#feeling a deep otherworldly emptiness right now

[thedivinetarot]

Hold me, love me, touch me, honey be the first who ever did

Future spouse turn on +18

☆ How to chose your pile?

First clear your mind, take a deep breathe and close your eyes. Ask the question in your head "what will turn my future spouse on about me?". And shall the picture you are drawn to the most will be your pile.

☆ Disclaimer:

Please if you are under 18 do not interact or reblog this reading. This content is explicit and is not for you.

This is a general reading so don't put your life on hold for it. Also, this reading is written for the feminine (women, girls) if you are masculine or identify as a man this reading is NOT for you. This reading is for the feminine collective.

▪︎This reading was done using Raider Waite tarot deck and sexual magic tarot deck.

Lots of love 💕

Arya

Pile 1 - sleeping beauty

Your current energy

I feel like this pile’s energy is quite saddening. I see that you had a project to work on and nothing went as you hoped which made you clash with your team members and caused something unpleasant to face. I see that you feel quite empty and insecure towards your own thoughts. You have many creative thoughts to offer and you are so passionate about them but I see that because your team didn't listen to you or do anything you say it left you feeling unimportant or like a "chair's leg" idk how to explain it but they made you feel like an empty vase. Also you might have been feeling quite stuck and gloomy. I see that lately your self-esteem has dropped and you feel like nothing matter or you don't matter anymore. I'm so sorry for that pile one you deserve absolutely the best. Your thoughts and ideas are valuable and if someone didn't take them seriously that doesn't mean that they don't matter. Also, I see that you might be under a psychic attack or telepathy so be careful. I see that this person who is attacking you is quite naive and they are doing it with their whole will which means they know exactly what they are doing. I see that you are trying to get over them like your mind is trying to wash them off but they are like an ink stain that doesn't really go away. But eventually it will so don't worry. For others (people who are under psychic attack or telepathy) this person is trying to communicate telepathically with you so expect them to show up in your dreams or receivesigns from them. I see that what is between you two is not finished yet. You may see that everything has finished buuuttt it is not. This person may come with a love offer and communicate with you very soon. They may be working on themselves right now. Anyways the period of stagnation is almost over or it will be over by the end of this year.

☆ Placements for you:

Pisces, Capricorn, Taurus, Gemini, Libra, Cancer. Or you have Neptune, Saturn, Mercury prominent in your chart. Or you have 12th, 2nd, 10th, 7th, 3rd, 4th house stallium or your sun moon is there. I see also moon in cancer and saturn in libra.

☆ What will turn your future spouse on?

Right off the bat I see that your future spouse will be in love with your breasts. I see everything related to them. Massaging them, sucking them, grabbing them. They also looovvvee how the bra shape them especially corsets and push up bras and also they love how they look with no bra soo ;) anyways. This person is so down bad for you like they are an animal for that part. I keep hearing the song "Addicted to you by Shakira" weird I never listened to that song before but when I described the song to my sister she gave me the name. Also, your waist and belly button. They like how your waist is shaped. I see also that you are this person's dream girl. They see you as the empress, their empress. They like how beautiful you are whether you think it is true or not. I see that they see you the empress to their empror. I also got the collar bones too. Your spouse is going to see you as something so beautiful and otherworldly. I keep emphasizing on the upper body especially the breasts and waist. I see also that they like watching you getting undressed after an event or a party. They like your whole naked form too but mostly your breasts. They also like your size too, no matter how big or small you are they think that you complete them and the chemistry is off charts. I see that you guys may have wonderful sexual chemistry like you two can't keep your hands off of each other. You see those couple who gives off the vibe that they fuck every two minutes? You are like that pile 1 they adore you. This person also gets horny by the fact that you are intimate with them and only them. They get horny or turned on by dim lights and you getting undressed in front of candle lights. Also this person might get horny when you guys hug. They just feel soo hot and bothered whenever you are around. Their love language may be physically touch. They even get horny when you set on their lap too. I see that they might get turned on when you are applying lotion, perfume or even cream on your body they get weak in their knees.

I hope you enjoyed your reading💕.

☆ Placements for them:

Taurus, Capricorn, Aries, Leo, Cancer, Pisces. Also they have moon, Mars, Venus, Neptune prominent in their chart. Sun or moon or stallium in the 1st, 2nd, 5th, 4th, 12th, 10th. Venus in Aries, mars- moon, Venus- ascendant aspects in synastry.

Pile 2 - Woman posing

Your current energy

I see that you might be stuck on someone with Aquarius placements. I see that you have finally made peace with them and you feel kind of imbalanced by that. I see also that this person kept you stuck and out of place. I see also that you are in a place right now where you can't see the truth and you are very conflicted. This confection is keeping you feeling restless and tired. I see that you are fighting internally your anxiety about them. I see that this person knows how to tick your boxes and keep you on edge. Pile 2, this person's intentions aren't fully good towards you. I see that they are only here for fun and good times but believe me it will only end up with disappointment so be careful. I see that this person is manipulating you into thinking that they are so tired and can't live without you but they are not. They know that you'll get back to them, I see that you need to stop giving them the validation that they seek because each time you return to them it make their ego bigger. You are worthy of more than that pile 2. Also, the energy under the bottom of the deck is quite wicked. This person is doing everything in their power to torture you and manipulate you.

☆ Placements for you:

Aquarius, Pisces, Taurus, Virgo, moon in sagittarius, mars in leo, Venus in scorpio, Sagittarius, Venus in Aquarius. Venus, Uranus, Neptune, Mars, moon prominent in your chart or stallium in the 11th, 12th, 2nd, 6th house in your chart.

☆ What will turn your future spouse on?

I got a lot of 10s in this pile so I guess your spouse really feels turned on by the fact that they are making a family that is going to leave a legacy behind with you. Also, this person really gets turned on when you surrender to them, I see a lot of submission. Doesn't mean that they are dominant but they generally love to see you under them. They might be a soft dom. They won't force you to do anything against your will. This pile is quite vanilla, I see a lot of fluids here. They might feel turned on by your sex fluids or they generally like to play with it. They also get turned on when you tease them. This person is foodie, I am picturing the image of Louis and Peter griffin when they were feeding each other fruits in this scene check it out if you want to. You might feed each other grapes and fruits in general. I'm not getting this person enjoying a specific body part at all. I feel like they enjoy your presence during the act more. Also, they get turned on when you hug them tightly. I feel like this person is quite traditional, they enjoy it when you make dinner for them. I see them getting back from work were you are dressing up nicely and making them a very delicious dinner. Also, this person is into sexting. I see them getting very horny when you are teasing them with your nudes. Idk this person respectively is very traditional and vanilla. I see also that they are very mature emotionally. This person get turned on by eye contact and deep conversations they might spend hours making love and they last very long.

Enjoy your reading pile 2💕.

☆ Placements for them:

Leo, Mercury in virgo and sagittarius, Pisces, Aquarius, Venus in virgo, mars in Aries. Dominant planets in Mercury, Mars, Neptune, Uranus. Stallium/ sun or moon in 1st, 6th, 11th, 12th, 9th house in their chart.

Pile 3 - Lady with flowers

Your current energy

I see that this pile is surrendering to the divine. I see that you are trying to enjoy your life as much as possible. I feel like you are living in a routine, there's nothing much honestly. I see that you are anticipating something. I feel like you want something new in your life, something to break the routine without creeping you off. I see that you always lean towards routine and structure but somehow you desire change. I see that you want change but you are very resistant to it which is creating chaos energetically. Pile 3, set with your self and decide what exactly is holding you back from the change? What is scaring you this much? Writing this down can be really helpful I order for you to acknowledge what is wrong. I see that this duality of wanting change and fearing it is keeping you stuck and confused. But at the same time you are looking forward, you are looking for a sign from the universe or God to intervene and change it. You are deeply feeling optimistic about tomorrow. I see that your energy is quite happy and warm. You might have walked away from something that kept bothering you and now you feel like that thing have no power over you right now. I see that there might be a small health issue that faced you in the previous weeks like cold or fever. But you got better thanks to God or the Universe.

Placements for you:

Sagittarius, Gemini, Cancer, Scorpio, Taurus, Aquarius, Aries. Also, I'm picking up on Mars in Aries, Venus in scorpio, Moon in scorpio. Venus, Mercury, Sun, Mars, Pluto as dominant planets in your chart. Stallium in the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 8th, 11th house.

☆ What will turn your future spouse on?

Well first you got triple 888 which never happened in my readings. It means that you are going to experience infinite abundance with your spouse. I see that this person at first will be soft and sweet. They will make love to you softly, they will demand nude pictures of you and they will masturbate to it. They have breeding kink, they will imagine having a child with you while they are masturbating. They are going to make love like there's no tomorrow but as the relationship preced they are going to get scary honestly. I see that they are going to share their sexual fantasies with you. They will ask you to role play with them and the roles are going to be quite dark. Like, they might role play a r*pe scene or something very dark of course with your consent if you are comfortable with that type of stuff or not. With each day that pass they will show their kinkier side to you. I see them using their belt or whip on you. There will be hair pulling too, and heavy BDSM. I see that they will escape reality with you into the bedroom I see them really praising and encouraging you afterwards. They also might tie your hands. I see wax play too, this person is very naughty and kinky I can't with them. This pile’s future spouse might get turned on by pain. I'm picturing Angelina Jolie when she stabed her boyfriend to feel pleasure while they are doing it. This person might get horny when you are in pain. They might cause you pain too. This person is giving Christian Grey, I see that they like being in control and doing heavy stuff to their partner. Idk pile 3, if you might get uncomfortable with that try to communicate with them. You don't have to face all of this. Also, I see that this person will see you as their lover, I got the lover card and Judgement twice which is quite unusual. I see that it might mean that this relationship is meant to awaken something in you, something you are ignoring.

Enjoy your reading pile 3💕.

☆ Placements for them:

Air placements (Libra, Aquarius, Gemini). Mercury in sagittarius, and water placements (Cancer, Pisces and scorpio). Mercury, Pluto, Venus. Stallium in Air placements or houses and Stallium in water placements.

Pile 4 - Woman looking at the stars

Your current energy

I see that there's someone in your life that is spreading rumors about you. It might be a woman with leo placements or a man with Aquarius placements I'm not sure. I see that they feel very jealous of your achievements and how graceful you are. I see that you are the type of person who is very beautiful. You might be beauty with brains, someone who is very intelligent and smart. This person is spreading rumors about you and the cards are telling me that they will get their Karma so don't worry you don't have to do anything about it. The cards are advising you to have inner strength and calm down before engaging in any behavior that doesn't suit your public image. I see that you might be someone who is quite popular and known but very envied by others. Your skills and dedication are drawing the right people into your life and the right opportunities too. I see that if you are planning on traveling somewhere it will happen but also for that to happen you need to find closure and end a cycle in your life.

☆ Placements for you:

Leo, Virgo, Sagittarius, Aries, Pisces, Aquarius, Libra, Leo. Sun, Mars, Saturn, Venus prominent in your chart. Stallium in the 1st, 6th, 5th, 9th, 12th, 7th, 11th house in your chart.

☆ What will turn your future spouse on?

Okay, first thing is this person is very idealistic, very emotional and devoted. I see that they get horny when you tease them with your breasts like pressing them against him or showing them to him randomly make him sexually frustrated. I see that he gets really horny when they see you dressing up for them. A lot of emphasis on glam, they enjoy watching you dressing up, putting on perfume and makeup. You might be their type honestly. Like they were searching for someone like you and they found you soo it is a win win. This person is like pile 2, they are quite traditional. They don't have any weird kink at all. I see that they lean more to making love unlike pile 3 it was insane but anyways no judgment on my blog. I see that your ass is something that they like, they enjoy the size, shape and how soft and squishy it is. This person gets so horny when you are showering or under water. They see you as someone who is so ethereal like a mermaid. They like your body naked and wit under the shower. They might join you there too. I see that they really get turned on when you whisper in their ear and tease their neck. This person is in their head a lot when it comes to you. They might go to work and sit there imagining you two doing it nonstop and when they return home they'll be like a wild animal. He is so soft, like a soft dom again. I can't with him I try to provoke many cards but all I am getting is the cups suit which is linked to love and emotions. I see that this person is very emotional when it comes to you what matter for them is intimacy and how comfortable you are with them. Also, it keeps them going when you are in pleasure. They feel prideful when you reach your orgasm and moaning their name. Also, I'm getting Nikki Minaj here. He'll totally take it off of you after the party. Also I'm getting the song "something about you by eyedress, dent may" this person sees you like something so beautiful and ethereal. They have a lot of respect for you, they won't curse or cuss at you at all during sex. They see sex as something very sacred and romantic only shared between two people. They don't dare to call sex (sex) they'll say (love making) instead. This person is very poetic, they can and will write poems about you and set the right romantic mood for you two to enjoy.

Take care pile 4 💕.

☆ Placements for them:

Water signs (Scorpio, Pisces and cancer). Air signs (Aquarius, Gemini and Libra). Mercury, moon, Venus as prominent plants in their chart. Stallium in the 4th, 8th, 12th, 11th, 3rd, 7th house for them.

Post date: 24th of Nov -2024 Sun

* Feedback is appreciated

[sugudollz]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Kento fucking his pretty little assistant <3

MDNI!! Probably ooc. Sir kink. Dumbification. He bends you over his desk. He’s kind of mean. He pulls on your hair. He refers to you as “princess” n “baby”. He calls you “slutty” like once. “Good girl “ x1. Wrote at 5 AM, not proofread.

“F-fuck—! S-Sir!” You whine as Kento bullys his fat cock into your tight cunt, his groans and grunts of pleasure leaving his lips while sweat drips down his chin, eyebrows furrowed.

He’s got you bent over his desk, your tits pressed against the hard material, skirt thrown over your waist and your hair is a mess. As Kento pushes his hips back and forth so your warm walls can embrace his thick dick, his heavy balls slap against your ass, the harsh skin to skin contact sounding throughout the room.

“Read to me my schedule again, Princess,” Kento’s voice is deep and husky when he demands this of you. Shakily, your hands reach for the papers that have been carelessly pushed to the side of his desk before guiding them to your eyes.

“Y-you have a—board meeting wi-with the—ah!” You can’t help but moan as the tip of Kento’s pretty dick repeatedly hits the spongy spot inside of you, drawing moan after moan from you and your eyes roll back.

Kento chuckles breathily as he shakes his head before grabbing a handful of your hair and pulling you up so he can look at you from the side.

“What? Is my assistant too fucked out to say anything? Dick’s so good, you went dumb?” Kento taunts, faux sympathy in his voice as a mock pout plays on his lips. “Poor fucking baby, huh?” He emphasizes the curse with a particularly rough thrust of his hips before letting go of your hair, causing drool to slip out from your lips down your chin, and you whimper.

“Sir, please! Ngh—!” Throwing your head forward to land on your forearm, cries of pleasure falling from your mouth again and again. Feeling his hips stutter, Kento pulls out quickly, cursing under his breath and making your eyes widen as you whine from the sudden emptiness.

Before you get the chance to complain, Kento places his hand over your mouth, immediately shutting you up. Tears begin to form in the corner of your eyes from the overwhelming feeling and frustration.

“Shh, baby, stay fuckin’ quiet f’me, okay?” Kento whispers in your ear with a somewhat harsh tone, but you nod your head anyways as you allow your tears to leak from your eyes and make their way to Kento’s big, veiny hands.

After stroking his cock in a rush, Kento shoves his dick back into your needy cunt and picking up his earth shattering pace. Not even five seconds pass before you’re clawing at his desk, your ass jiggling from the raw strength of his mouth watering thrusts, a drunken smile embracing your lips as drool spills from your mouth.

“My baby is so stupid on my cock, hm? Can only cry and whine now, isn’t that fucking right?” Kento’s real mean with his words and his hips, but it gives you a profound sense of otherworldly pleasure, so much so that your pussy is clenching all around his thick cock and your stomach begins feeling tight.

“Sir…!” Your nails now create crescent shaped marks on Kento’s desk, biting down on your bottom lip hard enough that your teeth will draw blood, back arching and legs spreading. “F-fuck—! Gonna cum, Sir, gonna cum!” You’re pouting as you look back at Kento, whose brows are furrowed from the force he’s putting into his hips.

“Shit, me too,” he says, “cum f’me, sweet thing, and lemme cum in this princess pussy of yours,”

“Yes, yes, yes, please! Cum in me, please, Sir! Fill me up with your cum!” Your begging is just so fucking adorable, he could never even dream of rejecting it, so he fucks his duck into your pussy like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do and it’s so ground shatteringly amazing, it brings you to your finish quicker than expected, as with him.

Your pussy is creaming all over his pretty cock while your vision goes white yet blurry, and Kento his loading his heavy finish into your sopping hole as he pants like a dog. His eyes are watching your fucked out face, your pretty reactions satisfying him beyond belief.

By the end of it, you’re feeling so full of his thick cum and when Kento pulls out, you can feel it leaking out of you, his beautiful eyes eyeing the way his load spills out of your messy cunt intensely.

“Such a good girl, huh?” Kento teases before pulling your neglected panties back up and fixing your skirt so it covers almost all of your thighs again. “I didn’t know my assistant was so slutty.” He’s joking for the most part, of course—hinted by the breathy chuckle that escapes his throat.

You’re so fucked out, though, you can’t even process his words… not that he minds, anyway; he’ll gladly fuck his pretty assistant dumb over and over again, with no hesitation.

© 2023 sugudollz only on Tumblr — do not copy, repost, translate, or steal.

[fafnir19]

The Irresistible Wish

Liam slumped against the cold, hard shelves of the college library, his breath forming little clouds of condensation in the quiet air. It was Friday night, and while most of his peers were out partying, he found solace in the familiar surroundings of books and knowledge. Feeling a bit homesick and out of place among the popular crowd, he sought comfort in the library's quiet solitude. As he rounded a shelf, something caught his eye. A crystal orb, shimmering with an otherworldly light, lay on the floor. Crawling closer, he examined it curiously. It was intriguing, and he felt a strange pull towards it. "I wish..." he whispered, his voice echoing slightly in the empty library. "I wish I could fit in. I want to be like them." He pictured the popular kids, with their broad shoulders and narrow waists. I wish I could be handsome and confident." As if in response to his wish, the orb began to glow brightly, enveloping Liam in a radiant light. He gasped as he felt his body transform, his skin tingling with a strange energy. "What's happening?" he cried out, his voice filled with wonder and fear. Before his eyes, his jeans and pullover transformed into a sleek, black silk shirt and tight dress pants that accentuated his new broad shoulders and narrow waist. His hair, once messy and unkempt, now fell stylishly around his chiseled face. "I—I can't believe it," he stammered, running his hands over his transformed body. "How is this possible?"

As he grasped the orb, it glowed once more, and his surroundings shifted. Liam found himself in a vast, ancient library, the shelves towering above him, filled with tomes of forgotten knowledge. "Amazing!" Liam exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with curiosity and wonder. "I knew I was meant for something greater." But even in this new, magical setting, the longing for social acceptance lingered. He held the orb tightly, his desire intensifying. "I wish to be irresistible," he murmured. "I want everyone to desire me." With a flash of light, the orb granted his wish. Liam's shirt disappeared, revealing toned, muscular skin. But something was different. Horns, sleek and dark, sprouted from his temples, and wings unfurled from his back, their feathers a deep, shadowy black.

"No, this can't be right!" Liam exclaimed, his voice cracking with panic. He attempted to reverse the transformation, channeling his newly discovered magical powers. But something was different. With each attempt, a strange warmth spread through his body, a tingling sensation that made his skin buzz and his cock throb. His breath quickened as he fought the growing lust that clouded his mind. "Oh god..." he moaned, his body tensing, toes curling as the pleasure intensified. "What's happening to me?" The orb glowed brighter, as if feeding off his desire. Liam's eyes rolled back, a throaty groan escaping his lips as he surrendered to the pleasure, his body moving in a rhythmic dance, wings flapping wildly, the air filling with the sound of his lustful pants. "Please..." he whispered, his voice hoarse, the orb's power overwhelming. But the crystal offered no respite, and Liam was consumed by a hunger he didn't understand, his mind clouded with a single, powerful urge: to find release.

 "Amazing," a deep, rumbling voice said from the shadows. Liam spun around, his eyes widening as he took in the huge red demon before him. "Wh-what have I become?" he stammered, his voice laced with panic. The demon chuckled, the sound echoing through the library. "You are now an incubus, Liam. I knew you couldn't resist the powers of the orb, my dear incubus. You are now forever changed, a bringer of pleasure and a feeder of lust." Liam's eyes widened as the demon approached, his horns majestic and his wings unfurled. He felt a mix of fear and desire as the demon continued, his voice like velvet. "You wished to be irresistible, and so you shall be. But your magic has a price. From this day forward, you will bring pleasure to men and women alike. You will feed on their lust." "No, this can't be happening!" Liam cried, his voice echoing through the vast library. "I didn't mean for this! I just wanted to fit in!" The demon stepped forward, his eyes glowing with an unearthly light. "Your wishes have consequences, young incubus. And now, you must kneel and accept your fate." Liam's body moved of its own accord, his knees bending as he submitted to the powerful demon.

"Please," he moaned, his voice thick with desire. "I can't control this power." The demon laughed, a deep, throaty sound that filled the air. "You will learn, my subject. Your magic is tied to your desires. The more you embrace your new nature, the stronger your powers will become." Liam's eyes widened as he felt a throbbing deep within him, a hunger that demanded satisfaction. "I—I can't fight it," he gasped, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "The power... it's too much." "Surrender to it," the demon purred, his voice like a whispered command. "Let your lust consume you, and you will know true power." As Liam's body throbbed with uncontrollable desire, he knew his fate was sealed. The orb had transformed him, and now, he would embrace his new existence as an incubus, forever. "Yes," he moaned, his voice a mixture of surrender and anticipation. "I will bring pleasure and feed on their lust. It is my destiny." And with that acceptance, the demon smiled, his eyes glowing with a mischievous light. "Welcome, my subject. Your wishes have granted you a new eternity. Now, go forth and embrace the pleasures that await you." Liam stood, his body transformed, his mind accepting the powers that were now his to command. With a final glance at the ancient library, he vanished, ready to entice and enchant, his destiny forever changed.

[batmanlovesnirvana]

Chapter two | Under Gotham’s Shadow.

masterlist

pairing : battinson!bruce wayne x fem!oc.

words : +7k.

author’s note : The second chapter is here! Just a reminder that English isn't my first language, so if there are any mistakes, I apologize in advance. We're meeting a lot of new characters in this chapter, so I hope everything makes sense. If anything is unclear, feel free to ask questions!

cw : bruce being a dick as usual, 18+, thriller, medical procedures, angst, mental health issues, noire, canon-typical violence, POV alternating, gritty, horror, illness, slow burn, action, fluff, mutual pining, forced proximity, crime families, comedy, crime, fighting ect… read at your own risk !

   AFTER LEAVING the mayor's house, Maryam reluctantly approached her car. 

Sliding into the driver's seat, she finally allowed herself a moment to breathe. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the steering wheel, shutting out the chaotic world outside. The muffled sounds of journalists shouting questions and the wail of police sirens barely registered as she tried to process the night's events.

Her mind replayed the grim scenes in a loop— the mayor’s lifeless body, the blood, the devastation in young George’s eyes. It was a deliberate murder, no doubt about it, and something deep inside told her this wouldn't be the last. A shiver ran down her spine as she pondered the motives behind the killing. Why target the mayor? She didn't know him personally and, to be honest, barely cared about the man. His face was familiar, but only in the way that all politicians’ faces are—seen, not truly known. Despite keeping up with politics, she could hardly recall anything of substance that he'd done for Gotham.

Sure, he’d put Salvatore Maroni behind bars, but Maryam suspected he was just another cog in the Falcone family's machine. Who in Gotham wasn’t at this point? The city was still in shambles, with criminals running rampant, homelessness skyrocketing, and the gap between the rich and poor only growing wider. Every promise the mayor made during his campaign had turned out to be empty words, nothing but lies wrapped in false hope.

Everything was a mess.

Yet, despite her cynicism, she found herself more worried about George than the murdered politician. The boy was innocent, a child who had nothing to do with the murky underworld of Gotham.

Her aunt had been babysitting him for three years now, and Maryam had often found herself at her aunt’s house, playing with the boy, listening to his innocent laughter. She couldn't help but feel a pang of protectiveness for him.

But what really freaked her out was the vigilante. She had quite literally stumbled upon him, and the memory sent a shiver down her spine.

He was taller than she imagined, his form imposing in a way that felt almost otherworldly. But it was his eyes that haunted her the most—those piercing blue eyes, the bluest she had ever seen. They weren’t just blue; they were the kind of blue that poets of the Renaissance would have wept over, likening them to the tragic skies painted by God himself, sorrowful and burdened with the weight of the world.

His eyes were like a sea under a storm, blue but ringed with red, the color of exhaustion, the remnants of battles fought, and the silent scream of hopelessness written in every shadow. They were the kind of eyes that held the world’s tragedies within them, where hope was a distant, dying light, struggling against the overwhelming tide of despair.

And the way he gripped her—firmly but not forcibly—sent a jolt through her, like a live wire connecting them. It was as if he was afraid of breaking her, as if she were a delicate flower and he was the brutal wind, dangerous and unpredictable, but somehow hesitant to cause harm. It was electrifying. No, it was more than that. It was mortifying. Yes, that was the right word.

The sensation of being held so carefully by something so dangerous—it terrified her.

Another sigh escaped her lips. She had to stop daydreaming, a habit that both gnawed at her and offered comfort in equal measure. But no matter how hard she tried, those blue eyes, full of a sadness she couldn’t comprehend, kept pulling her back into the memory.

Raising her head, Maryam stretched her neck and glanced at the clock in her car. The night had dragged on longer than she realized. She fished her phone from her back pocket, the screen lighting up to reveal a picture of her younger self with her parents and siblings, a bittersweet memory frozen in time. She quickly typed in her password, intending to call her aunt Meysa, but the screen flooded with notifications—several missed calls from her aunt and her siblings. By now, the news must have spread, and they would be worried.

She pressed the call button for her aunt and placed the phone on the dashboard, putting it on speaker. The ringing echoed through the car, the foggy windows a testament to the cold outside. She undid her updo, letting her hair fall, and massaged her scalp as she waited for her aunt to pick up. Finally, the call connected.

“Allo? Maryam, I have been calling you for two hours! You don’t respond to me or your sisters!” Meysa’s voice was thick with worry, not giving Maryam a chance to speak.

“No, I’m fine, Aunt Meysa. I was working—” Maryam started to explain but was cut off again.

“Like always,” Meysa said in Arabic, a tone of gentle reprimand in her voice.

Maryam sighed. “Look, I wanted to call you to ask if you’ve seen the news?”

“Not to ask how your old aunt has been doing?” Meysa teased.

“I literally saw you this morning!” Maryam replied in Arabic, exasperated.

“I know, I know... But yes, I’ve seen the news, although I received it before.”

Maryam furrowed her brows at this. “What do you mean?”

“Rebecca, the Mayor’s wife, called me in tears! I was getting ready for bed when my phone rang,” Meysa explained, then quickly added with a tsk, “She told me her husband was dead! Killed! Can you believe that, yah Maryam?”

Maryam listened, nibbling on her nails and massaging her scalp with her other hand. “Not really, it’s Gotham, have you forgotten?”

“I can’t believe they did that. Killing the Mayor. I never liked him anyway, but the boy? Miskeen, Wallah. I told her to bring him to me so I could take care of him, but she refused. She’s right; it’s better he stays with his mother and family. He must be traumatized.” Meysa continued, brushing off Maryam’s comment.

“I saw him and talked to him—” Maryam began, only to be interrupted again.

“You were there?” Meysa asked, surprised.

“Yep,” Maryam confirmed. “It was a horrible sight. And like I was saying, the boy was really traumatized. I tried to comfort him, but...” She grimaced, shaking her head. “Seeing that kind of thing really messes with your head.”

A heavy silence hung between them.

“You’re right,” Meysa agreed quietly. “I’ll talk to his mother when I can. I don’t want to bother her—God knows how things must be for her right now.”

Maryam only hummed in response, her gaze drifting to the chaos of journalists outside her car.

“What else did you see there?” Meysa asked, hopeful for more information.

“You know I can’t tell you, teta. It’s confidential,” Maryam replied, taking her phone in her hand.

Meysa huffed. “Fine, fine. I suppose I’ll see it in the papers tomorrow.” Then, as if remembering something, she added, “By the way, I made dinner—couscous.”

“Noted. I’m coming to sleep at your apartment then. I’m not working tomorrow morning anyway. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay. Salam, and be careful—or you might run into that satanic devil.” Meysa warned, her tone half-joking.

Maryam laughed, her thoughts flickering briefly to the vigilante. Oh, if only you knew. “Yeah, okay. Bye.”

She ended the call and started the car engine, the rumble breaking the quiet of the early morning. Without another thought, she sped through the empty streets, heading towards her aunt’s apartment.

────୨ৎ────

           Bruce removed his helmet with a quiet exhale, the motion slow and deliberate. 

The cool air of the cave brushed against his sweat-dampened skin, a stark contrast to the warmth trapped beneath the black armor. As he pulled the helmet free, the shadows lifted from his face, revealing a man who carried the weight of a city’s sins in his eyes. His blackened gaze swept the cavernous space around him, the dim light catching the maining streaks of dark camo that clung to the edges of his eyelids, a haunting reminder of the night he’d just endured.

He reached up, his fingers deftly removing the contact lenses, the tiny sensor bands embedded within reflecting the harsh glow of the monitors around him. The lenses were more than just a tool—they were a gateway to his world, a lens through which he witnessed the darkness that engulfed Gotham. He placed them on the workbench, their curved surfaces still warm from his eyes, before shifting his attention to the grainy video footage playing on the screen.

Nirvana playing on the background; the scene replayed in stark black and white, the distorted image of a gang member convulsing as he was tased in the neck. Bruce’s eyes lingered on the man’s face, reading the fear etched in every twitch of his muscles. He knew that fear well; it was the same fear that had once gripped him as a child, staring into the eyes of the man who had taken everything from him.

He stood, his eyes scanning the vast space of the cave, the eerie silence of early morning settling around him. The remnants of a bygone era surrounded him—an unfinished black muscle car sat hulking in one corner. Monitors lined the walls, their screens flickering with the latest news. The headline that caught his eye made his stomach tighten: 

"MAYOR MITCHELL MURDERED."

The newscaster’s voice droned on, filling the cave with words that felt like distant echoes: "...this certainly isn't the first time Gotham has been rocked by the murder of a political figure. In fact, in an eerie coincidence, it was twenty years ago this month that celebrated billionaire philanthropist, Dr. Thomas Wayne, and his wife Martha were slain during Wayne's own mayoral campaign in a shocking crime that remains unsolved to this day..."

Bruce’s gaze hardened, his jaw tightening as the familiar pang of loss surged through him. The past had a cruel way of resurfacing, no matter how deep he buried it.

He sat back, his eyes scanning the footage on the monitor. He paused as the camera caught a glimpse of her—Dr. Maryam Halimi. 

Even in the grainy, night-vision footage, she stood out, her presence both captivating and unsettling. Her expressive hazel eyes had been wide with shock when she stumbled upon him, her hair meticulously styled in a French twist updo, a stark contrast to the chaos around her. 

There was something about the way she held herself, a blend of poise and vulnerability, that gnawed at him.

Her presence was an unexpected calm amidst the storm of violence and despair. 

Bruce leaned in, his gaze sharpening as he studied her features. She had looked at him with those eyes—greenish-yellow, filled with tragedy, hauntingly beautiful, and framed by the weariness of someone who had witnessed far too much yet clung to a fragile hope. A sudden comparison flashed through his mind, almost disorienting: her eyes were like the sky at dusk, desperately holding on to the last traces of daylight before succumbing to the darkness. They were eyes that bore the weight of the world.

He shook his head, trying to dismiss the thought, but it clung to him stubbornly. For a brief moment, he had seen his own torment reflected in her gaze. The deep blue of his eyes, like a painting etched in sorrow, had found a mirror in hers. It was a gaze that spoke of shared suffering, even if she was unaware of it.

Bruce replayed the scene, his heart rate subtly rising as he relived the moment she had stumbled upon him. He hadn’t expected her to be there, and the way she had frozen, her eyes widening in shock, had left an indelible mark on him.

He captured her image on one of his computer screens, letting it linger there before switching to another monitor to continue reviewing the footage.

A metallic clank echoed through the cave, pulling Bruce’s attention away from the screen. He looked up to see Alfred stepping out of the freight elevator, his figure cast in the half-light. The older man’s face, etched with years of wear and scars of a different kind, was a picture of quiet concern. 

Bruce turned back to his work, avoiding Alfred’s gaze, but the tension between them lingered in the air like a ghost.

“I assume you heard about this...?” Alfred’s voice was low, tinged with the weary resignation of a man who had seen too much.

“Yeah,” Bruce replied, his tone clipped, eyes fixed on the footage he was fast-forwarding through—frame by frame, dissecting every moment of the crime scene.

Alfred moved closer, his steps echoing softly on the stone floor. He glanced at the screen, his eyes widening at the sight of Mayor Mitchell’s body. “Oh. I see...” His voice faltered as he took in the gruesome scene. “...dear God...”

As the image of the cipher filled the screen, Bruce froze the frame, his hand reaching to print the image. The lines of the eerie symbols etched into the Halloween card were now stark on the paper. Alfred’s breath hitched as he took in the sight, the chill of the moment settling deep into his bones.

“The killer left this for Batman?” Alfred’s voice trembled slightly, betraying the fear he kept carefully masked.

“Apparently.” Bruce’s reply was curt, as if discussing a minor inconvenience rather than a message from a murderer.

Alfred’s eyes narrowed with concern. “You’re becoming quite a celebrity... why is he writing to you?”

“I don’t know yet.” Bruce’s voice was flat, betraying nothing of the storm brewing inside him.

"And her?" Alfred gestured toward the computer screen where Maryam’s face was paused, captured in the moment their eyes had locked. Bruce hesitated, his gaze briefly shifting to the screen as Alfred studied the image.

"Does she have any link to what happened—"

"No," Bruce cut him off sharply, his tone leaving no room for further questioning.

"She’s pretty," Alfred murmured, his voice softening as a small smile tugged at his lips. "Quite a striking woman, if I may add. Or was it the way you scared her?"

Bruce's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing. "She seemed familiar."

Alfred glanced at him, curiosity piqued. "Do you know her?"

Bruce shook his head, his voice distant, as though reaching back into a memory just out of grasp. "I asked Gordon about her. He said she's a pathologist. Medical examiner. Her name is Dr. Maryam Halimi." His gaze lingered on her face for a moment before he returned to the other screen, burying himself in the work that never seemed to end.

A heavy silence settled between them, the only sound the hum of machinery in the background. Alfred sighed, running a hand through his hair, trying to weigh the gravity of the situation against Bruce's relentless pursuit of justice.

"Have a shower," Alfred finally said, his voice carrying a hint of weariness. "The accounting boys from Wayne Enterprises are coming for breakfast."

"Here—why?" Bruce asked, irritation flickering in his eyes, a reminder of the ever-present tension between his two worlds.

"Because I couldn’t get you to go there!" Alfred retorted, frustration seeping into his voice as he met Bruce's gaze, the unspoken concern between them thickening the air.

“I don’t have time for this,” Bruce muttered, his own patience wearing thin.

Alfred’s voice softened, a plea underlying his words. “It’s getting serious, Bruce. If this continues, it won’t be long before you’ve nothing left—”

“I don’t care about that. Any of that.” Bruce’s words were sharp, final, cutting through the space between them like a knife.

Alfred’s eyes flickered with a pain that he quickly masked. “You don’t care about your family’s legacy?”

“What I’m doing is my family’s legacy,” Bruce countered, his voice low, edged with a conviction that left no room for doubt. “And if I can’t change things here, if I can’t have an effect, then I don’t care what happens to me.”

Alfred swallowed hard, his throat tight with unshed emotions. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Bruce's eyes darkened, his voice dropping to a warning. “Alfred, stop.” The words hung in the air, sharp and final. Then, without missing a beat, he added, “You’re not my father.”

The statement was cold, a barrier thrown up between them, meant to shut down the conversation. The silence that followed was heavy, charged with the weight of everything unsaid. Alfred’s expression faltered, the faintest trace of hurt flashing across his face before he masked it with a resigned nod.

But the words lingered, echoing in the cavernous space of the Batcave, a reminder of the chasm that sometimes seemed too wide to bridge between them.

A thin, pained smile touched Alfred’s lips, barely masking the hurt behind his eyes. “I’m... well aware,” he replied quietly, his voice tinged with a sadness that Bruce chose to ignore.

Alfred’s eyes lingered on Bruce for a moment longer, searching for something—some sign of acknowledgment, a crack in the armor. But Bruce remained impassive, his gaze already drifting back to the screens, to the work that consumed him.

Bruce rose from his seat, the movement deliberate and final, signaling the end of the conversation. Alfred watched him go, a deep pain etched in his expression, the kind that comes from years of unspoken worries and unresolved conflicts. 

The distance between them felt wider than ever, a gulf that no words could bridge.

As Bruce disappeared into the elevator, Alfred turned back to the computer, his gaze lingering on the screens Bruce had been working on. His eyes scanned the thumbnails from the lens footage, pausing on one that showed the boy in the ninja costume with Maryam crouched in front of him, trying to comfort the little boy. His heart clenched at the sight; the tenderness in her gesture stood out sharply against the brutality surrounding them, a small but significant act of humanity in a city drowning in darkness.

His gaze then drifted to the printed cipher lying on the desk, the eerie symbols from the Halloween card glaring up at him. Above them, in Bruce's sharp handwriting, were the words: "HE LIES STILL."

Alfred frowned, the weight of those words pressing down on him like a heavy shroud. He knew the dangers Bruce was courting, the dark path he was walking. But seeing those words, seeing the connection between the message and Bruce’s relentless pursuit of justice, filled him with a deep sense of dread. It was as if the very essence of Bruce's mission was encapsulated in that ominous phrase—a mission that seemed to be consuming him more each day.

Alfred let out a weary sigh and closed his eyes, the heaviness of the situation settling over him. The fear of what it might do to Bruce weighed heavily on his heart.

────୨ৎ────

      Maryam stirred awake, the faint sound of voices and the clattering of dishes drawing her from sleep.

The room she found herself in was familiar, though now it bore the quiet solitude of the morning. This was the place she once shared with her younger sister Sherine during their teenage years—a space that had seen countless late-night conversations, whispered secrets and shared dreams. It wasn’t vast, just big enough to comfortably house two people. 

The furniture was modest, with a couple of beds positioned against the walls, each adorned with mismatched bedsheets that reflected the distinct personalities of the two sisters.

A shared wooden dresser stood between them, and a small desk, once a place for late-night study sessions or scribbled notes passed between them, sat against the wall, bearing the marks of years gone by.

The room had a comforting, lived-in feel, with soft, warm colors that reflected the coziness of their aunt's home. The sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting gentle rays that danced on the patterned rug. A few framed pictures adorned the walls—memories of family gatherings and happier times.

Maryam rubbed her eyes, still groggy, and reached for her phone on the nightstand. The screen flashed to life, showing the time: 10:36 a.m.

She sighed, stretching her arms above her head, and then rolled out of bed. Her face was slightly puffy from sleep, and her hair, which had been washed the night before, had settled into bouncy curls that framed her bare face.

Yawning, she reached for her red robe, slipping it on and tying it snugly at the waist. The soft fabric provided a small comfort against the coolness of the morning. Shielding her eyes from the sunlight that streamed through the window, she made her way to the door.

As she entered the hallway, the sounds of life became more pronounced—familiar voices mingled with the clinking of dishes, the occasional clatter of cutlery, and the unmistakable melody of Um Kulthum filling the apartment.

The closer she got to the kitchen, the stronger the scent of coffee became, warm and inviting. It was a smell that always made her feel at home, no matter what else was happening in the world outside.

In the kitchen, her Aunt Meysa was on the phone, a foulard wrapped like a turban on her head and her usual apron draped over her jelaba. She was speaking loudly, gesturing with such vigor that it was as if the person on the other end could actually see her. The mix of broken English and Arabic in her voice was unmistakable.

"No, no, we take no more kids tonight! Already full!" She rolled her eyes with dramatic flair, as if the person she was speaking to was as thick-headed as the fog that sometimes rolled in from Gotham Bay.

At the small table, Aunt Jamila sat, the embodiment of calm despite the tumultuous life she’d endured. A cigarette was nestled between her fingers, a cup of coffee steaming in front of her. Her black hair was tied back, and her sharp yet warm brown eyes were fixated on the newspaper spread out before her.

Maryam paused, blinking in surprise. Aunt Mila never read the paper. The last time she’d seen her aunt with a newspaper, it had been crumpled up to light the fireplace.

Strange, she thought.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to grace us with her presence,” teased Moncef, her cousin, a few years younger and always up to something. 

He was Aunt Meysa and Uncle Fawzi's only son, a boxer who owned a gym in Gotham, both training and fighting in the ring.

Maryam, unfazed by his usual teasing, just rolled her eyes and ignored him.

Rania, the fourth Halimi sister, was hunched over her laptop at the table. Her dirty blonde curls were pulled into a messy bun, held together by a pencil, and an earpiece was tucked into one ear. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, completely immersed in work for Bella Reál’s mayoral campaign.

Yesterday's fiasco had thrown her into overdrive, and she barely noticed the world around her.

At the far end of the table sat Warda, the second-born daughter. An engineer at Wayne Enterprises currently on maternity leave, had one hand resting gently on her rounded belly.

She was the only married sister out of the five, wed to a man named Ryan, a dentist. Despite the exhaustion that often accompanied pregnancy, Warda looked as radiant as ever.

Her dark hair, straightened and perfectly styled, brushed her shoulders as she leaned in to spread marmalade on her toast.

When Moncef made his remark, she glanced up, a warm smile spreading across her lips. “Sbah al khir, sbah al noor yah Milou,” she greeted, using one of Maryam’s many nicknames.

Maryam, stretching again to shake off the morning sluggishness, walked over and planted a small kiss on Warda’s head. Warda returned the affection with a tender smile before taking a bite of her tartine. Maryam moved to the counter, tugging her robe tighter around her waist as she poured herself a cup of coffee—milk and three sugars, her usual.

Meanwhile, Moncef, ever the joker, threw a few playful jabs in her direction as she poured the coffee. Maryam, long accustomed to his antics, didn’t even flinch.

Noticing the empty chair at the table, Maryam smirked to herself. The youngest sister, Alma—affectionately known as Lulu—was still in bed. 

Typical, she thought. Lulu, the baby of the family, was probably the only one who could sleep through the chaos.

Maryam turned her attention to Aunt Mila, who hadn’t lifted her eyes from the newspaper. “Since when do you read the news, hmm?” she asked, raising one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows as she sipped from her mug.

Amina took a slow drag from her cigarette, her gaze still fixed on the paper. “Why wouldn’t I? The mayor’s dead. That’s big news.”

Maryam chuckled, turning back to the counter. She put her mug down and opened a drawer, rummaging through it for her favorite biscuits. “I’ve never seen you read the paper,” she said, her tone light.

Finally finding the biscuits, she tore the pack open with her teeth and turned back towards the table. “Actually, I’ve only ever seen you light fires with it.” She shot a sideways glance at Rania, who grinned without looking up from her laptop.

Amina sighed, finally folding the newspaper and meeting Maryam’s gaze. “Well, times change, and so do people, ya benti,” she said, the hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. “Even I, need to keep up with what’s happening in this madhouse of a city.”

Warda, still chewing her tartine, chimed in with a soft, teasing voice. “Oh, Maryam knows. She was at the crime scene last night.”

Moncef’s eyes widened as he snatched the newspaper from Amina’s hands, dodging her half-hearted attempt to pinch him. “You were?” he exclaimed, scanning the headlines.

Maryam rolled her eyes playfully, leaning back against the counter. “Thanks for the reminder, Warda. Like I needed it,” she quipped, though the corners of her mouth twitched into a small smile.

Moncef, still clutching the newspaper, leaned forward with curiosity. “So, what did you see? Give me the juicy details.”

Maryam shot him a look, already feeling her patience thin. “Moncef, how many times do I have to say it? I can’t tell you. It’s against the rules.” Her eyes widened to emphasize her words. “Besides, I woke up to Sherine hounding me for more info for her papers, and I still refused.”

Ali threw the newspaper at Maryam, but she dodged it with practiced ease.

Meysa, still on the phone, caught the exchange and snapped at her son, “Moncef, stop bothering your cousin! Go find something else to do.”

Ali grimaced and backed off. “Fine, fine. Just trying to get some interesting gossip.”

Maryam stuck her tongue out at him in mock defiance, earning a bemused look from Ali.

“So, what does everyone want for dinner?” Meysa asked, finally hanging up the phone. “I’m thinking Mloukhiah.”

Moncef chimed in, “I don’t know, Baba’s off to work at the bay until tonight, even though I told him not to go. The weather’s awful.”

Meysa scoffed. “Your father is as stubborn as a mule. Out there, getting drenched while Gotham spirals into chaos. What’s next? A gang of criminals taking over Wayne Enterprises?”

Maryam chuckled, her mind still partially occupied with the crime scene. “It’s Gotham, Meysa. Anything’s possible.”

Rania, finally looking up from her laptop, wore a serious expression. “The conspiracy theories are spiraling out of control. This is going to be a nightmare for Bella’s campaign. Every scandal just adds more fuel to the fire.”

Maryam leaned back against the counter with a smirk. “Welcome to my world, Rania. Looks like you’re becoming Maryam 2.0.”

Rania narrowed her eyes at her sister but couldn’t hide a smile. “Oh, please. I’m still young. Don’t age me prematurely.”

“Too late,” Maryam shot back with a laugh. “You’re already showing signs of stress. Look at those bags under your eyes.”

Rania leaned in closer with a smirk. “Ha! You’re one to talk. Your workaholic tendencies could turn anyone into an early retiree.”

“Maybe,” Maryam conceded with a grin, “but at least I’m not glued to a laptop 24/7.”

“Not glued, just constantly engaged,” Rania retorted with a cheeky smile.

Warda, ever the peacemaker, chimed in with a gentle smile. “Let’s not turn this into a competition over who’s the bigger workaholic. We all have our issues.” She glanced down at her round belly and stroked it lovingly. “Some of us just have different priorities.”

Meysa, always the doting aunt, leaned over and added, “Eat, Warda. You’re not eating enough for a pregnant woman. I don’t want my grandchild to be hungry.”

Warda quipped back, “I’m fine, Aunt Meysa. Don’t worry, my husband is feeding me enough.”

At that moment, Alma, the youngest Halimi sister nicknamed Lulu, stumbled into the kitchen. Her auburn, almost red hair was a mess of curls, and her eyes were half-closed as if she’d just been dragged from a deep sleep. “What’s going on? Why’s everyone so loud?”

Warda greeted Lulu with a warm smile. “Welcome to the land of the living, Lulu.”

Lulu took the coffee cup gratefully and sat down at the table. “I’m still half-asleep. What’s everyone talking about?”

“The mayor’s dead,” Jamila said matter-of-factly, lighting another cigarette.

Lulu’s eyes widened in shock, nearly spilling her coffee. “Wait, what? When did that happen?”

“Last night,” Maryam replied, watching her sister’s reaction with a concerned look. “It’s all over the news.”

Rania snorted and returned to her laptop. “Trust me, you’re not missing much. Just more chaos.”

Aunt Jamila exhaled a stream of smoke, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Chaos or not, this city’s going to hell. We’ve got to be careful. All of us.”

Warda nodded, her hand resting on her belly as she considered Amina’s words. “Yeah, we do. But we’ve survived worse, right?”

The room fell into a contemplative silence. They had indeed survived worse.

Breaking the silence, Maryam asked Lulu, “Where were you, anyway?”

Lulu groaned, leaning back in her chair. “Revising my bar exam.” She avoided eye contact with Maryam, her unease palpable.

“Really?” Maryam asked suspiciously, crossing her arms and frowning.

“Yep.” At this point, everyone stopped what they were doing and focused on Lulu, sensing the tension in the air.

With all eyes on her, Lulu finally exploded. “Okay, fine! I did go to revise, but then I went on a date with a guy!”

Jamila, crushing her cigarette in the ashtray, said, “See? Wasn’t that hard.”

“What guy?” Moncef asked, his tone protective.

“Yeah, well, I’m not going to tell you his name. I’m not even sure if it’s serious,” Lulu said, trying to deflect.

“Well, is he hot at least?” Rania asked with a mischievous grin.

“What do you mean ‘hot’?” asked Aunt Meysa, looking puzzled. “Is he sick or something?”

“No, Meysa,” Aunt Jamila clarified, “she’s asking if the boy is handsome.”

Maryam said nothing, but her gaze fixed on her sister, already forming suspicions about who the new guy might be. She hoped to god it wasn’t who she had in mind.

“Yaani, oh my god, it’s my life. I’m 26! Leave me alone!” Alma snapped suddenly, throwing her spoon onto the table and storming off to the bathroom.

Ali raised his arms in mock surrender. “I have to go open the ring anyway. Salam!” He left the kitchen, grabbing his energy drink on the way.

Seizing the opportunity to escape, Rania pushed back her chair, shutting her laptop with a decisive click. “Yeah, me too. I’m heading to the office. The team needs me.” She grabbed her bag and called after Moncef, “Can you please drive me?!”

“Be careful,” Warda called out, but the only response was the door slamming shut.

Maryam emptied her coffee into the sink, quickly washed her cup, and left the kitchen.

Aunt Jamila called after her, “Don’t make her even more mad!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Maryam responded with a wave, already heading out the door.

────୨ৎ────

       Maryam leaned against the bathroom doorframe, crossing her arms and giving her sister a stern look as Lulu brushed her teeth. “Please tell me it’s not who I think it is.”

Lulu leaned over to spit out the toothpaste, avoiding Maryam’s gaze. “Oh god, it is,” Maryam muttered, beginning to pace anxiously. Her fingers pressed against her temples. “Vittorio Falcone. Of all people—”

Alma quickly placed her hand over Maryam’s mouth, her eyes wide with alarm. “Keep your voice down!”

Maryam lowered her hands, her frustration palpable. “Can you blame me, Alma?” she said, using her full name to emphasize her annoyance. “You promised me you wouldn’t talk to him—”

“He kept insisting, Maryam!” Lulu cut in, placing her hands on the counter. “Sending me flowers, gifts, waiting outside uni and work—”

“And I warned you!” Maryam’s voice rose. “I said you’d be tempted by him and his charms! Ever since that night at the restaurant, and the way he looked at you while you worked! He knows what he’s doing; he’s playing you—”

“Maryam, he’s not that bad when you get to know him—”

“He’s part of the fucking mafia, be for real right now!” Maryam exclaimed, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “And not just any member—he’s the oldest son of Carmine Falcone!” She lowered her voice further. “The literal heir to the Roman throne.”

Alma shook her head, dismissing Maryam’s concerns. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Lulu,” Maryam said, taking her sister’s shoulders, “please don’t be fooled by them. I know them, I’ve worked near them. They’re dangerous.”

“I talked with him,” Alma said, though Maryam continued to shake her head. “We’re just friends. He says he’s going to make everything legitimate when he takes the reins, which he already has and has started doing some changes!” she explained, her tone pleading.

“Doesn’t matter,” Maryam said firmly. “He’s still dangerous. And you’re not even Italian. Why would he want to go out with you? It’s just so strange.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Alma said suddenly, her tone serious. “I know who he is, but all I ask is for you to trust me on this.” She absentmindedly played with a strand of her red hair. “We’re not together; if anything, I just went on that date with him so he’d stop pestering me. It’s nothing serious, really.”

“Look, I know he’s handsome and charming or whatever, but it’s not like in the movies. Please—” Maryam started, but Alma cut her off.

“I know what I’m doing, Mar. I’m not a baby anymore, and you know that.” Alma began to gently push Maryam out of the bathroom. “Don’t worry about me. Really.” With that, she pushed the door shut and locked it, leaving Maryam outside, bewildered and even more worried.

She leaned against the wall, her shoulders slumped as she tried to steady her breathing.

Maryam felt a pang of helplessness—she had always been the protector, the one who stepped in when things went wrong. But here, with Alma’s stubborn defiance, she was powerless.

The thought of Vittorio Falcone, the heir to one of Gotham’s most feared crime families, being involved with her sister was unsettling.

Her pulse quickened as she imagined the worst-case scenarios: Alma being used, manipulated, or worse. The danger was all too real, and Maryam’s protective instincts flared up with a fierce intensity. She remembered her own experiences with the criminal underworld, the threats and violence she had witnessed, that she had endured. 

It was a world that left scars—both physical and emotional—and she couldn’t bear the thought of her sister being dragged into it.

Maryam’s fingers gripped the edge of the door poignet, her knuckles white with tension. She fought to push down the rising wave of anger and fear that threatened to overwhelm her. She understood Alma’s need for independence and the desire to make her own choices, but the stakes were too high.

Maryam had always been the voice of caution, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that this time, she had failed.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Alma’s footsteps retreating on the other side of the door. Maryam took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. The cacophony of the house—the clinking of dishes, the distant chatter—seemed to amplify her sense of isolation. Her family was moving on with their day, while she remained stuck in this moment of worry and frustration.

Maryam’s heart ached with the weight of her responsibility. She knew she had to find a way to protect Alma without pushing her further away. But for now, she felt powerless, her attempts to safeguard her sister thwarted by the very person she was trying to protect.

With a sigh, Maryam pushed away from the wall and decided to leave the bathroom door. 

She needed to refocus, to address the rest of her day, and maybe—just maybe—find another way to keep her sister safe without losing her.

Maryam trudged back into the kitchen, her mood heavy with the weight of the earlier confrontation. 

Warda was slowly rising from her chair, preparing to leave. “I have to go back to the house. I promised Ryan we’d go shopping for the baby. He took the day off just for me,” she said, leaning in to kiss her aunts goodbye.

She then turned to Maryam with a knowing look. “Don’t be too hard on her,” she advised softly before grabbing her coat and leaving, her floral perfume lingering in the air.

Aunt Jamila, still sifting through the pile of envelopes, glanced up. “Looks like the Mayor’s wife invited us to the funeral,” she said, holding up a sleek black envelope.

“Oh yes!” Meysa exclaimed, recalling the phone call. “She phoned me this morning and said she wanted us to come.”

Maryam nodded, tying her hair up with a practiced motion, her mind still churning from the argument with Alma. “I’ll be here,” she said, her tone clipped. “But I’ve got work. I’m heading back to my apartment, and then I’m off to meet Gordon for lunch.”

Aunt Mila gave her a once-over, her keen eyes noticing the tension in Maryam’s posture. “Don’t work yourself up too much,” she advised, her voice carrying a mix of concern and firmness.

“Don’t worry,” Maryam replied, trying to sound reassuring.

But her mind was elsewhere, already dwelling on the tasks ahead.

With that, she turned and made her way to the room where she had slept, intending to change into something more suitable for the day’s events.

────୨ৎ────

After arriving at her apartment just outside the Narrows, Maryam quickly changed out of the clothes she had worn the previous day, opting for something more suitable. She selected a sharp outfit, something that matched her professional demeanor and the gravity of her work.

Heading to the bathroom, she swiftly straightened her hair with an iron, though she didn’t leave it down. Instead, she went for her usual French chignon updo, securing it neatly at the nape of her neck. With practiced ease, she reached for her makeup bag and began her routine: a touch of concealer to brighten her eyes, bronzer to accentuate her tan skin, a quick brush over her eyebrows, a flick of mascara on her lashes, a hint of blush, and finally, her signature red lipstick, which added a bold pop of color to her plump lips.

A spritz of her usual oud perfume added the final touch as she glanced at the time on her phone. Satisfied with her appearance, she slipped on her black high-heeled boots, her long black coat that she secured with the ceinture around her waist, grabbed the dossier she had prepared—complete with the photos and notes from the crime scene—along with her black bag. After ensuring her keys, phone, and wallet were inside, she opened the door of her apartment and stepped out of her apartment.

As Maryam stepped out into the hallway, the familiar sounds of her building greeted her. The muffled cry of a baby echoed from one of the nearby apartments, and somewhere down the corridor, a couple's argument punctuated the otherwise quiet morning. She sighed, tightening her grip on her bag. This was Gotham, after all—a city where peace was always fleeting.

With a quick glance back to ensure her door was securely locked, he began her walk towards the stairwell. The weight of the dossier in her hand was a reminder of the seriousness of her work, pulling her thoughts back to the task at hand. The voices behind her faded as she descended the stairs, the familiar creaks and groans of the old building, along with the click of her high heels, accompanied her steps. 

Despite the less-than-ideal living conditions and the constant noise, this place had become a part of her, just like Gotham itself. She thought about her aunts’ constant urging to leave the city, to find a better life somewhere like Metropolis or Central City.

They couldn’t understand why she chose to stay, why she remained in a city that seemed to chew people up and spit them out.

But Maryam knew. Gotham was in her blood. It was a city that had shaped her, toughened her, and no matter how dark it got, she couldn’t bring herself to leave. She often joked that if she worked anywhere else, she'd probably die of boredom.

Here, every day was a new challenge, a new puzzle to solve, and as much as the chaos drained her, it also fueled her.

Her salary might not reflect the work she put in—the long hours, the emotional toll—but money wasn’t what drove her. It was the people, the ones who needed her, and the small victories that kept her going.

Each time she uncovered the truth behind a death or brought a criminal one step closer to justice, she felt a sense of purpose that was worth more than any paycheck.

As she reached the ground floor and pushed open the heavy door leading outside, the cold air hit her face, sharp and bracing. She squared her shoulders, letting the door swing shut behind her as she made her way to the subway.

────୨ৎ────

     The diner was a relic from a bygone era, its faded charm unmistakable despite the wear and tear.

The once-vibrant red booths had lost their luster, now marred by cracks and scuffs. The linoleum floor, a worn pattern of black and white squares, squeaked with every step. Old-fashioned pendant lights cast a soft, yellowish glow over the space, creating an ambiance that was both cozy and antiquated.

The walls were adorned with vintage photographs and a few outdated advertisements, giving the place an air of nostalgia. A jukebox in the corner remained dormant, its music silenced by the passing years.

Inside, a handful of patrons sat scattered across the booths and tables—some reading newspapers, others engaged in quiet conversations. The air was filled with the aroma of coffee and the faint scent of cleaning products, a mix that added to the diner’s homey but slightly worn-out atmosphere.

Maryam spotted Gordon seated in a booth near the window, absently stirring a coffee. He looked up as she approached, a warm smile spreading across his face.

“Maryam, right on time,” he greeted, standing up to kiss her cheek. “I’ve already ordered your usual—Diabolo mint.”

Maryam returned his smile and slid into the booth across from him, her black high-heeled boots clicking on the floor as she settled in.

“Thanks, Jim. My aunt sent over some cakes for Barbara,” she said, handing him a small box. “She thought Barbara might enjoy them.”

Gordon’s smile widened as he accepted the box. “I’m sure she will. She’s always been a fan of your aunt’s baking.”

Maryam nodded, pulling out the dossier from her bag and placing it on the table, her expression serious.

“I’ve compiled everything from the crime scene—photos, notes, and the autopsy details,” she said. “There’s a lot to go through, but I’ve highlighted the key points.”

She leaned in slightly, her voice steady. “The pattern suggests a personal motive. I’m leaning towards someone with a clear objective, possibly targeting specific individuals.”

Gordon listened intently, his brow furrowed in thought. “And you think this might be just the beginning?”

Maryam’s gaze was unwavering. “Yes, I’m afraid so. The killer seems to have a goal in mind, and if my analysis is correct, this could be part of a larger plan.”

Gordon nodded thoughtfully. “Now that you're suggesting it, I’ve been hearing some unsettling whispers about potential future targets.”

He took a sip of his coffee, the weight of the situation evident in his tone. “Anything else?”

Maryam sighed, leaning back in her seat. “Yes, my aunts and I were invited to the mayor’s funeral. I think it’s important to be there, considering everything.”

As she spoke, the TV mounted on the diner’s wall flashed news coverage of the murder, catching both their attention for a brief moment.

Gordon glanced at the screen, then back at Maryam. “It seems the night of the murder is still making headlines.”

Maryam huffed, a hint of frustration in her voice. “Well, the Mayor’s dead—it’s kind of a big thing.” She took a sip of her Diabolo mint before adding, “It’s all over social media. My sister Rania, you know her—dark blonde hair,” she gestured to her own hair, “she works comms and public affairs for Bella Real’s campaign.”

Gordon hummed in acknowledgment. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Well, it’s been hell since yesterday night,” Maryam said, her tone weary.

Gordon nodded, taking another sip of his coffee. “Man, tell me about it. The whole city’s on edge.”

They shared a moment of silence, the gravity of the situation settling in. The TV continued its coverage, but their focus remained on the task ahead.

“Anyways, anything new from the Bat about the case?” Maryam asked, a note of hope in her voice as she tried to pry any information from Gordon.

Gordon chuckled softly, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Well, you certainly made quite an impression on him, that’s for sure—”

Maryam cut him off, blushing slightly. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Gordon shrugged, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he adjusted his glasses. “But seriously, no, I haven’t heard anything from him since last night.”

Maryam mumbled under her breath, “Probably rotting in his cave.”

Before Gordon could respond, his phone rang, the screen displaying an unknown number. He answered it with a hint of skepticism, holding the phone to his ear as he listened intently.

Maryam took a sip of her Diabolo mint, waiting patiently for the call to end.

After a few minutes, Gordon hung up and looked at Maryam, a hint of intrigue in his expression. “That was him.”

Maryam’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Oh, really?”

Gordon nodded. “Yeah. I’ve gotta go, but I’ll make sure to keep you informed.”

“Of course, don’t hesitate to call,” Maryam replied, watching as he stood up and placed some money on the table.

Gordon offered her a nod. “Take care, Maryam. I’ll see you around.”

She watched him leave the diner, heading toward his car, the weight of the situation lingering in the air as she finished her drink.

previous chapter (chapter one) | next chapter

Halimi Family

Parents :

Idris Halimi (the father, deceased)

Anastasia Nikolaevna (the mother, deceased)

The sisters :

Maryam Halimi (the oldest) — 30, doctor, medical examiner.

Warda Halimi (second born) — 29, Engineer at Wayne Enterprises.

Sherine Halimi (third born) — 28, Journalist

Rania Halimi (fourth) — 27, Comms and public affairs for Bella Real Campaign.

Alma Halimi (youngest) — 26, Law student

Paternal aunts :

Meysa (Halimi) Saeed

Jamila Halimi, nurse

Paternal Uncle :

• Fawzi Saeed (husband of Meysa), fisherman

Paternal Cousins :

Moncef Saeed (son of Amir and Meysa), owner of a Boxing Ring in Gotham.

[mommybard]

So, I might’ve found a group out there as depraved as those tentacle fuckers. Get this, some people get off on the idea of hypnosis and mind control, whether it’s willingly giving up control to someone or something else or getting corrupted into it. I know, strange, right? Can you just imagine it. Think about it for a moment. Clear your thoughts for me. Empty your mind. Now just picture someone out there getting off on hypnosis. Not just simple versions of it either, like those stage shows where the person makes the volunteers humiliate themselves for others enjoyment. But deep, hypnotic states. Having your mind go blank from just a few words, a simple phrase, or even just visual cues. Either rendering you little more than a human doll or bringing out a whole new personality. And the variety of ways they want it done, it’s fascinating, really. Some of them want to be strapped into a VR machine and get blasted over and over with audio and visual cues. Slowly having the connections in their mind either re-done or erased entirely as they’re exposed to it. Making their iq drop, filling their now-empty minds with lewd thoughts and ideas. Erasing all the worry about the world and stress that was there and replacing it with better things to focus on. Like how empty their mouth feels, wouldn’t it be better to have a nice cock against their tongue or get to feel their lips wrapped around a nipple? Why worry about work when they can worry about how achingly vacant their holes are? What’s the point in stressing about things when they can focus on how cute they can look to try to get more strap/cock~? Can you believe how fucking depraved that is? Others don’t want it to happen so obviously though. You can’t really forget being strapped down and forced to watch and listen to things, and might try to fight against it. They want a more subtle approach, or a slow burn. Getting tricked into it even appeals to these deviants. Opening an email that just happens to have a short video or message that plants an idea but makes them think it’s something innocuous. Being shown a quick thing by someone they trust, or sometimes even a stranger for some of them, and having it start them on their journey. Over time getting slowly exposed more and more to these little things that add up, making them slowly go from who they are, to a bit more open, dressing a bit more revealing. Their mind getting corrupted bit by bit from their normal thought process, to having trouble thinking about anything other than something lewd, to fully embracing the perverted and depraved~ And yet there are still more out there who don’t want it to happen like those. Tech? Psh. That’s too tame for them. Tech can be reversed after all. No, they want something more permanent. Something more…magical in nature. Whether it’s a curse put on them, a part of a demonic bargain, or simply drinking the wrong potion. Having their own control over their bodies supplanted by other powers. Some might introduce little whispers in their mind, slowly guiding them down a path of sluthood, pushing them further along that route until they’re practically begging people in the street to please use their body as a fucktoy, to give them another taste of the pleasures they’ve become addicted to, to violate and defile them. It can also be a rapid shift for some, having their consciousness locked away in their mind, unable to control their body but forced to watch as the demon they made a deal with changes them, warps them, ruins them. Trying to escape the restraints they’re in and take control back even as they’re constantly assaulted by the new sensations and experiences the otherworldly power subjects their body to~ I tell you sweetie, there are some really depraved people out there, willing to do such strange things to themselves for the sake of pleasure~

[deerspherestudios]

Author’s Note: This is probably bad, because I have been in a creative slump, and have severe writer’s block, but I wanted to write something about Mychael, so here it is.

~

After such a long day of searching for your cat, you would expect to drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep; however, contrary to such assumptions, disturbing visions of the feline plagued your mind: images of the unfortunate kitty lost and hungry became a horrific nightmare of the creature getting hurt or killed by other animals.

Your eyes flew open, forcing you back into reality. Blinking a few times, you become more clearheaded, with a growing awareness of the wetness of your cheeks, and the sweat on your forehead.

“Are you okay, Firefly?”

Turning your head, you saw Mychael sitting next to your bed, concern marring his otherworldly features.

You didn’t want to lie to him - after all, he had been so kind to you; however, you were also averse to worrying him further.

“I’m alright. I just had a bad dream.”

He frowned, not appearing completely happy with that response. After observing him for a day, you realized that Mychael was the type of person to look after others, and that he couldn’t stand to see someone unhappy.

Wanting to reassure the boy, you gave him a warm smile.

“I’m honestly fine. It’s just that I really miss my cat.”

You were positive that you saw some unidentifiable emotion flicker across his face, but it was gone the second you registered it.

“Oh. Well, I’m certain that wherever your cat is, they are healthy, and unharmed.”

You really wanted to believe that, especially since your memory of searching for the feline was fuzzy.

“Yeah, you might be right. I guess I’m also a little lonely. The thought of going back to an empty house makes me sad. So, I really want to find my cat, because he always kept me company.”

All four of Mychael’s eyes shifted to stare at his lap, where he began to fiddle with his fingers.

“You don’t have to go back right now. You could stay here for a few days, and I could keep you company. Then, you wouldn’t be lonely anymore.”

You couldn’t help teasing him a bit.

“You want to replace my cat?”

He put his hands up defensively, eyes going wide.

“N-no! I just want to help you. If you’re having nightmares, you shouldn’t be alone right now. I want to make sure you eat properly, and get enough sleep.”

You were honestly surprised by how far this person was willing to go for a complete stranger. He had already done so much for you, but now he was willing to allow you to stay for a longer period of time? You would have to figure out a way to thank him for his generosity.

For now, you simply reached out to hold his hand. His breath hitched, but he didn’t pull away.

“Thank you. You’re so nice. I’m really glad that you are the one who found me. I think I can go back to sleep thanks to you.”

You released Mychael’s hand, and laid down on the bed, closing your eyes. He really did help erase your worries, and you could feel the tension drain from your body. You thought you heard Mychael murmur something. Unfortunately, you were too tired to fully register his words, and simply dismissed them as you drifted off to sleep.

Mychael watched you relax, and smiled fondly. He hoped that you would never leave, and would do anything to make you want to live with him forever.

“I hope that you come to think of this place as your home; after all - home is where the heart is. And my heart belongs to you.”

[steviestits]

I Move the Stars For No One - Part 1.3

Written for a prompt dmed to me, which can be read in its entirety on this fic’s masterpost.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Rating: T (E for later chapters) Summary: After running away from home after an argument with his father, Steve storms off into the woods only to accidentally stumble into the unseelie king's lavish party. The king, Eddie as he likes to be called, is taken by Steve and dances through the night with him. Though Steve enjoys himself, he feels the need to return to the mortal realm, but soon learns that he can't as he has become property of the king after trespassing on a sacred fairy circle. Steve is forced to stay and begins to learn that all is not as it seems, especially in regards to his own past. (Labyrinth inspired story but they share zero plot points.) Trigger Warning: None for this chapter Eventual Trigger Warning: Feminization, Mating Rituals, Heats/Ruts but not the Omegaverse kind

(Link to previous part)

Steve inhaled sharply as he was tugged near until he could see every freckle on the fae king’s face. He was dazzled for a moment, only able to stare into Eddie’s big, brown eyes, but he quickly regained his senses and tried to shove the other away roughly. It felt like pushing against a steel wall as the other refused to budge.

“I don’t want to learn!” Steve huffed, punching his fists uselessly against Eddie’s chest. “You can have anyone in this room! Choose one of them to be yours!”

“Those fae aren’t half as beautiful as you, sweetheart. I mean, you have to see how jealous they are of you.”

Blush dusted Steve’s cheeks. He knew he was good looking in the human world, but here? Everyone had a deep otherworldly feel that added a strange depth to their allure. Though, he supposed the same could be said for Eddie since he was used to seeing these types of people and hadn’t been exposed to those outside his realm. Once Eddie got used to Steve’s unnaturalness then he’d tire of him and move on, just like everyone else he’d dated in the past.

“Just empty words and empty phrases,” Steve said. “It’s the passing fancy of a king, like a child with a new toy. Nothing more.”

“I can promise you that it’s not,” the fae king whispered, staring Steve down with a smoldering gaze. “Let me show you.”

Eddie then ran the knuckle of his index finger down Steve’s face, and the next thing Steve knew he was standing in a circular room that had a giant tree growing in the center. Branches strewn with light pink apple blossoms stretched up towards a starry lit ceiling. Steve would’ve thought they were stars, but they twisted down the tree like vines and wrapped around the posts of a bed nestled against the tree’s trunk. Sheer, white drapes hung between the posts, which matched the pure white linen sheets spread across it.

Moments after they arrived, a table and two chairs appeared in front of the bed. It matched the other wooden furniture in the room, except that it was a bit fancier as carved, gilded vines wound their way around their legs and the backs of the chair. Spread out atop the table were several frosted pastries on a three-tiered silver stand accompanied by a porcelain teapot, painted with a sprawling array of the most detailed meadow flowers that twisted and curled along its sides. Steve had honestly never seen anything like it except in historical movies.

“You missed the feast at the start of the ball,” Eddie explained. “Eat as much or as little as you want. If there’s anything else you want, then it’s yours.” Steve opened his mouth. “Anything but letting you go,” he added quickly as if sensing what Steve was about to say. “You’re mine now, sweetheart. Going to spoil you rotten.”

“How do you know that I’m not already spoiled rotten by my own family?” Steve challenged. “They could be searching for me right now.”

Eyes lingering on the bruise forming on Steve’s face, the fae king said, “I highly doubt that.”

Shame and embarrassment ran through Steve as he hated how obvious it was that his parents cared so little about him. Or maybe it was Steve’s own fault for falling short of the plans that were laid out for him. Either way, no one at home would be looking for him as he knew his dad was waiting patiently for Steve to come crawling back.

“Enough talk about the mortal realm,” Eddie said. “Eat. Unless you’d prefer something else. I can change it to whatever you prefer.”

“This is fine.” Steve paused as his stomach grumbled. “They look tasty.”

“They’re yours. You’re free to have your fill.”

Steve stared longingly at the food on the table. He hadn’t had dinner because of the fight and had skipped lunch due to nerves after receiving his latest rejection letter. Legends had it that if one ate food in the fae realm then their fates would be sealed, and they would be unable to leave ever again. However, Steve didn’t know this due to his lack of fantasy education, and even if he did, his stomach gurgled loudly, demanding to be fed.

The rumbling was so loud that Eddie must had heard it, because he walked over to the table and picked up a flaky, round pastry with chocolate frosting to bring back to Steve. He held the pastry up to Steve’s mouth, waiting patiently. To Steve’s surprise, the fae king’s eyes were soft, gazing at Steve with a heated emotion that he’d never seen directed towards him until now.

Hunger gnawed at him further, and coupled with Eddie’s gaze, Steve leaned forward cautiously in order to bite the offered treat. His teeth dug into the flaky shell, only to be surprised when he bit into a pocket of sweet custard filling. The taste of the custard exploded on his tongue, causing Steve to groan with pleasure as he’d never had anything quite like this before, mostly because his dad thought sweets were girly but also because the flavor was just so good.

Eddie smirked affectionately. “Like it?”

“Yeah,” Steve said with a nod. “It’s amazing.”

“Then have the rest. This is all for you.”

With less reservation this time, Steve ate the remains of the pastry in Eddie’s hand, blushing when the fae king’s fingers brushed softly against Steve’s lips. Eddie didn’t stop, however, and soon another pastry was against Steve’s mouth as the fae king eagerly fed him. He could’ve walked to the table to get his own, but he instead allowed Eddie to serve him, as if Steve was the king instead of an outsider.

Heat pooled within the core of Steve’s being, only he barely noticed. He was too caught up in the moment to realize that there was something strange about the way he was feeling. A change was about to happen, one that would change his life forever and throw everything he knew into question, not that Steve noticed. Not that Steve could look anywhere except the fae king’s eyes.

Part 1.2 ~ Masterpost ~ Part 2.1

[krnsluvvie]

love at first, love at second, love at last

diez: nuestros recuerdos (+ wc: 2.8k)

SUMMARY: sae had chosen his career and that was shortly followed by his and y/n's separation. three years pass by and amongst all the lurking and stalking each other's socials, sae is suddenly found back in their hometown. old feelings are resurfaced, current ones are questioned and a whole load of future ones are found in a blur.

nueve | masterlist | once

the second school finished, you bid isagi and kurona goodbye as you grabbed your belongings and dashed towards the bus stop. they regarded you with a wave, a reluctant look of surprise crossing their features. because if anything, you're the one leaving last. always.

but today was different. because you had a plan. and you were going to make it all about your friends. 

all day long they're swarmed with practice and the best you can get is a text after a few hours. honestly and frankly, you missed them. 

an amazing, otherworldly, idea struck your brain during your maths class and you couldn't just leave it for naught after all the planning instead of paying attention.

their practice usually starts at 5pm so you'll stick to that. at times, it can be 6pm–so if it comes to the worst case scenario, you wouldn't mind waiting an hour more.

the plan was simple: get home, change out of your uniform, grab your parents' car keys and leave your home with one destination in mind: xxx stadium. 

on second thought, you might run into rin as well, and it doesn't look promising that he'd show up, so with a deep sigh you sprint up the stairs to your room and grab his phone in a hurry. 

surely they must be hungry, ravenous, after ungodly hours of practicing. so you place an order before you finally leave your sacred space.

you start up the car and within a few minutes, you make a turn as you make a stop by the local restaurant to pick up your food. 

you bring the bag close to your nose. it's always as you remembered: warm, delicious and heavenly. there's no doubt it was going to taste divine. you can't wait to dig in with your friends. 

they've been practicing like crazy and even if you've been relentlessly asking them to hang out–despite getting rejected each time–you wanted to show support somehow.

isagi and kurona have always been by your side and although they can get lost in the football world (this fact reflects on their grades and additional homework), they try their best to be there for you. you smile as your hand grabs the gear stick and shifts it to a neutral as you reach a red light. you lean against the window, a hand on the steering wheel, looking up and waiting.

the light turns green in the blink of an eye and you swiftly shift it to the first gear as you slowly step off the clutch with your left foot and steadily add gas with your right one.

whether they liked it or not–changing to the second gear–you were going to show up to their practice–now to the third one.

and, moreover, who would refuse fried chicken?

the stadium appears to your right and you use your blinker to indicate a change of your direction. 

shortly after, you're found in a parking lot which is strangely too empty. especially around this time. well, whatever, more space for your parking. and less stress.

you grab your backpack, the food and your cap from the passenger seat. upon locking the car, you place it on your head as you adjust it. you get your student ID ready as you show it to the security outside. the stadium is sometimes used for practice for your school's football team–isagi and kurona's–so of course you're going to get in. illegally or not is not important.

the guy checks it out and then looks at you. you give him a slight smile as he returns the card to you and moves to the side. looking sporty will always guarantee a pass. i'm so fucking smart.

you pass through a long hallway until you reach the end of it. you've been here before but still, you're ever so amazed by the almost abyssmal capacity and the greenness. 

the lights nearly blind you as you finally get to it. it's barely past 5 and the sky got darker than it was when you went out. a slight breeze passes by you and you shiver. the cold weather's just around the corner it seems.

you make your way towards the elevated bleachers as you make yourself comfortable: setting your things aside and curling into your hoodie. good thing you decided for a long-sleeved tee underneath. 

there are people on the pitch–a good sign someone's here, after all–and your eyes wander. you can't see much but it doesn't matter because all you're looking for is #11 and #16. your best and favorite players of all times. of course.

maybe it's the fact that you haven't been going to their practices as much as you'd like, but this team of people… you don't seem to recognize them. at all.

their jerseys are a totally different color from what you remember: white with pinkish red lines. even the training bibs look different. they were black the last time you went. 

you pull out your phone from your pocket.

great. maybe you should have asked. but that would have definitely arisen some suspicions. a total lose-lose situation.

since you're here already, you might as well watch how your friends' opposing team plays. you catch a tall guy running towards the goal posts in your peripheral. his hair is dark, with green ends to them–this must be oliver, no doubt. there's an arm band around his well-built bicep with a letter C on it. your eyes widen at the realization. no way he's the captain? 

he dons a jersey with number 2. 

out of curiosity, you search for their #11 and #16. 

number 11 spreads across a fairly tall guy's back. his hair is reddish with sweeps to the left.

all this squinting is going to make your head hurt and form creases on your forehead, and probably faint at this point. you grab your things and move a few rows closer.

as for kurona's number, that's nowhere to be seen. well, fear not, he was going to be warming your side anyway. 

as much as you try to stop yourself from looking any further, your eyes find #10 in a record time. your eyes run up the wearer's body and undoubtedly… this is sae.

your lips form into a thin line as bitterness fills your mouth. you grab the bag and open one portion of the chicken and take a bite–it's cold and… unenjoyable. main factors: it’s without your friends and you seemed to have lost all the appetite.

this was a waste of your time. and your money. hopefully the chicken can be reheated and remain crispy, otherwise you are going to lose it.

should you go home? should you stay?

it's been a while since you went to a match and truthfully, you didn't seem to miss it. usually you're there for your friends to support them, other than that, there's no other purpose. 

but your feet stay glued on the ground.

it's getting chillier and chillier but your eyes are fixed on number 10. his hair is still the same yet different–fucked up all the same.

that is not what catches your attention, however. it's the way he plays and dominates the field. even back then he was exceptional and his current playstyle might seem slightly different if not identical to the untrained eye but… you know better.

his skills are enhanced now and even his physical stats have changed. tremendously so.

he also seems to have better control over the ball. 

good. you scoff. spain did you good, huh?

you open your phone and start mindlessly scrolling through every social media account you have. you don't want to go home just yet. surprisingly. the streets should be almost empty by night–which is so much more enjoyable while driving. and you were planning on getting ice cream anyway.

as the clock ticks 8pm, you decide to gather all your belongings and make a beeline for the exit. the football players seem to be still discussing tactics so you might have to make this fast before they catch sight of you. 

a second before you reach the dark hallway you hear a, “stop.”

was it aimed at you? with clenched fists, you keep walking ahead.

“yo, we said stop!”

you stop dead in your tracks, slowly turning around. there was no point in getting out of this anymore.

fully turned around, you're faced with many unfamiliar faces. at the front it's–of course–oliver whose face is contorting; he's probably refraining himself from grinning. or not. 

“y/n, what a pleasant surprise.” he says, voice calm and breezy–as if this was the most normal occurrence. 

mr. number 11 turns to look at oliver. “you know them?”

oliver nods. “we're acquaintances. there's someone who knows them more.” his eyes momentarily flick to his left. you follow his indication; there's sae leaning against one of the goal posts, arms crossed and a look cast downwards. 

“what brings you here?” oliver asks instead.

you gulp. “i thought isagi and kurona were going to be here.”

oliver sighs. “i see. well, that's too bad.”

oliver is not anything like you thought of him to be. and that's totally on you for thinking that! 

“i guess.” you say, puzzled. “i'll be taking my leave now.”

“wait, y/n.” you raise your eyebrows, waiting. “our newest addition here,” he jerks his head towards where sae is, “has actually injured himself and we just sent shidou to get the first aid kit.”

what does that have to do with me? sits on your tongue but then a voice interrupts your thoughts.

“i told you it's fine. it's just a scratch.” sae says, his voice deeper than you remembered. or maybe this is how he had always sounded—it’s not like you wanted to think about the past. you spare him one look but when your eyes meet, you both look away.

“yeah, yeah.” oliver gets closer to you and pats you on your back. you’re taking every height comment you’ve made about him back as he towers over you. “we're counting on you.”

you can't bring yourself to move as you freeze in one place. what the fuck. 

the rest of the team follows oliver as he passes you. they either nod at you or don’t spare a look at all. 

once they’re out of sight. you hear a sigh. 

“what’s taking that demon so long to get back?” he mumbles under his breath.

as if on cue, shidou emerges from the other side with a jump in his steps as he approaches. “i got the—

“oh.”

“shidou.” you fully acknowledge him.

“y/n.” he does the same.

your mouth twitches at the attempt of not breaking out into a grimace. 

a ding resounds through the pitch. you quickly check your phone but there are no notifications. you look up and it’s shidou reading a message he’s been sent. 

“oliver said we’re free to leave. and to leave you a—” he stops himself. “haha, i’ll take my leave now. good game today, underlashes senior~

“it was nice seeing you, too, y/n~” and… he’s off.

technically, you can also leave because there is no one chaining you to the ground. unless sae decides to be a dick and chase you down. 

whatever. 

your legs move on their own to the hall where you came from but then you stop abruptly. you squeeze your eyes in an internal battle between staying because you're a genuinely good person or leaving because the person in question doesn't deserve your kindness. this all only adds fuel to your frustration. shoulders slouched, a sigh leaves past your lips as you choose the former and walk towards sae. “where does it hurt?”

“y/n.” his voice is unusually soft and if you didn't know any better, it sounded like he was holding back a sob. what a baby. you crouch down and take a good look at his knee. “must have taken a pretty nasty fall, didn't you?”

“you can go, you know.”

you ignore it. 

“where's the kit?”

“behind you.”

“sit on the bench,” you instruct him to do so and he obeys. you grab the necessary items and subsequently take a seat on the concrete near the grass. you gently grasp onto his ankle and he eases up into your hold. “your hand's cold.”

“you can handle it.” it sounds harsh. especially with how fast you responded. quickly, you add, “sorry.” you bring your hands close to your mouth as you blow the warm air onto them.

with cotton balls and swabs you wipe off the blood that rolled down his leg from the wound– all with the additional help of your water bottle. good thing you haven't opened it yet. or more like, lucky for him. 

the wound isn't big so you only opt for a bandaid. or two.

“okay, you're good as new.” you get up from the ground but it's too fast as you wobble forward. thankfully, you catch yourself in time by holding onto the seat for dear life. 

sae leans down. “you good?” and offers a hand.

“yeah.” you take his hand as if that was your second nature. the grasp he has on yours is strong but you reciprocate it with as much strength. 

“thanks. by the way.” he says as you're now facing each other. there's still a slight difference in height between you two, and you hate looking up. you avert your eyes elsewhere. “no big deal.”

“and i'm sorry.”

you look back at him but now it's him that's looking away, avoiding your eyes. 

“we're not–”

your hand is still in his and he uses that to his advantage as he pulls you close and embraces you. “push me away if you don't like it. but please, let me have this moment. just for a little.”

the familiar scent hits your nostrils and against your better judgment, you lean into him. it's still the same cologne as you remember, distantly. he also never seemed to sweat as much which appears to stay the same. has he changed at all?

fuck you, itoshi sae. fuck you.

it's like a mantra at this point. but it's you who's the hypocrite here as you pat him on his back and you both are stood there in silence, in each other's arms.

you already went this far so might as well ask him.

“do you want me to take you home?” your voice is soft, carrying a tilt of tiredness.

sae's eyes sparkle as he grabs your shoulders, forcing you to look at him. “if you don't mind… i can drive.” he adds on second thought.

you exhale. “sure.”

~

the whole car ride is rather awkward. but it's strangely manageable.

“you got your license in spain?” you fiddle with your fingers in your lap, looking out of the window. it's the first time after a while that someone's driving you around after getting your own license. 

sae grips the steering wheel and inhales. “yeah, though i should be retaking an exam just to be sure.”

you hum. 

there's a tight feeling in your chest. you were supposed to get your driver's licenses together. obviously, things had changed and there was a lot of changes you both had to take care of, but the feelings still reside in your mind, not so easily fading away. 

you were aware that both of you had to move on with your life one way or another. but this fact eats away at you, bothering you. just since when did they start resurfacing again?

the remainder of the ride is spent in silence as he makes the last turn. you're currently in the suburbs, just a few minutes away from entering the city again. this is definitely not where the itoshis live–as far as you're concerned. 

“okay, we're here.” sae announces as he stops the car and engages the handbrake.

you get in the driver's seat as he gets out. “itoshi, wait.” you grab your backpack and take out rin's phone, handing it to sae. “can you give this back to rin? i don't think he'll be coming around anytime soon.”

sae purses his lips, lost in thought. this was not his phone, nor his business to deal with. despite all of it, he says, “sure. i'll try.”

“thanks.” you say before you drive off towards the city. the perspiration is dripping down your temples and you have to roll the windows down to cool yourself. 

as sae watches you leave, he runs a hand down his face.

they still call me by my family name, hah. 

it shouldn't hurt, fuck, it shouldn't even bother him but it does.

the gym bag is pitifully thrown on the ground as he takes out his phone and sends a message without thinking.

he lets the message marinate as he gets into his apartment and jumps straight into the shower, distracting himself.

some minutes pass after he gets out, a towel around his neck. then, a ding is heard from his phone and he checks it almost right away.

sae's mouth twitches. 

okay, this is good.

this is enough, he thinks.

a/n: this was such a bitch to write omfg but we reached the end of the first act yaaay i hope you're enjoying the story so far:')

tag list: @kiopanxp @funtuki@silly-ez @asteroskoniiii @keijiqahara @pikibee @tamimemo @kaitfae

[tokoyamisstuff]

Spellbound pt. 2

Chapter 2: Parce Domine (Lt. "spare, o lord")

3,1k. words | f! Reader | pre-canon | slow burn | not proofread

[Previous Chapter]

"Where is it, bloody hell, where?!"

Anderson frantically searches his room for that particular bible among the many he owns, internally cursing himself for keeping his room so unorganized.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he tucks it from a pile of books, making it collapse. He opens it, shaky hands flipping through the pages until he found the page you wrote your number into.

A clever move of yours, in hindsight - any other paper he would instantly have disposed of, but he'd never dare such sacrilege as to throw away the holy scripture, couldn't even bring himself to rip out a mere page of it.

He's found himself admiring your handwriting, mutely pronouncing your name as his finger runs over the dried ink. You had additionally scribbled a little arrow towards one certain bible passage, along with a smiley and an exclamation mark.

! -> "Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you."

He grumbles loudly at your subtle provocation, but needed to swallow his pride for the situation at hand was dire.

At the very same time on a different continent, you were deeply concentrated with an experiment when you got startled by the ringing of your phone. Not many people have this number, and those that do certainly don't call with a suppressed number.

"Hi! Y/N here" you speak with a cheerful voice despite not knowing who it is, and Anderson can feel his heart pounding against his ribcage at the delicate sound.

For a while there's only silence from the other side, until a grim voice finally wrung out an introduction. "...this is Father Anderson."

A self-satisfied grin formed on your lips. If only you could see his face right now, he's probably seething at this humiliation of crawling back to you.

"Ohh, look who decided to call. And so soon already..." you tease, smugly leaning against your table. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

You hear him take a deep breath, the gravity of his sigh a bit concerning. "...a child in my care is...sick, very sick through something otherworldly, but we can't identify the cause. We've tried everything, even our most skilled doctors and exorcists, but..." his voice is shaking in apprehension, "I'm...at my wits end here...what if the boy dies...I can't-"

"Hey." Your whole demeanour shifts immediately upon hearing this, tone stern yet reassuring. "Calm down, it's alright. We'll find a solution, I promise."

Anderson lets out a small whine, running a hand from his face through his hair before speaking up again. "Please, just...hurry..."

It took you half a day until you were close enough to teleport, already the midst of night when you draw the coordinates Anderson gave you into your magic circle.

The orphanage is almost empty as you appeared in a blind spot outside in the garden, sending the paladin a quick message that you had arrived. He came to pick you up almost instantly, a dissheveled mess of a man rushing towards you only to be taken aback by your appearance.

"What in the world are you wearing?" he speaks between grit teeth at the modest, almost pious clothing you currently had. Even a gold cross necklace adorned your neck, and he could barely hide the obvious disdain of using his religion as a disguise. But he bites back any argument due to lack of time. "I'm in the midst of enemy territory, did you really think I'd draw attention by looking like a walking target?"

The priest nods mutely at your reasoning, waving for you to follow him. As you walk unseen through dark hallways, he can't help but keep glancing over to you, unable to decide if he was irritated or astonished by the way you presented yourself.

Seeing you like that almost makes him forget that you were far from innocent. He can't believe his desparation drove him into doing this, putting the orphans at risk by bringing some evil savage like you here.

But then again, this orphanage is not only symbolically a spiritual place - it is enhanced by countless precautions to keep the underworld away. Yet you roam it so freely, without even the slightest effect or repercussion.

Deep down he knew the plain truth - it's because you weren't a threat.

"How is the child?" you cut through the heavy silence coating you two, and his expression turns pensive. "Getting worse by the hour. But see for yourself."

When you entered the small bedroom your heart dropped. A small and frail boy, five or six years old at best had been tied hands and feet to the mattress. The noises he made were heartscattering, his misery causing you to let out a choked sob.

Anderson put on his usual strong and calm front as he walked over to the child, strained creaks filling the room as the massive man sat on the edge of the bed, exchanging a cold cloth on the little one's forehead. "We saved him from the fangs of an occultist a few days ago, and shortly after he fell into this state."

Your bottom lip trembles slightly at the sight, but you tried to keep it together. Not thinking about the impression it makes you pull out a small dagger from your sleeve, and without hesitation Anderson grabs your wrist roughly, twisting it just shy from painful. "Don't you dare try something, wench. I'm protecting these kids with my life, do you hear me?"

The paladin was on high alert ever since you stepped foot onto these holy grounds, and now all of those images Iscariot had indoctrinated him with were resurfacing.

One in particular, the old superstition that witches use the body parts of children to make their ointments.

"Darling..." The endearing term only adds to his fury, blaming himself for having been blinded by your innocent facade. Still, he automatically softens his hold when he sees your face grimace in pain. "Don't you think if I wanted to snatch a child I wouldn't have to go out of my way and come to the Vatican of all places?"

You drop the knife to the ground, looking at him and the boy with pleading eyes. "I just wanted to cut the ropes, I swear. They're unnecessary and cruel."

Anderson narrows his eyes at you before letting go with a frustrated growl, using a bayonet to cut the child free himself. You sit down way too close to the man but he wouldn't protest, since it means he can better stop you shall he not like anything you do.

"That's not a demonic possession, not entirely at least" you ponder, evaluating the black marks spreading like vines across the child's body. "It's a pact. The occultist wanted to use him as a human sacrifice...he asks the fiend a favor, and in return the boy either dies or the curse takes physical form eventually, causing a lot of harm."

He sees you rummaging in the small bag, to his confusion taking out way more things that could possibly fit in there. You let out an amused huff at his puzzled expression. "Pocket dimension, jealous? I bet carrying all those bayonets is really difficult."

Anderson angrily works his jaw, brow sinking deeper and deeper with every word you say - until he sees you tend to the child so tender and careful, genuine worry present on your face. Letting go of the tiny hand to put yours on the priest's shoulder, you try to raise his spirits. "I got this. Don't you worry."

It takes a while until everything is set up for the ritual, and Anderson already dreads how to explain all this stuff if anyone unexpectedly interfered.

You position yourself at the foot of the bed, while you sent him to a corner of the room, still wary yet trusting enough by now. "Oh, and Anderson?" Cutting deeply into your palm and letting blood drip onto the sheets, you look at the priest with a conflicted, almost fearful expression. "Yes?"

Your voice is filled with dread as you tell him your request. "Promise you kill me if things go south."

Although the mental image somehow made his guts churn like he had just been disemboweled, he wouldn't let it show. "...no need to tell me." You crack a forced yet hopeful smile at the man and continue.

The whole ceremony didn't even last a minute, and before Anderson could comprehend what happened - let alone if it succeeded - you collapsed to the floor, holding your face while screaming in agony. Instinctively he drew his bayonets, but then tossed them away and rushed to your side against all common sense.

"Hey, hey, talk to me!" He gently shook you as he called your name, but you remained paralyzed in pain. For a while he couldn't do anything but just held you firmly into his arms until your squalls ebbed down to breathless whimpers.

When you finally recovered and opened your eyes again, he was horrified to see the same pitch black that was tainting the child had swallowed your whole left eye. The iris is white and absent of a pupil, and yet he could still feel your soft gaze on him.

"Heh...heya there..." you chuckle weakly, and he can't help but mirror your smile in relief, reluctant to let you out of his grip just yet. "Oi, you scared me half to death.

"Sorry, sorry..." You blink heavily trying to adjust to the partial blindness on the left, only now realizing the position you're in. Wriggling your eyebrows at the man now that your usual smugness had returned, you sit up, positioning yourself in his lap.

Despite feeling his head spin at the indecent proximity, the priest's attention shifts to the boy again. He looks...better. Great, actually. All marks were gone from his body and color had returned to his cheeks. He was resting peacefully, finally able to give in to exhaustion after such a long period of torment.

"Thank god..."

"God had nothing to do with this!" you object with a sour expression, feeling like you're robbed of your credit. Anderson laughed heartily at the adorable sight, squeezing the sides of your shoulders ever so slightly. "Oh yes, he did. He sent me an angel to save my wee boy."

Suddenly the door slams open and you both startle, leaping away from each other to gain some acceptable distance again. Two girls around their early teens bark in, visibly upset for their younger 'sibling'.

The word slipped his throat faster than his mind could catch up on and for a while you just stared at each other in disbelief. "...maybe" you mumble eventually, straightening your clothes and hair after standing up again. Seeing him so approachable and uncharacteristically happy for a change certainly did something to you, but you'd rather drop dead than to admit it.

"Heinkel, Yumie..." The paladin speaks strict yet with a profound affection, "It's far late for you to be up. What are you doing here?"

"We-we heard screams and got worried" the more timid one of them explained, but the blonde was boring holes into your skull with her questioning glare. "Who's that?"

Anderson panicks briefly, feeling caught. "That's Y/N. She's..." He gazes over to you, sharp features softening briefly as he scans his mind for an answer. "...a-a friend. Yes."

Your eyes widen for a fraction but you're quick to play along to save his integrity. "Right. Your dear father called me to assist him heal your brother in faith. I'm somewhat of an...occult expert, if you may say."

That answer obviously wasn't satisfying their curiosity and they kept prying. "What oder are you from?"

"Oh, I tend to work alone..." You rub the back of your head nervously, pacing on spot. "I'm more of a consultant."

They both stare at you for a while, eyes darting between you and the father until they notice the soundly sleeping child. "So he's doing better?"

"That's amazing! How did you do that? What caused it? And why is your left eye closed? How long do you know our Father?"

"The boy is completely healed." You smile gently as you reassure them, "He'll be alright." Hearing this the two practically rejoiced, rushing towards you as they riddled you with questions.

"Heavens, girls..." Anderson shooed them away from you, adjusting his glasses as he scolded them. "Remember your teachings. Stop harassing the poor gal, we all need to get some rest now."

They pout a little, too excited to want to leave and yet obeying without question. "Alright..." one of them ends the sentence of the other. "...but will you still be here tomorrow morning?"

"I'm afraid not. Remember to study well and not cause your Father over here any trouble, alright?" You put one hand on each of their heads and they beam up at you with a pleading look. "But you'll come visit again, won't you?"

"W-Well...I-I don't think that's-"

"Who knows" Anderson interrupted your pathetic struggling for words, "She's a busy woman, but she'd be thrilled to come when she's needed. Or am I wrong?"

That compromise seemingly placated the already yawning tweens and they finally trotted towards the bedchambers again, leaving you alone once more.

You choke on a gasp for a second when he looks at you as if that was an order and not a suggestion. "I-I mean sure, yes...anything to help..." Oh, he'd definetly get payback for this.

"What sweet girls..." you say dreamily as you look after them, beginning to laugh. "And so well-behaved. I almost can't believe you raised them." Only almost, though. That blunt stubbornness surely didn't fall far from the tree.

"Silence" he speaks between grit teeth, but they hint a small smile beneath. "Don't you dare getting too cocky, little witch."

"Did you truly mean what you said earlier?" You then give the man a side-glance, unbelieving that he'd seriously want to associate with the likes of you. Actually you were prepared to never hear from him again after this was over, lest allowing you to step foot on here ever again.

He crossed his arms in front of his broad chest, scoffing as he internally finished his moral debate. "Why not? After all, you're a frie- ally" he corrects himself in time.

Your lips curled into a crooked smirk at his revelation, yet you didn't want to push his buttons too hard. "I think I might need some fresh air..."

Anderson safely guides you out of the orphanage, away from any watchful eyes until you finally drop on a nearby bench. He keeps a watchful eye on you, face twisting in sorrow when you look up to the starry sky.

Despite everything, you still look like a surreal piece of art.

The priest sighs as he plummets down on the other end of the bench, looking anywhere but your face. "So..." he finally dares asking, though dreading the answer. "What about your eye?"

Leaning against the backrest, you let a hand run over the closed lid. "There was no way to purge the curse, so...I absorbed it instead." You turn to look at him, cheerful and appeasing. "I just need to keep it in check. I'll make it work somehow, I always do. Hell, I bet I even find a way to use it to my advantage. You just wait!"

The paladin faces the floor, arms resting on his knees as the familiar weight of guilt begins to settle in on his shoulders. "Why didn't you ask me on your stead?" You didn't even know this child, but you knew doing this would cost you this greatly.

Again, you just didn't make any sense at all.

"Too risky" you brush it off, waving in a dismissing gesture. "I doubt anyone would be able to stop a behemoth like you if the curse overwhelms you."

"...I honestly don't know what to say."

"How about 'thank you' for a start?" you laugh as if your sacrifice meant nothing at all. Your stoic friendliness despite the circumstances was almost deterring.

Anderson's mind keeps wandering back to what he's been conditioned to believe in without question - that witches are eldritch devil worshippers, capable of heinous evils.

"Thank you, Y/N, truly" he speaks in a meek whisper, until his voice becomes more firm as he convinced himself to believe in you. "And I need to apologize too, I...misjudged you."

But a person caring so deeply, so selflessly to protect an innocent soul cannot be completely corrupt, he concludes.

"No worries. Actually, you're full of pleasant surprises as well!" You pat his back lightly and the touch sents a shiver down his spine. "Didn't think you to be a children's man, for example."

"Heh. And I didn't think you'd be the type to fraternize with catholics."

"Touché." You snort, fondling with the cross dangling from your neck. "But I don't despise christians, I'm very fond of any believers in general." Organized religion that tries to twist their god's teachings for personal benefit, however... "Us witches believe in unison of all humans. Our philosophy is benevolence, unraveling the wonders of this and other worlds, and using this knowledge to aid others...so I'd personally call myself a researcher more than anything."

He nods at your exposition and tries to bite back any snark comment lying on the tip of his tongue. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"Well, I was wondering..." You shuffle closer, stopping only when you felt him becoming uncomfortable. "...what limits you could break if you let me enhance you. I could give you equipment or teach you some spells. Imagine how freely you could move if you can summon those bayonets instead of carrying them in your coat, for example."

Anderson raises an eyebrow at you, his lip twitching in mild distrust. "And you're gonna do this out of your great pagan altruism?"

"Exactly...well, not completely." You poke his chest and he lets out an irritated huff. "You're gonna let me know the secret behind your regeneration."

"Oh please, I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to. Not even I have access to those kinda documents." You grin almost devilishly as you continued to persuade him. "Doesn't matter, I can figure it out myself. I just need you." That wording made the fine hair in his neck raise into goosebumps. "Also, you pretty much owe me one."

Right now it felt like he was offered a contract with something demonic, and it frightened him how close he was to give in. "And I will set my face against anyone who turns to mediums and spiritists to prostitute themselves by following them, and I will cut them off from their people." (Leviticus 20:6)

This again. Ugh. "Your regeneration ability also isn't standard nature. As are our conjurations. It's all science at the bottom line, or god-given, or whatever you want to call it."

"...let me think about it."

Gotcha.

"Well, you know how to find me, darling" you coo and he feels his resolve crumbling, the sound of your voice a witchcraft in itself. "You wouldn't be the first cleric to accept enlightenment."

[teenietinytangerine]

THE TRUTH UNTOLD part 1. chapter 1. "lust at first sight."

content disclaimer: hints at smut but none, yet... pairing: gumiho!yoongi x oc (saein) ------

"What did you say?"

"I said I'll feed you."

"Do you even know what that means?"

"I did my research, I know."

He crossed his arms over his chest, not unamused. In front of him, there she stood, the Venus de Milo, on the wane of the theaters of horrors, too at-ease in its throes to shiver at the sight anymore.

"Why would you do that?"

"You're a picky eater, aren't you?"

"I'm being careful with spicy food. Especially ones that leave me with souvenirs." The Gumiho pulled his shirt with one of his claws to expose the scar she had left above his collarbone a couple of days ago.

She grimaced. "Right, sorry. That's part of the reason, I mean you're stuck here because of me, and you asked me if you should just starve now so... "

"So? You're going to..."

"Not let you starve."

This time, Yoongi burst out in incredulous laughter. The slayer was messing with him, showing up with all five feet of snark at his door and empty promises in a leather trenchcoat.

She never lacked confidence, Saein, but that was a bold move. Thankfully, every doubt she had was obscured by the sheer strength of her stubbornness to the point that, when the Gumiho, disguised as a man, approached at an excruciatingly slow pace, all he could read on her face was her provocation to take her at her word.

He bent over, squinting. "Really?"

He looked otherworldly, with a hint of depravity, but she knew that already.

She looked delicious, with a hint of sardonic, but he knew that already.

"Really." She only needed to whisper for him at this distance. And now, she was the one smiling for there was no hiding from him of the hunger that had risen at the mere thought. She could swear his pupils had grown bigger.

She pulled on the pearl necklace to bring him closer and repeated, softer. "Really."

But, as her eyes fell on his lips, he pulled back.

"If you're not interested-"

"That's not- You are serious."

"I am... curious."

"You trust me?"

" ... For this, yes. It's your expertise, isn't it?"

"It is."

He smacked his lips, seemingly deep into the unraveling of his dilemmas while she was fighting off her pride, only pulled back by the more nustled in feeling she had denied and still does even though it murmurs with honey its spelling to her ear: lust.

She had a way about her, the Slayer, a tranquil confidence enveloped in fiery defiance and here she was standing, offering herself up an unbearable human fragility that was, oh, so tantalizing, the sweetest trap that just might be worth the sugar it held.

He couldn't help himself but fall in it.

His fingers tucked back a strand of her hair behind her ear, and the first skinship came with the promise of her anticipation. She wasn't lying. She wanted this. His thumb fluttered along her jaw all the way to her lips.

Saein, like hypnotized, held her breath, and instinctively came closer, her nose nearly touching his, she leaned and-

"Not like this." His fingers locked around her wrist, and a grin stretched on his lips. "I've got a ritual of sorts."

[vashuknivesu]

Alter(cation): Father! Nicholas D. Wolfwood/AFAB reader

Warnings: Church sex, pussy eating, religious themes. The good shit.

-*-

It’s a sin. You’re aware, vaguely, somewhere in the recesses of your brain that haven’t been clouded and warped by your lust for him that this is absolutely a sin. And if God is real then you’re definitely being sent into the deepest, firiest pits of Hell for what you’re doing; but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Not when your upside down view of the stained-glass window, obscured by a grand and tall crucifix, casting bright streaks of gold and red and blue and green is as stunning as it is. And not when the Father with his face between your legs is as good with his tongue as he is.

And really, how did a man of God get so good at eating pussy if he wasn’t already wrapped in a little sin? There’s not a chance he’s this good at it without having done it before.

Your legs are hiked up over either shoulder, and he has your thighs pulled taught either side of his chest, holding onto them with a death grip. Chancing a look down reveals to you that he’s staring, dark brown eyes locked firm on your face as his tongue runs laps around your clit. You whine when you catch his eye, he growls, your hips jerk and he closes his eyes, burying his mouth further into you.

If pleasure like this was such a sin, then why did God create it to feel so fucking good?

His hands are moving. One thick, broad palm pressing at your tummy, the other coming to join the onslaught between your thighs, two of his fingers sliding into you to the knuckle. He crooks the digits, hits a spot that makes you arch and cry out for him, snag his tawny black hair in both hands. And he likes that, if the depraved and deep moan he replies with is anything to go by.

You don’t get to give him much of a warning when you cum. It just kind of hits you like a battering ram, sending all your senses sideways with a squeal. He works you through it. Fingers curling into that little spot inside you, tongue lapping at you leisurely. When he comes away, his mouth is swollen, wet, chin covered in drool and cum. Holy Shit. He’s gorgeous.

He looks… Otherworldly, framed in an array of colours, outlined by pews and high, ornate ceilings. His fingers make quick work of his belt, his zipper, and when his cock comes free, fisted into his dark and tanned hand, you’re certain you see a little bit of God. Somewhere. Maybe.

He’s staring at you. Appraising you with low eyelids as he strokes himself leisurely, and a quick swipe of his thumb at his tip has his head tilting back, a loud groan echoing through the empty Church. When his head comes forward again, his eyes fix on the Crucifix behind you. Only briefly. Before all his attention is back on you, pulling you in at your hips, angling his cock towards your entrance with a thumb. He sinks into you easily with a push, sounds wrenching their way out of both you, and he stays comfortably seated for a moment, heaving in laboured breaths.

Bowing forward, Nicholas D. Wolfwood catches your lips in a sloppy kiss. Teeth and tongue collide, and, you think to yourself, if he were to devour you whole, right here and now on this alter, you’d die happy.

He doesn’t go far when he pulls away. Eyes barely open as he looks at you, lips almost touching. A little whisper when straightens himself upright and starts moving, punching a high keen from your lungs.

“Lord forgive me.”

[kydrogendragon]

Please, can I ask about The Raven King?

Raven King! Yeah, so this was what I originally planned to do for NaNo this last November and just started writing it by the seat of my pants without much of a plan. Ended up not finishing it but I did get a good 20k words into it. It's just a scattering of scenes right now, mostly.

The overall premise is a Hades/Persephone mixed with Beauty and the Beast type fic. Hob ends up going into town on the Winter Solstice and happens to go on the same year when The Raven King comes for "payment". Every fifty years, he comes and takes a soul away from the town as per their arrangement for existing in what are technically his lands.

The warning being that if you light any light on the longest night, the Raven King will come claim you instead. So no one as any fires or lanterns or anything going. Hob, not quite believing such a myth and who is also freezing his arse off, lights up the fireplace in his room. Which, unbeknownst to him, is him basically screaming out to the Raven King, "Hey! Please come take me and marry me!!"

There's gonna be some sort of climactic action, but what it is yet, i've no idea, so most of the scenes have just been them leaving to slowly love each other. A very enemies to friends to lovers bit.

A snippet for ya!:

A female voice shrieked. Hob jolted awake. His vision was empty. Nothing but a void seemed to cover his eyes, no matter where he looked. The voice was muffled, like it was underwater, or he was underwater. What was happening? “Robert Gadling,” a deep, soothing voice called out from somewhere in the void Hob seemed to be stuck inside. “You have lit a fire here in the night, calling me to you. We will depart shortly.” Depart? This was a dream, surely. Besides, who else would have such a perfect voice if not but in a dream? “You’re taking him?” a voice, the innkeep, Hob was pretty certain, asked somewhere to his left. “I am.” Hob’s limbs felt weird, now that he thought about it. They were weak, like how they are after a long hunting trip in the cold, or [ANOTHER REASON HERE]. He tried to raise his arm. He thinks he succeeded? It was hard to tell. He couldn’t feel any wind or warmth. It was truly like he was in a void. Was he? Finally, a sense of panic grew in his gut. He doesn’t know why it took this long to feel this way. He should have felt panicked the moment he opened his eyes and appeared to have gone blind, but better late than never. Frantically, Hob raised his hands to his face and thank the gods, he can actually feel his fingers against his cheeks. He climbs higher, reaching towards his eyes only to find nothing in front of them. Cautiously, he pressed a fingertip to his eye. His eyes are, indeed, open. There’s no lids in front and he can feel the coarse pads of the calloused tips rub against the soft jelly of his eyes. A hand grabs his wrists. The skin is cold, like they had just pressed their hand in a bank of snow and left it there. Hob jerks back at the sudden sensation, but finds himself stuck in the unnaturally strong grasp. “Peace, Robert Gadling.” Ah, so the voice belongs to Mr. Frozen hands. Not that that calms Hob down any. He pulls, testing the grip, and finds that the hand do not move. Not unlike stone. “I beg of you, my lord, he is not from here. He did not know what the fire meant.” My lord? Hob’s stomach sank. The innkeep’s story flashed through his mind. The Raven King, the otherworldly lord of this land. The one that takes with him someone from the village every fifty years as a… sacrifice. “And would you rather I chose another, Alice Thornan?” The innkeep was silent. Unsurprising, but hurtful nonetheless. Hob scoffed. Sacrificed. That was to be his fate. Hob couldn’t find it in himself to be very disappointed, all things considered. If this spared the life of another in the village, then so be it. At least he’d go out saving a life. Surely that would count for something towards his place in the afterlife. Perhaps the gods would even be kind and allow him to reunite with his dear Eleanor and sweet Robyn. Hob could hear some sort of shifting of fine grain or sand of sorts in the background. Then, the gentle rustling of feathers, like a bird preparing for flight. And then that deep voice called to him once more. “Prepare yourself, Robert Gadling. We are leaving now.” The hands that held his wrist left, the almost numbing cold vanishing with it. Moments later, two rather thin arms rucked themselves around his body, one underneath his legs, the other around his back, and lifted. Hob felt almost like a bride, being carted through the entry of her new home. He wonders briefly if Eleanor felt like this all those years back. Although he doubts he felt as cold as the stranger did. Tucked against the sturdy, but still freezing chest, of the Raven King had Hob shivering in his thin bedclothes. If wherever he was being carted off to for sacrificial rituals or whatnot was a long journey, he might die from the chill before making it there.

[lonestarss]

happy birthday.

below the cut is a little drabble i decided to do for an oc's birthday, which is tomorrow, november 12th.

special thanks to @kasmusser for reading this before i released it! please reblog to support your fellow artists.

There’s many an urban legend passed around the not-so-small town of Portmouth. Of weeping angels, of unsettling demons, of all matters of supernatural beings. Such things are usually waved away as delusion, hallucination, or simple tricks of the eye. But, there is one urban legend that is nearly universally agreed upon.

Every time Portmouth receives a thunderstorm, there’s always an uncanny, almost otherworldly figure roaming the streets. No one has dared to get close enough to touch it or see it in detail, but it always brings loud lightning and a lingering sense of despair.

When the storms clear, citizens get a closer look. Most describe him as a man, clearly an adult but of unknown age. His fingertips drip with foreign blood, eyes sunken deep as he perpetually stares at the pavement. A golden ring of light hangs over his head like an omen, matching the color of his eyes and the dark brown of his messed hair. He stumbles on tired feet at all hours of the night, carrying the sort of body you’d find rotting in a ditch. Always on the same path.

Many wonder if he’s real or not. He’s too methodical, too strange, as if they’re looking at the exact same sight every night. Small things change, but it’s uncommon. Sometimes he has a cane or a polearm, sometimes he sleeps most of the night away. 

It’s curious. He acts so obviously human. Yet he is so ostentatiously not at the same time.

Sometimes he isn’t seen at all.

This is one such night.

The back alleys and unwalked streets of Portmouth feel barren without their sorrowful angel patrolling them. It’s the dead of night, and he’s nowhere to be found. What happened?

Praying with trembling, raw muscles, Miguel Briones begs to forget his own birthday. He resists the urge to scratch at himself, to grit his teeth and make his pain worse. How ironic it is– so desperate for pain, for anything, and yet yearning for emptiness at the same time. Such contradiction reminds him of his echoing heartbeat, his aliveness. How human it is, to beg.

He can’t win. His throat tightens, but he does not weep. He thinks that he lost the ability some thirty years ago.

Another November twelfth passes alone. Alone, alone, alone with nothing but the heartbeat he can’t bring himself to stop. Every year, he prays to forget. To wipe himself of all that is worldly, down to his very blood and flesh. He died once, why can’t he do it again?

…What is he hearing?

He isn’t human, he reminds himself when his heartbeat picks up. It’s a mindless habit at this point. When he recognizes the footsteps that make his breath hitch, that voice that drives him utterly mad, the familiar pollen-induced tickling in his nose, he reminds himself again.

And he sneezes.

Maybe he isn’t as good at this as he previously thought.

“Ah, there you are!”

Miguel wishes he could die again right then and there, but when has God ever liked him enough to grant such mercy?

Miguel is pulled up from his kneeling position, forced to meet the gaze of the all-too-joyous wanderer he had oh-so-foolishly taken in. The air shifts slightly when they both simultaneously realize how light of a carry Miguel is, but that doesn’t last long.

“You seem awfully gloomy for what day it is,” The naive simpleton says. All Miguel can think of to respond with is a slight shrug. “Come now, do you not have any plans?”

“I never do,” Miguel responds, both his expression and voice blank and emotionless. All the other man does in response is click his tongue and shake his head.

“So be it. I’m sure I can spruce something up for you.”

Miguel wants to stop him, but he already knows that it’s too late. He was going to be dragged along whether he liked it or not. At least it would be more enjoyable than staying on the ground.

“What do you have in mind?” Miguel asks, more as an interrogation than an inquiry. “Well, you certainly aren’t the revealing type, so I had to do plenty of thinking to find something you’d like.”

He walks over to the other side of the room, pulls a box from the table. He can feel Miguel’s eyes scanning him the entire time. He holds out the box for Miguel, still putting on a mild grin despite the tension growing in the air. “I hope this is good enough. I really did try, believe me.”

Once Miguel takes a closer look, his heart flutters with both terror and excitement. It’s a box of chocolates, presumably stolen from one of the local stores. He feels a pang of joy in his chest. Why wouldn’t he? He loves chocolate.

…But the fact that they both know that is enough to bring Miguel right back down from where he was. Perhaps he wasn’t too proficient in being incomprehensible just yet. What a shame.

He’s conflicted. On one hand, this is a very charming and thoughtful gift, something he hasn’t gotten in probably a decade or three. But on the other hand…

His doubts are waved away by the younger man, as if he could read his thoughts. “Don’t think about it too much. I just wanted to give you something nice on your birthday.”

Miguel looks down at the box, a complicated, uncomfortable swirl of feelings filling him. He doesn’t smile, but the shocked parting of his lips and widened eyes are the most visible joy anyone’s going to get out of him currently. All things considered, this is probably the best birthday he’s had in years, even if he has to deal with… him.

Maybe this won’t be so terrible, he wonders.

“Happy birthday, Miguel.”

And for once, it does feel happy. At least a little. He’ll enjoy it while his lack of guilt lasts.

[insilentruin]

The King of Loneliness ?

| 🗡 | It used to be, that the long silences inside the Ark were filled with calculations, plotting his next move, contemplating the demise of the human race, keeping track of his machinations that his chosen few carried out.

Lately.... The silences were nearly maddening with cyclic thoughts and questions. Fears reawakened that he could not force to perish again. What was this need he felt? What was it for? His inability to answer those questions made it worse. It was a desperate longing for someone to guide him, take this burden from him, give him the answers he needed to fix whatever was wrong with him.

But. Of course. The pain of that need did not produce someone who could give him those answers, show him how to fix it. No. It just left him feeling empty, and alone.

I did this.

And knowing it, wanting to own that fact and decide to change it, did not ease the issues the desire propagated. It also didn't rid him of the realizations of what would have happened if he was been like Nai, and gotten to carry out more things until he'd either killed Vash and humanity, or been defeated. Either way, he lost. Either way--he lost. Either way. He. Lost.

It echoed inside him endlessly. Until he thought he would scream from it. It was then that he felt her calling to him. The song growing in distress for him, piercing the miasmic thoughts inside his mind until he couldn't ignore her. Alerts were sounding on the consoles that monitored her containment, and he sucked in all of the sensations with a physical deep intake and got up to see to her.

He stopped the alerts, to avoid anyone else coming to check on her, and dropped down to the walkway that would put him level-most with her emerging from the inner sphere. He wondered for a breathless moment, watching her move with her feathered appendages and and long limps and the beauty that all of his sisters possessed in that otherworldly way, that she may be one of the oldest Dependent Plants still alive. And yet, timeless all the same. It was at that moment that he felt what a burden his own freewill truly was. The ability to choose, and having chose wrongly. If only he were taken care of, as she was. Or used, and discarded. What a fickle and strange place for his mind to have gone. Was it--easier, to not have to choose?

Her song within his mind called him back to her and he pressed his whole front to the barrier between them. One cheek flattened against the barrier and he felt the warmth of her closeness through it and close his eyes to listen and feel her mind. The somewhat comfort she could offer. Their communication was a sophisticated tangle of images, emotions, and intensions, with no room for falsehoods. His delusional beliefs of before had endured, but not now. Not since the disillusionment of his entire supposed purpose.

It had been a line of thought lurking in the back of his mind for a while, and she eased it to the surface, did not let him turn away from it now. For all the knowledge he ever held of the humans and all of their flaws, he had thought himself above them. Even as he succumbed to the same mistakes himself. Possibly the first Independent Plant to become no better than the worst of humanity in all its history.

Except you have not. Not yet. And not anymore. No so much words, as a complicated radiance of emotions and images. She was right, but he didn't believe it himself. She saw everything he experienced of the other Nai, the things the other had done, and planned to do, the things that he may have resorted to--

But NOT now. Change now.

A disgusted snort escaped him, and covered the near-sob that wanted to tear from his chest. He was so tense he was shaking, holding onto the heated barrier between himself and his sibling as his only lifeline, the only thing keeping him upright.

But how!?

The question echoed in his mind. She did not have a solution for him. None of them did, none that could hear their connection. How indeed. He still hated the humans as a whole. Filthy things, more often twisted and cruel than not, from his own experiences. His own fears. His inability to see the good in any of them... except... NO. He recoiled from that line of thought immediately, he was definitely not ready for where his mind would go there.

His sister eased herself back into the open-most parts of his mind, and filling it with warmth and all the reassurance the Plants near him could muster. They supported him, and they knew who could help him. Their Red Brother. The one who could see the best in humans, even at the worst of times.

Not yet. I can't. Not yet.

She released his mind gently and Knives sank physically to the corrugated walkway, still able to touch the bulb, as close to comfort as he could willingly reach for from anyone. And, of course, inevitably, the thought that he no longer deserved such comfort. Not when he thought there was no going back from who he was meant to be.

[darkenedroses-world]

You find yourself in an opulent, otherworldly courtroom. The walls shimmer with hues of silver and gold, etched with ancient symbols that pulse faintly with energy. The air is thick with tension as two imposing figures face off before a towering, faceless judge draped in robes woven from starlight and shadow. The demon, known as Malachor, leans against the podium, his razor-sharp grin gleaming in the dim light. His skin is a deep, ashen red, and his wings stretch behind him like shadowy curtains. His eyes gleam with wicked delight as he gestures lazily toward the center of the courtroom, where you stand helpless, caught between his curse and the fey’s binding promise.

"I find this entire proceeding ridiculous," Malachor sneers, his voice a low growl that reverberates throughout the chamber. "There is no firstborn. There can be no firstborn. I made sure of that when our little contract was sealed." He taps his claws together, his eyes narrowing at the fey. "I’ve held up my end of the bargain. They’re infertile. Case closed." On the other side of the courtroom, the fey queen, a vision of ethereal beauty and danger, stands tall and regal. Her eyes glow with a soft, almost blinding light, and her silver hair flows like liquid moonlight. She tilts her head at the demon, the faintest of smirks tugging at her lips. Her voice, when she speaks, is like the whisper of leaves in a midnight forest, yet it carries with it an undeniable power.

"Your curse may prevent them from bearing children now, but it is no more permanent than the ebbing tide. Curses can be broken, contracts rewritten. Our deal was struck long before your interference, Malachor. And fey law supersedes your petty magic." She glances over at you, her eyes softening ever so slightly. "I am owed the firstborn, and I will collect what is mine." You stand in the middle of it all, every muscle tense. You want to scream, to argue, but the magical bindings around your mouth hold firm. You are powerless as they fight over your future, their words turning from sly remarks to heated exchanges.

Malachor’s tail flicks in annoyance. "Even if they could produce a child—which they can’t—it would be tainted by my magic. You would collect nothing but a hollow shell, an empty vessel." The fey queen’s eyes narrow to dangerous slits, her serene façade cracking for a moment. "You underestimate me, demon. And you overestimate the strength of your curse. Nothing is unbreakable. All it takes is the right touch, the right bargain…" The judge, silent until now, raises a hand and the entire courtroom falls into an oppressive silence. Its voice echoes through your mind rather than your ears.

“The matter at hand is not the strength of the curse, nor the terms of individual contracts. The question is: who holds the greater claim over this mortal’s fate?" Malachor leans forward, teeth bared. "I do. My curse was sealed with their own blood. Their womb is barren because I made it so." “And yet," the fey queen counters smoothly, "I have already claimed the firstborn as payment for a debt long before your curse was ever placed. That debt stands." The judge turns its eyeless gaze toward you, and for the first time, you feel the pressure around your throat and mouth lessen. "Mortal," it speaks, "your voice has been restored. What say you in this matter?"

Your heart races as the courtroom falls deathly silent, both Malachor and the fey queen staring at you with intent—one with a malicious gleam, the other with calm but predatory patience. You know that no matter what you say, it could change everything. One wrong move, and you could either remain cursed forever or be bound to the whims of the fey for eternity. Or worse—both.

Swallowing hard, you take a breath and speak.

"I… I never wanted this," you say, your voice trembling. "I never wanted to be cursed, never wanted to promise anyone my firstborn. You both trapped me in these deals." You look between them, desperation rising in your chest. "There has to be another way. If… if I could break the curse, if there was a child, could we—" You hesitate. "Could we rewrite the terms?" The judge raises a hand to silence you again, considering. "It is possible," it says slowly. "If both parties agree to renegotiate. However, if neither is willing to yield, the original contracts will stand."

The fey queen looks at you thoughtfully. "I am not unreasonable," she says, her voice softer now. "If the demon relinquishes his curse, and you give me a different form of payment, we may yet find another path." Malachor’s lip curls in disdain. "And what would I receive in exchange for such a generous offer?" He crosses his arms, his black claws tapping against his crimson skin, eyes locking onto yours. "I gave you what you asked for—a curse you accepted willingly. Now you want to bargain your way out of it? What makes you think I’d let you walk away so easily?" You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his gaze. The fey queen, though kinder in appearance, is no less dangerous.

You stand at the precipice of something dark and unknowable. But you can’t allow fear to consume you. You glance toward the fey queen, her expression still unreadable but with a glimmer of something more patient. Calculating. "What do you want from me?" you ask Malachor, forcing your voice to steady. "What would it take for you to lift the curse?" He leans forward, his grin stretching wider, a flicker of flame dancing in his eyes. "Ah, now we’re speaking in terms I understand. If you wish to be free of my curse, I’ll require something precious in return." He pauses, relishing your discomfort before continuing. "I want your soul."

Your blood runs cold. The fey queen scoffs, her expression twisting in disdain.

"How typical of a demon," she mutters, shaking her head. "Always so predictable." She turns her gaze back to you, stepping forward ever so slightly. "Your soul is far too valuable to barter with. There are other ways, mortal." Malachor growls, his wings flexing behind him. "Do not meddle in my affairs, fey. This mortal made a deal with me first." "I do not meddle," the fey queen says coolly. "I am merely pointing out that your terms are excessive. And reckless." You feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you as both of them seem to measure their next moves, your fate hanging in the balance. Malachor’s demand for your soul is no small ask, but the fey’s intentions remain unclear.

And yet… you feel a flicker of defiance rising within you.

"I won’t give you my soul," you say, meeting Malachor’s fiery gaze head-on. "That’s not something you can just take." Malachor laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that shakes the very air. "Brave words, mortal. But you are playing a dangerous game." Before he can speak further, the judge’s voice cuts through the air like a blade, stern and unwavering. "Enough," it declares. "The court will not entertain the demand for a soul in this matter. The contract was for a curse, not an eternal bond. If other terms are not agreed upon, the original agreements will stand." The demon’s smile fades as the judge’s ruling hits him, his eyes narrowing in frustration.

The fey queen, however, remains poised, her lips curving into a small, satisfied smile.

"It seems we are back to negotiations," she says, her voice cool but with an edge of triumph. "As I said before, I am willing to reconsider the terms. There are many things you could offer me in place of your firstborn, mortal. I am not unreasonable." You hesitate, unsure of what exactly she’s asking. "What… what kind of payment are you talking about?" The fey queen steps closer, her silver eyes glowing faintly as she gazes at you. "You could offer me a favor, bound by magic. One that I may call upon at a time of my choosing. Or perhaps a portion of your lifespan, given willingly in exchange for freedom. There are many options."

She glances toward Malachor. "All far less costly than what the demon demands." Your heart races as you weigh your options. A favor to the fey, bound by magic? A portion of your lifespan? It’s better than losing your soul—or having your firstborn torn away—but the consequences still weigh heavy on you. "And what do I get in return?" you ask, voice barely above a whisper. "If I agree to one of your terms… what happens to the curse?" Malachor growls low in his throat, his sharp teeth bared in frustration. "The curse remains if I do not receive something in kind. I demand my due."

But the fey queen cuts him off sharply. "The curse can be broken," she says, her tone resolute. "With the right magic, it can be undone. If you grant me what I ask for, I will break the demon’s curse myself." Her eyes flicker with an otherworldly light as she gazes at you. "You have my word." A tense silence settles over the courtroom. The faceless judge watches, waiting for your decision.

You breathe in slowly, your mind racing. The demon has trapped you in a nightmare, but the fey’s offers come with a price of their own—one you might not even fully understand. And yet, the thought of a future free from Malachor’s curse stirs something hopeful in your chest. You turn toward the fey queen. "Break the curse," you say, your voice shaking but firm. "And I’ll give you the favor you seek." The fey queen nods slowly, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "It is done." Malachor lets out a low, vicious growl, but the binding magic of the court has already begun to take hold. You feel a wave of relief and fear in equal measure as the deal is struck, the fey queen’s magic weaving around you like a gentle, silvery mist.

The curse that once clung to you so tightly begins to loosen its grip. As Malachor’s influence fades, he glares at you one final time, his eyes burning with fury. "This is not over, mortal," he snarls, his voice dripping with venom. "I will find another way to claim what is mine." But for now, you are free. The courtroom dissolves into shadows, and the fey queen’s presence lingers in your mind as you are returned to the mortal realm, the weight of your decision still heavy on your shoulders. You may have escaped the demon’s curse, but the favor you owe the fey now looms over you—a debt that could be called upon at any moment.

the demon that cursed you with infertility and the fey that you promised your firstborn are having a legal battle.

[f1ameheir]

bodies splayed outright , blood crusting where their flesh was split in two as vacant eyes stared into the abyss , it was a sight aelin had grown used to.      a corpse was naught more than just that.      many of them lined the pages of her story that led her to this moment.      but then there was this.      a clearing that had once been home to vegetation now stained for all time to come by the countless bodies receding into its hills , flesh becoming the very mud they lay in as souls returning to whichever realm those from this land hailed from.      the volume of death that ebbed and flowed from the view ahead was otherworldly.      and although it had not been her first battle ground aelin had looked over as the calm reclaimed the air , the sinking feeling still stuck.

it was why she did not hold malice towards the other’s distant demeanor , to her vacant words.      had aelin herself not once been in those same exact shoes after all ?      but when the other does break through the silence , when those blue - gray eyes meet her own turquoise and gold that aelin feels her stomach twist.      a gleam within the gray flecks that call to some part of her she had not felt in such a long time.      to linger on the sudden quarry however was not what aelin had ventured towards her for.      this world was not her own , chances of what she felt being true had to be next to nothing   . . .   right ?      so she buries it , deep down , pulling back into the moment of stale air and the echoes of wounded that encompass them.      

❛   gods , i got so sick of hearing that.   ❜      attempt at humor laced with honesty in her words.      time and time again she had been led to believe she passed the worst of it.      survived and could rest only for the earth itself to be ripped from below her feet once more , leaving her face to face with yet another horrid task.      there was peace after such a battle , but it never carried with it the promise of lasting.      ❛   and somehow , it is always those territorial-fae-bastards that are the ones that say it.   ❜      and yes , she hoped her mate heard exactly what she had said.      moving to rest against a now empty rack of what had to have been swords were stored , fingers migrate comb through the matted pieces of her hair that was glued together by someone’s blood.      ❛   they preach that it will get better and easier and whatnot , but they forget what seeing a war like this for the first time is like.   ❜ and clearly , not even the second time.

nesta craves the privacy that the tent has to offer, yet she can’t bear to be within its confines for more than a few minutes at a time. her father’s final words to her followed by the SWIFT SNAP of his neck resounds in her ears in the silence, deafening her over and over again… dizzying her so violently that she thinks she may just vomit on her boots. it wouldn’t be the worst thing to have happened on this land today; not by a long stretch. but she can’t bear to interrupt madja while she works her magic on cassian. can’t stand to see him look so weak in a cot that barely accommodates his height. so when another wave of nausea washes over her, she leaves once again. the eldest archeron doesn’t stray far, she ensures that she’s still within hearing range in case a problem arises. 

in the back of her mind she knows that she wouldn’t be much use if it did – what more could she do beyond stand there and watch in horror? that’s exactly what she finds herself doing. standing and watching in horror at what remains of the battlefield. the glory of the warriors rushing to war hours before is already a distant memory; one that has been replaced by the sight of bloodied fields, torn flesh, and the smell of rot. saliva rushes from her cheeks, twining with the burn of bile as it claws up her throat, and she struggles to choke down the combination of the two fast enough. her icy gaze burns with the effort to keep whatever is left of her last meal in her stomach, and she stares out into space, wondering how on earth she found herself here. which of the old gods she pissed off to earn this life. 

it’s then that a female enters her line of vision, and she almost blanches at the sight of her. she’s a thing of beauty among the sea of dread that surrounds them. for many she would be a sight for sore eyes. but nesta’s are beyond sore. she could tear them out, with the same vigour that she removed the king of hybern’s head from his body, purely for the privilege of not seeing what sprawls before her anymore. it takes a few moments for the other’s words to reach her. nesta can hear that she’s speaking, but her words don’t make sense at first. they have to linger in the air between them before she can comprehend them. " thank you... for your candor. everyone has been telling me that was the worst of it – but i’m a believer that there’s always time for things to get worse. "