#and for acquiring forgiveness for you too

[trainsinanime]

I've seen a number of people worried and concerned about this language on Ao3s current "agree to these terms of service" page. The short version is:

Don't worry. This isn't anything bad. Checking that box just means you forgive them for being US American.

Long version: This text makes perfect sense if you're familiar with the issues around GDPR and in particular the uncertainty about Privacy Shield and SCCs after Schrems II. But I suspect most people aren't, so let's get into it, with the caveat that this is a Eurocentric (and in particular EU centric) view of this.

The basic outline is that Europeans in the EU have a right to privacy under the EU's General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR), an EU directive (let's simplify things and call it an EU law) that regulates how various entities, including companies and the government, may acquire, store and process data about you.

The list of what counts as data about you is enormous. It includes things like your name and birthday, but also your email address, your computers IP address, user names, whatever. If an advertiser could want it, it's on the list.

The general rule is that they can't, unless you give explicit permission, or it's for one of a number of enumerated reasons (not all of which are as clear as would be desirable, but that's another topic). You have a right to request a copy of the data, you have a right to force them to delete their data and so on. It's not quite on the level of constitutional rights, but it is a pretty big deal.

In contrast, the US, home of most of the world's internet companies, has no such right at a federal level. If someone has your data, it is fundamentally theirs. American police, FBI, CIA and so on also have far more rights to request your data than the ones in Europe.

So how can an American website provide services to persons in the EU? Well… Honestly, there's an argument to be made that they can't.

US websites can promise in their terms and conditions that they will keep your data as safe as a European site would. In fact, they have to, unless they start specifically excluding Europeans. The EU even provides Standard Contract Clauses (SCCs) that they can use for this.

However, e.g. Facebook's T&Cs can't bind the US government. Facebook can't promise that it'll keep your data as secure as it is in the EU even if they wanted to (which they absolutely don't), because the US government can get to it easily, and EU citizens can't even sue the US government over it.

Despite the importance that US companies have in Europe, this is not a theoretical concern at all. There have been two successive international agreements between the US and the EU about this, and both were struck down by the EU court as being in violation of EU law, in the Schrems I and Schrems II decisions (named after Max Schrems, an Austrian privacy activist who sued in both cases).

A third international agreement is currently being prepared, and in the meantime the previous agreement (known as "Privacy Shield") remains tentatively in place. The problem is that the US government does not want to offer EU citizens equivalent protection as they have under EU law; they don't even want to offer US citizens these protections. They just love spying on foreigners too much. The previous agreements tried to hide that under flowery language, but couldn't actually solve it. It's unclear and in my opinion unlikely that they'll manage to get a version that survives judicial review this time. Max Schrems is waiting.

So what is a site like Ao3 to do? They're arguably not part of the problem, Max Schrems keeps suing Meta, not the OTW, but they are subject to the rules because they process stuff like your email address.

Their solution is this checkbox. You agree that they can process your data even though they're in the US, and they can't guarantee you that the US government won't spy on you in ways that would be illegal for the government of e.g. Belgium. Is that legal under EU law? …probably as legal as fan fiction in general, I suppose, which is to say let's hope nobody sues to try and find out.

But what's important is that nothing changed, just the language. Ao3 has always stored your user name and email address on servers in the US, subject to whatever the FBI, CIA, NSA and FRA may want to do it. They're just making it more clear now.

[op1umeyes]

4 times you sit on silco’s lap & the 1 time he pulled you onto his lap

Warnings. Sexual positions. No specific reader gender/genitalia. Impregnation kink (sorry yall its bad again). Not toxic girl dad!Silco. Pet name

1

You and Silco danced around the empty bar, twirling and singing and chasing and slipping out of each other’s fingers. For the past hour the pair of you had been letting the loud music from the jukebox reverberate through your bones as you moved fluidly around the room.

Silco’s silky black hair was pulled back into a tiny bun at the back of his head. Sweat beaded at his hairline. The little droplets grew fat and ran down his cheek bones and disappeared down the sharp edge of his jaw as he chased your laughing body. 

“Crazy,” he mused to himself as the song ended and you finally let him twirl you in by the hand. Silco dipped you, watching your smile widen. He held you there as you examined him through your striking eyelashes. He leaned down slowly, sensually and let his eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips. You were caught in his trap, lips parted as your eyes locked on his lips.

Further, slower, he leaned down until you could feel his gasps of air on your lips. He parted his lips and tilted his head closing the gap between you-

Silco stood up and twirled you again. The sexy smirk on his lips made you forgive him just a little for being the incredible tease he is. “Bastard,” you cursed him with a wicked smile.

“A thirsty bastard,” he corrected smartly. Taking you by the hand, Silco led you to the bar and gestured dramatically to an empty bar stool.

He poured your favorite and slid it to you before making his own drink. Silco rounded the corner and brought the stool next to you closer to yours. He had just put his glass bck on the counter before you slid into to lap, facing him.

“Sly thing,” Silco chided, hands settling on your ass.

“You love it,” you replied. You pulled the hair tie out of Silco’s hair and watched it settle around his features perfectly. “Pretty boy.”

Silco practically purred at your words. He brought a hand up to cup your cheek and placed the other at the back of your neck. “I do love it- love you.”

“I love you too,” Silco repeated, sealing his words with a kiss.

2

“Don’t look at me like that,” Silco muttered, voice raspy with- was it. . . lust? “You know I can’t work with you watching me like that.”

You tilted your head. “Like what?”

“Don’t be coy.”

Silco didn’t look up as you rose from your spot from the couch. You heard his breathing turn shakier as you approached. Chuckling, you pulled the back of his chair until you could grasp Silco by the collar.

He spluttered- an endearingly pathetic noise you’d like to earn from him again- as you tore him from the endless plans, letters, and work sitting on his desk as he prepared for the future of Zaun. Silco didn’t actuallytry to stop you, though, despite his unintelligible grumbling.

You pushed him onto the newly acquired couch. His back hit the cushions and his raven-black hair spread around his head like a halo. Smiled as you committed the imagine of him so off-guard to memory. “You’ve been working so diligently,” you purr, raising on knee to rest between Silco’s hip and the sofa back. “And so hard. . .” You placed your other knee on the sofa and so lightly started grinding on Silco’s boner. “I think you deserve a break.”

Silco was the one watching you through his lashes now. “Is that right?” His heaving chest showed his anticipation despite his usual calm voice.

“Oh yeah,” you reply with a dangerous smile.

3

It was a late night- the crowd at the bar had been rowdy and took a while to herd all the drunkards out, leaving you an exasperated mess. Not to mention the fact that you were dealing with an astounding amount of Enforcers after Jinx had gone and stolen a couple expensive looking watches and necklaces for some reason unknown to you. All in all, you were beat.

After tossing a wad of cash to the other bartender, you bid him goodnight and headed up the stairs.

“I was wondering when you’d be up to see me,” Silco greeted you from his desk. “Come here, my dear.” 

He watches your movements with those sharp eyes of his. You perched yourself on the edge of his desk and let Silco rest his head against your chest. You ran your nails through his hair the way you knew he liked. “We should go get ready for bed,” you murmured, feeling his arms wrap lightly around your waist.

Silco heaved a sigh. “I have work to do.”

It was your turn to sigh as you pushed off the desk. Silco looked up, brow arching, at you. His confusion waned as you straddled him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You felt the man under you shudder as he exhaled, stress slowly easing out of his body as you pressed soft kisses to the oh so fragile skin behind his ear. “You can do your work tomorrow after you get some sleep.”

Clearly your tender embrace had weakened Silco’s resolve because all he did in response to your statment was pull you impossibly closer to him. “I suppose you’re right,” Silco finally muttered into your shoulder.

4

Jinx and Silco were currently in disagreement over who would do Jinx’s hair, when they would be doing it, and the hairstyle Jinx wanted. For an eight year old, the little blue haired girl knew what she wanted. And it was that Sevika stayed as far as humanly possible away from the eight year old.

So that was why Silco had convinced you to go to barber near Benzo’s old shop. Something about ‘not being anle to contain such rage and emotion in such tiny body’ alone.

Truth be told, you weren’t well educated in children handling. Working with Silco and the traitor for most of your life gave you practically no time to interact with people under sixteen. Jinx had taken a liking to you- probably because you were one of the people she saw the most because of your relationship to her adoptive father. (On the certificate, you were also listed as a guardian.) So being able to style the girl’s hair as she liked would be a good skill to add to your already wide-ranging knowledge.

The two of you paid as much attention to the barber as possible. Jinx had selected a simple three strand braid that you got the hang of off the bat. Silco? Not so much, but the effort was there!

When you paid and left, Jinx was so happy with her hair and so convincing that she was given permission to play with the barber’s twin son and daughter. Silco had pressed a handful of coin into Jinx’s hand and told her to be home in two hours.

“You’re going soft,” you mused, jutting your hip into Silco as the two of you left. “It’s endearing.”

Silco recoiled. “I am not. Inconceivable.”

When you scoffed, Silco turned to you with his eyes narrowed. “Something to say, trouble?”

“Nah,” you drawled. “It’s… It’s nice to see this side of you again.”

Your lover wrapped an arm around your waist and led the two of you back home. “I haven’t felt more content in a long time,” he finally admits. Emotion made his voice gravely.

“Yeah.” You continued to walk, falling into silence. 

“I like watching you with her.”

Silco’s glinting eyes are already locked on your gaze when you look up. “Yeah?” You ask, suggesting smile beginning to pull up at the corner of your lips.

“Yeah. It makes me wish I could. . . fuck one into you,” he mutters.

Your eyebrows are higher than your hairline when he speaks. “Sil, you- you know I can’t-“

The dark lust in Silco’s eyes lighten. “That doesn’t mean I can’t fuck you like you could carry my children,” he tells you, an edge of an emotion you can’t quite put a finger on.

Silco pushes open the door to The Last Drop and flicks on one of the light switches. He turns to see you sitting on the table of a booth, watching him with an expression so vacant Silco wonders if this conversation is what finally sends you running. “Talk to me.”

Continuing to say nothing, you pat the table next to you. Silco pulls himself up beside you and examines your face carefully. He is apprehensive as you slide into his lap wordlessly and wrap your legs around his waist. You trace the calloused pad of your thumb from the very bottom of Silco’s scar surrounding his eyes. It’s when you near the tip-top of the marred flesh does Silco grasp your wrist.

“Speak to me, my dear,” Silco repeats. “What are you thinking? What do you want me to do?”

Silco lets your wrist go without much resistance. You tangle your fingers through his short hair. “I want,” you begin slowly, hearing his breathing cease entirely. “You to fuck me like you could knock me up.”

It takes Silco several seconds to compute your statement before leaning in to fucking devour your lips.

5

The bar was booming tonight.

Round after round, table after table, drink after drink. In informal terms: you were fucking slammed and the crowd wasn’t thinning out.

It’d been this busy for at least the past three hours and the pain in your feet and legs had been so God awful that you couldn’t wven feel them anymore. And the poor bartenders could barely open their mouths without someone spitting out orders or tossing coins or just pestering them.

You sighed. Nights like these made you really question your love of the damn building. 

An hour later, you could see a glimpse of the light at the end of the tunnel. With an end to the night in your near future, you found yourself walking a little faster: a little more eager to get the people more drunk and gone.

It was another whole hour before you were almost finished with the cleaning. All you had left to do was wipe down the counter and tables, put the chairs up on the table, and mop.

Silco finally slunk down the stairs to see you and the last, most desperate bartender mopping up. He slid into a booth and rested his head on his palm as he watched you.

When the two of you were officially done cleaning, Silco fished out a bag of coins from one of his pockets. “Here, kid,” he said before tossing the pouch at the awed bartender.

“I- Thank you sir,” the girl said gratefully, eyes flickering between you and Silco. You smiled at her tiredly.

“Good night, Mimi,” you told her.

Silco watched Mimi smile brightly at you- the significantly kinder of the couple- and nod excitedly. “Good night, y/n! Thank you again sir, and good night!”

You came to a stop in front of Silco and tugged your apron off. “How are you?”

Silco heaved a sigh. He reached out to you and turned you away from him. Then Silco pulled you down onto his lap. He comically scooched back until his back was against the wall and his and your legs tangled on the rest of the booth. “Better.”

As Silco wrapped his hands around your waist, you felt your back decompress as you leaned against the love of your life. Your eyes fluttered shut, heavy with sleep. “I love sitting on your lap,” you confess.

Silco hums, amused.

“Best seat in the whole damn house,” you say, yawning.

Before Silco realizes it, you’re asleep. He doesn’t want to get up because theres a chance you’ll wake up, but Silco also wants to get his love to bed.

He just rests his head on your shoulder and lets himself have this moment.

[halcyon-writings]

nav.

— In which Mydei for once approves of the old Castrum Kremnos tradition of gifting a weapon to the one you were courting.

Before you can say anything to him, Krateros gasps when he sees you. Your reaction is immediate, practically jumping in alarm, because a man like Krateros was never this frazzled, much less shown as much anyway.

“What is it? What’s the matter?” You ask, thinking that you must have something on your clothes, already patting at yourself with a confused concern.

Immediately the Kremnoan warrior begins to cough. Now it’s your turn to be worried. You could’ve sworn that the older man was turning an alarming shade of red. "Please, forgive my outburst," He says, voice slightly hoarse from his abrupt coughing fit.

Then he clears his throat again, eyes moving to your side once more. This time you turn your head as you follow his line of sight. For a moment you don't quite see what he's talking about, in fact. you're still as confused as ever. Then his gaze becomes a bit more pointed as he continues to stare. Slowly, it dawns upon you.

"Where did you acquire such a style of weapon?" Krateros asks.

You remove the bladed weapon from its sheath, admiring the work in the steel. After all, it was rare for any weapons to be forged in the style of Castrum Kremnos, aside from something speciality made, but those sort of weapons cost an arm and a leg since they needed to truly last with as many of the battles that would be witnessed..

"Ah, Mydeimos gave it to me," You say, a small smile on your face, "I was surprised to see him with a weapon when we were sent out to clear some of the black tide, but then my own weapon was unfortunately broken, luckily he offered me his."

If Krateros' jaw dropped any further, it would have already been on the floor by now.

You pause, noting his silence, "Is... is something the matter?"

He is quick to shake his head, "Not at all."

(Perhaps the first sign was the fact that you were one of the few who were allowed to refer to Mydei as Mydeimos at all, aside from someone such as Lady Aglaea or Lady Tribbie.)

You watch his retreating form, still a bit perplexed. But your eyes return to the blade in your hands. You hum as you give it a few light swings, noting the weight being nearly perfect, just requiring a bit of training to properly handle it. Hm, you truly were lucky that Mydei had a similar weapon you could use.

-

Mydei had been (dragged) asked to accompany Tribbie into the market as the older of the two had moved in a flutter of wings from stall to stall. Even if it was the same wares each day, the small demigod always had the time to admire each and every work of craftsmanship.

Tribbie had said nothing with how easily he agreed, in her words, "De seems really happy today."

He was, ecstatic even. As they passed Chartonus' forge, which he thanked the other for his work on such short notice. He pretends not to see Tribbie's knowing smile either. Simply, looking the other way, which also meant, he saw the approaching Krateros.

Trinnon and Trianne had flown off with a giggling Tribbie as Krateros approached, Mydei uncrossed his arms, tilting his head in a silent question.

"You saw," Mydei spoke, his tone even.

Krateros nods, and despite the more frantic aspect of his appearance, there was a... lightness to the old fighter. One that made the crease of the man's brow go away for just a moment.

"Do they even know the significance of recieving such a gift?" Krateros asked softly.

At this, the Prince shook his head, warmth blossoming in his chest and heat rising up his neck. "In the heat of the moment, maybe not yet. But I know they will understand."

The softening of the Prince's eyes made Krateros pause, before he too couldn't help but shake his head with a small chuckle; his own reservations forgotten. The youth these days, he thought.

It wasn't like Mydei was going to outright tell you that the weapon you currently wielded was all but a proposal gift. It was a longstanding tradition that for once, Mydei didn't scoff at. If he couldn't be at your side every battle, then the weapon you wielded would protect you in his stead.

(That and perhaps he wouldn't admit that he quite liked the sight of you wielding a weapon in the style of Castrum Kremnos. Perhaps he'd see if he could find armor that suited your style and that of Kremnos as well...)

When he sees you later, the knowing look in your eyes makes his heart skip a beat. There was no need to worry, after all.

[prythianpages]

Come Back To Me | Eris x Reader

Eris x Reader ft Azriel | Experiencing some pregnancy complications, Azriel is left with no choice but to seek out Eris for help.

a/n: This is pt 10 and a little under 4.5K words. It's nearly 1am where I live but I couldn't help myself & needed to finish this lol.

warnings: angst, reader is pregnant, mentions of high risk pregnancy, things get a little tense between Eris and Az

Shadows clouded around Eris, blurring his vision and muffling his hearing. Even his keen sense of smell was dulled as Azriel’s shadows coiled around him further. It infuriated him—the lengths the shadowsinger was going to protect your location from him. Your mate.

Azriel had made certain there would be no trail for Eris to follow after this. Not scent, not sound. Not even magic as Azriel had forced him into a bargain, the ink etched onto his arm fresh and burning. Azriel would bring him to you to aid in your situation, but only under strict conditions: Eris would remain only for as long as Azriel allowed and under no circumstance would he be permitted to take you back with him.

Two of the shadows bound themselves around his wrists like shackles, pulsing faintly. As if the bargain was not enough for Azriel. It didn’t matter. His shadows were not enough to suppress the power simmering just beneath his skin. Eris could have fought against the makeshift shackles, easily burning the dark tendrils away. He didn’t though. If the shadows hadn’t picked up on it, he knew it was smarter to let Azriel think they could actually suppress his power.

When the shadows blinding his sight finally lifted from his eyes, Eris found himself standing in a hallway. The first thing he saw was an older fae woman approaching. She wore plain robes, the symbol of a healer embroidered in silver thread on her sleeve. Her gaze landed on Azriel first, the two of them exchanging a look.

Eris’s patience frayed with each second of silence. Azriel had told him almost nothing—only that it urgently concerned you and the baby. And his mind had done the rest, conjuring horrors, each one worse than the last.

“Where is she?” 

The healer didn’t flinch. She must have heard that tone countless times in her line of work. Her eyes swept over him, calm and assessing. “You must be the father,” she replied simply.

The word hit him like a blow. Father. He was going to be a father. A title he didn’t think he would acquire so soon. Though, this wasn’t the reason why he hesitated to answer.

 It was what him claiming that title meant.

To say the words out loud was to admit a truth that carried weight and danger. It meant putting you and the baby in the crosshairs of enemies who would use them against him. He could only put his trust in Azriel to have picked a discreet and trustworthy healer, even though the paranoia in him was screaming not to trust anyone.

There were very few people Eris trusted and Azriel was not one of them. Not even close. But the way Azriel had held you before he took you away, the unquestionable look in his eyes when he showed up in Autumn to bear the bad news…had the Shadowsinger fallen for you?

Eris couldn’t blame him. You were a precious gem. One he failed to treasure and hold onto as he should’ve. Not because he stopped caring but because he found himself caring too damn much.

And now, he has lost you.

Or as he would rather say, he was losing you. He only had himself to blame, realizing the grave mistake he had made. He would never forgive himself for this, for the way he broke you. He’d give anything to go back, to have been brave enough to say those three words back.

The past was done, and now, he had to fight as he was not ready to admit defeat quite yet. Because even if he’d already shattered whatever future you might’ve had, he had to keep trying with all his might. You meant too much for him not to fight for you back. Especially when the one he was fighting against was Azriel—that Illyrian bastard. 

He could lose you and he would have to live with that, if it’s what you wanted. But Eris could not lose you to him.

“I am,” he finally said quietly. He felt as though his throat was closing. His tone was much less demanding when he spoke next. “Who are you?”

The older woman’s lips curved slightly in a polite greeting. “I’m the healer tending to y/n,” she confirmed. “You can call me Madja.”

His eyes flicked to Azriel, who he had no qualms on restraining his emotion on. So he directed all his anger and frustration to the shadowsinger instead. “Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?”

It was Madja who answered, her tone somewhat somber. “Come and see for yourself.”

She moved to the door, painfully slow, and Eris nearly shoved it open himself. His chest ached, heart thudding as he stepped into the room.

The sight stole the breath from his lungs.

The room was warm—too warm— and it seemed, all the heat was coming from you. You were submerged in a porcelain bath that stood out like a sore thumb in the room. Barely conscious, your head rested on a pillow cradled in the lap of a woman, who looked similar in appearance to Azriel.

“‘S’hot…” you murmured, moaning in discomfort.

Eris took a step forward instinctively. The shadows binding his wrists tightened. His stomach twisted as he looked you over.  Your skin was flushed and your breathing shallow. You didn’t look good, you looked….

He didn’t let himself finish that thought. 

The woman behind you lifted a bucket, pouring ice into the tub. He watched as your body slackened with relief and despite the warning of the shadows, he took another step toward you.

That’s when he saw it. 

It wasn't the clearest view, the rippling of water and ice blurring your body. But there was no denying the mottled, angry marks that were spread across your stomach. You were hurt…and the baby…?

“Your fire gremlin is burning her from the inside,” Azriel snarled, venom lacing each word.

“Azriel!” The woman at your side immediately reprimanded.

Eris’s vision tunneled and flames erupted at his fingertips. The shadows at his wrists let out a sharp hiss, immediately fluttering back to their master. So much for pretending. That bastard—that bastard—had the audacity to call his child a gremlin? 

Eris’s head turned, amber eyes blazing as they locked onto the shadowsinger.

But Azriel didn’t flinch as the shadows around his wrist had. If anything, he took a step closer toward Eris. There was a challenge in his stance, his wings flaring just enough.

Madja stepped between them, diffusing the spark before it could become a wildfire. “At first, I thought it was a fever. I tried everything I could think of. The ice baths help… but only temporarily,” her voice was tired, her gaze lowering to Eris’s burning hand. “It seems your child has inherited the fire in your blood. Y/N is being burned from within.”

Burned. By their child.

Eris’s eyes hadn’t moved at all from Azriel’s.  “How long?”

Azriel hesitated, and that hesitation said more than words ever could. His normally unreadable expression cracked, guilt seeping through the breaks. “Three days.”

Three days. Eris’s rage detonated. Three fucking days. Fire burst from his hands now, licking up his forearms in spiraling flares of molten gold and red.

“You waited that long to come for me?”

Azriel’s guilt twisted swiftly into fury. His eyes darkened as he took another step forward. The two males were no more than a foot apart. “Can you blame me?” he shot back, not wincing when he could feel the dangerous heat radiating off of Eris. “All you’ve ever done is hurt her. She’s like this because of you!”

Flames surged higher around Eris while Azriel’s shadows swarmed in a frenzied storm, like a furious hive on the brink of breaking loose. The room quaked beneath the weight of barely restrained power.

“Well, it doesn’t matter who did and didn’t do what,” Madja cut through, once again diffusing the tension. “The damage is being done as we speak. Y/n is in pain and though I’ve been giving her sedatives to ease it, I don’t know how much longer her body can endure this.”

Eris’s flames went out immediately. His heart squeezed so tightly it ached. That’s why he couldn’t feel you through the bond—why your side of it had gone so still. You’d learned how to shut him out but he felt you every now and then. When your emotions were too much to bear on your own, the bond would crack open just enough. You may or may not have known it but he felt those emotions with you.

“And the baby?” Eris asked, voice barely more than a rasp.

“Restless,” Madja said grimly. “But alive for now. If we can’t find a solution, I fear the child’s life will be in danger. Y/n’s body can no longer safely support the child’s growth.”

Eris swallowed. His gaze turned to you. His mate. The one he had pushed away, trying to protect you from the dangerous politics of his court. He had thought distancing himself would save you.

Instead, all it had done was hurt you. And now, it is killing you.

His thoughts raced back to his mother. To her pregnancies, the sleepless nights she had, the ice baths to keep her from overheating. But his mother had come from a family born of fire. Just like his father. Just like him. 

You were not.

This child growing inside you was made of the same flame and now threatening to consume you. 

His hand trembled at his side, helplessness threatening to take hold. A feeling he absolutely hated. Until a thought struck him. A memory. A possibility. Maybe, just maybe...

“I think I know how to help,” he breathed.

Eris crossed the last of the distance between you, dropping to his knees beside the tub. One hand clutched the porcelain edge with white-knuckled desperation, while the other reached for you. Your skin was searing to the touch. Too hot–far too hot.  And terrifyingly wrong, because your skin had always been much cooler beneath his touch. Always.

You whimpered, wincing away from his touch.

Azriel stepped forward then, his shadows slithering like wild snakes across the floor. “What are you doing—”

“Don’t.” The word was sharp, near feral, spoken through clenched teeth. Eris’s eyes did not leave you. Fumes released from his body, providing a barrier between him and Azriel’s shadows. A warning.  

The woman beside you must’ve sensed something in Eris’s gaze. Perhaps, it was his desperation or his determination. She gave him a small nod, shifting her legs and adjusting your head carefully. “Tell me what to do.”

“Just hold her still.”

He tried again, brushing your cheek with the backs of his fingers. You winced—again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered with a small frown.

He didn’t even know what he was apologizing for anymore. For letting you go? For not being here sooner? For giving you a child that was hurting you?

He drew a shaky breath, lifting his hand from your face. He conjured a flame onto his palm. It shimmered and twisted until it gathered into a single, pulsing orb of bright red magic. A kernel of his power. He stared at the orb for a second, sending a prayer to the Cauldron, to the Mother, to anyone or anything that would listen. That this time, he could do something right by you.

Then, he released it. The orb floated from his hand and moved toward you. It hovered above your chest and then, slowly sank into your skin.

There was a stillness. A moment when even Azriel’s shadows held their breath.

Then, you exhaled. A soft, low sigh. Your brows unfurrowed, expression smoothing out. The burn marks on your stomach dulled. The fevered flush began to fade from your cheeks. And finally, the ice in the bath stopped melting so quickly.

Eris felt the bond stir.

You were there on the other side again. 

He bowed his head, overcome with relief. A ragged breath left him, silently thanking all entities who heard his prayer. It worked. It had actually worked.

He hadn’t been sure it would. He’d only ever seen something similar like this once. Under the mountain, when his father had given a spark of life to Feyre after she had saved them all. Eris had only hoped that by sharing a kernel of his own power with you, it might do the same. Might change your body, mold it to help carry the fireborn child.

Eris had seen people burn from the inside out before. His own fire could be a gift or a curse depending on how it was wielded. He had never feared it, never hated it. Until now.

Guilt clawed further into his chest. It seemed never-ending at this point. All he seemed to do was bring you pain—trouble after trouble. It’s not like he planned for this. Becoming a father wasn’t something he expected at all. Not now, not yet. And certainly not like this.

None of this was supposed to happen. You were supposed to hate him, to move on. He thought if he was cruel enough, you'd leave and eventually, you’d forget him. You’d go live the life you wanted. The one he couldn’t give you. You’d live free from the curse of loving a man like him.

Eris had never intended for you to carry this burden alone. He had intended to be the only one suffering. 

But this fire had already taken root, whether either of you were ready for it or not. 

Parenthood was no longer a distant concept. It was here, knocking at his door, demanding to be faced. With it, came fear. For you. How could something so small and unborn already wield such power?  How could he not have seen this coming?

He remembered his mother having similar troubles but it wasn’t until her last month of pregnancy that they arose. You couldn’t be that far along. He would’ve definitely noticed then as he could pick up on the shift in your scent now.

Had he known the risks you’d undergo, he would’ve done this for you the moment he found out you were pregnant. Without hesitation, without question. He would’ve handed over every last ember of his power, if it meant you wouldn’t suffer.

Madja was at your side, her hand moving across your fevered skin. First your forehead, then your chest, and finally, she dipped her hand beneath the water to feel your stomach. A look of relief crossed her face as she nodded her head.

“The fever is broken. She seems to be stabilizing now.”

“Thank the Mother,” the woman, still holding you, breathed.

Eris didn’t need Madja to know you were feeling better. He could feel it, the bond awake once more. Your breathing grew more steady. Exhaustion now took over your features, body slumping further against the woman.

“Let’s get her out and dressed,” Madja instructed the other woman.

Eris immediately stood on his feet, ready to help.

Madja stopped him. “We can take it from here.”

Eris told himself to not get upset. It’s clear she meant no harm from it. Though Eris has seen you countless of times, he realized that if you were fully conscious, you may not have wanted him to help you dress. So he took a step back and averted his gaze, letting them help you instead.

His eyes found the shadowsinger’s wings.  Azriel, wanting to also protect your decency, had turned his back, facing the wall. Eris’s ears were attentive to the movement behind him. He listened as the women behind him moved and dressed you, bringing you to bed. 

One of his fists clenched in unease when he finally heard you speak, your voice a faint murmur. 

“My baby…is…okay…?”

“Yes, your baby is okay,” he heard Madja comfort you.

“Good,” you breathed. “M’tired…so, so tired…”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he heard the other woman, whose name he still hadn’t bothered to ask for. He should, considering how caring and attentive she’s been to you. “You can rest all you need to.”

A strangled noise came from you, a cry from exhaustion.

Eris hadn’t meant to look. His chest flared with protectiveness at the distressing sound you made, his body moving on instinct. His eyes flicked over his shoulder—just for a second—and they widened.

Your undergarments were in place, the women working together to slip a sleeping gown over your body. It wasn’t the sight of your skin that had his eyes widening. it was what had changed.

He knew your body like the back of his hand, had memorized every inch of it with his eyes and lips. He knew it well enough to immediately pick up on the changes. Your hips had widened and stomach rounded, all to accommodate the baby growing inside you. His baby.

The awe that pierced through him was drowned quickly by guilt as the women blocked his view, settling you further onto the bed. When they drew back from you, he was comforted by the peace slowly easing onto your face. The Illyrian woman smiled down at you as she brushed your hair back.

“I’m going to finish some tonics that she can use to build up her strength again.” Madja said before walking out of the room. 

“It’s time for you to go.” Azriel finally spoke, addressing Eris. “There’s no need for you to be here anymore.”

Eris’s body tensed, that anger from earlier flaring back up. He forced his gaze away from you, though it felt like tearing flesh from bone, and turned slowly to face the shadowsinger. “She needs me.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that she doesn’t want you.”

Eris winced, as if he had been struck. The blow landed deep. He didn’t know if it was true and that was the worst part. 

Though, it didn’t matter if you wanted him or not. What if another complication arose? The power he gave you was a sliver of his but one you never wielded before. He had centuries of mastery while you had none. If something happened, he could help you. Not Azriel. Him. 

And what of the baby? Who would be there to guide them once they were of age? Or if they started manifesting them much sooner as it already was proving to be?

“She’s carrying my child. They need me. She can’t go through this alone.”

“They’re not alone,” Azriel said sharply, stepping forward. His shadows were stirring behind him, emphasizing the bright pulsing of his blue siphons.  “They have me.”

Eris laughed bitterly. A sound with no humor—just disbelief and hidden pain. “You?” His lip curled. “You expect me to trust you? You knew what was happening and still—still—you waited three days to come find me.”

Azriel’s wings twitched, whether in irritation or restraint, Eris couldn’t tell. But the room suddenly felt smaller. Like it might close in under the pressure of their magic. The two males stood nearly toe-to-toe, just as they had before.

“Because you broke her trust,” Azriel shot back, his shadows coiling tighter, like leashed beasts waiting for the order to strike. “And I don’t trust you. Never did and never will. You always have a selfish motive for everything.”

Eris’s nostrils flared, pure jealousy flaring beneath his skin now. “And when exactly did you earn her trust, shadowsinger?” 

“Enough, the both of you!” the Illyrian woman snapped, stepping between them with a might of her own. She winced as the bed behind her rustled, you stirring in bed. “If you are going to fight, then do it outside."

Neither male moved at first.

They simply stared at one another. Hate and grief and guilt writ in every tense breath between them. Then, finally, Eris stepped back, muttering a curt “sorry” to the woman. The flames in his hands flickered out, though the heat in his eyes remained.

“Eris.”

It was you calling to him.

Azriel blinked, taken aback, and a small, unexpected victory pulsed through Eris’s veins. 

Azriel reluctantly stepped back, his shadows retreating with him. Still, they lingered close and Eris swore they had eyes of their own as he could feel them staring him down.

“She's been through enough," the woman said with a sigh, her gaze lingering on Eris, as if she were assessing him. She turned to Azriel. “She’ll probably wake up hungry, poor thing hasn’t eaten much either. Won’t you help me prepare something?”

Though it’s phrased as a question, there’s an underlying demand in her tone. One Eris can’t help but feel grateful for.

“Sure,” Azriel replied after a brief pause, his voice taut. He turned to follow, but not before glancing back. “Five minutes,” he said over his shoulder.

**

Eris’s eyes caught the clutter on your nightstand as he approached your bed. For a moment, he froze. The letters–his letters– were stacked unevenly, some edges bent from being reopened too many times. There were small things, too. The other gifts he had sent.

None of his letters have been returned and it appeared that the gifts he had sent were unused. 

But they were here. They’d at least been opened and kept. Not thrown away as he feared.

The smallest sliver of hope pushed into the cracks of his chest. Perhaps, there was still a chance. You hadn’t shut him out entirely. He exhaled slowly and then, finally, he turned back to you.

The bed dipped slightly as Eris sat on the edge, and for a moment, he just looked at you. The fever had dropped but it left behind a sickly sheen of exhaustion. Reaching out, his hand hovered over your face. There was a moment of hesitation before he gently lowered his hand to rest against your cheek. You were no longer searing to the touch, just slightly cooler in comparison to him now.

You didn’t flinch like before. Instead, you leaned into his touch and the movement stole the breath from his lungs. His lips parted, a tremor of a smile tugging at one corner. 

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering. Then, slowly, his gaze drifted downward to the gown draped across your body. He could see the small curve of your stomach beneath it and it made his chest tighten.

There. Right there. Life–Life the two you had created.

His hand moved from your face to rest lightly on your bump. His touch was featherlight like he feared even pressure might hurt you further. The contact was both grounding and devastating. He really wished things didn’t have to be this way. 

“I’m sorry,” he finds himself whispering again. He was full of so much regret and so much yearning.

“Eris,” you rasped, your lashes fluttering faintly. “Is it really you?”

Eris knows it must be the exhaustion. He can see you fighting it, struggling with the weight it pressed upon your eyelids. The hand that had been resting over your stomach drifted lower to reach for your own hand. “Yes,” he replied. His hand tightened around yours, bringing it to rest over his heart. “I’m here.”

You hummed softly, your fingers twitching in his grasp. He watched you, observing every shift of your expression, every flutter of your lashes as if it were some fragile miracle. The tears he’d been holding back finally slipped free, tracking down his cheeks in silence.  

“When Azriel came for me, I thought the worst. I thought I was protecting you by pushing you away. I thought…” He trailed off, swallowing hard and struggling with his words.

He gave you space to respond, though he knew better than to expect it. He wondered if the exhaustion won, sleep finally taking over you. Good, he thought. You probably haven’t been able to properly rest these past couple of days.

Your breathing remained steady and no more words from you followed. Just the soft rhythm of your body. He could hear your heartbeat and he swore he could hear the baby’s too. It was quiet but quicker. A ticking sound, almost.

Before you, he hadn’t believed himself capable of feeling for someone this deeply. But you—you had carved out a place in his heart, built a home there, even when he tried to board it shut. And now, there was someone else nestled in that space too. Someone so small and unseen but already adored with an intensity that terrified him.

The bond between you stirred faintly, dulled by your fatigue. Maybe you wouldn’t remember this. Maybe it would all fade into your dreams. It didn’t matter. He had to say it anyway.

“I’m going to fix this,” he whispered, pressing your hand to his lips. “I swear it. Even if you never forgive me... I’ll spend the rest of my life fighting for and protecting you. The both of you.”

Eris closed his eyes, forehead resting briefly against your joined hands. And then, with a tremble in his chest, he said the three words that had haunted him since the day you spoke them first. The three words he had felt long before you ever gave them breath. The ones he had buried beneath fear and duty and pride.

“I love you.”

It left him in a broken whisper. A confession and a promise all in one. He only hoped he’d get the chance to say them to you when you were awake. He wanted to sit here with you, holding your hand as he waited for you to wake up. He didn’t want to leave. How could he, when everything that made his life worth anything was here in this room?

The tattoo on his arm from the bargain with Azriel flared, as if sensing where his thoughts had headed. It pulsed against his skin like a second heartbeat and it was followed by a knock at the door. Azriel must’ve felt it too.

Eris looked at you one last time, his gaze trailing over your face. Then down to the bump beneath the thin gown, where your hand now rested. You looked at ease now and it made it even harder for him to leave when all he wanted was to curl up beside you. His legs felt heavy, as though the weight of what he was walking away from had rooted him in place. 

He burned the image of you into his mind before he forced himself to stand. He didn’t know how, didn’t know when. He just knew he would find his way back to you. Even if he had to bleed for every step back to you.

And then, he walked away, closing the door softly behind him. He didn’t hear the faint words that left your lips moments later, voice cracked and barely there.

“Don’t go.”

a/n: Hope you enjoyed this part! <3 In my head, iI have a little HC that f Eris and reader had consummated the bond, this pregnancy wouldn't have turned high risk so early. I have 2-3 more parts planned but I'm going to take a small break from them so I could write little drabbles/scenes in between them. Basically, it would be scenes I couldn't figure out how to incorporate into the next parts but still wanted to write out.

Sneak peak to next update: here

If there's anything you'd like to read, let me know! I'm open to suggestions and also love hearing your thoughts.

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[navi-the-flying-bee]

Valentine's day

(a/n): okay. I know i am VERY late,but to arrive late is better than not arriving. So... Forgive me?

Characters: Atsushi, Fukuzawa, Dazai, Fyodor, Mori, Chuuya, Ranpo, Poe, Nikolai.

Warnings: use of y/n. This took me too long but mostly because i had writing block while writing it (which was a month ago? Or two?) then i had to drag myself to continue it.

Nakajima atsushi

Valentine’s Day at the Armed Detective Agency was… chaotic.

Not that you were expecting anything less.

You had no real plans for the day. romance wasn’t exactly your forte. You were more of a “wait until the 15th and buy discounted chocolate” kind of person. But apparently, Ranpo had figured that out.

And that was a mistake.

“You’re telling me,” he said, eyes gleaming like he had just solved the world’s greatest mystery, “that you, didn’t think ahead about Valentine’s Day? How tragic.”

You groaned, burying your face in your scarf. “Leave me alone. It’s a capitalist trap.”

Ranpo took a slow, exaggerated bite of the expensive chocolate he had somehow acquired (probably by guilting Kunikida into buying it for him). “Ooooh, Kunikida’s gonna lecture you again.”

And just as he said that-

“Y/N!”

You flinched.

There he was. Kunikida Doppo, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking every bit like a disappointed teacher about to give a very long lecture.

“As a member of the Agency, you should have at least some consideration for your coworkers,” he scolded. “Valentine’s Day is about appreciation, not just romance.”

You nodded. “Understood.”

Kunikida blinked. “...Wait. Really?”

“Yeah,” you said, already sidestepping toward the exit, “I’ll write you all a heartfelt letter about how much I appreciate you later. Sound good? Okay, bye-”

“come back here-!”

You turned too fast and crashed right into Atsushi.

“Oh!, I was actually looking for you,” he said, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “I got you something.”

You blinked. “...For me?”

Atsushi held out a small box of chocolates, tied with a golden ribbon.

“Well… yeah,” he said, smiling shyly. “You always make sure everyone’s okay, so I figured you deserved something too.”

Your heart melted a little. “That’s-” You shook your head. “Atsushi, that’s unfair. Now I feel bad for not getting you anything.”

“No, no! It’s not about that,” he said quickly. “I just wanted to. You don’t owe me anything.”

You stared at him for a moment before smiling softly. “...Thank you.”

And that’s when it happened.

From across the room, Dazai smirked.

“How sweet,” he teased. “Ciel, did you just get a confession?”

You choked on your own words. “I- NO. Dazai, stop.”

Atsushi, now bright red, waved his hands wildly. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

Dazai, clearly enjoying the chaos, dramatically clutched his chest. “Ah, young love! So pure, so fleeting-”

Ranpo, still munching on chocolate, leaned over. “Ten bucks says Kunikida tries to shut him up in the next five minutes.”

You scoffed. “Two minutes.”

And sure enough.

“DAZAI, GET BACK TO WORK.”

Fukuzawa Yukichi

Look. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to give President Fukuzawa something for Valentine’s Day. You just… didn’t know what.

I mean, what do you give someone so wise, composed, and effortlessly cool?

You couldn’t just hand him some cheap chocolates and call it a day.

“Just write him a letter,” Atsushi had suggested.

“Or get him cat-themed tea,” Ranpo had added with his usual knowing smirk. “He’ll love it.”

And that was how you ended up standing outside Fukuzawa’s office, holding a neatly wrapped box of cat-shaped tea bags (shoutout to Yosano for the shopping advice) and a small letter.

You hesitated.

What if this was weird? What if this was too much? What if he thought you were trying too hard?

Before you could spiral any further, the door slid open.

Fukuzawa looked down at you, calm as always. “y/n?”

You straightened up. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sir.”

His gaze shifted to the gift in your hands. “For me?”

“Uh… yeah.” You hesitated before handing it over. “It’s nothing special, just some tea. And, um, a letter. You don’t have to read it or anything-”

Fukuzawa accepted the gift with a small nod. “Thank you.”

You exhaled. “Oh. Cool. Okay.”

You turned to leave when-

“I will read it.”

You froze. “Huh?”

Fukuzawa regarded you thoughtfully. “You are an expressive person. If you took the time to write something, it must have meaning.”

Oh.

Your face suddenly felt warm. “I- Uh- Yeah, I guess so.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, in an uncharacteristically soft tone, he added:

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

…

Did you just get praised by the President of the Armed Detective Agency?!

Atsushi and Kunikida found you five minutes later, sitting in the hallway, staring into space.

“She looks like she just saw a mythical creature,” Atsushi whispered.

“She basically did,” Ranpo replied, grinning.

Dazai Osamu

You messed up.

The second you hesitated in front of Dazai’s desk, you sealed your fate. Because that was all the invitation he needed to turn your day into a performance.

“Ohhh?” His eyes lit up with the thrill of chaos. “Could it be? y/n-chan, are you giving me a Valentine’s gift?”

And that was when you knew.

You were done for.

“No,” you deadpanned.

“What’s that in your hand, then?”

“Nothing.”

Dazai gasped. Full, dramatic, hand-to-chest levels of betrayal. “A confession?! Oh, Ciel, I’m flattered! But you should know, my heart belongs to the endless embrace of-”

“It’s chocolate, Dazai.”

He stopped mid-monologue. Just froze.

“Eh?”

With the patience of someone who had long accepted their suffering, you dropped the small box onto his desk.

“It’s just chocolate. Because it’s Valentine’s Day. And because if I didn’t get you something, you’d be insufferable about it.”

Dazai picked up the box, turning it over in his hands like it held the secrets of the universe. “So this is how much I mean to you, huh?”

“Do you want it or not?”

“Oh, I want it.” His smirk returned, far too pleased with himself. “I just didn’t expect you to be so bold”

You saw red. “I swear to God-”

“Did you put poison in it?”

“No, but I should have.”

“Ah, how cruel!” He collapsed against his desk like a tragic widow. “To think, my dear Ciel-chan, the one person I trusted, has betrayed me so—”

So you threw a piece of chocolate at his forehead.

It hit with a satisfying thud.

“Just eat it and shut up.”

And that should have been the end of it.

But then, Dazai looked at you, a real smile tugging at his lips.

Not the teasing kind. Not the act.

A small, genuine one.

“Thank you.”

…And for some reason-

That threw you off way more than the flirting.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

You weren’t sure why you were doing this.

Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was stupidity. Maybe it was some self-destructive impulse that made you think, Wouldn’t it be interesting to see how Fyodor Dostoevsky reacts to a Valentine’s gift?

So now you were here. In a dimly lit room. Sitting across from him.

Fyodor watched you with an unreadable expression, fingers tapping lightly against his teacup. “A gift? For me?”

His voice was smooth, polite-like he already knew your intentions and was simply indulging you.

You cleared your throat and placed a small box on the table. “Yeah. It’s… nothing special. Just chocolate.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Ah. How thoughtful.”

He picked up the box, examining it with unsettling amusement. “Tell me,” he mused, violet eyes gleaming, “is this an act of goodwill? Or do you simply wish to see how I would respond?”

You hesitated. Damn it. He saw through you so fast.

“I mean…” You leaned back, crossing your arms. “Maybe both.”

Fyodor chuckled. “Honest. How refreshing.”

He unwrapped the box with deliberate slowness, as if savoring the moment. “You intrigue me,” he admitted, plucking one of the chocolates between his fingers. “A human with a unique power… yet you walk willingly into the lion’s den.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you’re the lion?”

He smiled. a slow, knowing smile. “And what else would I be?”

Oh.

Oh.

You suddenly felt very, very aware of the fact that you had voluntarily given Fyodor Dostoevsky a Valentine’s gift. This was probably a bad idea.

He took a bite of the chocolate, his gaze never leaving yours. Then, tilting his head slightly, he asked:

“Tell me, … do you believe in fate?”

Your pulse quickened. “That depends,” you said carefully. “Are you about to make me regret this?”

Fyodor chuckled again, slow and deliberate. “Perhaps,” he murmured. “Or perhaps… this is just the beginning.”

You swallowed. Yeah. This was definitely a bad idea.

Mori Ougai

You would never give Mori Ougai a Valentine’s gift. Ever.

It wasn’t even about him being the leader of the Port Mafia-hell, you’d already given Fyodor chocolate, and he was arguably worse. No, Mori was just… dangerous in a different way.

The kind of dangerous that smiled too kindly while pulling the strings behind the scenes.

So imagine your absolute horror when you walked into your regular café, to your daily table and found a beautifully wrapped gift box waiting for you.

With a card.

Signed: Mori Ougai.

…You stared.

No. No, no, no. This was bad.

You immediately turned on your heel-only to find Mori standing right behind you.

“Going somewhere, y/n-chan?” he asked pleasantly.

You barely stopped yourself from jumping. “Nope.”

Mori smiled. Too kindly. “I heard you were handing out gifts today, so I thought I should return the favor.”

“…I didn’t give you anything.”

“Not yet.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I’m never giving you anything.”

Mori sighed dramatically. “Ah, so cruel. Even after I went through all this trouble?”

Your gaze flicked to the box. Suspicious. “Is it poisoned?”

He chuckled. “Now, now, what kind of man do you take me for?”

“The exact kind who would absolutely poison a gift.”

Mori only laughed. “It’s nothing dangerous, I promise. Just a small token of my appreciation.”

Yeah, right. That sounded ten times worse.

“…Appreciation for what?”

“For being so interesting, of course.” His smile widened. Too wide. “I do hope we continue to cross paths.”

You picked up the box like it might explode.

“Great. That’s definitely not ominous.”

Mori simply chuckled, stepping away. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my dear.”

You decided right then and there that you were never opening that box.

Nakahara Chuuya

You had debated this for days.

Giving Chuuya Nakahara a Valentine’s gift? Risky.

He wasn’t exactly the romantic type... well, not in the cheesy way, at least. And honestly? You weren’t even sure if he’d want chocolate from you.

But after hours of overthinking, you finally decided: screw it.

Worst case scenario? He’d mock you and move on.

Best case scenario? …Well, you weren’t sure yet.

So here you were, standing outside Mafia HQ, clutching a small bag of premium dark chocolate truffles and second-guessing your entire existence.

Before you could change your mind, the door swung open.

Chuuya stepped out.

And paused immediately when he saw you.

You blinked. “…Oh.”

He frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“I-” You hesitated, then just shoved the bag at him. “Here.”

Chuuya looked down at it, confused. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s-” You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “It’s chocolate, okay? For Valentine’s Day.”

Chuuya stared.

Then, slowly, his lips curled into an amused smirk.

“Well, well,” he drawled, taking the bag. “Didn’t take you for the type to hand out gifts.”

You groaned. “If you’re gonna make this weird-”

“Nah.” He shook his head, opening the bag and popping a truffle into his mouth.

Immediately, his eyes widened.

“…Shit. This is actually good.”

You crossed your arms. “Of course it is.”

Chuuya chewed thoughtfully, then glanced at you. Something unreadable flickered in his gaze.

“…Tch.” He looked away, a little flustered. “Thanks, I guess.”

You blinked. “Wait, did you just-”

“I swear to god, don’t make a big deal out of it.”

You grinned. “You totally just-”

“Shut up.”

You laughed, watching as he pointedly refused to meet your eyes.

For someone so tough.

He sure was easy to fluster.

Ranpo Edogawa

You should have known this would happen.

Giving Ranpo Edogawa chocolate on Valentine’s Day? That was practically signing up to be made fun of for the rest of your life.

But at this point, you’d already given chocolate to Dazai, Chuuya and Fyodor (questionable life choices). What was one more?

So you marched up to Ranpo’s desk, dropped the small box of sweets in front of him, and crossed your arms.

“Here.”

Ranpo didn’t even glance up from his snacks. “Oho? A bribe?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day, you idiot.”

He finally looked up, grinning like the little menace he was. “So… a confession?”

You rolled your eyes so hard you saw the ceiling. “It’s just chocolate. Don’t make this weird.”

Ranpo picked up the box, turning it in his hands with a thoughtful hum. His green eyes twinkled like he was already three steps ahead of you.

“Hmmm… I already knew you were gonna give me some, of course.”

“Sure you did.”

“I did! After all, I’m the greatest detective in the world.”

You smirked, leaning forward. Oh, you were gonna enjoy this.

“Okay then, Mr. Detective.” You crossed your arms. “What flavor is it?”

Ranpo blinked.

You saw the exact moment the gears in his head stuttered.

“…What?”

“You heard me.” Your smirk widened. “If you’re sooo smart, you should already know what kind of chocolate it is.”

He squinted at the box like it might reveal its secrets if he stared hard enough. Then-without breaking eye contact. he popped the box open and ate one.

“Hazelnut.”

Your jaw dropped. “You-”

“See?” He grinned, smug as hell. “Told you I knew.”

“YOU JUST TASTED IT.”

“Still counts.”

You groaned, resisting every violent urge in your body.

“I should’ve given it to Kunikida instead.”

Ranpo was already reaching for another chocolate. “Nah. You like me too much for that.”

You did not dignify that with a response.

Edgar Allen Poe

You hadn’t originally planned to give Poe a Valentine’s gift.

Not because you didn’t like him. Poe was actually one of your favorite people. It was just that… well, you weren’t sure if he even cared about Valentine’s Day.

But then you thought about how happy he’d look if he received a gift.

And, well… how could you resist?

So you made your way to a quiet, dimly lit corner of Yokohama’s library, where Poe usually hid away to write. You found him at his usual table, Karl curled up beside him, as he scribbled something in an old notebook.

You placed a carefully wrapped package in front of him.

Poe jumped slightly, blinking up at you. “y/n?”

You grinned. “Valentine’s gift.”

There was a long pause.

Then-

“Karl! She brought me something!”

You barely had time to react before Poe snatched the package with surprising speed, unwrapping it as if it held some ancient secret.

Inside was a beautifully bound, leather-cover notebook with delicate gold-embossed edges.

Poe froze.

His hands trembled slightly as he picked it up, eyes scanning every little detail. “This is…” His voice was almost a whisper.

“I figured you might like a new notebook,” you said, shrugging. “Y’know, for all your writing.”

Poe slowly looked up at you.

You blinked.

Was he… tearing up?

“…Poe?”

“This is the most thoughtful gift I have ever received,” he declared dramatically, clutching the notebook to his chest. Karl squeaked in agreement.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Glad you like it.”

Poe nodded furiously, then froze-as if remembering something important.

“Wait here!” He rummaged through his bag, then returned holding a small, carefully wrapped package.

“For me?” you asked, surprised.

Poe nodded eagerly. “Karl and I prepared it just in case!”

You opened the package to find a collection of beautifully handwritten short stories, bound together in a small book. The title page read:

“To y/n, A Collection of Mysteries & Dreams.”

Your breath hitched. “Poe…”

He flushed slightly. “I, um… I hope you like it.”

You grinned, holding the book close. “I love it.”

Karl climbed onto your shoulder, squeaking happily.

Best Valentine’s exchange ever.

Nikolai Gogol

You knew something was wrong the second you stepped into the Agency.

Everyone was staring at you. Some with curiosity. Others cough Kunikida cough with visible irritation.

You blinked. “Uh… what?”

Dazai smirked, nudging you forward. “Why don’t you check your desk, (Y/N)-chan?”

A sinking feeling settled in your gut.

Slowly, you turned-

And froze.

Because sitting on your desk was a massive, gift-wrapped box with a tag that read:

“To My Dearest, From Your Secret Admirer (Guess Who~!)”

You felt actual fear.

“No.” You turned to the others. “I am not opening that.”

Ranpo, casually eating a snack, snickered. “Smart choice.”

Before you could destroy the box yourself, the lid burst open-

And out popped Nikolai Gogol.

“SURPRISE, MOYA LUBOOOOV!” he sang, arms spread wide.

You screamed. Kunikida almost had a stroke.

Nikolai cackled, hopping out of the box. “Did you like my present, my dear? A gift from the heart- ME!”

You stared at him in horror. “Get back in the box.”

“Aw, but I worked so hard on this!” He spun dramatically. “I even thought about filling it with doves-maybe a few fireworks, but apparently, that’s ‘too dangerous indoors’ or whatever.”

“You-” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “What do you even want?”

Nikolai grinned. “Just your reaction, of course! And to see if you’d join my villain arc!”

You crossed your arms. “Hard pass.”

Nikolai pouted. “Booooring.” Then, with a snap of his fingers, he vanished.

You sighed in exhaustion.

Then, from somewhere above you, his voice echoed:

“Check under your desk, love~!”

You did not. You simply walked away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Help! I feel the writing block coming back again. So i may disappear till then if you have any questions or requests? You know where to send them. Anyway i am going to my corner rn. Bye..

[val-of-the-north]

Most of the "lesser" Nightlords are creatures who think differently from humans, with the clear exception of Fulghor, Libra and Caligo.

Among the three, Fulghor is the odd one out, as he is a warrior and champion of an ancient age who lacks the inquisitiveness of the other two. He is there to fight on behalf of the ancient gods he worshipped, and I am not sure if he is on the side of the Night or if like Adel he has simply found himself in this position due to his sheer power allowing him to claim the title. He did gain a new arm out of it, but he is also not the "Champion of Night" but the "Champion of Nightglow", in stark contrast to everyone else. He even wields a "sacred form of the Night's power", which is interesting since the true Nightlord and Gladius, his personal companion, are both really weak to sacred power... he is also the only Nightlord visibly affected by the Night's power, as his skin features blueish spots all over it. Perhaps he isn't as willing as the others to see the world vanish, but he is too prideful to side with the people who replaced his pantheon. After all, it seems the Nightfarers are drawing from the power of Grace left behind by the dominant culture of the time. Maybe he could have been an ally, but he couldn't forgive the changing of the ages.

This leaves us with Caligo and Libra, who are both very intelligent beings with a wealth of knowledge, acquired for vastly different reasons. Caligo seeks to know and remember, observing history and committing everything to memory, while Libra seeks to reach balance and enlightenment, walking a thin line between blessing and madness. Both also have the ability to pretend to be human, but while we see it for Libra, it is only implied for Caligo, since she is an Ancient Dragon, judging from her appearance, and they could all shape-shift into a more humanoid form if they wanted. However, I believe they are kind of opposites in the way they operate.

Libra, as the Baphomet-inspired creature that he is, gives me the vibe of someone who was there for many points of history, and maybe even interacted with some of the more important people when they meant nothing yet. I can imagine him knocking at Midra's door or meeting a young Marika before she is pulled away by one of her elders who knows the guy is bad news lol. However, he does not seem to be on board with the whole "Lord of Frenzied Flame" thing. He is just as susceptible to madness himself, and something like that would tip the scales on one side rather than the other, which goes against his desire for true balance. Libra's choice to peer into madness is simply a way to reach enlightenment, as it brings you closer to the concept of the One Great.

I think Libra is a force that tips the scales in favor of whatever power is lacking at the moment in an attempt to reach balance. So in an Age where Frenzy is at its lowest, he'd stir up chaos and madness, while in one where Frenzy rules and begins melting the world away, he'd show people the boons of gold and order. He wouldn't necessarily be the one who shapes the course of history, but rather someone who can guess based on his calculations, simply "nudging" others towards the direction he thinks would be best for achieving true equilibrium, which he finally found in the Night that he views as the equalizer of all things. He basically wants a world of unity but without individuality being destroyed, believing balance can exist in the current state of the world without having to renounce it. Quite an insane thing to aim for, but it's respectable in its own right, especially since he did manage to marry order and chaos into his own form of alchemy.

Meanwhile, Caligo is a watchful eye that has probably been around since time immemorial, possibly even being a contemporary to Metyr, or someone born very soon after her arrival on their world. She has observed history and sometimes shows up for its most important events so that she may remember them. In stark contrast to Libra, who feels like he'd be considered a mythological figure, historians would know of Caligo and her importance. And again, unlike him, she would show up when events are already in motion and worth memorizing. She could even show up in her human form to converse with the current world leaders, hear their side and maybe even impart wisdom if they choose to listen to her words. But maybe her years of witnessing cycles upon cycles have made her detached, which just leads her to make either cold or sardonic remarks on certain things she knows for a fact will happen, and they often do just as she predicted. Because she has learned the pattern of history and can correctly identify how things will go.

Maybe in endings that aren't the Age of Fracture, Stars or the Lord of Frenzied Flame, the Tarnished protagonist would be visited by her, curious of the new developments. Maybe she even paid a visit during the Shattering, if only to laugh at how predictable the civil war between Demigods was. The Night, however, seems to be something new and worth investigating, which is no doubt a source of great relief for someone who must have been growing weary of the stagnant nature of Marika's reign.

-

Now I am wondering if Gideon Ofnir looked for either of them in his quest to be all-knowing... he seems smart enough to have found a way to peer into the mind of Marika and discover the truth of the Fingers, so he could have communed with either Caligo, or Libra, or both in an attempt to expand his own knowledge. Cool to think about.

[hobgoblinsandpeachfuzz]

here have a musical number as a treat*

*i don't write songs very well forgive the cheesiness

But on the plus side, instead of this being my planned finale I now have a rough outline of where I wanted all this to go and more doodles planned xD

We'll see how long it takes to get to all of it xD

(pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt.5, pt. 6)

outline under the read more:

Act I

Overture: Lady Ambrosia kidnaps the players and the narrator so they will tell her story.

Matchmaking (A woman with a kingdom must be in want of a consort)

Just Leave Everything to Me but evil and fairy like

More Important Things

Tadius and Ella agree that there’s too much work to be done to be focused on this. Both are reassured in each other’s commitments, and there is lingering romance. 

Mischief and Romance - Lady Ambrosia Approaches Ella

She tries to go for the kill here first and asks what love looks like to her. Ella does reveal she is in love, but she also confirms her suspicion—Lady Ambrosia is a fairy.

A Quest

Ella sends Sir Crumb to inform the Fairy Queen

The List

Ella was a dead end. Tadius is now the next victim. Lady Ambrosia has finished her list of bachelors and approaches Tadius with them.

Mischief and Romance - Lady Ambrosia has acquired a new target

Lord Cornelius Appleton

Destiny

Tadius laments the clearly destined love between Cornelius and Ella. Ella celebrates the good things in her life now, and how she will protect them, and how she loves Tadius. Lady Ambrosia plans on making things a whole lot worse before they get better—destiny is her plaything after all.

The Bachelor Parade

All the bachelors are introduced and present themselves to Ella, Lord Hop-a-Lot, and Tadius. Tadius does not do his usual good job of keeping in how he feels. Ella reprimands him.

Tadius’s Soliloquy

(Based on How I Am meets Who Am I)

He’s pissed! They were doing good and now distractions are happening! Royals end up only caring about parties and silly things (and maybe he’s in love and can’t admit it!) Ella would never do this!

Take What You Want

Lady Ambrosia steps in right after the soliloquy to encourage Tadius not quite yet fairy reveal. She explains that she has seen that the Queen favors him. It wouldn’t be hard to do all the things they want to do if they were both on the throne.

Tadius isn’t fully convinced yet, but he’s thinking.

Cornelius and Ella

A duet where they reminisce about childhood. Tadius sees them get close and leaves before Ella explains to Cornelius that her heart belongs to another. In being her friend, he encourages her to go for it. Ella says it’s Tadius, and Cornelius, a good dude, reminds her she has changed so much already, who cares about Tadius’s upbringing. This can only make the world better. (A positive spin on Take What You Want)

The Ball

The Way I’m Meant to

Ella and Tadius fight and then confirm their love.

Take What You Want Reprise

Ella leaves and while in love and feeling better Tadius still has fears and doubts. This isn’t how things are done. Lady Ambrosia preys on them. When Tadius affirms that he believes in Ella and loves her and will do the right thing, Lady Ambrosia is grossed out and has to go to plan C: possession. What’s important is she is only revealing his darker impulses—none of this is not something within Tadius himself.

Act II

Sir Crumb returns and tells Ella what the Fairy Queen told him. She’ll need to go to the forest herself to be able to get the means to defeat Lady Ambrosia. She leaves with Sir Crumb and asks Lord Hop-a-Lot to keep an eye on things.

A New King in Town

Dark Tadius Emerges and declares all the Bachelors can go home. He will be marrying Ella and he will be King. Fairy Guards drag them to dungeons. He is VIBING HARD.

Sisters

Ella talks to the Fairy Queen. She cannot grant Ella another wish, but if Ella takes a wand from her branches she can at least have one moment of starlight to confront Lady Ambrosia. The Fairy Queen sings about the two sisters duality and how they are oft opposed but have to survive together.

Ridiculous

Lord Hop-A-Lot tries to get through to Tadius. He sings his genuine feelings on royalty, magic, fairy tales, and love—it’s ridiculous. Hard work is all that matters, and sense. Lord Hop-A-Lot tries to remind him of Ella—everyone knew they were in love. Tadius thinks he is doing this for Ella—magic has hurt her so. But now he is at war with himself. He is also ridiculous.

The Way I’m Meant to Reprise

Ella returns with the wand and Sir Crumb and confronts Dark Tadius. Love does conquer all especially within the powers of a fairy of romance.

Mischief and Romance and Green and Goodness

Lady Ambrosia Fights Back. She is defeated by the wand in a kick ass fairy battle.

Tadius and Ella (a reprise of sorts of Cornelius and Ella)

Tadius apologizes profusely to Ella. It was him, it was his darkest thoughts, and Ella forgives him. She still chooses him, no matter what. Their dark impulses are actually quite the same. But as a team, they can balance each other. 

They apologize to all the nobles and bachelors. There likely will be further fallout but they’ll deal with it together.

The Way I’m Meant To (Finale)

Tadius and Ella get married. Lady Ambrosia crashes and flirts with Lord Hop-a-Lot. 

Storytelling (A woman with a kingdom must be in want of a consort)

The narrator finally escapes Lady Ambrosia’s clutches and sings his own version of the beginning song to end.

[marionette-j2x]

The Stanley Parable: New Script AU

"Something had shifted in the system. Something had changed. The Narrator's struggling to maintain normalcy in his perfectly crafted story as wayward codes, random protocols, glitches and unknown entities started appearing in the parable. Now with his protagonist, Stanley and their newly acquired friends acquaintances, they try their best to comprehend the danger now the parable poses and figure out who the mastermind behind all of it."

^This is actually just a short summary of this AU. I just can't seem to verbalize everything about this since I cannot English enough the things that's brewing on my mind. I had this AU simmering in my mind since last December after discovering this game, (Yes, I know I'm a few years too late for this fandom-).

I might draw more stuff in this AU soon. Maybe a comic sometimes idk but I do have some ideas. (I still have to finish my other comics for the different fandoms I'm in tho.)

(You can comment on the post below if you wanted to ask details about this AU. Please be kind tho especially to each other!)

(also forgive me for misspelling the Curator's name ahahdgdhhd I was not aware. I was really tired skskskks-)

[wroetominter]

Wedding Guests - George Clarke

In which George and Y/n have a history, that makes an appearance at their friends wedding.

Pairing: George X Femreader

Warnings: slight smut

I stepped out of my cab, thanking the driver as I pulled my weekender bag over my shoulder and carried my dress bags into the lobby of the gorgeous hotel Ethan and Faith had decided to get married at. Some of the guests had opted to stay the night before in the hotel block, wanting to extend the festivities as much as possible.

After checking in, I made my way to the fifth floor where my room was located. Walking down the hall I saw my room, 513. Going to unlock it, the door next to mine opened and I saw George Clarke exiting. It had been awhile since I had seen him.

"Hey George" he looked over to his name being called, smiling at me.

"Hello Y/n, lovely to see you." He gave me a little hug. "Let's catch up when you're settled yeah? Me and the boys are down in the bar if you'd like to join.

"Yeah sounds good to me, give me 10 and I'll meet you down there." He made his way to the lift as I unlocked my room.

Noticing my room had an adjoining door to George's, I figured we would end up being a party space for our friends and made mental note to tell everyone when I saw them.

I changed into something more appropriate for evening, a nice pair of jeans and a basic black tank top. After freshening up my hair and makeup, I grabbed my wallet and key card, sliding them into my pocket and making my way back downstairs where I knew I would find everyone in the bar.

I ran into Faith and a few of her friends in the lobby, squeezing her tight and giving her congratulations again and gushing about how excited I was for the wedding tomorrow. She agreed and her and her group made their way towards the restaurant.

Slipping into the bar, I scanned the surprisingly crowded room for anyone I recognized. I jumped as I felt and arm slide around my waist, turning to the side and seeing Arthur TV. "You scared the shit out of me Arthur." I wrapped my arm around his waist reciprocating his previous movements.

"Sorry Y/n, didn't mean to truly. You looked lost I figured you could use a friendly face." He said so innocently I couldn't help but forgive him.

"I appreciate your face" I gave his cheek a little squeeze and he led me to a booth at the back of the room.

I slid into the booth next to Arthur, and then George blocked me in. We sat with Bach, Harry, and Reev for the evening, chatting about everything we had been up to since the last time we had seen each other. I had been so busy with taking on streaming I hadn't been at as many events as I would have liked to attend. It seemed the boys agreed as I told them I would make more time to visit everyone.

"Do you want a drink love?" George asked nudging my side. Throughout this evening he had been scooting closer and closer into me. George and I had an odd history - a flirtationship really. We had always gotten along well, but after the last trip abroad to Spain we had sort of lost some of that relationship. I think in part due to my absence, and also the growing fame he had acquired taking up the majority of his time as well.

"I'd love one. I'll have a"- he interrupted my sentence.

"A tequila ginger ale?" He asked. A smile grew across my face. I nodded and he got up from the booth to go order our drinks.

"He talks about you constantly, y'know." Arthur whispered to me. I stared at him for a second.

"What do you mean?" I questioned.

"He misses you. A lot. Talks constantly about your trips abroad, hanging out with you, everything. I think coming around more would be good for him. And for you." I let myself sit with those words for a while. I missed George too. It wasn't exactly a secret that his wit was charming, not to mention his striking good looks. He really was different to most guys I knew.

A glass was sat down in front of me, garnished with a lime, just the way I liked it.

"Thank you Georgie." I used the nickname I used to call him frequently.

He rolled his eyes, tossing a lazy arm around my shoulders. Normally a friendly gesture, but this time there was a different feeling attached. "You're welcome darling." I felt myself stiffen at his comment. He must have noticed, as he pulled his arm back to his side. I instantly regretted my natural awkwardness and looked back to him, seeing he had a slight blush on his cheeks. I set my hand on his, resting on his leg. A silent reassurance that I wasn't upset with his movements.

The night drew closer to an end, and we all decided to retire to our rooms.

I walked with George, seeing as our rooms were right next to each other. The silence between us was comfortable.

As we got to our rooms, I paused, looking over to George who had done the same thing, meeting my gaze.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable earlier, I guess sometimes I just feel like nothing has changed with us." He admitted, looking down at the floor.

"George - you didn't make me uncomfortable. I was taken aback a little I guess. I'm not used to it anymore either. I'm unfortunately too awkward these days. I didn't mean to snub you." His spirits seemed to lift, his eyes looking up to meet mine. I felt myself back months ago, staring in the same eyes, but the situation much different.

"Goodnight Y/n, I'll see you at the wedding tomorrow." He said, unlocking the room to his door and heading inside.

I sighed, following suit and entering my room.

———

After getting myself entirely ready, the only thing I had left to do was choose a dress. I had brought two, not sure what mood I would be in. The wedding was a formal event, and both dresses would work well for the occasion. I had a brown dress with a slit halfway up the side, and it wrapped around my body, with small sleeves on the top. My second option was a dark green satin spaghetti strapped dress that hugged around my torso, and flowed out towards the bottom slightly.

I couldn't make up my mind. I felt like I was going insane just trying the two of them on non stop.

Giving in, deciding I needed a second opinion I opened my side of the adjoining door. I knocked, and shortly George opened the door. He was dressed in a black suit, looking more handsome than he ever had. I gasped at the sight of him as he opened the door.

He smirked and laughed "I know, I look insane."

"Not exactly the word I would have used, but. Anyway - I need advice. I have this dress" I gestured to the brown dress I was wearing. "And this one" I held up the green one. "And I need help choosing which one I should wear." George eyed me up and down, making me suddenly feel self conscious.

"Try the other one on, I can't envision it." I nodded, shutting the door and quickly changing.

It was my turn to make him gasp this time, as I opened the door. "That's the one." He said, adjusting the bow tie he was wearing. I smiled, grabbing my small bag and tossing my phone inside.

"Thank you Georgie. I knew I could count on you." I shut the door and followed him into the hallway. He held out his arm and I gladly linked mine with his as we made our way to the ballroom.

The ceremony was first, the hall we were in was decorated elegantly and I found a free space in one of the pews. George sat next to me, and I felt comfort knowing someone I knew would be near me. He grabbed my hand, silently comforting me as the ceremony began.

———

I wiped a few stray tears from my eyes as Ethan and Faith said their 'I do's' and they were pronounced man and wife. I loved love. Seeing others happy always made me cry.

They announced that the reception was in a separate room, and they led us to the new location.

We were greeted by ushers, showing us to our assigned seats. I was nervous, sat at a table with people I didn't know very well. I could still see George, the next table away looking much more confident than I felt. He locked eyes with me, eyeing me up and down and mouthing that I would be fine. He knew me so well.

I made small talk with those near me, watching the speeches from all of the loved ones who knew the groom and bride best. It was a beautiful night, and I was excited to keep this party going.

Drinks flowed, and conversations kept everyone in high spirits throughout the night.

An arm slid around my waist, pulling me close. I could smell the beer on George's breath as he pulled me close to him. His hand was resting cheekily right above my bum, the other holding my waist. "You look so lovely tonight Y/n. I've missed seeing you." He admitted. I smiled at him, placing my hands on his chest, he had long ditched the suit jacket, presumably due to the warm atmosphere, or the amount of drinks he had consumed.

"Thank you, I missed you too." He looked like he was about to lean in, but I chalked up to my imagination as he never acted on the supposed movement.

"I'm ready to go back up to my room. How about you?" he asked. I checked the time, seeing it was well after midnight at this point.

"I think that's a good idea." I followed his lead, congratulating Faith and Ethan again as George said his good nights to his friends.

George wrapped his arm around me as we went to leave the room. "Come on!" I heard Arthur call out, George shot him a look, and Arthur simply winked back.

Once at my hotel room door, I opened it, standing in the doorway looking at George. We stood staring at each other for a few moments, the silence building a tension I was sure we both felt.

"George..." I started, building up some courage. "You've been staring at this dress all night, don't you want to see what it looks like on the floor?" His eyes widened and he stepped forward, grabbing my face with both of his hands, pressing his lips to mine fiercely. We stumbled into the room, door closing behind us.

I fumbled with the buttons on his top, eager to reveal his toned chest. He helped with the last few, the shirt falling off behind us as George's hands slid the zipper down the back of my dress, the satin pooling around my feet in an instant, leaving me clad in nothing but my underwear. It felt normal to be this vulnerable with George, despite this being the first time he had seen me like this.

He unbuttoned his trousers, sliding them off and grabbing me by the legs, pulling me onto the bed straddling his lap. I could feel the bulge growing in his pants, and I knew I was about to be in for an exciting night.

“I can’t tell you how long I have been waiting for this invitation” he kissed me softly, holding me close.

This was more than just physical for me, and now I felt it may be for him as well. I played with the hair at the nape of his neck as he kissed me.

“I wish we would have started this in Spain.” He smiled into the kiss, hooking his fingers into my underwear and flipping us over, sliding them down my legs and discarding them somewhere on the floor.

“We have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we?” He breathed hot air where I needed him most. My heart raced in anticipation, feeling him push my legs apart, leaning in and swiping his tongue over my core. My back arched up in pleasure, meeting his face as he began his work on me.

My hands were tangled in his hair as his tongue drew circles, bringing my pleasure higher and higher. I gasped as he slid his fingers inside me, curling and pushing in and out of me, driving me closer to my peak. “George, please,” I begged, needing this release more than I needed my next breath.

He kept his pace, bringing my orgasm crashing over me. My breath jagged and rough as I rode out my orgasm. He sat up, smirking at the state he had me in. I sat myself up on my elbows, staring at him. His chest had small beads of sweat on it, and my eyes trailed lower, fixating them on his pants, the outline of his penis threatening to escape from how hard he was. “George”

“Yes darling?” He leaned in closer.

“I’m yours.” That was all he needed. He pulled his pants down, releasing his erection. I needed him.

He leaned down to kiss me again, lining himself up with my vagina, and pushing in as he kissed me. He was better than I could have imagined. His pace was perfect, thrusting in and out at a perfect rhythm. He kissed me, whispering sweet nothings into my ear as he worked his magic.

I could tell he was getting closer, as his thrusts became more erratic. He pulled out abruptly, flipping to his back and taking himself in his hand, giving himself the final few pumps he needed to finish. The sight was probably one of the hottest things I had ever witnessed.

We laid there in a comfortable silence, both panting. I decided I should help George, getting up and grabbing a towel to clean him up.

I laid myself into him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“I like you, Y/n.” He said softly.

I laughed, holding myself up to look at him. He stared back at me, looking nervous at my laughter at his admission.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. I just, I like you to George. It just felt obvious from the last fifteen minutes.” It was his turn to laugh. He wrapped his strong arms around me and kissed me again, and again, and again.

“I just wanted to hear you say it.”

A knock on the door startled us from the moment we were having.

“Who on earth could that be?” I whispered.

“If I had to guess, probably Arthur.” George said, getting up and pulling his pants and top back on.

I wrapped the duvet over my body, shielding myself from the door.

George cracked the door slightly, and I could barely hear the whispers being exchanged.

George returned to the bed, taking his top back off and sliding in next to me, cuddling into my side.

“Arthur?” I asked him.

He sighed. “Unfortunately. He was making sure I finally admitted feelings for you.” I laughed.

“We’ll spare him the horny details.” I said, kissing his cheek and laying on his chest.

The details of this night could stay between us, for now.

[please-destroy]

A Perfect Mix

Natasha Romanoff x Reader + Family

Word Count: 1.8K

This follows on from the last fic I've posted.

.

Noone saw Natasha’s strengths as a mother like you did.

There was something almost clumsy about the force of her love.

When Yelena was born, Natasha had been overwhelmed with the feeling. When she first looked down at the baby in her arms, Natasha forgot how to breathe. You watched the beginning of an uncontrollable love. 

Yelena had always looked up to Natasha with a wide-eyed awe. Even when she was very little, if Natasha came into the room, Yelena’s gaze would find her, following her every movement excitedly. 

Natasha had never expected to be the favourite parent, not even for a brief moment. Yelena quickly reset her expectations. She wasn’t shy in showing her delight for her Mom. You watched her smile and coo and giggle easily just at the sight of Natasha. 

At first, Natasha had been careful, almost shy in her responses to her daughter’s affection. She held Yelena carefully, like she was the most fragile thing in the world. She couldn’t help but give Yelena her softest smiles. 

You loved seeing this side of her. You knew Natasha’s gentleness better than anyone. It was a trait that she couldn’t help with the people she loved. In the past, you’d felt her try to avoid it. A fear of rejection and vulnerability that you could forgive easily.

Yelena made Natasha brave. She loved Natasha and she expected Natasha to love her too.

Natasha never let her down.

.

The very first time Yelena had walked, she’d wandered unsteadily over to Natasha. You’d swallowed a cheer of excitement, scrambling to find your phone to record the moment.

Yelena’s face had split into a delighted grin, thrilled that her newly acquired skill was helping her get to her Mom faster. 

When she made it, Natasha scooped her into a careful hug and you watched her eyes close. 

It was only when you heard her murmur ‘Well done’ in a choked voice that you realised she was holding back tears. 

Yelena was special. Just by being herself, she made Natasha feel special too.

.

You started to become stubborn in your belief that Yelena was a perfect mix of yourself and Natasha.

.

You explained your theory to Natasha one night as you were both on the verge of sleep. You felt Natasha’s gaze clinging to you through the dark, in that hopeful way that made her seem young. You felt her fingers lazily tracing your pulse point.

‘You’re brave and kind. And so is she.’ You explained simply. 

Natasha hesitated at the compliment; her fingers paused for a moment on your skin but she didn’t vocalise any disagreement. Yelena’s emerging personality was undeniably similar to Natasha’s.

After a moment, Natasha cleared her throat and asked. 

‘What about you?’

You grinned in anticipation, your answer well prepared. 

‘Well.’ You started slowly, reaching to find Natasha’s face in the dark, your thumb brushing her lips to ascertain their exact location. ‘She’s incredibly smart, of course.’

You moved closer to Natasha in the bed. You could feel her smile of agreement beneath your thumb. 

Natasha was trying to be lowkey about her belief that Yelena was the world’s next great genius. But you’d caught her the other day, very preemptively, researching a Stark scholarship programme for high achievers.

‘And I know she’s so smart because she figured out immediately that Natasha Romanoff is the best person in the world.’

You kissed Natasha quickly before she could roll her eyes or argue your point. Instead, you felt her smile harder against your lips, clearly aware of your scheme.

.

Even though she’d had it her whole life, Yelena’s faith in her mother always seemed completely fresh. You loved that it had never wavered. 

You could tell it scared Natasha.

You knew the pressure of that faith weighed heavily on her. Yelena trusted her wholeheartedly because she loved the Mom she’d always known. At first, she couldn’t conceive of the person Natasha had been before that.

It was when Yelena turned four that she first understood what her extended family had been hinting at every time they visited. After an afternoon spent with some of Natasha’s closest friends, ‘Avenger’ was no longer a meaningless word to Yelena. Instead, it became a special term of honour used by those around her. 

The leap of understanding wasn’t hard for her. For Yelena, her Mom was already a superhero.

Now, almost relentlessly, she would crawl onto the sofa next to Natasha and ask for stories. 

Yelena had a way of sneaking up on you. Natasha fell for it every single time. Sometimes she’d find herself cornered unexpectedly and catch your eye from across the room. You’d just grin back knowingly. Yelena would twist pieces of Natasha’s long hair as she asked for yet another story from her past. Natasha’s hand would stay pressed lightly at the small of her back, making sure her enthusiastic climbing never ended badly.

Natasha’s voice always sounded gravelly when she told those stories. For a woman trained in hiding her emotions, her subtlety was often forgotten. Natasha’s eyes would flicker nervously over to you whenever she obviously abridged a more traumatic story. 

At first, she was hesitant to ever mention the alien invasion in New York, sure it would give Yelena nightmares. Eventually, she’d brought it up hesitantly, recounting it more like a fairytale than anything else. 

Yelena, of course, latched onto the idea with more enthusiasm than anything before. She built aliens and spaceships out of cereal boxes. Her favourite game was pretending to be an Avenger saving the world from an other-worldly danger. Even when she asked Natasha to play with her, Yelena always insisted on being the Black Widow. Nothing made you laugh harder than when Natasha was relegated to play the role of ‘Hulk’ in her own story.

.

It wasn’t surprising that Yelena asked for a Black Widow action figure doll for Christmas that year. Nonetheless, you felt a kind of sharp pride when you read through her list for Santa. It was more crayon than words but you immediately recognised the red black widow symbol clumsily drawn in the centre of the page.

Yelena asked you twice to put an urgent stamp on her letter, clearly sceptical of non-reindeer delivery services.

.

You didn’t tell Natasha about Yelena’s request, happy to wait for her reaction on Christmas Day. 

You were grateful for Yelena’s love of your wife’s alter-ego. You loved the way that the ‘Black Widow’ had become something more simple in your family; an easy shorthand for your wife’s bravery. 

.

Having Yelena in your lives now made Christmas twice as exciting and intense. You loved it. 

The day began with the simple perfection you cherished. 

Natasha gave you a sleepy smile over a cup of coffee, loose pieces of her tied back hair floating around her head. Her red and white pyjamas were patterned in a Christmas theme. Her fluffy reindeer socks had been a present unwrapped earlier.

Yelena screamed, half wild with holiday excitement, as she unwrapped the Black Widow box. She hugged the plastic casing and turned to you both with shiny eyes and an overwhelming smile.

You smiled back immediately, loving the feeling of sharing her joy. You listened to her excited chatter, holding out the box so you could get a better look.

You didn’t get a chance to see Natasha’s reaction, before you felt a hurried movement to the side of you.

Natasha left the room abruptly and your heart sunk with the dawning realisation that you’d misjudged the moment. You followed her covertly, leaving as soon as Yelena turned to Lila for help getting the doll out of the packaging.

You found Natasha silently shaking in the hallway, her back pressed to the wall. You recognised the emotions that had come to an unexpected head. Natasha would never call this feeling anxiety. Still, her eyes clung to yours, seeking the grounding that you knew how to give her. 

The sinking feeling in your chest crystallised. Natasha looked small, her arms wrapped around herself. 

You realised suddenly, that Natasha didn’t see herself in the stories that Yelena loved. You thought of all the details that Natasha omitted in her careful retellings. 

Black Widow didn’t make her feel brave. Only her family did. 

You moved towards her carefully, hugging her in an expression of unspoken regret and comfort. Natasha fit so familiarly in your arms. As always, you revelled in the nearness of her. Natasha’s warm embrace was home. Her head rested slightly on your shoulder and the comfortable silence between you stretched out. Her breathing steadied in the quiet seconds that followed. You felt calmer too, as if you could feel her slowing heartbeat in your own chest.

Family made you feel brave too.

.

The door from the living room was flung open less than a minute later. Yelena’s unaware delight was almost painfully endearing. 

‘Mama.’ She called out to Natasha. You barely had time to open your embrace before Yelena was confidently sneaking between the pair of you. She lifted the doll above her head so that Natasha could have a better look. 

‘I love her.’ She declared and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread over your face.

You tried to take the pressure away from Natasha as best you could, redirecting Yelena’s focus.

‘Santa must have read your list baby.’ You told her, brushing loose hair away from her eyes. Yelena gave you a secret smile, obviously remembering her earlier worries about the North Pole’s mailing system. 

Your attempt was ineffective. Like a magnet, her attention returned to Natasha.

Sometimes, Yelena didn’t seem quite as unaware as you believed. You weren’t sure what she read in Natasha’s often hesitant gaze. Her arms wrapped around Natasha’s leg confidently and you watched her squeeze tightly. 

‘Don’t worry Mama, I still love you just as much.’ Yelena assured her seriously, cheek pressed against her Mom’s side. 

Natasha met your gaze as her hand moved with instinctive protectiveness to the space between Yelena’s shoulders. There was a lightness in her eyes and you smiled knowingly. 

Yelena’s serious tone was starting to sound a lot like your own. Another part of the perfect mix. 

‘Well, I win because I love you the most.’ Natasha replied playfully, letting any last remnants of sadness evaporate. In one quick movement, that had taken years of confidence for Natasha to do casually, she lifted Yelena up above her head, swinging her exaggeratedly back and forth until she started shrieking with laughter. 

Their matching grins looked like reflections of each other. It was right then, alone together in the hallway, that you realised Natasha’s faith in Yelena was just as absolute.

When she caught her breath, cheeks flushed from excitement. Yelena turned to you eagerly.

‘I need to have a doll of you for my birthday.’ She informed you. 

‘There is no doll of me.’ You commiserated teasingly as you all headed back to the living room together. Natasha’s hand slipped around your waist, just as her other one rested on Yelena’s shoulder.

‘Oh don’t worry.’ Natasha told you, a glint of mischief behind her reassuring smile. ‘We’ll make sure to find one.’

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

slip | sunday (hsr)

✮ tags ; dead-dove: do not eat, fem + afab!reader, noncon intercrural sex, reader in captivity, drugging, general yandere. takes place during penacony, before sunday joined the express, some incestual undertones bc of sunday and robin, 18+

✮ wc ; 1.7k

✮ a/n ; a comm for @borz01 that took me way too long to edit. forgive me and happy very late bday.

there is also like. virtually no dialogue in this.

Sunday doesn’t allow himself this often.  

Not often enough. It’s rare he allows things to slip through the delicate cracks in the barrier of his resolute ideals. Desire is a burdensome thing. Harboring it guarantees some level of vulnerability, for wanting something for the sake of wanting alone is an omission of humanity. It’s human to want things. Sunday is not, should not—allow himself any indulgence. His duty is to remain righteous and steadfast as to not sway from the ultimate outcome. To maintain the sweet dream and bring bliss to all beings, Sunday knows he must not want for anyone at all.  

It’s a mark of his weakness to allow himself this. You are a mark of his weakness.  

You’ve a warm demeanor. A kind but firm gentleness that reminds him of his dear Robin. Robin too, is an avatar of the new world. Something untouchable that Sunday knows better to desire for. But he does, or he did. You had been meant to fill her place. He isn’t sure that’s the case anymore. Regardless, her place in the world on a pedestal in a gilded cage - the kind of place where she must be available for all to see no matter how much he may resent it.  

But you—you are an ordinary facet of this dream. You remind him of his sister but you’re not her. You’re kind and dutiful, warm and resilient. The first time you spoke to Sunday, the sweet lilt of your voice was enough to make him wonder about you endlessly. It was these things that drew him to you in the first place. A replacement would be sufficient enough to keep his desires at bay should they get in the way of his goals. 

Slowly though, that faded. No longer a quick fix, something that he did not need absolutely. The longer and more often Sunday crossed paths with you, the stronger his desire to possess you was. All things were that way with him.  

And at first, it was enough to do that from afar. To cross paths with you and speak in short bursts. Let you roam free while also keeping close watch on you. Keep you on an invisible leash instead of the chain one he does now.  

But nothing stays the same, is easy for Sunday. And the closer things get to the inevitable new world, the more human Sunday feels. While things collapse, and the distance between him and Robin grows, and everything else comes closer to inevitable to annihilation—the stronger the pull of his desire becomes.  

Sunday capturing you was a methods of self-soothing. That’s why it felt worthwhile. A vessel stained by the filth of want is not a worthy one. Keeping you safe, at his disposal, unable to flee sated his stronger urges. The path of dreamers so often paved in destruction—Sunday thought, there was no better a way to resolve this. He’ll keep you here. Hide you from the world, from the destruction. You’ll live in the sweet dream of his together and he can wash his hands of his unsavory feelings without a second thought. 

Still, he’s an upright person. Keeping you captive does not incite any cruelty in him. You’re bathed and fed and cared for. He lets you play with as many things as you like as long as it’s within in the confines of your room. Aside from freedom, he can acquire for you anything. He does it all for you. 

Rarely does he invite himself into your room for self-gratification. Placing a limit on his sexual desires is a self-imposed way of handling his own discipline. He pleasures you to wring the useless thoughts of escape you may have left lingering, but he never takes it for himself. He’s above that kind of barbarism.  

But the desire remains steadfast inside of him. No matter how much he wants to restrain it, or rid himself of it—it wells and well and wells until it inevitably boils over. The closer the dream comes to fruition, the harder it is to put a lid on what he wants. Soon he will forget want at all.  

(Truthfully, the thought leaves him so slightly empty)  

Sunday figures the best way to end his misery is to relieve the pressure threatening to ruin him.  

Crawling into your bedroom in the late of night to relieve himself of these urges feels like just the right way to do it.  

You sleep in the soft bed that Sunday has provided you. Chained by the ankle and unable to escape without supervision. You’ve been held here for long enough to not fight rest come evening.  

Still, Sunday thought it best not to wake you. You sleep more soundly than usual thanks to something slipped in your food this evening. Peaceful and unaware, you lay on one side with your head tucked against a pillow. White sleeping gown draped over your figure, sheer and see through - with nothing underneath to give him easy access.  

The bed creaks under his weight as you lay undisturbed. Deep breaths accompanied by a soft snoring, the slow rise and fall of your chest. Sunday creeps next to you slowly, carefully. You remain completely undisturbed even as he pulls you to him flush. Your heavy limbs limp as he tugs you close enough to curb the lingering desires.  

For a long while, he presses his nose to the bare skin of your shoulder where your nightgown slips, and huffs the skin. A deep, long exhale that leaves him lightheaded, his pants tightening at the warm scent of your skin and linen.  

His hands normally covered are bare. The skin of his palms almost feel sensitive as they sit on your hip from behind. Down your leg until he reaches the very hem of your slip and pulls it up and over. His breath catches at the sight of skin he’s seen so many times before  - his fingers trailing until you’re covered in goosebumps.  

You’re the object of his affection. It’s not the first time he’s had his way with your body. But doing it while you’re unconscious, unaware - truly and completely as his mercy incites a dizzying feeling. 

His fingers trace lightly until he slips his hands between your thighs, fingers brushing at your core. Slipping deep enough between your folds to be noticeable. You’re still asleep, expression unchanging.  

He swallows something down. A deep, shaky breath escaping his lips as the pent-up desire lingering in him flows through his veins. Blood hot with lust, breathing heavy - something desperate and visceral shattering the hollow in his bones.  

He’s dizzy with it. After suppressing it incessantly, just this much relief has him trembling, shaking. It’s weakness. Sheer, unbeatable, human weakness. Primitive desires that bind him in the knowledge he is painfully far from where he needs to be.  

But the pleasure of your body—your unrestricted, bare, unconscious body—makes something in him burn so hot he cannot will himself to ignore it.  

His hands trembling as he uses them to unzip his slacks. He pulls his cock out quietly, almost anxiously  - until it’s warm and throbbing in his hands.  

Without ceremony, he slips his length in between your bare thighs and shivers. Flesh to flesh, all warmth and wet and slickness. Pre-cum slips from the tip of his cock as he rubs it against your slit. Your body responds to the pleasure even asleep. Your pussy twitches against the silky head of his cock, wetting it.  

Sunday presses his nose to your skin and inhales sharper.  

Desire makes him greedy. His hands slip further under your gown all the way up to your breasts, squeezing the fat of your chest as he ruts himself against your pussy with undeniable fervor and huffs your scent, intoxicated by you. Despite you being limp and helpless, the sensations you provide make his heart thrum endlessly. Beat by beat, steadily filling each and every part of him. It’s this part of you the Sunday can’t get enough of.  

You, a perfect and single answer to his avarice. Sunday kisses the space between neck and shoulder with desperation. Humping against you faster and faster like a rabbit in heat, humping against your clit as your pussy soaks against his hard length. The inside of your thighs are slick, noisy as he fucks between them.  

“You’re beautiful,” He whispers, his voice thick with lust. Terribly sincere, just as helpless to you as you are to him in a way. “Just perfect,”  

You twitch in your sleep. Expression unchanging, your body responds in kind to Sundays touch. It only serves to arouse him more, deepen his desires until their void and black. Sunday knows that this is not something he should be doing. Knows that fucking your thighs with such unbidden desires is something he should be far over now - the same way it should’ve been all those years ago.  

But he cannot help but want this, want you. Needs some way to curb it lest it take him over completely. Sunday knows, deep down, he would let it.  

(Some childish part of him wants to stay like this. Keep you here forever, and keep himself  in such close proximity to your company regardless of what may happen. Away, trapped in these four walls and undisturbed. Nothing to repent for, nothing to confront.  

Only the little dove he’s determined to keep. Only you and him alone in this unending, pleasant dream.)  

Something in Sundays stomach stirs as he comes closer and closer to the edge. His hands grip your middle as he fucks against your thighs slowly - savoring each slip of his cock until the coil inside of him slowly unravels. He moans quietly, the sound reverberating into your shoulder.  

His hips stutter as his orgasm rips through him. Thick, hot, white ropes of cum spilling - coating his length as he fucks himself through it to the end. Staining your body with him, making him shudder all over.  

Your thighs are sticky with semen, still sleeping peacefully. Sunday slips away from you, rubbing whats remaining on your skin until he pulls down your night gown.  

A delicate gesture for his one and only capture. The only thing left to be his alone in the world. This much greed is only what he’s due.  

[odileeclipse]

Choosing Her

Pure Vanilla X Reader angst (I wanted to hurt my feelings)

And when it’s all said and done, it wasn’t you he skipped class with. His eyes held that softness in them always. But when he looked at her, his eyes were all knowing. The look exchanged between them had always said more than the words exchanged. While you stood at the sidelines hoping that if you stayed just a second longer he’d look at you this time.

“Pure Vanilla, please be careful, you shouldn’t skip out on class so much…I-I can’t keep covering for you. I think the professor is going to find out.” You pleaded with him selfishly. While your reasons for wanting him to not skip, your real motivation was stopping him from being with white lily. Pure Vanilla looked conflicted. He furrowed his brow but ultimately sighed out and said “Don’t cover for me anymore (y/n) cookie, it’s not fair to ask you to hold my burden I’ll deal with it” He said to you with that compassionate voice. You wanted to scream at him to let him know how selfish he was being to you. But at the end of the day he doesn’t owe you anything, and yet still extends his kindness to you. “Pure Vanilla, please don’t go, we shouldn't go looking for answers that aren’t given to us. Forgive me for crossing a line but don’t you think her hunger for knowledge is insatiable? Once White lily finds out whatever truth she’s looking for do you think she’ll stop there?” Your words held resentment towards white lily cookie, sure white lily was a dear friend to you and you’d love and support her. But jealousy is an ugly monster tainting the depths of your heart. Pure Vanilla’s usual serene face faltered. Before he could say anything you spoke up. “I hope you know what you’re getting into, stay safe, Pure Vanilla and please don’t do anything rash.” You said with a soft smile. ”Or I’ll have to come save you and white lily”.

That was the last time you spoke with him in an attempt, to get him to understand. Even after the academy was left behind in its ruins, you still thought him a fool to search for her. But in your heart, he was your fool. When you heard rumors of Pure Vanilla founding a kingdom, you felt relief. Perhaps he and white lily hadn’t settled down and you still had a chance. But again, your hope was crushed in front of you, there she was white Lily standing next to Pure Vanilla as he received his title. You thought about turning around when that familiar comforting voice called to you. “(y/n) cookie! I’m so glad you made it…I thought you were upset with me. I was hoping that by extending my invitation to all my friends you too would be here. My dearest friend, how have you been?” He said clutching your hands together, this made you forget your jealous heart and you smiled radiantly as you used to all those years ago. When you still had the hope he might be yours. Of course, reality hit harder than a derailed train. “You’re being unfair to me again” those words came out as a whisper meant for your ears rather than his. How dare we clasp his hands around yours, when he didn’t belong to you. And if it was kindness he was offering, you didn’t want it. Not like this. “Sorry I didn’t quite catch that, well regardless how have you been holding up, I’ve heard you acquired your own Kingdom.” That’s right in the time away from him, you built a kingdom from nothing making it’s walls tall and high. To hide the love you hold, but those walls crumble fast when you see his gleaming eyes. You acquired the light of patience. A virtue you’ve always held, waiting and waiting hopeful it’ll be you. “Oh yeah my kingdom is my pride and joy, we’ve been able to construct high walls ensuring protection from everything. Of course it’s not without it’s flaws but time will only tell.” You were just rambling, attempting to seem like you had everything in control. “As expected of my dear friend, patient and full of humility” his words only pricked at your heart. A friend is all you’ll be and you’re not sure there’s enough time to heal this wound. “So you and white lily…?” you asked hesitantly. He practically beamed “Actually there is one thing I ask of you, please be at my side when I ask her to be mine. There is no other friend more beloved and fit for the role.” You stared at him with wide eyes feeling tears prick at your eyes. “I-I would love nothing more.” in the stir of emotions you embraced him seeking comfort in the arms that wound you.

A/N Im sorry <3

UPDATE: Pt 2 is up enjoy!!!

[gemsofgreece]

Common Modern Greek phrases with Byzantine origins

"Παίζω στα δάχτυλα" (Pézo sta ðákhtyla) = I am very good at knowing something, I have learned it very well. Literally, I can play (sth) on my fingers. Children in the Eastern Roman Empire learned the basics of arithmetic by counting with their fingers, a practice still used in the old years of the modern Greek school.

"Ο ήλιος βασίλεψε" (O ílios vasílepse) = the sun set, literally "the sun reigned" It might seem counter-intuitive, however in Greek when you say "the sun reigns" or "sun-reigning" (ηλιοβασίλεμα), it is not about the sun being high in the sky but it is instead used for the sunset, the early evening. This is because of the striking colours of the sunset; gold, orange, red, purple - the luxurious colours associated with the Byzantine emperors.

"Ἐφαγα τον περίδρομο" (Éphagha ton períðromo)= I ate too much, I ate everything on sight. Literally, I ate the "peridromos". The peridromos was the edge of a deep bowl in which the Byzantines ate soup, so when they filled their bowl up to the peridromos it meant they were eating a lot. The interesting thing is that the origin of this phrase is very little known to modern Greeks and because peridromos can also have other meanings, there are also other interpretations that however make too little sense (IMO). This alone could perhaps be proof of how the phrase survived organically amongst the people even after the fall of the Byzantine empire (and its bowls).

"Μη με παιδεύεις" (Mi me peðévis) = don't bother / torment / trouble me, etymologically deriving from the word for "child". In Ancient Greek, the child was παις and its derivative verb παιδεύω meant "educate", an action interwined with childhood. Progressively, however, the verb became more and more associated with the pains and struggles of being educated until by Byzantine / Medieval Greek's time it had the meaning of "bother / torment". In Modern Greek the verb παιδεύω has kept the Byzantine meaning of tormenting / bothering but its respective noun παιδεία (peðía) still retains the ancient meaning of education or more accurately the full transformative period of learning in a young person's life. There are however other also ancient derivatives from the same words that are more precisely used for education terminology.

"Ἠμαρτον!" (Ímarton) = an exclamation in the likes of "I have sinned! (Forgive me)") Ancient Greek did not have a word for the sin. The verb αμαρτάνω (amartáno), whose form above is the past tense, meant "I miss the target / I make a mistake". In ancient Greek they would say it for example when an archer did not hit the target. By Byzantine times, however, the word had acquired a more figurative, Christian theological meaning because one's ultimate goal was the virtuous living, so when they did something bad or wrong, it was perceived as "losing sight of their aim, their intent". And that's how the word developed into meaning "sin" in Medieval and Modern Greek.

Source: Byzantinist historian Helene Ahrweiler

[beckyninja]

Duty

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x FemReader

Warnings: Nothing much this time, just angst

Description: As further opposition to the alliance between their peoples is revealed, Guilliman's betrothed finally opens up about her past.

Whew! With all the holiday craziness, I didn't think I'd get this posted today. Anyway, I hope you guys don't mind some lore. This is a sequel to Worthy, and a continuation of my Guilliman/Reader story. You can find the other stories in this series on my Masterlist.

In the all but empty Communications Center, Guilliman stared at the holographic image of Captain Takahashi. His Admechs and the Captain’s technicians had finally managed to cobble together an interphase between the two ships’ communications systems. Still, the Captain’s image flickered and lagged as she spoke.

“...have rooted out two more conspirators, Lord Guilliman. A pair of sanitation specialists. They attempted to take control of my ship’s steering mechanism.”

Guilliman clenched his gauntleted fist. “That makes seven attempts to date.”

“All of which we have discovered and stopped.”

“To your credit, Captain.”

The woman nodded curtly. “All the same, I agree it remains too dangerous to allow the Lady Heir to return on a permanent basis. Though, she will still need to send the first message to our homeworld once we are in range.”

“In two standard days.”

“Yes.”

Guilliman shook his head in wonder. Even in the time of the Great Crusade, such long range communication, without the aid of Astropaths, was more fantasy than reality. He added it to his mental list of technologies to acquire once the treaty was formalized.

“You will be sending the conspirators over for interrogation.”

The Captain’s eyes turned icy. “I will. Though I expect it will be more of the same.”

Guilliman scowled. During each interrogation, an implant of some kind had activated a small electromagnetic pulse within the prisoners’ brains, eradicating all higher functions. Only the first, the former Lord O’Rourke, had managed to give them any information before his unexpected lobotomy.

“Captain, you promised to clarify a few details from the first interrogation when last we spoke.”

For the first time, Captain Takahashi looked uneasy. Her eyes flickered behind Guilliman.

He understood. “Sicarius, await me outside. And see that none enter.”

He heard Cato’s teeth grinding as he obeyed.

“Forgive my hesitance, Lord Guilliman.” The Captain frowned. “But what I am about to reveal would no doubt be considered treasonous by my superiors.”

“I am grateful for your trust, Captain.”

Her frown softened. “I have come to believe we both have the Lady Heir’s best interests at heart.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “You told me how O’Rourke mentioned his orders came from a ‘prince’, someone he believed to be the true heir to our world.”

Guilliman nodded. He had long suspected your home to be less peaceful than you implied. Your obvious discomfort whenever the topic arose, the way you dodged the subject with the skill of an Aeldari warrior, and, of course, the continued sabotage attempts by your entourage did little to persuade him otherwise.

His logical mind knew the value of this alliance and the technology it would bring to the Imperium. But, in his deepest soul, none of that mattered. Someone was trying to take you from him. You. 

Only centuries of practice hid his churning rage.

The Captain continued. “As you know, our world is led by the Matriarch. She had three children, all who have since died. My Lady is the only child of her eldest and, under our laws, the Heir. But she has two cousins, the two princes.”

Guilliman’s lips twisted sardonically. He’d dealt with enough Imperial nobility to be more than aware of the twists and turns of dynastic politics. Part of him felt saddened at the thought that you came from a family afflicted with such foolishness.

And yet, he bit back a bitter laugh, was my own “family” so different?

“Her Grace has made no secret of her preference for my Lady’s eldest cousin. He is a charismatic young man, currently riding high on the glory of military success.” The Captain paused, looked uncertain, then continued. “In my opinion, Lord Guilliman, the Matriarch purposely isolated my Lady so she could not compete with her cousin’s popularity.” 

A shrewd move. Guilliman had to admit. 

No one who had ever met you and experienced your thoughtfulness and compassion could doubt your potential for popularity with the masses. How quickly you’d won the adoration of his own serfs proved that. Not to mention the progress you’d made among the Ultramarines.

“You think he is the ‘prince’ who gave O’Rourke his orders.”

The Captain frowned. “Possibly. The other option is the younger cousin. He’s rumored to be quite intelligent, but the Matriarch destined him for holy orders. He’s been sequestered in one of our scholastic monasteries since he came of age.”

Guilliman narrowed his eyes. “If dealing with my own Ecclesiarchy has taught me anything, it is that the lust for power can infect even the holiest-seeming priest.”

“Indeed.”

Guilliman stared through the Captain’s image, mind working. Too many variables. Not enough data.

“What do you believe, Captain?”

The Captain looked him in the eye. “Whoever gave the orders is irrelevant. I believe this mission was supposed to fail. All of us, myself, my crew, and the Lady Heir were supposed to die at Imperial hands.”

Yet again, Guilliman found himself impressed by this tiny baseline woman’s strength of will. “Thus removing the only obstacle to a prince’s rise to power, and ensuring your world’s continued isolation.”

“Yes.” The Captain’s lips lifted into a slight smile. “But no one back home foresaw this particular turn of events.”

Guilliman huffed a laugh. “Nor did anyone here.” His mirth was short-lived. “Once my betrothed sends her message, however, the game changes.”

“And all Void will break loose. She needs to be made aware.”

Therein lay the crux of the problem. How much did he tell you? How much did you already suspect?

“I agree.”

The Captain must have seen something in his face. “You said once that she’s stronger than she looks, Lord Guilliman. I assure you, it’s true.”

Strong in some ways, yes. But so, so fragile in others.

***

“Fascinating, Brother Tarchus. Remind me which section of the Codex that is again?” You smiled up at the Ultramarine, stylus and dataslate in hand.

“Certainly, my Lady. Chapter 647, Section F, Subsection B-14, Paragraph 54….” 

You scribbled frantically. “Ah, yes. Thank you. I have it now.” I think. “And why would you say this is your favorite passage?”

The giant warrior actually looked excited. “The minutiae of supply lines, especially to besieged worlds, is an excellent example of the importance of efficiency and practicality in uncertain circumstances.”

There. Something you could grasp. “The creation of order in the midst of anarchy?”

“Precisely.” You swore the Ultramarine almost smiled.

“In times of uncertainty, the order brought by the Ultramarines must be a great comfort to Imperial citizens.”

Tarchus cocked his head to one side. “I suppose that is one of the outcomes.”

“A beneficial one, surely.” You continued. “A fearful population is vulnerable to manipulation, whereas a population confident in its protectors is steadfast and resilient.”

“I had not considered.”

“Something to think about, yes?”

The Ultramarine looked thoughtful. “Perhaps.”

“Well, I should not keep Lord Guilliman waiting. Thank you for taking the time to explain more of the Codex Astartes to me, Brother Tarchus. It was kind of you.”

He nodded. “I found the conversation stimulating, my Lady.”

“I should like to continue in the future, if we may.”

“I…am amenable to that suggestion.”

You gave him a final nod, smiled again, and stepped past him into Guilliman’s chambers. Once through, you couldn’t hold back a laugh of triumph. 

Your betrothed looked up at you from his place behind his desk. “And what has you so giddy this evening, my love?”

He stretched out a hand, and you hurried to his side. “I managed to engage Brother Tarchus in conversation just now!”

“Indeed? It was my understanding he was being particularly stubborn.”

“Ah, but I believe I’ve found the key to an Ultramarine’s hearts.” You smiled slyly up at him.

He chuckled. “Enlighten me.”

“I simply get them talking about the Codex Astartes. It seems to be their favorite topic.”

“Believe me, I am aware.” He lifted his eyes to the ceiling and gave a dramatic shake of his head. “You have swept all before you, my Lady. Are none of my sons safe from your wiles?”

You rolled your eyes. “You know at least one is.”

“Cato can be… difficult.”

To put it mildly. You pursed your lips.

Guilliman ran a finger along your jawline. “Do not fret. You cannot help but be beloved by all in time.”

You felt heat rush to your face. “What…what happened to your ‘no touching’ rule?”

A flash of mischief in his blue eyes was the only warning you received before you found yourself hoisted up and deposited in his lap. You gasped and caught yourself with outstretched hands against his massive chest.

“Roboute!”

An arm of steel wrapped about your shoulders, pinning you against him. “I thought depriving myself entirely of your touch would cool my ardor. Instead, it seemed to have the opposite effect.”

His head lowered, lips just shy of your own, as his voice dropped to the rumbling growl you loved. “Instead, I have decided to allow myself a few…small…indulgences….”

You melted into his arms when he kissed you, slowly and deeply.

An eternity, and yet not nearly long enough, later, he pulled away and smiled down at you. You rested your head against his chest and closed your eyes. 

This. If I could just have this, forever, I would be satisfied.

“My love, we need to talk.”

“Mmm?” 

The double beat of his hearts soothed you. You realized you could easily fall asleep like this, cradled in his arms, safe.

“It is time you told me more of your family.”

Your eyes snapped wide. “What?”

No. No no no. I’m not ready!

His arm tightened slightly around you, as if he feared you’d bolt. You considered doing exactly that.

“Captain Takahashi contacted me this morning.” Guilliman’s voice was kind, but firm. “There was another sabotage attempt.”

You jerked upright. “Was anyone hurt?”

“No. The Captain’s men-at-arms are skilled. But the fact remains,” he brought his other hand to your chin, holding it in place, “they were following orders from a prince of your house.”

Two faces appeared unbidden in your mind. One, fierce and angular, baring its teeth in a wide grin. The other, rounded and pale, eyes sullen. 

“Victor and Conrad….” You didn’t realize you’d spoken the names aloud until Guilliman reacted.

“Your cousins.”

You couldn’t turn your head away, but you dropped your eyes from his piercing gaze. “Yes. My cousins.”

You didn’t want to think about them. You didn’t want to think about…her. In desperation, you tried a new tactic. Slowly, you moved your hands up Guilliman’s chest, caressing the hard muscle beneath his tunic. 

“Can’t we talk about this later?” You looked up at him through your eyelashes, wetting your lips with your tongue.

His breath stuttered, his eyes going dark and hungry.

You continued exploring his chest with your fingers, feeling rather proud of yourself… until he released your chin and captured both wrists in an iron grip.

“A good attempt.” One side of his mouth tilted upward. “But I will not be distracted.”

Struggling only emphasized your utter helplessness. “Roboute, please.”

“What are you so afraid of, my love?”

Something snapped inside. You snarled at the man you loved.

“I’m afraid of her! My grandmother, the Matriarch, the heartless bitch.” A hysterical laugh burst through your lips. “You think one of my cousins is behind all this? Whoever the saboteurs assumed their orders came from, I guarantee she is the one pulling the strings. She wants me dead.”

You stopped, panting. Guilliman stared down at you. It frightened you how little emotion you saw behind his regal mask.

“Why?”

Why indeed? Why stop now? Let’s air all the family’s dirty laundry.

“She hated my mother first. My mother, her eldest, her legacy. My mother, who threw everything away to sail the stars. My mother, who returned years later, pregnant with an unknown man’s child.” 

You couldn’t have stopped even if you wanted to. The words poured forth like blood from a wound.

“Grandmother banished my mother to an isolated Abbey in the highlands. I was born there, among the Holy Sisters.” You smiled at the memory of happier days. “Mother became their huntress, bringing in game for the larders. During her absences, I learned alongside the novitiates. History, theology, but also botany and bioengineering. I spent hours in their gardens and greenhouses. The Sisters are famed for engineering new forms of plantlife, medicines and textiles as well as food.”

You didn’t see Guilliman anymore. You saw the kindly, wizened Mother Superior, cradling a new strain of vitamin-infused apple in her weathered hands. You saw rows of pungent medicinal herbs swaying in the greenhouses. You saw Mother, laughing, hands outstretched to welcome you into her arms.

“When I was twelve, Mother died on a hunt. I grieved. But I wasn’t alone. The Sisters were my family.” You felt tears coming as you dropped your voice to a whisper. “Then, one night….”

Screams. You jerked awake in your room amongst the other novitiates, all of you bleary-eyed and confused. Light poured through the windows. You heard the hard tramp of boots. The door burst open and Sister Helena fell into the room, shoved from behind. 

“Which one is she?” A harsh voice boomed. 

The man it belonged to stood in the doorway, covered head to toe in tactical armor, brandishing a pistol.

He shouted your name. Sister Helena crouched on the floor, but said nothing. The man snarled and aimed his weapon at her.

“Wait!” You screamed, scrambling out of bed. “It’s me! I’m the one you’re looking for!”

You had no idea why they wanted you. But you weren’t going to let them hurt your family.

The rest of the night was a blur of grasping hands, roaring engines, and bitter cold. They hadn’t let you change out of your nightdress. They hadn’t let you say goodbye.

“The soldiers took me to the Matriarch, my grandmother, who said a plague that had devastated our cities the year prior had killed my two uncles. I was now the heir. Lessons followed. Endless lessons as she tried to force me into the model princess. At first, I resisted. But the consequences….” You shuddered. “I learned to keep quiet. I learned to obey. I learned to fear.”

You felt Guilliman’s hand on your lower back, rubbing circles. Slowly, your surroundings came back into focus.

“Breathe, my love.” His deep voice dispelled the haze of terror. “Just breathe.”

You buried your face in his chest, but words kept coming. “She didn’t want me. Not really. In time, I realized she was using me as a threat to my eldest cousin, Victor. By naming me heir, but promising the position to him if he behaved, she kept him on a tight leash. I was safe for a time. But if I hadn’t proposed this diplomatic mission, my death would have come at her hands sooner or later.”

“You must have known this envoy might have gotten you killed, with or without your family’s interference.” 

“I knew.” You wondered if you sounded as desperate as you felt. “But it was a chance. A way out! I couldn’t stay in that palace anymore, with her and her spies always watching.” 

Another hysterical laugh. “You know Grandmother once refused me meals for an entire week in a fit of rage? I would have starved to death if not for the kindness of the servants. I-I just…I had to…oh, Light help me.”

You wept, clinging to Guilliman, the only solid point in the maelstrom tearing through you. “Don’t let me go, Roboute. Please. Don’t let me go.”

His huge arms tightened further around you. “Never.”

***

Guilliman held you as you sobbed, held you close, and seethed. 

I could raze her planet. I could smother it in steel, snuffing out the lives of everyone who ever hurt her. 

He wouldn’t, though. The cost in innocents would be too high. You’d never forgive him. But still….

“Damn the alliance.” He growled. “Damn the treaty. Let your Matriarch think you dead. Let her think the barbarians of the Imperium slaughtered your entire entourage.”

Your sobs quieted and you looked up at him with wide eyes.

He cupped your face in his palm. “Marry me, return with me to Ultramar, and let me care for you. You need never set foot upon your homeworld again.”

“It would be so easy,” you murmured, closing your eyes, “to just say yes. To stay safely in your shadow and forget everything else.”

“Then say yes.”

A long moment passed in silence. He heard the muted voices outside his office, the omnipresent hum of the great ship, and your beating heart. Then, you opened your reddened eyes.

“I can’t, Roboute.” You seemed calmer now. “I may have originated this plan as an escape from my home, but all the other reasons I gave, I believe in them too. My people need the rest of humanity, and the rest of humanity needs us.”

A mixture of disappointment and sheer awe filled him. How, in the vastness and cruelty of the universe, had he found a woman so perfectly matched to himself?

“I used to dream of running away.” He muttered, only half aware he spoke aloud. “I dreamed of cutting free of the Imperium, of becoming a farmer. An honest, simple life.”

“It sounds lovely.” You smiled sadly. “But we can’t cast duty aside so easily, you and I. We care too much. All we can hope for,” you placed your hand against his cheek, mirroring him, “is to find someone to share that duty with us. Someone to stand beside us. Someone to love.”

“I love you.” Throne, my hearts feel about to burst with it.

“And I you.”

He kissed you again. Soft and gentle and so, so sweet. When he pulled himself away, you tucked yourself back against his chest.

“Forgive me for hiding all this from you, Roboute. I was afraid. I’ve been afraid for so long.”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

“When we reach my homeworld, my family will stand against us.”

Ferocity welled within him. Lifting you in his arms, he carried you to the great viewport and looked out upon the passing stars. Logically, he knew the star your world circled was not among them. 

Still, he issued a challenge.“I am Roboute Guilliman, Lord of Ultramar, Lord Regent of the Imperium, Primarch.” He held you close. “Let them try.”

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[starburstminibot]

Ok, seeing the post about the playlist, you mentioned how Breakdown only gets his act together after finding out that Bee was carrying

So it got me thinking (and this has actually been in my mind since i first came across the au tbh), but how was it while Bee was like, carrying?? There's the fact that, at first, many of the bots probably don't like Breakdown too since, well, he was not the best bf let's be honest.

Idk, I'm just curious to how things were before Breakcheck came to see the world

(Im going out of town for a week and cant draw so im just answering this with a straight up fanfiction-esk paragraph I’m so sorry wish I could be artistic for you anon)

Long story short: the Autobots are very forgiving but they can also be petty motherfuckers.

I mean they welcomed Megatron among their ranks and treat him (for the most part) as an equal and sometimes even a friend. Of course, Megatron earned that trust after years and years of repentance.

I imagine Breakdown is going through a similar arc. He’s never really been THAT loyal to the Decepticon cause. He just… kinda ended up there and didn’t care enough to do anything about it. He views Autobots as these goody, righteous people that he doesn’t feel like he belongs with. So really… what’s left besides Decepticons (considering yourself a neutral at one point was pretty much a death wish. A faction was the only way to acquire any sort of Energon or medical attention. Something Optimus tried hard to avoid, but the reality was safety in numbers.) the only kinship Breakdown ever felt was with the Stunticons… and they’ve been scattered to who knows where… if they’re even still alive.

Except he did have one friend. A friend he’s somehow managed to keep despite being on opposite sides of the war. He tried to convince Bee to join the Decepticons a few times but it was never with genuine intent. Bee was too good for the Cons; Breakdown knew that. He asked to get a rile out of him more than anything. Of course Bee would retort with his own argument of why BD should defect. He was serious about it… but Breakdown knew his place. He’d already done too much…

Now the war is over. And the leader of his faction doesn’t even believe in the cause anymore. Now, Breakdown’s never been a fan of Megatron anyways, but he sure as hell is pissed off when he abandons them to go be buddies with the Autobots. Maybe Breakdown is a little jealous (Of course, he’d never admit it) That Megatron, possibly the cruelest and most unforgiving of them all, is allowed to be redeemed.

He feels betrayed. All the Decepticons do really… He feels like he was led down a path that would only end in self destruction and at the last moment, the one who was paving the way jumped ship, leaving them all to suffer the consequences alone.

He never even wanted this.

But it’s way too late now. He dug this grave and he’s going to see to it that he’s buried in it. But despite the betrayal, and most of the Decepticons now stabbing each other in the back, trying to claim whatever power they can while holding on to this flimsy cause they can barely call a functioning faction, he still has Bee… who is maybe more than just a friend at this point but that’s a lot of feelings Breakdown isn’t ready to unpack.

And he still runs every time it feels a little too good to be true. Still proclaims his loyalty to the Decepticons because he’s too stubborn to admit he’s on a sinking ship. And he still keeps his distance because he refuses to take Bumblebee down with him when it finally goes under.

And maybe they’ve got a fling going… and maybe the autobots start to catch on. It doesn’t matter though, Breakdown doesn’t stick around long enough to see their sneers.

Until… he finds out Bee’s carrying that is… because damn he may not be the best bot in the galaxy but he’s not a complete deadbeat.

And when it hits him… that he’s going to be a sire… well maybe… he start’s sticking around to see the sneers. He hears the mumbles of disapproval. And boyyy does it make him so angry at first. How dare these holier-than-thou bots. They don’t know him or what he’s had to do to survive. How many comrades he’s lost thanks to them. They don’t know what Bee means to him. They don’t know just how much he loves Bumblebee. How he would lay down his spark for him in a klick.

Then Breakdown questions… Does Bee even know that?

From then on… Breakdown realizes, preserving his ego isn’t worth this. He has a chance now. A real honest chance. To do better… to have the life he actually wants… with the one bot who hasn’t ever given up on him.

He wants it so bad.

So he puts up with the comments and the obvious distrust. Because he’s willing to put in the work it takes to earn it. He’s going to prove how much he wants this. He’s going to prove how much he cares. He’s going to prove he is capable of doing better… and maybe along the way he’ll learn… he’s deserving of better too…

Breakdown is lucky Bumblebee has always been a little spoiled because it didn’t take too much convincing for the autobots to give him a shot. To attempt to accept him into their ranks.

He thought Optimus would be the worst of it. The one who practically raised the bot Breakdown knocked up. And for a while it is. Optimus lectures him every chance he gets. Any small hiccup, any little mistake. He doesn’t go easy on breakdown. Optimus at least pretends to be polite about it, or at least professional.He doesn’t yell, or make unnecessary insults. His words are always very honest (which makes them that much harder to hear) but Breakdown will take it… he’ll sit through it, no matter how hard he has to bite his tongue against saying something he’ll regret. He knows how thin the ice is. But he’ll do it for Bee.

The others are a little more brutal… Elita especially so… they are more sharp with their words (and sometimes their blasters) letting him know just what they think of him.

But no… the worst of all… is Megatron. Because Megatron is probably the only bot in the whole faction who looks at him and empathizes. Breakdown doesn’t want empathy. Especially not from the damn bot who betrayed him. Megatron doesn’t give lectures, he doesn’t verbally or physically abuse him when he steps out of line. He barely even raises his voice. And it pisses Breakdown off more than anything. Sometimes he slips up in front of Megatron just to push his boundaries, just to see if he can break this peaceful facade the ex-brutal-dictator seems to be taking. He’s witnessed the warlord beat bots into scrap for far less… and yet… Megatron won’t. Megatron seems to be attempting to guide Breakdown, to offer a new start to their relationship, and Primus Breakdown wants nothing to do with it. He’d rather be lectured and assigned extra training.

And it takes a long while… longer than Bee’s carrying term, and a little while into Breakcheck’s sparklinghood for the Autobots to really start to come around to him. Optimus’ lectures seem to have a bit of fondness to them. And perhaps Breakdown listens a bit more earnestly and takes to heart some of the genuine advice the Prime gives him. And maybe the sparring with Elita has turned less from a one-sided fight and into an enjoyable workout. And MAYBE… he doesn’t intentionally push Megatron as much, and has come to a realization of his own that his Megatron… is nothing like the one who betrayed him… and perhaps there is more in common between them than he’d like to admit.

And when people look at him now, he’s not just the Con Bumblebee has been sneaking around with. He’s a Sire… and a devoted Conjux…

And maybe this is what he’s always wanted. And he can be deserving of it too.

[daportalpractitioner]

the triple goddess in astrology

the triple goddess is represented by 3 archetypes in 1 to describe the multi-layered experience of the divine feminine. they are the maiden, the mother, and the crone.

the maiden: venus

the maiden is the archetype of the young woman who is grounded in her identity, her sexuality, her gifts, her desires, and her standards. she's confident in herself and what she wants, allowing her to cultivate meaningful connections that elevate her on this soul journey. she recognizes that this is her world and you are just living in it. the sign of your venus tells you how you are meant to embody this maiden innerG.

☾⋆｡ for example, a virgo venus is meant to embody her maiden energy through being of service to herself and others with integrity. this means that she doesn't let people take advantage of her and she doesn't do shit for people with manipulative intentions. she only allows what serves her highest good into her life, from what she eats to the environments that she takes space in, because when she focuses and allows only what serves her, she is also of service to The Most High.

the mother: moon

the mother is the archetype of the woman who gives birth to her creations + nurtures them so that they can grow to sustain life on their own. this is deeper than just having kids —this applies to all creations which once started off as a desire. she is an effective nurturer because she recognizes the importance of taking care of herself first. she uses her heart space to heal her wounds through compassion + forgiveness and in turn cultivates a loving community through the love that she fosters. her first home is herself and her life is a desired reflection of everything she already holds within her. the sign of your moon tells you how you are meant to embody your inner mother innerG.

☾⋆｡ for example, a capricorn moon is meant to embody their mother innerG by reconciling the energy connected to family trauma (especially their parental relationships) and not letting their childhood traumas + resentment bleed into the way that they care for themselves and others. she doesn't add unnecessary pressure to herself and shows grace to self + others. she leads by not being too hard on herself and those that look up to her and depend on her. she trusts herself to lean into her femininity + allows others to support her instead of always being the one that others are always relying on.

the crone: saturn

the crone archetype is the wise, older woman who is a pillar in the community, being able to provide support and insight for others due to the hardships + lessons that she experienced. people look up to her as an authority figure because she has the wisdom to guide others in the right direction. she isn't distracted by what's going on in the world + uses her time wisely because she's aware that she won't be here forever. she doesn't entertain bullshit and while others may call her mean, she stands firm on her boundaries. this is that grandmotherly innerG that is very supportive + protective of our highest good by holding us accountable. the sign of your saturn is meant to show you how to embody your inner crone.

☾⋆｡ for example, a cancer saturn is meant to embody their crone by holding herself emotionally accountable to cultivate healthy connections with others. she is aware of the "generational curses" that she has karmically acquired though the bloodline and doesn't play the blame game, recognizing that it is her duty to break those curses so that those same karmic patterns aren't played out in her connections and the family that she has/will create for herself one day. she is aware of the complexity of humans + their emotions and is able to teach + heal others through her own experiences with family + other loved ones that are or were once near and dear to the heart.