#continuing the tradition of being a thorn in his fathers side

[oflorien]

IF THEY HAD A KID... accepting niall & celebrían ft. @menmyth

NAME:   RIVER;  …body  of  water.  also  known  as  RIVER  THE  BOLD  GENDER:  cis  male GENERAL   APPEARANCE:   tall,  broad,  mighty.  every  bit  as  how  one  might  imagine  a  young  lord  of  exceptional  strength  and  skill.  his  hair  is  dark  as  his  fathers,  often  shaved  upon  the  sides  with  locks  fastened  by  beads  made  from  shed  dragon  scales.  he  has  his  mothers  eyes;  golden-hued  and  warm  in  nature.  he  carries  many  scars  from  the  recklessness  of  youth  but  the  most  notable  one  is  beneath  his  left  eye  from  an  incident  with  a  training  blade  when  he  was  six.  river  begins  to  grow  facial  hair  at  the  mere  age  of  twelve,  and  he  stood  nearly  his  fathers  height  by  the  time  he  was  thirteen.  his  smile  is  what  often  strikes  people  the  most.  mischievous,  playful  and  often  glittering  with  the  whisper  of  mayhem  ahead.  PERSONALITY:  generally  speaking,  he  is  a  light-hearted  boy  turned  man.  his  sense  of  humour  varies  from  silly  around  his  younger  siblings  to  that  of  a  darker  matter  around  other  soldiers  etc.  he  is  loyal  to  his  family,  and  fierce  in  every  sense  of  the  matter.  but  to  his  core,  river  is  warm  and  honourable.  he  upholds  valor  through  action  and  not  just  some  fanciful  words,  he  lives  it.  but  he  is  quick  to  rouse  of  temper  when  the  situation  allows  or  calls  for  it.  SPECIAL   TALENTS:   because  of  his  mothers  old  vaylrian  and  lyseni  blood,  she  was  able  to  claim  a  wild  dragon  known  as  me'sovhal.  the  boy  was  raised  with  a  dragon  of  his  own,  bloodmane.  the  egg  hatching  the  day  he  was  brought  into  the  world  .  he  is  a  dragon  rider  and  like  his  mother,  learned  without  the  guide  of  reigns  or  saddle.  he  would,  in  turn,  teach  his  four  younger  siblings.  much  like  his  father,  river  learned  to  fight  without  the  pretense  of  false  honour  upheld  by  knights  of  the  seven.  he  is  a  terrifying  opponent  to  face.  WHO   THEY   LIKE   BETTER:  mama's  boy  to  his  absolute  core,  made  a  funny  little  game  of  irritating  his  father  intentionally  to  get  his  mother's  attention  WHO   THEY   TAKE   AFTER   MORE:  his  father  in  appearance  mostly  and  a  dangerous  combination  of  his  fathers  temperament  and  his  mothers  warmth  and  kindness.  PERSONAL   HEADCANON:   he  suffers  no  ill  words  towards  anyone  he  loves.  when  a  young  knight  attempted  to  steal  his  sister's  innocence  and  reputation,  he  put  him  to  the  sword  and  had  bloodmane  burn  his  body  to  ash.  FACE   CLAIM:   arnas  fedaravicius

[p0orbaby]

Divitiae

summary: you bring Leah to the family home for the first time

warnings: nowt

a/n: I don’t know what this is. I do, it’s old money!reader

word count: 1.3k

-

Leah is no stranger to the uncomfortable.

She’s an athlete. A celebrity. Her life is full of unpleasantness. Tricky opponents. Unwanted media attention. You name it, she’s experienced it, she’s gotten over it.

But this? This is different. She can’t seem to settle into the plush leather seats of the car she’s being chauffeured in. As the rolling fields of your estate blur past, she can’t ignore the anxious feeling sitting heavy in her stomach.

"You okay?" you asked, noticing her wide-eyed expression.

"This is way beyond anything I imagined," Leah admitted with a nervous laugh. "I feel like I've been dropped onto a different planet”

You smiled, intertwining your fingers with hers. "It's a world that comes with its own set of traditions and luxuries. But remember, at its core, it's still just a place filled with people”

She nodded, taking a deep breath. "Sorry, it's all a bit overwhelming,” she admitted.

You chuckled softly, squeezing her hand reassuringly. “It’s a lot to take in, I know. But trust me, it’s a lot more boring that it looks”

As the car approached the Manor’s grand entrance, Leah's eyes widened further. "And what about you? How did you adapt to all this?"

"I grew up with it, but it was never about the titles or the estates for me," you explained. "It's about never taking what I’ve been given for granted. And now, I want you to share what I have. With you”

The grand entrance of the Manor commanded attention, its towering doors flanked by intricately carved pillars. As the car glided to a halt, a symphony of movement unfolded. Impeccably dressed housekeepers and butlers formed a line, standing at attention like living sculptures.

You always hated the formality of just popping home.

The door swung open with a deliberate grace, revealing the Head Butler, a paragon of composed customs. “Welcome back, Lady Y/N,” he greeted you, nodding respectfully. His keen eyes shifting to Leah with a subtle hint of surprise when you reach out a hand to assist her in getting out of the car.

Leah offered a shy smile, feeling the weight of everyone's attention. "Hello," she greeted politely, trying to match the decorum of the staff.

Eyes lingered on her, people muttered under their breaths to one another as you led her inside. You were never the one who brought back company.

Your mother and father appeared at the top of the grand staircase, wearing warm smiles. "Darling, you never told us you were coming home!" your mother exclaimed, descending with graceful steps.

“Because I didn’t think a grand welcoming would be necessary, but here we are” you quip, eyeing the hoards of staff ferrying your luggage away, before leaning in to kiss them both on the cheeks in greeting.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Leah. Our daughter has spoken so highly of you”

Leah shook your fathers extended hand, her nerves easing slightly with his genuine warmth and kindness. "Thank you, it's an honor to meet you both too”

“Don’t be silly,” your mother interjected with a warm smile. “We’re thrilled to have you here”

Just as you thought the introductions were going smoothly, a mischievous, loud voice echoed through the foyer. "Well, well, what do we have here?" Your older brother, notorious for his teasing, emerges from the shadows with a smirk.

Leah's eyes narrowed playfully as your sibling continued, "Is this the one my baby sister has brought home? Quite the catch!"

“Arthur” you say, turning to Leah who stands pin-straight beside you. “The eldest and forever a thorn in my side”

He grinned, unabashed by the acknowledgment. “Guilty as charged. And who’s this lovely lady you’ve brought into the lion’s den?”

“Leah. Pleasure to meet you, Arthur” she offers politely.

With an exaggerated bow, he replied, “The pleasure is undoubtedly mine, Leah. Y/N, I must say, you’ve been hiding a real gem from us”

You rolled your eyes, accustomed to your brother's childishness. “Don’t let his theatrics fool you, my love. He’s all smoke and mirrors”

“You wound me, dear sister”

“Where’s Teddy?” You ask, desperate to change the conversation. “I’ve got something I want to give him”

“Paris. Some fancy foundation thing,” Arthur informs you, bored. “You know, the kind of event where people pretend to care about saving the world while sipping champagne”

You hum because you know the kind all too well. Yourself and Arthur were never really fond of such events, always finding them more about appearances than genuine concern. Your baby brother Theodore, on the other hand, always seemed to revel in the grandeur of such occasions. He had a knack for effortlessly blending into the sophisticated crowd, seemlessly navigating conversations about philanthropy while maintaining an air of genuine interest.

At only 21, he was a force to be reckoned with.

A door clicks open on the other side of the room and all your heads swivel towards the noise. Finding an immaculately dressed Housman waiting in tow.

“Refreshments?” Your father gestures towards the drawing room. “We keep your favourites just for occasions like this”

You exchange a glance with Leah, considering the tempting offer, but politely decline. “Thank you, but we’ll pass for now. I was thinking of showing Leah around and maybe getting settled into our rooms”

-

“These gardens have been here for generations,” you explain, pointing out various features. “Each generation has added their own touch. It’s like a family tradition, but with more dirt and fewer family meetings”

You gesture towards a particularly vibrant rose bush. “My grandmother planted these. She was all about the classic symbolism of love and romance”

Moving on, you point at a well-crafted fountain. “Father took it upon himself to build this thing. He liked the idea of having his little oasis right here”

“And those magnolias over there?” you say, nodding towards a cluster of trees. “Mother’s idea. She thought they were classy, I guess”

“I think it’s sweet,” Leah admits with a genuine smile.

You both continue your leisurely stroll through the garden, surrounded by a symphony of colors and scents. The vibrant wildflowers sway gently in the breeze, their hues blending seamlessly. The sun-dappled paths lead you deeper into the greenery, and the distant murmur of a hidden fountain bubbles in the background.

“Perhaps you wouldn’t mind contributing then?” You muse as you pass under a canopy of wisteria vines. “You know, to carry on the tradition”

Leah’s eyes meet yours, and in that moment, she can’t help but fall a little more in love with you. The sincerity in your voice, the hint of shyness in your demeanor. It’s a side of you she doesn’t see often.

“I would love to” she replies, and she doesn’t miss the way your shoulders deflate. Like you’d been nervous she’d ever deny you. “But only if you help me choose?”

A toothy grin spreads across your face and a childlike happiness floods your features, “come on” you say suddenly. “There’s one last thing out here I want to show you”

Before she knows it you’re dragging her briskly under cherry blossoms and past hidden duck ponds. Only stopping when the shade of the apple trees makes her skin prickle and shadows dance across your face.

“An orchard?”

“Yes” you say. “The apples actually get picked and donated to local schools. But I must admit that is not why I brought you out here”

“No?” She asks, confused.

Without saying a word, you push her chest slightly so she stumbles back against the trunk of a tree, and connect your lips to hers. She’s not expecting it, you can tell because her hands hover by her sides momentarily. Until you run your own down the length of her arms and place them around your neck yourself.

She settles then. When her mouth moves against yours and your hands find solace at her waist. As the rolling fields of your estate fade away, she can’t ignore the anxiousness in her stomach disappearing like a whisper on a summer breeze.

[uzurimisery]

chapter 1: the setting. / coriolanus snow / nsfw

Watching TBOSAS rekindled my love of this series and Tom Blyth makes young Snow sexy.

wc: 4,422

waring: smut, misogyny, dubcon, toxic relationships, snow is insane, not beta read

AO3 version here | Series Master

“You’re to take Y/N to the gala and after that the two of you will begin a show of courting for the Capitol to watch.”

Coriolanus Snow found you to be a thorn in his side. An unknown variable. You were wellbred stock, perfect for carrying on a bloodline, but somehow you were as disgraced as those from the Districts. Even before the war had started and ended Coriolanus found you insufferable. Too aggressive, undisciplined, and unpredictable. He liked reading people, at this point he’d say he could read others better than they could read themselves. But you were a blank slate. Wellbred, well read, and well insufferable. The only reason he even pretended to care about you was who your mother was. 

Dr. Volumnia Gaul was more of a creator than a mother. Mothers cared and nurtured their children with love and compassion, two emotions Gaul was incapable of. Funny considering she was once an obstetrician. It was there that she had been introduced to your father, another prominent Capitol resident, and had you. She liked you, surely, often willing to give you more grace than others for their mistakes, but love would be going too far. Perhaps her being your mother is why Coriolanus liked you even less, you had all of her traits he disliked the most. 

The Snow family had always been led by men, a tradition passed down from father to son, an unbroken chain of masculine dominance. But the Gauls were different. They were led by women, strong, capable women who defied the traditional power dynamics. And you were no exception.

You were determined to prove yourself, to carve your own path, to become a leader just like your mother. You fought Coriolanus head-on, challenging his every suggestion, even when you knew your opposition was futile. You were a master of manipulation, using coercion, leadership, and cunning to bend others to your will. Even Coriolanus, the shrewd and calculating Snow, found himself falling prey to your machinations at times.

You had convinced two of the most desirable women in the Capitol, Persephone Price and Iphigenia Moss, that he was in love with them both. For a tense month and a half, they waged a bitter war for his affections, making his life a living hell right after he had returned from District 12. It was as if you simply enjoyed watching the chaos you created, relishing in the discomfort you inflicted upon him.

Coriolanus couldn't deny his grudging admiration for your skill. You were a force to be reckoned with, a whirlwind of ambition and cunning.You were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve, a challenge he couldn't quite overcome. And that unsettled him.

"Dr. Gaul," he began, his voice laced with scepticism, "I hardly think that I am the most suitable companion for your daughter, even if just for show.”

A sharp, echoing cackle escaped Volumnia's lips, sending a shiver down Coriolanus's spine. 

"Oh, Coriolanus," she drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "my dear star pupil, you underestimate your own abilities. You are the very person I need to keep that girl in line. Plus she makes you look like a more viable successor."

His jaw tensed. 

“I hardly think that if you couldn’t control her I could.” 

“Control is a fickle thing Mr. Snow,” Volumnia did not even turn to face him as she stared down into a microscope. She turned a dial to clarify the view before then adding liquid, some sort of acid from the smell, and stirring the plate with a glass rod before continuing. 

"Y/N is merely playing at having control. She is an actor, a performer, and you, my dear Coriolanus, will be her stage."

“And what is my role in this performance?” 

"You will be the charming escort, the perfect foil to her rebellious spirit," she explained. "Your ability to manage her shows that the Gaul name carries on in your relationship with her, breeding the best gamemaker there could ever be."

His fingers itched to throw the beaker of acid onto Gaul. The very thought of touching you made his skin crawl. He could still feel the lingering sensation of your skin against his, a clammy, unnatural warmth that sent shivers down his spine from the last time the two of you had touched even briefly. Truly his interactions with you had been limited before the 10th games, you were two years his junior, it was only after he came back from 12 that he had even spoken to you. Now you worked side by side with each other on the games under your mother, and his every interaction with you made him violent.

The idea of having you draped over his arm all night filled him with a sense of nausea. He could almost picture you under him, your body contorting in agony as you choked by his doing. He envisioned himself standing over one of the ridiculous chaises in your family estate, your father's extravagant purchase. He would slowly tighten his grip around your throat, watching as your eyes bulged in terror and your face contorted in pain.

The thought of your hands desperately clawing at his arms, your tears streaming down your face, sent a strange jolt of excitement through him. 

He pictured himself using one of the delicate scarves you always wore to strangle you, the soft fabric contrasting with the harshness of your screams. He would watch as your eyes rolled back in your head, your life fading away with a final, gasping breath.

Hate was a strong word, but it was the only word that adequately described his feelings for you. A venomous mixture of loathing, fascination, and a twisted desire that he couldn't quite explain. Lucy Gray he had wanted to control, but you wanted to break.

“As you wish Dr. Gaul.”

_

When your mother had told you that you were to be escorted by Coriolanus to the gala and then “pretend” to court him, you were pissed. You saw through his carefully constructed façade of charm and sophistication, recognizing him for the manipulative user he truly was. In his eyes, people were nothing more than expendable pawns, their lives mere tokens in his ruthless game.

While you couldn't deny that you shared a similar disregard for human life, having been raised in an environment where expendability was a given, there was a fundamental difference between your perspectives. You saw value in keeping people alive, recognizing their potential as tools in your own elaborate schemes. Death was not an option for you; it was a blunt instrument, a crude solution to a complex problem. People were willing to go to the extremes for their loved ones, and extremes meant profit.

There was no choice to be had in the matter of being his date, mother dearest had given you a look that said all. If you dared to defy her wishes, she would unleash a torrent of consequences, transforming your life into a living hell until she deemed your lesson learned. While you possessed a certain degree of freedom, there were lines even you dared not cross, and this was one of them. 

But Coriolanus made you feel things that you thought you were incapable of, a deep burning rage that whispered at the end of it all one of you would be consumed. You could almost envision the moment when your fury would reach its crescendo, when your teeth would sink into his flesh, consuming him in the flames of your intensity.

As if life couldn't be any more cruel to you, Coriolanus had insisted that you were costumed by his cousin Tigris. Now Tigris was agreeable company, a beacon of kindness and warmth, possessed an innate ability to perceive the good in others. While you found her naivety and idealism somewhat exasperating, you couldn't deny her inherent goodness and her remarkable skill as a seamstress.

Yet, the thought of enduring the tedious process of changing into multiple outfits, each designed to enhance Tigris's artistic vision, threatened to push you to the brink of insanity, a state your mother had succumbed to years ago. The prospect of reliving her descent into madness sent a chill down your spine.

Tigris's fingers trailed along the soft fabric of the gown, carefully adjusting its folds to accentuate the curves of your body. "You know, you've got a really nice figure," she remarked, her voice laced with admiration.

A wry smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Why thank you, Tigris. If you asked your cousin, he'd tell you I had a body made for the Districts."

Tigris's brow furrowed in confusion. "What does that even mean?"

"Oh, it's just one of his many ways of insulting me," you explained with a shrug. "He's surprisingly bad at it, considering how much he tries."

As Tigris continued her work, meticulously crafting the gown to perfection, you found yourself enjoying her company more than you had anticipated. Her easygoing nature and engaging conversation provided a welcome distraction from the simmering tension that always seemed to accompany Coriolanus's presence.

For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to relax, to partially let down the guard you had carefully constructed over the years. You savoured the simple pleasure of Tigris's companionship, cherishing the rare moments of genuine connection in a world that often felt cold and impersonal. Even if it was inside the Snow family penthouse.

The black velvet gown hugged your curves like a second skin. Tigris' skilled hands moved with practised ease, adjusting the intricate details of the dress, ensuring that it would perfectly complement your form.

"I think I'll add a corset effect to this," Tigris mused. "Corio has some cufflinks that were his father’s that would go well with that."

"I am but your humble dress-up doll," you teased, playing along with her lighthearted banter.

Tigris's smile widened, her laughter echoing through the opulent dressing room. "Well then, I'll have to show off my best work for such a famous doll," she declared, her voice filled with playful affection.

The light hearted mood continued for some time, eventually a servant came in to offer you tea. That ended up being your only respite as Tigris then wanted you to try on more gowns for different events. Apparently you had sparked something in her to create various things.

Perched atop a pedestal, clad only in your underwear and an arm across your bare chest, conversation flowed with Tigris, her nimble fingers expertly hemming the length of a shimmering silver gown. Your topics ranged from the latest academy and university gossip to Ma Plinth's overprotective tendencies towards Coriolanus, eventually settling on your father's renowned interior design skills. His contributions to the Capitol's architectural landscape were a source of pride for both of you.

You two had been so lost in conversation you hadn’t heard Coriolanus enter the apartment and calling out for Tigris until he was in the doorframe of the dressing parlour.

“Tigris I need you to fix this stitch on my blazer, it came undone while I was walking over here- oh.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Coriolanus's face, momentarily disrupting his composed demeanour. He seemed momentarily taken aback by the sight of you.

Tigris quickly rose, her hands reaching to cover your exposed form, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Corio!” she stammered, “If you can just leave it on the chair I’ll get to it shortly.” 

Coriolanus regained his composure. "No need to rush, Tigris," he spoke smoothly, his voice devoid of any hint of the turmoil that he felt "I just need this done by Tuesday."

He turned his attention to you, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "I should hope that's not what you’re intending to wear to the gala, I think your mother would throw you in the arena herself.”

Without another word, he turned and exited the dressing room, leaving you and Tigris to exchange looks.

___

Coriolanus couldn't shake the image of your back from his mind. The smooth, flawless skin, untouched by blemish or imperfection, is a testament to the care your mother had taken in your upbringing and no doubt the many concoctions she made to keep you that way. The memory of your curves lingered in his thoughts.

He had always held the opinion that your body was more suited to the Districts, a form meant for bearing child after child to provide the Captiol with more luxury. But seeing you laid bare made him reconsider your appeal. 

His usual taste in women ran towards the petite, almost painfully thin, figures that could afford to forgo nourishment for the sake of fashion. They were delicate creatures, easily controlled, incapable of challenging his authority. But there was something about you, something that stirred a different kind of desire within him.

Thoughts of you under him shifted, taking on a carnal nature. The dim light in the room seemed to flicker with the intensity of the images playing in Coriolanus's mind. 

You under him, tears streaming down your face, but no longer was he choking you. You cried out in pleasure begging him to never stop. Your cheeks flushed, eyes glossy, mouth open as you gasped. Neck covered in hit bite marks and hickies that trailed down your chest, heaving with exertion. His hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him as he thrust again and again, your nails digging into his forearms drawing blood.

You cried so sweetly for him, came undone so well for him. That cunning mind of yours consumed by thoughts of him. He might never figure out how to predict your actions but he could figure out your needs, your desires, what makes you tick. Pull your tongue out between his fingers and spit in your mouth. To turn you on your front and hike your hips up against his own, hands pinned behind your back. 

“Corio, what's wrong?”

Coriolanus's mind jolted back to the present, the vivid images from his fantasies dissolving like wisps of smoke. He blinked rapidly, adjusting to the dim light of the room once more. Your gentle voice, using his nickname, had pierced through the haze of his thoughts, pulling him back from the precipice of his desires.

"Nothing, I was considering something for the next games," he replied, his voice slightly strained. "I do apologise, Mr. Creed. Innovation is something that weighs on me heavily.”

Mr. Creed chuckled, bassy and thumping. “ No worries my boy, your date was keeping me ample company.” 

He watched as the older man's gaze lingered on your figure, a predatory glint in his eyes as it bore into your chest for a second too long.

 Disgust churned within him, a visceral reaction to the blatant display of lechery. Mr. Creed's age only served to amplify the repulsiveness of his behaviour, a man old enough to be your father, yet still driven by the primal urges of a rutting animal.

Coriolanus saw through the façade of civility, the veneer of sophistication that Mr. Creed carefully maintained. Behind the polished exterior lurked a man incapable of masking his basest desires, his eyes a window into a mind consumed by lust.

He drew you in closer, feeling the heat of your skin spread against the material of his suit.

“And what company she is.” he placed a kiss on your temple with a chuckle all whistle maintaining eye contact with Mr. Creed. A man's warning not to vye for what was his. “I often say she should host the games instead of designing them.” 

“Oh hush! You couldn’t possibly manage without me.”

“Well I’d have your mother.” 

You giggled at that, showing that you had one too many fruity cocktails infused with a laughing agent earlier in the night, the light catching in your eyes. He could tell you were loose, more pliable then he had ever seen you. Part of him wondered if it was just all part of the act to you, playing as well behaved for him.  The Capitol’s untouchable wild child made compliant in his arms. 

Despite the lingering doubt, Coriolanus couldn't deny the allure of your presence. Your laughter, once a source of frustration, now held a captivating charm, and your relaxed attitude was a welcome change from your usual sharp wit and guarded demeanour.

“And with that Mr. Creed, I do think that Y/N and myself should go find Dr. Gaul.” 

“Of course Mr. Snow, I look forward to your next presentation.’ 

Coriolanus pulled you away from the overly perfumed man and out of the garden where you had been. The president’s mansion always had half the party outside in the expansive greenery and the rest on the first floor of the building. He guided you out of the garden, the expansive greenery and lively chatter fading into a distant hum. He led you into a secluded sitting room, its dimly lit interior a stark contrast to the vibrant party outside.

Coriolanus was a man who prized possession, a collector of valuable objects and people alike. He had never been one to share, a feature made even worse after his time in District 12, and the sight of Mr. Creed eyeing his 'toy' had ignited a possessive fire within him.

You were his, he told himself, all the Capitol knew after the revelation of your made up love affair during the 15th games. But, you had made it abundantly clear that you were not his. The ownership did not extend into your life outside of performing in your role for the people of the Capitol and to appease your mother.

It was easy to keep the lines from being blurred normally but since that day in the dressing parlour something snapped within him. 

Plopping down on the chaise you sighed heavily. “What crawled up your ass Corio?” To strung out every syllable of his nickname, teasing him. 

A sharp exhale and her turned to face you. Watching you reapply your pristine red lipstick. 

“Creed is nothing more than a pig, a bloated, self-serving creature who values nothing but his own wealth and power," he growled, his voice laced with venom. 

You raised an eyebrow. 

“Tell me something I don't know. One of their Avvoxes is like that because Festus saw his father with the girl, and his mother went bat shit.”

“How do you know this?”

You closed your compact with a snap and tucked it back into your clutch alongside your lipstick. "Festus told me," you confessed, a sly grin playing on your lips. "He squeals easily.”

He hummed in agreement. 

“Tell me Snow, when did you start to care if some old pervert undressed me mentally.” 

“Since your mother made the entire country think we’re in love.”

“But we aren't.”

“No we aren’t,” there was no love between you two “but that means you’re mine as far as he’s concerned. I don’t enjoy anyone coveting what's mine, even if this relationship is just for show.”

“Ah! Of course, there he is, the egotistical and controlling Coriolanus we all know. For a second I thought you might actually hold a shred of care for me.” 

You leaned back in the chair, your dress slipping slightly down on your chest furthering the curve of your breast. 

He had to admit to himself he was no more animal than Mr. Creed when the slightest slip made his thoughts race. His mind went back to his earlier thoughts now inspired by the room you were in. Bent over the chaise with your lipstick smeared, a litany of stains on his face and collar. He’d hike the skirt of your dress up and pull your top down, leaving your breasts free for him to grab at as he took you from behind, your underwear hanging off just an ankle. Festus or his father would walk in the scene and pale as Coriolanus displayed his ownership of you. 

“Seriously Snow what’s wrong with you?” You’ve been distracted all night.” You shifted on the chair grabbing his arm and pulling him down to sit. “I won’t pretend to like you but you’re not yourself.” 

His gaze flickered down to your chest before meeting your eyes. 

Those eyes had always held the power to see through him, to strip away his carefully constructed exterior and expose the terrified child within, a child haunted by the horrors of the bombings. They roused something deep within him, something he couldn't quite comprehend. He was convinced it was hatred, an intense aversion to everything related to you. Yet, amidst the gaudy extravagance of this opulent sitting room, there was something more than hatred, a yearning, a need to possess you, not just in the pretence of a fabricated relationship, but for real.

“Nothing is wrong.”

"Bullshit," you retorted, your voice firm and unwavering. "You've been distant with me ever since that day in Tigris' dressing parlour. You refused to even acknowledge me the last time I saw you, couldn't even bring yourself to look at me."

He couldn't deny your accusation, for it was true. He had been avoiding you, intentionally keeping his distance, unable to face the tempest of emotions that your presence evoked within him.

"Have you considered that I find you repulsive and even looking at you gives me mental anguish?" he asked, his voice laced with sarcasm, a desperate attempt to deflect the attention away from his own turmoil.

"Okay, jackass," you sighed in exasperation. "I was actually trying to be nice to you here, even considering the possibility of being more amicable in the future, but clearly, that's an impossibility with you."

Standing up from your position, you straightened out your dress, your back turned to him. "I'm going to find my mother and then leave, and I don’t know how we will keep acting like we’re in love in public but we will." you declared, your voice seeming to echo in the room.

Before you could take a step away, Coriolanus' hand wrapped around your wrist. "You're hurting me," you exclaimed, struggling against his hold.

"What do you even want?" you demanded, spinning around to snatch his hand away, only to find yourself pulled down, landing directly into his lap.

You gasped in surprise, your body pressed against his, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt through your senses. His eyes, those storm-filled pools, were inches from yours, their intensity almost hypnotic. There was something swirling in them that you had never seen him express before.

“God seriously, what is wrong with you? I don’t know why my mother insists on it being you! You are the most insufferable man I have ever met. Constantly talking down to me and trying to make me feel lesser. You need to sort yourself out.”

 Your voice raised, carrying into the hallway where he knew people were. He could hear their steps coming towards the door. 

He watched you, his expression unreadable, his fingers still tracing patterns on your waist. It felt so breakable under his touch, like he could squeeze it ever so tightly and it would shatter. Maybe that was what was wrong with him, his image was that of strength and yet you were so fragile. 

The reality was much harsher than that. He had never viewed you as a person before that day. You have been an obstacle or a pawn. Now he had to act as he loved you, craved you, desired you. Initially that was a hard ask, your very being was unpleasant to him, but since that day something had shifted in him. You were human now. And far too tempting. 

The handle of the door began to turn. The narrative needed to be made, actions taken, you both were here for a purpose tonight. 

His lips crashed into yours, more gnashing teeth than the delicate touch of a lover, a show of dominance and control. The frustration of this whole act and his loss of control bubbling to the surface and letting the anger out on you. You tried to pull away, speak to him maybe, but he pulled you back against him and with a hand on the side of your face pushed your jaw open letting him slip his tongue inside your mouth. It was wet and messy. His tongue running against the back of your top teeth before dancing with your own. The desire to consume you coming out on top.

“Oh my!”

He pulled away with a bite at your lip, hard enough to leave the both of you tasting blood.

A collection of Coriolanus' classmates from the Academy and a few notable members of high society, including both Festus and his father, stood at the now open french doors taking in the scene before them. 

Y/N Gaul draped across Coriolanus Snow’s lap engaged in a hot and steamy makeout session. You intricate updo half udon by his actions, both your breathing labour, red lipstick smudged around both your mouths. You felt like a deer caught in the headlights. You hadn’t heard anyone coming to the room too distracted by Coriolanus’ odd behaviour which was now explained. 

Coriolanus instantly snapped into character a charming smile spread across his face as he steadied a hand on your hip. 

“My apologies I wasn’t aware anyone would be using this parlour tonight.” He spoke with a lighthearted chuckle. “Miss Gaul was just simply breathtaking this evening.” 

Your name brought you back into the moment, the velvet of his voice soothing your panic. You moved to adjust his shirt and blazer back into place, an intimate gesture painting the two of you having a deeper relationship than people initially thought.

“Corio,” you chided gently “I told you that we needed to be careful.” 

“You're right my dear. I was overconfident, assuming we had a moment to ourselves. I just can’t help myself when it comes to you.” He slipped the handkerchief out of his pocket and began cleaning up your ruined lipstick. “Please give us just a minute and we will clear the room for you.” 

He finished cleaning you up and then stood, taking your hand in his. Some more apologies were given to the crowd as the two of you absconded away like teenage lovers that had just been caught. A trail of hushed whispers and lingering glances followed you out. You couldn’t catch everything but you heard one thing very clearly. 

“Well there goes the gossip that they hate each other.”

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #39

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction - practically first drafts - posted daily and sometimes written with the express intention of being terrible… but, you know, in an endearing way. Please enjoy.

As is tradition, the bride’s father walked her up the aisle to ‘give her away’ to the groom. It was an old ritual, one only tangentially related to modern marriage as a concept. The bride was not her father’s to give, nor her groom’s to accept. She was her own, she was a person, she contained multitudes. But nonetheless, her hand was moved from her father’s to that of the man she was here to marry.

The maid of honor shed a tear and wiped it onto her wrist, hoping no one had seen it. She smiled with her mouth, but her eyes still held wells of sadness.

The best man looked every which way but the altar, where the groom stood. He knew what came next would not be easy, but it was necessary. He couldn’t live with himself if he’d said no to the offer - it would have been a regret for the rest of his life. This was his last chance.

The officiary recited his part of the script. The maid of honor and the best man, staged across from each other on opposite sides of the altar, both shared in one thing: a stomach-churning sense of guilt, unease, trepidation, and impending doom. Only one more line was left until their parts.

“If anyone has cause to object to the forming of this union,” the officiary said, “speak now or forever hold your peace.”

The best man and the maid of honor looked at each other, both holding their breath.

“I object!” said the bride, melodramatically holding her limp wrist to her temple. “I cannot marry you today, for my heart belongs to someone else!”

The crowd gasped and chattered, shocked that such a thing could happen in real life.

“Me too!” said the groom, right on cue. “And the person who holds my heart is in this very room!”

The chatter increased in volume. What were the odds of both of them having secret lovers? The flower girl, as previously directed, handed out bags of popcorn to the audience.

The bride covered her mouth and play-slapped the groom, who retaliated likewise.

“Who is she?” the bride asked.

“He… is my best friend in the world,” replied the groom. “To whom does your heart belong?” He continued, tripping over the anachronous words.

“She has been with me for as long as I can remember,” the bride pointed her bouquet at the maid of honor. “And I shall love her with all my being until my dying breath!”

The bride sighed loudly, covered her eyes with her forearm, and threw the bouquet out into the crowd, nearly poking the groom’s aunt in the eye with the rose’s thorns. She rushed to the maid of honor and embraced her, kissing her passionately and dipping her near to the ground. The crowd began clapping. The maid of honor felt tears run down her cheek as she was brought back to her feet.

Not to be outdone, the groom ran to the best man and took his face in his hands before kissing him with the same sort of performative passion. He knew how to sell it - after all, the whole group had been in the theatre club back in high school.

Both kisses wrapped up at about the same time - they’d practiced with a stopwatch - and the four looked at each other from across the stage. There was a tense silence. The audience were at the edges of their seats.

“I…” the maid of honor flinched. She wasn’t sure she could say the words from the script the bride had written out for her. The two of them made eye contact, unbreaking. The bride motioned with her eyebrows that it was time for the next line, but realized that the maid of honor must have forgotten the words.

The bride mouthed subtly: “I don’t feel…”

“I don’t feel the same way…” the maid of honor swallowed. “... towards you.” Another tear rolled down her cheek.

The bride gave a little smirk as if to say, “Wow, you’re really into this performance! Great job!”

The best man, as practiced, dribbled out the words, “I don’t have that kind of feelings for you… either.”

The groom held his mouth open in feigned shock. The best man desperately wanted to stick his tongue down that throat.

The groom looked over at the bride, and she looked at him. “Can we just forget we said anything?”

“Yes,” she replied. “That’s probably for the best, isn’t it?”

The groom’s aunt asked, “Does that mean I have to give the flowers back?” And the crowd erupted into laughter. The bride and groom returned to the center of the altar and embraced each other. The performance was over - time for the wedding to continue. It was all in good fun, of course. No one’s hearts were broken. No one’s.

[claws-and-all]

Bodyguard Tamlin!

I don't normally have Modern AU's for Tamlin but this post got me thinking. With Tamlin's military upbringing and his core being a protector I was like hmmm a bodyguard could work!

So, here's a little play on Ana Huang's Twisted Games:

Tamlin hails from a distinguished line of aristocrats yet he often feels like the black sheep of his family. Unlike his father and brothers, he does not take to politics and scheming. However, he finds solace in the fact that his family has upheld the long-standing tradition of enlisting in the military.

During his service, he discovers that he is not only skilled in combat but also has a deep drive to protect others. Once his term is completed he chooses to put this newfound passion into private security. This decision did not sit well with his father. Tamlin was accused of being a disgrace to the family name. The taunts of his brothers, the disappointment of his father, and his reticent mother caused a massive rift between himself and his family.

Years later, cut off from his family's love and wealth, Tamlin established himself as an elite bodyguard. His latest assignment is protecting a royal. A princess to a small nation. She was someone he had known in passing. She had an air of entitlement. This was precisely the type of client he refused to work with. However, when work was scarce, you took what you got.

Tamlin took his job very seriously. The princess did not. She defied him at every turn. Determined to have freedom in her highly monitored life.

Needless to say, they hated each other.

Despite their mutual dislike, the job continued on for months. The ice between them melted as they began noticing unexpected things about each other.

The princess found that her brooding bodyguard had a softer side. She would catch glimpses of it when he would get lost in the musicals he reluctantly attended with her. She found him writing in journals when he wasn't on active duty. Sneaking a peek over his shoulder, she found bits of poems and musical compositions. There was also a darker side to him that she was yet to crack. Bits of hurt and trauma that seeped through his hard façade. She had the urge to learn everything about him.

Tamlin found himself empathizing with the girl. Underneath her carefree exterior was a heart he was not expecting. Genuine care for others and a passion for fighting for their rights. This extended to animals as well. He found her volunteering at their local animal shelter. One, he was a regular at. He spent most of his days off rehabilitating and caring for these animals. All these actions of hers had him feeling like she was much more than just a job.

You can fill in the rest... :)

A little quote from the book that so perfectly describes what I'd like for Tamlin

I met a woman who cracked my ironclad defenses like no one had before. Someone who loved the rain and animals and Rocky Road ice cream on quiet nights. Someone who saw all my scars and ugliness and still found me worthy, and somehow, someway, she’d filled the cracks in a soul I never thought would be whole again

Notes on Tamlin: - Broody (of course), is righteous however he will do anything it takes to protect his client. - Comes off as a quiet, private person. He exists to protect, not to become their friend - Can hurt others if need be but ensures that prevention of such situations is the no.1 priority. - Spends his free time chasing his passions. Whether it's mastering a new musical instrument, composing music, or writing poems/limericks. - Would become a vet if he could, settles for helping instead. - He lives in a small apartment in the city which he despises. He values peace and quiet and nature. He misses his family manor in the countryside. However, his job requires him to be more accessible - His brothers remain a thorn in his side. Popping up every few months just to kick him down. - His mother reaches out every now and then. The two of them would meet up for lunch or dinner. She does not help right the situation but she does show him love and compassion during these times so he takes what he gets - His father is virtually nonexistent. It hurts more than he'd like to admit. - A part of him is grateful to be away from the fakeness of polite society. - Makes friends along the way, Lucien, the only fellow noble he can stand. Keeps him in the loop. Rhysand, another bodyguard who taught him the ropes when he first joined.

Welcome to our Tamlin Community game: Headcanons!

Every headcanons post, we'll drop a prompt asking you for your take on the prompt and our beloved Tamlin.

Fun fact: Did you know headcanons posts count as submissions during Tamlin Week? Headcanons are a great way to participate if you don't have time to create more time consuming submission and we love, love, love hearing all the different ways Tamlin is perceived!🤩

This is a space to share your adoration and your creativity, so don't be shy -- reblog or chat with fellow Tamlin enjoyers in the notes!

What are your MODERN AU Tamlin headcanons?

[ofcarnvge]

Unarmed

@annalis-e--shadowofpanem

The halo sat atop her crown braid, bearing the appearance of finely cut shards of glass windows that each reflected and refracted other worlds, expertly woven together and meeting at a crimson jewel in the center like a traditional crown.

“My saint, I implore you...”

The sound of Skylar’s advisor barely reached her ears, pulling her attention from the sight of the ocean, back to the meeting at hand. She rolled her eyes and turned to face her “council.”

“This act of relocation was forced upon a people who were happy where they were. If you truly wish to serve the Lycari, you’d undo this abhorrent misstep and return us to the Eye--”

“I’m not certain I care for your diction, advisor.” The sentence silenced her advisor’s words, striking his approach down like a private all too unfamiliar with war.  For a queen that built her rule on peace, the edge of conflict could still be found in her demeanor, her wording, and her presence. Her desire for lasting peace did not translate to being easily swayed by the opinion of her council. Her aversion to being manipulated frustrated them, some more than others.

The advisor struggled to recover his footing. “To pull the nation, roots and all, from the soil we’ve grown accustomed to, to place it amidst foreign waters, and to confine us from doing what we do best--”

"If you're concerned about a landlocked country suddenly becoming an island, Dryden," The Spymaster, Aspen, spoke in defense of their queen, "it is never too late to learn to swim."

The comment roused a chuckle out of the queen. She held her only ally in the council with a grateful gaze before regarding the rest of the table again. “Yes. We are, for the time being, landlocked. It's to ensure that we protect our best chance at a new beginning by not souring our critical first impression with a new world by sending born and bred warmongers to greet it.” The saint slowly paced the table, making eye contact with each of the council. “I love my country, Dryden. I love my people. But that is what we are. I love you all enough to realize that this change will take time, and it will never come if it is not forced upon you."

“It is not humane, nor is it moral to force an entire people into a way of life that has never been first offered as a choice!” General Bridget Langhorn spoke louder than Dryden, in vain hopes of recovering the ground he lost.

“My, aren’t we all a broken record today,” The saint scoffed as she continued pacing the table. “Wasn’t it the Lycari that absorbed neighboring nations against its will in a conflict initiated by sheer ennui? Wasn't it you that sat in that very same chair, telling my father which of the Anchored Isles provided the most challenge and the most profit from a sacking? Wasn't it also you, whom in the very war in which you helped me usurp my father, where you allowed your men to force themselves on whatever prisoners of war they found appealing to their eye?" The saint's voice was calm and composed. And yet, it still echoed in the chamber as if it were raised. "It is by my grace that you yet live, rather than being charged and executed for war crimes. You could show your gratitude by keeping your deeply rooted hypocrisy to yourself if you choose not to change. Better can fill your shoes, and rest assured, I already have a tangible idea of who."

Watching the general deflate brought joy to Abidalla as she watched the meeting unfold from the side of the room.

"Since this meeting has been nothing but an open forum for all to discuss how I'm a monster for paving an avenue for peace, I will be gracious." Skylar reached her position at the table, spreading her hands wide as they could stretch atop the surface. "I will give you more reason to hate me, to disagree. Maybe you can love to be a powerless thorn in my side more than you love killing the innocent people around you." She sat, legs crossed, fingers connected as she stared down the council. "Ond's Wolf, if you'd so please."

Abidalla collected a box and brought it to the space at the table. The box folded open at the slightest touch, uncovering a large, healthy egg.

"Years ago, a wyvern hatchling breached one of the Eye's gates. There is a witness here that knows of dragons, and thus, I told her of Ond's Eye. Also, she and her companion have personally seen The Haven. She has enough status for us to reach out to this world and begin the formal outreach summit between worlds," Abidalla explained.  "All it would take for me to begin is to offer a gift."

The jaws of the council fell from their faces, some in shock, many in anger. Dryden looked to his queen, his saint, in horror. "You want us to be neutral ground for the Summit of Worlds between The Eye, and this meager version of Terra?"

"You want to be of the Eye again?" Skylar motioned to the egg. "This is how."

The council erupted into chaos, each of the members shouting obscenities at their queen. It was nothing she hadn't heard before. But one particular statement stood out.

Beneath his breath, his lips concealed by a thick, snow-white facial hair, the Historian of Sieri Lycar uttered an insult that, despite his best attempt to keep a mere mutter to himself, cut through the noise.

The queen parted her hands and the table shook as her fingertips made contact with it. The grand windows rattled, and the all-seeing serpent traveled within the reflection of her halo-like crown. The council fell silent.

"I didn't quite hear you, Briar," she uttered. "Speak louder."

The historian checked his gaze, laying it firmly on his shoes beneath the table. "I've nothing to add, Your Grace."

Your Grace. The insincere use of the title brought Skylar to her feet. Across the room, glass shattered as the pike she wielded in Sieri Lycar’s final war fled the display case made as its final resting place. It rushed to her hand as if to aid a friend in need.

"Don't lean on cowardice now, Briar." Skylar paced to the table to stand opposite of the historian, kicking Bridget's chair with a force that sent it, and her, sliding several feet away.  Skylar stood in the vacancy, pointing the pike across the table and prodding Briar's neck with it. "I heard it, I just want you to have the opportunity to share it with the rest of us. So please." The sound of her fingers gripping the hilt filled the room with unease. "Speak."

Briar pulled his eyes up like heavy stones from the ground and looked at his queen with fear in his eyes. "This..." he swallowed, "This...insubordination is what lost the king his crown."

The table fell into a pleading silence. And, again, like heavy stones, Briar's gaze dropped. The only one who dared to keep the queen's eye was Abidalla. The queen could feel her presence, both as a respected friend and as a firm reminder of who she wished to be.

"Insubordination." Skylar spat the word out with contempt. "To whom in this room do I owe any subordination? You? The man who writes folk tales about the battles he will never fight? The general who flees from the notion of a life of peace? My trusted advisor, who lacks who fails his people again and again because he cannot conjure a vision for the future beyond war? Whom at this table populated by wicked murderers and wastes of life hopes to command me??"

There was no answer.

"I am Saint Stabat of Sieri Lycar, the Queen Who Protects, The Prophet of Ond, and The Eighth Raptyr of the Eye. I have but one equal in this room, and it is none on this council. You may offer your advice but you will not seek to command. ME. I owe you no obedience."

Briar held his gaze downward. "Forgive me, Your Grace."

The room fell silent once more. Skylar's anger simmered before it dissipated. Her grip loosened, but only somewhat.

"If I may be so bold, Your Grace..."

The voice was young. Comforting. It belonged to a handmaiden, a young girl who laid her ear close to conversations like these to better learn. She served well into her teen years, enamored by the histories from foreign lands, and the prospect of writing a better story than the Lycari have forged. Her ambition painted a particular path that ended at the Historian's seat.

Skylar's hold on the weapon loosed, and it floated back to the case, guided back into the statue's hand by housekeepers who flocked to the display to clean the broken glass.

"You stand to be the most productive voice here, Enid." Skylar moved around the table to pull Briar's chair away from the table, allowing the young Enid to stand in his stead. "What say you?"

The child's peers egged her on. "Be brave!" they said. As she made her way to the opening, Enid smiled meekly. "The gifts by the artist, Deng Jia...am I to assume that they are being sent, in hopes of a potential summit?"

Skylar smiled. "Yes."

"Well...if I may ask, have the recipients responded?"

The other councilors stood on the edge of mockery, but Spymaster Aspen, happy to help the conversation along, regarded the handmaiden as an equal at the table. "Beyond simple curiosity, no. Together with Abidalla, we've deduced that a myriad of issues that the Shades are dealing with keep them from looking closer at the works we've sent them."

Enid held her hands together, reluctant to touch the table. "So...let's send one with an envoy. Not someone established, but someone who stands to inherit the Sieri Lycar of tomorrow. If our future is where Your Grace's focus lies, let us present ourselves with a voice of our future."

Skylar looked upon the handmaiden with immense pride. "You wish to be an ambassador."

The other handmaidens erupted into quiet celebrations, followed swiftly by a chorus of shushes. Enid blushed. "If Your Grace would allow me the honor."

Skylar nodded. "At last, this meeting is becoming productive." She stepped away from the table, her eyes glancing around the room at the many artworks. "I'd prefer if we stay silent for now. To bludgeon into interplanar politics while the party with whom we wish to speak is indisposed would be rude....but maybe there is an opening. Just to gently get our foot in the door. If such an opportunity presents itself...I will look to you. Abidalla, I trust you would guard my handmaiden when the time comes?"

"I would." Abidalla agreed.

"Then it's settled." Skylar's eyes stopped on a particular painting of twins. "In the meantime, we'll keep sending artworks while we wait for an invitation. When the time comes, Enid and a company of her own choosing will deliver the egg in person. I imagine that'll happen in the coming months...either through Abidalla's contact or through one of the Shadows' adepts of Reach."

Skyler's eye caught Pan's attention. "Maybe sooner, if one of them realizes they aren't dreaming."

--

Pan shook awake, her eyes stung immediately by the morning sun. Her heart raced, for reasons she couldn't discern. Brief flashes of a grand throne room dashed by in fragments, pieces of a dream she couldn't remember. She more she reached for a solid memory, the more they slipped through her fingers like sand.

Eventually, she stopped trying, the effort traded for the sight in front of her. Pan found herself wrapped in Molly's embrace as she slept soundly. The angle of the sun through the window suggested an early hour. Pan wouldn't dare disturb her by leaving. Instead, she nestled herself closer, and let her eyes slowly close. Another hour, she told herself. Maybe two.

The last thing Pan heard before sleep took her was a door opening down the hall, followed by a steady set of footsteps on a mission. The architect of dinner had a new goal: breakfast.

Molly slept more perfectly than she had in months. O-ren and Floss too seemed to be feeling the exhaustion of the past days, unmoving and quiet in their beds even when the first rays of light began to creep around the corners of the thick curtains.

Go go and Mallory on the other hand, were different.

The bodyguard woke crisply at first light and hovered over O-ren a moment to check she was breathing - an old reflex. The former crime queen was quite safe, and quite soundly asleep. Stretching herself out, her eyes alighted on Bill’s Hanzo sword propped up by the chest of drawers across the room.

In this context it resembled some sort of useless curio brought back from a trip. It amused Go go that it wouldn't have looked out of place moldering in the umbrella stand by Floss’ front door.

She left the bedroom and strolled downstairs. She stopped on the landing watching Mallory freeze a few steps below her, closing her own bedroom door as she stepped into the hall. The situation had all the strange awkwardness of two people at a party who don't really know each other meeting in the restroom.

After a tense moment Go go gave an eyeroll and a sardonic laugh.

“Oh please.” She uttered in Japanese, walking the last few steps slowly. Mallory bristled but it was reflexive.

“Thanks for not stabbing me in the night or anything.” She responded, in the same language.

Go go levelled her with a dry look. “I could say the same of you.” She shook her head. “Look, I’ve got no problem with you, how about we start there?”

Mallory nodded, reaching up to tousle her fingers through her thick, messy hair.

“Sure.” She replied and it sounded entirely genuine.

Go go smiled. “Since you probably know what my fingerprint looks like I’m guessing you know how I like my coffee?”

Mallory laughed. “Yeah, espresso, two sugars.”

“Then you’re working the espresso machine.” Go go retorted playfully and strolled toward the kitchen. The sounds of Cereza already flexing her culinary muscles drifted down the hall. 

 “Good morning Cereza.” Go go sighed, some of her usual formality leaking back into her tone - through habit rather than pressure. Despite her new leaf the bodyguard did glean a slight amusement from Mallory’s awkwardness as she slotted the pods into the coffee maker. 

[oh-for-fic-sake]

The Detectives Den

Masterlist

Summary: walter take you to a cabin for what you thought was a romantic weekend, but he has an ulterior motive afterall mateing season is just arou d the corner~

Warnings: Adult Situations +18, Smut, rough sex, primal sex, male dom, werebear Walter, Mating, Breeding, Turning, Noncon Bite?, claiming bites, soulmates, au shifter

A/n: so here it is! The were bear i started months ago and abandoned but picked up again today because of this post. Typos ahoy!

Taglist: in reblogs

You cried into the matress clawing desperately unsure if it was an attemt to help the huge male above you, or tryingmto escape him. For some reason since being here at the cabin he seemed different? Instead of being your huge soft teddy bwar he was wild, dark and growly both at peace and on edge. It was like he was now this big bad bear of a man, growling and strong all macho 'chop wood and start fire'

You grunted as he rutted harder almost fucking your hips pff the bed sending your feet scrabbling on the wooden floor, your socks sliding on the smooth wood.

"oh god~ sl-slow down! WalteAGH~" you cried out pressing up onto your elbows and stamping a foot on the floor grunting. Walter snarled into your back almost viciously before pressing an open mouthed kiss to your back lappjng the salty skin. He growled feeling his inner beast beat on his own restraint. The beed to uck and bit was almost overpowering. He wanted you dripping, ozzing his cum as he stained your perfect frailty with his venomous bite and change you for the better. He needed it like he'd never needed anything in his life. It was his own fault he was so needy and eager... restless. Hed had you at his side for six months far to lost in his bliss of having his mate he'd all but forgot about the mating season untill he was weeks away.

He snarled grolwing deeper and deeper his inner bears bellows trying to break through damanding you put your head down and take your mating properly. Face down ass up and minimal complaints! The deep sounds echoed through as the harsh breaths and grunts fanned over the sensitive skin of your shoulder blades.

"W-walt! Fuck please- hurry!" You whimpered over your shoulder as the large hands of your lover held you still bent over the bed pinning your hips into the matress and he thundered away, burrying himself to the hilt again and again still trying to feed you every thing he had and more. You cried out as he arched, tipping his hips striking your clit with his heavy sack moaning out his pleasure, the small pats making his cock twitch flexing agaisnt your tight channel as he speared you pryingnyou opene like never before.

These were no calculated strokes, he was fucking you with little care to how you withered and cried at his onslaught. Maybe thats why he brought you out here? You were deep in the woods and no one could hear you scream out your pleasure.

He growled low in his throat again biting back at his beast who was watching as you keened and scrabbled bent over on the bed your bare back glistening, tiny beads of sweat rolling down your sides. The scent of your arousal was enough to make him rabid, he needed this! Needed the release. His instincts were screaming savagely just below His mate! His female! His entierly!

And you were. He'd known the second he'd seen you in the cells. He thougt you were coming to bail out your foster dad who'd been caught at the center of a party filming a snuff film. A dark bdsm practice where the sub was unknowinly 'snuffed out' usually sufficated or break their neck from trying to escape. Either way it was a disgusting practice that was hard to pin blame, who was the one to arrest? The person tying the bonds? The dom? The spectators?

As it turned out you were there to cuss him out and hand in evidence phone records, emails, previous incidences. It turned out your father had been arranging these snuff films as a quiet hitman business silently offing people for a price.

Walter had gone out of his way to protect you, luring you to him with sweet dates and raw sex appeal. It had taken just over two months but he managed to secure a relationship with you. Youd been a couple for six months now, and finally it was time!

Finally he could claim you as his own kind did. Allbeit a tad late with only weeks to get you used to your rightfull place. Beside him. Below him!

He'd managed to et you out here to his den, secluded in the forest for a month long stay, mot that you knew it'd be a month. He'd said it'd be a long week end, you wasnt the outdoorsy type... well not yet.

"Shh, shh mate~ calm down you'll get there, just not yet... don't come yet we need- I need you to hold on for me" walter growled lowly into you making you sob and slump on the bed moaning into the covers. He moved slower trying to remember you were human, no matter how close the season was he couldnt mate you just yet. He had to give you the bite, then claim and help you come around to your new form and mate you... all in three weeks. If he tried to mate you properly now youd never survive him.

"Bu-but Bear!? Please i cant!" You wailed grunting and pressed back on him urgently unaware of just what was about to happen. He almost felt guilty, but it was better this way. Bite and help them transition then breed and continue the line. Or risk looseing you? His one mate! Once you were turned you'd feel the bond and wouldnt leave. It was how things were done, tradition!

Walter shook his head ridding the doubts that collected in his mind before chuckling... if only you knew how right you were~. Because be was a bear, a grizzly to be exact. It always brough a smirk to his face when you called him that, it'd soon be an inside joke between you. For every shifter there was a soul mate. The wolves had it easy,being pack animals their mates were mostly wolves themselves. But bears? No. Bears were solitary and their mates tended to be human.

For everything that happened in his life, he never imagined getting such a sweet gentle mate! You were a prize, his prize. Gifted to him by the old gods. You'd love and raise his cubs to be strong, fierce boy's and dainty smart females. His mind drifted, he couldnt wait to fill you, to plant his seed inside your womb and watch you create his cubs. But first he had claim you.

His eyes glazed as you beat at the bed arching your back to him trying desperately to pull him deeper clenching your pussy tight trying to force him to his own end where you could join him. You walls trembled as the suckled on him desperate to have walter quake at the knees and rut you into a tantelizing climax.

Walter snarled eyes now flickering with the burnt red brown that his beast held, the copper tinge glowing with a primal rage and need to latch onto his female and hold her still, repriand his sow for trying to take control and steal his seed before he was read to gift it to her!. Thoughts of tearing the skin and biting you twisted around his mind like a raging storm, his fangs ached. The venomous gift that would seal your fate to his forever thrumming in his jaws eagerly waiting. He was ready. He.was .ready! Years of woundering, then months of play the human game had made him impatient. He needed it, needed to feel the bond tie you together!

"Fine! You asked for it!" He snarled, an inhuman tremorto his voice made you pause, just as you tried to turn and question him you screamed out in panic. Walter bit you. Hard!

You thrashed squealing and panicking, kicking your splayed legs as your neck siezed, cramping. You muscle constricting around what felt like two deep thorns searing into you. Then a deep burn built. You cried in panic, fat tears rolling down your face mind bearly grasping what was going on around you. The shunts of your lovers hips became heavier and more pronounced, every breathnow a severe growl ratteling your bones. His cocks invasion slicing through the pain and terror as he moved faster and harder into you hitting your clit.

You wept tears streaming down your face as he fucked you rougher growling into your neck. Then despite the pain and fear the knot in your tummy snapped and you came around him. The trembling and mind numbing orgasm tore through you making you massage his still thrusting cock. You sobbed collapsing, giving up the fight as your sensitive body ached.

As if rewarding you for finally giving in Walter released your neck leaving it wet. You shuddered knowing that there would be blood but there wasnt much you could do about it. You keenesoftly as he roared over you victoriously painting your insides with his essence, lightly fucking into you. Instinct driving him to scent your cunt as deep as he could for your change, so youd smell of him warding off all other males in the area. This female was taken.

"Fuck. Fuck that was- better then the stories" he hummed over you smileing to himself head hanging down feeling at peace now his mate was claimed and would change. You'd be like him, strong fierce and safe. Able to take care of yourself and protect yourself and his young... fend off any vile human, fend off anyone but him~ your bear, your male, your mate!

"W-walter? My neck? What did you do?! Whh did you!- it feels funny it tingling" you panicked as walter pulled away from you befor slowly crawling onto the bed pullingnyou gently onto the soft bedding tugging you up to rest on your back.

"Its fine, perfect even- its the venom getting to work love" he explained cooing at you wiping you down patting the wohndmon your neck. In his spare of the moment bite he'd been rougher then he could have been, and that was part of the reason his venom was making you go limp already.

"V-VENOM! WHAT VENOM?" You bellowed now bawling panting, hyperventilating eyes wide and tears rolling down your face. His heart clenched as your hand waved in the air trying to hold him but you couldnt feel it, only a heavy numb limb that was useless.

"No, no its not bad- not bad my we t little mate... your turning, you'll turn and be like me" walter said hushingnou craning over you taking your waving hand an pressing kisses to the palm.

"Turn?! What are you- you bite me! We need help! Im gojng numb! Cold walter im bleeding out! Am i bleeding!?" Yu yipped still not understanding what was goingnon? He bit you... HE BIT YOU!? you tried pryingnyour hand free wanting to feel the damage on your neck. The room was spinning, you were growing cold you felt li,e you were dying!

"No shh your not bleeding, your turning... youve taken the bite soo well, so well love... you'll be fine... you'll sleep and then wake up stronger then ever" walter hummed fawning over you, giving you small gentle stroke's he knew he couldnt sit you down and explain, you were falling fast. He just had to reassure you untill you drifted off into the change.

"Wha?"

"Shh im here im here mate... your gonig to be a bear just like me" he whispered softly grinning down at you unable to stop. He was too damn proud, he found you and bit you! Youd be with him always!

"Bear?" You muttere trying to hold him closer as the room began shimmering, lights and blaack dots laceingnyour vision as the heated chill rushed through you drowning your body in a strange soothing yet frightening feeling.

"Yes... I'm a shifter, I brought you here to- to my den, the den of my forefathers, ive given you the bite just as my father did to our mother inthis very cabin!" He rushed trying to explain best as he could not liking the scent of terror on you. He never wanted to scare you, but fear was inevitable. Still if he could ease your worries before you succumbed he would.

"What- walter im- its fuzzy!" You cried desperately tryingnto cling to the little consciousness you had. But it was getting harder as the seconds ticked by.

"Hush im here, it's the change my love... youll be like me... a bear shifter- and just before mating season too...You'll change and then we will mate over and over untill your carrying my cubs~" walter said as a lump swelled in his throat. His father had said this was the worst bit. The fear and panic as your new found mate fell to the transformation. But as the guilt and anxiety sent in so did the excitement of your furture. Your mateing, your family-cubs and a den of your own! It was enougn to make the grown boar cry like a young cub!

"W-walt your scaring me~" you slurred as the room began spinning, a hot sensation coursing through your veins but your skin was cool and prickling.

"Shh its okay love, you need to sleep, just rest when you wake things will be... they will be perfect, sleep, give in don't fight, you dont want to be awake for this part" he said movi g to lay your hand back down at your side. Then sat up besode you looking around for another pillow tomprop under your head.

"W-walter! No, dont leave-" you cried bawling frightened as your eyelids got heavy, he sounded as if he was drifting further from you. Bringing another wave of panic, especiallywhen he placed your hand down.

"I'm not, i wont leave you, not for a second my beautiful female" he said leaning over you holding your chin peppering kisses over your face. Making sure you felt he was still there even as you drifted into the comatose state that would protect you from the pain of your initial transformation. You cries slowly doed off as you closed your eyes unable to fight anymore and let the black take you.

Walter stayed put watching you with baited breath. Now it was his job to gaurd you. Protect and care for you as the grueling first shift took holdand he spied what bear you'd be. The venom in all shifters was the same, each becmea different animal in accordance to their individual traits. He was a grizzly one of the largest bear, his cousin geralt was a polar bear and sy a kodiak. He knew youd be a bear because you were mates, and thats just how it worked.

He sat back cringing as you grunted moaning as things began to shift, your body would rid itself of toxins and ailments first. Flush your system before the real process began. He stood from the bed making his way to the bathroom to fetch the many damp towels he'd need to clean you up. It had been him to insight the change and now it was his duty to care for you through this difficult transition. And it would be is absolute pleasure, because this was the all important duty for him as a male his kind, this would tighten his bond with your beast. He would oversee everything and help you, even help break bones to help you shift faster. Anything to get you through a full shift cycle, to beast and back so you could awaken that little bit faster and begin your life as a true pairing. Despite th grusome nature of the event, walter couldnt be more pleased because thos was the true beginning of his life with you, and he wouldnt change a damn thing.

[itsclydebitches]

Continuing my tradition of watching questionable television because a fave from another show is in it, I’ve started The Canterville Ghost (2021) and, the quality of the show aside, all us Ted/Trent fans are in agreement that we need an AU of this, right? Right??

Ted is a wealthy, seemingly clueless American who has moved his wife and young son out into the English countryside with the hope of patching up his failing marriage. What he doesn’t know is that the mansion he’s purchased is haunted by the ghost of Rupert Mannion and the wife he murdered, Rebecca. Ted, rather surprised when Henry’s ghost hunting turns out to be 100% accurate, is incredibly welcoming of his two unexpected housemates, resulting in Rebecca, after hundreds of years, slowly breaking away from Rupert’s control. What if she doesn’t want to haunt the Lassos anymore? What if she doesn’t want them to leave? What if she enjoys Ted’s company, despite his incorrect opinion of tea? What then, Rupert?

Meanwhile, while ghost shenanigans occur, Ted is likewise charming his incredibly wary neighbors. I mean, he’s mostly making a fool of himself by drinking from the finger bowl and then spraying that all over the table after he realizes what it’s for, but he’s making headway nonetheless. Genuine kindness can make up for a lot! Astoundingly, he’s managed to hit it off with Roy, the youngest in the Kent line, and Jamie Tartt, the ever-present thorn in Roy’s side. The fact that the Kents and the Tartts have despised each other for generations certainly doesn’t help matters and that makes Ted’s friendship with both... complicated. However, his most interesting neighbor in the handsome Trent Crimm, widowed father of one, whose friendship becomes more and more important to Ted as he realizes that he needs to let Michelle go...

Other details may include:

Them still sharing the house together because there’s 158 rooms, Ted. We could go days without seeing each other. Platonically sharing a mansion is a pretty good compromise between having space and being available for Henry.

Nate is the groundskeeper whose adoration of Ted slowly morphs into jealousy as he wins over the entire countryside. The Shelleys are an old, respectable family... but no one else seems to think that with the Tartts and the Kents around.

Maybe Ted is rich because he invented a line of BBQ sauce lol.

BBC Ghost-esque bonding as Rebecca, despite being dead, becomes a full-fledged member of the family. Henry helps her plot how to send Rupert to the afterlife.

Ted discovers that Trent never learned how to ride a horse, a truly shameful secret out here, and immediately offers to teach him. Of course he knows how to ride, Trent, his last name is Lasso.

All sorts of stuffy, long-standing, stupidly gendered social rules that Ted enjoys breaking, which includes the horror of a man spending his days baking in a novelty apron. Everyone is a little horrified, but Trent overcomes that first because dammit, those biscuits are the only thing his daughter will eat right now, so Ted has to keep making them. What do you mean he’s been visiting the Lassos an awful lot? It’s for the biscuits and the biscuits only.

Beard is the man who lives on the grounds. That’s it. Is he homeless? He says no. Then why is he there? That’s for him to know and for you to maybe find out. He lives on the grounds, he knows approximately everything, and he and Ted hit it off like a house on fire.

[kyun-toast]

[ATEEZ] Mafia!Hongjoong - Fateful

word count: 2.2k warnings: explicit language, gun use, death, mentions of alcohol summary: a feisty baby for a feisty scorpio a/n: I started writing this so loyal to mafia!ateez but now that I’ve watched kingdom, I’ve changed my mind - I wanna be a pirate hoe.

“You forgot your toothbrush.” You said, sat by the desk, arms crossed. “Good thing I didn’t finish unpacking right, you can take your shit just the way it came in the boxes, hmm?” You didn’t get angry very often due to the pure fact that your expectations for your boyfriend were so low at this point. The way that your words, let alone your face, held no emotion terrified the boy. He shuffled around your apartment, gathering his things with eyes to the ground in guilt.

“Can you hurry up? I have places to be.” You said, fingers massaging your temple.

Stopping in his tracks, the boy turned to you with pleading eyes for the nth time today, “Baby, I’m so sorry, please, I didn’t mean to hurt you like tha-”

“I’m sorry, what? You disrespected me, not hurt me, there’s a difference-”

“Why are you doing this to me? You know I love you.” He pleaded.

“Is that a serious question right now? You cheated with my assistant in your first week as intern at my firm, then tried and miserably failed to gaslight and manipulate me into believing your lies which I find pretty bold considering that I’m literally a lawyer. I respect the attempt though.”

“Baby, it was an acci-”

“No, shut up, I’m not done speaking. And you did this while I bought out this apartment for you because I felt bad for your sorry ass having to live with your dumb friends. I had to spoon feed you through law school and now through life too? You should be grateful that I’m letting you leave with all your things considering I bought them all too.”

He stood there with his hands gathered, staring back at the floor again.

“What. You got nothing to say? I thought so. You gonna leave now or what?” You questioned. He took his boxes, feet dragging across the floor to the door. You rolled your eyes as you closed the door on him. Before needing to look for a new intern and a new assistant, you needed a drink more than anything.

-

It was a regular Friday evening at the bar for Hongjoong and the boys. In celebration of Ateez’s successful expansion of their ‘business ventures’, Hongjoong had decided to spend the rest of the day at their usual spot. Despite having been set up for the sole purpose of laundering their dirty money, Bar 1117 was doing ironically well. Due to the nightlife business booming, Hongjoong had gained another alibi to keep him under the radar and he couldn’t be more comfortable with where his life was at.

“No, I reckon it’s Yeosang” San said, bringing the glass of whisky to his lips.

“I back that, he’s not got the emotional capacity for it.” Woo agreed, laughing.

“Yeah, just because I don’t take any of your shit doesn’t mean I’ll do the same to my wife. I bet Mingi. He’s definitely getting married last.” Yeo rebutted.

“What wh-”

Before Mingi could finish, Seonghwa cut through, “Considering our line of work, no one’s gonna be getting married any time soon. Right Joong?”

Turning to the leader of the boys, Seonghwa saw that Hongjoong had his head turned away from the conversation, eyes scanning up and down a figure at the bar. Hongjoong was never a man to be distracted by anything or anyone, always focused on his business so it was a rare occurrence for him to be looking so intently at a person. The boys catching onto this, they followed his gaze to a man sat so close to the lucky person’s face, his facial expressions showing his desperation for a way to break down their walls.

“This might be interesting…” Wooyoung smirked.

-

“I genuinely couldn’t care less.” You said, head cocked to the side in your hand, staring dead straight into the man’s eyes. However, the man had no intention of ever stopping his speech as he sat next to you at the bar.

“Come on, you really don’t know my father? He was in today’s paper?” He carried on as you zoned out of the conversation and occasionally cringed at the man’s stale breath, wondering how many more men were going to be responsible for the deepening wrinkles between your brows. As you took a sip from your drink, you locked eyes with a blonde-haired man across the room. His features were delicate yet sharp like the thorn of a rose, or a shard of glass, eyes twinkling with mischief. He raised his glass at you and smirked, amused by the situation that you were in.

“Listen here, bitch-” The man grabbed your wrist, forcing your attention back to him, “You’re gonna take the drinks I buy you, listen when I speak and sit pretty like a woman is supposed to.” He spat.

“Grrrr, scary.” You crudely imitated the growl in the man’s voice, still uninterested, “What a man your mother raised. I bet she’s proud, hmm?”

Anger radiating from the man’s body, he grabbed the glass out of your hand and threw it at the wall behind you, missing your face by inches.

“Oh, so now you’re going to scare me into sleeping with you? You need to brush up on some people skills.” You laughed, throwing you head back. You only composed yourself to grab the man’s collar, causing him to stumble off his stool. “You want to throw another glass at me? Try it.”

You hadn’t noticed the blonde-haired man stroll up to your table seeing that you were so caught up in the situation.

“Hi, I’m Hongjoong. How’s your night going? Anything I can help you with?” He asked, rubbing his hands together, surprisingly composed despite the mess. You let go of the man as the name triggered something in your head, remembering it being mentioned a few times behind closed-door meetings with your father.

“Are all the whores around here like this? I came here for some fun and this is how I’m treated? Fuck this place and every one of you here.” The man started at Hongjoong. You sat there, curling your fists ready to punch the man this time but Hongjoong noticed and interjected.

He placed his hands on the ledge of the table, leaning forward to obstruct the space between you and the man. As he did, you noticed the glimpse of a gun hanging from inside his fitted jacket, the slick shine of the metal winking at you in the light.

“I’d rather die than come to this shithole again.” The man carried on and you noticed the mischievous glint that was once in Hongjoong’s eyes finally fade to black.

“Oh, sure thing, I don’t think I want to see you here again anyway.” Hongjoong muttered and what happened in the next few seconds flew by so fast it barely registered in your brain.

The blonde-haired man reached into his jacket to pull the handgun out and shoot the man clean between the brows. At the same time, you pointed the small pistol you always kept concealed on your body at Hongjoong in reflex, having been taught to react to the sound of gunmetal in this way since you were a child.

Once you realised that the bullet wasn’t intended for you, you sensed seven pairs of eyes trained on you. Out of the corner of your vision, you saw that the boys once sat at Hongjoong’s table were all stood up, half of their guns out pointed to the man, and the other half at you, the next possible threat to their leader.

It was then that you realised that this man was the leader of Ateez, Seoul’s biggest underground organization responsible for the running of the city. It may have been politicians and businessmen in the spotlight, but behind the curtains, it was Ateez pulling at their puppet strings.

“Easy with that, angel.” Hongjoong turned to you smiling and raised a hand at the boys to lower their weapons. He continued chuckling, “I felt like you might have an attitude, but I didn’t expect this from you.”

As if it were a regular occurrence, two barmen came round to dispose of the body and your eyes followed, gun still pointing at the blonde man. Using the tip of his fingers, he gently lowered your gun to point at the floor.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said, “I know some people that can sort that out.”

“Yeah those people are my paralegals paying off police in their missing persons hunts and forging their death certificates.”

Everything had fallen into place for you in that brief encounter. You knew that your father and his firm were involved in some dark business, but you never questioned it. Respecting your father’s wishes in telling you that keeping you in the dark was keeping you safe, you let it go.

However, it was only a few years ago that he had begun to tell you about his private dealings as consigliere to the organisation Ateez. That recently, his age-old friend had stepped down as mob boss and handed everything down to his son. Chuckling at how much he saw the image of his friend in the young blood, he mentioned that you would be in a similar position, that you too would be handed the law firm and become consigliere by tradition.

You had always expected to take up this mantle since you were young, as you figured that the men coming to your house for private meetings while you played in the garden did not treat you with unparalleled respect for no reason. You just didn’t realise that it would mean for you to be so heavily tied with the illicit world of the mafia then.

From then on, you trained close by your father’s side, learning the ins and outs of the world of jurisdiction, though you were never exposed directly to the ongoings with the mafia as your father had said, “the time will come when it needs to.”

“Then I guess today is the day.” You whispered to yourself smiling, you held your hand out to Hongjoong. “I’m Y/N L/N, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, my father has always spoken very highly of you.”

Confused at first, a spark was ignited in Hongjoong as the shine returned to his eyes, and the amused smirk to his lips, your name triggering something in him. Realising that you were the daughter to one of the men he most respected in his life, he took your hand and brought it to his face to kiss gently, “And it’s a pleasure to meet you too, I’ve heard a great deal about you as well, but who knew my future right-hand man would be so hot.” He said as he flashed a sly smile.

The more he observed, the flames within Hongjoong only grew as he could sense the fire in you too. The most beautiful person he had ever set eyes on was to be his consigliere? Couldn’t be any more perfect. He wondered what more you could achieve together and pictured only pure wildfire.

“You better watch your mouth Mr. Kim, unless you want to start a war between the family before I even take up my position.”

“Of course, I have nothing but respect for you and your father. I was told that I wouldn’t be meeting you until he was to step down from his position, but I guess my lucky stars have aligned perfectly tonight.”

“Also, I’m more than capable of dealing with these things myself, there was no need for you to play knight in shining armour.”

“Sure, holed up in your guarded palace of a law firm, you’ve never had experience in the real world. Things are different here and what happened at this bar is just the cusp of it, princess.” He rebutted voice dripping honey, flirting his way through the conversation.

“But who is it advising your every action and saving your asses in the courtrooms, hmm?”

You and Hongjoong continued to jab at each other while the boys sat back in disbelief at the situation. Common people would have run the other way as soon as a gun was shot in their vicinity. So for you to have pulled one out in retaliation and furthering that, started arguing with their Captain, it was a sight to see.

“Bets on who’s going to win this one?” Yunho broke the silence.

“I’m betting tonight’s drinks on the lady.” Mingi said, throwing his black card onto the table.

“Me too, Hongjoong hyung looks too smitten for pride games right now.” Jongho agreed.

“Looks like we’ve got our first to tie the knot then.” San chuckled, nudging at Wooyoung who replied, “Hmmm, she doesn’t look like the typical housewife type though.” Analysing the unmatched confidence exuding from your body language.

Soon after, Hongjoong led you to the table of boys, pulling a chair out for you.

“Guys, this is Y/N L/N, future consigliere to Ateez, and not to mention, my future wife.” He smirked, eyes glowing.

“Carry on and I’ll be future Captain by regicide, Hongjoong,” you shot him a glare as you took your seat, “considering our fateful encounter, it looks like I’ll be seeing you more often with my father now, I hope we can get along.”

You poured yourself a glass of whisky and smiled while Hongjoong could already sense the eventful days ahead with none other than you by his side. -

Mafia AU Masterlist

[geshertzarmeod]

In Other Lands Character Arcs

(Spoilers Abound)

I’m thinking about how the character arcs of all three main characters from In Other Lands center largely on moving away from what their families expected of them, even as each of them doesn’t necessarily think moving away from that is possible. And how it’s their relationships with each other that help them move in the directions they actually want to move in, and believe in their abilities to forge their own paths and lead fulfilling lives. Even if it’s not what their parents or home communities think a fulfilling life entails. This culminates in their refusal (along with Golden) at the end of the book, to let anyone else influence them when it comes to deciding where to be stationed. They’re ready to choose their own paths, together.

There’s something deeply appealing to me about this as a queer person, even as queerness (as defined by orientation or gender) is not actually a central factor in the shifting of each character’s relationship with their families. Actually, the character who comes closest to that is Serene, who is presumedly straight, but whose pushback against the rigid gendered expectations of her society so challenge her community that she and Golden are essentially banished at least for a time. This is only tangentially queer, I’d say, because she does this not for herself, as she seems to proudly fit & identify with elven womanhood, but recognizes the false limiting of manhood within her society and fights fiercely for Luke, Elliot, and eventually Golden, who I’d say is GNC for sure. For Luke, it’s not his being gay but his being monogamous and waiting longer than they expected (though he’s like, still 17!!! that’s still young!!!) to become sexually or romantically active that is off-putting to his family. For Elliot, his father is shocked not to see him with a man, but to see him happy (cue my tears). 

I was just thinking this after reading Girl, Serpent, Thorn especially, but I really love when queer books parallel queer narratives of shame and struggle and difference and growing pains, with queer characters, but about issues unrelated to their being queer (especially when they’re about magical/fantasy elements). Then we get to relate to queer characters and see them process a lot of the feelings we have experienced, but also get to see them be loved and value and supported unconditionally in their queerness. Anyway, for an individual analysis:

Luke Sunborn

First, because I know a lot of people might not have read it, I’m going to quote Luke’s perspective from Wings In The Morning:

There were reasons Luke hadn’t kissed anybody. The Sunborns, as a family, loved life and loved love, and treated it as a game. It was fine for them: it worked for them.

Luke had always known that a riot of brightness and different loves and leaving someone laughing was beyond him. He wanted kindness and steadiness: he did not want someone who would leave. He wanted love that would last. (location 2527 in my kindle book, I can’t tell what page)

Luke, the Sunborn champion, expected to excel in battle, and love (read: have sex) freely and easily and non-monogamously, becoming an avid reader because of Elliot - something his father is shocked by and a little ashamed of. Learning Elvish because of both of them. Breaking border camp rules, threatening superior officers, to protect Elliot, and to support Serene, even as he continually complains about it and, on paper, would always argue that those choices are Not Okay and Very Bad. Luke, whose bashful shyness around his crushes, whose concern over his first kiss, whose choice of Elliot as a partner, is incomprehensible to his family, snapping, “I don’t want anyone else,” at the elves. He’s chosen Elliot, even as Elliot still doesn’t at all believe it at that point, and he’s happy with that decision. Elliot’s his choice, and only Elliot. Notorious Sunborn sexual voracity be damned.

Luke’s journey is also largely about him working through his external, and later internalized, biases against magical creatures. It’s pretty clearly an analog to xenophobia, and Luke expresses more disgust, disdain, or fear, the more different a culture is from the one he grew up in. This obviously becomes internalized against himself, when he realizes he is half-harpy. He literally represses his wings from coming out, he sees harpies as monsters and includes himself within this. It’s awful, and it’s sad, and it’s a mixture of Elliot’s meticulous research and adamant arguments that harpies are people, and that Luke isn’t a monster at all (and neither are harpies and other non-human creatures), and Serene’s calm acceptance of him, that helps him move through this. 

This xenophobia, although clearly ingrained since childhood, don’t seem to be coming primarily from his family (certainly not from his mother) but from the culture of the borderguard in general. To me, it is implied that his father might at least casually buy into a lot of this, although he would never extend it to his son. It also is an interesting dynamic as related to the other two’s relationships with family, because Luke coming to love and accept himself, and to open his mind about non-human creatures, is actually him coming closer to his mother, rather than moving away. In my view, a part of why he bought in so clearly to this prejudice coming from the general bordercamp culture is because he was pushing away from his parents in the first place - he saw his parents being so wild and free in a way he knew he could never be that he pushed himself into the opposite side, into “reason” and restraint and conservatism. What he needed to learn was how to hold his more “traditional” wants and needs (although like, he’s kind of wrong about that. Elliott Schafer is not the traditional kind quiet love he’s imagining, and he didn’t want that anyway) while still celebrating all of the different approaches and cultures and loves out there, and that’s what he’s learning alongside Elliot and Serene. And he does this partially because Elliot’s love for him as a half-harpy is, according to his previous beliefs, just as wild and out there as his mother’s affair with his biological father, or all of Elliot’s flirting with various magical creatures. And as he accepts Elliot’s love, he accepts that too.

Serene-Heart-In-The-Chaos-of-Battle

From the first moment we meet Serene we know she ran away from home to join the border camp. She’s chosen to join the humans, to fight alongside men, to learn about the borderlands from a human perspective and use that to create an alliance and to create peace. She enters a world where she is looked down on, where she is sexualized and punished for trying to swim shirtless, and has to fight hard to take the classes she wants and have the opportunity to prove herself as she wishes. Instead of deciding her parents and community were right and going back to the elves, she digs her heels in and with Elliot and Luke’s help, fights back, fights to excel at the border camp and make things different and better, and prove her detractors wrong. 

Not only that, but she learns to respect men in a way she was not raised to do, learns to treat men as equals and partners, always defending both Elliot and Luke when her community disrespects them. This prepares her for her relationship with Golden (although Elliot still helps her along a lot, especially with their written correspondence) and ends in her and Golden essentially eloping after Golden ran away to fight alongside her. It’s also important that she accepts Golden fighting alongside her. That was not at all a given, especially as even towards the middle of the book, she seems to be thinking of human men as capable of fighting and strength and other “womanly” qualities, but not necessarily believing the same of elven men. She’s chosen a nontraditional path and a GNC partner in Golden, and for the time being, her closest family is not her blood but her beautiful boyfriend, her swordsister, and her loved and loving best friend Elliot.

Elliot Schafer

Last but the opposite of least is Elliot. What Elliot learned from his family is that he will come to nothing, that he will be forgotten, and that he will not be loved. I am so angry on this child’s behalf, for the ways he was neglected not only by his parents but by everyone before Serene. The ways his father had no interest in him because all he wanted was Elliot’s mother back (and I love Elliot’s observation that even if his mother did come back, his father wouldn’t know what to do, and would not be happy). The way his teacher literally accepted a small bribe to just...... leave him at the entrance to the borderlands, and none of the students cared. The way his mother not only left when he was a child but knew who he was the second she saw or even heard about him at the bordercamp, and never bothered to tell him, or show any interest in him whatsoever.Elliot has been taught, over and over again, that he is unwanted and uncared for. That he has to go it alone, and fill his own needs.

Elliot learns to respect Commander Woodsinger and to know that while she doesn’t necessarily love him, she knows him, and appreciates who and what he is, and sees value and strength in it. She, unlike his previous teachers and school professionals, understands him, and likes him, and values him. She’s not warm, but she’s a positive presence in his life, and part of him learning to believe he has value just as he is, and not just because he spitefully decided it to go against what everyone else has told him, but because it’s actually true.

He didn’t want his parents and his peers and the adults who have let him down to be right about this, so he does dream of being loved back. But he shows himself fully prepared to be the one who loves more in relationships, especially with Serene. He’s ready, at first, to take all she’ll give him, and revel in each part of it, even if it doesn’t match up to his love for her. It’s not until the moment he turns down Serene’s final advance (when she’s clearly settling for him) that he realizes how much he wants to be chosen first. And he believes that’s possible, and worth waiting for (and that in the meantime, he will help Serene up and help her find what she truly wants too).

Elliot knows Serene loves him. She shows him he deserves love, and in his devotion to her, Elliot begins to excel and challenge himself and learn to see his brand of obnoxiousness as something that might not be everyone’s taste but isn’t inherently bad. He trusts Serene to love him, at least as a friend, but he doesn’t trust that Luke will, because Luke reminds him of all of the kids who hurt him in the past.

And that’s why the slowest arc of this whole book is probably Elliot realizing that Luke.... actually likes him. Actually wants to be around him, and enjoys his presence, and even like-likes him - loves him even. It just can’t compute for him. And so we get basically an unreliable narration for most of the book regarding Luke. Elliot’s “aha” moment about Luke rewrites years of his life, shifting his understanding of so much of their lives together. And it solidifies Elliot’s discovery that he can be loved exactly as he is, obnoxious and annoying and all. He’s found people who love him for it, and they’ve chosen him, and they’re going to stick around.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Black Boys Bloom Thorns First”: Volume 3, Chapter 1

Summary:

Erik N'Jadaka Stevens. The top student in his graduating class at the Naval Academy. The youngest graduate to do so.

Erik excels at M.I.T. studying bioacoustics and sonic warfare. Hounded by Tony Stark to become his protege in Malibu, Erik sets out to forge a path that will take him into the military and Special Ops to complete his ultimate goal: Revenge for his mother and father and the overthrow of the Wakandan Royal House. With the help of his roommate, Disa, he may have found a way to balance first love and his need for justice.

NSFW. Smut. Mature Audience Only.

"My nose wide as the Red Sea (Red Sea) Lips full, fillers don't fill me (Fill me) Soon as my cousin killer's on trial (Woah) Family gon' pull 'em sitting courtside Godsend they say, we singing la-la-la Don't want no vultures on our si-i-ide Looking black as the messi-i-iah I got time…

When we die, where do my people go? To the stars where they can't steal your glow When we die, where do my people go? To the stars where they can't steal your glow Superpower"

Kirby—"Superpower"

Chocolate City.

That's what they called this particular section of dorm housing on the fourth floor of the building known as New House that Erik N'Jadaka Stevens found himself standing in at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

M.I.T.

"No man, this dude is different. He's twenty, but he acts way older. Quiet. Not real friendly…I don't mean in a bad way…he's just not gregarious. Grad student, not a freshman… I didn't ask. He applied to be here and Jay said he'd be a good fit. Oakland…I don't know…"

They were feeling him out already.

The lone voice he heard was in another room talking on a phone. The person wasn't even aware that Erik had entered House One that Chocolate City shared with iHouse, another identity-based undergraduate group who used the first two floors while they used the other three top floors.

Erik had money to get his own apartment or his own house if he wanted. Working for Tony Stark as an intern and a Stark Fellow for a year prior to M.I.T earned him money to live like an adult. Hell, he gave up a luxury apartment and tasteful eclectic furniture to move cross country and hunker down among thirty-one young Black men from around the world—correction, thirty young Black men, and one young white Italian man—who came to study a wide range of STEM-related fields.

Erik stared at the Chocolate City Mission Statement on his phone:

"Chocolate City is a brotherhood of MIT students and alumni who identify with urban culture and share common backgrounds, interests, ethnicities, and/or experiences. By cultivating a tradition of social, intellectual, character, and leadership development, the Brothers of Chocolate City exemplify a high standard of excellence which is founded on continual growth. We seek to enrich the MIT and greater global communities by embodying the principles of our brotherhood."

Taking a deep breath, Erik took time to meditate on what his purpose was in being there in that commons room space at that moment. It was a promise to his Uncle Bakari, Aunt Shavonne, and his Grandpop that he would spend at least six months in the dorm to have a proper group living experience that he didn't have at the Naval Academy. One that was less rigid and military guided. And not a juvenile hall. He shook off the memories.

Six months.

He gave his word.

Erik rolled the suitcase he had with him against a wall and the movement alerted the unseen speaker to end their call. A lanky fade-wearing young man with glasses and very light skin walked in from another room.

"Hi, Erik?"

"Yeah."

"Hey, welcome! I'm Rasheed. Junior year. Engineering. One of two Co-Chairs here. You look different from the Zoom chat…hair is longer…"

They shook hands and Erik ran his fingers over the short 'fro he was cultivating. It was one of the perks of being away from The Naval Academy and Stark Industries. He could let his shit grow freely. He could wear regular clothes. He could stand down.

"Growing it out for a minute."

"Are you wearing gold slugs?"

"Yeah," Erik said becoming annoyed with comments about his appearance.

The moment he left Tony Stark's employ he had pure gold panther slugs made for his bottom teeth to match the ones his Baba used to wear.

"Is this all your stuff?"

"Nah, I have some more out in my car."

"What do you drive?"

"1970 Chevrolet Chevelle."

"What? A muscle car. What color?"

"Black."

"I'll go down and help you bring the rest of your stuff up. Everyone is still moving in and finding the campus. We're having a dorm meeting with the Chocolate City crew before the big New House meeting downstairs later tonight."

"Okay. Cool."

Exiting the elevator, they walked down the large hall on the first floor to the exit. Outside the afternoon air was crisp and Erik admired the brick of the building as they walked away from it to where he parked temporarily.

Rasheed whistled when he saw Erik's car.

"You sank some money into this bad boy."

"My grandfather had it for years. Fixed it up and passed it on to me. He still adds stuff to it if I ask him too."

"That's cool, bruh. Real cool."

Erik pulled out two more roller bags and a duffle, along with his computer bag from his trunk.

"That's it?"

"Yep," Erik said.

"You can stay parked here until tomorrow night. That's when you have to use your residency parking passes and move it to your assigned area."

"Bet."

Moving his things back up into his assigned floor, more young men had arrived in their commons and introductions were made. One husky guy with a crimson and white MIT sweatshirt sat on a couch with his laptop playing music. The music switched up and a voice Erik recognized filled the room.

ButtaFly.

A DJ that hosted a popular MIT radio show. A DJ he listened to for months while he worked for Tony Stark.

"You are listening to the Cosmic Café…up next I'm going to have some new music by Kirby, Seinabo Bey, and I'll also throw in some classic Mutabaruka dub poetry. I want to give a big welcome to the new students arriving for the start of a new school year, especially to the young men of Chocolate City. My homegirl Jennifer is the Graduate Resident Tutor there so hey girl…I hear some really brilliant new students are over there, so welcome… welcome to all the folks over at New House…"

Erik stood in front of red and white hoodie.

"Where is the campus radio station at? Do you know?"

"WMBR?" hoodie asked.

"It's in the basement of the Walker Memorial Building," Rasheed said.

"Is that far from here?"

"Not really if you don't mind walking."

Erik pulled up the campus map on his phone.

"What room do I have?" Erik asked.

He followed Rasheed down a hall to the far end. Two twin beds, two desks, a decent window…

No one else had belongings there yet.

Erik picked the side away from the window and dumped his stuff.

"Thanks for helping me," Erik said.

"No problem—"

"What time is the meeting?"

"In two hours—"

Erik left the room with Rasheed at his heels.

"The rest of the guys will be back, and your roommate—"

"Later. I gotta go peep something first. I'll be back on time."

Erik passed by more Black male undergrads entering Chocolate City.

"Hey, Erik!"

Darcy, the other Co-Chair called out to him as Erik headed toward the elevator. A bright white smile on a rich round mahogany face tried to get his attention as Erik swept past.

"I'll be back!" he called out again.

Erik checked his cell phone. ButtaFly's show lasted for another thirty minutes. He stuck in earbuds to listen to her as he walked outside once more. Zipping up the bright orange windbreaker he had on, he used his phone GPS to guide him to his muse. The voice that haunted him for so many months when he worked for Stark. The voice that soothed him when he was in bed alone. The voice that seduced him when he pleasured himself in that big queen-sized bed he used to own.

Things were different now.

He had a twin bed and a male roommate. He had to share cooking duties with young men when he once ate with billionaire playboys and a Black Princess of Monaco. Erik used to fly on a private jet with Tony Stark anywhere in the world and had access to tech that these students were just trying to learn about and would never get to see on a higher level in a lifetime.

So different.

No more smoking weed and jerking off naked to Buttafly's voice in private trying to imagine what she looked like as he came in his hand with deep guttural moans. Very shortly, he would come face to face with the woman of his dreams.

A woman who helped guide him back to his ultimate purpose in life and she didn't even know it.

Chapter 2 HERE.

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[aravas-writing]

This is a personal head-canon of mine that came to me after the ending of RWBY, Volume 8. This has been bugging me for a while and I thought 'Hey, why not throw this out there for people to see.' This is based on the lore of Dredgen Yor from the Destiny Franchise. If you don't know anything about Destiny's Lore or you just aren't interested in it, either click the link for the former or completely disregard this entirely if it's the former. If you do, well, enjoy.

https://www.destinypedia.com/Dredgen_Yor

"For as long as the Arc family has existed, there has been a tradition that has been passed down from generation to generation and has lasted to the current era. For every child born, the parents send a piece of their soul out to find their destined weapon, one that only they can wield. This has gone on for generations with no problem, each child wielding their weapons with the courage and the talent of an Arc. At least, that's how it went until a certain young boy was born. For the longest of time now, the Arcs have always tried to have a baby boy, but every attempt was met of them having a baby girl."

"Don't get them wrong, they loved each and every one of their children unconditionally, they just wished they could have a baby boy for once. It was only when they had a pair of triplets that was their first-ever son born, and their names were Jeanne, Joan, and Jaune. However, this was not because they all had similar weapons from the same ancestor, Jeanne and Joan had been bound to the weapons of Jeanne/Joan D'Arc, Jeanne wielding her flag, and Joan her sword. Jaune, however, was bound not to any of the weapons that came from the Arc family lineage, his mother's side of the family, but of his father's side."

"The weapon his soul was bonded to was a one that did not bring hope, but one that brought fear, one that brought with it a name that many saw as a bringer of death and destruction. Jaune was bound to the hand cannon known by one name: Thorn. This weapon had been sealed away to never be used again after the death of the original owner: Jaune's uncle, Dredgen Yor. The legend of this was one that was shrouded in both light and darkness, as the one known as formerly known as Rezyl Azzir had found a way to remove pieces of Grimm without them disappearing. With every piece he broke off, a better understanding of the Grimm was made. However, what many didn't know was that Rezyl had kept some as well and used them to make his weapon, once known as Rose, stronger. As time went on, though, Rezyl slowly started to see many things in his journey, horrible things. As he traveled from place to place, he found that the further from the kingdoms he got, the more lawless it got. At first, he thought it nothing more than the distance from the kingdoms that brought about such lawless behavior. That was, at least, until he started asking around. As it turned out, the kingdoms cared not for the frontier villages that had no worth, only those that furthered their power."

"As time passed, Rezyl started to see that the world was far darker than it appeared to be, as many monsters could appear in human skin. As he traveled around the village, learning how far the depths of the depravity went, something within him snapped. That night, the streets of the frontier town ran red with the blood of the guilty and the corrupt. That night, Rezyl Azzir was no more, and Dredgen Yor was born. For years, he had gone from place to place, his modicum of a hero now replaced by that of a killer. No matter where he went, death followed him, and every town would know of the man named Dredgen Yor."

"It was only when Shin Malphur had put him in the ground did his legend come to an end. However, that did not mean that every person saw him as a villain. The Shadows of Yor, a group that followed in his footsteps with replicas of Thorn, saw him as someone that would finally bring light to a world shrouded in darkness. Shin was also one that wasn't completely convinced that Dredgen was a villain, but he wasn't a member of the Shadows of Yor. Instead, he started looking for the truth, trying to understand why Dredgen did what he did."

"When learning that the young Jaune was bound Thorn, they did everything they could to distance him from the weapon: keeping him out of the vault whenever they were around, trying to train him with his great grandfather's sword Crocea Mors, even using any weapon from the vault whenever they tried training Jaune. Nothing worked, though. Each time he trained with a different weapon, he always said that it never felt right, that he didn't feel a connection with it. It was as if the weapon rejected him, simply because he was not destined to wield them. Then, one day he wandered into the vault. He didn't know why, but something had called out to him. It was right then and there that he found his destined weapon: Thorn. It had sat there in the very back of the vault, waiting for its destined wielder to reclaim it."

"Years had passed since that day, and many things had happened in that span of time. From Jaune meeting his uncle via the dream world, being taught everything he knew, to him even running away from home once Shin Malphur arrived one day. He had learned the truth of why they didn't want him to find Thorn, why they didn't want him to claim what was his. They feared he would become a monster, just like his uncle. Neither he nor Shin believed he was a monster, though. Jaune knew it first hand through his Uncle why he did what he did. When he did run away, he swore he would continue what his uncle started; he would bring to light what those monsters in human skin had done, both by ending their lives and leaving the evidence on their corpse. His first kill was a scorpion faunas who killed for someone he called a goddess, who called himself an executioner of all nonbelievers. He was a deranged madman was what he was. The two had fought each other for hours before the madman had been hit in the knee by one of the bullets. He thought it was just one of those normal bullets used by the Shadows of Yor, until green cracks started to form from the wound started. This was the real Thorn, and he had been poisoned with Necrosis. As he tried to get away, his body was being destroyed from the inside out by the poison that started in his leg and made its way to his brain. When he finally died, Jaune took his scroll and took retrieved every piece of useful information he could find; specifically, names and locations. He left the scroll on his kill, showing this to be one of his many calling cards. Now, he had names and places, for the current continent anyways. He'd look into the others after he cleansed Saunas' frontier villages of the ones that plagued the innocent. After all, he was Dredgen Yor now, and he had a job to do."

How do Teams RWBY, JNPR (Led by his sister Jeanne), His family, and Ozpin's inner circle react to the news of Dredgen Yor's return? You don't have to do all of them, you can choose either to do a select few, two different groups, or in separate parts (if you chose to read this and made it this far anyway).

Nope, not doing angst, not in the mood.

Will throw it out anyway for people. Also a friend of mine who doesn't have Tumblr. Maybe he can come up with something; destiny is really up his alley.

[miserable-pile-of-lies]

The Sleeping Prince of Wallachia Ch. 2 (Full)

Here's the entirety of chapter two in all of its glory, I hope you guys enjoy the small lore that I created regarding Greta!

Summary: Wallachia is in great peril at the behest of Death himself; all those who have attempted to battle the creature have swiftly been executed and made an example of. The key to defeating the beast lies in Dracula's castle, located twenty odd miles out from a small village by the name of Danesti. In this village, the headwoman Greta must act quickly to save her people from the onslaught of attacks by night creatures and other ungodly minions who have sworn their loyalty to Death. Will she alone be able to stop Death or will she require additional aid to save her people and those in Wallachia?

Roasted walnuts indecorously bestrewed the forest floor, being tossed from a perch high above that stretched into the sky. Humming a cheerful tune that foretold the story of Queen Dido, a thirteen-year-old Greta smacked her lips obnoxiously as Marius attempted to scamper away from the branch they sat upon. The young girl hurled an emptied shell of a walnut into the air, given to her by the portly baker Grigore, a Wallachian native that had recently settled in Danesti to toil his goods.

“That isn’t how the founding story of Carthage goes, Queen Dido was bewitched by Cupid’s arrow,” a twelve-year-old Marius moaned wearily at his older friend who crossed her lanky arms unimpressed by the explanation. The Roman boy dug into the pouch that sat between him and his companion, uttering a cry when he felt a pinch twist the doughy skin of his love handles. Offering his finest glare, the adolescent lobbed a walnut at the lass who only ducked backwards in response to the sneak attack with a snigger.

“That cannot be, Prince Aeneas deceptively seduced our founding mother with sweet words only to leave her high and dry in the pursuit of his journey, ultimately courting Princess Lavinia of Italy,” Greta bit out with a scowl as she described the cowardly philanderer that covertly escaped into the night when leaving Carthage at the command of Jupiter. Prince Aeneas went on to become the founding father of Rome, previously recognized as the city of Lavinium when the metropolis was founded by his followers to honor their queen.

Marius merely shrugged at the latter details relayed by Greta, knowing how the rest of the myth went. Queen Dido, in a fitful rage, committed suicide out of spite at the abandonment of Aeneas and sparked the Punic Wars that led to the annexation of Carthage. Presently, both civilizations were relics of the past and the descendants of Aeneas and Dido had long forgotten about the dissension that divided the two to begin with.

“Who cares about any of that, it’s all ancient history anyway; more importantly we should talk about Faiza,” Marius clucked out with a cheeky grin as Greta’s face promptly flushed at the mention of the girl who currently held her affections.

Nimble fingers tapped bashfully against the coarse bark of the tree as she thought of the remarkable Moroccan beauty, two years her senior with an unmatched intellect that could not be found elsewhere in the village. Clearing her throat with a thunderous cough that echoed amongst the thicket of trees, thick chestnut brows quirked up to implore Marius to continue his line of questioning.

Sighing heavily in exasperation, the young man reached across to tug at his closest playmate’s cheek, earning an appalled yelp in reply.

“You vexing little runt, what was that for,” Greta demanded with a scoff, lightly slapping the terracotta toned hand away as Marius held his rib from chuckling harshly at Greta’s indignation. Thoroughly riled by the taunts, the daughter of the headman gracefully descended from the tree, stirring up the emerald leaves that laid in the low grass below. Lips curved upward at the sound of an astonished choke, knowing that Marius would take much longer to get down than Greta.

Leaves crunched in protest, alarming the teenager, who speedily pulled out her short sword to defend both herself and Marius from a potential assailant. Pale green eyes squinted in concentration, rising from the thick branch he sat upon. Marius tactically retrieved his elm bow and arrow to target the source of the commotion hidden by the overgrown shrubbery. Palms were presented in a mock defense manner and soon both sword and bow were lowered without further inquiry; the newcomer was a fellow inhabitant of Danesti who went by the name of Felix. The scrawny queer man looked affright when he saw their weapons drawn, shaking like a white flag in the wind signaling a surrender from a defeated camp of soldiers.

“Greta and Marius, I’ve come to retrieve you both on behalf of Tobias, he says that your mother is nearing the end of labor,” Felix squawked out nervously forcing his hands to his sides while tipping the crooked point of his jaw in the air, an attempt to reinforce his position as an elder among the children who innocently snickered at the poor fellow.

Tobias was the current headman of Danesti, father of Greta and husband of Iman, patiently awaiting the arrival of his second child with the rest of the men in the village. As per custom, Iman was currently being attended by several midwives and parish priests recruited from the capital of Târgoviște; a far journey that took the travelers weeks to make it to the settlement in time for the birth.

The leader of the village had forfeited several family heirlooms to afford the care needed for Iman and adequately compensated those assisting in the birth. Childbirth was an unforgiving ordeal; one could never be too safe to preserve the life of both mother and child even with the aid of experts.

Honeyed eyes crinkled in joy; the youth absolutely thrilled that she would finally meet her younger sibling. The young girl had been praying that it would be a boy so that her father could be at peace and have a successor that would eventually inherit the role of headman. If that occurred, her father would stop stifling her fun with Marius and the other village children, forcing her to sit through tedious meetings with the village council about the daily state of affairs in their community.

Regardless of the gender of the newborn, Greta promised her mother that she would look out for her younger sibling and her mother beamed from ear to ear while affectionately carding her rich brown hands through her daughter’s silken hair. Often wrapped in colorful linens covering her form and adorned with intricately knotted scarves, her mother dressed in the traditional garb that was expected of women hailing from Somalia, a resource rich country found in East Africa. Though it was rare to see out in the open, Greta adored seeing her mother braid her kinky curly hair into the fine thin rows of braids decorated by glassy beads and golden hair cuffs imported from North African traders passing through the area to sell their finery.

The relationship between Tobias and Iman was an anomaly to all onlookers based on the traits of the two; Tobias was a brash man who had no filter and the shortest temper that could set off at a moment’s notice while Iman was quiet spoken yet assertive in her demands, effortlessly carrying herself like a member of royalty. Additionally, Tobias carried the wide frame of a brutish bull, but he was slightly below average in stature while Iman towered over her husband with long slim legs and a slender frame hidden by her garments.

“We need to hurry, I don’t want to miss the birth of my baby brother,” Greta complained impatiently while Marius climbed his way down the birch tree with cautious steps, ensuring that his footing was secured along the way.

“You keep saying that you will have a brother, but how can you be so confident,” the boy queried warily with a suspicious glance, unconvinced that intuition alone could predict such a momentous event. Landing upon the ground, the youngster hollered upon Greta roughly grabbing and shaking him by the shoulders in frustration. Hoping that Felix would lend a helping hand against the rambunctious girl, Marius silently implored the middle-aged man to intervene and separate the two.

“You sound so skeptical my dear Marius, you should know that I’m quite clever when it comes to these matters,” Greta pledged eagerly, forcibly disconnected from the lad by an already fatigued Felix. The old man wished to return to the village before the three lost daylight and encountered the mischievous spirits of the forest.

“Enough out of you two, come along now,” the farmer churned out with difficulty, feeling hoarse at the thought of the journey back to the township.

Nose scrunched with a harrumph, Greta filed behind Felix with a small pout and Marius walked beside her feeling a small pang of jealousy. His friend had spent a great deal of time boasting about the new arrival of her sibling that he could not help the thorns of envy that pierced the entirety of his being. Thick as thieves, just about everyone in the colony had known how close the two were, rarely seen without one another. With the arrival of a newborn, Greta’s responsibilities and chores would increase tremendously as her mother recovered over the span of the next two months.

What if we grow apart Marius mused gloomily, instantly prickled with guilt at the selfishness of his thoughts but was shaken out of his stupor when he felt a hand roughly the same size as his own. Jade orbs welled up with teardrops as a thumb brush against his palm and he gripped the hand back in silence.

“What are you thinking about,” Greta murmured with great care; a tone rarely used in their conversations due to the spitfire personality that defined the young maiden.

Brushing away the tears in his eyes with his available hand, Marius contemplated how much he would be able to disclose without feeling entirely embarrassed by the pettiness of his emotions. Initially shrugging his shoulders in deference, his ample cheeks burned in shame as he slowly treaded along the path hand in hand with Greta.

“Promise not to laugh,” the boy pleaded with a defeated look, not being able to make eye contact with Greta who openly stared at him with such unease. Taking a deep breath in, the young girl released her hand from Marius and grabbed her friend’s knobby shoulders with an intense hawk-like gaze.

“I swear upon our friendship that I will not laugh, nor will I reveal the contents of this discussion to any soul,” she assured with a heavy sense of conviction, unconditional love filling her freesia eyes. Lips parted in mirth from the sheer honesty of his friend, a chuckle threatening to bubble up from his throat at his own foolishness.

“Can you promise that we’ll always remain friends,” Marius entreated faintly, inspecting the approaching dusk of the sky that precariously peeked through the treetops.

Although dumbfounded at the soft plea, Greta did not dither in responding to the vulnerable request, “Even if we were friends for an eternity, it still wouldn’t be enough time together.”

A wave of warmth washed over Marius at the declaration, assuaged by Greta’s consideration of his intrusive thoughts. Playfully knocking his shoulder into her own, the childhood friends smiled at one another, before redirecting their attention to the approaching sight of their settlement.

The trio slowly came to a stop at the barricade that was currently bolted shut from potential new arrivals in the village; Felix hesitantly craned his willowy neck upwards to see who stood guard at the top of its walls. Sure enough, a stout man roughly in his late thirties beamed at the sight of the three, quickly retrieving the bast rope to lower the door of the enormous, antiquated gatehouse. Squeaking in protest, the barricade slowly opened to the three, dust settling in the air upon impact. Without further notice, Marius and Greta speedily dashed across the oak wood of the gate while Felix’s knees trembled from exertion as he slowly limped into the community.

“Didn’t think the three of you would make it in time,” Luigi snorted cheekily, teetering towards the post to relatch the gate on the headman’s orders. Shortly after, the hefty man climbed down the shifty ladder that squeaked every step of the way before reaching the ground to properly greet the triad.

“If these two hadn’t been gallivanting about in the forest, we could have been back much sooner,” Felix complained rubbing his sore shoulders. Holding his rounded stomach while unleashing a booming guffaw, Luigi playfully shook his balding head at the mention of Marius and Greta’s predictable antics. The adolescents wordlessly exchanged a sour look before politely excusing themselves from the drawn-out discussion between the two chatty adults.

Heading towards her family’s residence, Greta and Marius spotted almost every villager crowded outside of the gate of her ancestral home. The gate was carved with several strokes belonging to the Punic alphabet and astrological formations that foretold the perilous journey of her forefathers.

Standing at the forefront of the assemblage, Tobias paced back and forth worriedly awaiting the nursing aides who instructed him to stay outside until the birthing ritual was completed. The sound of a woman wailing reverberated within the family home and Tobias wished for nothing more than to be by his wife’s side. A sizeable number of villagers swaddled their leader in support, all holding celebratory gifts to offer protection against any harm that may come to Iman or the arriving infant.

Lengthy, partially braided chestnut tresses fell past sun kissed broad shoulders; the headman possessed a striking profile that was disrupted by the prestigious wide hook of a nose displaying his Carthaginian roots. The warrior’s features were that of a handsome hero residing in an epic poem, his Herculean body cladded in his finest olive tunic befitting the occasion. Despite Greta clearly resembling her mother far more, both father and daughter shared the same honeyed gaze that resembled the jewel tones of amber.

The entire village of Danesti recognized the headman and his wife as the most handsome couple in the village, both easy on the eyes and charming in their own way. However, the couple had eyes for no one else; the village leader was completely smitten and dedicated his every waking moment to Iman while Iman could not see another man loving her the way Tobias did. Tobias claimed that he fell for Iman from the moment that he had laid his eyes on her, formally the daughter of a Somali livestock peddler who regularly passed through Danesti on route to the numerous towns in Wallachia.

Whenever Greta asked about the tryst, the older villagers professed that no one had silenced Tobias in quite the same manner that Iman did upon their initial meeting, the headman completely bewitched by her stunning beauty and graceful manner. Falling to his knees shamelessly, the newly appointed leader of Danesti begged for Iman to allow him to worship her for the rest of his days and Iman accepted the shocking proposal with a shy smile. Despite the two reciprocating feelings for one another, her father Assad was completely against the courtship as he had plans to marry Iman off to a thriving merchant who lusted after his eldest daughter.

In the end, Tobias challenged Assad in a physical brawl for the hand of Iman and the rest was history. The two wasted no time in conceiving a child within the first year of their engagement, naming Greta after the precious gem that adorned the ring Tobias gave to his wife, formerly worn by his late mother who died in the aftermath of his own birth.

Bushy brows seemed to cement into a permanent pinch, clearly distressed until he heard a familiar voice.

“Father, how is mother doing,” Greta questioned tensely, pushing through the crowd while Marius was herded in by his folks despite the boy’s protests.

Exhaling with a frightful glower, Tobias channeled his anxiety into outrage at the late arrival of his daughter, “Have you had your fill of prancing off with Marius?” Ears ablaze in mortification at the scrutiny of the villagers who went silent at the confrontation, the young girl stopped a few feet shy of her father.

“I needed to go somewhere quiet to complete my gift for mother,” Greta confessed weakly, digging into the goatskin satchel slung across the finely threaded olive tunic that mirrored the one that her father donned. Carefully, her uncertain fingers produced a small carved sculpture of a woman holding an infant while shameful tears muddled her vision. The craftsmanship of the small carving was remarkable, the creation a labor of love worked on by Greta and Marius over the period of a fortnight.

Rumpled brows sheepishly slackened at the admission, knowing that if Iman had been present, she would be livid with her husband’s arbitrary treatment of their daughter. Hesitantly, the headman closed the distance between himself and Greta who stubbornly withheld her tears as he approached.

Lifting the corner of his mouth minutely, the gruff man reached out and gingerly carded his chunky fingers through the beautiful chestnut hair of his daughter, not one for sentimentality or overt displays of affection in front of others. Peeking from beneath the reach of her father’s labor-thickened hands, Greta gathered the courage to blow a raspberry in retaliation. The sound of laughter erupted amongst the crowd of villagers, thankful that the situation had not escalated any further. The tense line of Tobias’ mouth relaxed for the first time all day; a small smile coaxed from the outrageousness of his adorable daughter.

Seemingly out of nowhere, the door of the cruck home belonging to Tobias and Iman flung open. In the doorway of the home stood the principal midwife, looking to Tobias with a weighted gaze that forebode tragedy. All went quiet in shock, the exultant air of the villagers immediately vanishing in fear of what would come next.

Face crumbling in misery at what lied ahead, Tobias sucked in his plump lower lip, approaching the doorway of his home with solemn steps. Before fully making it over the threshold, the headman threw a backwards glance at his daughter whose eyes carried a sorrow that was beyond her years.

“Restrain your grief,” Tobias uttered cautiously, directing a grim expression to Greta before entering his home. Marching past the chaste kitchen of his abode, the man followed closely behind the midwife who remained quiet as a mouse before arriving at the door of the room that had been prepared for the birth. Closing his freesia eyes with a silent prayer, he opened the door and his husky body crumbled to the ground.

His beautiful wife had never been so pale, the rich brownness of her skin ashen from the exertion of labor and her mouth ajar as she wheezed harshly. Her lithe form sagged uncomfortably on the birthing stool that she sat upon. The maternity gown cloaking her frail form was drenched in excess blood from the pelvis down, the essence of life puttering silently onto the floorboards of the room. The secondary midwives turned their remorseful glances upon the speechless headman who saw the swaddled form of his stillborn son, laying in the woven basket of his crib perpetually silent, never to awaken from his eternal slumber.

“Where is our boy Tobias, they refuse to let me hold him,” Iman churned out deliriously, blearily making out her husband who still sat in the doorway. With great difficulty, the thirty-five-year-old rose to his feet, ambling towards his wife who reached out her hand in search of her beloved. Arriving at her side, he pressed his lips to the clammy forehead of his wife who shook like a leaf in his embrace. Shushing his wife with a gentleness that only she inspired, Tobias softly asked Iman to rest despite her repeated question. Eventually, she dozed off from the sheer pain of her loss and the weakness of her body while Tobias held her fragile hand to his cheek.

“There is something I must tell you,” the central midwife addressed miserably, knowing that what she was about to disclose would break the man before her beyond repair. Heartbroken from the loss of his ill-fated son, Tobias shook his head refusing to part from his spouse.

“No more, not now,” the warrior beseeched quietly, incessant tears drenching his face, looking down at his doomed wife; the village leader had spent enough time entrenched in death to know the telltale signs. Even in her sleep, Iman breathed with difficulty and her body was soaked with cold sweat from the feverish trot of impending death.

Nodding with a heavy heart, the midwife stepped out of the room with her aides, giving the couple their much-needed privacy with the promise of addressing the village in place of the grief-stricken man.

Setting foot into the dusk of the evening, the middle-aged woman was immediately met by the mob of villagers who had not breathed a word since the departure of their leader. Hands were gravely clasped in prayer with heads bowed, hoping that at least one of the poor souls had survived the traumatic birth. The daughter of the village leader looked at the midwife with lifeless eyes, slowly stepping forward with clenched fists, nails digging violently into the skin of her palms.

“Where are my parents,” the minor queried weakly; she looked nothing like the spirited girl that danced gleefully at the arrival of the midwife with her aides. Lip trembling, the adolescent brushed past the midwife with an anguished cry, marching into her household completely distraught. Marius observed his friend from afar, feeling the pit of his stomach drop into the deepest depths, wishing that he could provide an iota of comfort. Nothing he said would erase the sorrow that would forever mark this day; he could only hope that Greta would find the courage to smile again one day as tears ran down his face.

Spiraling into complete panic, Greta made her way through the simple structure of her home, wiping her tears with the sleeve of the cotton blouse her mother had just laundered a few days ago. Arriving at the door where her parents were surely behind, her face flittered between dread and hysteria. Intaking a deep breath, she pushed the door open silently and an ear-shattering scream reached the villagers who all mournfully turned to embrace their own families. The village men removed their hats out of respect while the women held their children close to their breast, some too young to understand what was going on.

Tobias abruptly removed himself from his wife who was still barely holding on at the sound of his daughter’s screech, silently standing up with his back facing Greta. Nose flaring irritably, ire scathed his irises when he looked at his daughter who was amid a panic attack. Chest heaving up and down in apprehension, the child convulsed as an ugly cry cut through the silence of the room, not knowing whether to stare at her condemned mother or brother.

Tears still lingering in his eyes, Tobias savagely stomped across the room, standing before his firstborn without penitence.

“Straighten up now daughter of mine, you need to grow up,” he shouted venomously, grabbing the girl roughly by her slightly too large tunic to ground himself. Blunt teeth bared wickedly for all to see, the chieftain burrowed his daughter against his strong chest with silent tears, words at odds with his current actions.

Nothing reached Greta who continued to wail, the strength in her knees disappearing entirely as she slid to the floor, her father silently sinking with her. Thick snot and tears ran amuck, her breathing clearly affected by her frenzied state while a hand gently rubbed her back. The edges of her vision blackened as she fainted; Greta vaguely recalled her father raving like a mad man in his native tongue, sobbing harshly as he brought his beloved child firmly into the embrace of his burly arms. It would be the first and last time the future head woman would see the resilient man brought to tears, the love of his life stealing them away permanently with her unexpected departure.

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I have lost my other brother Greta thought ardently, turning the statement over and over in her head a million times, wondering when the immediate grief of Marius passing would slither away. Presently, her muddied sleeves were rolled up to her elbows as she gathered the remains of the corpses strewn about her village. Dismembered bodies were carefully laid on thick tarps customarily used to protect the produce cultivated by the farmers of Danesti. One thing was certain after last night’s invasion; the village of Danesti had fallen and it had occurred under Greta’s charge.

Invisible unrelenting fingers pointed at her in a silent accusation, calling for her execution and demanding that the head woman be replaced by a more capable hand. Loading up a wooden cart with rows of bundled corpses, amber eyes sorrowfully looked onto the Earth that bled her people dry in this latest attack. Less than forty percent of the inhabitants of Danesti and those belonging to other nearby villages survived, many children becoming orphans while the women were widowed in the aftermath of their closest victory against the night hordes.

Humiliated by the string of her latest failures, the village leader could not bring herself to thoroughly engage with anyone. If a villager approached her for further instructions regarding their task, she cowardly evaded eye contact, automatically generating an appropriate response. Despite the fatigue eating away at her strength, Greta refused to stop busying herself with the innumerous number of tasks before her. Very few members of the village council had survived, leaving her with an excessive workload to keep her out of her thoughts for a decent stretch of time.

If the previous headman could see her now, he would probably double over in shame from beyond the grave, wondering why his daughter failed the colony given all that he had taught her. In his last days, Tobias constantly reassured Greta of her position as next in line for the leadership of the village, silencing anyone who stood in opposition of her inheriting the role.

“Only you have the abilities to lead Danesti beyond its current splendor,” Tobias affirmed maniacally before he passed from a broken heart, his health steadily declining over the years, leaving a depressed and scared eighteen-year-old Greta to pick up the pieces of his ambitions.

Watching her once indestructible father devolve into a mass of sinewy muscles on his deathbed emotionally ravaged Greta. However, she could not afford to mourn for months like she did with her mother and baby brother, for the sake of the villagers now depending on her counsel. Burying her emotions deep in her breast, Greta only divested her authentic emotional state to Marius in moments of deep insecurity. The young woman feigned abundant confidence in the presence of her people, strategically dispatching a witty remark here and there at anyone who dared to challenge her position of power.

With the hammer of Tobias, Greta led a new age of prosperity in Danesti over the next four years; encouraging the expansion of the village as well as carefully managing the resources to supply the newcomers settling in the community. Branches of commerce grew as well, the wardress carefully researching the highly sought goods of Wallachians nearby to encourage her people to communicate with others from their native countries for trading purposes, utilizing the diversity of her community.

Slowly beginning to recover from her past traumas, a cruel God deemed that it was time to awaken Greta from her dreams of a brighter future, Wallachians region wide receiving a wave of brutal attacks by the night hordes. Death was an inevitable foe that she knew she would never be able to completely curb, stealing her villagers every now and then due to tragic accidents or old age. What she was facing now was entirely different; mass graves were being dug due to the surplus of carcasses that cluttered the lands, because there were not enough hands available to dig individual graves.

Snapping out of her thoughts, she looked to her bounded shoulder to find a tanned hand planted there, meeting the eyes of the Speaker who saved her life the previous night. Once again, finding heavy worriment in those cerulean-blue orbs, the young heroine found herself almost cursing the woman for rescuing her and Marius in that instance. At least if she died then, it would have been at the side of her dearest friend whom she considered to be the last member of her long-gone family.

“We need to talk,” the ginger-haired woman whispered gently, seeing the vacancy and pain that traversed the head woman. Stopping her task at the bidding of an invisible force from the ether, Greta allowed herself to be led away from her people who stared at their leader sympathetically.

What the fuck am I doing the hammer-wielding warrior questioned, chewing her lower lip aggressively while darting her eyes to the back of the Speaker’s fiery strands that bounced at the beating of the morning wind. Finally, the two ceased further movement upon arriving at a patch of undisturbed land that had not been scorched. The unknown woman turned to Greta with the irritated twitch of her nose, the stench of smoke still filling the air long after the Speakers had put out the flames.

“My name is Sypha Belnades, I’m the granddaughter of the Elder Speaker that leads this particular caravan,” Sypha extended politely, introducing herself with a small bow out of respect for the chief ruler of the village. The young mage happened upon Greta shortly after the night hordes fled from the assault on Danesti, feeling an unconscious link form between the two at the vulnerability that the young leader displayed for her people. Tears of empathy sprouted at the sight of Greta sprawled over the newly deceased Marius, knowing the importance of bonds and how easily a community could translate into the bonds of family.

Nodding in acknowledgment, Greta bowed as well with a forced smile, “I’m Greta of Danesti, daughter of the deceased Tobias and Iman,” responded punctually before allowing the sorcerer to continue her train of thought.

Clearing her throat in discomfort, Sypha attempted to regain her footing in the exchange, finding it difficult to formulate her thoughts amid the tragedy that she had witnessed firsthand.

“Our chapter of Speakers have spent the last couple of weeks traveling throughout the region of Wallachia, striving to put an end to the massacres that have swallowed up these lands,” Sypha started with an explanation, recounting the horrors that she had seen in her travels with a dire countenance, clearly bothered by the amount of death she had seen in the last two months. Unspeakable calamities had been dealt out without reasoning, leaving the group of Speakers at a loss in how they should advance and lend aid.

Unsubstantiated rumors circulated around the fabled entity known as Death personally commanding the army of night creatures; however, accounts from the commonfolk reported several different descriptors identifying the mystic general behind the current campaign of genocide. Some said that the commander of the army was a cloaked young woman with dark skin possessing unsettling hues that glowed, while others detailed an older male vampire who lacked the expected regalia of his kind.

“Currently we are at a disadvantage, my caravan alone cannot provide the support desperately needed across Wallachia,” Sypha confessed uneasily, rubbing her chilly fingers together to ward off the unforgiving chill that the morning air brought.

Pinched by the unyielding sense of compassion instilled by her late mother, Greta straightened her undignified form with a newfound purpose. No matter how lost she may have felt, the headwoman could not idly stand by while innocent people were slaughtered without just cause. Brown slim fingers extended out and clasped Sypha’s shoulder with certainty at what would come next, her amber eyes lighting up reinvigorated at the unspoken pledge of defending her remaining charges.

“What can I do to help,” the young warrior inquired with haste, not realizing that this exact moment would turn the tides in saving Wallachia and spark the ensuing chronicles that celebrated the legendary heroine and her fellow comrades made along the way.

[evabellasworld]

Hear the Wind Sing

For @the11tailedlovesclones, this is my gift for you as part of the @starwarsfandomfests event. Thank you to @lilhawkeye3 for organising this event. I really enjoyed it so far.——————————————————————————————

Summary:  Fox and Riyo were relaxing underneath an ancient tree, wondering about the past and the future of their family they're building.

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AO3 Link

Stepping onto a dead leaf that was laying on the ground, Commander Fox was walking down a fresh, muddy road, holding Riyo Chuchi's hand. With a plain white T-shirt and his khaki pants, he gazed at the paddy fields to his left, with the young stalks standing still on the murky water, filled with eels and occasionally leeches.

This wasn't the first paddy field that Fox has seen throughout his life. The first one was when he had to safeguard Riyo from danger. At that time, they hadn't confessed their love towards each other due to the circumstances at that time. It was a day after the whole fiasco at her parent's house that they both realized their feelings towards each other.

Even then, both Fox and Riyo had to hide their relationship from the public, despite a few of them learning their secret. The Jedi who accompanied them were the first to figure it out but promised not to tell anyone about it. His brothers and sisters, Thorn, Stone, Thire, Yves, and Lip knew about them as well but decided to not say a word, though they nudged him about it.

It was difficult to have a love affair in public since he was a clone trooper while Riyo was a senator, and kissing in front of everyone would not only ruin both their reputation but also their career as well. Riyo would have been fired and shamed in public while Fox, on the other hand, would either be decommissioned or euthanized or both.

He heard stories about how his brothers were caught fraternizing with their lovers and were never seen or heard again. His sisters, on the other hand, had it worse. There was one clone who ended up pregnant and as a result, both the mother and the baby were terminated by the Kaminoan government.

Disgusted and angry at them, Fox finds himself cursing the Republic for not only treating them like slaves but also restraining their rights to lead normal lives such as falling in love with someone. Since clone troopers were only manufactured to fight to their death, love isn’t in the manual, but that doesn’t stop soldiers like Fox to lead a private life with Riyo.

It was risky, but breathtaking at the same time for Riyo. The romance novel that she read when she was younger, titled ‘My Dirty Secrets,’ was about an office clerk who met a homeless man down the streets and found a spark between them. As time goes by, they both have a love affair and have to keep their relationship a secret from the clerk’s snobbish family. They both didn’t live happily ever after in the end, as the male lover was found dead in the streets, leaving behind his pregnant lover.

The novel made Riyo tear up and astounded at the same time, as she would read it again and again, just to feel poignant. She dreams about having a secret lover one day and wanting one desperately after finding out her parents were once secret lovers as well. 

Their relationship was scandalous at that time since her father was a rice farmer while her mother was the daughter of an aristocrat. Both sides of the family did not approve of the relationship and did everything they could to end their relationship but in the end, they relented and the rest was history.

Who would have thought that Riyo would repeat history by falling in love with someone that society would never approve of? It's almost as if her parents taught her that love knows no boundaries and accepting of each other's flaws. She wouldn't be dazed if the child that she's carrying in her womb would carry on with the tradition of loving someone that is contrasting from what others expect. Who knows?

“Beautiful day, isn't it?” she smiled, noticing her newly-wed husband gazing at the rice fields. 

“Yeah, it really is a beautiful day,” he smiled back, shifting his attention to Riyo, who was squeezing his hands. “Just like you and the baby.”

She chuckled, covering her thin lips. “The baby isn't born yet, dear.”

“Well, how long do I have to wait until our child is ready?”

“Around 27 weeks,” answered Riyo. “Are you this impatient to see the baby?”

He scratched the back of his black curly hair as if he was caught red-handed for stealing candy from a jar. “Yes, I am impatient to meet our child. It's just that, well, I have been preparing day and night on what to do when the baby comes out and what I say to her when I meet her and such. I-”

“Alright, I get it,” Riyo stopped him there. “You're just excited for the baby, I know. But you don't have to stress on every single detail about our child, you know. All you have to do is to go with the flow, that's all.”

He let out a sigh. “I know, I know, but I just can't help it, especially when it comes to something that is unfamiliar to the both of us, you know.”

“Fox, you took care of kids before,” she placed her hand on his shoulder. “I know that you will be a good father to our daughter. I have faith in you.”

Fox could only press his lips on her forehead as he gave a slight nod. “I'll try my best, Ri. I promise.”

“Glad to hear it,” she gleamed as they both continued walking on the road, rubbing her belly. 

For the past four months, she did everything she could to conceal her pregnancy from the public. Whenever she zipped to the bathroom due to morning sickness, she would claim that she was reapplying her makeup and adjusted her hair to avoid suspicion from her colleagues.

Fox was ecstatic to hear that he was going to be a father, but at the same time, he was nervous. With their relationship in secrecy, there is no way people can know that Riyo was carrying his baby. If they ever found out, their relationship would be doomed, just like the lovers in 'My Dirty Secret.' 

With Palpatine forcing him to work extra hours in his shift, he felt guilty for leaving Riyo all alone in her apartment, throwing up inside the toilet bowl. A normal husband would be ready to assist his pregnant wife whenever she needed his help, but not in his case. 

Riyo continued going up and down in the Senate, pushing herself to make sure Republic bills that would benefit the public would be passed while dealing with her dizziness that would creep from time-to-time.

Fox would check in every few hours and would massage her sore shoulders and back to soothe her dizziness. If he was lucky, he sneaked in a ration bar, which she craves a lot. 

She hated those rations for being too bland and chalky for her taste, but suddenly loved them when her favourite womp-rat stew was nauseating for her. Even those Pantoran milk cookies made her lose her appetite, but at least his brothers and sisters have an excuse to hoard for themselves, much to the Marshal Commander's annoyance.

Hyewon especially would stuff everything in one go while Yves just hides the extras in her secret pouch and eats them as a midnight snack. The worst culprit was Thorn, who had a sweet-tooth among the Coruscant Guards. Not only would he put a few teaspoons of sugar and cream, but he also poured a quarter of a jar of cookies inside the coffee, giving Fox a heart attack.

He loves his siblings very much, but at the same time, he has the urge to just smack them on the head for being dumb, which Riyo finds their bickering rather humorous. Though he doesn't admit it, he does miss them and would call each other every week just to check in with them.

Last he heard, Lip left a toxic relationship with her lover after a year, granting her full custody of her daughter. Thorn, like Fox, settled down with his lover on Coruscant. Thire, on the other hand, replaced him as Marshal Commander and served under the Republic military, this time, being paid for his duty, along with Commander Stone.

His batchmates, Wolffe, lived together with Cody, Tori, Mayyah, and Rex in one cabin, leading a life outside the military, though Tori supported her Jedi General whenever she could, since they're still young and coping with the aftermath of the war. He would like to have a reunion with his siblings one day, but for now, he'll have to catch up on some lost times with Riyo.

As they settled down underneath an enormous tree, with a tyre swing hung on the thick branches, Fox found himself surrounded by a field of pastel pink tulips, which were swaying back and forth with the cool wind. He could only gasp as he began to count every flower that he's gazing at right now. 

He was speechless. Likewise, he had seen pictures of tulips in the HoloNet, he had never looked at them, or even touched them in his life. “Ri,” Fox stuttered. “This is amazing. I've never seen anything like this before.”

She grinned, sitting on the swing like she did when she was a child. “I always come here to either play with the swing or climb all the way to the top.”

“You can climb?” Fox raised his eyebrows, his hands on his waist. 

“Yes, dear,” she chuckled. “I climbed this very tree all the way to the top and pretended that I was on top of the world. It was one of the best memories I had growing up.”

He smiled as he stood in front of her, rubbing his hands on her belly. “Sounds like fun, to be honest.”

“Oh, it was fun. I even sneaked out here in the middle of the night just to see those stars in the sky. You'll get the best view here.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. One time, I ran out of the house late at night and climbed all the way to the top of the tree, and guess what? I witnessed not one, but two shooting stars passing by Pantora. Isn't that exciting?”

“What's a shooting star?” Fox asked, who had never done such a thing in his life before.

“Well, it's a star that glides in the sky that grants you a wish if you ever see one.”

“A star that grants your wish? Does it work?”

Riyo nodded. “In a way, it works, though it's rare to see a shooting star in the sky.”

“So, what did you wish for, dear?”

“Well, I wished that I lived happily ever after with a brave knight, and a bright future.”

He let out a snort. “Looks like you only got your second wish to come true, no offense though.”

“Actually, all my wishes came true,” Riyo held his hands, glancing at his deep, brown eyes. “You are the knight that I wished for when I was a child.”

His eyes widened at her words. Surely, she couldn't have wished to be together with him, since they have never even met yet. She was probably imagining a gallant knight that she read in fairy tales, who had shining armour and a handsome look, which admittedly, Fox has none of those. “And how am I the knight that you wished to live happily ever after?” 

“You perform your duty well as a soldier, you protect those who couldn’t protect themselves, and on top of that, you have honour and kindness, and I’m proud that you swooped into my life, commander.” 

He could only hold back his tears as he kneeled on the emerald grass, pressing his forehead against her forehead. His hands were gripped around his waist as Riyo clung her arms around his broad shoulders, feeling each other's hearts drumming in rhythm.

“I'm proud to have you too in my life, To, though I feel that I don't deserve you.”

She raised one of her eyebrows, wondering what he meant. “Fox, don't say that. You deserve good things in your life after what happened in the last four months.”

He could only frown as he recalled what happened on that very day in the Senate building. “Yeah, I remember like it was yesterday. I could never forget it, no matter how much I've tried to move on.”

“You can tell me anything, Fox,” Riyo assured him, even though she already knew what happened back then. “I won't judge you, I promise in the name of the goddess Loona.”

“It all started when I received an order from the Chancellor,” he began. “He informed us that there was a rogue clone who was on the run. According to him, he tried to kill the Chancellor, and we were ordered to hunt him down on Coruscant.”

“So we did. Yves, Duke, Hyewon, Chae, Eren, and Jay, we all had our blasters loaded. We set them to kill since the Chancellor ordered us to do so.”

“But when we confronted him in the warehouse, I just couldn't do it. I had my fingers on the trigger, but I couldn't bring myself to kill him, Riyo. Even though I barely know Fives, he was my vod'ika. I didn't want to take my younger brother's life. Instead, I just let my blaster drop from my arms and sobbed like a child.”

Fox paused for a moment, wiping the tears off his face. “General Skywalker and Rex were there, comforting me. Fives just watched as I told them what the Chancellor ordered, and the next thing I knew, I ended up pointing my blaster at the Chancellor, with General Skywalker and General Windu threatening to step down from duty.”

“And the rest was history,” Riyo concluded, brushing his cheeks with her gentle palms. “I'm glad that you did the right thing, my dear. I know that you wished that you could have acted sooner to eliminate the Chancellor, but your actions have saved the Republic and the galaxy, and for that, we thanked you for your bravery.”

He pulled her closer as he rested his head on her chest, letting his tears carry the rest of their conversation. “I hated him so much, Ri. All those years, he ignored my brother's and sister's pleas against the abuse inflicted upon them, he let them die as they begged for his help to send more troops, he even made us a property that is replaceable. He-”

“It's alright, Fox,” she whispered in his ears, rubbing his back. “He's already gone. The war is over and your brothers and sisters have the freedom to pursue their own life without restraints.”

Riyo took a deep breath as she faced him, never letting go of each other's grasps. “It's hard to live with the traumas after the war. It's hard to face your own personal demons that torment your head. I know it's hard to forgive yourself for not being able to save your siblings from death, but I know you can go through this.”

“You're the strongest man I have ever known, not because of your muscles or the ability to shoot with your weapons, it's because of the way you faced obstacles in your life, Fox. You've dealt with abuse, you've dealt with overworking, you've dealt with prejudices from senators and civilians, and yes, it is torturing. But you know what, you're not alone. You can bounce back from the pit, you can grow to be a better person, I know you can.”

“Thorn believed in you, Wolffe believed in you, Tori believed in you, your brothers and sisters believed in you, and I believed in you. I know you feel alone, but you're not. We'll always be there for you, no matter what.”

Fox could only smile as they let their foreheads touch. Riyo was right. He is not alone in this battle against himself. His friends and family are there to support him through the hard times. Recovering from pain is a difficult path, as there are no right or wrong answers to heal. 

But he can get through this. He will live long enough to witness his child having a family on their own, and he will live long enough to watch Riyo's hair turn grey. As long as Fox and Riyo heat the wind singing their love stories to their children and their children, everything is in safe hands.

[kitsuneudon743]

DamiRae week 2020 Day 2: Royalty AU

Well this took longer than expected and I’m not super happy about it, I had planned on doing a second part of my last one but changed my mind last minute...

but I hope you enjoy it anyway :)  Let’s hope tomorrow’s prompt will go smoother!

-

Raven would be lying if she had said she was excited for her eighteenth birthday.

Luckily for her, she had never said such a thing.

“Ow!” she gasped, throwing her hands in front of her to take hold of the desk that was there. Hecate, her chambermaid, ignored her whimper of pain and pulled even tighter at the corset; making Raven feel as though she were about to break in two. “Is this...really necessary?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, princess.” She muttered her voice almost snakelike, which wasn’t surprising considering her appearance.  Pale, scaly skin. Jet black eyes with little to no sclera. Jagged, pointed teeth and not one trace of hair. If she hadn’t been with Raven since the day she was born, she might have been enough to evoke nightmares.

But this was the demon realm; there were plenty of nightmare worthy characters walking about.

“Your father expects you to look nothing less than perfect for today. This could be the most important event of your life, and for the realm.”

“I can’t imagine why...they’re just humans.” Raven spoke with discontent. Years of tradition were coming to an end; her father had made a truce with a powerful clan in the human world, and unfortunately she was an asset. Today wasn’t just her birthday; it was the day she was to meet the human she had been promised to as part of the alliance. She would be the first one in the realm to be married to an immortal, even her father who had courted a human to conceive Raven hadn’t followed through with matrimony.

Hecate finished tying the corset and gave Raven a rough slap on the back of the shoulder. “Don’t you do anything that will displease your father today, you hear me! These humans are necessary to his plan, and so is this wedding. For the good of our kind.”

Quickly rushing over to Raven’s bed, the chambermaid grabbed a large black lace dress and brought it over to the girl and placed it over her head. Raven brought her arms up and snaked them through the long sleeves, allowing the dress to fall down her body, giving Hecate better access to adjust it.

Raven looked up at the mirror that hung over the desk, her eyes meeting the gaze of a young woman she barely recognized. Lips painted the colour of dried blood, obsidian hair pulled up elegantly to match her feminine attire; a black Victorian-esque gown that showed off just a bit more chest than she was used to. She was a stranger to herself and it made her uncomfortable, especially because she was to introduce herself to her...possible, future groom.

How was she to introduce herself to someone if she didn’t feel herself?

Not that she cared about meeting the mortal. In fact, she was dreading it. She wanted no part in whatever plan her father of devising with his human accomplice, and she didn’t want to get married.

“There,” Hecate huffed with a nod, giving one final pat down to the bottom of Raven’s gown. “All ready.”

She took a step back and looked the teenager over once more before grabbing her arm, pulling her around and heading out of the room. Raven stumbled behind her as she pulled her swiftly down the stone hallway of her father’s palace. Her mind was beginning to reel with possibilities.

Would this human be like everything she had read about in novels or like what she had heard from fairytales?

Would he be weak? Unintelligent?

Why was her father so determined to band together with these humans when he was never interested in them before?

Nothing made sense.

When they reached the main hall, Hecate pulled Raven in front of her and slowed her pace, following the princess into the hall where hundreds of demons were sitting, waiting. The empath felt her heart spike.

Everyone turned their gaze to her, including her father who sat across from her on a large, thorn thrown. His red eyes shot daggers at her as she confidently walked over as quickly and carefully as she could.

“You’re late...”he growled as she took the slightly smaller throne beside him. “The humans arrived minutes ago.”

Quickly, her eyes jotted around the room, looking for them but from what she could see there were only demons and ghouls. Trigon watched her with a scowl before turning to face the aisle in front of him, giving his large horned head a single nod.

Two stumpy looking creatures at the opposite side of the aisle pulled open the doors, and in walked two humans, as confidently and as comfortable as someone who had lived their wholes lives amongst the dammed.

The older one, a dangerous looking man with silvering hair, a sharp nose and a well groomed goatee, walked a few steps ahead, his green eyes locked onto Trigon.

The younger one, who Raven assumed was her betrothed, walked slightly behind him but caught her eyes nonetheless.

He was a handsome man, much more than she had expected him to be. His eyes were the same as the old man’s in colour, but he held no other resemblance to him. His dark hair was parted neatly and combed back, showing off his perfectly structured features, though his expression held a strong resemblance to how Raven felt.

Uninterested in this arrangement.

When the two mortals reached Trigon and his daughter, they both bowed slightly.

“My liege.” The older one spoke first, his Cheshire cat grin causing Raven to feel uneasy. She already didn’t like this man, he reminded her far too much of her father. “I am Ra’s al Ghul. My grandson and I thank you for allowing us passage into your-” he looked around quickly. “-lovely underworld, and agreeing to meet with us for this arrangement. Coming to Hell has been a long time interest of mine...entirely for research purposes, so I thank you.”

Trigon grunted. “Research as much as you want once the nuptials is complete. As long as we still have a deal.”

The man nodded. “Certainly.” He turned for the first time to look at Raven, and once again she felt strange. Her father hadn’t told her anything about the deal, other than an alliance must be made, an alliance that included her getting married. She wanted to know what was going on. “A beauty.”

“This is my daughter, Raven. Her mother was born of blood and bone in your world. She is half mortal, half god. She has the power to destroy worlds, blacken hearts.”

Ra’s smiled wickedly and turned to motion to the boy. He stepped forward. “This is Damian, my prodigy. Trained since birth to be a cold hearted plague. Biologically modified to be the perfect weapon.”

This time, Trigon smiled as his eyes landed on the boy. Raven looked at him too; it was hard to believe that he was the perfect weapon. He looked so, fragile; he was mortal after all. And he was handsome. He looked too good to be so bad.

“I think we should let the children get acquainted.” Ra’s continued after a moment, and Trigon nodded.

After giving her permission to go, Raven stood from her throne and swallowed a lump that had been stuck in her throat. Damian looked at her before holding his arm out to her. Her eyes dropped down to it and her heart began to race, but she took it without hesitation.

The room remained quiet until the two of them had left and were halfway down the hallway, then she heard her father’s booming voice continue.

She had no idea what to do, what to talk about. She had never before spoken to a human, in fact, she barely every spoke to anyone. Raven enjoyed being alone for the most part, reading her books, taking a quiet stroll along the river Styx, meditating in the peace of her own room. Those were the kinds of things she would rather be doing than being social.

As they walked out into the courtyard, Raven looked at the man beside her through her peripherals. He was holding himself well for it being his first time to Hell; unfazed by the grotesque beings, rivers of molten lava, dusty air and lack of flora. His strong gaze was glued to the path ahead of them, though every once in a while his eyes dipped down to look at something, Raven assumed, he found unusual.

“You must find it strange here.” She said after a moment, her voice quiet.

“It’s a bit different than I expected, but not much.” Damain responded.

Another silence fell around them.

There were so many questions she wanted to ask him about the human world, about their father’s alliance. Perhaps he knew something.

Raven stopped walking and allowed her arm to drop from his. He stopped immediately and looked around at her, his thick brows furrowed as though she had offended him. She stared at him; he really was handsome.

“Why did you agree to this?” she questioned suddenly. “You left your own world to come here and meet...me, a half demon, to talk about marriage. Why would you do that?”

Looking down for a moment, Damian stayed quiet. Raven could feel the cogs in his mind working, trying to think of a way to word his answer. Much like she did herself.

“I need to do my part for this alliance.” He said finally. “It’s important for my people.”

“But why?”

Raven was a bit annoyed at being stuck in the dark. Her father had told her nothing. Hecate had told her nothing. And now this man was telling her nothing.

“Why is it important? And how will we benefit from it?”

Damian looked at her, his green eyes bright. She hadn’t realized just how green they were until now, and she soon found herself lost in them a little. He gave her a look.

“Your father told you nothing.” It wasn’t a question, but a jested statement.  Raven’s eyebrows narrowed slightly.

“My father doesn’t exactly deem me as important enough to share the fine details with.” It almost hurt her to say it, but she was becoming numb at the thought. Raven wasn’t her father’s favourite child; she was a tool that he could use whenever it suited him.

And this wedding suited him.

Damian’s look softened but his eyes once again dropped to the ground. “I know the feeling.”

Another silence.

This boy was not what Raven had expected at all. Yes, he was a bit awkward and she could tell that he was slightly uncomfortable, as was she. But she could tell from his tone and feel his energy, his emotions. She could tell that he was indeed much deeper than she had thought humans to be.

Perhaps his grandfather was just as insufferable as Trigon and he too had the slightest bit of hope that something good would come from the relationship. Perhaps he too wanted someone to care, for once.

Raven looked over her shoulder at the bubbling pools of lava that sat behind them, watching as steam escaped with each pop.

She cleared her throat. “Do you like to read?”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “Of course.”

“I love reading books from the human world. I have a whole library of them...did you want to see it?”

Damian hesitated only for a moment before nodding. “That would be very nice.”

Raven took hold of his arm once again and began to walk back to the castle doors, leading him as she went. And as they went inside, she couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, something wonderful would come from them being together.

[widowsofchaos]

Kool Aid (Teaser)

Summary: Raise a glass for all your fucked up friends. After a near-fatal night of drug binging, the group disbanded for a while to get sober, and mentally healthy; but it also resulted in you breaking up with your boyfriend and girlfriend. The journey of recovery was rocky. Now after a year and a half, the group of friends reunite at a party, will the band of misfits stick together or go their separate ways? Will you get your two loves back or will you have to move on?

Pairing: Winterwitch x black!reader

Modern AU

Warnings: drug abuse, vulgarity, mentions of domestic abuse, childhood abuse, mentions of mental health. Mention of abortion. smut, angst, and fluff!

DO NOT REPOST MY WORKS! I WILL REPORT YOU.

“You know Bean would have been two today.” Bucky hanged his head, huffing out a breathy chuckle. A few loose strands gingerly dangle, and you had to bite back the itching urge to caress it behind his ear. Your palm shrouding behind your thigh, curling into a tight fist, fingernails tearing into the flesh; crescent craters forming.

Pain is your comfort, you pray for a dark hole to emerge underneath the soles of your feet, and swallow you whole. Hide away in pitch blackness, as your demons’ horse whips dominion onto your chipped soul. Don’t let these two crawl back into your shattered chest, and make a thorn-infested nest in your heart.

Not again.

You’re a nobody, your value is worth a bucket of piss. Your role in their relationship was a erotic tryst, a bored couple seeking a warm body to use, to fulfill - what exactly? To relish in taboo thrills?

Slithering into your life, a child deprived of affection, seeks for it blindly to satiate the loneliness. It was magical at first, double the love. Worshiping at their feet, praises leave your lips, that finally you were deemed worthy for love. But at what cost? The wool isn’t drenched in your tears, but in your blood. You’ve gauged your eyes out in denial from the truth, not only did your demons win, but so did theirs.

“My silly little girl” your mother’s condescending drunken slurs echo in your brain. When it was over, a piece of you was abandoned with them. Withered and died like weeds splashed in pesticide, it’s taken you a lifetime to gain a glimmer of feeling human. Perhaps resuscitate the little girl who bathed in innocence, or maybe it’s too late?

A tight smile curls at the corner of your mouth, you bobble a bit as you lean forward, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Acidic bile bubbles at the back of your esophagus, at the dejected memory, you dryly swallow the lump forming in your throat, “Yeah … two years and three months old to be exact”, trapping your quivering bottom lip between your teeth, shifting back into a rigid faux smile.

God, has it been that long?

“Do you regret it?” Bucky murmured, lifting his gaze to you, and his breath hitches. Before his eyes, is his girl, Wanda’s girl, fighting back her emotions. Bucky can read you like an open-book, a transparent display. He knows you’re hurting, even after a year, that Wanda and himself caused, succumbing to their insecurities, and lashing out at the one being who loved them with every fiber, and sinew.

He loathes that you’re harboring your woes, begging to lash out at him, and Wanda. For pushing you away, when you needed them the most. Bucky yearns for you to snarl at him, scream at him, hurl insults at him, call him a cowardly piece of shit. Call Wanda a bitch, anything for you to release yourself. Hyper-aware of your history to bury all your sorrow, and pretend nothing is wrong. You either write your grief through ink, or wrap it up in soil cloth, and bury it deep in your rotted cavity - and find your salvation at the bottom of the bottle.

“No. Do you?” you mumbled, casting your eyes away from Bucky’s intense gaze. You missed his faltered curt smile, transitioning into a frown, his cerulean eyes watering, you can’t even look him in the eye. Please doll, look at me. See I never stopped loving you.

“No. It was for the best” Bucky hedges, “we’re fucked up, we could never do right by it.” 

A soft snort escapes you, “I know, who would want two drunks for mothers?” Your body loosens a bit, a quick glance in his eyes. A beat of silence, Bucky knew you were attempting to lighten the awkward atmosphere, through your traditional route of dark humor.

“Or a coked out hot-tempered father?” Bucky sheepishly smiled at you, rubbing the nape of his neck, despite his shy smile, you knew what Bucky was hinting at, acknowledging his fault, the very flaw that casted you out from their lives.

“Thank you for being there for me at the time. You and Wanda weren’t olibgate-” Bucky interrupted your babble, “Hey, we wanted it to be there, it took three to tango, remember?” Bucky’s heart aches, how could you think we wouldn’t want to be there. We love you, oh God, we love you.

“I know, it’s just …”, You shift your head to the side, your shoulder moves in natural reflex, gesturing your modesty.

“I know, it’s okay.” Bucky whispered, unconsciously treading small steps towards you, towering over you. A timid smile forms, and Bucky’s heart flutters. God, how Wanda and himself gush over your smile, dying to crawl through, and just live inside you. The shining star in their darkness.

Bucky internally winces, You have no idea, how you changed us, doll.

“Bean, fitting for when we last saw it…” Your chest fluttered, those saccharine bits of staring at the ultrasound flashed before you, you sniffed back a sob. It’s bittersweet - a dash of sour on what couldn’t be, a tang of citrus sweet to see what you had, a fleeting possibility. Become a mother? No, you had to learn to be a daughter. But even you fail at that.

“Yeah, I remember the ultrasound, God, it was so weird. How a being can start off so small, yet can grow so big.” Bucky mused, misty-eyed. Bucky shuffled, attempting to disguise his dismay at the lingering what if?

“I think back on that day a lot …” Bucky continued, “ I like to imagine if we kept it … would it be a boy or a girl? Would it come out looking like me or like you?” Bucky instinctively linked his fingers into yours, and without a doubt, felt the familiar sparks zap into your core.

“I would like to be a dad, especially for a girl. Girls rule the world, can teach her lessons on life …” Bucky’s eyes frayed desperation, longingly into yours dark hues.

“You would make a great parents” Not us, you. A silent indirect of you pushing them away, no purpose in their plans for the future. How you yearn, but the past can not be dug up, let the cadaver rot. And pray flowers can bloom within the decay, hope. Hope for Wanda, and Bucky to be happy at last, and hope you can bare to live without them.