something you want? Are ya sure you want me?”

“Get dressed,” he smiles once he sets you down, “I’ve got somewhere to-”

He’s cut off by a knock on your door, “Y/N, are you in? It’s Mum,” your Mother proclaims from the other side of your door.

FUCK. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“What are ya doin’ here? Give us a moment, I just got out of the shower!” you panic as both you and Jim try to find a place to hide him.

“Well, Jim is gonna be gone for a few days to go and see a friend, so I figured I should come and see you. We didn’t end on the best of terms.”

“Mum, I really don’t have any issue with you or Jim. It’s just better for you if-”

“I know I haven’t always been the best Mother, but I want to change that. With time, you and Jim will grow to like each other and get along. I know I don’t always act like it, but I want all of this to work. I want us to be a proper family,” she confesses, remorse painfully clear in her voice.

By the look in his eyes, you can tell that Jim wants to say something, but he can’t without giving himself away.

“I don’t hate Jim,” you prattle on as you push him into your bathroom and motion for him to lay down in the bathtub. 

You’re quick to run to the sink and wet your hair, while trying to swallow down all of the anxiety and guilt.

“I don’t hate either of you,” you continue as you look yourself over in the mirror, “I just felt that it would be better if I finished holiday with Ciara. Let you two work on things.”

Lie, lie, lie.

“I just feel like me being around only makes things worse for you, and I don’t want that,” you explain, making your way back over to the shower. “Silence your phone,” you whisper before closing the shower curtain.

Taking a deep breath, you open the door to your room, “I really wish you would’ve called.”

“I figured it would be fine since you didn’t get back too long ago. You don’t have too much work, do ya? We could grab a quick bite,” she smiles hopefully.

You truthfully don’t know what to do, because it’s not like the trip from Dublin to London is an easy one, but Jim also made the same trek and is currently hiding in your bathroom. Seeing as he is about to file for a divorce just to be with you, maybe you should go to dinner with her.

However, Jim did get here first.

“What are you doin’ tomorrow?” you ask, hopeful that she won’t be too hurt.

It’s not as if you’re saying no all together, just not right now.

“Leaving,” she laughs awkwardly. “I figured I’d head back early tomorrow. I’m hoping Jim will come back early and we can talk things out. We got into a bit of an argument before he left, and I’m afraid I’ve really made a mess of things,” she admits shyly.

Fuck.

“Let me grab my things and we’ll go,” you smile solemnly.

Quickly grabbing your phone, you text Jim a quick ‘I’m sorry’, before grabbing your purse and key to your dorm.

“Is there any place in particular that you wanna go to?” you ask, locking the door to your bedroom.

“I figured we’d go somewhere you love. My treat,” she smiles and it only makes you feel worse. 

“We can go to Chez Jules, and don’t worry about me, I can pay for-”

“I’m surprisin’ ya, I should at least pay for dinner. Besides, I put you through a tough Summer-”

“It’s alright-”

“Just let me be a proper Mum for once. Please?”

You hate yourself. You hate yourself to your core. Yes, you and her have always had a turbulent relationship, but never in a million years did you see this scenario playing out as it is. Hell, you honestly didn’t think you two would be in each other’s lives at this point. You and Jim falling in love isn’t even a result of you being angry with her, it just happened. Hell, you fought it so hard because you do actually love your Mother.

Now, it’s just a big mess. You don’t want to hurt her, but you can’t pretend your feelings for Jim aren’t real. You honestly wish you never came home for the Summer.

“How does it feel to be back?” your Mother asks once you’re both seated.

“It’s weird,” you laugh awkwardly, “I can’t believe this is my final year.”

“I’m so proud. Ya did what I couldn’t.”

“You can always go back whenever you want. You know that.”

“It was never for me. I don’t think an of this was ever for me,” she laughs softly.

You don’t even catch yourself as you mumble, “don’t I know it,” slips out.

“ ‘m sorry, Y/N. I really am.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“You’re hurt and you’re angry. You have every right to be. This past Summer...I don’t know why I reacted like I did. I don’t know why I always react the way I do to you. I do love you, I just don’t know how to be a Mother. I never have and I never wanted to be one. I just...I really thought it was a role I could grow in to. I’d like to think I’m better now, but we both know that I’m not and it doesn’t even matter now. You’re an adult all on your own and your own person.”

“Can we not do this in public? I’m too sober for an argument-”

“I don’t want to argue, I want to be honest. I’m trying to...I want to apologize. Ya didn’t know about Jim and for me to react the way I did...I just felt like he was taken with you more than I would’ve liked,” she sighs as the waitress comes over.

“Y/N, I already know your order,” she laughs before turning her attention to your Mother, “for you?”

“Gin,” she smiles.

“Do you need a moment for food?”

“Um, I’ll have the pork loin steak.”

“Mum!”

“Jesus, I can afford it, as can you,” she laughs. “What do ya want?”

“I don’t-”

“She’ll take the braised shoulder of lamb,” your Mother nods, grabbing your menu and handing it back to the waitress.

“Mum, we can’t-”

“It’s a girl’s night!”

“I have class in the morning,” you lie with a giggle. “I can’t be out too late.”

“I won’t keep ya too long,” she smiles. “I just felt like this would be good for us. I was afraid if I called, ya’d say no.”

“I just...time apart has always been best for us.”

“That’s not how it should be. Jim loves ya, his kids love ya, and I just...I got jealous. You getting to the house before me...I should’ve waited, because I knew you would’ve been hurt. It was a big decision and I didn’t even take you into consideration. I was just so in love with Jim and I felt like...I figured I could finally do it, ya know? Be a proper wife and Mother. Be someone everyone could finally be proud of. I didn’t tell Jim much about my past, because it’s not anything to be proud of, but I did tell him about you. I told him that you’re the only thing I’ve done that’s right. I knew you two would get along, but I still had my reservations. The way I had been with him was a side of me you’d never seen, and I was afraid you’d resent me for being better with him and his kids than I ever was with you.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me about him?” you ask, swirling your drink in the glass.

“I don’t know. We were in our own little bubble, and it was nice. I didn’t want to ruin it, and I know you’ve never been a fan of the men I’ve been with, which I can’t blame ya for. I was just scared. It got so bad so fast, and I know it’s on me. I’ve never actually committed to this part of myself and failed before I even gave myself a chance. I let you down, again, and I’m sorry.”

You say nothing as a new wave of guilt washes over you as your dinner is delivered. How could you fuck up this badly? How could you let yourself end up in a situation that will end so horribly?

“I know it was all in my head though,” she continues after the waitress walks away. “Jim barely knows you and you don’t see him like that. You don’t know him well enough to look at him in that light. It was just my own insecurities getting in the way, and I’ll do better. I’ll be better for the both of ya.”

“What did you and Jim argue about before he left?” you ask, doing your best to fight back your tears as you cut up your lamb,

“He’s rightfully angry with me. The drinking, the way I acted around his children, the way I treated you...he said he doesn’t know how to be with me anymore. I was drunk, we both raised our voices, I threw some things...it’s not lookin’ good,” she chuckles humorlessly as she wipes away a few tears. 

“What do you think-”

“He wants to leave me,” she interrupts with a shrug. “He didn’t come right out and say it, but he said it in so many words.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I don’t, but I can tell that he really is at his end. Even with sex-”

“Sex?” you eagerly cut off before you mean to.

You hate that you care so much. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not goin’ to give you too much information,” she laughs softly. “We barely ever have it, and I feel like I have to beg for it anyway. When we do, he never seems to be...in the moment. He always feels a million miles away, and it feels so empty. It was never like this before, and I know it’s on me. I made such a mess of everything this Summer.”

“Maybe you two just need some time apart,” you suggest, knowing damn well that, that won’t solve anything.

The man is waiting for you in your dorm room.

“He seemed pretty put off before he left. I tried to talk to him, but he just...he walked out. He doesn’t love me anymore, and I have no one to blame but myself.”

“Well, why do you do this shite? Huh? You finally had what you wanted-”

“I know, I know,” she sighs, throwing her fork down and drying her eyes with the backs of her hand. “It was goin’ too good. I got too nervous and I just...I let my fears win. I took it out on you, I took it out on him...I can’t fix it,” she sniffles, drying her eyes.

“I can talk to him for you,” you offer quietly.

You fucking idiot.

“My estranged daughter pleading my case for me? That’s even more pathetic,” she scoffs, before taking a sip of her drink then picking up her fork. “Anyway, tell me about school! Are you more excited to be back, or to be graduatin’ soon?”

For the rest of dinner, you try to keep up appearances, but your mind is going a million miles a minute. You know what you need to do, but you also know how much it’s going to hurt. You and Jim have spent so much time trying to build some form of a relationship, and you’re about to destroy it. 

To be fair, the relationship should’ve never happened in the first place.

“You’ll tell me when you’re home and safe?” you ask once you two are back at your dorm.

“Of course,” she smiles, wrapping you in a tight hug, “thank you for this. I really needed it.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll let you get back to your studies,” she laughs awkwardly as she lets go of you. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you smile with a nod before unlocking your door, “let me know when you’re at your hostel, yeah?”

“I promise.”

“Well...goodnight,” you nod once you’re in your room.”

“Night.”

You wait until you see her turn the corridor down the hall before finally closing the door, and letting out a heavy sigh. You know what comes next is gonna break both you and Jim’s heart.

“I know that sigh,” he comments as you close the door.

“Ya can’t leave her, Jim. Make it work.”

“Angel-”

“She’s so in love with you and she’s so sorry-”

“Stop it.”

“She’s my Mother! What do you want me to do-”

“Why do you keep trying to spare her feelings? She did this!”

“Jim, please-”

“I love you, Angel. I’m in love with you-”

“She’s your wife, Jim. She’s your wife and I’m her daughter. Your stepdaughter!”

“I didn’t even know you until I met you! This isn’t some relationship that we built up over years! I met you and we just-”

“Jim...please,” you sob.

He lets out a heavy as he wraps his arms around you, “please don’t cry.”

“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be the reason you walk away-”

“She did this! She lied, she drank herself into a stupor, she lied-”

“You married her,” you sob softly, looking up to meet his heartbroken gaze. “I can’t hurt her like this, Jim. I can’t be the reason something else-”

“You’ve never taken anything from her!”

“Jim...”

“I love you! What’s the point of staying with her if my heart isn’t in it? What’s the point of faking it-”

“You two can find that happiness again-”

“I’ve found it with you, Angel,” he husks as he pins you against the wall.

“Jim...stop,” you moan as he kisses down your neck.

“No.”

“Jim-”

“Say it like you mean it. If you really want me to stop, I’ll stop,” he promises, unbuttoning your shorts and pushing them down along with your panties. 

“This...this is the last time,” you whimper as he starts teasing your clit.

“Sure it is, Angel,” he chuckles as he hoists you up and forces your legs around his waist. “Whatever you say.”

“Fuck...Jim!”

“I know, Angel. I need you too,” he groans as you undo his jeans, and force them down.

“I love you so much!”

“Do ya? Do ya want me?”

You know where he’s going with this, and you know it can’t go any farther.

“You know it’s wrong, Jim! We can’t keep on as we are!”

“Lets see how wrong we can be tonight, shall we?” he chuckles as he thrust himself inside of you, barely giving you a chance to breathe before he starts loving you hard and fast.

“Jim...don’t stop!’

“That’s a good girl.”

Yes, you’re going to end things with Jim and do your best to move on from this completely fucked up situation, but for now? For now you just want to live in this moment.

You just want to be with him. 

“I want to be with you,” he pants as he lays you on your bed, before resuming his pace and fucking you brutally hard. “I love you!”

“Oh my God!”

You don’t care if you two wake up the whole damn building.

“Tell me you don’t feel the same! Lie to me and tell me you don’t feel the same!”

“I fucking love...Jesus...Jim! Don’t stop!”

“That’s right, Angel. Take everything I’m givin’ ya,” he husks, pinning your hands above your head as starts biting and sucking on your neck.

“Oh fuck!”

“I’ve missed you so much, my Angel,” he grunts, the feel of his breath on your neck making you clench him tighter. “Fuck, just suckin’ me in!”

“Jim...aht...please!”

“Give it to me,” he groans as you ball your hands into fists.

You squirt hard as you lull your head back and arch your back,”fuck!”

“So good for me, Angel,” he groans as he pulls out.

Before you can whine in protest, he flips you as if you weigh nothing, and you’re instantly ready to go again.

“Hands and knees for me, Angel,” he demands gruffly, and you instantly comply, arching your back and curling your toes in anticipation. “You think we can just stop?” he asks rhetorically, gripping your hips tight before thrusting into you.

“Ah shit!”

“You’re mine, Angel. You’re mine, just like I’m yours,” he whispers seductively against the shell of your ear, thrusting harder and faster.

“Jim...I love you! Fuck, I love you so much! God...that’s it!” you cry out, strangling your pillows as he hits that spot he’s only ever been able to find. “Right fuckin’ there! Don’t stop!”

“Say it! Fuckin’ tell me what I need to hear!”

“ ‘m yours, Jim! All yours, always!”

“Fuck, not gonna...cum with me Angel! Please!” he husks pathetically, resting his head in the crook of your neck, kissing it softly as he coats your inner walls with his desire.

You have no choice but to obey, and you yell his name in the process, as mind numbing pleasure washes over you.

“So good for me, my Angel. So sweet,” he coos as he rides out both of your highs.

You’re quick to collapse onto your bed, trying to clear the euphoric clouds out 

of your head. You don’t know why you thought you’d be able to think clearly 

around him, especially when you’re already so emotional. You know what the 

right thing to do is, but it’s not what you want. It’s not what either of you want.

You hate this so much.

“We can figure this out,” Jim promises softly as he gets in bed next to 

you, instantly pulling you close.

“Jim...what we’re doing is wrong. What we’ve been doing is wrong-”

“I want to be with you.”

“You’re her husband and she’s my Mother. Jim, it should’ve never 

gotten this far. We’re horrible people.”

“Are you afraid of her hating you?”

“I can deal with her hating me. Shes always resented me a bit and 

that’s fine, I’ve always been able to handle it. What’s hard to handle is me 

being the reason she’s heartbroken. She doesn’t deserve that.”

“It wouldn’t be-”

“Jim you may have been the one who initiated everything, but it’s not 

like I ever tell you no and meant it. I want every part of ya just as much as you 

want every part of me.”

“I don’t wanna stop, Angel. I don’t want you with anyone else and I 

don’t wanna be with anyone else.”

“I love you and I’m so happy when we’re together. So fuckin’ happy, 

but this isn’t right. You leaving her for me...Jim, we can’t.”

“So, this is it?”

“We don’t have a choice.”

“We do, you just don’t like the other option.”

“Jim, for as angry as ya are, I know you don’t wanna hurt her.”

“I don’t, but you’re who I’ve always been lookin’ for. We were made for 

each other.”

“Jim...we have to let each other go.”

“After this week,” he sighs heavily, pressing a kiss to the back of your 

neck, “I’ll stay away.”

“Jim, I do love you, it’s just that...this is the right thing to do. Give it a 

few months, and everything will be back to how it was. It’ll hurt for a while, but 

it’ll be alright.”

“How it is now is how it always should be,” he mumbles into your hair 

before pressing a soft kiss into it. “Lets sleep, you have a lot of work to do in 

the morning.”

It’s not like this isn’t ripping your heart up. You want to be with Jim more than 

anything, but you can’t handle hurting your Mother like this. The ultimate 

betrayal. You have to get over this, because what’s the point? Your 

happiness shouldn’t have to make your Mother miserable. No, this is for the 

best. Yes, it’ll hurt and drive you insane for a while, but it won’t always be like 

this. It’ll get better.

Or so you hope.

~~

[burningcheese-merchant]

Here is more lore and funfact abt Choco Powder since you asked

- He has the same wish granting power like Mystic, if it was anything his powers are more unstable. Because of this, mystic forbid him for ever using his powers for another person, she worries that he will end up like her, and the fact that Powder is so similar to her doesn't help.

- He is a very quiet but observant person, the type of person who will observe you wanting something and then the next day ur getting it. His love language especially to the people closer to him is gift-giving, it made him feel fulfilled.

- he meditated to relax, he learned it from Mystic. If he gets pushed over the edge he relaxes with sparring in the citadel's training area, he got it from Dark Cacao.

- he is very studious, mostly in the art of healing, and generally, as a prince it is important for him to be knowledgeable.

- he met dark Choco many times in his childhood, guiding him and teaching him, he never found out he had a big brother (mostly in childhood and teen years) so he thought Dark Choco is just a wondering soul

Dark Cacao sometimes slips and called Choco's name instead of Powder's

- he enjoys listening to other people, maybe Pepper Jack can yap to him and he will just sip tea and listen closely

- While he doesn't look like it, he actually is very empathetic but his way of handling sadness is not really healthy (Pepper Jack is the first person to notice this but doesn't know how to

I apologize if i yap too much abt Choco Powder, my brain goes overdrive every time i hyperfixated on my ocs haha

Been dying to answer this! I gotta get to all the other adoring fans in my inbox (/j), but I don't want to leave my friend hanging any longer. I'm really happy you're telling me more about Choco Powder, I want to share my thoughts!

I wonder how they first discovered that he inherited her powers? Did he hear someone say "man, I wish I had a good cup of coffee right now" as a baby and poof, he was waddling over to give them a coffee? Lol. I understand why Flour would want to keep him from using them, she knows the potential consequences... but is that really the wisest course of action? Would Powder not only end up more tempted to use them, specifically because he was banned from doing so (as kids and teens often are with things they're told are "forbidden")? If he's so similar to her, then she would know best how to approach the topic with him, I think. Like... a former drug addict warning their child against doing drugs, for lack of a better analogy. If anyone can get through to them, it's the person who already went down that road and faced its consequences. (Perhaps this is something Cacao can try to push? Maybe it could be something he and Flour argue about, even. "I don't want our son to get hurt or hurt others" VS "You are risking a self-fulfilling prophecy through your actions. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. This is not the right way, we cannot stifle him like this, there must be some sort of compromise")

I figured. He seems like that, at first glance (great job conveying his personality through his design btw, I might not really be an artist but I do know a good character design tells you what a character is like before they speak). With the gift-giving... perhaps this can be encouraged as a "healthier" outlet for his want to use his wish-granting powers? Especially if the gifts are handmade. It would teach him the value of hard work and gifts coming from the heart as opposed to something bought in a store, as well as allow him to "grant wishes" in this way without the risk that might come with using his powers. (I wonder what he'd give Jack and Paneer? haha)

How does sparring with Cacao go? What weapon(s) does Powder like to use? He doesn't seem particularly violent at first glance (but looks can be and often are deceiving, of course); how much enjoyment does he really get out of these duels? Is he a skilled fighter? Is this a way he bonds with his father? Does Cacao congratulate him for his efforts? (Now I want to contemplate Pepper Jack VS Choco Powder lol)

A fellow egghead lol. He and Jack could hang out at the Golden Cheese Kingdom library together (it's where Jack likes to go a lot). And the healing thing... Paneer may or may not have a knack for that, too. But that's for me to address another time hehehe

How fascinating! So Dark Choco never really returns home in your canon, is that the implication here? When and how does Powder find out who he is? What is his opinion of him before and after discovering this? Does Choco know who he is? What does he think of having a brother? What does he think of Mystic Flour being in their father's life at all, never mind having a child with him? So many avenues to explore here haha

That sounds kind of awful tbh lol. Does Cacao apologize for the Freudian slip? How does it make Powder feel? I can't imagine Flour is particularly happy when it happens...

Oh, I'm sure Jack wouldn't mind that lol. He's not necessarily a chatterbox (that's a bit more his sister), but he'll gladly engage people in conversation if they seek one with him. And I don't think he'd be too bothered by Powder being more of a "listener" type (but he will want Powder to say something every once in a while. Just to check if he's really listening to him)

What's unhealthy about it? Does he withdraw from others? Try to suppress it? Stress-eat lol? And I'm sure Jack would notice, he is highly observant as well (and he would try to think of a way to help, he's very caring). (Jack doesn't handle his own negative emotions very well, either... and that becomes SUPER apparent in a particular story arc I have planned)

Thank you soooo much for indulging me and giving me Choco Powder lore! He's really cool and I like him a lot. I hope you share more about him with all of us soon!

[boypr1ncesss]

hey can you imagine if the 3rd period had tumblr? it would've been crazyyyyy

2 notes

🌲 daughterofwhite 🔁

🟨 lucifeniaconfessions Follow

i feel so so guilty so much of the time.... i destroyed elphegort, i killed michaela and i tormented the people i was supposed to rule and protect... but most of all he took the fall for it... there is nothing i can do to make amends but feel guilty and hope that in our next life we can be reunited and i can be good. i really am trying though, i chased away a bird that was tampering with the sapling the other day, but that doesn't even begin to fix the fact that her blood is still on my hands... sometimes i still send him asks on here and wait for an answer... oh god i miss him so much...

🌲 daughterofwhite

DM me

62K notes

🐙 seth-remade76

Staff terminated me again for no good reason this time. I'm @seth-remade75 if it wasn't clear.

7 notes

🧀 arte-mis 🔁

◻️ am-i-the-asshole-official Follow

🕶 anonymous asked: WIBTA for poisoning my pregnant girlfriend?

When I (29M) was young my parents set me up with an arranged marriage from a girl my age from a neighboring kingdom. When we first met I was a shitty kid and was kinda mean to her about her weight at the time but slowly began to develop feelings for her, until ultimately the engagement was broken off due to her disturbing behavior.

I didn't hear anything about her for years until I was in my 20s, she'd regained her family's lost political power and was funneling a lot of resources into widening her culinary exploits, so I decided to learn to cook.

Eventually, last year I was kidnapped and learned that she'd lost her mind, and the only solution was to remove a specific item from her possession, I agreed to help and assumed the identity of a famous chef, and she hired me. I was disgusted by the things she asked me to cook and her servants treated me poorly, like they knew I was suspicious, but I got used to it and was happy to have reunited with her, and found out that the real reason the servants hated me was because I looked like their dad.

Eventually one thing led to another, she discovered my true identity and you can probably guess what happened next. Shortly afterwards, we were visited by the military higher ups of her kingdom and one of the servants killed one of their messengers, to which she reacted by raising an undead army to wipe them out, and told me she planned to eat everything in the world. I tried to escape but was caught and forbidden from ever leaving the castle.

I have an heirloom from one of my ancestors which I believe may be the only thing that could kill her, I plan to grind up what's left of it and mix it into a meal for the both of us so we can die together and the world can be saved from her. WIBTA?

◻️ am-i-the-asshole-official:

What are these acronyms?

🐔 a-pollo Follow

kill yourself

🧀 arte-mis

kill yourself

235 notes

👨‍💻 usecitizen2 🔁

👩‍💻 usecitizen Follow

come on you guys have gottt to stop pinkwashing Gallerian Marlon's actions... yeah he's one of the most famous gay men out there but he is NOT one of us. you all saw his ruling on the Scherzer trial, the rich only care about their own.

👨‍💻 usecitizen2

It's especially upsetting to see considering how progressive he was at the start of his career. A lot of people were too young at the time to remember, but his opposition to witch trials and his exposure and conviction of Loki Freezis were massive steps forward at the time. It really is a shame how everything shifted after his daughter died, now he only cares about the money.

56K notes

💤 giftsleep 🔁

💙 aesblog Follow

someday my prince will come

#aes

120 notes

✨ othertwin

is anyone else kinda worried about the way @/themis8 has been posting recently? i've reported her blog to staff a few times but i don't think it's enough. i really think she's going to hurt herself or others one of these days.

#allen.txt

4 notes

🍷 evilfoodeater Follow

Pregnancy cravings are crazyyyy. What do you Mean I want to eat my boyfriend lol.

🍷 evilfoodeater Follow

Arte and Pollo are looking kinda edible right now...

🐔 a-pollo Follow

:(

🧀 arte-mis

:(

7 notes

🎙 rinchanarchive

Rin Chan at Milanais Theater, September 6 606

#rin chan #september 606 #milanais theater

687 notes

✨ othertwin

🕶 anonymous asked: why is your url othertwin when i see you around enbizaka and you're an only child?

✨ othertwin: don't worry about it

#allen.txt

18 notes

🍷 evilfoodeater Follow

Pregnancy cravings are crazyyyy. What do you Mean I want to eat my boyfriend lol.

🐔 a-pollo Follow

do it

🧀 arte-mis

do it

7 notes

🌲 daughterofwhite 🔁

🔷 kylesart Follow

🕶 anonymous asked: do you have receipts on the @/rinthenun allegations??? she's so nice it's hard to believe she'd do any of that

🔷 kylesart: tl;dr, she's just @/princessriliane rebranded, long version under the cut

Keep Reading

🌲 daughterofwhite

First of all, your statements regarding Michaela are blatantly untrue, she was a lesbian and your attempts to rewrite that after her death are upsetting to say the least. Second of all, the green hunting happened a very long time ago and there's no reason for you to be dragging old trauma back up. Third of all, Rin has dedicated her life to making up for the harm she's caused in the past and, as a loved one of one of the victims, I feel like it's cruel to deny her a second chance after all the improvements she's made.

579 notes

✨ drapersdaughter

anyone else ever feel like they're waiting for someone they've never met before

#rin.txt

0 notes

🐙 seth-remade76 🔁

🔫 themis8 Follow

what if i killed myself

🐙 seth-remade76

don't

1 note

✨ othertwin

🕶 anonymous asked: is your name allen or ren???

✨ othertwin: don't worry about it

#allen.txt

14 notes

🔑 karchess 🔁

👗 tiredprincess Follow

so ungrateful to be chosen for the harem and to try and reject him over it. do you not know how many girls would kill to be in your shoes?????

🔑 karchess

You dukefuckers never fail to reach new lows.

[numbuh-7-knd]

Newly ressurected Jason Todd gets deaged instead of Lazarus Pit-ed

Post Jason's resurrection, Talia has Jason in her custody in the LOA, he's slowly healing from his other pre death injuries but shows no signs of awareness. Ra's gives Talia a deadline where Jason either needs to be healed or show sign of cognitive improvement or he will put Jason out of his misery and have his scienctists study the corpse. He's forbidden her from using the pit on Jason and warns her that if she tries anyway it might not work, saying that the pit might not be able to heal Jason's mind if there's nothing left to heal. Ra's also tells her that in his current state of they put Jason in the Lazarus Pit the pit could consume what's left of Jason, or worse something else could hitch a ride in Jason's body.

Talia goes through the league's archives looking for anything that could treat jason and heal his mind. She finds an experimental magical treatment which does the job but has the unexpected side effect of de ageing him by several years. Where there was a severly injuried, healing 15 year old in a walking coma there is now a healed and fully cognizant Jason Todd, albeit slightly amnesiac and several years younger.

He's about the same age as Damian now, and Talia figures any plans of either returning him to Bruce while and hale as an act of good will, or of training him up and then siccing him on bruce to torment her beloved, have to be put to the side for now. She figures she's stuck with the deaged Jason for now since her beloved isn't going to look at a younger amnesiac version of his lost son and really believe that it's really Jason and not a clone. She raises him alongside Damian while trying to find a way to return the kid to his proper age and gets attached.

A few years later the events of canon happen and Talia has no choice but to send both kids to Gotham. By this point Jason's amnesia has faded a bit and he can remember enough to somewhat prove his identity to a suspious bat, and what he can't prove a DNA test, and the Justice League Magic User of your choice, can.

Bruce is left with one bio kid and one no longer dead but now 5 whole years younger than he was when he died adoptive son. What will he do? How will they explain this to the public? Will they even bother?

Maybe they claim that Jason is his own biological half(?) Brother, and that Shelia had another kid before she died, and that Bruce's ex somehow discovered his dead son's orphaned younger brother and took him in. Do they change his name or say that Shelia decided to name her second son after the first?

Or they just say that it's a coincidence that Bruce's newest adoptive kid is also named Jason, and looks a lot like Jason Todd.

"It's not my fault! My ex adopted a kid with the same name as mine, then decided to drop both our biological child as well as the adoptive child off with me. Yes, it's really weird but she isn't answeringher phone and I'm not going to seperate siblings just because only one of them is mine."