#greatest threat to world peace

[princessbellecerise]

Beacon of Hope

Summary ✩ After the war, Jacaerys finally finds his purpose for living again

Warnings ✩ Slight spoilers for Fire and Blood

Notes ✩ Hosue of the Dragon has been so depressing lately and I needed a little something to lift my spirits. I hope you guys enjoy!

Some days he just couldn’t sleep.

It had nothing to do with his bed, as he had slept in multiple uncomfortable places during the war. But it was more so that Jacaerys was still in disbelief that this was his life now.

A year ago, the realm was at war and he was on the brink of death. After getting shot at during the Battle of the Gullet, Jacaerys suffered a major injuries that many didn’t believe he would survive. He spent his days floating in and out of consciousness, one foot in the grave until miraculously, the fever broke, Jacaerys rose again.

When he did, he learned that he was no longer a Prince. The war had ended with the death of his mother and the poisoning of the usurper, Aegon. And when he opened his eyes, he was a King.

Broken by the losses he took at war, yes. But slowly over the years, life turned.

Along with the many allies that still fought for him and his mother, Jace begin to rebuild the kingdom until it was whole again. What was once destroyed by dragon fire and blood was rebuilt, and in a few years time, King Jacaerys was able to restore what his family had destroyed.

It made the nights easier, knowing that the threat of war was gone and the realm was finally at peace, but even though his two remaining brothers were alive and the realm had settled, Jace still felt as if something was missing.

The holes that the death of his mother, his brothers, and his stepfather left never seemed to go away. And their death haunted him. For a while, the King believed that even though the realm was whole again, he never would be. The war had taken so many things—precious things—from him, that he no longer thought that hope and love was possible.

Then he met you.

When you came into his life, Jacaerys’ world had been upside down. He was alone with only his infant brothers to share his pain with, and he constantly felt like he was submerged in darkness.

But you…you were his light.

Not like dragon fire, which destroyed everything in its path, but rather the kind of light that inspired hope and growth.

With you, he learned what it meant to love again. What it meant to trust, and to have someone by his side that loved him unconditionally.

You were his greatest hope, and though many credited the maesters for keeping his broken body together, it was you that made his soul whole again. You were his missing piece, his beacon of hope, and he would never have it any other way.

So sometimes, when he couldn’t sleep, and the memories that he tried so hard to repress during the day came hunting for him at night, Jacaerys would stop and he would look upon your sleeping face and realize that everything was okay again.

Though the losses he took would never fully heal, he felt the pain ease knowing that he had you, little Aegon, little Viserys and little Luke to keep him striving towards the future.

Along with the babe that was currently in your belly, your growing family gave Jacaerys purpose. For the first time since waking up, the darkness that shrouded him faded, and it was instead replaced by hope.

Hope a better life. Hope for a better future.

A future he swore that no one would ever take from him again.

[tenitchyfingers]

Hind Rajab was a 6 year old girl trying to flee Gaza. The Israeli Terrorist Force blew up the car she was on and killed her whole family so, while being 6 years old and surrounded by the corpses of her family, she called the Red Cross and begged for help. The Red Cross coordinated with the ITF to go rescue her. The ITF told them they would be allowed to go help the girl.

Then, the ITF blew up the ambulance they’d come to rescue her with, and then killed her.

This is what Zionism is.

By the way, here is what Israelis think of anyone who isn’t a Jew.

Coexisting is literally impossible. You are in a Nazi death cult.

mighty.matzoball

The TRUTH about Zionism Zionism is a movement for the revival and protection of the Jewish Nation in our ancestral land The longing for Zion goes back to our first exile, when we were ethnically cleansed from our homeland and forced to settle in other communities, in diaspora If you knew what decolonization was, you would recognize Zionism as it's success story If you know anything about jewish culture, holidays, festivals, identity, customs and law, you would recognize Zionism as intrinsic to Judaism. If you visited Israel, or talked to a Zionists, especially the 50% of world jewry who are in Israel, you would recognize that Zionism is compatible with coexistence. Zionism is NOT a dirty word.  Thank you @mayahoodblog for helping me recreate and tweak the slides by jewishperspective  Sources to explore the meaning of Zionism  📚Merriam webster 📚Oxford reference 📚Britannica 📚the Torah 📚Jewish virtual library

[romugh]

SENSUAL UNRAVELING- NR

pairing- gp!avenger!natasha romanoff x avenger!reader

cw- 18+!!; top!reader, bottom!gp!natasha, fleshlight use, blowie (n rcv), oral play (fingers; r rcv), slight humiliation, praiseee, i think that's it? :o nerdy'ish'!avenger!nat is my favourite i think guys

wc- 4.8k!

a/n- PART ONE [out of 2 for now; 2nd part out oct, 5th (kinktober list here)] requested! thanks for that, anon, loved writing it :p

request- hey, for nerdnatasha, i was thinking about yn gives a gift to natasha, that it was a fleshlight for when she misses her. So one day natasha was using it because she was feeling horny and yn caught her but she doesnt know, because yn was watching her and wanted to know if she could last enough time or if she would cum as fast as she does with her. and after that you could write whatever you want.

synopsis- you give natasha a gift, end up catching her trying to use it, and help her out.

taglist?- @lost-mortemanghel, @esposadejoyhuerta (feel free to shoot me a dm or comment to be added to my general/specific taglist!)

It had been a rare moment of peace—a quiet night off after days of non-stop missions, a time for you and Natasha to actually relax. You found yourselves in the comfort of your shared room in the compound, with no looming threats or world-ending emergencies. Natasha was nestled on the bed, her glasses perched delicately on the bridge of her nose, engrossed in a book. The sight never failed to stir something warm in your chest. She was so different from the image the world had of her—the fearless Avenger, the Black Widow.

To everyone else, she was a force to be reckoned with, the epitome of confidence and skill. The rest of the Avengers saw her as unshakable, always maintaining that sharp edge, even in the rare moments when she let her guard down. Sure, they’d seen her be softer around you, maybe even affectionate, but never like this—never this open, never vulnerable. This side of Natasha was reserved only for you.

You crawled onto the bed beside her, watching her for a moment, unable to suppress the fond smile that tugged at your lips. “Hi, Natty,” you said, breaking the silence.

You set a small, plain box down beside her. “Got you something,” you said casually, trying to keep the amusement out of your voice.

Natasha blinked, glancing up at you and then down at the box, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What’s this?” she asked, already wary of your playful tone.

“Just a little something for when you miss me,” you said with a teasing smile, leaning back against the headboard as you watched her reach for the box.

Natasha set her book aside carefully, her fingers hesitating over the lid of the box for a second before she flipped it open. The moment her eyes landed on the fleshlight inside, her entire face turned beet red. Her hand froze mid-air, and she looked up at you in pure shock, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

“I—” she spluttered, her cheeks bright red. “I... What is this?”

Her voice cracked slightly, and you had to bite back a laugh. The poor Avenger looked scandalised, staring down at the fleshlight as if it were some alien object. You knew, even at her most relaxed, Natasha always carried herself with an unbreakable facade around her teammates. They’d never seen her like this—completely disarmed, flustered, and shy. Only you ever got to witness this side of her, the part of her that wasn’t the world’s greatest spy or assassin, but just your Natty.

“Exactly what it looks like, sweet angel,” you said, grinning as you crossed your arms over your chest. “It’s for when I’m not around.”

Natasha’s mouth fell open, her eyes darting between the toy and you, completely flustered. She looked as if she were about to explode from embarrassment. Her hands fumbled with the box, and she quickly tried to push it away from her, glaring at you with wide, mortified eyes.

“You can’t just give me... this!” she squeaked, her voice rising in pitch. “It’s—it’s indecent!”

Now you couldn’t help but chuckle. The way she was trying to scold you, still holding the fleshlight awkwardly in her hands, only made her look even more adorable. She huffed, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, which had gone as red as her cheeks.

“I thought it was a pretty thoughtful gift,” you teased, your grin widening. “You know, for those moments when I’m not around to... help you out.”

Natasha’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, her brain clearly scrambling for a response. She shook her head, still holding the toy like it might burn her. “I don’t—You can’t expect me to use this!” she stammered, her voice dropping in embarrassment.

This side of Natasha—the shy, blushing woman unsure of how to handle intimacy—was something no one else could ever imagine. To the world, she was known for her strength and control, the embodiment of confidence. But with you, things were different. Your relationship was still new, though the feelings between you had been simmering beneath the surface for some time. Natasha had only recently mustered the courage to ask you out, stepping out of her comfort zone. Initially, she had tried to maintain her tough facade, but it didn’t take long for her to realise that you had already seen her softer, vulnerable side during your friendship. With you, she didn’t need to pretend. She wasn’t Black Widow, the skilled seductress; she was simply Nat, unpracticed and a little unsure when it came to intimacy for her own sake.

You leaned in, your eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh, you’ll grow to love it," you murmured confidently.

She shot you a wide-eyed glare, but the effect was ruined by the way she couldn’t seem to stop blushing. “I will not!” she protested, though it came out far less convincing than she intended.

“Oh really?” You raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by her flustered state. “We’ll see about that.”

Natasha shook her head, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, but her hands kept betraying her. She was still holding the fleshlight, inspecting it nervously as if she wasn’t sure what to do with it. “I wouldn’t even know how to...” She trailed off, cheeks practically glowing.

You softened, realising that this was still new territory for her. Natasha’s experience with her own body had always been limited, and when she had used it, it was only as a tool for her missions—nothing more. Pleasure was an entirely different concept. She had told you once, with a mixture of shyness and honesty, that she had never really thought of her body that way before meeting you.

But you were patient with her. Always.

You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. “That’s okay, baby. You’ll figure it out.”

Natasha swallowed hard, her breath hitching at your touch. She glanced back down at the toy, still overwhelmed by the idea. “But... I’d rather have you,” she admitted softly, her voice so innocent it made your chest tighten with affection.

You tilted her chin up gently, making her meet your gaze again. Her wide eyes were still filled with embarrassment, but there was a flicker of curiosity there too.

“And you will,” you reassured her, brushing a strand of hair away from her flushed face. “This is just for when I’m not around to take care of you.” You leaned in closer, voice dropping to a soft whisper. “Think of it as practice.”

Natasha’s blush deepened even more at that, and she fumbled with the toy again, clearly unsure of how to respond. “I... I don’t think I need this kind of practice,” she mumbled under her breath, trying once again to push the box back towards you, but you could see the way her curiosity was slowly getting the better of her.

You chuckled softly, ruffling her hair affectionately. “You say that now, but trust me—once you get used to it, you’re going to love it.”

Natasha groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I can’t believe you...”

“Believe it, Nat,” you teased, pulling her hands away from her face so you could see her flushed expression again. “I’m just a phone call away if you get stuck.”

She shot you a withering look, but there was no hiding the fact that she was fighting a smile. Her fingers lingered on the edge of the box, her eyes flicking back to the toy with a mixture of uncertainty and intrigue.

“You’re terrible,” she muttered, though there was no real bite to her words.

You grinned, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Maybe, but you’ll thank me later.”

Despite her embarrassment, there was no denying she was curious. You knew her well enough to understand that her inexperience and uncertainty just needed a little nudge—and you were more than happy to give it.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

It had been a long two weeks away on a mission, and your days were consumed by a flurry of burner phones, quick, coded messages, and just a few stolen moments of communication with Natasha. Calls had been scarce—limited to one every three days due to the high-risk nature of the mission. Whenever you spoke, Natasha’s voice had been warm but slightly strained, trying to keep her usual composed tone, though you could hear the subtle edges of worry creeping in. She had missed you, even if she wouldn’t outright say it. The way her voice would catch slightly when she asked, “You’re safe, right?” gave her away every time. She wasn’t used to missing anyone—not in this way.

And truth be told, you missed her just as much. Every message she sent—brief and seemingly innocent little texts like “Just thinking of you” or “Hope everything’s going okay”—made you smile. You knew they were more than they seemed. You could almost picture her sitting in your room, wearing your shirt, her glasses perched on her nose, probably curled up on your bed or buried in a pile of paperwork, trying to distract herself from the fact that you weren’t there.

But now, after those long two weeks, the mission was done, and all you could think about was getting home. The thought of seeing Natasha again, hearing her voice without the distortion of a bad connection, touching her after what felt like forever—it had kept you grounded through every challenge and fight. You imagined how her face would light up, how she’d probably try to hide that small, relieved smile she got whenever you returned from missions safe and sound.

As the lift doors slid open, you stepped onto the shared floor of the Avengers Compound, letting out a sigh of relief. The space was quiet—eerily so—considering you expected Natasha to be in her usual spot on the couch, her legs tucked under her, probably with a book in hand. It was her routine. Whenever you returned, she’d be there waiting, pretending she wasn’t counting the minutes until your arrival. She’d look up casually, as if she hadn’t been thinking about you the entire time.

But today? Nothing.

You furrowed your brow as you dropped your bag by the door, your eyes scanning the empty space. “Nat?” you called softly, half expecting her to pop up from somewhere in the apartment, maybe having gotten caught up in something in the kitchen or the bathroom.

No answer.

Your stomach twisted slightly, a brief flicker of disappointment settling in. Maybe she was out with the team, or training in the gym. It wasn’t like her to not be here when you came back, but you tried to push the thought aside. She could have been anywhere in the compound, after all.

Faintly, though, you heard something else—a soft noise, so quiet that if the apartment wasn’t this silent, you might’ve missed it. Your curiosity piqued, and you followed the sound down the hallway towards your bedroom, heart racing in anticipation. As you approached, the noise became clearer. Ragged breathing. A few soft gasps. And then your name, whispered so delicately it made your pulse quicken.

You froze just outside the door, heat already building in your chest. Natasha’s voice was unmistakable, but it was the tone—the need in it—that sent a wave of heat coursing through you. With a mixture of excitement and pride, you realised exactly what was happening.

Slowly, you inched the door open, your eyes adjusting to the dim light of the bedroom. There, on the bed, was Natasha. Your Natasha. She was sitting up against the headboard, her shirt bunched up around her waist. Her hair was tousled, and her glasses—those adorable glasses—were still perched on her nose, slightly fogged from her body heat, smudged, and slightly askew, as if she’d tried to adjust them earlier. The fleshlight was clutched in her hand, and she was trying, desperately trying, to use it. But the sight before you was more than just arousing—it was endearing in a way only Natasha could pull off.

Her movements were awkward, hesitant, and her face was flushed with a mix of frustration and desire. You could see it in the way they were clumsy, uncoordinated—she didn’t know how to use it properly. Her brow was furrowed in frustration, and her breath came in short, needy gasps. Her hips stuttered as she awkwardly thrust into the toy, but it wasn’t enough.

Natasha bit her lip, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to work the toy over herself. But you could see it wasn’t working. Her hips stuttered, and her breath hitched, but there was no rhythm, no real pleasure in what she was doing. You knew why. Natasha had never been good at pleasing herself. She needed you—your touch, your guidance. Without it, she was lost. 

Her whimpers filled the air, soft and needy, as she tried to imagine it was your touch, your body. But it wasn’t. The toy couldn’t replicate the warmth of your hand, the slickness of your fingers, the way you knew exactly how to take her apart.

For all her skills as an Avenger, Natasha was unpracticed in this realm. She had never had to learn how to bring herself pleasure before you entered her life. She was still learning—still new to the idea that her body was hers, that it could bring joy and intimacy instead of just completing a task. You’d been patient with her, guiding her through these moments, helping her understand that she could be vulnerable, open, even needy, and it was okay. But now, you stood in the doorway, watching, knowing that she was trying to fill that space without you. The soft gasps escaping her lips, the quiet, frustrated whimpers—she was trying, but it wasn’t working. 

The pride in your chest swelled. Natasha had never needed anyone like this before. She had been fine for years on her own, never relying on anyone emotionally, let alone for pleasure. But now? Now she was here, lost without you, and the sight of her in this state—glasses fogged up, brow furrowed in frustration as she chased a release she couldn’t quite reach—was enough to make your heart race.

You watched, your heart pounding with a mix of arousal and affection. She was so desperate, so needy, and yet she had no idea what to do without your control.

You pushed yourself off the doorframe, a small smile playing on your lips as you approached her. “You know,” you said casually, breaking the silence and causing her to freeze, “you could’ve just told me when we called two days ago.”

Natasha’s entire body jolted, and her head whipped around to face you, eyes wide with shock. The toy slipped from her grasp as her hands flew to cover herself, her face turning a deep shade of red.

“Wha—” she spluttered, clearly mortified, her voice caught somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. Her glasses had slipped down, askew, fogging up even more from the heat of the moment. “You-You’re home early!”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you took a few more steps into the room, feigning innocence. “Am I? Or am I right on time?”

Natasha groaned, burying her face in her hands, clearly embarrassed at being caught. She tried to pull the sheets up over herself, but her hands were trembling too much to do so properly.

“You didn’t have to do it all on your own, you know,” you teased, your voice soft but dripping with amusement. “I’m just a phone call away, remember? Isn’t that what I said when I gave you that thing?”

Her blush deepened, and she turned her head away, mumbling something unintelligible under her breath. But you caught the embarrassment in her eyes, the slight frustration as well, as if she’d been trying so hard and just couldn’t get herself there.

You took a step closer, sitting down on the edge of the bed, your tone softening. “You tried, huh?”

Natasha swallowed hard, still refusing to meet your gaze, her cheeks flushed. “I... I didn’t know it would be... like this,” she admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Like what?” you asked, your voice soft now, coaxing.

She bit her lip, clearly struggling to find the right words. “It’s... different without you,” she confessed, her voice so small and unsure that it tugged at your heart. “I didn’t know it would feel so... empty.”

You felt a surge of affection for her in that moment. For the Avenger who could take down armies, outwit anyone, and yet here she was, vulnerable and flustered, struggling with something so deeply personal. No one else in the world would ever see this side of her, and that made it all the more precious to you.

“Well,” you said, reaching out to gently tilt her chin up so she could finally meet your eyes. “Good thing I’m home now, huh?”

You could see the mix of anticipation and nervousness flicker across Natasha’s face as she sat there, her body still flushed from the earlier attempt. Her breath was still shallow, and her glasses had slipped slightly down her nose, a subtle reminder of how overwhelmed she had been. You took a deep breath, the moment charged with a heady combination of tension and affection. “Close your eyes for me, Natty,” you said softly, your voice a warm caress. “I want you to just feel, okay?”

Natasha hesitated for only a moment, but the trust she had in you made her comply. Slowly, she let her eyelids flutter shut, her body relaxing ever so slightly as she surrendered herself to you.

You reached for the discarded toy, holding it up between the two of you. “So,” you began, your voice teasing but soft, “I’m going to show you how it’s done.”

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes remaining tightly shut, just as you had asked. Though she couldn’t see the toy, you could feel the way her body reacted—still flustered, still embarrassed, but with a spark of curiosity that had driven her to try in the first place. Slowly, hesitantly, she nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “Please.”

You smiled, the warmth in your expression making her heart flutter even though her eyes stayed closed. “Good girl,” you praised softly, and the words sent a shiver down her spine. Her body tensed, but not from fear—rather, from the anticipation of what was to come. You could see the way her breath quickened, the way her hands trembled slightly as you moved closer.

Gently, you guided her back against the headboard, your fingers trailing down her arm as you coaxed her to relax. “First,” you whispered, your voice low and soothing, “you have to be patient. Let yourself feel every little touch. Don’t rush.” Natasha nodded, biting her lip as she tried to focus on your words, but it was clear that she was still nervous, still unsure.

You could feel her tension, the way her muscles were wound tight from the anticipation. But you were in no rush. Slowly, deliberately, you leaned down, your lips brushing against her neck as you murmured, “Relax, baby. I’ve got you.”

Your hand slipped down to her thigh, your touch firm but gentle as you parted her legs, creating space between them. Natasha’s breath hitched, her body responding instinctively to your touch. She was still embarrassed, still blushing furiously, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into you, her body seeking comfort in your closeness.

Carefully, you positioned the fleshlight, your fingers wrapping around its base as you guided it toward her. “I’m going to go slow, okay?” you whispered, your lips brushing against her ear. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

Natasha nodded, her eyes fluttering open slightly as she braced herself for the sensation. Her breath came in soft, shaky gasps as you slowly eased the toy over her length, your movements deliberate and controlled. You could feel her body tense, her hips instinctively bucking slightly as she tried to adjust to the sensation.

“Shhh, easy,” you murmured, your hand gently pressing against her hip to steady her. “Let me do the work.”

Natasha whimpered softly, her breath hitching as you began to move the toy, your strokes slow and rhythmic. Her body trembled under your touch, and you could feel the way her muscles quivered with every gentle glide of the toy. It wasn’t long before her hands gripped the sheets, her knuckles turning white as she tried to hold back the moans that threatened to escape.

“You feel that?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you continued the slow, deliberate movements. “That’s what you’ve been missing.”

Natasha’s response was a shaky nod, her lips parted as she struggled to catch her breath. She was still so shy, so uncertain, but you could see the way her body was responding to the pleasure, the way her hips bucked ever so slightly in time with your movements. She was learning—slowly, but surely—and the sight of her in this state, so vulnerable and needy, made your heart swell with affection.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” you whispered, your voice filled with praise. “Just let go. I’ve got you.”

The sound of your voice seemed to soothe her, and slowly, Natasha’s body began to relax. Her whimpers turned to soft moans, her head falling back against the headboard as she surrendered to the pleasure. You could see the way her body responded to your every touch, the way her chest rose and fell with each ragged breath.

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against her ear as you whispered, “I love seeing you like this.”

Natasha’s breath hitched at your words, and she moaned softly, her hips jerking involuntarily as the pleasure began to build. Her hands gripped the sheets tighter, her body trembling as she teetered on the edge of release.

And then, with one final, deliberate stroke, you pushed her over the edge.

Natasha’s moan was loud and unrestrained, her body arching off the bed as she came, her release crashing over her like a wave. You held her through it, your hand gentle but firm as you continued the slow, rhythmic movements, guiding her through every shudder, every tremor of pleasure.

When it was over, you discarded the toy to the side as Natasha collapsed back against the headboard, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. Her glasses had slipped down her nose again, but she made no move to fix them. Instead, she lay there, completely spent, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her release.

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as you gently wrapped your hand around her still semi-hard cock. “See?” you murmured, your voice filled with affection. “Told you you’d love it.”

Natasha let out a shaky laugh, her cheeks still flushed from the intensity of it all. “You were right,” she admitted softly, her voice hoarse with pleasure. “I guess I owe you a thank you.”

You hummed softly, stroking her with care, feeling the way her body reacted to even the gentlest touch. “Mmm, you do,” you teased, leaning down to kiss her collarbone. Natasha’s breathing hitched, her body still hyper-sensitive from the release. “But first, let me clean you up, Natty.”

Her gaze flickered down toward her softening cock, still glistening with her own release, and you saw the way her face flushed in embarrassment. You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “No need to be shy, baby. You did so well for me.”

Natasha swallowed hard, her blush deepening, but she nodded. She always got a little embarrassed after, unsure of herself. But you were never in a rush, and you wanted her to feel cared for. You kissed your way down her body, your lips ghosting over the planes of her chest, across her stomach, until you reached her cock.

The moment your lips brushed the tip, Natasha’s entire body shuddered. “Wait—” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m... still sensitive.”

“I know,” you replied softly, kissing the underside of her cock, your tongue teasing the slit just enough to make her whimper. “But I want to make sure you’re clean, okay? Just relax for me.”

Her body tensed beneath your touch, her legs trembling as she tried to hold still. You were gentle, your tongue tracing along the shaft, cleaning the lingering slickness with slow, deliberate strokes. Natasha’s fingers dug into the sheets, her breath ragged as her body tried to process the mix of overstimulation and pleasure.

“Shh, baby,” you cooed softly, your tongue flicking over her again. “You’re so good for me. You can take it.”

She moaned softly in response, her hips jerking slightly, though she did her best to stay still. You felt her cock begin to twitch in your hand, and you grinned up at her, watching her as she tried to hold back the sensations overwhelming her.

As you continued, your hand slid up, brushing her lips with your fingers. “Open,” you commanded softly, your voice gentle but firm. Natasha hesitated for only a moment before parting her lips obediently, allowing you to slide two fingers inside her mouth. Her eyes fluttered closed, her tongue immediately lapping at your fingers.

“That’s it,” you murmured, your voice low and soothing as you continued to clean her shaft, making sure not a single drop of her release was left behind. Your tongue moved with purpose, licking and slurping her clean, all while your gaze stayed fixed on her. The sight of her lips wrapped around your fingers made your heart race. “Such a good girl,” you whispered, the words slipping out like a soft caress, watching the way she responded to every touch, the way your warm breath contrasted her cold, damp cock.

Her moans were muffled by your fingers, but you could feel the vibrations as she sucked on them, her lips quivering with each gentle motion. You could see the way she was still sensitive, overstimulated but completely surrendering to you. Slowly, you added a third finger, watching the way her mouth stretched to accommodate them. You pressed against her tongue, feeling her throat constricting as she tried to adjust. Natasha whimpered around your fingers, her eyes squeezed shut, but she didn’t stop.

“Good job, baby, look at you take all three for me,” you whispered, your voice soothing as your fingers kept pressing gently against her tongue. “You can do it, baby. I know you can.”

Her breath came in shallow gasps, her body quivering, but she nodded, determined to please you. She took your fingers deeper, her lips closing around them fully, and you could see the way she was giving herself over to you completely.

“Good girl,” you murmured, your thumb brushing over her cheek as she sucked on your fingers, her moans soft and needy. “You look so beautiful like this.”

Natasha moaned again, her body trembling beneath you, her cock twitching in your hand as you slowly stroked it, relishing the way she reacted to your touch. Having cleaned her thoroughly, you now took her completely in your mouth, intent on keeping her pristine and ready for what was to come. You could feel her release building, evident in the way her hips jerked in small, involuntary movements, and you knew she was close. Your careful, deliberate movements brought her right back to the edge, and you were determined to swallow every drop.

You kept her in place, your fingers pressing deep into her mouth, feeling the slight gag and the way her throat kept constricting around you. Her entire body quivered as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her, her release pouring into your mouth as you took everything, not letting a single drop escape.

When she finally came down, her body slumping back into the bed, utterly spent, you withdrew your fingers gently, wiping away the tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes. Her breathing was ragged, her cheeks flushed, and her glasses, now completely fogged, sat crooked on her nose.

“There,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “All clean.” You smiled, leaning in to kiss her softly on the lips. “Perfect,” you whispered, your voice filled with warmth and affection.

Natasha blinked up at you, her eyes heavy with exhaustion but also something else—a deep sense of trust and surrender. “You didn’t have to,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but you heard the emotion behind it.

“I wanted to,” you replied, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face. “Besides, you’re mine to take care of.”

She smiled, her eyes shining with affection as she sank deeper into the bed, her body trembling with the aftershocks. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice soft and content.

You kissed her again, slow and tender, as she relaxed fully into you, the taste of herself lingering on your lips and in your mouth grounding her in the moment. “No need to thank me,” you murmured against her soft lips. “You deserve all of this.”

[natalievoncatte]

Through the howling nightmare, Supergirl’s voice was clear as thunder from a clear sky.

“I will not drop you. You have to jump!”

Lena lay clinging to a cargo net in the bottom of the wreckage of the plane, suspended thirty thousand feet up by the quivering, all-too-human fingers of Supergirl’s right hand. As the other woman stood on the sky, the wind lashed her, and Lena knew that Supergirl could not save them both, could not keep both halves of the plane aloft. Even if her shaking hands could hold the weight, the plane itself would collapse, disintegrate. There was no time.

She wanted to make peace with it. This would be a good end, she thought. Supergirl would gel the world, tell them about Lena’s sacrifice. Her death would inspire people, and it would lead to Morgan Edge’s downfall. She was tired of fighting, tired of struggling. She was cold and every bone in her body hurt and the back of her head was throbbing from where Edge’s goon had knocked her out. Lena had been knocked out so many times it had probably given her permanent damage.

The world hated her. Everyone hated her. All they saw was a Luthor no matter what she did. Why fight? Why cling to a life she didn’t even want anymore?

“Lena, please.”

The agony in Supergirl’s plea struck her with physical force, a thump in her chest that made it too real. There was something in that voice that made her believe, even hope. There was something more in that voice, something pleading and longing, unbearably heavy with an unfathomable pain.

“I won’t drop you!” she insisted, her words a veiled threat:

I’ll poison the whole damned city before I let you go.

So Lena began to climb.

It was agonizing. Her fingers burned. It felt like her joints were tearing apart and her muscles shredding. The air was too thin and the wreckage was swinging and oh God almighty Jesus she was going to puke. She climbed higher and higher, and by the time she was close enough to see the terror in Supergirl’s eyes, she was reciting the Lord’s Prayer under her breath, some distant part of her brain remembering a darkened Irish church from another life.

“Jump!”

Lena jumped.

She could swear that Supergirl let go the instant she lost contact. The other half of the plane fell away into the terrible void below her, and when she landed she thought she’d missed, that she must have died, but she landed on cargo netting and the wreckage groaned around her as Supergirl took a better grip and began descending, carrying the poison away from the reservoir and to safety.

When the plane came to rest, Supergirl tore her way inside with frantic desperation, shredding the wreckage until she reached Lena, lifting her bodily from the netting, curling the smaller woman in her powerful arms.

“You’re safe, you’re okay, you’re safe…” and then she mumbled something in what had to be Kryptonian, almost too low for Lena to hear.

The rest of the night was a blur, and Lena was exhausted. There was a brief medical exam by Kara’s sister Alex -odd that she always seemed to show up when Supergirl was involved- and then it happened.

Supergirl stepped into the tent where Lena lay on a stretcher, very hurt and sore but mostly just exhausted, and said in the softest voice, “May I take you home, Miss Luthor?”

Any other time she’d have quipped, first about the formality and then about how she really didn’t want to fly right now, but this time she said “Yes” without a second thought, without even knowing why.

Supergirl did not ask, but it was not a presumption. She scooped Lena up and carried her outside, exchanging a fraught look with Agent Danvers, some wordless agreement made between them that resulted in a curt nod from Alex.

Lena curled into Supergirl as they took off, shrouded in her cape, head tucked in the hollow between her neck and shoulder. It was weirdly intimate and yet oddly comfortable, familiar even. It wasn’t a long flight before Supergirl landed on Lena’s balcony with the greatest grace, barely jarring her, and bore her inside.

Supergirl lowered her onto the couch and stepped back. She stared at Lena and Lena stared back, the air bearing a charge between them so intense that Lena thought she smelled ozone, as if the air was heavy before a summer storm.

It was Supergirl who looked like she’d just suffered the terror of her life, like she was the one who had looked into the dark tonight and found that the abyss gazes also. She kept on staring

Lena didn’t know why she asked. The question came to her and was already on the air before she had even formed it.

“Would you have really dropped the chemicals in the reservoir to save me?”

Supergirl didn’t hesitate. She didn’t explain or dissemble. She spoke a single word with total conviction and absolute truth.

“Yes.”

“Why?” Lena demanded, wobbling as she tried to stand up. “Why? I’m not worth it. You barely know-“

Lena faltered and in an instant, Supergirl was there, steadying her, gazing into her face… longingly.

Lena’s heart raced. They were inches apart and she could swear they Supergirl was holding her tenderly by her arms to kiss her, not support her. She could feel the Kryptonian’s breath on her lips.

“That’s not true. I do know you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at me.”

“Supergirl-“

“Lena, please, it’s me. Look at me.”

Lena started to say something, to deflect, to escape the intensity of Supergirl’s apparent longing, but then… she looked.

It’s me.

A sharp breath dragged through her of its own accord as Lena gasped, her gaze darting about as she saw this woman as if for the first time, a shiver running down her spine. Her eyes went wide as she met Supergirl’s gaze, staring deeply into her ocean blue eyes and recognizing the depth within them- layers upon layers, the sorrow that swirled beneath the the laugh lines like freezing ocean currents swirling too far below the cerulean surface. The quick wit and self-deprecating humor, the humility and kindness and joy. These were the eyes of a woman who laughed easily and felt deeply, who desperately sought to make the world a better place, to show others the goodness that she could see in them when others could not.

The eyes of Kara Danvers.

Look at me.

“Oh my God,” Lena whispered. “Oh my God. Kara.”

Kara smiled, looking blessedly relieved as tears fell from her eyes.

“It’s me, Lena. I should have told you after… mmmph!”

She didn’t finish. They were kissing instead. Lena had no doubts, no fears, she just knew. All she had to do was throw herself into it and Kara gathered her up into a careful embrace, at once feather-light and gentle and sure and safe as being hugged by a castle. Kara kissed her back with stunning intensity, so greedily, so hungrily, that Lena was a little shocked. She hadn’t been kissed like this… ever, really. She was barely aware that she’d been lifted from the ground and set on a kitchen stool and it took a moment before she even realized that she’d grabbed a handful of the buns of steel, and Kara had been just as forward.

Then Kara suddenly seemed to recall that Lena needed to breath and pulled back.

“I should stay the night,” she panted. “Edge might send more of them after you. I can protect you.”

Lena nodded, blinking back her own tears. Kara didn’t let go.

She did stay the night, though Lena ended up teasing her bodyguard about taking off her super-suit so quickly.

[hotvintagepoll]

I love these polls. But this feels like a weird and uncomfortable time to continue them. While we are in the process of deciding whether or not to give fascism unlimited power in the greatest military power currently on the planet, these posts feel uncomfortably out of touch with the existential threat facing all of humanity. I cannot enjoy voting in silly polls when I know that all of humankind faces the threat of extermination.

When we can return to a less horrifying reality, I would enjoy revisiting these polls. At the moment, to continue them feels like a cruel celebration of privilege from those who are insulated from the most extreme consequences of current proposed policies. It is hard to think of what level of inhumanity is necessary to continue laughing in the face of so much world-wide horror.

Of course you don't have to stay, and I won't begrudge you at all for going. But there's one point of yours here I feel is worth discussing, and it's your last one: laughing in the face of world-wide horror.

There is a difference between laughing at horrifying things and taking a break to laugh. In a world that is horrifying—and, to be honest, has been horrifying since this blog began, and long before then, and will be after it's done—you need to laugh to keep your endurance. I mean that every step of the way. You will not be able to keep fighting for the people who need your help, including yourself, if you don't give yourself a break and let yourself have joy and silliness in little dollops on the regular.

In my real life, when I'm not posting hot silly people on the hot silly people blog, I try to find ways to help change the world for the better. I've been trying for a while. And one of the key things I've learned in that while is that having a little fun and silliness does not dilute the work of making the world better—it gives you the fuel to keep doing it. Your human brain and body need a muchness. They need joy and sorrow and work and rest and laughter to keep going—and before you say, that's a privilege! yes, in today's broken world it often is. It should not be one. It is a right. You have the right to find spots of joy, silliness, time off from the world.

Stuff sucks right now, but taking ten minutes off to let yourself rest is not going to contribute to the end of the world. We need to rest and laugh if we want to keep going. I've always said this is a silly blog, and I maintain that yes! it is silly, it is pointless, this is nothing big at all. Nothing here has any consequence. And that can be a small good thing at the end of the day. It doesn't mean the big stuff doesn't matter if we have the small stuff too. We can have both. We need both.

I hope you find peace, wherever you are.

[seelestia]

⟡ to set one's self aflame. (do it all for love.)

⎯ how protective are they of you? how do they protect you and how do they like being protected in return? { s for security ノordered by @phantovia! }

RESERVED FOR! ꒰ character ꒱. lyney ft. gn!reader. { 1.5k words wc }

FLAVOR! ꒰ genre ꒱. fluff & sprinkles of lore angst, established relationship.

TOPPINGS! ꒰ tags ꒱. lowkey a character study made poetic (???). mentions of self-destructive habits, also pls don't smile at lyney bcs he's weak in the knees for u.

BAKER’S NOTE! ꒰ thoughts ꒱. thanks for the req, yona! i got to appreciate this silly guy all over again thanks to u ‹3 ik ur acc is already archived so i hope this made for a nice tribute. pls take care of urself & have a good life ahead 🫂

© seelestia on tumblr, june 2024. please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, use for AI-related purposes or claim as your own.

lyney is protective to a concerning extent. the instinct of an older brother, maybe?

there is some sort of irony to be found in it all since the reason he protects to a 'concerning' extent is out of concern in the first place.

behind his show of brilliance, you consider yourself lucky enough to have witnessed a side to lyney that his audience wouldn't have guessed; that he is a worrier in every aspect of the word. whether for his family, for you, for his friends or for others he comes across that are plagued by misfortune - if all that worry were to come in the shape of dimes, he'd already have an abundance of them to share with the entire nation of fontaine.

but he has no choice, does he?

his background is not a clean slate nor is it a display of sunshine and rainbows resembling his magic shows. lyney's hands are tainted, covered by his gloves as a measly means of self-solace. he has to worry. associating himself deeply and intimately with another is a risk on its own - comparable to dragging someone else down into the murkier depths with him. he can never do that, never has the courage nor the heart to.

(but fortunately for him, you've always been braver than most.)

. . .isn't that why you offered your hand, your trust to him first? he swore to never let you down from that day on.

easier said than done, however.

the house of the hearth operates within the shadows but as for its foes? some also prefer to dwell in the dark and some move in broad daylight. no matter what it is, they all require the same precaution: for him to keep his guard up at all times. every child has been trained by “father” to know that but you're an innocent, tied to this precarious matter merely due to your connection with him.

(“i don't regret anything,” you told him but he didn't look into your eyes, conflicted. you couldn't tell if he believed you or not.)

how was your day? have you eaten? you look sad, did something happen? — all these little questions are a way for him to show that he cares, that you're important, that you're his responsibility and he'll be there for you.

bound by both guilt and love, lyney promises to keep you safe. from whatever kinds of threats there are; whether it be fools with nefarious schemes or even an insect you're too scared to touch, he'll keep you safe all the same. so please, don't hide from him if you're dealing with something. it's better to let him handle it. . . right, correction: the two of you can handle it together.

(truly, his desire to protect can both be his greatest strength and most formidable foe.)

the way lyney protects is through self-sacrifice, granting peace in exchange for destruction of the self.

since the very beginning, lyney has grown used to seeing the world through the lens of a protector.

he recalls the old times where he and lynette loitered the streets in ragged clothes and the only refuge he could provide her with was his hand. it mattered not if he was freezing cold from the rain. . . as long as his little sister was protected, comforted by whatever warmth he had left - it's alright. to do that wasn't an option then, it was a necessity.

to sacrifice himself is a habit. it's easy to adopt but not at all easy to discard.

in lyney's eyes, burdens often seem as if they would be lighter upon his shoulders than they are on another's - but this is only wishful thinking. only meant to convince himself that pain shall eventually lose its harsh bite the more he bears it. “well, has it?” if asked, he cannot give an answer. regardless, that alone is enough of a justification for him because he can't bear the thought of doing anything else; to stand idly by, to be utterly useless.

if he has the means to protect others, why wouldn't he do so? even if he wears himself down to the bone, he’d do it again. akin to a bright flame lit in a hearth, lyney envelopes those near him in a blanket of warmth - and if the blaze threatens to flicker, he'd simply ignite a piece of himself to prevent it from diminishing into futile cinders. he won't let it happen.

(but little does he know that even cinders still serve a purpose. they exist as proof, a sign that his sacrifice has never been in vain.)

in return, lyney feels protected by simply knowing that you're happy (and your acknowledgement of his efforts).

let's call it an innate principle that belongs to a magician; he wants to see smiles on the faces of others. “a smile weighs much lighter for your face to carry compared to a frown, no?” he joked to you once, tapping gently on the corner of his lips with a grin. it was said with a light heart, but you knew he meant it deep down.

(he always does so much, only to ask for so little in return.)

you were not so cruel that you couldn't even grant him that, so you smiled. genuine and grateful. “. . .thank you, lyney,” you said. he fell quiet then. had the wind been knocked out of his lungs or had the world stopped spinning? he thought he saw stars in your eyes, but that couldn't possibly be true. the sun glaring down at him from behind the clouds above remained unmoved.

not like it mattered, anyway. his poor heart was far too occupied with you to care about the answer. “o-oh? you're welcome. . .” lyney blinked, multiple times, dazedly.

gratitude is not a foreign concept to him; he often receives it from an audience member, a lonely elder he briefly chatted with, a fellow member from the house of the hearth — so, just what makes it different now? perhaps, it's because he knows that you've beared witness to his heart that lies deeper within.

that you see right through him, that you're thanking him for who he truly is, although he no longer has a definite image of “self” from the countless white lies piling at his feet like a tower. yet he finds comfort in it, in the way you hold his sullied hands so kindly. he isn't wearing gloves this time. strange, lyney had never imagined transparency to be a feeling so benevolent and cathartic.

no matter what thoughts are buzzing in his head or what ache tugs on his body, they can pester him as much as they'd like - with one swift recall of your smile, lyney feels as if he can banish them even if momentarily. they'll come back sooner or later, he knows, but is it cowardly of him to find solace in that brief respite?

when lynette taps on his cheek to wake him up in the morning, when freminet knocks on his door to deliver something, when other siblings flock around him to welcome him home, or when you come to visit him after a long day — those worries disappear — but even if he already knows that they will make their inevitable return. . . perhaps, everything will be okay.

(it has to be, he tells himself.)

“did something happen yesterday?”

your lunch with a certain feline girl in front of hotel bouffes d'ete kickstarts with a simple question. but the abruptness of it all wipes away the content look on your face and replaces it with a frown.

the tea in your cup reflects your reflection as much as it does your perplexity. lynette lifts her own teacup to her lips, composed while you're lost in thought, confused.

“lyney went home with a wide smile on his face yesterday,” she elaborates, humming either at the tea or at the current matter she's recalling. perhaps, even both but you aren't sure yet. “while this wouldn't be an odd occurrence, i thought there must've been a special occasion to warrant a smile that wide.”

ah. the realization dawns on you in gentle waves. he said something that prompted a smile out of you yesterday — the exchange of a kind “thank you” from your side and a flustered “you're welcome” from his — not that smiling is a rarity around him, hardly, the one thing magicians do best is attract smiles.

your gaze drifts down to stare at nothing in particular. fond memories filled with the face of a familiar magician swims before your eyes. “hm. . . it must've meant a lot more to him than i expected,” you mumble to yourself. in your eyes, you'd think the look on your face represents the paradigm of nostalgia but in lynette's eyes, you look like a madman smiling to yourself so intensely.

“not you too,” she lets out a resigned sigh, placing down her teacup. “smiling to yourself like that. . .” she shakes her head in a disappointed manner, “you and lyney must've been rubbing off on each other these days.”

“maybe a bit too much,” lynette adds, but there is a ghost of a smile on her face this time around.

you can only smile sheepishly.

— thank you for reading! reblogs with comments are most appreciated.

[dreaminrainbows]

Happy 28th lovies!

September was such a hectic month, i had three concerts in the span of a week, one of which was Louis', the end of the Festival Louis Era, the start of uni and my fav F1 driver being dropped (i was also deep in my Veronica Mars feels for a chunk of the month). It has been a rollercoaster of emotions to say the least but here are all the fics i read this month that made it a million times better!

Consider leaving comments and kudos, feed your authors the attention they deserve!

My Hands at Risk, I Fold by yourgorgeouscolors | [43.7k|

"Sometimes, when Louis first wakes up, he thinks he’s back in the hospital, and panic hits him." Or, Harry is a famous popstar, Louis is a famous football player and one injury changes everything.

Deemed and Delivered a Crime  by LetTheMusicMoveYou/ @letthemusicmoveyou28 | [35.4k]

Harry keeps his voice low and calm. “I need you to listen very closely because I’m only going to say this once.” When he’s only greeted with silence on the other end, Harry continues. “For every hair that is harmed on Louis Tomlinson’s head, I am going to break one of your bones. And then when you’re reduced to a pathetic little pile on the floor, my men and I are going to kick around your limp carcass in my garden for footie practice. Do you understand?” There’s a few more beats of silence, before the voice on the other line answers. Still sounding calm and unbothered by Harry’s creative threat. “I’m glad you received our message Mr. Styles. Are you ready to settle on a suitable sum for Mr. Tomlinson’s release?” (Or the one where Harry is the most feared mob boss in London. Louis is his ex-husband who left that violent life two years ago to teach Uni. His peace is shattered when he’s kidnapped by Harry’s rivals).

you are half of me (and I am all for you) by angelichl/@angelichl | [24.7k]

One Direction, an obscure indie rock band, is about to embark on their first cross-country tour, living out of Louis' beloved van named Patricia. Harry is in love, and Louis is oblivious. Or is he? Featuring skinny-dipping in Texas waterfalls, getting lost in the desert, stargazing under the New Mexico sky, performing in front of crowds that grow in size each night, and falling in love on the road during the greatest summer of their lives.

Please Tell Me That You've Got Me by ColourfulSuitmoon/@colorfulsuitmoon | [20.6k]

“This was a pleasure, ladies. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Louis says. He then turns to Harry and gives him a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow too, kitten.” Harry is stuck staring at the door where Louis just disappeared through. “Did he say…” Harry starts. “Kitten,” Florence says with a nod. “Harry…” “No, it’s just a fluke. It doesn’t mean anything,” Harry says firmly. Or a world where the nickname your soulmate will call you appears on your chest on your 18th birthday and Harry wakes up with the only name he hates.

Chasing Feelings by Neondiamond/@neondiamond | [20k]

When homicide detective Louis Tomlinson first gets assigned to work with detective Harry Styles, the newest addition to the Doncaster police station, on the biggest case of his career, he’s less than enthused about it. There’s a serial killer on the loose, and Louis has no time to waste working with a newbie, despite how attracted his inner Alpha may be to Harry’s sweet scent. Along the way, he finds he may have been too quick to judge the Omega.

Language Of A Petal by bittersweetsin/@bittersweetsin | [15k]

“Wait, you're reading Divin-“ “-Divined Souls? Yup,” Harry finishes for him. Starving off a grin, Louis says, “Have you actually been stalking me all this time and just lied about not knowing me?” “Guess we’ll never know.” or Louis is a librarian, and Harry comes in all the time to return books he’s finished reading. Every time Louis opens the book to check for any damages, there’s always a flower hidden in between one of the pages, specifically on a paragraph that has a deep meaning.

Heat and Greet  by HoldingOnToChaos/@holdingontochaos | [12.4k]

Harry and Louis are co-workers who are excited to represent the company they work for and do an important presentation at a week-long conference in Yosemite. It's just their luck that Harry slips into heat while there. Panicked at the thought of missing the presentation, Harry asks Louis to help him through it. And how could Louis deny the omega he's been dreaming about since they met?

I Feel It When My Heart Beats by QuickedWeen/@becomeawendybird | [10.6k]

Harry offers to be her best friend Liam's fake date to his work Valentine's Day party, and the night takes an unexpected turn.

One Minute Old by crimsontheory/@ireallysawanangel | [9.2k]

“And he left you,” Niall interjects, the venom clear in his voice. “That asshole left you high and dry and broke your heart.” Of course, Niall remembers that. Louis may have told him everything—minus the sexy parts—and Naill, being the overprotective mother friend that he is, took offence to that. “He didn’t break my heart,” Louis refutes. He was hurt and confused by it but he wasn’t heartbroken. And apparently, he’s still hurt by it if the way it felt seeing Harry yesterday was any indication. “You were pretty smitten with him and then you spent days moping around your apartment after he left. I think that’s called being heartbroken,” Niall points out. “Okay, okay, I was upset. We get it,” Louis says, trying to move past it. This isn’t ‘poke fun at Louis’ emotions hour’. “Anyway, I called to tell you that he showed up at my door yesterday.” “To beg for your forgiveness I hope.” “No, he’s—” Louis stops, unsure how to phrase it. “He’s pregnant. And I’m the father.” Or, a one-night stand of Louis' that he never thought he'd see again shows up at his door six months later.

Ride My Sleigh Tonight  by kingsofeverything/@kingsofeverything | [9k]

In exchange for free food and drinks at Liam’s office holiday party, Harry pretends to be his boyfriend. But this is not that story.

Tight As A Tourniquet by reminiscingintherain/@reminiscingintherain | [7.4k]

“Mum?” “Yes, poppet?” “Could I do your job when I’m a grown-up?” “I don’t see why not, sweetie,” she agreed. “You can do anything you want, as long as you put the work in, and dedicate yourself to it.” Louis Tomlinson has always wanted to be a midwife like his mum, but in a world where it's expected for Omegas to be the caregivers, how is he going to manage his career when he presents as an Alpha?

Now That I've Found You by allwaswell16/@allwaswell16 | [6k]

Harry Styles has a great job working for his brother-in-law’s construction company. He has just one small problem. His concrete sub-contractor just quit, and he needs a foundation built as soon as possible. One fateful turn brings him exactly what he’s been looking for—an experienced concrete construction company that happens to be owned by the most beautiful man he’s ever laid eyes upon. Or Louis is a long haired, sweaty construction worker. Does anyone really need to know more than that? Harry doesn’t think so.

There's No Better Love by QuickedWeen/@becomeawendybird | [5.3k]

Louis has just started seeing this girl, and he can't stop thinking about her. Turns out the power of positive thinking is real.

The Nest by Blue_Green28/@bluegreen28fics | [5k]

Harry is a very particular omega who doesn't like to have items of Louis' in his nest until he secretly starts to steal them for it. or, 5 times one of Louis' personal items is missing and 1 time he finally finds them.

Profound Bond by babyhoneyhslt/@babyhoneyheslt | [4.6k]

Harry Styles, an Angel Of The Lord, is sent on a mission to save hunter Louis Tomlinson from the deepest pits of Hell in order for him to fulfill Heaven's plan.

The World Will Open Its Arms by lululawrence/@lululawrence | [4.5k]

Harry scrubbed at the countertop. It wasn’t even dirty, but it was three in the morning and the girl who was supposed to relieve him over an hour ago never showed. He was now on hour ten of his shift and his feet hurt and his back ached and he was trying not to cry, thanks to more fucking judgmental alpha truckers who could smell it on him. Of course they could. He practically lived at the diner. The entire place reeked of it. Unbonded pregnant omega.

Alone and Back Again by LadyLondonderry/@londonfoginacup | [4.4k]

Harry Styles has very few enemies, and even fewer friends. On the outskirts of the village, past the stream but before the river, sits a small one-room cottage, cool in the summers but draughty in the winters. In that one room cottage sits a cooking pot over a fire, a smaller selection of woodworking tools, and a nest of furs that is the pride and joy of one lonely omega. Or, what does one do when a feral alpha shows up in town ready to be executed?

The Rose & Dagger  by galastyles | [4k]

The first time Harry went to a session at The Rose And Dagger, he told himself it was a one time thing. The second time, he said it was to get the idea out of his system. By the fifth visit, he stopped making excuses.

Up on the Roof with a School Girl Crush by HelloLovers13/@hellolovers13 | [3.9k]

Harry was just trying to get some work done and have a quiet night in. He did not expect to become host to a drunken Louis, who had overestimated his Halloween costume's ability to fly.

He's An Angel  by cc_horan28/@cc-horan28 | [2.7k]

As the sun set over the horizon and they reeled their lines in, Louis saw a glint off the beach. They began to head back to where the horses were tied, and the glint solidified, turning into a vague shape that was… Coming out of the sea? Louis couldn’t believe his eyes as he saw what looked like a man just walk out along the shoreline to where their rides were tethered. The shopkeepers and locals were all whipping to stare at him, but the man seemed completely unbothered.

Just a Little Taste, Babe by allwaswell16/@allwaswell16 | [2.6k]

Harry’s been pining over Louis Tomlinson since their sixth form days. Now, he’s backstage at Louis’ concert and trying not to embarrass himself.

HOT TO GO! by allwaswell16/@allwaswell16 | [2k]

When Harry does something weird at the barricade, he leaves Louis’ show devastated and hoping he can somehow make things right. Or the accidental pervert fic

A Tight Space  by haztobegood/@haztobegood | [2k]

Niall pushes the bedroom door open. A huge mass of brown fur bolts between his legs. Louis startles with a hand to his chest. “What the fuck was that?” “Oh, that’s the cat. I told you Liam found a stray a few days ago. That’s him.” “Are you sure that’s a cat?”

and in those rare moments by we_are_the_same/@so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed | [2k]

London, May 23rd, 2025 Interview with Harry Styles, popstar, bisexual icon and philanthropist, by Louis W. Tomlinson.

for your eyes only (i’ll show you my heart) by moon_rose25/@darkinfinity | [1.9k]

Louis quickly opened his eyes and scanned the room, his eyes stopping on the sofa on the far left side. There was a man, turned with his back towards Louis, and based on his slow rise and fall of his back he guessed he was sleeping. If he had to guess, it was probably an omega, based on the faint scent. Or omega Harry has touch depri and finds comfort in alpha Louis’ scent

How to Fire a Tailor by LadyLondonderry/@londonfoginacup | [1.8k]

Harry Styles is a tailor. His best paying customer is an eccentric duke. Also Niall is there.

Singing Like a Bird 'Bout It Now  by QuickedWeen/@becomeawendybird | [1.8k]

Dr. Louis Tomlinson is worn to the bone, but only has a few patients left before the end of the day. One of those appointments takes quite a few twists and turns.

Cosy Cashmere  by red_panda28/@red-pandaaa | [1.5k]

“Hey,” Harry smiled back, stretching out a hand. “So, I was thinking,” Louis started as he stepped closer to the couch, tangling the finger of his unoccupied hand with Harry’s. “We could go get some new nesting stuff for my upcoming heat? Well, I’m gonna go anyway, but I thought I’d ask if you’d like to come with me.” “Alright, give me like, fifteen minutes to change and then we can go,” Harry said. OR Louis and Harry go shopping for new nesting stuff

Curiosity by HelloLovers13/@hellolovers13 | [934]

Fae Harry lets curiosity get the best of him. Human Louis is intrigued.

Expresso by reallynotmemoi/@reallynotmemoi | [880]

Louis falls in love at first sight with a boy from his Tuesday lectures, and proceeds to make a fool out of himself in front of said boy. But maybe not all is lost…

****

saccharine desire by DaddyAlphaLouisBabyOmegaHarry/@bottomhaztoplou | [682]

During Louis' rut, a new kink is discovered.

Tumblr only allows me to add 30 pics BOOHOO!!

Anyways Happy reading!

Don't be shy leave comments and kudos!

You have no idea how appreciated they are!!

[ginnsbaker]

loving an avenger

Summary: The last installment from the Dentist AU, sequel to it's just dinner;

Vision tilts his head slightly, a gesture you've come to recognize as him deep in thought. “If that's a prerequisite for you,” he states presumptuously, like the answer to your prerogative is so startlingly obvious yet you failed to catch them. “Then may I suggest you sleep with her and then ask her to marry you?”

Word count: 3.2k | Tags: Fluff, Marriage Proposals gone wrong , 'Efficent' is Wanda's middle name according to her

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Author's note: And that concludes our Dentist AU! All fluff, no tears.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Wanda Maximoff is your girlfriend.

Wanda Maximoff is your girlfriend.

No matter how many times you repeat it to yourself, you’re never going to get used to the fact that Wanda Maximoff is your girlfriend.

And dating this particular Avenger is both your greatest source of comfort and anxiety.

On the days when it's peaceful, when the weight of the world isn't pressing down on either of you, the indescribable comfort comes from the simplicity of your relationship with Wanda. Those are the days when her protector-of-the-world persona fades into the background, and you get to be with simply Wanda, the woman.

Grocery shopping, for instance, becomes something you look forward to on weekends. Walking down the aisles, hand in hand, you spend more time discussing the virtues of one brand of pasta over another, or debating whether to indulge in a tub of ice cream, than any imminent world threat. Sometimes, Wanda playfully levitates a grape or two, making them dance in the air before popping them into your mouth, her laughter ringing in the quiet corners of the store.

Strolls in the park are as romantic as the candlelight dinners you frequently organize at various fine dining spots in the city, especially after learning that Wanda rarely goes out. You both love laying down on the grass, feeling the sun warming your skin, and the world around fades as you listen to her recount stories from Sokovia, her voice soft and nostalgic. Some days, you carry a little music player, and with wired earbuds shared between the two of you.

And then there are the quiet afternoons at home. The beautiful monotony of those moments is the real magic. With you engrossed in a book and Wanda laughing at sitcom reruns, or the two of you attempting to bake. Baking sessions usually end with more flour on both of you than in the bowl, dough fights, and running around the kitchen before tackling Wanda onto your bed and kissing her silly. Even if the cookies turn out a bit burnt, the warmth is always just right.

On the flip side, when the world demands its due from her, it's pure torment. The darker undertones of dating an Avenger are impossible to ignore. An ever-present undercurrent of anxiety runs deep within you. The unpredictability of her life means that any moment could be the last time you see her smile, hear her laugh, or feel her touch.

The agony of days, sometimes even weeks, without contact from her is torture. Every second feels like an hour, every hour like a day. The silence, the not knowing, is the worst part. Is she okay? Is she hurt? Each time the news reports another battle or threat, your heart clenches, waiting for a hint that she is alright. But more often than not, there's no word, no sign. Just the excruciating wait.

And then there are the times she returns, not as the invincible hero, but as a wounded Wanda. A cut on her lips, a gash across her forehead, or bruises marring her porcelain skin. You often nurse her wounds, fighting back tears and the urge to plead with her to stay, to give it all up.

One evening, in a moment of weakness and sheer fear, you do suggest it.

“Why can't you just leave it all behind? There are other, stronger heroes who can step in,” you murmur to her, both of you teetering on the edge of sleep.

“I caused so much darkness for a long time,” she says, her fingers coming up to trace your cheek and ease the creases on your forehead. “I need to pay my dues. I need to make things right.”

You find it hard to believe, considering the Wanda you know is nothing but a beacon of light. The thought of her having a dark past seems so distant, so unfathomable. Yet, her commitment to redemption is undeniable.

“Until when?” you ask softly, eyes locked onto hers, searching for answers. “When will it be enough?”

Wanda hesitates, her gaze drifting to the ceiling, as if searching for the answers there. “I don't know,” she whispers. “But every day, I try to be better than I was the day before, hoping that one day the scales will balance.”

You turn to face her fully, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Wanda, you've done so much good. You've helped countless people. At some point, you need to forgive yourself too.”

She chuckles lightly, the corners of her mouth turning up. “You know, sometimes I think that maybe it won't be for too long.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued, “Oh? And why's that?”

“Because,” she begins, her fingers playfully tracing patterns on your arm, “If I have you by my side, maybe I'm doing something right. I like to think of you as my little reward for turning things around.”

You can't help but laugh at that, pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Your 'little' reward? Are you calling me short?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I'm just saying that for all the vastness of the universe, it's the small, unexpected joys that matter the most.”

“Well, in that case,” you grin, your heart swelling in your chest, “I'm honored to be your 'little' joy.”

It always ends up like this. She sneaks in a flirty comment during your serious talks, and somehow, just for a moment, you forget about the worries that'll come back later.

But this is also how you eventually realize that you love her.

No matter what she chooses to do, you swear—even if it kills you, even if it disrupts your peace and turns your world upside down—you'll never leave her side unless she asks you to.

-

Within a week, you're back at the Avengers compound, not to visit Wanda, but to meet with a different Avenger.

Vision.

Wanda is on a small mission with Natasha, and you specifically timed your visit so that she wouldn't be around. You've come with a purpose, one that you're unsure of how it'll be received. 

Finding Vision is no easy task, but after inquiring discreetly, you're directed to a chamber that seems more like a serene meditation space than a room in a superhero compound.

“Vision?” you call out tentatively as you step into the dimly lit room. The chill in the air is so intense it feels like walking into a server room, almost expecting to find rows of computers thrumming in the cold. Instinctively, you pull your doctor's coat tighter around your body.

Vision appears almost instantly. “How may I assist you?”

You exhale slowly, rubbing the back of your neck. “Okay, this is going to sound weird, but... I need some advice about Wanda.” It feels a bit ridiculous as the thought crosses your mind—asking a synthezoid about relationship matters. But he's close to Wanda, and honestly, you're at a loss for who else to ask.

Vision's gaze sharpens a touch, “Go on.”

“I love her,” the words tumble out before you can rein them in. “Every time she's out on a mission, I'm a wreck. I'm always scared something might happen to her. I wish she'd... I don't know, think about retiring? Or at least find some way to be safer. But I have no idea how to even bring it up.”

Vision remains silent for a beat, then replies, “It's not uncommon for those close to Avengers to feel this way. But Wanda's commitment to this role is profound. Asking her to retire would be  asking her to change a fundamental part of who she is.”

“But what about her safety?” you press on rather desperately.

Vision takes a moment, as if deliberating if the term ‘safety’ should even apply to the likes of them, before saying, “In our line of work, there are no certainties. Every mission, every decision carries inherent risks. It's a reality we've all accepted. It's the price of our commitment to a greater good.”

You nod defeatedly. Maybe you were hoping for a different answer. But like the rest, he too prioritizes the greater good above himself. 

“I just wish there was something more I could do,” you say.

Vision steps closer, placing a hand on your shoulder in a gesture that's surprisingly comforting coming from a synthetic being. You’re beginning to understand why Wanda considers him her best friend. 

“Your presence in her life, the love you offer, it's more than you realize. Hold onto that,” he says. Then, he looks at you with an unexpected sparkle in his surprisingly soulful eyes. “Have you considered making a lifelong commitment to Wanda?”

You gulp, taken aback. “You mean... marriage?”

The suggestion from Vision was so unexpected, so left-field. But thinking about it, there were times—like when you'd make Wanda laugh and her nose would scrunch up all cute—where the idea did, fleetingly, cross your mind.

(You’re so embarrassed to admit it, but it’s just how your brain works around Wanda Maximoff.)

“Yes,” Vision nods. “Sometimes, offering stability and a promise of forever can provide an emotional security that transcends physical safety.”

For a moment, it strikes you—for someone who isn't even human, he sure has a knack for relationship advice. What Vision is suggesting does make sense: If you can't keep her safe, you'll keep her happy. Sometimes that's the only thing you can do. 

But there’s just one problem.

“Uhm, I don’t know how to say this, but…we haven't even... I mean, we're taking things slow,” you stumble over your words, your cheeks burning at the thought of being with Wanda that way. It's also not the sort of detail you’d anticipated sharing with Vision, of all beings, but it's out now.

Vision tilts his head slightly, a gesture you've come to recognize as him deep in thought. “If that's a prerequisite for you,” he states presumptuously, like the answer to your prerogative is so startlingly obvious yet you failed to catch them. “Then may I suggest you sleep with her and then ask her to marry you?”

Your jaw drops slightly, and you blink a few times, attempting to find words. “Vision, that's...easier said than done,” you manage to say, your voice faltering a bit towards the end. You quickly clear your throat, wondering if the temperature in the room could drop any further, because despite the chill, you're suddenly feeling quite warm in your civilian clothes.

“What do you mean by ‘easier said than done’?” Vision asks, rubbing his chin, no doubt a conscious effort to display his human side. “Do you need me to teach you how to—”

“No!” you blurt out, hands shooting up in a frantic 'stop right there' motion. Your mind races with the myriad of things Vision might've been about to suggest. “I've got a pretty good grasp on...human basics, thanks.” 

“Ah. Noted. I simply meant to offer guidance in whatever form you might need. Perhaps I could download a helpful guide or recommend books?” he asks.

You snort, the image of Vision giving sex education a new meaning now firmly planted in your mind. “No, thanks. I think I'll stick to the old-fashioned way of figuring things out. You know, trial and error, preferably without any downloadable guides.”

He nods, making an exaggerated display of understanding, “Ah, the human way of fumbling through experiences. Intriguing. And very inefficient.”

“Well, humans fumbled their way through evolution, so…”

“An interesting perspective. Still, if ever you need a recommended reading list…”

“No reading lists,” you say with a grin. “Just... help keep her safe. That's all the help I need from you.”

Vision’s lips curl into a slight smile. “Very well. That, I can promise.”

-

Despite your initial reaction to Vision's advice—of sleeping with Wanda and then asking her to marry you—as being ridiculous, it’s all you can think about.

You only realize what you've done after stepping out of the jewelry store, having just purchased an engagement ring with a central ruby stone encircled by tiny diamonds.

-

Tonight is the night.

You’ve set the mood—candles, soft music, the whole shebang. After weeks, maybe even months of hinting and hoping, you’re ready to take the next step with Wanda. Well, at least you think you are. There are two things in particular that are making your palms sweat and your heart race tonight. Firstly, the intimate step you’re trying to take with Wanda. And secondly, the engagement ring you impulsively bought, still tucked inside your back pocket, silently judging you for your timidity.

The two of you are cuddled up on the couch, the distance between you almost non-existent. The movie, 50 First Dates, plays in the background, but neither of you are paying it much attention.

The kissing has been going on for a good two minutes (not that you're counting or anything, but you just so happen to be facing the wall clock), and so, you make your move, your hand finding its way to her back, fingers fumbling clumsily as you try to find the clasp of her bra.

She stiffens and you hold your breath. Oh no. Did you move too fast? Just as a bead of panic-induced sweat is about to roll down your forehead, Wanda turns to you with a knowing look. “Looking for something?”

You stammer, trying to form a coherent sentence, “I just thought—”

She grins, cutting you off, “You do realize I'm wearing a sports bra, right?”

Right. You forgot she just came in from yet another mission. 

Your face turns a shade of red that could give her usual Avenger attire a run for its money. “I didn't... I mean, I couldn’t…”

Wanda laughs, a hearty, genuine laugh, putting you somewhat at ease. “You could've just asked me, you know.”

And before you can process that, with a flick of her wrist and a sparkle of magic, you feel the fabric disappear, replaced by the warmth of her skin. Your fingers freeze in place, feeling the soft flush beneath them.

Wanda raises an eyebrow, a playful challenge in her gaze. “You okay there?”

This. This is how you die—getting a heart attack with your hand under Wanda’s shirt.

Trying to reclaim some semblance of dignity, you manage a wobbly smile, words stumbling over themselves in a race to get out. “I was just... I mean, I thought... I didn't expect you to be so... efficient.”

Her laugh is soft, a touch husky, doing nothing to help calm the racing of your heart. “Darling, 'Efficient' is my middle name.”

You want to point out the countless times her middle was anything but ‘Efficient’ but that would definitely ruin the mood.

“Good to know. Any other magic tricks you're planning to pull tonight?” you ask with a smirk.

She leans in close, her lips grazing your ear. “Guess you'll have to stick around to find out.”

You both shift, trying to find a more comfortable position on the couch. In the process, the velvet box containing the ring slips from your back pocket and falls to the floor. As you bend down to pick it up, Wanda gets there first, snatching the box away with her powers just as your fingers graze it.

“What's this?” she asks, her eyes widening in surprise.

For a moment, you're caught in an invisible stasis. “I, uh... it's not what it looks like?” you stutter out, though it's clear by her expression she doesn’t buy it for a second.

With a smirk, she slowly opens the box, revealing the delicate ring inside. Her eyes flit between the ring and your flushed face, her playful smile replaced with an expression of tender surprise. “Is this…”

You swallow hard. “Yes, it is. I was... I was going to ask you. Later. After, well, after other things.”

Wanda laughs, a hint of tears in her eyes. “You were planning on proposing after we...?”

Hearing your idea echoed back by Wanda makes you feel slightly foolish. Darn it, Vision.

“Well, the cat's out of the bag now,” you sigh, looking directly into Wanda's eyes, a surge of bravery taking hold. “And honestly, I don't think I can wait any longer to ask you. I really, truly love you. So, Wanda Maximoff, will you marry me?”

Wanda looks down at the ring, then back to your eyes, searching for answers and confirming truths. After losing her entire family, right in front of her is the possibility of starting a new one. A tear escapes from the corner of her eye.

“You had a whole plan, didn't you?” she murmurs, her voice quivering.

“An extremely convoluted and very poorly executed plan, yes,” you admit sheepishly.

Her laugh is light and airy and causes her nose to do that thing you’re so crazy about. “Oh, you...” she trails off, leaning down to capture your lips in a soft, slow kiss. When she pulls back, she’s beaming. “Yes. Yes, I'll marry you. But maybe let’s deal with one thing at a time tonight, okay?”

“Of course, one thing at a time,” you quickly agree. But then, a wave of insecurity washes over you. “But, just so you know, if after we...you know...if you don't find it... satisfying or if I don't live up to your expectations or anything, you can totally change your mind about the proposal. No pressure or anything.”

Wanda looks amused for a moment, then her expression turns sultry. “Darling, trust me when I say that's not going to be an issue,” she purrs.

You open your mouth to respond but are momentarily derailed when Wanda, with one fluid motion, removes her shirt, rendering you speechless.

Leaning in so that her lips hover just inches from your ear, she murmurs, “I want you so bad, you're really going to have to work hard to change my mind.”

Her fingers trace a lazy path up your neck, sending shivers racing down your spine. 

“By the way,” Wanda whispers as you struggle to focus on her words through your half-lidded eyes. “I really, truly love you too.”

After that, words become superfluous. The need to be closer, to feel her against you, overpowers every sense and sensation. And as the seconds and minutes melt away, you find that with Wanda, everything falls perfectly into place.

-

“Just so we’re clear,” you pant out moments later, catching your breath and gazing at the ceiling, “It’s still a ‘yes’, right?”

Wanda's body trembles with laughter next to you, making you grin ear to ear. Before long, you're rolling back on top of her again, ready for round two.

-

The soft lapping of water against the shore serves as nature's own version of wedding bells. Your father's lakehouse, usually a place of quiet reflection and family gatherings, is now adorned with delicate white drapes and soft pastel flowers, transforming it into an intimate wedding venue. 

Steve Rogers, wearing a suit that accentuates his otherworldly physique, gives you a supportive pat on the back. “Nervous?”

“About the wedding or the fact that half the guests could snap me in half with their pinky?” you reply with a nervous chuckle.

“You’ve got this,” he assures you, seeing past your attempt at a lighthearted joke.

As for Wanda, she had never anticipated that half the attendees at her wedding would be dentists, including your parents and a slew of your colleagues. It was a running joke between the two of you; her slight dental phobia up against your chosen profession. But life has a funny way of turning things around. 

Sometimes what we fear the most becomes our strength, and that strength becomes an anchor. And you are hers, as much as she is yours.

[sageluvsjoel]

A Different Kind of Miracle

jackson!joel miller x reader x autistic!daughter

Requested HERE

part two here

masterlist

summary: Joel faces challenges understanding his daughter’s differences, but learns how to connect with her in meaningful ways.

genre: fluff, slight hurt to comfort, post outbreak

wc: 1.5k

likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

i do not authorize plagiarism or copying of my work!

Jackson was the kind of place that made Joel uneasy. The sense of safety, the quiet that settled over the town at night, it was almost unnatural. He had grown too accustomed to danger lurking in every corner, too used to living with his guard up, waiting for the next threat. But here, in this community, there was peace—a foreign concept after two decades of nothing but violence, death, and loss.

At first, he didn’t know what to do with it. He wasn’t sure if he deserved it, honestly. But then, you came along. And with you, came the greatest miracle of his life—a little girl, his daughter.

Joel had never imagined being a father again. Hell, he hadn’t even wanted to be. Losing Sarah had gutted him, left him a shell of a man who had given up on the idea of family, of love. But then you’d walked into his life, unexpected and undeniable, and before he knew it, the two of you had a daughter. It was like the world had found a way to give him a second chance, something he never thought he’d get.

At first, Joel was terrified. He was older now, more worn down by the world, but you’d reassured him. Together, you’d raise her. Together, you’d be the family he thought he’d lost forever.

She was his little miracle. But lately, Joel found himself… confused. Worried, even. She wasn’t like other kids. At first, he didn’t think much of it—every kid was different, after all. But as she got older, there were little things he couldn’t ignore anymore. She rarely looked him in the eye, didn’t babble like Ellie or the other kids her age. Sometimes, she’d play alone for hours, completely immersed in whatever world she’d created for herself, but if he tried to change her routine, she’d fall apart. Meltdowns that he didn’t understand would follow—her little body shaking as she screamed, inconsolable.

He hated it. Not her, never her, but the helplessness he felt every time it happened. He was used to fixing things, solving problems with his hands, with action. But this? He didn’t even know what it was, let alone how to fix it.

It was a cold morning when you first brought it up, sitting on the porch outside your little house in Jackson, your daughter playing quietly in the yard. She was lining up her toy blocks in neat, perfect rows, just as she always did. Joel watched her, sipping from his coffee mug, his face set in that familiar frown.

“Joel,” you said softly, your voice careful. “Have you… noticed anything with her? I mean, I know you have, but I mean… more than just being quiet?”

He grunted, not taking his eyes off your daughter. “She’s just a kid. They’re all different. She’ll grow out of it.”

You sighed, placing your hand on his. “I don’t think she will. I’ve been reading about… autism. I think that might be what’s going on.”

Joel’s brow furrowed, and he turned to look at you, his expression hard to read. “Autism? What the hell’s that got to do with her? She’s fine. She’s just—she’s just young. All kids act weird.”

You shook your head, your eyes gentle but firm. “It’s more than that, Joel. The meltdowns, the way she lines things up, how she doesn’t respond to her name half the time. I think she’s struggling, and we need to help her. But first, we need to understand what’s going on.”

He pulled his hand away, rubbing his face in frustration. “I don’t know, alright? I’ve been through a lot of shit, but I don’t know anything about this. This is… I don’t know what to do with this, alright? I can’t fix it.”

You reached for his hand again, and this time, he didn’t pull away. “Joel, she doesn’t need fixing. She’s perfect just the way she is. But she does need us to see her, to understand her. And you know what? We’ll figure it out together. We don’t have to do it alone.”

Joel let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping. He wasn’t used to feeling like this, like there was something he couldn’t control. He hated it. But he couldn’t argue with you either. He trusted you, more than anyone in this world, and if you thought something was going on, then maybe… maybe you were right.

That night, Joel lay awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling, your soft breathing beside him the only sound in the room. His mind raced, thoughts swirling around his daughter, around the word you’d said—autism. It wasn’t something he understood. Hell, he hadn’t even heard of it before the outbreak, and back then, his world had been so small, revolving around work and raising Sarah. He hadn’t thought much about things like that.

But now, it was different. He had to understand, because this was his little girl, his miracle, and he’d be damned if he let her struggle without doing everything in his power to help her.

---------------------------------

The days turned into weeks, and Joel found himself paying more attention to the things he hadn’t noticed before. He saw the way she flinched at loud noises, the way she covered her ears when there were too many people around. He saw the way she fixated on certain toys or routines, how any deviation sent her spiraling into a meltdown that left her exhausted and him feeling helpless.

But he also saw the little things. The way she smiled, just for a moment, when she was lost in her own world. The way her tiny hands carefully placed each block in a perfect line, her focus so intense it almost made him laugh. She was so different from anyone he’d ever known, but she was also so her—beautiful, smart, and his.

One evening, after a particularly rough day of trying to get her to wear a new pair of shoes, Joel sat on the porch, his head in his hands. The frustration had gotten the better of him, and for a moment, he’d snapped, raising his voice in a way that made her cry. He hated himself for it, hated the look of fear in her eyes, the way she’d flinched when he yelled.

“I don’t know what to do,” he muttered as you sat down beside him, rubbing his back gently. “I don’t know how to help her.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, your voice soft and understanding. “It’s okay, Joel. It’s hard. But you’re doing your best, and that’s what matters. She knows you love her. We’ll figure it out, one step at a time.”

Joel closed his eyes, the weight of everything pressing down on him. But then, from inside the house, he heard a small voice.

“Daddy?”

It was soft, almost hesitant, but it was there. His heart leapt into his throat, and he stood up, walking into the living room where his daughter stood, her blocks in her hands. She looked up at him, her big brown eyes full of uncertainty, but there was something else there, too—something he hadn’t seen before.

“What is it, baby girl?” he asked, his voice as gentle as he could manage.

She didn’t answer right away, but she held out a block, offering it to him. It was such a small gesture, but to Joel, it felt like the world shifted. She was reaching out to him, in her own way, trying to connect.

He knelt down, taking the block from her hand. “Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “That’s a good one.”

For a moment, she smiled, just a little, before turning back to her toys. Joel stayed there, on the floor, watching her, his heart swelling with a mix of love and pain. She was different, yes. But she was also perfect.

That night, as he lay in bed beside you, he whispered into the quiet, “I’ll learn. I’ll figure out how to be the dad she needs.”

You smiled in the darkness, your hand finding his. “You already are.”

---------------------------------

The weeks and months that followed weren’t easy. There were still moments of frustration, of helplessness, but Joel found himself changing. He learned to meet his daughter where she was, to understand her needs instead of trying to fit her into a mold she didn’t belong in. He learned to listen, not just with his ears, but with his heart. And slowly, bit by bit, he saw her blossom.

One day, as the two of them sat together on the porch, Joel handed her one of her favorite toys, a small wooden horse. She took it, studying it carefully before turning to him with a small, soft smile.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

And just like that, everything was worth it. Every struggle, every moment of doubt—it all faded away in the face of that simple, precious moment.

Joel Miller had spent his whole life fighting, surviving. But now, with his little girl in his arms, he realized that this—this was what he had been fighting for all along.

A different kind of miracle.

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[ayaaymanalanqar96]

I have always had a passion for desserts. I used to cook them for my family almost everyday, and I cooked them with love. Every evening, my family would gather to share stories and smiles over my delicious creations. It was my own way to bring my family together.😍💗

Sadly, these days are long gone. Our home, which used to be our haven, was damaged. As a result, we were forced to leave to Southern Gaza in persuit of safety and survival. It turned out that there's no thing such a safe place in Gaza, as we still live in constant danger. Warplanes are hovering overhead day and night and explosions are heard from every direction.💔💔😔

There's also the danger of starving or dying due to the lack proper medical treatment, which is a real threat to the lives of chronically ill people, like my dad and grandma.😭😔

I really yearn to the days when my family was happily eating my homemade desserts, but sadly it seem like a distant memory now.🥺🥺

That's why we have made the difficult decision of leaving Gaza and starting over somewhere else. We want to restore our peaceful life without being constantly dangered by warplanes or bombing, without being forced to struggle to provide even the most basic necessities, such as water and food. We just want to be happy again. 😞😞

If you find it in your heart to help a family in distress, please consider donating to our GFM campaign or at least sharing for the world to see. Your support, no matter how small, can make the greatest difference in our lives. 🙏🙏

Thank you from the bottom of our hearts,

Aya & family

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is (#217)✅️

[animeyanderelover]

Hello can I request a yandere indra + madara, obito, sasuke, itachi and shisui x goddess reader. The reader is a goddess of serenity, beauty, strength and healing. Thank you very much.

I just love how the Uchiha blood line has just the whole Naruto fandom in a chokehold. I have never not met a person who wasn’t at least down bad for one of them.

@shumidehiro @swagenemyartisan

Tw: Yandere themes, toxic relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, stalking, clinginess, delusional thoughts, threats, manipulation, paranoia, death

Goddess s/o

Indra Otsutsuki

💜Indra is one of the last people you will see bowing down to anyone after he has abandoned his father and brother. Instead he is the one who expects people to bow down to him as he is essentially a god with the powers he has obtained after having killed his two close friends in exchange for more power. It is that very arrogance that keeps him from even bowing his head to you. It is almost ironic how he has cursed his father for claiming that love would be the greatest power yet finds himself going through a similar experience when he is face to face with you for the first time. There is an ethereal glow around your body that sets you apart from the mortal humans, that sets you apart from him as he stares at you. Even after you fade away from his vision, his gaze remains fixated on the spot where you just were a few seconds ago. His mind is spinning, drowning in the images of the short glimpses he was able to catch of you. He wants to see you again. In your otherworldly presence he has finally felt something he hasn’t felt ever since he left his village and has been plagued by restlessness. He feels peace.

💜He doesn’t plan to join your group of worshippers but he sticks around them and the shrine they have created in hopes of catching a glimpse of you again. As enchanted as Indra may be, there is a volcano of twisted emotions that is just brooding inside of him. Your status as a goddess disturbs him and that disturbance has been inside of him ever since he has been humbled and humiliated by Ashura in the fight that tore all bonds he had previously held. Deep down he fears a repeat of this experience, of another loss of his, if he were to ever try to force you to join his side. He feels an overwhelming need to dominate you, to stand above you and force you via that into submission. He needs the reassurance of holding control as he would otherwise be too paranoid about you eventually beating him just like Ashura. Yet you two live in different worlds as you only rarely visit the realm of humans and it fills him with a poison called helplessness that he despises. His mind spirals into violent insanity as he will gladly burn down all of your followers and even your own shrine if you will answer the call of his obsession.

Madara Uchiha

🌑Madara has never prayed to anyone before. He has trained to stand as the head of his clan and he has achieved it all with his own strength and willpower. Yet his interest is immediately captured when he actually finds a real goddess that personifies strength and beauty. In a way he is almost instantly enraptured but don’t expect him to go down on both knees for you as Madara has never shown submission to anyone. Even your status as a goddess won’t force him to throw away his pride. Your ancient position as a goddess is still enough to earn you his respect, especially if he sees your powers in action. You carry yourself with a wisdom and elegance he would expect from someone who has existed for millennia as you have and you possess such beauty and serene composure that any mortal woman pales in comparison to you in every category. Ever since the day he has seen you, he hasn’t been able to give his attention nor interest to any women the clan has offered him as a potential bride. None of them could come even close to you so he ruthlessly rejects them all. He has only one woman in his heart he wants as a bride. You.

🌑Even if he may be blasphemous for yearning to claim a goddess as his possession, Madara doesn’t care. He has set his sights on you and nothing can stop him now. He’s persistent and stubborn, determined to marry you. Unfortunately you aren’t that easy to detect as you reside in a realm where humans can’t follow so he instead tracks down your followers and your shrine. Perhaps your subjects can be of use to help him to see you again. Now, Madara will be man enough to ask you for your hand in marriage when he sees you again and he isn’t opposed if you would play a bit hard to get so he can prove himself to you. If your opinion would stand firm that you don’t want to marry him though, things will look not pretty. In the traditional Uchiha fashion Madara’s feelings burn brighter than the sun and nothing can extinguish the fire in his heart. Once he has decided that only you will do for him, he will do everything in his strength to have you. He knows that he is potentially picking a fight with a goddess but he doesn’t fear the risk of such a battle. If he must fight against you to force you to stay by his side, so be it.

Obito Uchiha

🔥Ever since Rin’s death, ever since his innocence has been shattered, Obito has been living in hell. Life on earth has become synonymous with suffering and evil for him as his heart hasn’t known peace and joy since years. That’s when you two cross paths as he finds your abandoned shrine within the woods. As soon as he lays his eye on you, it’s like his crippled heart is healing as he feels serenity and calmness wrapping itself around him like a warm blanket. All caution and hostility melts away as the Uchiha can only stare at you in dreamy awe as you look at him with such dazzling eyes. The moment you disappear, it feels like a hole has opened in his heart that is aching. His gaze lands on the dirty and old shrine and suddenly there is a rage filling Obito as he realizes that the followers who used to care for your house on earth have abandoned it and have abandoned you by doing so. You poor thing. How must it feel for a goddess to be slowly forgotten? He starts tending to the shrine from that day on as he cleans it from the moss and visits it daily. He knows that you’re watching him whenever he feels his heartbeat calming down.

🔥He feels like the shrine is the place where only the two of you exist as your aura lulls him into a peacefulness he didn’t know that he could feel. Obito actually starts praying to you and he feels empowered whenever he does so as he likes to imagine that you bless him with the strength he needs to change this world. Soon he finds himself becoming addicted to your presence that fills him with such bliss and starts feeling stressed out when he can’t sense you. He likes to delude himself into thinking that both of you have suffered from the ignorance of the humans around you and that soon leads him to the conclusion that only you could ever understand him and he could only ever understand you. Whenever you show yourself to him, he’s talking like you are a frightened baby deer as he promises you revenge for the people who abandoned and forgot you and that he will never do as your former followers did. He will never allow anyone else to intrude in his little paradise where only him and you exist and longs for the day when you will finally allow him to show you the loyalty and love he feels for you.

Shisui Uchiha

🍂Religion can truly become a terrifying thing when it is used to oppress people. It is your cult that falls victim to Shisui on a mission as he is sent to the village they have temporarily settled down to enforce the laws of their own beliefs there. It is in the very temple they have been building by using the villagers as workers that Shisui has his first encounter with you. You have a heavy aura around you as you stare at him, as dignified and proud as a goddess standing for strength is meant to be even if your facial expression is a mellow one. Then there is Shisui, standing in the half-finished shrine of yours with the corpses of your followers lying around his feet. There is a thick silence where Shisui is silently preparing himself to be attacked by you yet he only receives a nod from you that almost looks like a sign of gratitude before you vanish. No one else has seen you yet he’s convinced that it wasn’t an illusion. Too troubled to leave the village without getting his confirmation that you were real, he steals necklace from one of your followers which is meant to help your followers to stay in contact with you.

🍂Visions and glimpses as fleeting as a shooting star haunt him from that day on and if anyone else but Shisui would have stolen the artifact, they would have probably lost their mind already. He knows exactly that he can’t tell anyone about your existence as they wouldn’t believe him and label him as a lunatic in the worst case. It’s like you are constantly observing him. Your presence is like a warm gentle rain that engulfs him constantly and the occasional brush of your hands against his skin a delicate sensation that has his whole body tingling. Until eventually Shisui finds his eyes constantly searching for you, an almost queasy feeling in his stomach when he can neither see nor sense you. You have given him your blessing and your protection after he has cleared your name of the traitors who have been abusing your image for such crude actions. Shisui wonders if you already know that his own strong feelings you have admired upon first meeting him have already been twisted because of you. He secretly builds you a small shrine where he also hides the necklace, well aware that they will tie you one way or another to his village.

Itachi Uchiha

🍡Itachi, despite his normally cold facade, is deep down also a deeply troubled person who is drowning in the sorrow of what he had to do to his own clan and family. Around you the silent ache gets soothed, even if it’ll never fully disappear. From the Uchiha clan Itachi is most likely one of the calmer ones and the one who will actually put the respect on you that you deserve without overwhelming you. He has enough on his mind already after all but he at times feels a tad bit honored that you decided to show yourself to him out of curiosity when you saw him passing through the forest with your shrine. Your presence is quite enjoyable and that isn’t only because you are a goddess of serenity and beauty but also because you could almost be mistaken as a normal human if it wouldn’t be for the halo around you. You don’t act like what he would have expected from a goddess of your caliber but instead you are curious, humble and get childishly excited when he brings you food because you normally don’t get such stuff in the realm where you live. Your curiosity about the most mundane stuff is sometimes downright amusing.

🍡As an Akatsuki member, Itachi is already put under a lot of isolation. He only has Kisame as a work partner and now there is also you with whom he can spend time with. Itachi really appreciates this. The fact that you have an entire cult at your disposal yet you only really show yourself to him flatters him more and more as time passes on. Even if he can’t see you, he can certainly sense you and even that is enough for him. It is quite ambiguous coming from him but despite the crimes that he has committed, Itachi has still morals. He got too comfortable with you, has allowed himself to delve too deep into those emotions and now he has no way out anymore. You two are so different. You are a celestial being that is essentially immortal and he is only human. He’s probably only going to be a fleeting moment in your life but his emotions has long left his control and act unreasonable. Despite applying all logic to his case, his own emotions don’t want to listen to him as they long to be with you. His determination to die at the hands of his brother waver greatly the longer he spends time with you, a gravity pulling him towards you.

Sasuke Uchiha

💙If Sasuke becomes fixated on a person, he is ready to go to great lengths and throw everything and everyone around him away to reach his goal. It applies to his desire for revenge as well as the intense obsession he develops that is centered around you. He has never believed in any celestial existence as the extermination of his entire clan has taught him that there is no such thing as a god protecting the people in his land. But your existence proves him otherwise. Even amidst his obsession, there is this burning bitterness and rage he holds against you though. Where has been your protection when his entire clan was eradicated? Why didn’t you do anything? There is pain even amongst his anger as he lashes out on you and blames you. He doesn’t care about the fact that you are a literal goddess. Your powers can’t be good for anything after all if you just allow the people in the Leaf Village to commit such a genocide. He wants answers, demands them, just to understand why it had to be his clan that had to suffer so much yet you can’t give him those answers. Instead there is a pitiful look on your face that almost drives him mad.

💙He hates how your mere presence always manages to drain all negative energy from him as he feels like his own emotions are controlled when he is around you yet it has never stopped him from approaching you. The grudge he holds against you and others of your kind for doing absolutely nothing to prevent the death of so many people. You probably think that you’re better just because you are a goddess, don’t you? Despite this, his anger almost seems to fuel his obsession with you. Sasuke yearns to have you, to be in possession of you and he is also steered by a desire to be in control of you. You are used to everyone being beneath you and as if to punish you for your ignorance about his own clan’s tragic fate, Sasuke wants to show you what it feels like to struggle and to experience helplessness. He doesn’t know just yet if he can beat you in a fight and he is wise enough to not underestimate you but he swears to you that one day he will gain enough power to keep you permanently by his side and to teach you not to pity him. And he’s getting stronger and stronger with each passing day…

[girlactionfigure]

SEPTEMBER 4, 2024

Many anti-Israel protestors claim that the terrorist groups they support are merely anti-Zionist, not antisemitic.

The evidence shows otherwise.

Let’s take a look.

THIS IS A HAMAS FLAG...

…in the middle of New York City. Some Hamas apologists will tell you that Hamas no longer intends to exterminate all Jews, because in 2017, they “replaced their [openly genocidal] charter.” Well, lucky for you, Hamas is here to set the record straight. See, after releasing their “new” charter, Hamas co-founder Mahmoud al-Zahar assured the media that the 2017 document did not replace their original 1988 charter. 

Since 2017, Hamas has made openly genocidal calls toward Jews. In 2018, Hamas’s Al-Aqsa TV media channel predicted “the cleansing of Palestine of the filth of the Jews.”

In 2019, Hamas Political Bureau member Fathi Hammad said, “You seven million Palestinians abroad, enough warming up! There are Jews everywhere! We must attack every Jew on planet Earth –- we must slaughter and kill them, with Allah’s help.” In 2021, Hammad called, via Al-Aqsa TV, for the Palestinians in Jerusalem to “cut off the heads of the Jews.”

BTW, THIS IS ONE OF THE MANY THINGS THAT THE ORIGINAL HAMAS CHARTER SAYS...

"The Day of Judgement will not come about until Moslems fight the Jews (killing the Jews), when the Jew will hide behind stones and trees. The stones and trees will say O Moslems, O Abdulla, there is a Jew behind me, come and kill him. Only the Gharkad tree, (evidently a certain kind of tree) would not do that because it is one of the trees of the Jews." (related by al-Bukhari and Moslem)."

(Article 7)

Pretty explicitly antisemitic, wouldn’t you agree?

THIS IS A HEZBOLLAH FLAG (AND A HAMAS HEADBAND)..

…in the middle of New York City. Like Hamas, the entire purpose of Hezbollah’s existence is the destruction of the State of Israel. Unlike Hamas, however, Hezbollah, for decades, has carried out violent terrorist attacks against Jews not just in Israel, but also in the Diaspora.

Hezbollah’s most notorious attack was the 1994 bombing of the Asociación Mutual Israelita Argentina (AMIA), the largest Jewish community center in Buenos Aires, Argentina. The attack took 85 innocent lives. Before October 7, the AMIA bombing was the single largest antisemitic massacre since the end of the Holocaust.

Given Hezbollah targets (non-Israeli) Jews worldwide, could it be that their problem is with Jews, not just with Zionism?

THIS, AGAIN, IS THE HEZBOLLAH FLAG...

...at the Princeton University encampment. If you’re still on the fence about Hezbollah’s true antisemitic intentions, fear not: Hezbollah Secretary General Hassan Nasrallah is here to clarify them for you.

“If we searched the entire world for a person more cowardly, despicable, weak and feeble in psyche, mind, ideology and religion, we would not find anyone like the Jew. Notice, I do not say the Israeli,” Nasrallah stated. Just anti-Zionism, huh?

Then there’s his infamous threat: “If [the Jews] all gather in Israel, it will save us the trouble of going after them worldwide.” 

We get the message loud and clear.

THIS IS "JEWISH" VOICE FOR PEACE, GLORIFYING THE HOUTHIS...

...using a photo that very clearly showcases the Houthi banner, which states, “God is the Greatest, Death to America, Death to Israel, A Curse Upon the Jews, Victory to Islam.”

“A Curse Upon the Jews” is pretty straightforward antisemitism, don’t you think? 

The Houthis are also personally responsible for ethnically cleansing the last Jews out of Yemen. Just anti-Zionism, eh?

THIS IS A PALESTINIAN FLAG WITH VARIOUS PORTRAITS, INCLUDING THAT OF YAHYA SINWAR...

…in the middle of New York City. If orchestrating the October 7 massacre, the biggest antisemitic massacre since the end of the Holocaust, is not evidence enough for you, there are other indications that Sinwar is not exactly a friend of the Jews.

In May of 2021, for example, Sinwar led a rally, in which the crowd was encouraged to chant, "We will trample on the heads of the Jews in front of everyone..."

There is also, of course, his infamous threat: “October 7 was just a rehearsal.”

Sinwar is the head of Hamas, which we’ve already established doesn’t really like Jews.

THIS IS A PFLP FLAG (AND A HEZBOLLAH FLAG AND A HAMAS HEADBAND)...

…in the middle of New York City. See that red flag? Yeah, that’s the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine. PFLP flags are all the rage at pro-Palestine protests. Marxist Jihad. Super fun.

Yet, while the PFLP claims to advocate for a secular, democratic Palestine, the reality is much darker. When, for example, the PFLP, with the aid of West German terrorists, hijacked Air France Flight 139, en route from Tel Aviv to Paris, they infamously separated the Jewish from the non-Jewish passengers.Yes, you read that right: they separated the Jewish from the non-Jewish passengers. Not the Israeli passengers from the non-Israeli passengers. The Jewish from the non-Jewish passengers.

The non-Jewish passengers were let go. The Jews were kept hostage. That’s a pretty clear message.

THIS IS A PFLP FLAG...

…at the University of Pennsylvania encampment. If you’re still not convinced this is antisemitic, the founder of the PFLP, George Habash, quickly was there to set the record straight: “Killing one Jew far away from the field of battle is more effective than killing a hundred Jews on the field of battle,because it attracts more attention.”

You read that? He said “Jew.” Not Israeli. Not Zionist. “Jew.”

The PFLP live-streamed the October 7 massacre, and, as of several months ago, Israeli intelligence estimated that the PFLP was holding the youngest hostage, one-year-old Kfir Bibas, and his five-year-old brother, Ariel Bibas, hostage.

THIS IS A PALESTINIAN ISLAMIC JIHAD FLAG (AND A PFLP FLAG AND A HAMAS FLAG)...

…in the middle of New York City. Palestinian Islamic Jihad participated in the October 7 massacre. More than that, however, their entire ideology is antisemitic to the core.

See, Palestinian Islamic Jihad believes that a proper reading of the Quran indicates that Muslims are in an eternal struggle with their forever enemies, the Jews, and that the conflict between the Israelis and the Palestinians exists because of this eternal struggle. 

To recap: Palestine or no Palestine, Islamic Jihad’s ideology dictates that Jews are the eternal enemies of the Muslims.

Sounds antisemitic to me, but what do I know?

For a full bibliography of my sources, please head over to my Instagram and  Patreon. 

somehow we’ve normalized weekly antisemitic hate marches in broad daylight

[sanemistar]

warning: kny manga spoilers !

i hc that demon slayer marks don’t completely disappear and instead they leave a slight scar afterwards that is similar to a birthmark. so sanemi and giyuu being the only two surviving hashiras, are now being reminded of their fierce final battle against the greatest threat of all time which ended in victory for them, of their late companions and loved ones who died nobly fighting to protect others before getting a chance to see a peaceful world where demons no longer exist. it’s especially tough for sanemi because every time he faces a mirror and he looks at his right cheek he’s immediately reminded that he’s now living in a world without his dear little brother genya.

[imfoive]

Crystal Bird - Chapter 1

Crown Prince! Chan x Princess (fem.) Genre: Royal au! Angst, Romance, Historical, hidden identity, slow-burn Warnings: mentions of blood, war, death, cursing, somewhat proofread WC: 6.3k A/N: First few chapters focus on childhood so a little slow paced (I like to ramble). Based on a dream. Feedback is always welcome, enjoy! ── MASTERLIST

Synopsis: The Crown Prince is saved by the Princess of a rival kingdom, and he swears his second life to his savior. A forbidden friendship no one knew of, grows deeper with every secret meeting. As the two are kept apart, memories of their sunset playdates by the serene river, begin blossoming into something beautiful. Cheeks blushed, stomach butterflies fluttered at the thought of each other. Years of yearning and imagining had only made them crave a sweeter reunion. And finally meeting at a Royal banquet, he could only stare at the now grown Princess, taken by her beauty, while she only watches as he gives his heart to the wrong princess.

Missed a chapter? - Prologue /

CHAPTER 1 ───────────────────

The Kingdom rejoiced with the birth of the First Princess. For three days, the realm erupted in celebrations—a riot of colors, music, and festivities that swept through every corner. Processions honoring the arrival of a long-awaited princess. Princess Sienna, the first daughter to the King and Queen of Elysium. Sister to the nation’s crown prince. 

How joyous.

Yet, the next day marked a stark contrast. Amongst the revelry, In a quiet chamber, the King's second daughter, Princess Y/N, entered the world almost unnoticed. Born of the King's mistress, her arrival lacked fanfare or ceremony. While the main palace buzzed with activity and gifts for Princess Sienna, little attention was spared for the second princess. 

Princess Y/N's fate seemed sealed—to live in the shadows of the first princess. 

The Elysium Kingdom, known for its intricate politics and noble traditions, applauded scholarly pursuits and thrived in trade. Despite its guarded stance towards neighboring realms, Elysium stands as a land of prestige and refinement. However, its greatest rivalry lie right next to them, posing as the Kingdom's greatest threat.

The Kingdom of Nightshade, ruled by the Bahng Clan.

Like its name, it was mysterious and whispers of its dark origins spread far and wide. They say that The Nightshade Kingdom had ancient ties with wolves. Their nature seems to elude as such, with tactics that mimic the beasts of the night, yet effectively defending against threats from all directions. Shroud in it's own darkness, and nestled within expansive mountains and lush landscapes, it was known for its formidable defenses and healing arts.

The Bahng Clan had led the empire for five hundred years. Once the most powerful nation, before some hundreds of years ago, a rebel had raised an army and conquered the land past The Grand Forest. 

That rebel was the first Elysium King.

So it was of no surprise that there was animosity between these two kingdoms with drastic differences. Despite past attempts at wars ending in failure, dark times for both realms, agreements for peace were made, spanning generations. Yet the underlying tensions never disappeared. These were fueled by historical grievances and their stark cultural differences.

Elysium prized intellect and social standing, viewing Nightshade's warrior culture and deep connection to nature as…primitive. In Nightshade, the highest honor one could achieve was to be recognized as a Nightshade Warrior—a protector and leader. Yet, Elysium's elite disdainfully labeled them "uncivilized" due to their rugged demeanor. The divide seemed insurmountable, leaving little common ground between the two nations. 

The history of these tensions was deeply ingrained in the minds of the royal and noble children of the Elysium Kingdom. Princess Y/N, however, grew up pondering this divide and their tensions. She couldn't help but question: If both realms followed similar paths and valued similar ideals, wouldn’t they have been a single empire then?

The second princess had always been a curious one, full of questions. Unlike her sister, who basked in attention and privilege, Y/N spent her time in the sanctuary of books. Picking up random pieces of knowledge. She wandered the palace grounds unnoticed, finding solace in quieter corners where she could contemplate the world beyond the palace walls. As a young child, she loved sneaking away into the kitchens and cellars to steal desserts and cheese. Getting bolder and bolder before finding herself under palace walls.

Y/N was great at slipping away unnoticed.

Not that her presence seemed to make a difference anyway. The young girls at the tea parties paid little attention to her. And when they did, it was to learn more about her sister. As she matured, Y/N gradually became aware of the stark disparity in treatment between herself and Princess Sienna. While Sienna effortlessly commanded attention and affection, Y/N observed from the sidelines, overshadowed by her sister's radiant presence. Sienna received everything she desired, and why shouldn’t she? She was second only to the Queen in importance, destined to lead women in society and set trends. Despite being pampered from birth, Sienna remained remarkably humble. She complimented her servants, greeted everyone with a cheeky smile and a booming voice, and adored her slightly younger sister.

Despite the stark contrast in their upbringing, Y/N harbored no resentment towards Sienna, finding solace in their occasional playful interactions. Sienna was oblivious to the disparities between them, while Y/N silently wrestled with envy, internalizing her feelings toward her sweet sister.

The Grand Forest stretched long and wide between the two kingdoms, its lush expanse often a buffer for the political tensions that defined Elysium and Nightshade. Somewhere in the middle, marked the border between the two rival nations. Within this strip of green, where trees stood tall and dense, and a river murmured its steady song, nobles from Elysium occasionally ventured for secluded picnics and gatherings. 

On one such occasion, Princess Y/N observed her sister's birthday festivities unfold. The weather had been perfect for a tea party, and although it was not officially Sienna’s birthday, the other girls of noble families wanted to host a small gathering by the river in early celebration. Though they claimed it was to celebrate both princesses. Sienna, surrounded by friends and admirers, received gifts that sparkled with enchantment of jewels and trinkets, while Y/N received modest offerings. 

Y/N did not complain, she was used to it, aware that she would probably get the things Sienna was not particularly fond of. Yet, as Sienna opened the small box and unveiled a delicate necklace—a crystal bird on a silver chain, Y/N's fascination stirred. The crystal’s iridescence captivated her, it's simplicity evoked charm. Her eyes lighting up in curiosity. Maybe it was the bright blue of the crystal. Or the fact that it was in the shape of a bird, almost three-dimensional. It was so small yet it made all the other girls “ooh” and “ahh” as it glimmered. It was something Y/N had never seen, and she wanted to feel the smooth silver of the chain in contrast to the stone. The bird dangled on the thin chain as Sienna’s maidservant clasped it around her neck, the young girl smiling widely in approval of the gift.   

    “Thank you, Lady Alyssa. It's absolutely beautiful.” Sienna exclaimed, radiant smile admiring the gift.

While Alyssa blushed shyly at Sienna’s words and the other girls encouraged her to continue opening gifts, Y/N's gaze remained fixed on the necklace. She longed to touch its smooth surface, to feel its weight against her palm. Her brows had narrowed and for the first time in a while, the envy she managed to contain, burst out a little. 

As the distractions of the gathering carried on—a game of ring toss initiated, laughter echoing through the trees. A maid began putting away all gifts, and Sienna’s nanny watched joyfully as her young lady laughed about. Y/N had lost a few rounds in, and stood at the side, watching as yet another young lady let Princess Sienna win. The almost eleven year old sighs, eyes glancing around at the wildflowers growing everywhere. The sound of the water streaming down the river not too far off, was loud even from where they were. 

Then Y/N’s gaze freezes, her eyes taking in the twinkling of the little thing on the ground. 

The crystal bird.

Her heart raced with a mix of trepidation and curiosity. Could it be true? Had Sienna lost such a precious gift amidst the revelry? Her eyes darted to Sienna, to confirm whether Y/N was actually seeing correctly. Sure enough, Sienna’s neck was bare, the birthday gift no longer dangling in its spot. 

It glimmered under the bright sun, as if it was calling her.

Y/N walked over with hesitant steps, while everyone was distracted with cheering for their center of attention. Her fingers picked up the small thing, finally getting a feel of its delicate craftsmanship in her hands. 

It should have been enough, her curiosity should have subsided once she had felt it. She should have handed it back. Yet, unable to resist, Y/N slipped away into the forest, clutching the necklace—a clandestine act born of both fascination and envy.

The second princess was great at slipping away.

Meanwhile, deeper in the Grand Forest a young boy cursed under his breath. Mutterings and mumble of words he can only say in the presence of no one grew louder as he made his way down the rocky path. Frustration boiled within him, evident in his kicks at stones and the slashes of his makeshift stick he picked up along the way, against the underbrush.

    “—Stupid teacher.” The boy muttered under his breath, kicking at dead leaves.

He’s scrawny and shorter than most boys his age, but it was clear from his attire that he came from a family well off. He walked through the forest with ease, as if he had been here many times. He glances towards the loud sound of the water flowing down the river, his brows narrowing. 

The young boy was already thirteen, yet unlike most boys his age, he was still unable to do a lot of things. Though he swore none of it was his fault. It was always, “the water was too cold”, or “the sword was too heavy”. Or that he was prone to getting sick quickly. 

    “Prince Christopher!” Another voice broke through his thoughts, accompanied by the sound of rapid footsteps closing in. 

His playmate and training partner, Han, appeared, panting heavily from the exertion of catching up. Christopher groans at the uninvited boy, his playmate less, training partner. Though, he was sure that this kid was put here to keep an eye on him and always be a pain in the butt. 

    “Your highness! We-we were told not to stray too far.” Han managed between breaths, his concern palpable as he surveyed their surroundings. 

Aware of the dangers lurking beyond their borders, Han's worries escalated as they ventured deeper into this unfamiliar territory. But Christopher only rolled his eyes, attempting to deflect Han's tense words with a casual remark.

    “How can you be out of breath already? Didn't you want to be my personal guard?” 

Han straightened, a mix of frustration and duty knitting his brow, keeping the words he truly wanted to say on the tip of his tongue.

    “We should not be here. Especially this deep into the forest.” He insisted instead, casting wary glances at the towering trees that obscured the sunlight.

    “You can't just run off every time you're scolded, Your Highness.” Han added, his voice tinged with exasperation as he tried to reason with the prince.

    “Whatever.” Christopher muttered dismissively, his irritation rose with a forceful jab of his stick against a nearby tree trunk.

His impatience grew, his mood darkening with each stomp into the unfamiliar wilderness while Han's concern escalated as he scanned their surroundings, a growing sense of unease knotting in his stomach.

He eyed the tall trees.

Wait. Where were they?

They didn't somehow cross over did they?

The thought lingered, fueled by a vague memory of a path they had taken—or rather he had chased after. A risky shortcut perhaps.

    “No way.” Han muttered to himself, trying to dispel the rising anxiety. 

He shook his head, attempting to regain his composure. But a rustle in the nearby bushes were enough to push him off his edge. Eyes widening, Han froze, gripped by a sudden fear that they had ventured too far—beyond the safety of Nightshade and into the precarious realm of Elysium. 

What if they were discovered by Elysium soldiers? 

What if Christopher, the Crown Prince of Nightshade, fell into enemy hands?

The consequences were dire, his mind racing through imagined scenarios of all the worst outcomes. A war would break out—and Han would have to fight only with the most basic training of a Nightshade warrior.

His thoughts spiraled, nearly overwhelming him with their intensity. Yet the Prince had vanished ahead, Han's anxiety peaked, and he couldn't contain a whispered exclamation.

    “Ahhh! Yo-your highness!” Han called out, his voice trembling with urgency as he sprinted in the direction Christopher had taken, eyes darting frantically in search for the prince amidst the dense foliage.

The sky was a vibrant shade of blue, the sun shining brightly, reflecting beautifully off of the water that came down the river. The young prince prances from one stone to another, and as he neared the river's edge, the view of rushing water had him captivated. The notion of swimming—a skill he had yet to conquer—taunted him. He approached the water hesitantly, the temptation to prove himself nagged at him, pushing him to the peer down, where he tested its depth with tentative prods with the wooden stick.

    “Swimming can’t be too hard.” Christopher muttered to himself, determination flickering in his eyes.

He was steadfast in doing something successful today. And he chose to master the skill of swimming. 

What a brilliant idea.

Not.

He drank water. 

Panic seized him as he struggled against the water's embrace, his stick lost to the rapid flow of the river, and fear gripping his heart. The currents, much stronger than he had imagined, were pulling him away. His hand instinctively grabbed onto a stone for dear life. The young boy began panicking, fighting for his life as he was forced to dunk under the cold water a few times.

    “H-Help!” He choked out, his cry swallowed by the river's roar

He was going to die today. He was sure of it.

But of course he doesn’t. In his moment of peril, a figure emerged from the forest's shadows. A young girl, her voice ringing clear as she rushed to his aid

    “Hold on! I've got you!” She shouted, determination etched across her features.

With a strength borne of urgency, she pulled Christopher to safety, her hands firm and reassuring. And after some struggle, both were on dry land. Christopher lay gasping, his body shivering from cold and fear. The girl knelt beside him, concern etched on her face as she patted his back gently, soothing his raw throat and chest, coughs not subsiding. His savior looks down at him in concern, towering over his drenched body. He’s unable to focus, staring at her through blurred vision. There’s water in his ears and he could barely make out what she was saying. Yet the loud shriek of someone in the distance was loud enough for him to catch. 

In this fleeting moment, a distant cry shattered their tensioned tranquility, a desperate call for “Princess!” echoing through the forest. The girl's head snapped towards the sound, urgency igniting her movements once more as she turned to leave, glancing back to look at him before disappearing.

Christopher, left alone amidst the aftermath of his near-drowning, grasped at the grassy earth, clinging to solidity as he shivered and coughed. His fingers brushed against something—a cold, pokey, stringy object—and he clutched it instinctively.

Han, who looked already spooked, had almost screamed bloody murder when he stumbled upon his master in such a state.

    “Pr-Prince!” Han's voice shattered the silence, his panic evident as he rushed to Christopher's side, his words tumbling out in a frantic rush. 

Han’s eyes dart around and he’s able to connect the dots—the river and his drenching Highness. Now how would he explain this to his teacher? How would he explain to the King? Han looks back towards the direction he had come from, cursing under his breath.

He had stumbled upon a gathering of the Elysium nobles on his search for his prince, and was swiftly able to conceal his presence as he backtracked. The earlier screech had dart back here. His crazy thoughts were true and they had in fact managed to cross over somehow. On Elysium land. And they should not be staying here too long, unless they wanted to get caught.

    “Don't… don't tell anyone.” Christopher pleaded weakly, his voice a whisper.

The urgency of their escape propelled Han into action. With Christopher barely conscious and shivering uncontrollably, Han lifted him onto his back, his resolve steeling against the weight of their situation. 

    “You’re going to be a warrior, Han. Don’t be scared.” He reassures himself, as he grunts to a stand with the prince dangling off of his body.

But Han was scared. The prince had fallen unconscious by now. His body was freezing and he was trembling. It also didn’t help that the plight back towards their side was a tricky one. Han's mind raced with the implications. They had breached the border, ventured too far into foreign territory. And of all days there had to be a Princess in the forest. The young boy makes a run for it. His already weak master was going to die at this rate.

Back at the riverbank, the cheerful atmosphere that had surrounded the ring-toss game now gave way to panic and concern, unfolding before Y/N's wide eyes.      “Princess Sienna!”

The desperate cry from Sienna’s nanny pierced through the air, sending Y/N's heart hammering against her chest. The once bustling scene was now a whirlwind of concerned maids, frantic shouts, and splashing water. A guard emerged from the river, cradling Sienna in his arms, while attendants and her nanny rushed to her side. The other girls, who had moments ago been giggling and playing, were now in tears, calling out to their beloved princess.

Y/N's anxiety spiked, and without thinking, she grabbed hold of a nearby maid who was on the verge of tears herself.

    “What happened?” Y/N's voice trembled with worry and fear, her eyes darting between the maid and the commotion surrounding Sienna.

The maid looked down at Y/N, her expression a mix of relief at seeing the second princess unharmed and fear for what had just transpired.

    “Where did you disappear to, Princess? If something had happened to you too…” The maid's voice trailed off, her eyes wide with terror at the thought.

    “Princess Sienna was looking for her Crystal Bird and she fell into the river.” The maid explained quickly, her words rushed and breathless.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat. The mention of the Crystal Bird made her stomach churn with guilt. She suddenly realized the necklace was no longer in her possession. Did Sienna's accident happen because of her? Was it her fault for taking the necklace into the forest?

Her mind raced with self-blame and worry, her hands trembling slightly as she processed the maid's words. ─────────────────────── Christopher’s eyes fluttered open to the familiar sight of the infirmary, its sterile smell mingling with the faint aroma of medicinal herbs. His head throbbed slightly, a reminder of his near-drowning experience. His training teacher and meticulous captain of the guards, Sir Elliot, stood beside him, concern etched on his usually stern face.

    “Prince Christopher!” His teacher ran at his side, eyes looking down at the boy in concern.

Christopher blinked, trying to piece together the events that led him here. Memories of struggling in the river flashed before him.

    “I’ll go notify King Bahng.” The healer darted out of the room, leaving Christopher and Sir Elliot in tense silence. 

Christopher’s gaze met his teacher’s, noticing a rare softness in Sir Elliot’s expression.

    “You scared us, kid.”

Christopher felt a pang of guilt. Normally, his teacher was quick to criticize and push him relentlessly. Today was different—his teacher’s concern was genuine. The same man that the young prince has been cursing all day.

The door swung open abruptly, revealing the imposing figure of King Bahng, his face etched with relief. He rushed to Christopher’s side, enveloping him in a fatherly embrace.

    “My boy.” King Bahng sighs. 

Christopher’s guilt intensified. All day, frustration had clouded his mind, directed at those around him who now stood here with nothing but care and concern. 

    “Where’s Han?” Christopher asks, pulling out of his father’s hug.

King Bahng’s expression darkened briefly as he glanced at Sir Elliot.

    “He’s being punished for letting him fall into danger, my king.” The teacher explains

Again, guilt gnawed at Christopher. He realized the weight of his actions—not just the danger he had put himself in, but the repercussions for those around him.

After ensuring Christopher was out of immediate danger, King Bahng left the infirmary, casting a lingering look at his son who was always a breath away from a tantrum.

King Bahng was not the tyrant his reputation suggested. He ruled with care for his people, respected by his subjects despite his clan’s fierce history. Christopher, his only son and heir, had been shielded closely until recent years. But per the late Queen’s wishes, the father held back on pushing Christopher into his duties. Losing his mother early had hardened the young prince against affection, a fact that weighed heavily on his father's heart.

    “Brother.” Sir Elliot places a hand on his shoulder, bringing the King out of his thoughts.

They walked the corridors in silence before the King spoke.

    “What happened today could have been dangerous. That boy had failed to prevent The Prince from endangering himself.” The King let’s put a deep breath,

    “But he also did his duty of bringing him back to safety. Don’t be too harsh on him.” The King advises.

    “Do not worry, Your Majesty. His punishment is modest. My son is overseeing that he is receiving it diligently.” Elliot reassured with a nod.

The King raises a brow, looking at his brother in wonder.

    “You mean your ten year old son?”

    “Even at such a young age he takes after me.” The training master hums, his pride evident as they walk, proud that his son already embodied the values of duty and discipline instilled in him.

Meanwhile, in the quiet of the training grounds, Han’s strained expression belied the punishment he endured. The young boy, overseeing him, groaned with boredom.

    “You can take a break. I’ll make sure Father doesn’t find out.”

    “Prince Felix, you’re supposed to be watching over me. Not encouraging me to slack off.” Han sighed, muscles trembling from the wall-sits.

Felix kicks at the dirt, sitting down on the wooden chair he had been in for the past hour while he supervises. His butt hurt and the evening brought cold winds, making the child shiver.

    “Wall-sits are stupid.” He mumbles rather unenthusiastically.

    “How is His Highness’ health? Have you heard anything?”  Han asks, looking up from his hovering position.

    “How would I know? No one tells me anything.” Felix grunts, crossing his arms over his chest.

Clearly a little upset the two older boys went out for an adventure without him (which was probably a good thing seeing the result). The sight of him is enough to prove that he was indeed Christopher’s cousin.

Their banter was interrupted by an aide from the infirmary rushing toward them, with Prince Christopher trailing behind, warmly dressed.

    “Chris!” Felix exclaims, his small body jumped up from his chair, startling Han who struggled to maintain his balance.

    “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be recovering.” Felix states, scowling at the poor aide, who clearly did nothing but follow orders.

    “I’ve come to receive my punishment for putting the Crown Prince in danger.”

Both Han and Felix stared in disbelief at the Crown Prince’s unexpected statement.

    “Your Highness…” Han’s voice trailed off, touched by Christopher’s unexpected maturity.

Chris ignores the stupid look on Han’s face, continuing to stare into the darkening sky.

As the evening wore on and the chill set in, Felix was sent back inside, while Christopher sat beside Han, mirroring his punishment. Unlike the prince who had just begun, the younger boy’s legs give out and he grimaces, finally collapsing onto the dirt. Groaning, he looks to his master.

    “You really don’t have to continue, Your Highness.”

And immediately Christopher also sits on the ground next to, making Han stares blankly. 

    “It wasn’t mandatory for me to continue.” He smugly states, and Han blinked, dumbfounded by Christopher’s declaration, a mixture of frustration and relief. He was still the pain-in-the-ass prince.

The playmate massages his thighs, and the Crown Prince watches with guilt.

    “I’m sorry.” He mutters, making Han’s eyes shoot up at him in surprise once again.

    “You’re younger than me, yet you were able to think quickly and bring us back to safety. While I—I’m so immature, I almost got both of us killed.” 

Han falls silent. 

It’s true that If the Crown Prince had died under his watch in that river, Han knew he'd face a punishment fit for the crime. Despite being only a year and a half into training and a few months as Christopher’s playmate, Han always had his hands full with the prince, yet weirdly the younger boy didn’t complain. Maybe it was his desperation to become a warrior, or maybe he had grown accustomed to the prince’s antics. The apology, however, was a first. The same kid who normally scoffed at him daily now apologizing brought a smile to Han's face.

    “It is my duty, Your Highness. I still want to be your personal guard in the future.” Han’s words echoed a maturity beyond his years.

    “Call me Chris. There’s no one else here.” The Prince smiles in return.

Han blinks taken aback.

    “How can I? It is not prop—”

We’re going to spend a lot of time together, especially once you become my guard. Do you intend on making it awkward after every friendly joke? Just Chris is fine.” 

    “Okay. Chris.” Han hesitated, but casually addressed.

A comfortable silence settled between the newfound friends. The sun had set, the night air growing cold. Han urges Christopher to return to his warm bed, while Chris helps the young boy up, sore from his punishment. As they walked, Han suddenly remembered something, halting in his steps.

    “Oh!—” He delved into the pocket of his shorts.

    “You had this in your hands when I brought you back.” 

His palm opens, producing the Crystal Bird, its azure hues catching the starlight. Chris eyes the piece of jewelry, taking the delicate necklace, its chain slightly tarnished and scratched but still gleaming. The memory of his savior—the mysterious girl who appeared and vanished—flickered in his mind. A part of him thought he had imagined it, but there had actually been someone there. A girl. She was…

    “A princess.” Chris mumbles.

    “A princess?!” Han’s eyes widened, glancing around cautiously.

    “Don’t tell me you met one of those young ladies from the gathering by the river.” Han's whispers were strained.

Chris furrows his brows in confusion.

    “What gathering?” 

Confusion mingled with shock as the two new friends realized they had much to discuss—stories to share from their separate but interlinked ordeals. The night stretched on, filled with conversations and revelations, the bond between Christopher and Han deepening amid the secrets they unraveled. ─────────────────────── Princess Sienna had fallen unconscious. Her condition stirred panic among the staff and nobles. The royal doctor’s frantic efforts to stabilize her continued through the night. The maids and servants present at the party were imprisoned in the dungeon, accused of negligence. The nobles whose daughters had been present at the tea party were standing around in fear. If anything had happened to the princess they would all be punished. Y/N was confined to her palace.

Princess Y/N lay in her bed, tormented by guilt over the stolen gift and the consequences that followed. The little child blamed herself for everything that had happened this afternoon. She simply wanted to take a closer look at the pretty thing. She had done nothing wrong. Her mother’s stern words echoed in her mind, emphasizing the need for secrecy.

Upon her return she had confessed her wrong doings to her mother, and her mother had scared her even more.

    “Do you understand what you have done?” Her mother’s cold gaze had bore into her teary eyes.

The tight grip of the older woman’s fingers on the child’s arms made her terrified.

    “You must never speak of this. You must never confess to taking that gift.” Her words were cold, awaiting for the trembling Princess to respond with what she wanted to hear.

    “If anyone asks, you simply have wandered off  following a rabbit, or a butterfly. You know nothing of what had happened while you were distracted. Do you understand?” 

Y/N broke out into sobs in her mother’s grasp. She was scared, for her sister, for the maids who were all going to get punished.

    “Mother, it’s wrong to lie.” She cries.

Her mother shuts her eyes in frustration, fingers digging deeper into the child’s arms.

    “It is but a white lie. One that will protect you.” The mother sighs, loosening her grip, slender fingers wiping away at her tears.

    “Princess Sienna will recover. As for the maids, they’ll simply be replace.” Lady Katherine continued, her voice softer but laced with underlying urgency.

    “But for you, my daughter, the consequences could be severe. If you confess or anyone even hears a word of if, you’ll be branded a thief. Your reputation will be ruined. No one will want to associate with you. Is that what you want?”

The child looked into her mother’s now warming eyes, a small smile on her lips. Pulling her into a hug, the mother pats at her hairs.

    “Mother just wants what’s the best for you.”

The child slowly nodded, her mother’s words enough to convince herself she did nothing wrong, her stern words cut through Y/N's resolve, shaping her perception of right and wrong.

Lady Katherine, once celebrated as one of the most beautiful women in high society, had a past marked by humble beginnings in a lower-ranking noble house. Despite her family's title, they lacked wealth, a circumstance that drove Katherine to leverage her beauty as her ticket to a better life. It was this charm that caught the eye of the nation's most powerful man—the King himself.

In the lavish court where the King entertained many women, Katherine swiftly became his favored companion. While she could never match the Queen in authority, Katherine secured her place by bearing the King's child—a daughter who would forever tie her to the royal family, ensuring their future amidst the uncertainties of courtly life.

The question lingered, however, whether Katherine's actions were born out of genuine concern for her daughter's wellbeing or driven by her own desire to escape a life of want.

Despite their lower status within the royal hierarchy, Y/N’s title guaranteed attention from elite suitors in her future. Safeguarding Y/N’s royal lineage shielded her from the uncertainties Katherine had endured in her youth. For Katherine, Y/N’s royal birthright represented a promise of a brighter future.

And that was enough for the caring mother.

As dawn approached, Princess Sienna’s fever finally broke, bringing a collective sigh of relief throughout the palace. The noble families, apprehensive during her illness, were allowed to return home. The maids and servants, deemed responsible, were dismissed from service. Just as Lady Katherine said would happen. Y/N’s thoughts raced. Sienna's recovery eased some of her fears, but guilt over the consequences weighed heavily on her conscience. All those people had lost their livelihoods because Sienna had fallen into the river while looking for the crystal bird. The crystal bird that was in her possession at the time. And on top of all that she had lost it while trying to save that boy.

Y/N's head snapped up from her pillow, her thoughts immediately returning to the boy she had rescued from the river the day before. Her mind wracked, dread gripped her as she wondered if he had survived or if he still lay by the water's edge.

For an idle princess, she had too many worries.

The next afternoon, while the court was busy tending to the still fragile Sienna, the second princess slipped out of her room, ignoring her mother’s instructions to stay put. Concern for the boy she had rescued from the river consumed her thoughts.

Dodging through a hidden hole in the wall she had discovered not long ago, the young girl brushed away dirt and clutched a crochet bag, its contents clinking softly as she ran. Emerging near the riverbank where she had found the boy, her heart raced with fear at the thought of finding him lifeless. Sunlight filtered through the forest, casting dappled shadows on the lush greenery around her. Critters scurried away at her approach. Standing by the river where left him, a sigh of relief escaped her lips, she hadn’t stumbled upon a tragedy.

    “Are you really a princess?” The sudden voice startled Y/N, nearly making her jump out of her skin.

She spun around, eyes widening as she faced the boy from yesterday—alive and well, a grin on his face.

    “Were you the princess that saved me?” He asked again, his gaze filled with nothing but gratitude and curiosity.

    “I...I suppose I was.” Y/N replied hesitantly.

Christopher's expression softened, his eyes showing genuine appreciation. Y/N observed the scrawny boy before her, noting his tidy appearance compared to their first meeting. Despite his wealth and status, he appeared unusually timid, nervously fidgeting with his fingers and glancing at her shyly.

    “I wanted to thank you, Princess.” He said with a warm smile. “You really saved my life.”

Y/N blinked, suddenly overwhelmed by his heartfelt words. She had never been thanked so sincerely before, and she didn’t quite know how to respond.

    “I-I have desserts. Do you want some?” She stumbled over her words, fumbling through her bag. 

Christopher’s eyes widened with curiosity as she produced bandages, sewing thread, and finally, a bundle of cookies.

    “They have raspberry filling.” She added, looking up at him with a mixture of nervousness and excitement.

His grin widened as he picked up one of the cookies, crumbs falling as he took a delicious bite.

The two sat down against a sturdy tree. Y/N ventured to ask how he had ended up in the river in the first place. Chris tried to explain but faltered into embarrassed silence.

    “I slipped.” He finally managed to say, a lie.

    “What about you? What were you doing all the way down here?” He takes another bite of his second cookie. 

Y/N hesitated, recalling her mother’s stern instructions.

    “I was following a rabbit.” She fibbed, her eyes avoiding his gaze.

Chris nodded, realizing she must be younger than he had initially thought.

    “I heard there was a birthday celebration for the yesterday. Did I ruin the birthday party?” His questioning gaze snapped Y/N out of her thoughts, still preoccupied with her little white lie.

    “Ah—birthday? My birthday isn’t until next week.” She quickly responds.

    “Oh! We must meet then. I know of this delicious cake that our cook makes. It’s the fluffiest. I’ll be sure to let you have a taste.” He exclaims, excitement written on his face.

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her. Her birthday was never a grand affair compared to Sienna’s, but seeing this boy so enthusiastic about celebrating her birthday made her heart swell with happiness.

After the cookies had been enjoyed and thank-yous exchanged, the two sat in companionable silence, wondering what else to talk about. Before Chris could speak, a soft “psst” came from Han’s direction behind a nearby tree. Chris glanced back at his friend, who signaled with hand gestures that it was time to go. 

Y/N narrows her gaze, wondering what he was looking at, unable to see from her spot.

    “I must head back, Princess. It was truly a pleasure meeting you again in better circumstances,” Chris said, standing and extending his hand to help her up.

Y/N took his hand gracefully, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Her heart fluttered with a mix of excitement and curiosity about their budding friendship.

    “Shall we meet again soon? I would also like to give something in return for the cookies.” Chris suggested with a warm smile.

    “Aren’t you going to give me cake?” She questioned.

    “Surely not in return for the cookies! The cake is a birthday gift. I wouldn’t take anything in return for it.” He chuckled, his eyes twinkling with sincerity.

The princess ponders for a moment, but of course agrees.

    “You must let me try one of your favorite desserts then. How about two days from now, at the same time as today?”

Chris nodded enthusiastically. “That sounds perfect! I’ll bring something special for us.”

After confirming their next meeting, Chris turned to leave, but Y/N’s sudden call made him turn swiftly.

    “Ah—you didn’t tell me your name.”

    “It’s Chr…” He hesitated, then decided, “It’s Chan,” grinning broadly.

    “Chan...”

Y/N repeated his name under her breath, committing it to memory, and nodded in acknowledgment as her new friend began taking backward steps. He bowed respectfully and after she returned his bow gracefully, both parted, minds swirling with thoughts of their meeting and anticipation for the next one.

    “Your Highness, you will surely be the death of me.” Han sighed, stepping forward with an exasperated expression.

    “You’ve said your thanks and had your fill of cookies. Can we please return now?” Han's voice held a hint of pleading.

Chris beamed at his friend, genuinely happy yet also amused by Han’s concern. He threw an arm over Han's shoulder, causing the younger boy to stumble slightly as they began walking away together.

    “Oh, my friend Han, don’t worry. I’ll be careful,” Chris reassured him, his tone earnest.

Han sensed that his anxiety would only continue to grow as he followed the energetic crown prince back towards the palace.

Poor playmate, resigned to the fact that Chris’s adventurous spirit was bound to keep him on his toes. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ to be continued.

── ask to be tagged! - @stayceebs97, @palindrome969,

[itsabouttimex2]

Descendant of the Lady Bone Demon: Part Two

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

Maybe they should’ve seen this coming. Maybe there were a few warning signs they didn’t pick up on. Looking back on it now, it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? All those little things should’ve added up a long time ago.

The way the room grew silent and tense when you walked in, no matter how how exuberant it had been prior. How you manage to sneak up on everyone without even trying, as though you had no presence. The wide berth that strangers give you, even though they can’t explain why. That last one had been particularly strange for your friends. They hadn’t understood why people would treat you so coldly, not back then.

They understand now.

MK has already had so much placed on his shoulders, and all of it was without his asking. The fate of his friends. The fate of the city. The fate of the world. Time after time, countless lives are placed into his hands, and he does his very best to bring them safely through the danger posed by ancient threats and lurking demons.

Once, living out the dream of being a hero had been fun. Back then, all he had to do was master a new power or bust down another bad guy, and then everyone laughed and went on with their peaceful lives. Back when every adventure ended before the day was over and he was back home just in time for Pigsy to start scolding him for being reckless.

But as he grows stronger, so too does his vast array of enemies. As he trains his body and masters his skills, all those who seek to oppose him are doing the same.

Which means higher stakes. More danger. More destruction. More lives on the line day by day. It means that every last friend and companion of his will end up finding themselves in danger just on account of being associated with him. His enemies are rarely noble, most of them willing to target his friends in an attempt to devastate his heart and mind, hoping to leave him mourning and unsettled. He thwarts these attempts one after another, always saving the day in the end.

His greatest fear is that a day will come where he falls short of such an accomplishment.

A fear that the Lady Bone Demon brings to the forefront of his mind. She brings this hidden terror to light, and exacerbates it.

“Foolish child. Do you really think that one person can save everyone from pain and suffering? Or are you truly arrogant enough to believe that your strength alone can forge a better tomorrow?”

She makes him want to be stronger. Smarter. Better. Good enough to protect anyone who’d ever be put in danger. Especially you.

“Y/N! Let’s hang out today! Come on, I’ve got my room set up for a Monkey Cop marathon!” He takes you by the hand, dragging you along after him with a big smile that he struggles to maintain. When he’s sad or upset, he turns to you. In turn, he makes it clear that you can always rely on him to protect you.

If he were a bit more mature, a little more confident and self-assured, he’d make for a wonderful older brother figure. He’s spontaneous, energetic, supportive… and entirely terrified that he might lose you.

That fear drives him to train harder, to work harder… to be someone you are truly and honestly proud of. To be someone you can rely on and turn to in any time of need. He tackles his training with a renewed vigor, all in preparation for the moment that you might need his protecting.

And now that said moment has come, he’s more scared than ever before. The person he fears most bears down on him as he stands in front of the person he fears losing most, and all he can do is hold strong.

“You will not stand between me and my destiny!” The Lady Bone Demon’s voice is furious, her eyes crackling with arcane energy.

The very same eyes that you have. MK doesn’t know exactly what started his suspicions, but your eyes are what confirmed his little hunch. The two of you are related in some way, he’s sure of it.

And with how insistent she is with getting her hands on you, it’s only a further nail into the coffin. There’s no denying that you and the Lady Bone Demon have some sort of connection. But what? Are you her descendant? Did she plant a seed of her essence into your forefathers long ago to ensure that some part of her would go on, and only now is returning to reclaim it? Are you simply powerful enough for her to see use in you? Does she think she could sway you to her side?

There’s a dozen explanations that could be true. However, he has no way to prove which one of them it is, because the Lady Bone Demon is staying tight lipped on why exactly she wants you, perhaps as to not give MK a chance to counter her plans.

It doesn’t matter, MK reminds himself. What she wants with you doesn’t matter. What matters is that she wants you, full stop. And if he can stop her and her well-intentioned plans, then he can save you and everybody else too. All he has to do is push a little harder.

And then?

Maybe he can just… forget about it all. Forget about the Lady. Forget about your nebulous ties to her. And everything can go back to the way it was, when he didn’t jump every time you spoke to him, when he could look into your eyes without feeling like someone had dumped ice down his shirt, when he could fall asleep next to you without waking up in a cold sweat.

He’ll forget all about it, burying it deep inside his brain.

And then things will go back to normal, with you safely under his protection.

Right?

He knows right from the start. I sincerely believe that if someone was the Lady Bone Demon’s descendant, Wukong would be aware the very moment he met them.

A dread chill races down his spine the moment he see you, freezing him for just a second as he contemplates one of his worst fears coming true. The Lady Bone Demon is back.

Except… no, not really. That’s not her at all, is it? You’re just… some kid. With the exact same crushing spiritual pressure that she personally exerted. And the same eyes that she had.

Yeah, this isn’t a coincidence. There’s just no way. He goes off to do some digging, but not before subtly tasking MK with keeping an eye out for you while he searches for anything that could prove your ties to one of his greatest enemies.

And this is Sun Wukong we’re talking about, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. It doesn’t take him very long, whether through cleverness and trickery or sheer brute force.

Maybe the monkey demon twists a few heavenly arms to get the information he wants. Maybe he utilizes the 72 Transformations to eavesdrop on a keeper of records. Maybe he’s just got a sacred book of lineage hidden away in some pile of junk somewhere.

However he does it, he gets the job done well, with just the conclusion he’s looking for- you are indeed, of the Lady Bone Demon’s blood.

But Sun Wukong has come far from his days before Five Phases mountain. He’s not some vicious demon who bullies those around him, nor does he jump to outright murder as a solution for every last problem.

He’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, just so you can maybe prove yourself to him.

It starts with him crashing at your house without an excuse, he himself writing it off with a very unconvincing “bout of motion sickness” that would supposedly leave him incapable of comfortably riding his cloud back to Flower Fruit Mountain.

His true intention is to see what you’ll do while he’s “asleep”, laid across your couch with his head rested on a cushy pillow, tantalizingly propped-up for one who might wish to try and crush his skull or slice his throat.

Instead, you usher him to a cozy guest room, asking him to call you if he needs anything. He makes use of this several times, asking for food and water to see if you’ll poison it.

But you don’t. There’s no hand-made poison sourced from the Underworld slipped into his peach tea. No sacred knife hidden inside your sleeve. No Heaven-forged needles baked into the slice of pie you bring when he mentions being hungry.

You aren’t a scheming demon, he realizes. You’re just a good kid.

You remind kind to him, even as he intentionally tries to fray your nerves. You don’t snap or argue or whine, instead tending to his false needs with a smile on your face.

He drifts comfortably to sleep in the guest room, stomach satiated and his brain whirling. Before he passes out, he realizes with a pang of sympathy that he’s clearly the first person to have ever slept here. Stocked and furnished comfortably for anyone who might stop by and spend time with you… it’s instead been rotting without occupancy, left unused for what may well have been years.

You aren’t a bad person. You really, really aren’t. You’re just a good kid who clearly needs someone to quell the stomach-turning loneliness that finds you down each path you take.

At first, he decides to be that person out of pity. He stops by sometimes, ducking in to snag a bite from your fridge, engaging in a short but friendly conversation, watching sympathetically as the mere exchange of several sentences boosts your mood to healthy levels.

You start to anticipate his visits, making sure you have food and drink he’ll enjoy on hand. Lots of peach-filled pastries, to nobody’s surprise. Pies, tarts, cookies… it turns out that Sun Wukong has a pretty unabashed sweet tooth. He’s actually somewhat touched that you out in the effort just to make sure that he’ll have something nice to eat when he stops by.

Just as pity went to warmth, slowly that warmth comes to a peak, igniting.

Eventually, he starts taking you back to Flower Fruit Mountain to spend time with you there, trying to acclimate you to an eventual residency there with him to repay every kindness you’ve done for him.

There’s not a single pivotal moment where he realizes that he wants to keep you beside him, just a slow, day by day fall into platonic obsession. He gets attached, hard.

From your point of view, your kindness and determination to forge bonds with those around you has finally earned you a friend.

From his point of view, you’re a lonely, wayward child who needs someone nearby to protect and shelter you.

This is far from the truth, but his delusions grow by the day, in part an innocuous desire to repay your kindness, in part an unhealthy attachment to someone who has no hope of escaping from his grasp.

Really, though… if he did spirit you away, would you complain or argue? Fight or run?

Even if you did, there’s no way you’d get away from him. Just sit back, and let him take care of you, just the way you took care of him.

That’s what family does, after all.

You’re another one of his weird kids. That’s where it starts and ends for Pigsy. You fit snugly between Mei and MK, forming a neat little trio that he wants to both throttle and hug. Just as often as you three make him feel like he’s heading to an aneurysm-induced early grave, you make him feel fulfilled and content. His noodle shop, his two best friends, his three high-energy goofy kids.

Pigsy is happy with the life he has. He’s happy with the life he’s provided for MK. He’s happy to see Mei overcome her insecurities with her family and gain their approval. He’s happy that Sandy has found peace and improved himself. He’s even happy when Tang comes to visit, though he’ll gripe about the man “freeloading” whenever he stops by.

It’s a strange, stressful life that he’s built for himself, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

A world he wishes was just a little kinder.

It has served him kindly enough, though. Success, family, friends, some degree of fame. Most things a person can want, Pigsy has in decent abundance.

His problem is the way it treats you.

You’re a good kid. You really are. You’ve been visiting since you were a child, and he’s watched you grow up. If it weren’t for Tang, you’d be his most frequent customer. (Because you actually pay for your food, he calls you his favorite customer, to Tang’s dismay) And because you’ve spent so much time here with him and his family, he has a pretty good feeling he understands you.

Is isn’t just the renowned food you’re coming back for. It’s the company, too.

You always come in alone and drag out your visits to last as long as possible. You make conversation whenever and wherever you get the chance, stretching out these moments of companionship for as long as you can.

You’re lonely. Not for a lack of trying, of course. You try to strike up conversations, try to reach out to others wherever you can. People seem consistently unsettled and unnerved in your presence, immediately looking for an out when you come around. No matter how kind you are or how often you try to make connection, you get left in the dust.

If you aren’t at Pigsy’s Noodles, then you’re alone. So you keep coming back, again and again. Not just for the incredible food, but for them.

For him.

It’s sad, but it warms his heart a little at the same time. You rely on him. Maybe he could go as far as to say that you need him. Who would he be, if he didn’t welcome you with open arms?

Pigsy wants you to be happy. He wants to keep you safe. And eventually, those feelings grind slowly towards wanting to keep you close.

And close he keeps you, there and then, and then, here and now.

Pigsy does not let go of you. Even as the manic wide-eyed man he only knows as “the Mayor” demands your unconscious body from him, talking about “bloodlines” and “destiny” and “the power she requires”, the chef refuses to be parted from you.

Since he can’t run, he has no chance but to stand and fight, wielding a nine-toothed rake with one hand and keeping you slung safely over his shoulder with the other. He’s never been good at fighting, so it isn’t truly an even match. He’s instead trying to block and dodge the Lady Bone Demon’s sycophantic servant, barely warding him off after each blow.

His efforts to hold out eventually do pay out, with MK stepping shortly in to knock the “Mayor” away from you both, punting him across the landscape and then into the ground from there.

Leaving Pigsy to weigh the options left before him. However, it’s not much as much of a struggle as one might assume. You’re a kid, he thinks to himself, holding you close as he examines your bruises and scrapes. You don’t need to know. What would it accomplish? Do you need to know why people fear you? Why they think of you as unapproachable? Why they run away from the kindness and warmth you offer?

Would it help you, to know the reason? No, Pigsy decides. It could only lead to trouble and heartbreak. What if you ran away from both yourself and your friends, and never came back for fear of hurting them? What if you lost the ability to trust yourself? What if you hurt yourself?

He can’t run the risk of losing you. From now on, he’s going to take a much more personal role in your life, very potentially bringing you to live in the restaurant with him and MK.

“You don’t have to worry about those two freaks, kid. Just let me look out for ya, from now on.”

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Promises Kept.

January 5, 2024

ROBERT B. HUBBELL

When Joe Biden declared his candidacy for president in 2019, the nation was bruised, battered, and divided by three years of Trump's unrelenting chaos and carnage. During Biden’s year-long campaign, Trump plunged America into darker waters as he tried to extort Ukraine into fabricating lies about Joe Biden and his son. Trump then engaged in gross dereliction of duty by mishandling the nation’s response to Covid, ultimately resorting to lies and quackery as the death toll mounted.

Biden stepped into the breach, promising “to restore the soul, honor, dignity, and decency” of America. In word and deed, Biden has kept those promises—despite virulent and violent opposition by MAGA extremists who sought to prevent the peaceful transfer of power—and who still seek to destroy our democracy today.

Historians may view Biden’s greatest success as the restoration of normalcy, decency, and rationality to the executive branch of the US government. Biden’s legislative accomplishments are historic and will be an enduring legacy standing alone.

Identifying Biden’s legislative successes is easy; identifying the depth and breadth of Biden’s restoration of decency and rationality is more difficult—because living in a normal frame of reference is subtle and ineffable. It infuses every aspect of democracy and political discourse. It is the absence of chaos, it is not waking up every morning thinking, “Oh, God. What has he tweeted now?”, and it is not hearing every governmental action re-interpreted through Trump's lenses of narcissism, delusion, and insecurity.

Joe Biden acts within a rational political framework. His policies can be praised or criticized because they exist (in writing) and reflect the reasoned judgment of Biden and his staff after a period of reflection and debate. They are not made up “on the fly” in response to reporters’ questions shouted over the noise of helicopter rotors.

The return to normalcy, decency, and dignity is neither sexy, compelling, nor “made for TV.” But it was precisely what the nation needed after the chaos of Trump's tenure as president. Joe Biden kept his promises. For that, we owe him a debt of gratitude that we must repay in 2024.

On the eve of the third anniversary of January 6, Biden is launching his 2024 campaign in earnest. In a political ad previewed on MSNBC, Biden said that he is making “the preservation of democracy” the centerpiece of his campaign. In the ad, Biden says, in part,

All of us are being asked, “What will we do to maintain our democracy?” History is watching. The world is watching. Most importantly, our children and grandchildren will hold us responsible . . . .

A campaign theme of “preserving democracy” is neither sexy, compelling, nor “made for TV.” But it is precisely what the nation needs as it stares into the abyss of a second Trump term as president.

I have heard from dozens of readers this week who are disappointed with Biden’s responses regarding immigration and the war in Gaza. Some have suggested that they will not vote or will vote for a third-party candidate. Both of those options are the functional equivalent of voting for Trump.

The freedom to criticize the president is a privilege of our democracy guaranteed in the Constitution. We can debate presidential policies only if we have a democratic frame of reference within which to hold those debates.

That democratic frame of reference will exist under a second Biden term. Under Trump, the democratic frame of reference will be replaced by a simple test: Does speech praise Trump? If not, the speaker will act at their peril. Trump’s vigilantes will threaten the speaker, and state and federal agencies will pretend the threats are harmless jokes or over-exuberant expressions of loyalty to Trump.

The threat of vigilantism to punish speech is not hyperbole. As we approach the third anniversary of January 6, elected officials who criticize Trump or apply the law to his unlawful conduct are being deluged with death threats. They are being “swatted” by sick individuals who call 9-1-1 to make false reports of crimes in progress—resulting in the deployment of armed emergency responders to the elected officials’ homes.

Like Joe Biden, Trump has made promises. He has promised his followers that, if re-elected, “I will be your retribution.” He has also promised that he will be a dictator “on day one” if he is elected to a second term.

Joe Biden has kept his promise “to restore the soul, honor, dignity, and decency” of America. We should take Biden at his word that he will work to preserve democracy if re-elected in 2024.

As with Biden, we should take Trump at his word: He will exact retribution and act as a dictator on day one of his second term.

The competing promises of Trump and Biden tell us everything we need to know about the choice we face in the 2024 election.

Concluding Thoughts.

The choice between presidential candidates in 2024 could not be starker. There is no ambiguity, nuance, or grey area. We must help Joe Biden communicate that fundamental difference and help people understand that the choice in 2024 is not about policies or the economy. It is about democracy—and whether we are for it or against it.