#if i see her in the streets it’s on sight

[soulofapatrick]

Bound by Starlight - Cassian x female reader 

Summary: Cassian shows you Starfall for the first time since you’ve been changed and it changes something between you 

Words: 2.8K 

Warnings: none really

Y/N's POV

I remember the feeling of my humanity being ripped away—an icy, clawing pain that stripped me of everything I once was. The cauldron’s water had wrapped around me like iron chains, pulling me down, down, until I could barely breathe. I had screamed, fought, begged to be freed, but the King of Hybern hadn’t cared. To him, I was just another Archeron sister, another human in the way, and he’d tossed me in with the others like I was nothing.

Now, I live as fae, my once-mortal body transformed, immortal senses heightened. My soul, however… it lingers somewhere between what I used to be and what I have no choice but to become. Nesta withdrew into herself, anger simmering behind cold eyes, shutting me out with her silence. Elain, though kind as always, sank into her garden, her love for flowers the only piece of herself she could cling to. And Feyre… she ascended, becoming the High Lady, a role so immense that I rarely even see her anymore.

Velaris is beautiful, I’ll give it that. With its vibrant, bustling streets, the colours and scents so alive, it’s like nothing I ever knew as a human. At first, I stumbled around here like an intruder, the way people would stare at my still-soft, unsure steps betraying how new I was to this world. Yet over time, I grew accustomed to it, learning the rhythms of the city, the names of the shops, and even a few faces. I’d walk the cobblestone streets and marvel at the glow of the faelights, the hum of the city’s magic, the warmth that seemed to cradle Velaris even on its coldest nights.

But even though I’ve adapted to this new life, I never truly chose it. I’m here because the fates made me, a decision stolen from me the moment I was dragged to Hybern. With no family to ground me—Feyre’s duties as High Lady, Nesta’s self-imposed exile, and Elain’s fragile retreat into the comfort of her plants—I’ve been left to find my way on my own.

Almost.

There is one person who’s been there for me. Cassian, with his easy smile and ridiculous sense of humour, has gone out of his way to make me feel welcome. Whether it’s pulling me into conversations, inviting me to training, or simply listening when I needed to vent, he’s somehow always been there, his presence steady and warm. He never makes me feel like a burden, or like I’m less for struggling to keep up in this world I never asked to join.

So when I hear the knock at my bedroom door, the heavy, rhythmic sound that could only belong to him, my heart tugs with a mix of irritation and relief.

“Go away, Cassian!” I call out, though there’s no real force behind it. I curl tighter under my blankets, fighting the urge to stay hidden in their warmth, in the comfortable darkness. I want to stay here forever, to pretend the world outside doesn’t exist, that I’m still just a human who never stepped into this tangled, chaotic fae world.

“Nice try,” he says, his voice muffled through the door. “But I’m not leaving.”

His determination stirs something in me—annoyance, but also a flicker of comfort. I sigh, closing my eyes, but the silence stretches on, tense and unyielding. He’s waiting me out, and we both know it.

I don’t answer, and for a second, I think he might give in and leave. But instead, the door creaks open, and I hear the heavy thud of his boots as he steps inside.

“Sorry, but I’m not letting you wallow,” he says, coming closer. I peek out from under the duvet and catch sight of him—standing there, arms crossed, his expression firm but gentle. His dark hair falls messily over his forehead, and his eyes, deep and intense, hold that same unwavering warmth I’ve come to rely on.

I grumble, “Cassian, go away,” my voice muffled beneath the blankets as I bury myself deeper, trying to escape the world outside. But he ignores me, of course. A quiet sigh reaches me before he crouches beside the bed, level with where I’m hiding.

The sight of him, even through the haze of my exhaustion, is almost enough to make me forget everything weighing on me. Cassian, with his wild, shoulder-length black hair half-tied back in a casual bun, his jaw dusted with scruff, and those hazel eyes that seem to hold sunlight and earth all at once. He’s massive, every muscle defined under the soft shirt he wears, and even at rest, his wings—massive and powerful—seem to radiate a silent promise of protection. He’s handsome, but in a rugged, arresting way that’s so different from the polished, refined beauty of Rhysand or the quiet, haunting allure of Azriel. Cassian is warmth and strength, solid and real, and even without saying anything, he fills the room with a sense of unbreakable steadiness.

“You can’t stay hidden in here forever,” he says softly, his voice gentle yet firm. The words slip through my defences, wrapping around me like an anchor, steadying me in a way I don’t think anyone else could. He holds my gaze, his expression so earnest it makes my chest ache.

A scoff escapes my lips as I try to pull the duvet back over my head, though there’s no real force behind it. “You wouldn’t understand.”

His eyes darken for a moment, a flicker of hurt he quickly covers with a smirk. “Maybe not,” he says quietly. “But I know what it’s like to feel out of place. And I know that hiding never helps.” His tone is soft, but there’s something so raw in his voice, an honesty that chips away at the walls I’ve built around myself, brick by painful brick.

He lets out a small, quiet laugh, and the sound is like warmth spilling over me, reaching places in my heart I’d thought long-buried. “You can’t hide from me,” he murmurs, reaching out to tug the blanket down, just enough so he can see my face. His eyes search mine, tender and steady, and for a moment, everything else falls away. It’s just us in this room, his presence a steady, comforting warmth, like a fire on the darkest night.

“Come with me,” he says, his voice softer now, almost a plea. “Just for a little while. I have something I want to show you.”

His words stir something fragile inside me, something I’ve been trying to ignore. There’s a gentle hope in his eyes, a quiet, unspoken promise, and despite myself, I feel that hope awaken in me too, as small and tentative as a candle flame. I sigh, tossing the blankets back, and swing my legs over the side of the bed, shivering as the cool air prickles my skin.

“Fine,” I whisper, barely audible. “But just for a little while.”

Cassian smiles, a soft, genuine expression that lights up his entire face. He extends a hand to me, his palm broad and warm, and I take it, feeling his roughened fingers curl around mine with a reassuring firmness. He leads me through the quiet halls of the House of Wind, his grip steady and grounding as we walk. I’m in nothing but a simple nightdress, my feet bare on the cool floor, but with his warmth beside me, I don’t feel the chill.

He stops before a set of tall, glass-paned doors that lead to a balcony, the curtains drawn tight. Without a word, he reaches forward, pulling them back with a gentle, sweeping motion that makes the light of the stars spill in like liquid silver, illuminating the room with a soft, ethereal glow. He glances back at me, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips as he leads me outside.

The night air is crisp, and a gentle breeze stirs the loose strands of his hair, catching the faint glimmer of stars reflected in his hazel eyes. “Look up,” he murmurs, his voice soft as a whisper.

I lift my gaze to the sky, and my breath catches. Above us, the stars are falling—silver and white streaks of light arcing across the heavens in a breathtaking, shimmering cascade. It’s Starfall, the legendary event that fills the Night Court’s sky with magic, as if the stars themselves are dancing for us. The sight is beautiful, overwhelming, like the world itself is pouring out light and life to remind me of something I’d forgotten: hope, beauty, wonder.

“This,” Cassian says, his voice barely more than a murmur, “is why Starfall matters. It’s a reminder that even after everything, there’s something beautiful left to hold onto.”

I turn to look at him, my heart tightening as I meet his gaze. Cassian watches me with a warmth and tenderness that slips past my carefully constructed walls, cutting right to the raw centre of everything I’ve been trying to hide. I feel a lump building in my throat, heavy and tight, and before I can stop it, my eyes fill with tears. I haven’t cried since all of this happened, haven’t allowed myself to feel what’s been buried, too afraid that if I let even a little of it slip, it would all come crashing down.

But here, with Cassian standing so close, so steady, his presence strong and unwavering, something inside me breaks. My breath hitches, a sob bubbling up before I can swallow it back. The first tear spills over, and then another, until the tears are streaming freely down my face. I try to turn away, to hide it, but Cassian steps closer, his expression softening with understanding.

And then my knees buckle. The weight of everything—of the losses, the terror, the forced transformation—becomes too much, and I sink, my body giving out under the flood of emotion. Cassian’s arms catch me before I can fall, and he lowers us both to the floor of the balcony, his strong arms wrapped tightly around me, supporting me. I cling to him, fists curling into the fabric of his shirt as I bury my face in his shoulder, finally letting it all out.

The stars keep falling around us, casting their ethereal glow across the balcony as Cassian holds me, his hand gently stroking through my hair, murmuring quiet words of comfort I can barely make out over the sound of my own sobs. His other arm is solid around me, like an anchor keeping me from floating away on the tide of my grief and confusion. I feel the warmth of his hand as it trails down my back, grounding me, reassuring me that I’m not alone.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, voice rough but gentle. “I’ve got you. Let it out; I’m here.”

I don’t know how long we sit there, with me sobbing into his shoulder, clinging to him as though he’s the only real thing left in the world. His hand never stops stroking my hair, each touch soothing, melting the ache in my chest little by little. Gradually, the sobs turn to quiet gasps, the tears slowing as I breathe in his scent, warm and familiar, a mixture of leather and something uniquely Cassian.

When I finally pull back, wiping at my tear-streaked face, he watches me with a gentleness that steals the breath from my lungs. There’s no judgment in his eyes, only understanding and a tenderness that makes my heart ache with something I can’t quite name. He brushes a stray tear from my cheek with his thumb, his touch warm and steady.

“There you are,” he says softly, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. His hazel eyes hold me, like I’m the only thing in the world he sees right now, and for a moment, I almost believe that maybe I’m enough—just as I am, scars and all.

“There you are,” he says, his voice soft, a quiet warmth in his gaze as he brushes another tear from my cheek. His thumb lingers, a gentle stroke against my skin, and it feels like he’s holding something precious, something he’s afraid might slip away if he’s not careful.

His eyes—those warm, hazel depths flecked with amber—search mine, and I realise he’s looking at me in a way I don’t think anyone ever has. As though he sees past everything, past the pain and the shadows, to a part of me that even I’ve forgotten was there. His hand rests against my face, grounding me in his presence, and I lean into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palm against my cheek.

A strange sensation unfurls in my chest—a tug, an ache so deep it almost hurts. It’s as if something invisible has been there all along, waiting, and now, with every beat of my heart, it snaps into place. The bond. I feel it, so powerful and certain, weaving itself between us, binding us together in a way that feels both foreign and achingly familiar. My breath catches, and I can see it in his eyes too, the moment he realises what’s happened. His expression softens, the smallest flicker of wonder and relief breaking through his own surprise.

“Do you feel it?” he whispers, his voice almost trembling as he searches my face, his gaze so full of awe and love that I feel like I could drown in it.

“Yes,” I breathe, barely able to speak around the emotion swelling inside me. It’s overwhelming—this sensation of being tethered to him, heart and soul, in a way that makes me feel more whole than I’ve ever been. I don’t know if I’m crying again or if it’s just the intensity of the moment, but I feel a tear slip down my cheek, and Cassian’s thumb gently brushes it away.

For a heartbeat, we’re just staring at each other, neither of us daring to move, afraid to shatter the delicate, perfect thing we’ve just found. But then he leans forward, his eyes locked on mine, and I feel his breath against my lips. Slowly, achingly slowly, he closes the distance, his mouth brushing mine with a gentleness that steals my breath.

The kiss is soft, heartbreakingly tender, like he’s pouring everything he feels into it—all the care, all the patience, all the love. His hand cradles my face, his fingers tracing small, soothing patterns against my skin as his lips move over mine, unhurried and soft, as if he has all the time in the world. I melt into him, letting the warmth of the bond settle around us like a blanket, wrapping us in something that feels as ancient as the stars.

Cassian’s other arm slips around my waist, pulling me closer, and I feel his heartbeat against mine, steady and strong, grounding me. He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his eyes fluttering open to meet my gaze.

“I never thought…” he murmurs, his voice breaking slightly as he searches my face, his expression so open, so vulnerable, that it makes my heart ache. “I never thought I’d find this. That I’d find you.”

A shaky breath escapes me, and I reach up, threading my fingers into his hair, feeling the softness against my skin as I hold him close. “You saved me,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, a truth that I hadn’t fully realised until this moment. “In more ways than one.”

He smiles, a soft, beautiful expression that makes my heart stutter, and then he kisses me again—this time with a little more certainty, a little more passion, as if he’s making a promise. It’s gentle, heartbreakingly sweet, every brush of his lips over mine conveying the depth of his love, his commitment, and the quiet, fierce protectiveness that’s always been there.

When we finally pull apart, he cradles my face in his hands, his gaze so warm, so tender, that I feel my heart swell in my chest.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, his voice rough but full of certainty. “Not now, not ever.”

And as I look into his eyes, feeling the bond humming between us, I know he means it. I feel the weight of his promise settle around me, grounding me, filling the empty spaces in my heart with a warmth I never thought I’d feel again. And for the first time in so long, I believe that maybe, just maybe, I’m home.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

TAGS:

@lilah-asteria @maleficmuse @fanficscuziranout

[arjudy224]

Chemical Valley

(The Intern x Red Hood)

After the unsettling reminder of her past, Y/N has been avoiding vigilantes for the last few months. However, Dr. Harris has requested backup in the form of Gotham's newest crime lord. What could go wrong?

The Intern Collection:

Prequel: Death of a family

The Intern: Day one

The Intern: The Laughing Fish

The Intern: Busy Work

The Intern: Outreach Gala

The Intern: Visiting an old friend

The Intern: Chemical Valley

The Intern: Billionaire Boys Club

I'm getting real sick of risking my life for a minimum-wage job. Driving around with Dr. Harris is one thing, but since when did the job description list teaming up with crime lords? I mean it's the Red Hood for Christ's sake. Dr. Harris gives me a protective smile from the driver's seat.

"Don't worry about Red Hood. He knows what he's doing." He starts sensing my apprehension. "Besides, he owes me a favor."

I nod with a nervous smile. Red Hood is the only vigilante that I've never interacted with. He only recently appeared in Gotham. From what I've heard on the streets, he isn't exactly on great terms with Batman.

"All due respect... hasn't he killed people? " I question glancing around the lonely alleyway.

Growing silent, Harris contemplates his response.

"Not recently." He says with what is supposed to be a comforting pat on the shoulder.

Trying to ignore the anxiety creating knots across my gut, I reply with more enthusiasm than I feel.

"Oh well... that's progress."

Harris laughs.

"It's Gotham dear. It's hard to find someone who hasn't committed murder. I wouldn't worry too much about the Hood though. If you can befriend Waylon, a little boy in a helmet is the least of your worries. "

I raise an eyebrow.

"You wanna elaborate?"

He smiles sweetly. I narrow my eyes.

"Don't ask questions that you don't want to know the answers to."

That shuts me up. We sit in silence for a few minutes while I contemplate what he just said. Dr. Harris isn't exactly wrong... Glancing at the time clock on the dashboard, I frown. I guess vigilantes aren't known for being punctual, but at least Nightwing was on time. Considering our history, maybe we were both eager to see each other again. I try to focus on the cool air dusting across my face.

A swift knock causes me to jump. The infamous Red Hood almost cartoonishly waves at me from the outside the window. My nervous heart patters like a hummingbird. Eyeing his bike, I sigh. It was silent... Of course, it was silent. What kind of muffler does he have on that thing?

Harris rolls down the window.

"Good morning. Thank you for meeting us."

Leaning on the car door, Red Hood asks in a deep voice

"What do you have for me Dr.?"

"Routine inspection of Ace chemicals. Normally, I wouldn't worry about having a backup, but with an uptick in Joker sightings... I figured it would be better to be safe than sorry."

Hood nods, then glances in my direction.

"I'll keep an eye out."

"Y/N L/N," I say introducing myself, "But most people call me L/N."

"Weren't you the one who convinced the Riddler to let you go in exchange for inspecting his lair for asbestos?" Hood asks with a tone of pride.

I smile while shaking his hand. Word must get around quick.

"Yeah, that's me. He didn't even ask me any riddles. The poor man was terrified."

Dr. Harris whips his head around.

"Why haven't I heard about this?" He demands.

I flash him a shit-eating grin.

"Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to Dr. Maybe Metropolis hasn't made me so soft after all."

Before he can start lecturing me, I step out of the car to face my new bodyguard. Keeping my eyes trained on the ground. I sidestep the hulking mammoth of a man.

"Thank you for dropping me off Dr., but I'm sure "Little" Red and I can take it from here."

From the Driver's seat, Harris watches me with a hint of pride.

"This is not the last time we will be discussing this."

"I look forward to the debrief," I remark as he pulls away.

The ACE chemicals manufacturing plant towers over the surrounding buildings. The smoke stacks excrete a dark sticky aerosol that trickles down from above. Its gothic structure makes it look like something out of a Tim Burton film. Taking a step near the external shutter, I drag my index finger across. My glove smears a damp power off revealing the old white paint. An uncomfortable sensation settles in my chest.

There is no way this amount of air pollution is legal.

After my second round of coughing, Red Hood offers me a disposable face mask. I gratefully take it. The neon green sign serves as a haunting reminder that somehow this has passed inspection. My eyebrows narrow. We passed several kids on the way here. What does that do to someone? No wonder Dr. Harris mentioned childhood asthma. I'm more concerned about the long-term exposure to industrial solvents.

Glancing at Red Hood, I state

"There is no way this is legal."

Red Hood stays quiet for a moment. Adjusting his helmet, he replies

"The law can be anything you want as long as you kill the inspectors who challenge you."

My mouth falls open. A thousand questions flood my mind.

"Somebody must have tried."

Hood tilts his head while glancing between us and the doors.

"Somebody did try."

Tossing me a key card over his shoulder, he continues, "You can visit them in Arkham if you want."

I flounder to catch the key card. It takes a few moments to register his words. Them as in more than one? Or is he concealing their identity? By the time my brain focuses, I stand in the alley alone staring up at a sign for a trading card company.

Isn't that where the Joker.... Oh hell no...

Stumbling through the stained doors, a bubbly man contrasts the bleak external welcome. As he rambles, I analyze the faded posters nailed to the wall. Dr. Harris briefly mentioned the factory's history of producing bioweapons during the Second World War. Hazardous feels like an understatement. I nodd along with the pleasant man, yet something in my gut tells me to keep my eyes and ears open.

Walking past a dust cloud, my lungs contract. Unable to steady myself, I sneak down a back hall to take my inhaler. The rambling man continues down the other hallway completely oblivious to my absence. I tear the disposable mask off my face. Searching my pockets for the familiar medication, my heart drops. Of course, I left it in the car.

I sink into a seated position once the dizziness sets in. Do. Not. Panic. We cannot do that again. No more emergency room trips. A pair of boots emerges from the shadows.

"Are you alright?"

I nodd while focusing on each labored breath.

"Sometimes, I really hate this city." I wheeze clutching my chest.

Red Hood lets out a dry laugh before taking a seat next to me.

"I have something that might help, but you have to trust me."

A small inhaler makes its way into my left hand. Squinting, a small Bat engraving stares up at me. I give him an incredulous glance. There is no fucking way that Batman has a pharmacy.

"It works. I promise."

Reluctantly, I take two puffs. We sit in silence for a few minutes. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. I relish the first full breath of air in days. My lungs expand completely. It is glorious.

"How is your friendship with Killer Croc?"

The immense pain that weighs on my chest lessens slightly.

"I'm sure Waylon wouldn't use the word friend. "

I open my eyes to look at him. Spots litter my vision. The sticky residue has left grime all over his mask. I hesitate.

"Waylon has lost everything... Everyone really. All he really needed was a friend."

Hood stays silent weighing out my words.

"What factory did they make you in?" He questions.

I can almost hear a smile in his voice.

"The same one that kicked you out for defects." I retort staring at the white paint peeling on the far left wall.

Considering the age of this building, I really hope that's not lead paint.

"Touché, Ms. Friendship. Touché"

I give him a friendly shove.

"You know, you aren't as bad as your reputation suggests."

He laughs climbing to his feet.

"I wouldn't go that far. Usually, I'm a dick."

"Better a dick than a sociopath," I say dusting off the black power on my pants.

"Damn Metropolis. Who have you been talking to?"

I shrug.

"It's Gotham. "

After a few moments of friendly silence, he asks

"You ready to find Mr. Optimistic?"

I nodd allowing him to pull me to my feet. Enjoying the comfortable silence, I open the door for him once we make it down the hall. To my surprise, Red Hood slams me against a wall before covering my mouth. Paralyzed in shock, I don't fight him. The Red Bat insignia stares at me. The soft aroma of his cologne catches me off guard. It's nice. Very musky. There's something so... familiar about it. I suddenly feel my face go red. There is no way I am evaluating how good a CRIMINAL smells. Get a grip girl.

Ignoring my mental crisis, Red Hood leads the two of us out the back door. Stumbling out the door behind him, I bend over holding my knees for stability. This is a lot of cardio for a regular inspection.

"What the hell was that about dude?" I hiss in between breaths.

Red Hood doesn't say anything.

"I know you are trying for the strong and silent type, but I think this partnership would benefit from open communication."

Standing up tall, a gunman aims a pistol directly at my temple.

Oh.. That's why.

Tag list: @nosyrobin, @jjsmeowthie, @epicy0n,@gaychaosgremlin, @rory-cakes, @luna-zendra-star

[cabinetofquriosities]

1950

Agatha x Rio AU || Warnings: smut

Fic Playlist

(Listen along while reading)

——————————————————

Rio had been tracking her mark for two nights now. Being a private eye in her time was easy, given that no one ever suspected a woman of anything.

She had been paid by Ralph Harkness to see if his wife had another man on the side. It was a pretty routine case for her to get. She would either get proof of her in bed with someone or of her going to a book club. She hoped for the book club, if just to avoid having some blubbering man who never treated his wife right in the first place breaking down in her office.

She had blended well into the background of Agatha’s life, situating herself as another face in the crowd. When she shopped, she was a few aisles over. When she drove, she tailed her two cars back. Now, she was parked around the corner, hidden on a fire escape in a shady neighborhood, watching Agatha through her binoculars.

While Agatha normally wore elegant dresses, she was wearing something closer to a feminine suit with suspenders and the blouse beneath it having the top few buttons undone. Her makeup and hair were flawless, her red lip drawing attention. She adjusted her suit jacket before walking down the street in wing-tipped shoes. It reminded Rio of something that Katherine Hepburn would wear. She looked both beautiful and dashing all in one.

She completely that she was at work as she watched the woman slid past the person guarding the door into what looked like a private club.

“Shit…” she whispered to herself, not having gotten one photo of her.

She decided to go inside. After snapping a picture of the club entrance and Agatha’s convertible, she left her camera in her own car. She made her way to the door of the club, knocking when she realized it was locked.

The door opened, revealing who she thought was a man at first, but was a very masculine woman.

“Hello, Dolly,” she said with a smirk, “First time here?”

Rio smiled nervously, saying, “Yes.”

“Relax, you’re safe here. Have fun,” she said, stepping aside to let her in.

Rio walked inside, her dark green satin dress hugging her form, falling to her knee. Her black hair swept down in a perfect wave to kiss her bare shoulders. She looked around, seeing women everywhere. They were drinking at the bar, dancing on the dance floor, and wrapped up in each other in dark cozy corners. Rio had known of places like this for certain men who lived their lives in secret, but never women.

She walked up to the bar and ordered a martini. She drank it instantly before ordering another, needing a dose of courage. She had followed others into dangerous and sordid places where she felt unsafe, but this place made her uneasy in an entirely different way.

She nursed her second martini, perched on one of the stools as a dapper woman named Syd chatted her up. She caught sight of Agatha across the room. The other woman leaned against the wall, flirting with a young, blushing blonde. As if she felt Rio watching, her eyes flicked over and found hers. Rio’s heart stopped a moment as she looked away. After a few seconds passed, she chanced another glance, finding that Agatha’s eyes were still on her.

Rio looked back at Syd, who had caught on that her attention was somewhere else.

“Sorry, you were saying?” Rio said, sipping her martini.

“Agatha,” Syd said, catching her off guard.

“Syd,” said a familiar voice right behind her.

Rio just about jumped out of her skin. She was normally so calm when out on a job, but something about this woman knocked her off balance.

“Take a walk, Syd. Your girl’s looking for you,” Agatha said, nodding toward a very angry looking woman.

“Shit,” Syd muttered before running over to the other woman with profuse apologies.

“Such a dog,” Agatha said with an arched brow, “So, I haven’t seen you around here.”

Rio played with the toothpick in her drink.

“Yeah… it’s my first time at a place like this.”

“Oh! Well, welcome to the greener grass. No man in sight.”

Rio laughed and said, “Thank you. It is definitely better than any nightclub I’ve been to.”

“I’m Agatha, by the way,” she said, reaching her hand out.

“Vera,” she said, giving her an alias.

Agatha brought Rio’s hand up to her lips, kissing the knuckles, leaving red lipstick behind. Her cheeks burned as she blushed, her reaction betraying her professionalism. Agatha kept her hand in hers.

“Would you like to dance?” she asked as a slow song came on.

“Sure.”

Agatha led her to the dance floor. In one smooth motion, she spun Rio before pulling her in. Her hand rested on her hip and the other held Rio’s.

“So, Vera, are you married or single?” She asked.

“Single, of course,” she said.

“It’s not always the case here. A lot of women need to hide themselves behind a husband.”

“You?”

“Married. Unhappily. I hoped it would at least be peaceful, but that man is drunk most of the time.”

“Oh,” Rio said, “I’m sorry. That sounds terrible.”

“It is. I can’t leave, though.”

“Why not?”

“He would get everything.”

“You… don’t have anything on him?” Rio asked, unable to turn the investigator side of herself off.

“Like what?”

“Well, if he was cheating..”

“He would still get everything. No one would hire a divorcee either. No, I just need to outlive his liver and hope he never notices that his wife prefers the company of women,” she said.

Rio swallowed, realizing how privileged she had been to inherit the money she had to start her investigation business. Most women couldn’t earn the money she did. Now, she was about to completely ruin Agatha’s situation when she had nothing to fall back on.

“Well, I hope his liver fails,” she said.

“Thanks,” Agatha said with a smirk, swaying with her.

Rio pressed her cheek to hers as they danced. Her front was against Agatha’s as she was held by her. She breathed in the other woman’s expensive perfume, finding herself dizzied by it all. She had always told herself that romance was never something that mattered to her. She never felt that spark of attraction with any man. Now, she felt a rush of new emotions swirling around in her mind.

“So…” Agatha whispered, “Why have you been following me?”

Rio’s eyes went wide as she tried to step back. Agatha tightened her hold, clicking her tongue.

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” Rio replied.

Agatha turned her head, her face an inch from Rio’s.

“I suppose he hired you. For a PI, you don’t lie very well. Do I make you nervous?” she asked with a cocky smile.

“I.. n…” Rio stuttered before sighing, “Yes. He hired me. I’m sorry.”

A bit of worry and fear flashed in Agatha’s eyes at the confirmation. Defeat settled into her posture.

“Well, I guess I’m going to be out on the street. No way will my parents have a homosexual daughter in their home.”

“No,” Rio said, “As far as I’m concerned, I found you volunteering to help the homeless.”

“Really?” Agatha asked, stunned as a person who had never been given the benefit of the doubt.

“Really.”

“Thank you, Vera.”

“It’s Rio, actually,” she said.

“Rio, that’s beautiful. Well, thank you Rio,” Agatha said, leaning in and kissing her cheek.

Rio’s blush returned, making her cheeks glow scarlet at Agatha’s touch.

“I’m sure you want to be anywhere but here, now that you don’t need to follow me, but I would like to buy you another drink if you’d like,” Agatha said.

“Sure,” she said, “I actually like it here… I mean, because it’s nice to not have men pawing at me…”

“Of course, Sweetheart,” Agatha said with a smirk.

She ordered them both whiskeys and handed one to Rio.

“Cheers,” she said, sipping hers.

The two talked for another hour. Agatha had Rio laughing and Rio captivated Agatha with work stories. The other people around them seemed to fall away as they only focused on one another in the crowded club.

Agatha rested her hand on Rio’s thigh as she laughed at a joke, kicking up a burst of panic within her. The entire night had been so wonderful but also so confusing.

“I should go,” Rio blurted out.

“O-Oh, okay,” Agatha said, crestfallen and retracting her hand.

“I just need to make sure I get some sleep,” she lied.

“Well, can I walk you out to your car? I mean, I already know what it looks like since I’ve seen it behind me all week.”

“I really need to work on tailing people…” Rio said, “Sure. I would like that.”

She walked outside with Agatha on the empty street, a single light illuminating the sidewalk. Agatha rested her hand on her lower back, guiding her toward the car. Rio felt more from that touch than she had from any kiss she shared with a man.

Once they reached the car, Rio turned to face her.

“Thank you for the drink,” she said.

“Thank you for not ratting me out,” Agatha said, “I really did enjoy your company, though.”

“I did too,” Rio said.

Rio leaned in, hugging Agatha. They held each other for a while, Agatha’s hand rubbing her back. She pulled back slightly to look into Rio’s eyes. Their noses brushed against each other. Rio felt something surrender within her. She closed the distance between them with a kiss. Agatha sucked on her lip, the kiss intensifying immediately.

Agatha pulled back, smiling with smeared lipstick, the two of their shades mixed.

“We should go somewhere less out in the open if we are going to continue this,” Agatha said.

“My place,” Rio said, her usual boldness finally returning to her.

“I’ll follow you for once.”

The two drove their respective cars to the brownstone Rio had bought years ago after her parents passed. She led Agatha inside. The other woman pulled her in by the hand and kissed her slowly, pouring every bit of tenderness she had into it.

“Bedroom?” Agatha whispered.

“Huh? Oh…” Rio asked, every thought having vacated itself.

She took her hand as she brought her upstairs, opening the door to her room. She turned on a lamp, turning to see Agatha stripping her jacket off. Rio walked towards her, taking her suspenders and pulling them down. She unbuttoned the rest of Agatha’s shirt while kissing her again. She felt Agatha reach around her and tug on her zipper, pulling it down to release her from her dress.

Rio was left in her stockings, garters, and brassiere. Agatha pulled back, shamelessly admiring her.

“Wow…” Agatha said softly.

Rio tried to avoid slouching or nervously playing with her hands. She was not used to being regarded in this way. Agatha kept her eyes on her as she stripped herself. Rio was rendered speechless in the presence of a beautiful woman naked in her bedroom.

“Wow…” Rio echoed.

Agatha crossed the room, cupping Rio’s cheeks in her hands. She began to lean in. Rio gripped her wrist with her hand.

“Agatha-“

“Yeah?” Agatha said, her eyes still on her lips.

“I’ve never..”

“Been with a woman before, I figured,” she said.

“Been with anyone before…” Rio said with an air of embarrassment.

Agatha looked into her eyes, taking in the new information. She ran her thumb over her cheek.

“Do you want to stop?” she asked.

“No… I just… thought you should know.”

“I’m glad you told me,” Agatha said with a smile, “We’ll go as slow as you want to.”

She leaned in, locking lips with Rio. She sat at the edge of the bed, pulling Rio to straddle her. She smoothly unhooked her bra, tossing it aside. Her hands cupped her breasts, earning a gasp from Rio. Sitting up, Agatha pressed her lips to her chest. She sucked on the skin beneath it and sucked hard. Rio whimpered at the delicious pain as she was marked.

Her hips rolled over Agatha’s as the more experienced woman teased and toyed with her. Her lips and teeth seemed to be everywhere, leaving love-bites wherever she could. Rio was left breathless once Agatha had claimed every available inch of her.

Agatha pulled back and looked at the flushed woman on her lap. Her lips had faded, smudged lipstick, her hair was mussed, and her eyes dilated. She looked ruined for the first time in her life and the fact that she had caused that fueled Agatha. She moved them, laying Rio down. She wanted to keep Rio’s stockings and garters on, so she elected to grip her panties, tearing the fabric. She tossed the scrap aside and kissed along Rio’s inner thigh, making her squirm.

Agatha was driving her to the edge of her sanity. She looked down at her as the other woman settled between her thighs. Rio’s mouth fell open as Agatha’s lips melted into her.

“Fuck! Agatha… please don’t stop…” Rio breathed.

Agatha moaned against her. The sounds of Rio’s pleading made her hungry for her. She circled her arms around her thighs. Her tongue explored her, parting her and sliding inside. Rio let out a yelp when Agatha found a certain spot hidden inside of her. She ground her tongue against it before pulling out. She pressed her lips to her clit, licking and then sucking on it. She slid a finger into Rio, being gentle while opening her up.

Rio was already embarrassingly close to cumming once Agatha began to fuck her. She felt her heart pounding against her chest, resounding in her ears. She gripped her sheets in her fists and twisted as her body gave in. A moan tore itself from her throat as her pleasure spilled over the edge.

Her body shook as she came down from her high. Agatha kissed her way up her front to her lips. She cupped Rio’s jaw and leaned down, kissing her with her arousal on her lips.

Agatha smirked as her hand stayed between her thighs, drawing out the aftershocks while watching Rio closely. Whimpers left Rio’s lips between shaking breaths. She held the gaze from Agatha’s blue eyes as she tried and failed to regain her senses.

There was a glint of mischief in Agatha’s eye as she slid a second finger into her, moving it slowly to allow her to adjust. Rio let out a shocked moan while Agatha sped her thrusts, her thumb working over her clit. Her pleasure built on top of her previous climax, quickly rushing to a new one.

“You’re being so good for me,” Agatha purred.

The praise washed over her, making her cunt clench around her. She felt her walls flutter around her fingers. Her breath caught, her brows bunching together as she looked into Agatha’s eyes. Agatha was left speechless at the sight of Rio cumming. She stroked her through her aftershocks again before sliding out of her.

Rio ran her hand along the length of Agatha’s side, stopping at her hip. She bit her lip before moving Agatha onto her back.

“Hey, tonight’s about you. You don’t need-“

“I want to,” Rio said, “Just… tell me what to do.”

Rio moved down between Agatha’s thighs, looking at her sex with nothing short of fear. She leaned in and ran her tongue along her slid, earning a whine from Agatha. The feeling of drawing that little bit of pleasure from her had Rio hooked. She gave her clit and cunt kitten licks, testing what worked and what didn’t.

“Inside… slide it inside…” Agatha moaned.

Rio did as she was told, the taste of desire exploding on her tongue. She moved and flexed her tongue, looking for her most sensitive spots. She finally found one that made Agatha buck her hips. She gripped her hips and pinned them to keep her from moving out of reach. She felt a hand in her hair while she fucked her with her tongue. Agatha’s grip made her grind herself against the mattress. She was pulled closer, nearly being suffocated in the most delicious way. Agatha panted faster before her thighs shook and her walls collapsed around Rio’s tongue.

Once the hand in her hair loosened, Rio came up from between her legs, her lips and chin slick with arousal. Agatha cupped her face and pulled her down. She kissed and licked the remnants of her own desire from Rio’s face. Rio held her close, the two of them falling into the same breathing rhythm.

“That was… thank you,” Rio whispered.

“I hope your first time was worth the wait,” Agatha murmured before capturing her lips in another kiss.

“It definitely was. Can I… see you again?” Rio asked with an edge of nervousness.

“I would love that,” Agatha said, kissing her forehead, “I do need to go before Ralph wakes up.”

“Right. Him,” Rio muttered.

“Tomorrow?”

“Where?”

“If you’re any good at your job, you’ll be able to find me.”

————————————

6 months later…

Rio had spent every moment Agatha could get away from the house with her. She fell quickly and deeply in love with the other woman. She knew she would always need her in her life.

She waited in her car with a long ranged lens, her camera aimed at a motel. A man walked out with a half-tucked shirt and a woman half his age. She leaned up and kissed him, his hand gripping her ass.

A smile broke out over Rio’s lips at the sight as she snapped a number of pictures. She drove off and met Agatha at the club.

“So?” Agatha asked.

“You have enough to petition for divorce,” she said.

Agatha beamed at her, nearly tackling her with a hug. The two had agreed to have Agatha move in with Rio once the divorce was granted. The two would run the business and spend their lives together. Agatha pulled Rio into a deep kiss.

“I can’t believe how lucky I am,” she whispered against her lips.

“I’m the lucky one,” Rio said back.

She pulled Agatha out to the dance floor as one of their favorite love songs played. The two danced, holding one another until closing time.

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please reblog it!

[shalomniscient]

every day, once a year, yelan takes a day off.

this is written directly into her contract with the tianquan. there are no exceptions, no special arrangements. on this singular day, yelan does not belong to the qixing; on this singular day, her leash and collar are abandoned, and she has free reign to do as she pleases.

what does she do? well, prepare for your anniversary, of course.

she hops out of bed, cleans up, tugs her jacket on and then slips out the door with the clink of her jade bracelet. it’s a clear day, and yelan tilts her head to the sky briefly, letting the golden sunrays warm her face almost like an embrace. you were never really a morning person, but the sun on your skin always suited you. she’d have to drag you out of bed to see it, but it was always well worth your grumbling in the end when you finally cave and offer her a smile which she would then steal with a kiss.

“ugh, yelan—“ you giggled, your hands on her chest gently pushing her back. your bracelet was cool against her skin, and the matching one on her own wrist hummed. she nosed along your jaw, pressing more and more kisses until she reached your neck. playfulness turned into something a little more heated, and her blood sang at the sigh she pulled from your lips. emerald eyes flicked up to you, teasing, challenging, and you managed a wry huff before tangling your fingers in her hair and tugging her back to properly kiss her again. it stung, beautifully, but yelan grinned all the way."

she shakes herself out of the memory, and steps into the busy street. liyue’s morning scene has always been crowded, and she blends into the throng with practiced ease. she follows the flow of the crowd down the wharf until she reaches the shop she’s looking for—a florist, tucked snugly between two other stores on the higher levels of the shopping district.

the owner, a midde-aged woman, looks up from tending to her orchids to smile at her. her eyes crease with familiarity at the sight of yelan as the spy steps into her store, fingers brushing the petals of a few flowers. the woman rounds the counter, and rummages in the storage for a few moments.

“the usual, i take it?” she asks, and yelan nods, leaning against the counter and tapping her fingers over the grainy wood. the shop hasn’t changed much, if at all, since she last came here with you.

you leaned down by a bouquet of white chrysanthemums, lips curving upward into a smile as you breathed in the soft, floral scent. yelan looked curiously over your shoulder, a hand casually resting on your hip. she asked if it was your favorite flower—you nodded, your other hand rising to just as casually cup her face from over your shoulder. “they’re quite pretty, aren’t they?” you hummed, and yelan took a moment to ponder the question. in the end, she said they were nowhere near as pretty as you, and took the light smack you delivered to her shoulder with an easy laugh.

the florist clears her throat, coaxing her out of the memory. yelan recieves the bouquet—white chrysanthemums—with a smile, settling it in the crook of her arm. the woman’s expression is measured, but there’s a slight waver to her tone when she speaks. if yelan really had to name it, it sounds close to… pity.

“yelan—“ she begins, but she only flashes the woman a signature grin, before slipping out the door as quickly as she came. she has other things to get, after all, and the clock is always ticking.

(or maybe her clock stopped ticking a long time ago and all this is just extra. maybe it cracked when the rocks fell and the earth buried—)

she dissolves back into the crowd as she heads to her next destination: wanmin restaurant. she can smell the chili in the air as she makes her way down the street again, a sharpness only wanmin seems to be able to make. when she gets there, xiangling is boisterously calling out orders while her father toils away in the kitchen, with guoba tirelessly maintaining the roaring fire for his wok. when she sees her, xiangling’s grin only widens, and she waves her over enthusiastically.

“miss yelan! welcome, welcome,” the young chef says cheerily. “here for another batch of dried chillies?”

yelan chuckles, shaking her head. “no, not this time. i’m here for a few rice buns. with a sweet filling, preferably.”

“ooh,” xiangling coos, nodding. “are you planning to go on an expedition? rice buns are both portable and satiating.”

“you could say that,” yelan says vaguely. the little chef is right, in a way, since she’ll have to hike a little to get to your spot—but really, it’s because rice buns have always been a comfort food of sorts for you.

“how can you not like them?” you asked defensively as you trudged along with her behind the group. there was a slight smear of filling on the corner of your lip, and your expression scrunched up a little more as she wiped it off. her jade bracelet was cool against your heated cheeks. yelan only shook her head, teasingly remarking that spice was a much greater wake-up call than sweets. you huffed at that, taking another bite of your rice bun. “not all of us are masochists, lan’er,” you grumbled, and yelan laughed softly. her nimble fingers encircled your wrist, tugging you closer so she could take a quick bite of your bun. it was sweet, sweeter than she’d like, but maybe that was because you were there. and somehow, that made it good.

yelan pulls herself out of yet another memory when xiangling deposits the bag of warm rice buns into her hands. they’re freshly steamed, and the scent of warm buns fill her senses. she thanks the chef, and disappears much the same way she came before the young lady can get even so much as a word in. in the back of her mind, she can almost hear you chastise her for it.

(she always hears you in the back of her mind. if not, where else—)

there’s only one thing left on her list, and it’s incense. it’s late in the morning now, so the crowds have thinned out—and without her cover, yelan takes to back alleys and rooftops instead. she sighs, relieved almost, as she slips into the shimmering, reflective cover of hydro, darting like a minnow between buildings like rocks, barely a blur in the eyes of anyone nearby. the secrecy isn’t strictly necessary for what she’s doing now, but she’s been so used to being unseen that being in the open feels… unsafe.

it doesn’t take her that long to reach wangsheng funeral parlor. the young lady running the parlor isn’t in today—instead, it’s her ‘assistant’, the elegant man shrouded in such thick mystery that neither her nor ningguang has been able to pierce. he greets her with a solemn expression, no doubt because director hu has told him the reason for her visit. “incense?” he asks again anyway to confirm, his voice low and soft. yelan nods absently, her nose stinging slightly from the intense scent permeating the parlor.

she watches as the man disappears into the back of the parlor for a moment, before he reappears with a delicately wrapped packet of incense sticks. she slides a pouch of mora his way, which he takes wordlessly. she tucks the packet into her little pocket dimension, then turns on her heel to leave. just as she exits the door, he calls out to her.

“safe travels.”

she doesn’t deign him with a response.

her feet take her out and away from the city, down the familiar path to the bleeding wound in the earth—the chasm. the land goes from valleys to large, curling momuments of rock, carved by the force of a falling star. she feels that familiar tug in her chest, the voice that calls to her, that tells her to forsake the surface as her ancestor once did. she listened to it, once. and—

“go,” you whispered, pushing her away. half of you was buried under rock, and she could only see one of your eyes; the other was forced shut by the blood that trickled down your face. yelan nearly screamed herself hoarse, but you grabbed her face and kissed her. it tasted like salt, and her heart lurched at the wrongness. your kisses had always been sweet. you slipped your bracelet onto her wrist, then pushed her again, and then the earth heaved and groaned, and it was the last she ever saw of you—

she turns her head and rips herself out of the memory and the temptation; she has other, more important places to be today. she has other days to chase down her demons. she skirts the side of the chasm, slowly ascending to the top. she passes by the memorial to the millelith, and leaves a rice bun and a few sticks of incense as an offering. they too, deserve to be remembered after all.

(she wonders if anyone else comes out here to remember them. she wonders who will come when she’s gone for—)

it takes her a while, but eventually, she reaches the highest point in the chasm. the sun has traveled across the sky by this point, the afternoon heat mellowing out into a slightly cooler evening warmth. the sky is alive with shades of gold when she finally stops, drawing to a halt right before a smooth stone, standing upright from the earth like a silent vigil. she kneels before it, producing three sticks on incense and inserting them into the censer before the stone and lighting them. she sets a rice bun on the plate by the stone, and saves one for herself. the bouquet of white chrysanthemums, she lays on top of the stone.

yelan takes a bite of her rice bun, letting the sweetness settle on her tongue, as the floral scent mixes with the incense, filling her lungs and settling on her shoulders. she tilts her head to the sun, and the warmth feels almost like an embrace. and when she closes her eyes, the wind in her hair feels almost like a caress. when she opens them again, she lets them rest on the stone—the headstone, and she offers it a smile.

sitting on the edge of the cliff, your legs swinging, you smiled at her, nearly blindingly bright like the golden hour. your pinkies were twined together, your shoulders flush with hers. there was a bouquet of white chrysanthemums on your lap, and just a few crumbs on the corner of your lips. your voice carried in the wind when you spoke.

“happy anniversary, yelan.”

“happy anniversary, sweetheart,” she whispers. the wind carries her voice as well, and she hopes you hear it, wherever you are now. one day, she’ll join you, but for now she takes another bite of her rice bun and breathes in the scent of incense and chrysanthemums.

[crguang]

Can I request a SFW Kafka x gn!reader with number 8 "look at me. I love you." from the fluff request and number 92 "it was always you. No matter how many times I disagreed, it was always you." from the angst one? :3

-🧸

cant believe i finally wrote this i wanted it to be extra nice for you and ended up being scared to write it at all hadbskhdf but who doesn't love new beginnings and a set up for "fell first" "fell harder" with kafka

Round lenses soften the blinding sun rays that warm your skin and paint the world an unnatural rose color; bustling streets and selling merchants, running children passing you by and yelling mothers following some steps behind, and in front of you, a low ponytail swinging like a metronome with every self-assured step its owner takes. An amalgamation of sounds converge in your ears as you walk through a lively market, a cacophony of mundane chatter that surrounds you from all sides and makes up the lives of the locals on this planet, which eventually fades into barely perceptible background noise. The swaying ponytail that brushes unfurrowed black leather ahead of you holds all of your attention. Hands resting comfortably in the front pockets of your jacket, you follow wine red hair through the dense crowd like a leashed puppy and it never occurs to you to look away. The spider just below, with its numerous thin limbs glued onto the coat, beckons you closer, close enough to see the carefully spinned web around your torso; a trap. The less distance between you, the tighter its hold on you becomes. You are aware of this particularity as Kafka turns to face you, the end of a lollipop on her tongue, and tilts her head with a perfected Mona Lisa smile on her lips. She speaks, you don’t make out her words blended in the market’s ruckus. She outstretches a gloved hand, you take it without question. Spidersilk wraps around your ankles. 

Her right hand glides the bow over the instrument resting on her shoulder, and the melody she creates with her fingers seems composed by your own heart. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is shut, her mind is miles away somewhere inaccessible, but she is speaking to you through the bright notes of her violin. She stands in the middle of the room, fading sunlight clinging to the ends of her hair and the cuffs of her sleeves, her head tilted towards the wooden instrument that has seen the interior of her heart, and you curse every blink that dares hide her from sight for even an instant. You hear her, you want to tell her that you hear her deep within your blood vessels like her music is the oxygen flowing in your body, yet you are rooted to your privileged seat some feet away from her, your palms on your thighs and your gaze drinking her in. You feel at once light and compressed in a tight space where it is impossible to lay down, the dichotomy between these visceral sensations renders you immobile. Her face twitches near her left eye with a misstep your untrained ear doesn’t register and Kafka doesn’t falter as she continues to play the melody of your heart. When the last note rings out and her hand lowers the violin, she doesn’t meet your glossy eyes. You feel webs irritating your throat.

You wonder if there is a hollow pit past the barriers of her being, if her soul is quiet, and if that is why she conceals it behind easy smiles and nonchalance. You wonder, as you sit with your head in your hands and a weight on your chest, if her rejection is effortless because she’s known nothing else. Or maybe it’s you. How pathetic you are, to look for reasons within her when the issue likely lies in yourself, but you’ve stopped fighting for fairness when you turned old enough to hold a firearm. You are caught in her silk and she is suffocating you. Such fragile material wrapped around your throat, you must be weaker than you thought. She is everywhere; in the passenger seat on the way back from a mission, mere rooms away in each safehouse you stay in, sprawled all over your thoughts until your mind is more hers than it is yours. You can’t escape the ache in your bones after a failed attempt to see through the opaque walls she sits on, looking down on you with a blank gaze. And despite the helplessness, you try again. 

You remember one night, in an alley at the back of a bar, pulsing bass muffled by its rusty door, the smell of alcohol mixed with a hundred bodies’ sweat is overshadowed by the cigarette Kafka lights up. She brings it to her lips, inhales, and the smoke that leaves her mouth only cloaks her features for a few seconds but fresh tobacco fills your nose almost instantly. Her gaze turns to yours and she lifts her hand in invitation. You take the cigarette from her. Your lips wrap around where hers have just been, and because of this moment’s indulgence, you inhale for too long at once. You think you hide the mistake well. Kafka smiles. Her fingertips graze your own as she takes back her cigarette.

“Wanna go back?” She asks, leaning back on the brick wall of the building and releasing gray tendrils of smoke into the air. You shake your head. “Mmm. Me neither.”

In the darkness, with only the back door’s overhead light flickering near you, you rely on the picture perfect model of her in your mind to fill in the part of her face untouched by the unstable yellow light. 

“I think I’ve relaxed enough for one night.”

“Oh, really? Does that mean you won’t call that pretty redhead?”

You look away from her amused expression and stare ahead at the identical brick wall across from where you stand. “What would be the point?”

“To have fun. I think I saw her fall for you a little bit in there.”

“Falling in love is stupid.”

“Isn’t it?”

Kafka blows her smoke in your direction. You turn to meet her eyes through the fumes and like always, you don’t have a clue what’s simmering within them. The bangs over her eyebrows brush her skin with every movement of her head and each silky strand is closer to her than you’ll ever be. You glance at her mouth despite yourself, observe the way her lips close around her cigarette as she takes a drag, and Kafka watches you watching her. She slows down like the world around you, keeping the smoke past her lips for a couple seconds longer than usual before softly exhaling in your face. The smell does nothing to you anymore other than provoke a fleeting tightness in your chest. The bar music has faded away because most things stop in their tracks when you look at her. You stare at each other for an extended moment, in a dark alley on a planet you’ll be robbing of its future tomorrow, and the quiet attempts to cover a vulnerable truth you are both already aware of. 

“Yeah,” you reply after too long, unable to distinguish the colors around her pupils. “I’m too smart for that.”

Kafka smiles. “Yeah, you are.”

You don’t like smoking, even if you gesture for the cigarette she holds between her fingers. Kafka never offers you one after that night. 

The next evening, gunpowder replaces the familiar scent of burning tobacco. Your vision blurs, sometimes closing entirely before you’re jolted awake by two sharp slaps to your right cheek. The stimuli in your ears is distorted as you walk on the edge of unconsciousness, lying on the cool ground of a manufacturing facility. You blink once and the second takes a while to come. Above you, Kafka’s features are hazy. There’s the same smile on her lips when your eyes try to focus on her face, and in your dizzy state, you don’t note the strained edge at the corners of her mouth. Her hands press on your lower abdomen and the acute pain that shoots through your torso makes you cough, the taste of iron at the back of your throat. You shut your eyes with furrowed brows, then receive another couple of firm slaps to your face.

“..ay awake,” there’s a ringing in your ears now, but you make out Kafka’s raspy voice through the fog of your mind. “Thought you were too smart for...”

You don’t hear the rest of what she says and the sight of her moving lips turns dark as you finally lose consciousness. 

When you wake, you don’t recognize your surroundings. Your stomach area aches, but the pain isn’t as severe as it was the last time you were conscious. It takes some time for your eyes to blink open, the effort too great to execute at once, and your lashes flutter with the movement until you’re able to see the white paint peeling off the wall across from the bed you lie on. There’s little light in this space, the outside world is hidden under a layer of paper journals glued to the only window in the room. The faint rays of morning light illuminate the end of the bed where your legs are covered by a thin blanket and the figure to your left wiping dried blood from her sunglasses. Your throat is dry, you can only stare at Kafka sitting on a plain stool at your bedside without acknowledging your state. She isn’t wearing her coat, and her shoulders are bare and tainted with a few streaks of crimson she hasn’t bothered cleaning up during the hour you were transported to this place. Her hands are free from the silk gloves she wears like a second skin. The cuffs of her sleeves are dark with blood. Yours, you think, from when she stopped the bleeding of your abdomen earlier. The events preceding your injury come back to you like a mocking slideshow emphasizing your foolishness; the Stellaron was secured and in the chaos of your exit, you took a blow meant for Kafka. You remember her surprise mirrored by your own, how her eyes widened an inch and her gaze dropped to your stomach, then yours following her line of sight right after. You didn’t think before placing yourself in front of her and were too shocked to register the sound of her guns hitting the ground as her hands reached for you and stopped your fall. 

The air is filled with uncomfortable confessions that don’t need to be uttered— yours, always yours. Your abdomen is bandaged, no longer bleeding profusely from having protected her without a thought and she sits at your bedside, pretending to care for her dirty sunglasses. She is a picture of disinterest, if it isn’t for the way she never meets your eyes. The elephant in the room grows the longer it is left unaddressed. After another minute, Kafka lowers her glasses and looks at you below the neck.

“You’re awake, good,” she says, “that means you’re not as badly hurt as we thought. We still have to stay here for a while, though. You gave us quite a scare.”

“Are you mocking me?”

Once again, you feel suffocated. Your voice is groggy and your words are raw, and you stare at her intently, daring her to hold your gaze. Kafka’s small smile is veiled with uneasiness, you know she can sense the emotion bubbling up your esophagus. 

“I was going to say thanks.”

“You can’t even look at me.” She sighs and faces you. Your eyebrows twitch at the unfamiliar spark in her eyes and agitation takes hold of you. You lift a hand to gesture towards her face. “What is that? Guilt? Now you want to feel guilty?”

Kafka doesn’t respond. You continue after swallowing twice. 

“So what if I got hurt because my feelings for you made me stupid for a minute? What does that change for you?”

The silence that follows your declaration irritates you. She averts her gaze with pursed lips and stares blankly at a corner of the room. She’s known what you feel for her for some time, you know she has. You feel crazy pretending not to see her as more than a companion whose fates are intertwined for the time being while she ignores your chances at getting to know her deeper than her guarded surface. She knows who you are, but you’re not worthy of more than mere glimpses at her heart. Now you’ve said it out loud and it can no longer be ignored or dismissed.

“Look at me.” Your chest rises with emotion you don’t want to contain anymore. You steel yourself so that the words don’t trip on their way out of your mouth, refusing to tear your eyes from her still figure. “Look at me.” 

Kafka stares at you. Your features twist, upset, and she doesn’t look away.

“I love you,” you say firmly, “It was always you, okay? No matter how many times I disagreed, it was always you.”

A weight is lifted off your shoulders once you speak the truth. Kafka’s eyes flit between yours, unreadable, as if making sure of your honesty. You don’t shy away from her attention this time, this is who you are and this is how you feel no matter the fact that she doesn’t reciprocate your feelings. You’re at least free of holding them in like a terrible secret and can start moving on from this embarrassing situation now that everything has been laid on the table. You blink, unaware of the sheen in your gaze.

“...Why are you crying?” Is all Kafka says a moment later.

You wipe your eyes. “I’m not crying.”

“Say it again.”

“What?”

“Say it again. Say you love me.”

You frown. She smiles teasingly at the sight, chuckling to herself, and just like that, some levity settles in the room. Despite being injured, you weakly throw your pillow at her and bite your tongue at the pain the action causes you. Kafka catches it easily.

“What? You were so serious just now. Who knew you could be so charming.”

“Shut up!”

She stands to take a seat at the edge of the bed and flicks your forehead with her middle finger, a softer expression painted on her lips. 

“Next time, no need to play the hero. You can just tell me you love me whenever you like.”

Her words seem conceited, but you’ve spent an egregious amount of time looking at her and you can tell hearing this confession from you makes her happy. She hasn’t refused you outright and is instead observing you like she’s seeing you in a new light, and that is enough for you. Kafka stays in the room until you start complaining about crime and near death experiences making you hungry, to which she rolls her eyes. She still fetches you something to eat. After that day, telling her that you love her gets you the same genuine smile as the first time, and you start figuring out all the ways she expresses her affection in return.

[moonselune]

Would love to see a fanfic/drabble that plays out Karlach's return from Avernus post-game where fem!Tav didn't go with her for whatever reason. Karlach would likely search for her once she came back to the mortal plane, but how would they meet again? What would rebuilding their life together be like? Thank you <3

Did I cry whilst writing this? yes i did.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach x Reader | The Life We Build

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The final battle against the Elder Brain had been a whirlwind of triumph and loss, of sacrifices and victories that should have marked a new beginning for you and Karlach. For a while, it had seemed as though you’d be able to carve a future together, even if it meant venturing into Avernus by her side. But in the end, you’d been forced to part ways, your hands slipping from one another in a moment that seemed like an eternity, her fiery form disappearing into the shadows of the hellish realm that had so long claimed her.

You promised to find a way back to her, swearing to the gods and to the stars that your reunion was only a matter of time. But as the days turned to months, and the months to years, hope became something quieter, something tucked away in the deepest chambers of your heart.

Your life found a strange sort of rhythm in the quiet years that followed. The aching absence left behind by Karlach was a constant weight, something you carried with you even as you adapted to the pace of life in the city.

Eventually, you took a position running a small tavern near the edge of the bustling streets of Baldur’s Gate. The work was comforting in its own way, the routines and hum of voices from strangers filling the silence that might otherwise have swallowed you whole. Yet no matter how steady life became, the hope of Karlach’s return was a spark you couldn’t extinguish.

For Karlach, every grueling day in Avernus was spent with one thing driving her: you. With grit and determination, she’d fought her way out of that forsaken realm, overcoming every obstacle, every hardship, every infernal pit. She had been running on the hope that, one day, she would return to the mortal plane and find you. Yet, as she finally stepped out of Avernus, her heart swelled with both hope and dread. The years had passed for both of you, and as she walked through the streets of Baldur’s Gate, searching for any sign of you, a thousand worries filled her mind.

What if you had moved on? What if you’d found someone new, created a life full of warmth and laughter that no longer held a place for her? The idea twisted her heart in ways that battle wounds never could, but she pressed on, determined to find you, even if only to see you one last time.

She tracked rumors and asked quiet questions, and eventually, her path led her to the tavern where you worked—a place she could hardly believe was yours, though something in her heart told her it was true. She stands at the entrance, her heart racing in her chest, overwhelmed by the sight of you after so long. She watches, half-hidden in the shadows, her breath catching at the sight of your familiar face, the way you laugh easily with patrons, the way you’ve somehow found a life here without her.

All of Karlach’s courage falters. She hesitates, taking half a step back, feeling the weight of the years, the distance that’s stretched between you. She thinks maybe this is enough—to see you happy, even if she isn’t a part of it. Her feet are ready to turn her around when your gaze sweeps over her face. For a moment, time stands still, and your expression shifts from confusion to disbelief, your eyes widening as recognition dawns.

The tray of drinks slips from your hands, tankards crashing to the floor as you cross the room in a few quick strides, cutting through the noise, not even sparing a glance at the broken glass. All you see, all that matters, is her. Her name escapes your lips, a sound you’d only whispered to the night in dreams and prayers, but now she is here, and the weight of the years crumbles beneath the fierce joy that propels you into her arms.

The moment your arms wrap around her, both of you lose yourselves, clutching each other as though the world might still pull you apart. Her strong arms encircle you, pulling you close, and you feel the familiar warmth of her, the way her heart races against your chest, as if it, too, is struggling to believe this is real. Her eyes glisten with tears, and you can feel her hands trembling as she grips you, as though she might lose you again if she loosens her hold even the slightest bit.

“Karlach…” you breathe, pressing your forehead to hers, and when she meets your gaze, you both burst into relieved, tear-streaked laughter, unable to believe the other is really there.

Her voice is thick with emotion as she stammers, “I—I was afraid. Afraid you’d moved on… that I’d come back to find you… to find you happy with someone else.”

You shake your head, swallowing against the lump in your throat, reaching up to brush away the tear that slips down her cheek. “I never moved on,” you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. “I’ve been waiting, Karlach. Always waiting.”

A tear slips down her cheek, and she lets out a shaky laugh, her eyes searching your face as though committing every detail to memory all over again. “Gods, I can’t believe it,” she whispers, running a roughened hand through your hair, her thumb brushing against your cheek. “I can’t believe you waited.”

You pull her in again, your embrace full of the love and longing you’ve harbored in her absence. She clutches you tighter, burying her face against your neck, the tension in her body melting as the reality of your presence sinks in.

“I’m here,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to your forehead, her voice a soft promise. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Never again.”

As you stand there, wrapped around each other, the tavern crowd quietly returns to their conversations, casting knowing glances your way, warmth and approval in their smiles. But the world beyond the two of you fades into a gentle blur, the noise and bustle softened by the warmth of the reunion that neither of you ever truly believed would happen.

With Karlach back in your life, a warmth and purpose return that feel like sunlight after endless years of shadow. The tavern, once a quiet escape from past pain, becomes the center of something larger—a life rebuilt together, each day shared and celebrated.

It isn’t long before you and Karlach purchase the tavern outright, transforming it from just a place to work into a place to call home. The building itself is sturdy, though Karlach insists on making improvements, eager to add her own touch to every corner. She rolls up her sleeves with that determined glint in her eye, hammering away at loose boards, reinforcing the walls, and patching leaks in the roof. She brings warmth to every nook and cranny, making the old tavern shine with new life.

As winter comes, the air turns crisp, and with it, a shared longing for adventure emerges. It’s not enough to stay put in the city—not yet, not after all the years you spent dreaming of freedom together. You both decide to spend the season traveling, embarking on expeditions you once only dreamed of. From snow-covered peaks in the north to the mist-shrouded forests, each place you visit fills you with awe, and with Karlach’s hand in yours, the world seems bigger, brighter. Her laughter echoes through the mountain passes and winds through the quiet valleys, filling your life with joy that makes even the coldest night feel warm.

When spring comes, you both return to Baldur’s Gate, eager to settle back into the tavern. But your time away has left a mark on both of you, an even deeper resolve to give back to this world you’ve fought so hard to protect. Karlach, more than anyone, feels this pull to help, especially when she sees the street kids who linger outside the tavern, eyes wide with curiosity but marred with the caution of those who’ve had to fend for themselves. She sees herself in them, remembers the way her own life veered toward violence and exploitation because she had no one to turn to.

With her heart set, Karlach begins to bring them in, one by one, offering them small jobs around the tavern. Some run errands, others help clean tables, a few learn how to chop firewood or stack the barrels in the back. The kids watch Karlach with awe, drawn to her kindness and her strength. She never hides her infernal heritage, showing them that no matter who you are or where you come from, you can still be loved, still find a family. She speaks to them with a softness she rarely uses, her voice filled with warmth and encouragement. She becomes a steady presence in their lives, someone they can rely on and look up to.

Soon, a few of them linger even after their tasks are done, curling up in the back room with blankets, too reluctant to return to the cold, empty streets. Karlach’s eyes grow tender every time she sees them, and one night, as you close up, she looks at you, her voice soft but firm.

“These kids,” she murmurs, “they don’t have anywhere else to go. They deserve better than the life I had.”

And so, with a quiet, unspoken agreement, the two of you begin to take them in, one after another. Some stay for only a short while, finding a new path after a few months of warmth and care. But others become a true part of your family, filling the tavern with their laughter, their footsteps, their small but steady presences. They warm to the safety, testing boundaries with playful rebellion, then looking to you both for guidance as they slowly find comfort in this new home.

Karlach takes them under her wing with the fierce protectiveness she once reserved only for you. She teaches them the skills she knows, from cooking to basic combat stances (for “self-defense, of course,” she insists with a wink). She gives them everything she wished she’d had as a child—security, love, the reassurance that they don’t need to fight the world alone. At night, the tavern glows with a sense of warmth and community, the kids filling it with laughter and songs, even mischief, as they become a part of the heartbeat of your lives.

The tavern becomes more than just a home; it becomes a haven. Travelers pass through and are often greeted by a whirlwind of small, curious faces, eager to listen to their stories and learn of faraway lands. And every time a young face brightens with hope or a child smiles as Karlach lifts them onto her broad shoulders, you can see the pain of her past softening, replaced with something deeper, something healing.

Life with Karlach is more beautiful than you’d ever dared to hope for. Together, you build a place filled with love, laughter, and the echoes of shared dreams. Every day is a new adventure, whether you’re exploring the world in winter or hunkering down at the tavern to take care of the family you’ve created. And in those rare, quiet moments, Karlach often turns to you with a look of gratitude and love, her voice soft as she murmurs, “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

In each stolen glance, each shared smile, each time you tuck a child into bed or laugh together over a spilled tray of drinks, you bask in the warmth that, together, you’ve built not only a home but a legacy of love and kindness that will last for years to come.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

OOOF THIS HIT ME IN THE FEELS WRITING IT, move over daddy halsin, mama K is here to stay. I can just imagine them being competitive over their children. 'Well my orphan grew their first potato today' 'Well my orphan didn't pickpocket for a whole week'

Anyways hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[orleans-jester]

Ellie was not Marla Singer, and Babyface was not Tyler Durden. They weren’t going to stand hand in hand in an apartment building as their worlds fell apart. They were amongst the dirt and the debris, they’ve proved that enough. They were not do-nothing bitches, as Ronda Rousey would call it. So though they were on a mission here, they weren’t just doing what they had to do, they weren’t soldiers. As horrible as it might seem, knowing what they know, they were having fun, genuine fun, not wearing a mask.

Really, the giggles that came out of her when she saw the not-very-pleased and yet not pissed off look on the games-man was loud enough to cover the screams on the rollercoasters. She wouldn’t be forgetting that exact moment for a very long time. And it felt okay to laugh. It felt really okay because he clearly didn’t have any feelings, he just took the dart out of his head and there was a comic-looking spurt of blood that went over some of the toys, and then he was alright again, and ripe for another torturing.

A threat is a threat is a threat. It didn’t matter where it was coming from, or who it was coming from. Seeing the zombies as she went from their crib to the Halloweentown door, knowing her friends and family were out there and could turn to attack - if they weren’t so busy dancing - taught her that. Wandering the streets in an unfamiliar town and then getting hit by an old lady with an umbrella and having her grabby elderly hands try to get her wallet, taught her that. Real boys, fake boys, ghost boys, she wasn’t trusting anyone at this point not to suddenly turn and realize they didn’t belong here.

She had been looking up at the Ferris Wheel. Trying to gauge how to climb down if they catch sight of Mazz or Jax, rather than wait for it to take another half-turn and descend them to the bottom. There were the thin metal grids that held up the compartments, might be climbable. But then Babyface was on the jump with shooting off that gun right next to her, making her jump.

“En guarde, bitch!” Ellie said. Though Babyface was pushing her, she stood her ground, moving past him to jump at the zombie with her billy-club and to whack it over the head, putting all of her strength into it. You don’t leave a zombie behind. It could pop up again later. She blasted it’s goddamn brains out, standing there for a moment and beating it over the head as it fell down onto the ground, until there was brain matter splattered on the ground and she was slightly out of breath.

But she didn’t give herself time to catch it before she ran after Babyface towards Candyland, brainmush flying off of the billy-bat, adrenaline on an all time high. Again, thank fuck she didn’t go with a dress and heels tonight.

Run run run, feet slapping against the pavement, hair a red flying blur behind her. She trusted in Babyface and followed him, since he knew where he was going more than she did. Of course there was a Candyland though, she was not surprised at all by the giant candy canes. And then almost as if this place had a hold on her, her mouth started to water, and she felt this huge urge to just .. start licking them. She shook that out of her head. God knows how many bad boys’ tongues have been on that.

“It wasn’t,” She said, her shoulders heaving, as she heard Babyface’s words. “I promise you, it wasn’t.” She had seen the face when she bashed it in. She would have recognized it if it was Maz, surely. Even though it was all decomposing and stuff. She was sure of it. No, it had been a boy. And there had NOT been curls. But even if it had been … she would have done what she needed to do.

She slowed down like a cartoon character, her head nearly freezing in one place while her body kept moving, causing her to slip and fall backwards. While seated on the ground, her hands on it behind her, she looked up towards the night sky, to the towering lollipops that lit it up more than the stars ever could, and saw -

“Holy shit,” She said, when she saw that it was definitely Mazzie. Her hair grown longer, and more dishevelled than she had been before. “Maz! It’s us! It’s Babyface and Ellie!”

Ellie was living up to her name. Leave it to Ells to go through the carnival with her own soundtrack. Babyface Beagle was actually having fun too. He only had the sounds of the chaos and the music of the passing fun, rides, animatronics, and shows. He wasn't sure why didn't think fun was going to happen when he was approaching, but after they got started, and Ell's got so into it with him, he was having a rip roaring good time. It felt natural, like he was in on his own terrain, natural habitat, or his side of town. He didn't feel out of place. Maybe it should have felt surprising to him, but there was no cameleon affect here. He actually blended right in.

He felt like Ells was too he was enjoying himself so much. "Fuck Ed Norton. Rawwwwwwr." He'd growl like a lunatic and then start laughing as he ran to the next spot.

It kept going that way. Seeing the dart hit the barker only kept that Beagle boy pointing at others' misfortunes instead of running up to help like possibly a normal person might do in that situation. He couldn't help himself. The anything goes rules around there made it very easy for little shits like him to amplify when no one was around to tell them to stop. It was also really bizarre to not see people stick up for themselves and it was something he hadn't quite noticed the first time around. He wasn't looking for it then. But, that's how the adult sector of the carnival drew them to acting like even bigger asses to help the magic take hold. This time around noticing it was just downright funny.

Babyface took pride in the llama prize and Ells throwing skills. He kept reaching out to boop it's nose as they walked.

Real enough. True. He tried not to let any thoughts of the end of the night reality sink in. It just never dawned on him before he couldn't tell the difference between island boys and real boys. He decided right then it made no difference if they became a threat and put it out of his mind.

Babyface couldn't pick up the fact Ellie felt like she was being watched. He was too busy trying to keep his head in the game, so it went undetected.

In the end Ellie decided the ferris wheel was the way to go. She agreed. Worst thing to happen was they didn't see anything and they went on their way to Candy Land after. "Let's do it."

So, He led the way to get in line. This was the first moment-

CRACK

He fired his weapon. The first moment he learned there was more than the boys on the island to watch out for. Right from around the Are You This Tall sign flew back their first zombie.

"Oh shit!"

It wasn't dead. It fell over from the blast but it was working on getting back up again. "Ells-Ells-Ells!" He shook her to get her attention as if the blast wouldn't have shaken her completely out of any lull. "RUN!"

Ferris wheel mission was aborted just like that. He was pushing her. He didn't have a chopping off heads sort of weapon on him.

He fired again to slow it down to make their get away, maybe two more times. He wasn't counting. He got flustered at the haste. It was making his eyes do double takes as he passed every boy checking for that deathly pale corpse and rotten flesh appearance. Now he didn't want to accidentally bump into anyone by mistake and it not be a live someone or an island someone. He in no way wanted it to be an undead someone.

He'd head straight for Candy Land swerving in and out of giant candy canes until he thought they lost all signs of people. At that point he was jogging. No matter what Ellie's move was with the zombie back at the wheel he was going to be insistant they get the Hell out of there. He needed to think. In his mind he was realizing that's exactly what he thought the whole place was going to be covered in anyway. He really shouldn't have been surprised by a stray.

As his feet were slowing down to a jog all he kept saying though was, "It wasn't Mazzie. It wasn't Mazzie. It wasn't Mazzie." He fired so fast he was worried he shot a zombie Mazzie. "It wasn't her. It wasn't Mazzie."

Whoever it was just got stuck out there on the island when the Horned King's madness all took place.

Then a voice high atop one of the tallest of lollipops would call down.

"What wasn't Mazzie?"

Babyface's feet would stop dead. His head upturned. He knew that voice. She'd look... alive.

His head would turn to Ellie with the widest eyes his head could hold without popping out.

She'd look dirtier. Her hair had grown. Even from towering at least ten feet over their heads it was easy to see she was worse for wear like someone surviving in an apocalyptic world. Torn clothes. The works. It would seem she was clinging, maybe for dear life. It didn't look comfortable to Babyface.

[m4rv3l-girl]

Happens to the Best of Us - Part 6

Bucky x Barnes

Bucky kept his promise and he’s got a surprise…

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Requests Open! (Requests are always appreciated, remember they can be sent anonymously ❤️)

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff

The late afternoon sun was dipping below the buildings as Y/N juggled two grocery bags, gritting her teeth as she maneuvered the door open with her shoulder.

The familiar warmth of her apartment washed over her as she stepped inside, grateful to be out of the bustling streets and back in the calm that Bucky had somehow managed to turn into a perfect little sanctuary. Normally, he was right at the door whenever she returned, his watchful gaze on her instantly, his hand reaching for any bag she carried—even if it was as light as a carton of milk. But today?

Oddly enough, there was no sign of him.

“Bucky?” she called, setting the bags down on the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh. She rested a hand on her belly, feeling the subtle weight of her little one—a constant reminder of the life she and Bucky were building together. Even with the aches and fatigue, it was all worth it, each day bringing her closer to meeting the tiny person who had already claimed every corner of her heart.

For a moment, only the soft hum of the radio in the background answered her, a quiet tune filling the cozy space. But then, the sound of shuffling footsteps reached her. A second later, Bucky appeared around the corner, a soft smile playing on his lips. He looked... hesitant?

That was rare for him.

Normally, Bucky had an easy, steady confidence about him, a calm demeanor that barely flinched in the most chaotic situations. But right now, he was standing there with an air of uncertainty, his hands lingering in his pockets, almost as if he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

“What’s that look for?” she teased, crossing her arms (as much as she could, given the size of her belly) and quirking an eyebrow at him. “What did you do?”

A laugh slipped past his lips, soft and just a touch nervous, as he rubbed the back of his neck. “You always see right through me, huh, Kitten?”

The hint of nerves in his voice stirred a gentle mix of curiosity and affection in her. Whatever he was up to, he seemed endearingly unsure about it. Bucky, the former Winter Soldier and generally unshakeable force, looking like he’d been caught doing something mischievous. The sight was almost too cute.

“Well?” She leaned against the counter, watching him closely. “What’s going on?”

“There… might be something…” He shifted from one foot to the other, his cheeks warming slightly as he avoided her gaze for a moment, that shy smile still tugging at his lips. He turned and disappeared briefly into the living room, returning a moment later with a plain, white box in his hands.

There was a new, almost childlike glimmer in his eyes as he looked at her, extending the box with a kind of careful excitement. “I know it’s a little early, but…”

Her heart fluttered at his expression, his hopeful smile sparking a mix of anticipation and fondness as she took the box. Whatever was in there, he’d clearly thought a lot about it, and his nervousness was contagious.

With fingers that suddenly felt a little shaky, she lifted the lid, eyes widening at the sight of something soft and blue. At the top of the box lay the tiniest Captain America baby grow, the little shield emblem on the chest perfectly positioned as she held it up in awe.

A laugh bubbled out of her, and she looked up at him, unable to hold back her grin. “Is this…?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his smile widening, though there was a subtle anxiety in his gaze, like he was waiting for her reaction to settle. “Thought maybe, you know… little one would like it.”

“Oh, I’m sure they will.” She chuckled, fingers grazing the fabric with a gentle touch, savoring the image that flashed in her mind of a little one—a mini-her and Bucky—wearing this adorable outfit. She could already picture the proud, slightly goofy smile Bucky would have, seeing his child dressed up like the friend who’d done so much for him.

Her heart melted a bit more as she glanced back down into the box, noticing a second, larger item folded beneath the baby grow. She pulled it out, and her jaw dropped as she realized what it was—a pair of matching adult pajamas in the same Captain America theme, one set clearly sized for her and the other, a bit larger for Bucky.

“Oh, no, you didn’t…” She laughed, eyes wide with surprise. “Are you serious?”

His hand rubbed the back of his neck again, looking both proud and a little embarrassed. “Heh… I thought we could all match for, you know… family photos or something.”

Her laughter softened as she took in the full scope of his gesture, emotions stirring in her chest. Pregnancy had left her especially sentimental, but this… this was Bucky.

All the hopes and dreams he was usually so hesitant to speak out loud, wrapped up in a playful yet heartwarming gesture.

He glanced at her, his expression shifting slightly as he took in the watery glimmer in her eyes. “Darlin’, you okay?” he asked softly, his voice lowering as he stepped closer, reaching out to cup her cheek with the gentlest touch.

She nodded, letting out a small, shaky laugh as she tried to brush off the tears threatening to spill over. “Blame the hormones. But really, this is… just so sweet, Bucky. You’re the cutest thing ever…”

Relief washed over his face, his smile softening as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a gentle embrace. He rested his chin on top of her head, the warmth of his body so comforting that she could feel the last bits of tension drain from her, replaced with a feeling that was nothing short of pure love.

“Good,” he murmured, his lips pressing a soft kiss to her hair. “You’ve given me so much, Kitten… couldn’t help wanting to give something back, even if it’s just some silly pajamas.”

She laughed, holding him tighter, her hands pressing against his back as she sank into his familiar, safe embrace. “I’d say these pajamas mean a lot more than that.” She glanced back up at him, feeling a sudden surge of gratitude for the man who had made it possible for her to feel so loved, so fully understood.

“I’m just happy you like ‘em,” he said, his tone filled with that slightly anxious warmth she’d come to love. “A super family, you know?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, laying her head back against his chest with a contented sigh. “A super family sounds just about perfect.”

For a long moment, the two of them stood there in the quiet of their home, hearts beating in a comfortable rhythm as they both let the weight of the moment sink in.

It was in the simplest of things—the shared laughter, the warmth of Bucky’s hand on her back, the gentle press of his lips against her forehead—that she realized how full and beautiful her life had become. She didn’t need extravagant plans or grand gestures. Just him, and the love they’d built together.

With a small chuckle, he pulled back slightly, his gaze meeting hers, the warmth of his eyes crinkling at the edges. “So, how soon do we get to put these matching pajamas to use? Is it 1 month now, Kitten?”

She grinned, glancing down at the pajamas and baby grow in the box with a playful sparkle in her eyes. “Mhm, sure is…Can we go and get Dippin’ Dots?” She randomly blurted out.

He let out a laugh, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along her back. “Anything you want, Doll.” Then, with that familiar spark of playfulness in his voice, he added, “I’m glad these pyjamas touched you so much that you’ve already got Dippin’ Dots on your mind.”

They both dissolved into laughter, the lighthearted, loving banter filling the room as the sun continued to set outside. And as she stood there, wrapped up in Bucky’s arms, the world felt more perfect than ever.

——————————————————————————————————

@drakelover78

⭐️ Was in the mood for some sweet, fluffy Bucky today. Let me know what you thought! ⭐️

[hairiths]

𝘼 𝘿𝘼𝙐𝙂𝙃𝙏𝙀𝙍’𝙎 𝙋𝙍𝘼𝙔𝙀𝙍

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁𝙁𝘼𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝘿𝙀𝙎𝙄𝙍𝙀 𝜗𝜚 (part two)

Cecilia awoke from her brief nap, her phone suddenly capturing her attention. “Fuck! I’m so late…” she whispered urgently as she sprang out of bed.

She quickly donned her vest and washed her face, applying her daily makeup. Standing in front of the mirror, she checked her appearance, smiling at her reflection. “Perfect,” she declared to herself before grabbing her Bible and racing downstairs to where her parents were waiting. “Dad, I’m going to church—I’m so late” she exclaimed. “I love you; I’ll see you later!” Her parents waved back at her as she hurriedly closed the door behind her.

The meeting was scheduled for 8 PM, and the evening seemed to be going from bad to worse, especially as the rain began to fall. Thankfully, it was only a light drizzle. By 9:30 PM, Cecilia finally arrived at the church, the streets eerily silent and most of the lights extinguished. She followed the hallway leading to Father Charlie’s office, pausing momentarily in front of the door to catch her breath before knocking.

“Come in,” a voice called from within. She complied and opened the door, only to be taken aback by the sight before her: a large figure standing there, clad only in a towel loosely wrapped around his waist.

“Oh—uhm,” Cecilia stammered, momentarily speechless. “I thought you wouldn’t arrive, so I took a shower,” he explained, turning to face her with a smirk, his gaze appraising her. Cecilia instinctively looked down. “Yeah, sorry… I fell asleep,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. He studied her for a moment before asking, “Would you mind closing the door?” tilting his head slightly.

Cecilia nodded and quickly closed the bedroom door, returning to her previous spot. He approached her, taking the Bible from her hands, his eyes shifting from the book to her hands and then slowly meeting her gaze. He gently placed the Bible on the edge of the bed. The silence between them was palpable, the tension intensifying as his face drew nearer to hers.

Their heartbeats quickened, but he suddenly pulled away, grabbing a chair from across the room and positioning it in front of him. He then moved toward the bed, retrieving a towel. “Would you mind…?” he asked, handing her the towel to dry off the water still lingering on his back.

Cecilia nodded quickly, a soft smile gracing her lips as she silently moved to take the towel. He watched her delicate touch, noticing how gentle and graceful she was. Everything about her felt angelic, almost surreal. He settled into the chair, and before she could approach him, she caught sight of his back—her expression shifting to shock as she noticed the large scars etched across his shoulders. Though her heart ached for him, she said nothing.

Gently, she began to pat each scar, inadvertently causing him to groan in pain. Cecilia rested her hand on his shoulder, continuing her ministrations. However, when she inadvertently pressed on a particularly sensitive spot, he abruptly grabbed her hand, screaming, “No!”

Cecilia stepped back, panic rising in her chest. “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, her voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to touch that, Father,” she whispered.

He lowered his gaze, guilt washing over him for his impulsive reaction. “No, it’s not your fault, Cecilia,” he said softly, shaking his head. “It’s okay.” He looked up at her, his expression more tender now.

Rising from the chair, he donned his vest before repositioning the chair in front of the bed where Cecilia sat.

He began his lesson, and she listened intently to every word. Occasionally, she glanced down at the book he was reading from, then looked up at him, holding his gaze as he explained various concepts. All she did was nod and absorb the information, captivated by his presence.

After a while, he noticed the clock indicating that hours had passed. He closed his Bible and smiled gently at her. “We’re done for now,” Father Charlie said softly. “And hey—it’s okay,” he added, laying his hand over hers. “It wasn’t your fault. I apologize for my exaggerated reaction.”

Cecilia looked down at his hand, then gently maneuvered hers to intertwine with his. “No need to apologize, Father,” she replied, smiling up at him.

The tension in the room thickened once more, their faces mere inches apart, the warm connection between them electric. He leaned in closer, his hand resting on her thigh, but just as the moment seemed poised to escalate, Cecilia’s phone rang.

Startled, she turned to grab her phone , while he stood up, exhaling deeply and massaging his temples, trying to regain his composure. “Hello?” she answered, her voice slightly breathless.

“Mom?” she said, pausing as she listened. “Yeah, I just finished; I’m about to leave… okay, yes mom… bye.” Cecilia hung up and rose, retrieving her Bible from the bed. Father Charlie positioned himself at the door, opening it for her as she stepped forward.

“Next lesson, same time,” he instructed, his eyes locking onto hers with a sincere intensity. “Make sure not to miss my next sermon, okay?” He looked down at her, and she nodded earnestly. “Yes,” Cecilia replied softly, a warm smile crossing her face. “Goodnight, Father,” she exclaimed before stepping out into the dimly lit hallway.

“Goodnight, Cecilia,” he murmured, his voice barely audible as she walked away. He watched her figure gradually fade into the shadows as he quietly closed the door behind her.

Once alone, he sank onto the edge of his bed, a mix of emotions swirling within him. “Fuck.” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The evening had taken an unexpected turn, and he felt a myriad of feelings—confusion, longing, and a sense of guilt for the connection that had formed between them.

Cecilia, meanwhile, made her way down the empty streets, her heart racing from the encounter. She replayed the events in her mind, each moment etched vividly in her memory. The way he had looked at her, the warmth of his touch, and the tension that crackled between them—it was all so intoxicating. Yet, a sense of apprehension gnawed at her. She knew the boundaries that should exist, yet the feelings she experienced were undeniable.

As she reached her home, she paused at the front door, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “What am I thinking?” she whispered to herself, shaking her head. She couldn’t help but wonder about their next meeting and the implications it might hold.

Inside, the atmosphere felt different—more subdued. Her parents were already settled in for the night, and as she tiptoed to her room, she felt a mix of excitement and trepidation. After closing her door, she leaned against it, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions.

She took a moment to reflect on her faith, her feelings for Father Charlie, and the complexities of their relationship. Yet, despite the confusion, one thought rang clear—she was drawn to him in a way she had never anticipated.

EXPLORE THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS HERE🤍

© hairiths 2024 — I own only this story and some characters I have created, including Sister Cecilia Jones, Gwen Jones (Cecilia's sister), Lenny Jones (Cecilia's mother), and William Jones (Cecilia's father), among others. I give credit for the remaining content to the series "Grotesquerie" by Ryan Murphy. This is the only platform where I have published the story. Please do not copy or translate it without permission or proper attribution.

[sondheim-girly]

Submission for day 2 of @outsidersweek!! Second part to this fic

January, 1967

Trip

Growing up with the two most controlling parents in the world meant that Trip was always trying to find ways to break the rules without them knowing. It was like a game: how far could he go before his parents started finding out and punishing him? That game is what led him to sneak out, get drunk with his friends, and then get into a fight with some random guy at this party they’d crashed. As he stumbled down the residential street towards his house, his face bruised and busted, he caught sight of a street sign, realizing through his drunken state that he was awfully close to Marcia’s house.

If he went home to his parents there was too high a chance they’d find him and freak out. If he went to Marcia, maybe she could even patch him up! That’s what Bev always did when Brill needed it. These foggy thoughts led him though the streets and all the way up to Marcia’s window. Her curtains were drawn, but he could see light poking through. He knocked once to no answer, he knocked again, and still nothing. He was starting to get worried, but when he knocked a third time, he finally saw a hand draw back the curtain. 

Marcia

Marcia drew back the curtain to find her boyfriend outside her window. She stood there for a moment, confusion written all over her face, before pulling up her window and letting him climb through into her room. He immediately went to put his arms around her waist, and she let him until she saw his face in the light, and she shoved him off.

“Trip, have you been in a fight?!” she exclaimed, looking at his black eye and bloody lip. She went closer to him again to examine the damage, but stopped when she smelled his breath. “Have you been drinking?” she accused quietly, feeling herself withdraw from him.

“Just a little bit…” he admitted, moving towards her again. “Do you have anything to patch me up? My parents would flip out if they saw me like this…”

“Are you serious?” Marcia said, shocked.

“Baby?”

“You sneak into my room! Your face is all busted, you’re drunk as all hell, and you expect me to just patch you up like nothing happened??”

“Oh shut up Mar! Just help me, like any good girlfriend would.”

“Don't tell me to shut up!!”

“What the fuck is wrong with you??”

Marcia stared at Trip in shock. “What's wrong with me? Am I the one with a black eye?? No, I’m not. Who were you even fighting??”

“Just some guy at this party… I don't know.”

“You don’t even know who you were fighting!?” Marcia turned away from him for a moment, contemplating what to do. “Get out of my room.” she finally said.

“Baby I don’t understand…”

“Maybe you’ll have a better grasp on it once you're sober. Until then, I don't want to see you.” Marcia walked to her door and held it open for him. Trip stared at her dumbfounded for a moment, before furiously stumbling out of her room, and leaving her house with a slam of the door.

The next morning Trip showed up at her door with flowers, telling her how sorry he was, and promising her it wouldn’t happen again. Marcia threw her arms around the boy, telling him that she forgave him. Things were normal for a while, but promises like that were made to be broken. 

[cocogum]

The Great Wave - Chapter 3 Review

‼️ SPOILERS FOR THE CHAPTER ‼️

Warning(s): extreme use of foul language.

Aurora is not pregnant.

I don’t believe it for a second, that cow is lying through her teeth. I already mentioned in the second chapter review that she just couldn’t be pregnant because there are three major reasons that easily disprove her claim.

First, it’s the amount of time that passed by. It has been a few months since Season 4 and the manga, around four months to be exact. And yet, Aurora’s stomach appears to be completely flat. How is this possible? Shouldn't there be a visible bump by now?

Second, season 3’s artbook already confirmed that Aurora was a manipulative woman and wanted to reflect it with her design (by having her hair covering one of her eyes) so who’s to say she’s telling the truth right now??

Third, @kilfeur pointed out in this post that if she was pregnant, Armand would not have allowed her to fly high up in the cloudy sky to gain knowledge about the Eliatrope goddess' eliaculus. Armand was already worried about Aurora when she went up, and the thought of her flying high while carrying their future child would have made him refuse the idea entirely, as he feared it could put their unborn child in danger.

So yeah, this skank is clearly lying her ass off just to manipulate the sadidas so that they could take her side. She’s so fucking petty omg I cannot deal with her. And her father is even worse my god wipe that ugly ass smile off your face you fatass.

This man clearly wants power that’s outside his kingdom. He just wants more even if it doesn’t belong to him and it painfully shows because he won’t stop making this fart face.

But it’s okay because as soon as Amalia opens her mouth, he immediately stops looking like a dumbass and immediately FROWNS because he knows she’s spitting FACTS.

And this is the only reason why I loved this moment. Amalia literally put him in his place and shut him up.

Amalia on the first panel: “What right do you return after you have shamelessly abandoned us? The osamodas kingdom, the nations of Bonta, Brakmar, Amakna, Astrub…”

Amalia on the second panel: “We asked you to come help us!”

Amalia on the third panel: “BUT NO ONE CAME! It was the future of the world that was at stake, not just the Sadida Kingdom!!!”

LIKE YES GIRL YES FUCKING DESTROY THIS OLD WASTE OF SPACE!!!

She literally dragged him on the fucking floor with all these facts omg I can’t she’s such a queen I love her so much. 💖💖

But then, instead of just taking it all like a good boy, this old bag of furry bones only had one thing to say and it was:

Osamodas blue cow king: “You give honor to your egocentrism, Amalia…”

Bruh what.

What are you talking about, you crusty old bat?

She drops so many facts and events that happened and this guy’s only comeback is “you’re being selfish 🥺😡”. Like what the fuck was even that???

Dude if you’ve got nothing to say, then don’t say anything but don’t just blurt out the first thing that comes out of your mouth??? Like what??

This is the equivalent of a detective who presented all the proofs that you committed the crime and the only thing you have to say is “your mama”.

Then, as if things couldn’t get any worse for this guy, he says:

Osamodas blue cow king: “My soldiers would have beat these creatures just as efficiently as yours.”

Oh yeah, where were they then, you fucking liar??? The worst part about this is that you didn’t even try hiding the fact that you would’ve been ‘ready’ but you’re so dumb you have no idea how brain-dead that makes you sound right now. You’re saying you could’ve sent your men BUT YOU DIDN’T DO SHIT. WHAT’S WORSE IS THAT YOU KNEW THE SADIDAS NEEDED HELP CUZ UR STUPID DAUGHTER FLED TO GO BACK TO YOU.

Also didn’t you once claim that Armand’s army was weaker than yours but then all of a sudden you’re now saying that your army could’ve beat the necromes like theirs did???

(oh oop- Armand don’t kill him yet 😭)

Bitch doesn’t even know what he’s talking about anymore. I doubt he even knows wtf he’s saying half the time.

Are you dumb???? Are you actually suffering from constipation????

You’re implying that you were free to help and that you knew they needed help. YOU’RE INDIRECTLY SAYING THAT YOU KNEW AND DIDN’T HELP DESPITE HAVING THE TIME TO DO SO.

While the old fart is yapping, Yugo’s face is just so 🫤😑 I’ve been staring at this panel for 2 minutes now and I love how fucking out of it he looks while listening to the cow 😭 Actually, I’m not even sure if he’s listening, I think he’s just hearing him from one ear but it all goes out on the other side. He looks like a god who’s about to squash an annoying ass ant lol

He’s literally like “is this bitch fr?”

Like Yugo is 100% confident to say that the osamodas king had no idea what the hell he was talking about when he thought his troops and he would’ve been able to fight off the necromes.

Yugo: “You have absolutely no idea what we saved you from!”

Yugo’s making that face cuz he knows the king has no clue what he’s barking about. (Also can’t Yugo just use his wakfu sensing abilities to check if Aurora is actually carrying another twelvian?? Or is he not able to do that because an unborn child does not have wakfu yet?) Little blue bro doesn’t know what necromes even are cuz Yugo never told him about them so how the hell was he supposed to know if his men would’ve stood a chance???? No seriously is this cow okay? Why is he talking? Is he talking just for the sake of talking?? Is he that self-conscious that he’ll make up lies on the spot just to protect his image??? The cow king doesn’t even know that the necromes had a leader. Yugo and Amalia are dealing with a fucking grown-ass child omg.

Osamodas blond cow: “I left because I made the promise to my dear Armand.”

This is a lie. Armand never heard of any promise. An analysis conducted by @geekgirles even indicated otherwise, supporting that the claim made by Aurora was fake. According to the analysis, Aurora was more inclined towards her family than her new life with Armand, and the claim that he made any promises to her was baseless. If you wish to read the detailed analysis conducted by @geekgirles on this matter, you can find all of it in this post.

I’ll now explain to you, in my own words, why her bullshit is hot donkey ass. Keep in mind that the whole reason why she left was to protect “the child” aka “the future heir”. As I said before, Aurora couldn’t have promised Armand anything because he knew she still held a bit too much on her osamodas family. From what we’ve seen, Aurora had the time to go back to the Osamodas kingdom to check up on them because of the eliaculus in the skies, had sided with her osamodas family during the meeting with the eliatrope goddess, had tried to marry off Amalia to one of her brothers and cousin, deliberately brought some of her relatives to Armand’s coronation to….stand around, and even keeps her father around in the Sadida kingdom when he should either be ruling his own kingdom or go back to his cave. Armand is not a moron. He knows that she constantly brings her own family to a place that doesn’t need them. So when he’s about to sacrifice his life unbeknownst to Amalia, he tells her this:

“The future is yours.”

Armand had passed the torch to Amalia.

It's worth noting that this is a crucial moment because he chooses not to pass the leadership to his own wife, Aurora. This decision is based on the fact that Aurora is heavily influenced by her family and is unable to make independent choices. At the same time, he also chooses not to give it to someone else who is just as important.

And that is the imaginary baby that Aurora is carrying.

Remember that the baby doesn't exist, and that's an important fact to keep in mind. Armand, who still loves Aurora, doesn't trust her enough to give her the leading role, or any role for that matter, especially not one that involves a child they could potentially have together. Instead, he gave the role to his sister. Aurora knows this and is fully aware that her promise to him was never even a thing. In Armand’s mind, it wouldn't have mattered if she ran away because he never intended to give her a part of the kingdom’s responsibilities in the first place, even though her getting away like that would have hurt his heart.

And Aurora is over here saying that her dad will help her lead the sadidas while she’s pregnant, girl sit your ass down no one called for you. Hoe thought she was in the same group as freaking warriors, shut up. You clearly want your father to rule for a much longer time literally wtf.

Osamodas blond cow: “During my pregnancy, my father will help me lead the kingdom…and I also count on him to train the future heir.”

It's concerning that her explanation might make sense to the sadidas. I'm not sure how she managed it, but that skank made it sound like her father would automatically assist her in ruling the Sadida Kingdom (despite them being Osamodas) since she would be pregnant and without aid due to Armand's demise. And after her baby would be born, her father would train him under his guidance to make him become strong and successful. She made it sound like a simple plan with no problems attached to it. She hasn’t even mentioned if the “baby” was an osamodas or a sadida. She only mentioned the gender, that the baby was a male (in French, when she calls the unborn child “the heir” she says it by using male pronouns).

Hey, Aurora what happens when your lie doesn’t work anymore because your stomach will still stay flat after eight months? You’re gonna tell the people that you swallowed the baby or something? That it fell down? What happens when you can’t keep up with your lie anymore?? Huh? Ever thought about that, you dumb bitch?

I have an idea, Amalia: how about you throw Aurora to the other side of the world and then try to get yourself pregnant by using Yugo so that you can also have a better reason to stay? Or better yet, you can tell her to prove her pregnancy because again, HER STOMACH IS FLATTER THAN A WASHBOARD AFTER ALL THESE MONTHS. Make her suffer from her lie and try to make her work hard for it.

You know when a dog lifts his tail and head up while he’s walking away from something cuz it shows just how sassy and confident they are? I see no difference with this crappy blue cow ‘family’ except that it ain’t cute when they do it.

They just ignored everything Amalia and Yugo said, looked the other way from every proof and situation that they were currently in, and only brought out Aurora’s pregnancy as a trashy uno reverse card, then decided to dip out before blurting out that they were gonna wait NEXT TO ARMAND’S FUCKING TREE GRAVE SO AMALIA CAN PREPARE HER STUFF TO LEAVE.

Osamodas blonde cow: “We are going to pray at Armand’s grave tree, while you make your arrangements.”

The fucking nerve to say that.

I don’t give a shit if she’s crying while saying it, this bitch is supposed to be a professional manipulator.

She and her family have no shame whatsoever. They genuinely thought they did something there. The only thing they had as “leverage” against Amalia and Yugo was Aurora’s stupid “pregnancy”. And even if she was actually carrying Armand’s kid (for whatever reason), her reason would still be shit cuz Armand already declared in his final hour that Amalia was going to take his role.

Osamodas blond cow: “Your presence here is no longer desired, sister-in-law. Just do what you’ve always done…Go explore the world!”

Like-

Who are you???

Blond cow had the audacity to exist.

Not only do we know that the royal osamodas family are liars and manipulators, but we also now know that they’re complete dumbasses for even wanting to rule the Sadida kingdom of all kingdoms. The Sadida kingdom is not built like theirs. The Sadida culture and its customs are extremely different and very much the opposite of the Osamodas since these two races are polar opposites. The Sadidas care about plant life while the Osamodas care about wildlife. It would be extremely hard for the osamodas to fully accept a culture that preaches everything that opposes what they preach. Not only that, but the Sadida kingdom is the literal embodiment of nature. If anything tries to hit its source no matter how big or small, then there would be dire consequences to the entire ecosystem of the world. The Tree of Life is such a big deal in fact that Armand even nicknames it “the lungs of this world”.

And to protect it, you not only need to be one with nature, but that also means you need a SADIDA to guard it which is a person that can literally SPEAK FOR THE TREES. Aurora you NEED Amalia, not only because she’s a Sadida, but because she’s also a royal AND has the strongest connection to the tree more than any other sadidas. You’re not just ruling a kingdom, you’re taking care of the world’s core.

And Aurora’s father doesn’t seem to understand that very important detail. When Armand reveals to him that the sadida kingdom keeps getting targeted at all times because it represents the lungs of the world, this fucking dumbass cow thinks that it’s because the sadidas are weak and can’t protect their own home which is why it keeps getting attacked.

Aurora’s father is such an idiot that he doesn’t even understand why the kingdom is so precious when he’s just been TOLD THE ANSWER DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF HIS FUCKING FACE.

At this point, even a iop would get it. BECAUSE THE PERCEDAL FAMILY ACTUALLY UNDERSTOOD THE ASSIGNMENT-

This is why imagining an osamodas ruling the Sadida kingdom is a literal death sentence. Because an osamodas, someone who only takes care of beasts, shouldn’t be able to properly take care of the sacred tree that links every single living plant in the world. For fuck sake, Aurora, why do you think they call it “the Tree of LIFE”?????

If the Tree of Life doesn’t have a proper guardian (aka A FUCKING SADIDA), then it dies. And if it dies, that means the ecosystem dies. Aurora, you dumb blond, let me explain it in osamodas language: if every green that you see outside disappears, that means that your stupid animals won’t be able to properly eat, shit, reproduce, drink, breathe, and live. And yes, Aurora that last one also means that they won’t have a surface to walk on, aka death.

You don’t have a brain because you keep listening to your egocentric manipulative fat father every time he opens his mouth and you keep making constipated decisions without thinking about the later outcomes because you think you’re in control of the situation.

The only thing you can do, and I’m being generous here by giving you a “talent”, is to shut the fuck up and sit there looking pretty. You did a good job doing that in Season 4 and I want you to do that again. And while you’re at it, go make me a sandwi-

Not only does Aurora need Amalia, the sadida who has the strongest link to the Tree of Life, but the Osamodas king also needs Yugo. I’m not sure why these blue people didn’t catch the fact that there’s a gigantic ass necrome dragon that’s only been PARALYZED and is currently standing in the fucking Sadida Kingdom’s backyard. The dragon is very easy to spot and the only reason why Yugo still keeps the eliatrope dofus on him at all times is to prepare himself for when the dragon gets out of this state. Because yes, Armand did beat him, but he didn’t kill him. Again, you are not able to kill a necrome. If the royal Osamodas family somehow takes hold of the Sadida kingdom, how the fuck are they gonna beat a fucking dragon, one of the most powerful fucking entities of this world who also had been necrofied to NEVER FUCKING DIE??? The osamodas cow king never saw a necrome, never beat a necrome, doesn’t know how it became a necrome, and doesn’t know where it comes from. Since he doesn’t know shit about the necromes, how is he gonna be able to fight a fucking necrome DRAGON?????

Sweeties, do you get it now?

Staying in the Sadida kingdom isn’t for power-hungry clowns. Staying in the Sadida kingdom means that you’ve gambled with your life more than once and you know the taste of adventure and combat. Staying there means knowing that your life can be taken away from you by either the enemies who try to take the literal lungs of the world, or the paralyzed undead dragon who can wake up at any time if he simply wanted to.

You bozos NEED Yugo and Amalia to the point where you can’t even be the ones to stay there, let alone own the place. You can’t stay there because there is so much to keep guard of, to be aware of, and to be ready for. The sadidas have practiced this dance for centuries now and they’ll keep doing it even harder because of an additional menace that is living on their grounds, the dragon being that very threat. Now, not only do the sadidas have to be vigilant of the outside, but they also have to be vigilant of the inside.

So yeah, the royal osamodas are a goofy ass family and I hate the circus.

(i love how the French commentaries on Allskreen and the Krosmoz app are clowning this family lol everyone understood the assignment)

[edwardshundredyearoldspunk]

every couple of years I remember that julie plec made a character tell another character that “he was your first love, I intend to be your last” and then just fucked me personally over forever?? by not having them end up together?? ever??

[magical-xirl-4]

Shugo Chara is SO GOOD at doing slice of life. The kids hang out by going to the beach, they go shopping or go to a concert, they organise parties and events, Amu spends a day out with her family at the park, she helps her mum at the market, or she goes shopping by herself (though still accompanied by her chara’s), and it feels SO GOOD to watch them do stuff like this because it reminds you of when you were a kid, OR, when you were reading/watching it as a kid, it somewhat reflected your life and made you feel really connected with all the characters and think “hey, I’ve done this”.

Even if you didn’t do most of the things they did, it felt like you could, like you were really hanging out with kids your age and going out and being all mature. They do all of this while magical beings are hanging out with them too, but they are also individual characters with personalities that at the same time, are personally connected to you.

This is why I’ve always wanted an episode where Amu just does mundane things like going to the hairdresser. Or heck even a chapter or episode where she celebrates her birthday with all her friends.

Shugo Chara has always made the mundane seem special and fun, which is why I used to think about it A LOT when I was a child and going out with family or friends. “Amu would do this, she would speak like these to her chara’s, etc.”

I still think about it sometimes like that. It’s basically why it’s my favourite story of all time; because it feels so down to earth.

[ghostcond]

i killed the boss and a second morganthe appeared

[daydreamerdrew]

The Savage She-Hulk (1980) #1

[ghstslut]

my cousin's friend got rid of all the stuff we had set aside at my aunt's house and all the stuff my cousin didn't even get to go thru yet and i'm so fucking pissed