#it's the seeds of the plant moon is crawling down from

[xitsensunmoon]

PDA: This ecological biome matches 7 of the 9 preconditions for stimulating terror in humans.

Good thing you will befriend its scariest leviathan to keep you safe...! One day.

[smallblanketfort]

i wish i were better at this. the whole thing. waking up in the morning. focus. keeping up with the dog’s shed. holding hands in public, no, being the one who reaches first. new friends. better at slinging off the fog of tired. i am crawling upside down. a crunched jaw. am i eating enough? sleeping enough? resting enough? moving enough to complete my body’s threat cycle? honest enough? do i garden enough? am i ambitious enough? do i slow enough? making enough? completing enough? pushing myself enough? finding joy enough? when i refused to call myself an artist, i was more shy, but now i am more disappointed. it’s the month i was born, and i had written it down: don’t postpone joy this time. every movement a celebration of every movement. a breath of celebration. embrace color, love, acceptance. my therapist says i’m so self aware it’s incredible to watch. and i sleep every moment i get the chance. some mornings i am convinced i have experienced all that i need to. content to a fault. i can’t wring the sea foam from my muscles. disappointment and all. if i can’t flail my arms at home is it really home? i have to move. i am asleep, no dreaming, and apologizing- this isn’t who i really am, is it. hushing my dog’s whines. this morning i woke up and i planted flower seeds shaped like a snail’s shell. i visited a perfect apartment, all windows, a black cat’s nose pressed to the screen. slept all afternoon, wake, heavy, but lingering. i let the world hold me when i cannot hold it. i let the barista choose my drink, and it’s perfect. the moon intercepts the sun rays, and it’s perfect. a father teaches his son fighting moves in the coffee shop and brings him to his knees, and we are all giggling, so it’s perfect. a man leaves his small red car to take a photo of my bumper stickers and send it to someone, smiling, it’s perfect. i sit at the sidewalk table and every person who walks past meets my eyes, and they wear cool shoes, and that’s perfect. my dog sniffs at a postwoman with a gray mohawk, and we are all so perfect. one thing about feeling depressed is that you are allowed to feel depressed anywhere. you can bedrot in a good outfit outside the coffee shop, in the middle of a park, with your dog. let the earth become you, peel back the layers of cloudiness for moments of perfection, moments perfect just because you were there to witness it. it helps.

-mouse

[redux-iterum]

Burning Hearts: Chapter Six

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Fireheart wasted no time in sticking to his promise. Before anyone else rose the next evening, he was out of camp and trotting for the Houses. Greystripe had barely woken up to sluggishly flick his tail Fireheart’s way in a sleepy ‘thank you’ and then fallen back into a snoring sleep. Fireheart was grateful that Ravenwing had not been awake to see him go.

The weather, bless the Three, had cleared up a little. Clouds still loomed overhead, but their downpour was over for now, and if Fireheart looked up at the right place, the smallest patches of darkening blue greeted him from above the canopy. Everything was still wet, beyond what dew could boast. Fireheart privately mourned that the moon wasn’t out to shine on the droplets and turn the ferns and grass sparkly.

Despite this little disappointment, the walk was quiet and private—lovely, in other words. Even having as much fondness for his Clanmates as he did, Fireheart breathed in gratefully for the clean, cold air that he didn’t have to share with anyone.

Of course, it wasn’t too long before that air choked up a little with the smell of the Houses: alien plants, clipped grass, smoke, and, of course, humans and kittypets. Fireheart hadn’t been gone so long that it was all completely unpleasant to him, but the forest had spoiled him tonight. Now, standing on the edge of the forest, he remembered how dizzying his first foray into the woods had been on scent alone. In the Houses, everything was too… perhaps the proper word would be ‘forced’: plants that had to grow in pots, among other hard, lifeless things humans used as tools or toys that one never saw in the wild…

And, he remembered as he wrinkled his nose, the road.

He shook himself and started forward, leaving his forest behind and aiming for the gravel between homes. Even now, he knew this place by heart, and perhaps he always would. Not exactly a point of pride, but he could find prey a lot quicker than Greystripe. It was a matter of getting to them before kittypets were awake to scare them off.

A turn here and there, and he soon found himself by the houses that put out seed for birds. The squirrels always came here to steal the food, any time of day or night. Fireheart had never taken advantage of this to hunt before. Now was the time. Carefully, he strolled soundlessly along, ears twitching at every small noise and nose up in the air for the scent of prey.

One of the feeders jostled, accompanied by an irritated chitter, and Fireheart crouched, waiting. Soon enough, a squirrel hopped onto the top of the house’s yard-fence, triumphantly chewing at yellow grain. Fireheart leaped hard straight up and had the squirrel in his paws before it could react. The two hit the ground and Fireheart bit down hard on its neck as he landed on his back feet. A small crack, then the squirrel went limp.

As Fireheart started to carry the squirrel off, his ear flicked at a small sound. A glance around gave him nothing, but the sensation of eyes on him crawled along his back and sides. His mouth twitched unconsciously and he continued on his way.

It only took a few houses before he caught the scent of a bird—pigeon, if he guessed right. He paused, listening to the bird flapping its wings and causing the feeder to jostle scattering seed. Another set of flaps and the shuffle of grass; the bird was on the ground now and much easier to catch. Fireheart soundlessly leaped up and landed on the top of the fence, now wishing that one of his Clanmates was here to see him exercise some skill for once.

It was indeed a pigeon, and it was completely unaware of him, pecking fervently at what had fallen on the ground. Holding his breath, Fireheart gathered his paws together, the front ones resting on the edge of the fence’s paneling. He didn’t need to jump far, just fast.

Someone grunted outside the fence and the pigeon looked up. Fireheart lunged just as it took to the air and crashed into it by his chest. The bird and cat landed clumsily, but Fireheart had it pinned under him and ended its life as quickly as he could. Once he was sure the pigeon was dead, he picked it up by the loose neck and went back over the fence and out of the yard.

The cat that grunted (he assumed) was on the other side of the road, staring at his squirrel. Fireheart simply nodded to them and grabbed it by its tail, starting back for the woods. This was all he could carry for now, and it wouldn’t be wise to leave anything for whoever to steal. He hadn’t had to quarrel for prey yet, and he didn’t want to start now.

To his surprise, pawsteps followed him. He glanced back as far as his eyes would allow without moving his head—that cat, a ruddy tortoiseshell with a sparkling collar, was a little behind, but trotting along at his pace.

What did he do in this situation? Was he supposed to scare them off with a hiss or a threat? Did he just ignore them? They wouldn’t follow him into the woods, would they?

Once he was a short distance from the end of the road, that cat still behind him, he set down his prey and turned to look at them. Trying to be friendly and professional, he tilted his head.

“Good evening,” he said. “Can I help you?”

The tortoiseshell paused for a heartbeat before walking closer, steps slow and slightly hesitant. With the prey out of his nose, he could smell this was a molly, and a very well-fed one at that, with wet-food-smell radiating off of her. He stood still, awkward, as she came up, her eyes, somewhere between yellow and green, wide and curious.

“Excuse me,” she said, voice oddly childish for someone her size, “but you’re a really good hunter.”

Fireheart blinked. “Uh– thank you.”

She leaned in even closer, sniffing him. He unconsciously leaned back a bit.

She tilted her head. “Do you live around here?” 

Fireheart’s answer was halting and off-guard. “I, uh, I used to. I live in the woods now.”

Her eyes widened even more. “Then… is your name Rusty?”

“Well…” Fireheart cleared his throat, as if that helped the awkwardness any. “It was. That was the name my mother gave me, but—”

He jumped as the molly bounced a bit into the air with a cry of delight. When she landed, she continued bouncing on her toes, trilling a purr so loud Fireheart was worried she’d wake up a human.

“Rusty!” she shouted. “It’s you!”

Fireheart’s immediate reaction was to join in on the happiness, but he had no idea what she was celebrating. He gave an awkward chuff. “It’s me, yeah. Kind of. Have we met?”

The molly stopped her cheer and stared at him. “You don’t remember me?”

Fireheart shook his head apologetically.

“But–” She started a few other words before stretching to stand as tall as him (or as well as she could). “You really don’t? I’m Rosy! I’m your sister!”

Fireheart stared at her, completely nonplussed. “…You are?”

“Yes!” Rosy’s yellow-green eyes somehow widened even further and became pleading. “We were together until the snow started falling! Then you were taken away and it was just me and Mother, and then they took me too, and now I live here, and I heard from a neighbor that you were around too, and I’ve been looking since I got here—”

She cut herself off to catch her breath. Her fur flared and her tail danced around desperately.

Fireheart’s eyes were on her, but he was in his mind, wracking it for any memory of his family. He barely remembered what his mother had looked like—a patched cat of some kind?—and her name was just gone. His first house had been… big? Or maybe just sort of big? He hardly could even recall what his old human looked like, how was he supposed to—?

“But then someone told me that you went into the woods to live with some wild cats, and I thought I’d never see you again.” Rosy’s melancholy disappeared as she beamed up at Fireheart. “But I did! And you’re here!” She drew back a bit, looking him up and down. “And really skinny. Don’t you get enough to eat out there?”

Fireheart huffed an amused breath. “I do. I just have a lot of running around to do. It keeps me slim.”

Rosy nodded to the prey at his feet. “Is that part of it? Do you eat these?”

“Well, not these ones specifically,” Fireheart said, placing a paw over the pigeon. “I’m giving them to another Clan to eat. But usually I hunt for my own, and we eat prey like this.”

Rosy’s head tilted comically far to the side. “So you all call it ‘Clan’? That’s what the wild cats live in? No houses?”

“No houses.” Fireheart wanted to snort at her kittish curiosity, but he would rather not hurt her feelings, so he kept his tone sincere and serious. “There’s a few of them. Mine is in the forest, and it’s called ThunderClan.”

Kittish still, her eyes sparkled. “Wow… So what are the other ones called?”

This was going to take a while. Fireheart looked at his catches; maybe he could grab some more while talking to her. Memories or none, leaving a conversation abruptly was rude.

“Here, uh…” He cocked his head at the road leading back to the woods. “Do you mind if I take care of this while we talk? I’m not supposed to be here, so I need to get all the prey I can pretty quickly.”

“Oh!” Rosy almost hopped backwards. “Okay! That sounds fun. Can I help?”

Fireheart almost snorted then. “Sure. Want to carry this pigeon for me?”

Rosy delightedly trilled and scooped up the pigeon—by the neck, thankfully—and wrinkled her nose as a feather brushed against it. Fireheart purred and picked up his squirrel and led the way down the road, having to patiently walk slowly so Rosy could follow while still trying to chat around the pigeon. Her words were garbled and muffled, so Fireheart just nodded to everything she said.

They took the prey to the grass and placed it down. Fireheart scraped a little hole and piled them in; it was just deep enough that they wouldn’t poke out above the grass. He turned and started back into the Houses, now able to answer all of Rosy’s questions, which were uncountable. It was sort of thrilling to be the knowledgeable one in a conversation, especially when the audience was amazed by everything Fireheart said.

Rosy had to fight hard to keep her mouth shut when he went after prey, opening it again as soon as he either failed or succeeded and returned to her. She was more than happy to carry his jay once he had another pair of meals, and actually grabbed the smaller wren, carrying them both clumsily by the tails, so that he could keep telling her about Clan life. Fireheart was almost disappointed when they returned to his squirrel and pigeon.

“Can I come with you to RiverClan and give them this prey?” Rosy asked eagerly. “I want to meet cats that swim!”

“I’d like that, but no kittypets or loners can cross our border without getting chased off.” Fireheart gave her an apologetic look as she deflated. “It’d be very helpful, and I appreciate the offer, but you’ll have to stay here.”

The little molly looked down at the ground for a long moment. Then her head shot up again. “Will you come back, at least?”

Fireheart hedged on how to answer. “…I’ll be back here every other day to hunt, so…if you’re around, then we can talk again.” He blinked at her. “I’m sorry I don’t remember you, Rosy. I’ll try to scrounge up any memories I can before I come here again.”

Rosy, luckily, seemed cheered by his answer. “Then you can tell me more about Clans and the wild! And I can tell you about everything I’ve done since you left!” She winced a bit. “It’s… not as exciting as your life, though.”

Fireheart’s eyes creased. “I’ll be happy to hear it. See you around.”

He almost jumped as Rosy hopped forward to bump his throat with her head. “See you around, Rusty. I hope you can stay warm out there.”

Fireheart didn’t have it in him to correct her. He just gently touched his chin to the top of her head and waved his tail when she darted off for her home, glancing back at him constantly.

Once she was gone, he looked at his prey. It was a good hunt, but how on earth was he going to carry all of these at once? By their tails? Should he make another trip? After a moment’s hesitation, he piled the prey together and tried grabbing all of their tails. The birds, luckily, had thin tails, but the squirrel was too much, and kept slipping out of his teeth. At last, out of desperation, he tried slinging the squirrel over his neck and carrying the birds together.

This proved to work pretty well. Fireheart carefully walked back into the woods, keeping his neck still and shoulders moving slowly. It made the trip longer, and he had to pick up the squirrel again a few times when it fell off, but he managed to make his way through the forest with all of his prey.

It’s like wearing a collar again, he thought. Just way softer and tastier.

Immediately, his thoughts drifted to Rosy. How did she feel about wearing collars? Hers looked pretty obnoxious, glittering like that. Did she manage to sleep comfortably with it? Did her human ever take it off? Had she worn one at their first house?

And why couldn’t he remember her?

That frustrated him more than anything else. He had no doubts that she was telling the truth, but his life before going to his last house was a blur to him. She hadn’t even smelled familiar.

A puddle came up, nestled between ferns. He paused, put down his prey, and looked into it.

He looked a bit like her, he supposed: same head-shape, same sort of youthful, wide eyes. They weren’t colored the same, and the rest of his face was much harder from his life out here, but he could see the resemblance. That was some small comfort.

He collected his prey again and started off, tail higher. Maybe when he talked to her again, he’d remember her this time. And he could learn about his history, too! He’d talked way too much about himself this first visit. Next time, he’d be sure to ask her all the things she remembered.

It didn’t occur to him until he was almost to the RiverClan border that perhaps his Clanmates would not appreciate him talking with kittypets. But they could make an exception, right? It was family. The Clans loved family. He could be let off, couldn’t he?

Sure, he could.

Well, he thought, perhaps I better keep this to myself for now anyway.

There was no one to greet him when he reached Sunningrocks. With no direction, he looked for an open spot and found a good space between some trees. It was open and dipped into the ground, like the hole he had dug for the prey he’d first caught. He set his catches down there, glanced around to make sure he was alone, and then ran off, putting some distance between himself and the border.

It was late in the night, but he took care to catch two mice before returning home. No one paid any mind to him as he deposited his prey and went to sit by himself, save Ravenwing, who came up to him once he was settled. The two bumped heads, but Ravenwing pulled back a bit and sniffed Fireheart’s chest.

“You’d better groom yourself,” he whispered. “You kind of smell weird.”

“Oh, rat tails—” Fireheart hurried to clean his chest fur, Ravenwing helping a bit on his side and shoulder.

They were quiet until Ravenwing nodded and declared him as smelling normal, then hesitantly adding, “…So how was your night?”

Fireheart kept his voice as low as he could while still being audible. “I did a lot better hunting there than I do here. It’s weird; I guess it’s just because I know the place.”

Ravenwing didn’t look particularly impressed, but he nodded. With the slightest glint of frustration in his eyes, he whispered, “Greystripe's been sleeping all night. I had to go hunt by myself.”

“I’m sorry.” Fireheart touched his nose to Ravenwing’s ear in an attempt at comfort. “I can hang out with you tomorrow. We can do whatever you want.”

Ravenwing sighed. “I appreciate that. Just… be sure to talk with the rest of our Clan, too. Just hanging out with me or Greystripe and then disappearing every other night is going to look suspicious.”

Fireheart nodded thoughtfully. “Good idea. But still, I shouldn’t leave you hanging.”

“You’re fine, just…” A much heavier sigh. “Just be careful. And… maybe just talk with me when you’re not busy with everyone… everything else.”

Fireheart said nothing, just leaned into Ravewing as comfortingly as he could. The two fell into silence, watching the rest of the Clan meander about, getting prey or talking to each other. At one point, Teaselfoot and Mousefur went by, trading joking insults. Fireheart felt something in his chest clench at the siblings’ banter. His thoughts fell back to Rosy, and again he scraped at his memories for something to grab, and again he found nothing.

“Did you have siblings?” he asked Ravenwing.

Ravenwing took a startled moment to answer. “Yeah, but… they died as kits. I didn’t even open my eyes before they were gone. Why?”

Fireheart rolled a shoulder. “Just wondering. It seems like everybody’s got family.”

“Yeah.” Ravenwing flinched as Darkstripe stalked by. “For better or for worse.”

Silence fell over them again, and this time, Fireheart was too wrapped up in his thoughts to break it.

[danatron1]

What happens to us between sleeping and waking? Every night, when the moon rises, we march like sheep into that deep darkness, not knowing what truth mechanizes the spaces between our heartbeats during such long and noble silence. Are we really the same ponies when we wake up? Or is what rises with the morning merely a carbon copy of the thinking creature that had laid itself down the evening before? What a strange homunculus that thing must be, a golem crafted after the flimsy blueprint of a slumbering soul's final thoughts, that it is no wonder that all of our ambitions, aspirations, and hopes are only residually pursued until the bitter end.

What, then, should we call our dreams? Are they the manifestations of regret? Are they the substance of all our attachments thrown into a searing crucible of mortal fear? Do we dream because we know of loss, of all its colorlessness, across which our wills and desires shatter like eggshells dashed against a brick wall?

I used to believe in these things. I saw the fall of night like the mistress of death. Dreaming was a threadbare, skittering whisper—like the a flutter of gray wings or the curling legs of an overturned moth after a short and fruitless life of chasing the invisible purpose behind flame. When a pony is alone—and lucid—whilst cast before the great looming darkness of a world that forgets her, dreams serve nothing more than a dissonant overture to a symphony of screams.

It was with a very mad notion, then, that I once stumbled upon a miraculous epiphany: a dream is much like a song. Very often do ponies forget the title of the instrumental. On other occasions, ponies are even likely to forget the name of the composer. What is not lost between that impermeable gap of sleeping and waking is the tune, the indefinable voice that plays with our ears like a mother licks her newborn foal. And when we open our eyes to the golden glow of a new dawn, it is something more than our bodies that animates us, something that gives us the tempo to which our hearts can dance, something that makes us crawl out of our beds like a resurrected soul is blessed to climb out of a tomb.

Life is a very impossible thing, bleak and dark and dastardly at every turn. But something in the cold void of night—something as black if not blacker than death itself—slips a tune into our meaty hearts as a gardener plants a seed in inert soil. What grows from our dreams is a symphony, at times an orchestra that has no artist. And like that orchestra, we blossom against the nothingness, until our search—our growth—becomes life itself, becomes something impossible, like remembering the name of a musician that you were never introduced to, only to learn that it was yourself the whole time.

I do very much love to dream. Does that make me mad? I daresay, it makes me alive.

-The introduction to chapter 2 of Background Pony, a my little pony fanfiction by someone called Short Skirts and Explosions

“i am a monument to all your sins” is such a fucking raw line for a villain it’s amazing that it came from halo, a modernish video game, and not some classical text or mythos

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

11th February >> Mass Readings (Except GB & USA)

Tuesday, Fifth Week in Ordinary Time  or Our Lady of Lourdes  or Saint Gobnait, Virgin.

Tuesday, Fifth Week in Ordinary Time 

 

(Liturgical Colour: Green. Year: C(I))

First Reading Genesis 1:20-2:4 'Let us make man in our own image'.

God said, ‘Let the waters teem with living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth within the vault of heaven.’ And so it was. God created great sea-serpents and every kind of living creature with which the waters teem, and every kind of winged creature. God saw that it was good. God blessed them, saying, ‘Be fruitful, multiply, and fill the waters of the seas; and let the birds multiply upon the earth.’ Evening came and morning came: the fifth day. God said, ‘Let the earth produce every kind of living creature: cattle, reptiles, and every kind of wild beast.’ And so it was. God made every kind of wild beast, every kind of cattle, and every kind of land reptile. God saw that it was good. God said, ‘Let us make man in our own image, in the likeness of ourselves, and let them be masters of the fish of the sea, the birds of heaven, the cattle, all the wild beasts and all the reptiles that crawl upon the earth.’

God created man in the image of himself, in the image of God he created him, male and female he created them.

God blessed them, saying to them, ‘Be fruitful, multiply, fill the earth and conquer it. Be masters of the fish of the sea, the birds of heaven and all living animals on the earth.’ God said, ‘See, I give you all the seed-bearing plants that are upon the whole earth, and all the trees with seed-bearing fruit; this shall be your food. To all wild beasts, all birds of heaven and all living reptiles on the earth I give all the foliage of plants for food.’ And so it was. God saw all he had made, and indeed it was very good. Evening came and morning came: the sixth day. Thus heaven and earth were completed with all their array. On the seventh day God completed the work he had been doing. He rested on the seventh day after all the work he had been doing. God blessed the seventh day and made it holy, because on that day he had rested after all his work of creating. Such were the origins of heaven and earth when they were created.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 8:4-9

R/ How great is your name, O Lord our God, through all the earth!

When I see the heavens, the work of your hands, the moon and the stars which you arranged, what is man that you should keep him in mind, mortal man that you care for him?

R/ How great is your name, O Lord our God, through all the earth!

Yet you have made him little less than a god; with glory and honour you crowned him, gave him power over the works of your hand, put all things under his feet.

R/ How great is your name, O Lord our God, through all the earth!

All of them, sheep and cattle, yes, even the savage beasts, birds of the air, and fish that make their way through the waters.

R/ How great is your name, O Lord our God, through all the earth!

Gospel Acclamation Psalm 118:34

Alleluia, alleluia! Train me, Lord, to observe your law, to keep it with my heart. Alleluia!

Or: Psalm 118:36,29

Alleluia, alleluia! Bend my heart to your will, O Lord, and teach me your law. Alleluia!

Gospel Mark 7:1-13 You get round the commandment of God to preserve your own tradition.

The Pharisees and some of the scribes who had come from Jerusalem gathered round Jesus, and they noticed that some of his disciples were eating with unclean hands, that is, without washing them. For the Pharisees, and the Jews in general, follow the tradition of the elders and never eat without washing their arms as far as the elbow; and on returning from the market place they never eat without first sprinkling themselves. There are also many other observances which have been handed down to them concerning the washing of cups and pots and bronze dishes. So these Pharisees and scribes asked him, ‘Why do your disciples not respect the tradition of the elders but eat their food with unclean hands?’ He answered, ‘It was of you hypocrites that Isaiah so rightly prophesied in this passage of scripture:

This people honours me only with lip-service, while their hearts are far from me. The worship they offer me is worthless, the doctrines they teach are only human regulations.

You put aside the commandment of God to cling to human traditions.’ And he said to them, ‘How ingeniously you get round the commandment of God in order to preserve your own tradition! For Moses said: Do your duty to your father and your mother, and, Anyone who curses father or mother must be put to death. But you say, “If a man says to his father or mother: Anything I have that I might have used to help you is Corban (that is, dedicated to God), then he is forbidden from that moment to do anything for his father or mother.” In this way you make God’s word null and void for the sake of your tradition which you have handed down. And you do many other things like this.’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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

Our Lady of Lourdes 

(Liturgical Colour: White. Year: C(I))

(Readings for the memorial)

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Tuesday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

First Reading Isaiah 66:10-14 Towards Jerusalem I send flowing peace, like a river.

Rejoice, Jerusalem, be glad for her, all you who love her! Rejoice, rejoice for her, all you who mourned her!

That you may be suckled, filled, from her consoling breast, that you may savour with delight her glorious breasts.

For thus says the Lord: Now towards her I send flowing peace, like a river, and like a stream in spate the glory of the nations.

At her breast will her nurslings be carried and fondled in her lap. Like a son comforted by his mother will I comfort you. And by Jerusalem you will be comforted.

At the sight your heart will rejoice, and your bones flourish like the grass. To his servants the Lord will reveal his hand.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Judith 13:18a-19

R/ You are the highest honour of our race!

May you be blessed, my daughter, by God Most High, beyond all women on earth; and may the Lord God be blessed, the Creator of heaven and earth.

R/ You are the highest honour of our race!

The trust you have shown shall not pass from the memories of men, but shall ever remind them of the power of God.

R/ You are the highest honour of our race!

Gospel Acclamation cf. Luke 1:45

Alleluia, alleluia! Blessed is the Virgin Mary, who believed that the promise made her by the Lord would be fulfilled. Alleluia!

Gospel John 2:1-11 'My hour has not come yet' - 'Do whatever he tells you'.

There was a wedding at Cana in Galilee. The mother of Jesus was there, and Jesus and his disciples had also been invited. When they ran out of wine, since the wine provided for the wedding was all finished, the mother of Jesus said to him, ‘They have no wine.’ Jesus said ‘Woman, why turn to me? My hour has not come yet.’ His mother said to the servants, ‘Do whatever he tells you.’ There were six stone water jars standing there, meant for the ablutions that are customary among the Jews: each could hold twenty or thirty gallons. Jesus said to the servants, ‘Fill the jars with water’, and they filled them to the brim. ‘Draw some out now’ he told them ‘and take it to the steward.’ They did this; the steward tasted the water, and it had turned into wine. Having no idea where it came from – only the servants who had drawn the water knew – the steward called the bridegroom and said, ‘People generally serve the best wine first, and keep the cheaper sort till the guests have had plenty to drink; but you have kept the best wine till now.’ This was the first of the signs given by Jesus: it was given at Cana in Galilee. He let his glory be seen, and his disciples believed in him.

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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

Saint Gobnait, Virgin 

(Liturgical Colour: White. Year: C(I))

(Readings for the memorial)

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Tuesday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

Either:

First Reading Song of Songs 8:6-7 The flash of love is a flame of the Lord himself.

Set me like a seal on your heart, like a seal on your arm. For love is strong as Death, jealousy as relentless as Sheol. The flash of it is a flash of fire, a flame of the Lord himself. Love no floods can quench, no torrents drown.

Were a man to offer all the wealth of his house to buy love, contempt is all he would purchase.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Or:

First Reading Hosea 2:16,17,21-22 I will betroth you to myself for ever.

The Lord says this:

I am going to lead her out into the wilderness and speak to her heart. There she will respond to me as she did when she was young, as she did when she came out of the land of Egypt. I will betroth you to myself for ever, betroth you with integrity and justice, with tenderness and love; I will betroth you to myself with faithfulness, and you will come to know the Lord.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 44(45):11-12,14-17

R/ Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words. or R/ The bridegroom is here! Go out and meet Christ the Lord.

Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words: forget your own people and your father’s house. So will the king desire your beauty: He is your lord, pay homage to him.

R/ Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words. or R/ The bridegroom is here! Go out and meet Christ the Lord.

The daughter of the king is clothed with splendour, her robes embroidered with pearls set in gold. She is led to the king with her maiden companions.

R/ Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words. or R/ The bridegroom is here! Go out and meet Christ the Lord.

They are escorted amid gladness and joy; they pass within the palace of the king. Sons shall be yours in place of your fathers: you will make them princes over all the earth.

R/ Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words. or R/ The bridegroom is here! Go out and meet Christ the Lord.

Gospel Acclamation John 14:23

Alleluia, alleluia! If anyone loves me he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we shall come to him. Alleluia!

Or:

Alleluia, alleluia! This is the wise virgin whom the Lord found watching; she went in to the wedding feast with him when he came. Alleluia!

Or:

Alleluia, alleluia! Come, bride of Christ, and receive the crown which the Lord has prepared for you for ever. Alleluia!

Gospel Matthew 19:3-12 Husband and wife are no longer two, but one body.

Some Pharisees approached Jesus, and to test him they said, ‘Is it against the Law for a man to divorce his wife on any pretext whatever?’ He answered, ‘Have you not read that the creator from the beginning made them male and female and that he said: This is why a man must leave father and mother, and cling to his wife, and the two become one body? They are no longer two, therefore, but one body. So then, what God has united, man must not divide.’ They said to him, ‘Then why did Moses command that a writ of dismissal should be given in cases of divorce?’ ‘It was because you were so unteachable’ he said ‘that Moses allowed you to divorce your wives, but it was not like this from the beginning. Now I say this to you: the man who divorces his wife – I am not speaking of fornication – and marries another, is guilty of adultery.’ The disciples said to him, ‘If that is how things are between husband and wife, it is not advisable to marry.’ But he replied, ‘It is not everyone who can accept what I have said, but only those to whom it is granted. There are eunuchs born that way from their mother’s womb, there are eunuchs made so by men and there are eunuchs who have made themselves that way for the sake of the kingdom of heaven. Let anyone accept this who can.’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

[christylove94]

Everlasting - Part Seven - V

Maybe I'll rewrite a certain portion of this in the future. I had to move in, same as before.

Pairing: Dongfang Qingcang/Xiao Lanhua

Chapter Tags: Explicit sexual themes, angst, AU elements, too wordy, fluff, light dom/sub themes

It was all too much.

His confession at the Lovesickness Bridge. How utterly destroyed he was, believing his Xiǎo Huāyāo died for him, still loving him despite being so badly hurt by him. 

He saw a bleak future as punishment and agreed to it quietly with an empty smile and hollow eyes. And then he turned that look upon her, wished her a happy marriage, and said he was leaving for good? 

She couldn't stand there impassively, watching his suffering another second more.

But now.

So attuned to one another, recognition took root long before she touched his lips, urging him to smile. She went to him, instead of the other way around. And the instant she opened her mouth and asked him to wait with emotion, Orchid's emotions, she gave herself away. He knew.

And now she's racing for distance, praying that two weeks of pretending she was another person was enough for the seeds of doubt to have flourished. That he won't come after her.

She bursts through the doors of her room, slamming them shut with an erratic pulse of hand magic. As she stands beyond the entrance, quivering like a rabbit, hands fisted at her temples, she begs her mind to give her a way to fix this.

She should have put him to sleep and removed the memory! That way she would have had a little more time before she had to watch him leave, the whole reason she ruined everything.

But this is what she had wanted from the beginning. For him to accept Orchid's death and start living again. So of course, when she was presented with him saying goodbye, with him leaving her when he so clearly did not want to, panic had risen up like a black hole and engulfed her within a revolving pit of her darkest nightmares. 

Him slumped on the riverside, motionless. 

Him choosing to risk his primordial spirit being consumed by evil qi.

Him giving up their Paradise Dream to save her above all else.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't lose him. 

“But now he will suffer more than he would have,” she croaks, shuffling forward for support as she crumbles inward.

Her hands plant on a cool, flat surface, rattling the jewels, combs, and brushes housed there.

She catches sight of her reflection – the poise and perfection, the golden crown and accents, the dead eyes hiding eternal sadness – and nearly yanks down the glass. She settles for discarding the crown, and shucking the gold ornaments out of sight. Her fingers delve messily into her hair, tearing free the pin that holds it all in place, watching as it falls in disarray around her features twisted in distress. The outer robes are torn off, leaving her silk, white inner dress with simple silver brocade leaves across the surface.

Chest heaving, she stares at her disheveled appearance, looking nothing like the beautiful statue. The chafing beneath her skin wanes. She jerks her gaze away. 

The length of the moonlight stretching across her floor gives her pause. 

An hour has crawled by. He hasn't come.

The realization doesn't ease her. Her breath still feels trapped within her lungs. 

She stumbles towards her window, pulling apart the sliding panes to peer at the distant moon, just to be certain. Assumption proven at a mere glance at the moon's cool radiance, she shuts them closed, then steps back.

The rushing whoosh of her heartbeat in her ears slow. Her hands come together in front of her belly as she casts her gaze around her room, trying to latch onto anything to escape the feeling of being adrift within a shrinking void. 

“Maybe… maybe the illusion was truly believable. Or maybe he didn't want me to hurt him again.” 

She spots the dark silk, seemingly innocuous, peeking out from beneath her pillow and goes to it, pulls it free. She closes her eyes, feels a single burning line down her cheek as she gathers the garment close enough for sea tides and sunshine to waft against her nose. 

Her jaw quivers. “Maybe he… He has already left.”

He had already given his goodbye. There was no reason for him to stay longer.

Sniffling between broken breaths, she holds the sleep robe she stole from his room right against the gaping hole in her chest and finds it's not enough. There's no substitute for the real thing. 

The shock of air dispersing behind her startles the robe right out of her hands. 

She's whirled around by her hips, then caught around the waist and the back of her head. Her front encounters the lush sensation of a lean, sinewy body she could paint murals of without sight.

Her eyes pop open, taking in the image of half lidded eyes brimming with more vitality than she has seen since she was resurrected, ensnaring her in a look that says she will not be free of him unless she banishes him to Hell herself. 

“I should have done this long ago. Spared us all the trouble.”

Da Mutou guides their mouths together, and her fingers curl tight into his biceps as all the choices she struggled with are blown away like inconsequential dust on a wind's gust. 

She lunges for him, arms crossing around his shoulders, feet dangling above the ground as she works her way into his mouth with a desperation he matches with a throaty groan. He is electric sparks across her tongue, the sharp burn of liquor, and his natural succulent essence beneath it all. 

Relief hits her so strongly, she'd fall to pieces if she didn't hold on. 

His head twists as he finds her at a new angle, calming the intensity as he sips each of her lips with languid grace. Drawing them in, feeling them out with little nibbles and sliding licks. He kisses her mouth until it's tingly swollen, kisses the breath right out of her lungs until all that's left are the flashing stars in her mind and a helpless whimper when he sees fit to slant his mouth over hers, and push life back into her body by the grace of his delving tongue.

Their lips pop wetly apart as she trembles against him.

“There's my needy wife,” he rumbles in a heated breath that turns her body into mush. 

She mews, squeezing her arms around him tighter as she thrusts her mouth towards his in a closed mouth kiss. 

Her feet come flat to the ground when he lowers but doesn't release her, folding around her which breaks their kiss so his head can tuck into her neck. Her bones ache from his gripping hold, the best thing she's felt since reawakening as Xiyun.  

“My needy wife who I have missed with everything inside of me, Xiǎo Huāyāo,” he chokes out against her throat in the way she knows means tears roll noiseless down his cheeks. 

Her eyes grow damp. Overflow in earnest. 

He's right. Had he kissed her at the first opportunity after he resurrection, there would have been no resistance. She could have lived the brief life she has left to the fullest in bliss with her husband. How could she have ever chosen to keep herself from him? The same way love is love, pain is pain. Regardless of it being short or long.

And somehow she's grass with spiritual wisdom? Hardly. 

“I'm sorry,” she croaks, meeting his watery gaze when he leans back to cup her cheeks. She does the same with one hand, smearing away his tear tracks. “I went against my vows, Da Mutou. I didn't share my burdens—”

He's shaking his head before she can finish repenting, absolving her with no question. 

“I did it first. I told you on the bridge. I was horrible to you. I hurt you so much without giving you a choice.“ His body peels away from hers with a look of pain blooming in the depths of his eyes. “Aren't you still angry?”

She shakes her head vehemently with a sniff, reclaiming the lost closeness. “I swore to myself that no matter how much you hurt me and lie to me, I wouldn't be angry.” 

Her bottom lip trembles in spite of her efforts as she remembers being locked away in a dark storm, the flowers he'd given her to love and dote on destroyed, and her token of devotion and commitment shattered and tossed at her with cold indifference. 

“But I was really really hurt,” she admits in a frail voice, crying against her best efforts. 

Through a watery sheen, she watches his eyes drop unsteadily from hers as shame splays across the width of his shoulders and rests its gargantuan weight there. When he speaks next, his breath is shaky and his voice is subdued, but no less sincere. 

“I am sorry, Xiǎo Huāyāo. I will never be able to forgive myself for what I did. I'll take any pain you give me as punishment. I don't have a right to even ask.” 

His hands slide down her neck and back to dip into the cinch in her waist with barely there pressure as if he's struggling with something internally. “But I promise you I'm not that jerk anymore. I want to be worthy of your love. That is, if you—”

She cups his cheeks and pulls his mouth down to hers with such zeal, they go off balance, tipping back onto the bed with his hands and knees bracing around her and both of her own shooting out behind her. She latches back onto his startled mouth, intent on driving her point home.

She will always love him. Their threads have tangled, and knotted, and twined so much they are indistinguishable from one another. It's inescapable. Like breathing, her love for him is a requirement for living. The tattoo of her heartbeat is the rhythm of his name.

And it wasn't destiny that made it so, but their own choices all the way back from day one. 

She loops her arms and legs around him, and lets her full weight drag him down atop of her with a throaty moan. 

“Just be with me, Da Mutou,” she says against his lips, fingers dipping into the silky hair that slips over his shoulder. “By my side, smiling. That's all I want.” She steals another kiss before he breaks it with his nod.

“Okay, Xiǎo Huāyāo. If that is all you want.”

She loosens her legs in order to create space to reach between them to find the tie keeping his outer robe in place. There is quite more that she wants and with so little time left, she intends to have as much as she can. 

Da Mutou shifts to one side, leaning on his elbow, his face propped up on his hand, his eyes falling to half-mast as he watches her the way he sometimes does while she recovers from the intensity of their joining. 

Her fingers grow shaky on the knot as the pads of his fingers dust down the side of her face transition to his knuckles brushing down her cheek then again his fingers trailing through her hair around her ear to feather along her neck. He looks enraptured.

She feels priceless. 

“How could I ever grow tired of looking at you? It's impossible. I could do this for eternity.” he says in a thick voice, thumb settling against the pulse in her throat.

“I love you,” she croaks, arching up into his soft kiss in relief.

They work his layers off until his dark pants are all that covers him. He lifts her by the waist, maneuvering her onto the pillow at the head of the bed where he hovers between her legs on the bed meant for one. 

“You've lost weight, sweetheart. You've been under too much stress.” He slides his hand from her belly, down her hip, and around her thigh, leaving lingering embers of heat to scorch through her inner layer and suffuse across her tingly skin. “Promise me you'll eat better?” His eyebrows press together, resting across concern ladened eyes. 

She shakes her head in swift motions, placing a kiss against his collarbone which is more prominent than it should be. “I promise to eat better if you do. You've lost weight, too.” 

He sits back on his haunches, uses his hands to smoosh her cheeks until she knows she has a ridiculous fish face, then leans down to kiss her puckered lips.

A foreign sensation of tickly flutters erupt in her belly and bursts free in the form of a snort, then unchecked giggles at his silliness.

He leans back, cradling her face normally as a tender smile transforms his face into an expression that makes her heart ache. “Such a beautiful sound. I've lived without it for too long.”

It feels like a strike to the chest to realize she hasn't laughed once since being reborn, the cruelty of such an existence. 

She pulls on his arms, bringing him down over her again to latch her mouth onto his. She can't let him say things like that. It's too unbearable.

“Make me sing for you…” she begs, gliding her hands up his back while rubbing her bare feet down his clothed calves.

He captures her mouth with fervor, tangible tension winding his body up atop of hers. He twists her open, strokes his way in, and a full bodied shudder ricochets through her body which coalesces in the tightening of her breasts, the swollen ache pulsing between her thighs. Languidly drawing their tongues together, kneading her lips, feasting her mouth as he drags his hands from her knees up and up and up. Resparks her addiction to his succulent taste, his thorough kisses, his overwhelming presence she never wants to be free from. 

Her dress is pushed up her body, a mournful whine escaping her when his lips pull away so they can wrench the restrictive thing off her. Her dudou is swiftly discarded in the same haphazard manner. 

His stare pins her into place as he walks his gaze down her body. She shivers beneath the weight, head falling back as her hands grip the blanket. Goosebumps rise across her flesh, her nipples pebble into taut points of tension hooked sharply to the wet throb between her hips. She moans, restlessly shifting her thighs.

A curse hisses through his teeth.

Her eyes round on him when he pulls her down flat on the bed by her hips, watching with a drying throat as he shoves his pants down and kicks them off with no hesitation. 

Shaking from the reckless speed of her heart, she swings her hand outward, slamming a silvery, shimmering blockade around the room. She meets his questioning stare with a longing one of her own. 

Changheng, Shangque, Jieli, and Fairy Danyin have taken up temporary residence at Arbiter Hall. It has never been so full of people, and yet she had felt isolated before. Now— 

“Let the world run itself for one night,” she reasons, splaying her palms over his pectorals, and wetting her lips when his stiff, heavy cock jumps at her rubbing her palms over his nipples. “Just one night, let me have my husband to myself… just—”

Her thighs are thrown wide apart as he sinks down and plants his mouth on her slit.

Back arching, eyes rolling shut, she grips his hair and moans wantonly, long and deep from the base of her throat.

He licks, sucks, and circles her swollen nub with feral intensity. Each panted breath and vibrating groan, the sting of his restraining grip on her thighs, and the sloppy wet sounds as he feasts on her, splashes liquid fire up her body and down to her curling toes.

It's a struggle to pull hazing vision open to slits to watch him watch her from between her spread legs, his mouth trailing down to slurp from the opening of her center. A flash of heat rocks her, forcing her eyes shut for a long moment as he sucks the sensitive nerves there, his tongue delving in to stroke and tease the engorged roof until her legs begin to fight his grip, her body coiling up in rising bliss.

She jolts when his mouth pops wetly from her slick entrance only to latch back onto her protruding nub with a moan. She feels it in the lines of fire racing up her thighs, the pooling heat rushing down from within the cradle of her hips, the reedy pitch her gasps start to take, the flashing stars that start to swim behind her fluttering eyelids.

She hunches over him, a raw growling sound wrenched free of her, eyes dazedly peeling open to watch as he drinks from her essence, his features awash in rapture as his mouth and tongue visibly devour her pulsating center. 

Her hips jump, her hand shooting out behind her for balance while the other holds him against her, the sharp blaze swirling throughout her until she is ash and there is nothing left to burn.

Her taut posture falls apart, body dropping to the bed, damp with sweat and seeking air from her round mouth. Lazily she watches him come up for air of his own, the back of his hand wiping the glistening slick covering his nose, mouth, and chin. His hair is disheveled, coming loose from its knot, his eyes half-lidded, dark as the slitted gaze of a predator on the hunt.

She shudders, hand sliding down her belly to wedge her index and ring finger within the folds of her slit to hold herself open in offering. “Make love to me…” she whines. “I want you so much, please.”

His hand snaps around the base of his cock, features contorting in what looks like restrained pain as a ruddy flush climbs from his chest all the way up to his face. His beautiful cock is such a dark red throughout, a glob of clear fluid dribbling down from the fleshy tip, causing her mouth to water. 

He pants and trembles, eyes sliding open to glazed slits. “You are so…” he licks his lips, hand sliding up and down his cock with the faintest grip, teasing out another drop of slick fluid.

She tenses, teeth gritting, ready to spring on him if he doesn't shove his cock inside her right now. 

“It's been so long since I've been without you.” The way he looks at her, the tone of his voice, it all appears like a warning she refuses to heed.

Her loose limbs only make her stumble once when she shoves herself up. Then she's rushing him, filling his lap and trying to notch the head of him at her opening before he—

She's caught by the waist and maneuvered around in his lap so her back is to his chest with such ease she whimpers in dismay. 

Her power feels so tiny, having shrunken itself down out of habit causing her to forget how much is actually there. She could put up a fight now, but the way he manhandles her and puts her in her place in bed is too good for words. 

Her head falls back onto his shoulder, as he braces her legs wide open around his own, puts a hand around her throat while dropping a kiss to her blushing cheek. Little flutters work through her center, slick leaking out of her as a wobbly plea knocks around in her throat. 

She loves this and he knows it.

He tightens his grip a little, making her feel the pressure on her throat before he flattens his other hand on her twitching belly, glides it down her fuzzy mound, then sinks two fingers at once into her core in a sharp hook.

A punched out sound accompanies the wild buck of her hips, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the bed.

He methodically sinks his fingers in and out of her, the heel is his palm grounding into the top of her slit with each pass, creating a hypnotic seesaw of sensation that nearly pivots her away from her goal as she rolls her hips into the motion, eyelids fluttering, feeling a liquid, gooey pressure where he strokes building and building. 

But the coarse rasp of his pubic hair rubs against her backside and the thick heat of him extends out right from between her legs.

And her hands are free. 

The hand on her throat moves up to turn her mouth to his, holding her there by her cheek. “Xiǎo Huāyāo, your maidenhead has been restored. I must prepare you,” he hushes the broken noises she hadn't even known she was emitting with drugging kisses across her lips.

She is nearly put under, his fingers sinking deep enough to make her toes curl and her hips twitch with a sensation so incredible it induces madness. Each curling thrust elicits obscene squelches attesting to her readiness to impale herself on his cock herself if she has to.

She reaches down to catch his wrist, yanking to do just that. But then her hands are behind his head in a cross and held there by charged magic which arches her breasts forward and makes her body completely open to his advances. 

The throb quickens so swiftly between her thighs, she's left lightheaded. 

His hand scorches up her belly, cups a tingling breast, slides up to partially restrict her airway as his heavy breaths fan into her ear. “You are not ready to take all of me yet, Xiǎo Huāyāo.”

Her eyes roll shut as her trembling thighs attempt to snap closed around his hand. Acute, piercing quakes of pleasure bear down from the floor of her belly, curling inward by the force of its overpowering gravity. She cries raggedly through chest heaving breaths, rocking her hips down in time with the punishing thrusts of his fingers until the pleased clench of her womb finally eases.

She goes limp, legs boneless around his. He loosens his grip to jerk her face back to his and she gasps sharply. 

“My girl is so responsive,” he purrs, tongue sliding over her bottom lip in lieu of the cavern of her mouth he seals himself over. A third finger adds to the stretching of her center as the heel of his palm rasps over her pleasure numb.

All her nerve endings jolt from the pang of lightning as she whimpers. It's too much.

Blessedly, his heel merely skims over it while his fingers pump into her soaked slit, giving her the time to recover. But before long, she's rolling into his unceasing thrusts, his heel rubbing and grinding her until she's staring cross eyed at the ceiling, the space between her hips winding tighter and tighter as her slit swells and burns hotter. His mouth and tongue suck and stroke her own raw, the swaying peaks of her breasts pinched and tweaked, groped and caressed until they're throbbing and tender, until she—

Her back arches from his chest, forcing her pulsing center onto his drenched fingers, her legs quaking as her flushed face contorts around broken sobs.

“In me, now! Please, Da Mutou! Please, please!” She begs, gaining new dazzling stars before her shut eyes with each frantic jerk of her hips, her walls working their way down to their last zealous swallow around his fingers until they relax, oozing desire around him. 

Limp once more, she gulps down air, trembling as if she's naked in the snow. She moans choppily, head woozy from the force of elation she experiences. 

He's so good to me. 

A touch delirious, her breath skips down her throat as she sluggishly manages to peel one eye open, then another. She watches him pull his fingers free from the moist grip of her body with a lazy air.

They drift towards her, glistening in the candlelight. She smells her musky arousal with a hum, eyes fluttering closed and mouth parting without him even having to prompt her. When he dips his fingers into her mouth and she starts to lick her salty sweet taste from him with long strokes of her tongue, she feels a shiver run through him.

“You're such a good girl, sweetheart,” he kisses up her shoulder, free hand slowly stroking across her sweat slicked torso.

She moans breathless and high around his fingers, tongue working between the rough heat, being thorough as delight swells up her skin, prickling at her face and neck.

He pulls his fingers from her mouth to bring them to his own where she stares, slack jawed, as he seems to savor every drop of her combined flavor he can find with a heady groan. 

Relinquishing his fingers after a time, he cuts his gaze to hers from the corner of his eye. “And all mine.” The possessive rumbles low in his throat. 

The emptiness between her legs gives a hungered squeeze while she groans, enraptured.

The magic locking her hands in place disappears without warning, sending her plummeting forward onto the bed. There is no strength in her body, her face mushed into the pillow as he raises her hips behind her into the air. 

“There's so much I want to do to you after all this time,” he says in a husky voice that drips like molten down her quivering spine, his hands groping and kneading her backside. “Make you feel so good you come like a geyser when I finally plunge my cock into you.”

Her legs unashamedly spread wide as she mewls. 

“But I can't wait any longer either,” he whispers his need as he flips her over, enveloping her within his deliciously dark look. He finally crawls on top of her, his heavy cock pointing down towards its ultimate goal. 

His hands close around her hips and she slides down the bed, yanked to him, his length becoming trapped between their pelvises.

It's scolding, velvety and sticky with desire. So close yet so far from where she needs it. 

She locks her legs around his waist, arching towards him as her blood begins to boil her alive from the inside out. Frown deep as she cries in wordless pleas, she hooks her fingers around his flexed biceps for stability and starts to coat as much of him as she can with her ample slick. Acting as a temptress. His temptress.

The thick vein and the pudgy sac underneath his cock kiss and stroke her center in a way that nearly drowns out all else.

But he's panting and looking at her the way he once did near the beginning, like she's this sublime creature he can't help but be magnetized towards.

Fluster squeezes into swirls of flames which spool around her belly and around her inwards in anticipation. 

She has always seen herself as ordinary, even now as a goddess. But he has always made her feel the opposite with just a look. Somehow, impossibly, extraordinary. 

His hand comes up, fingers fluttering down from her temple to her cheek where they stretch towards her nape, creating a cradle for her cheek which she nuzzles into with a sigh. “You know you mean the world to me, right? That I'll do anything and everything for you?”

She nods dizzily.

“I love you, Xiǎo Huāyāo,” he avows as she feels him reach down and notch himself at her opening, pressing her apart around the blazing, fleshy tip.

Her stomach tenses, her mind wiped blank. 

“I'll protect you. I won't let you suffer anymore,” he says in a fervent caress, gaze unwavering while hers blurs as he sinks into her slick tunnel at the sluggish pace of a snail.

She feels every detailed moment of him splitting her open, her eyelids twitching as her jaw lolls on its hinges. 

It's like being returned a vital piece of herself after being use to living with the constant ache, with the heavy encumbrance. 

Relief tugs a breathy noise from her as he works his way into her welcoming body with elongated strokes and gasping groans, resolutely filling her up with peace. By the time he is buried to the root, she is unbridled, glowing, basking in the presence of the sensuous man above her. 

Which makes it impossible to miss his strain. Da Mutou's eyes are clenched shut, sweat rolling down the temples of his bowed head. 

She reaches a hand forward, freeing his hair from the loose knot where it spills around them, curtaining their faces as she pulls his soft mouth to hers.

She can almost imagine it was yesterday that five centuries together flit by like a treasured dream, every surface of Arbiter Hall having been marked by their love making. 

But for her Da Mutou, it's been ten years since that dream.

“Don't hold back,” she sips on his lips once, twice, teasing his pretty mouth. 

Twitching tremors course through his muscles, his head shaking once.

She slides a hand down his tense back. “I need you to feel good, too,” she breathes into the part of his mouth, slipping inside with a long stroke of her tongue. 

He falls into her with throaty grunts, hand coming down to clamp around the meat of her thigh to hold her sliding body in place as he pounds up into her gut with little restraint.

The edge of pain is negligible in comparison to the flares of pleasure that burst outward in hooks and lines around her limbs, dragging her down beneath ensnaring waves. Her body shudders and revels within each reverberating thrust, within the hypnotic roll of sharp muscles along her supple body, within the guttural little sounds he drives down her throat. 

But she must fight to remain afloat, to dampen his overwhelming affect in order to transfer her pleasure unto him. 

Her euphoria at having him with her seeps into the loving caress of her hands down his back, down his backside where she grips in encouragement, the lingering press of her lips along his throat, the gossamer flicks of her tongue over his sweat dusted collarbone, the firm nips of her teeth in his pectoral muscles. She fights to worship him the way he deserves, the way she has longed to since seeing his face again in this new life.

Reaching up to cup his jaw, she brings his brow down to her lips as she hooks her legs around his waist and angles her hips so there's no hindrance in the gliding stroke of his cock within the tight, clutch of her heat, as they ascend higher, and higher the way they did that first time to the Water Pavilion. 

Blistering. Reckless. Unceasing. 

Her back arches as her vision starts to swim, his damp lips catching down the arc of her throat. “Ta-take what you n-need from me, my hus-band.”

At once, his thrusts turn shallow, sharp, sticky wet as he sinks his teeth into the bend of her throat with a hoarse groan. 

The deepest part of her is ravaged, the electrifying plunge of his cock wearing her down to the point of searing insanity as she digs her nails into his shoulder blades, her head thrashing from side to side.

“Yeess, yeess!,” The quickening spiral drawing taut around the plunge of his cock, driving her just short of howling. “Da Mu-tou, yeess!” 

She hears a rip run through the blanket on either side of her, his body curving above her like the drawstring of a bow, huāyāo, huāyāo, huāyāo a gasping mantra on his lips. 

He is a dying star on the verge of explosion, on the cusp of rebirth from within his heated dust and ashes. She houses his devastating implosion within the ravenous pit of her pelvis, pulsing and squeezing and liquifying around him. Drawing out his endless give. Eternally grateful to be his to take.

Her legs stretch down his, elongating her shaking frame as he prolongs the frantic clench of her core around his pulsing cock until the raging blaze between them weakens, lessens, shrinks down to warm embers.

He drops to her chest, cheek pillowed above the rapid drum of her heart.

She feels like gooey sweets. Fulfilled all the way to her bones. Her mind blissfully quiet. She rests her hand on his head, wishing she could freeze this moment and live in it forever.

His arm curls underneath her back as he sighs, the hand of the other stroking from her ribs down her thigh and back up again in soothing sweeps. “Are you okay?”

She nods without hesitation. “That was perfect.” She sighs, “It's not everyday one gets to lose their virtue to their husband twice.”

“...Which time was better?”

A laugh burst free of her chest. “All times,” she answers to be both cheeky and because this is true.

His head lifts, and she feels a featherlight kiss on her sternum. 

As the fevered rush of their love making grows more distant, she finds a burning question in need of an answer only he can provide. “Why did you do it?” she asks, admiring the vines that have sprouted along the frame of her bed. 

He lifts his head so his chin rests on her clavicle, drawing her eyes by the feeling of his gaze alone. “Be specific.”

“Yunzhong was sent to the Fairy Guillotine.” 

Vindication is a dark glint within his eyes, the sweep of a smirk across his lips. Exactly the reaction she had known he'd wear. 

She reaches forward, curls the hair falling into his face behind his ear. “Why did you take my memories away?”

Wariness pulls a partial shutter across his eyes as he props himself up onto his forearms. The brown depths reveal many things, but guilt or regret are not one of them. 

She trails the pads of her fingers down his jaw over the blotchy red marks emerging on his skin before flicking her eyes back up to his. “Did you know that if you hadn’t taken them away, I would have been yours sooner. I would have been your wife sooner.”

The expression he dawns is one she is not expecting, yet somehow it does not surprise her. It’s confusion that dents the space between his eyebrows as if he cannot fathom the reasoning behind her words. 

“You were suffering…” he says slowly as if he is making sense of emotions that were not as clear to him back then. “You should not have had to suffer because of me. I was not going to let you endure that torment a second more. Nothing else crossed my mind.”

Tingly sparks of heat suffuse the growing heaviness of her breasts and cascade to swollen place where they are still joined. She has to stifle the urge to bite her lip, feeling how deep he still is.

She had suspected as such, that he would only have noble reasonings, even back then. But hearing him say those words… 

He begins to pant above her, feeling her body grow hot with slick, clenching.

She wets her mouth and delves her fingers into his silky tresses. “Make love to me again, Da Mutou,” she whispers, pulling him down to connect their lips in the tease of a kiss. “Please… I want you to lose control.”

He hesitates, eyes searching her own. 

She presses her center snug against the base of him, quivering when he kisses her deepest point. “I want you to bruise me. I want your marks all over me,” she confesses while reaching to guide his hand down to her waist, forcing him to grip until her flesh squeezes through the cracks of his fingers in a wondrous flash of pain. 

The dusky brown vanishes behind a hunter's black look. 

“I want you to pin me down and make. me. scream. I want you to take me on my hands and knees. I want you to use me so much I ache.” she hisses, fingers curling into his nape as he trembles above her, muscles coiled tight. “And I don't want you to stop until you're satisfied.”

“I'll never be satisfied,” he bites out in the rumbling cadence of her enticed apex predator. Warning prickles down her spine. “I'll always want more.”

She licks his Adam’s apple on her way to his ear, daring him to come chase her when she breathes, “Then don't stop.”

[aemonds-sapphire]

Of Flowers & Dragons

Summary: Your daughter wants a sibling and makes it everyone’s problem.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Fluff. Dad Aemond.

Word count: 1k

Part II

“I want a sibling!”

The high-pitched voice echoed across the room, quickly followed by a shriek that reverberated through your head like a dagger, jolting you awake at once.

You peered down through hazy eyes at your daughter of six who was stomping angrily across the carpeted floor, strands of silver hair shooting from her head in all sorts of weird and messy angles.

“I apologise, my lady,” the young servant breathed out, rushing behind the young child. “She would not heed my words.”

“It’s quite alright,” you said with a nod. “You may leave.”

She was a dragon through and through: hot tempered and demanding.

It had taken her father long years to keep that explosiveness at bay and you reckoned you would still encounter many of these outbursts before she’d finally settle.

She halted by the feet of your bed, mustering the most menacing expression, violet eyes alternating between you and her sleeping father.

“Jaelan ziry sir, kepa!”

Even in your broken High Valyrian you could make out a demand aimed at her father.

She didn’t just want a sibling. She wanted it now.

The bedsheets shifting beside you alerted you that Aemond Targaryen was finally awake.

“Do not scream,” you scolded before a yawn slipped past your lips. “Come here.”

Your daughter didn’t need to be told twice as she promptly climbed up the bed and crawled in between the two of you before plopping herself down with a huff.

Aemond rolled to his side with the groan of someone who had just been robbed of the peace and quiet that usually came with early mornings.

“Could this not have waited, tala?” he said.

“Daor,” she shook her head, sticking out her bottom lip in a defiant pout, crossing both arms. “I want a sibling now.”

Aemond turned his head to face her, his sapphire eye uncovered. “It would have to wait.”

She brought both hands to his long hair and twisted a few strands into unruly braids, not able to conceal her frustration.

“A day?”

You nearly chuckled at her remark. “A day? It would take many moons, my love.”

“But kepa said I came from Old Valyria… on dragonback…” she whispered, turning her eyes to meet yours. “Dragons are fast… maybe two days?” she beamed, hope coating her sweet voice.

You sighed heavily. “Aemond…”

“She caught me off guard, lady wife,” he said truthfully while gazing at his daughter. “What was I to say?”

“Now you have the opportunity to resolve this,” you smiled teasingly as his eye widened.

“What is it?” she spoke up before Aemond could. “When do I get a new sibling, kepa?”

Aemond was a master at concealing his emotions, but even in that moment, his composure faltered, as he realised his young and stubborn daughter would not back down.

Heaving a deep sigh, he detached her tiny hands from his hair and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer to him in a heartwarming display of affection.

“Remember those flowers you adore so much, byka zaldrīzes?” he lowered his voice as he spoke into her ear. “The one that uncle Daeron brought from Oldtown?”

Your heart fluttered in delight. Aemond calling her little dragon would never not make you emotional. Witnessing the young prince embracing the bond with his daughter was a privilege few could claim.

Her lilac eyes narrowed as she pondered for a moment. “Hmm. Yes! Moonbloom,” she nodded with a proud smile.

“Moonbloom, yes,” Aemond said, bringing one finger to brush away strands of silver hair that covered her face. “He brought a few seeds that we later placed in several vases.”

She nodded eagerly, eyes never tearing away from him.

“And what happened to those seeds?”

She wiggled her legs in anticipation, visibly enjoying the enticing questions from her father that read as a game just between the two of them.

“We got a few tiny plants!” she beamed, giggling and jerking her body as Aemond tickled her.

“And then…”

She froze in place, gasping dramatically. “… then… we got flowers!”

Aemond chuckled. “Sȳrje. Very well,” he praised as he planted a soft kiss to her forehead. “That is how you came to be.”

Scrunching her nose, she narrowed her inquisitive eyes. “I came from a… vase of flowers?”

You were a mere spectator, enjoying how Aemond handled such delicate matter, not able to hold back the wide grin on your face.

“Daor. I planted a seed inside your mother,” he said as he brought his hand to your stomach. “Here.”

Your daughter turned her head, eyes landing where his hand lay. “How did I get there?”

Aemond cleared his throat, staring at you in a silent plea.

“You are handling this perfectly, lord husband,” you said, placing your fingers atop his with a smile.

“So mother is a vase of flowers?” she inquired, confusion washing over her face.

Aemond’s lips curled into a soft smile. “You could say so.”

Her eyes widened incredulously as she brought her own tiny hand to your belly in sheer fascination.

“I’m a flower?”

The endearing conclusion she had drawn, had your heart clench.

“Iksā iā rūklon,” Aemond said with a nod. “Se iā zaldrīzes.”

“Woah!” she gasped in uncontrolled excitement, shooting her eyes to yours. “I’m a flower and a dragon, muña!”

You gave her the warmest smile. “The most delicate flower and the fiercest dragon.”

She got on her knees, bouncing on the bed with newfound enthusiasm.

“When are you planting another flower in mother?” she grinned expectantly at Aemond who groaned and sank into his pillow.

.

Part II

[veintrry]

It's...still you?

wanderer dealing with reality. self-questioning, reflecting, guilt, angst no fluff, envy, emotion-based, hurt/no comfort, character analysis, mention of suicidal thoughts.

not everyone is granted the restful peace of the night

@/65gh0st on twt

It was past midnight, the dark azure sky had swallowed up the stars all at once, leaving not even a single fire to shimmer and shine. Yet, the crescent moon never succumbed to the aching darkness surrounding it.

Here stood a short man with raven hair, staring, almost glaring at the mirror, or more-so, at himself. Both his hands gripped the sides of the sink tightly, as he bit the inside of his cheek, sweat stuck to his face and forehead. He was holding back pants from the dream he had, the first dream he had his entire life.

This was the once almighty Balladeer, feared by all, and was destined for more, more than being just a harbinger, than being just a puppet. Yet, he had fallen so low.

No, such things wouldn't help. He doesn't care for such a title anymore, he's just a wanderer. He doesn't want to be tied to his past and those names. But, he loaths it. Those titles, gave him a purpose, a meaning. They told him where he stood in the food chain, what his value was. Now how would he find that out?

Nahida said one could only define themselves, the same way plants embed life into themselves the moment their seed is planted, they fester alone. But, how? Better question, why even?

What reason did he have to try, what the hell was the purpose of all this, of all this fucking trying to be better. What was he going to get in the end, where was he going to get? He was nothing. Nothing. He was pitiful.

The wanderer swallowed hard, thinking back to all his past memories of everything he had done, everything he experienced, everything he overlooked.

He turned his hand over, gazing, no, analysing, observing, his palm. It was clean, but all he saw was dirty dark red blood, dried and gross, the strong aroma of metal hitting his nose as he lets out a shaky breath. It's so dirty, so filthy. It's filthy. He's filthy. He could feel his sins crawling up his back, threatening to strangle his neck, as they linger at his nape. If they didn't do it he might end up doing it himself.

Then there's silence, in his head. And he looks back at the mirror with a look of astonishment. Whst the hell is he thinking? This had been the first time he had ever thought such a thing and ever protested against it in his mind for his own sake.

God, what good would dying do? Can he even die? What is it exactly keeping him functioning? Thoughts whirled through his mind like some carnival game, but it was more horrific than fun for him.

How am I meant to accept things and move forward, how am I expected to do so. Yes, maybe it works for others, but I'm not others! I'm not even human. I'm not human. What the hell is my being? Sure, I exist, but, I don't live like others do. What am I? What am I. Seen as a human, am a puppet. I'm nothing like a human. I never could be a human, I know this. Such damn simplistic creatures, thinking anyone that looks like them is the same. He lets out an empty laugh, and the room responds, echoing it back to him. It brings him back to reality, glancing around the room before dropping his head down.

Fuck, what am I doing? Is this what I'm gonna do, just have a fucking moment here and lose my mind over it, ha?

Truth is, he never felt that connected to his body. Yes, it belonged to him, and yes, he felt damage done to it or any touch. However it was never like him. It's more like he was a third person to everything. He saw everything that happened, and he knew his reactions and thoughts, but this body wasn't his. Maybe it was because he was a puppet. Do humans ever feel like this? ... Who cares what they feel. We're nothing alike anyways. Right? Yeah.

Silence.

He hesitantly raises his head to stare at the person in the mirror again.

He's destroying himself.

He knows he is, he's ruining himself even more than he knew he could be ruined. But he was born this way, right? Born to be heartless, to kill, to achieve what he must.

A bitter taste seeps into his mouth. And the place where his heart should be stings.

Guilt.

I wonder, what was all that killing for. That murder. All those people that died, the sounds of their cries, the weapon penetrating them. Agents dropped like, well, corpses at the strikes I sent. But they deserved it, they did. But, what about those who were in debt. If you don't want to be killed you shouldn't get yourself to such a low state! ... But, was it right for him?

No, he knew it wasn't. Still, why would he ever had to care or even consider that beforehand? He was going to be a God. He didn't have time to dilly-dally worrying about such things.

If someone knew this. If they knew he was the cause of the deaths for so many, would he be considered human. Ha, he'd have more non-believers than worshippers if he were a god.

Why did you do that? He asks the reflection. Why did you have to do that? He beckons, as the sight becomes blurry.

He knows why. He wishes he didn't that's all. He wishes he could never feel. He wished that he never felt anything once in his life so this all would've been avoided. He wishes he never was born- No. He wishes he were human. Like everyone else. Just, normal. Maybe then, he wouldn't have to bear all this.

His hands messily attempt to get rid of his tears as they pour out, hoping to stop them, but they never do. They keep going. On and on. He chuckles to himself at a thought.

Beur would likely say something stupid. Something like, "Much like life, rivers continue onward for what seems to be eternity. If you try to fight against the flow then you'll only get pushed back and drown deeper down. That's why you have to build a bridge over it, that way you'll come to accept living with it."

He clicks his tongue. He's been spending too much time around that Archon.

How long does it take,

The wanderers reflection alters to his current state, his red cheeks and nose, the shimmer in his eyes and the front of his hairs, stuck to his forehead.

How long does it take to build a bridge?

That's too much work, you know. To build a bridge, ha. Haha.

He tried to endulge in his laughter but it seems he can't deny the reality that this is the only way forward, for regressing will bring him nothing.

He pushes himself up, straightening his back. What a nuisance. He supposes he might as well learn to live a quiet life. He's already been alone for most of his life.

[judeswhore]

Omg whatever you do just try not to think about Mason being extra soft around Wren. Like obviously he's still a bit high when he gets home and all he wants is some love from his little girl.

And when they're sitting on the couch, he's putting his head in her little lap and she combs her tiny fingers through his hair. "You okay, dada?" She asks in her soft voice.

u planted this seed in my tiny little brain and now here we are

fly you to the moon - mason mount

The meds had half worn off by the time Mason’s mum brought him home, the only indication he was still a little buzzed being the lopsided smile and the unfiltered comments that came out a little muffled from the cotton in his mouth. The second he’d walked through the door Wren had been at his side, tiny arms wrapping around his legs as she buried her face in the material of his joggers.

“There’s my favourite princess. Where’s your little crown?” Mason brushed his hand over the top of her head, fingers getting lost in her hair and Wren stifled a giggle against his leg. She tilted her head back to look at him, smile identical to the one he often wore.

“You sound silly, daddy.” She told him, her chin digging into his leg and Mason answered her with a little frown and an attempt at a pout that just made Wren giggle even more. “And you look silly. Did you drink mucky beer?” Her comment had you snorting from your place leant against the doorway and you shook your head.

“Daddy had medicine while he got his teeth taken out, it made him a little loopy.” You explained as you made your way over to them, gently kissing Mason’s cheek and brushing your fingers through the soft strands of his hair.

“I’m not loopy, I just ain’t got no teeth.” Wren let out another little laugh and gave Mason’s leg a squeeze in an attempt at hugging him. A smile found its way on to his mouth and he combed his fingers through her hair again, mumbling something that you didn’t quite catch.

“Wren, baby, why don’t you take daddy to the sofa and watch a film with him? Make sure he’s all wrapped up for me, yeah?” You brushed your thumb over Wren’s cheek and then patted Mason’s arm. “Go on, I’ll be in soon.”

“Do you want to hold my hand, daddy? I won’t let you fall over.” Wren held her hand up for Mason to take and he slid his fingers through hers with a little nod, heart going fuzzy at his daughters actions even through the medication in his system. He let her lead him through to the living room, her head turning every few seconds as though to check he was still okay.

“Wren, I’m selling my teeth.” Mason told her as he flopped down on to the sofa, his head tilted back, eyes on the ceiling.

“Mummy will say you’re not allowed.” Wren was going in to full of caring mode, something she often did when you or Mason were sick in any way and she became somewhat of a mini you. Despite how small she was she’d picked up a few things and now it was her turn to play nurse, the look on her face switching between serious and amusement whenever she looked at her dad.

“We won’t tell her.” She giggled when Mason made a shushing noise and climbed up on to the sofa, little hands tugging the blanket from the back and laying it over his lap before she settled against him.

“What do you want to watch?” Mason’s body shuffled and he leant his head against her tiny shoulder, his arm curling around her so he could cuddle into her body.

“Let’s watch Moana.” Wren struggled with the remote and finding the movie, her eyebrows drawing together, tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth. Not wanting Mason to do anything but rest she crawled off the sofa, her dad whining when he felt the loss of her warmth. “Why are you leaving? I thought we were watching Moana?”

“I need mummy.” Wren had to ask you to help her put the movie on and you stood behind the sofa, fingers combing through Mason’s hair as he held the bag of frozen peas you’d brought against his cheek.

“I’m gonna clean upstairs okay? Shout if you need anything, Wren can you make sure daddy keeps those on his face?” Your daughter gave a nod and after kissing the both of the head you left them to the movie, Mason glancing between the screen and Wren.

“Can I lay on your lap? My head isn’t that heavy I promise.” He lifted his hand and held his pinky finger out to her, shaking it to get her to lock her own around it. She did so with a little giggle and then nodded her and shuffled to get comfortable, Mason grinning triumphantly and lying down across the sofa.

He settled his head on her legs, one hand still holding the bag against his cheek while Wren pulled the blanket up to his shoulders and attempted to tuck him in. She rested her hand on his arm, her little legs sticking out over the edge of the sofa and Mason teasingly tickled her ankle.

“You know what I’m gonna do, Munchkin?”

“Mummy said you shouldn’t talk a lot because it might hurt.”

“I’m not hurt, baby, but do you wanna know what I’m gonna do?”

“Okay.” Wren attempted to hold the frozen peas for him but they were too cold on her fingers and she pulled away after a few seconds. She shifted her other hand and started running her fingers through his hair in the same way she’d seen you do to him thousands of times. It was also something you both did to her when she was sick or upset and she figured in her head that it would make Mason feel a little bit better.

“I’m gonna fly you to the moon. I’m gonna buy a massive rocket and we’re gonna go to space and eat the moon cheese.” Wren wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

“But I don’t like cheese.”

“This is a different cheese, you’ll like it. And we can live there too. I’ll buy you the moon, Wren.” Mason’s voice was a little sleepy and a little more slurred but he managed a little smile up at his daughter before he shuffled again in her lap and focused on the TV.

Whenever Wren stopped, even briefly, running her fingers through his hair, Mason would pout and ask her to keep doing it, his position on the sofa comfortable enough that he’d stay there all night if he could. It had been at least half an hour since he’d spoken last other than the little whine to get her to keep playing with his hair and Wren peered down at him.

“Are you okay, dada?” She whispered, voice so soft and full of concern and the love that she reserved for Mason alone. Her little finger ran along his hairline as he nodded his head and stifled a yawn against his hand.

“I’m okay, princess. Got you taking care of me, haven’t I?”

“I’ll always take care of you.” Mason took hold of her little hand in his and pressed an attempted kiss to the back of it, the wads of cotton in his mouth making it a little hard but Wren understood the gesture anyway. So since he couldn’t kiss her, she bent her head and kissed his forehead, careful of not bumping his mouth. “I love you, daddy, I hope you get better soon.”

[wild-blue-sonder]

Although most of my fics have been put on hiatus due to me getting a job and becoming more involved with my free company in FFXIV, that doesn't mean I've neglected my writing entirely! One of my WIPs is a three-part PPG story featuring color-coded ships, beginning with Blossick. The premise was inspired by The Promised Neverland and the 2005 movie The Island (starring Scarlett Johansson and Ewan McGregor). Click the read more for a snippet of this story!

Also! I'm no longer posting new stories or updating existing stories on FFN because it sucks. All of my works are now AO3 exclusive, and you must be a user to read them. If you would like an invitation to join AO3, I'd be happy to give you one, so don't hesitate to ask!

Habitat

She lived in a twelve-by-twelve room during the formative years of her life. Her first memory was looking up at round, brightly colored things she later learned were flowers, which she was named after. They spun in a slow circle while emitting music, and she always fell asleep watching them. She recalled looking to either side of herself, finding white bars that were too close to crawl through and too high to climb. As time passed she grew taller and stronger, and one day she hoisted herself over those bars. Suddenly her cage became a lot larger, but it was still a cage with no windows and only one door she couldn’t open no matter how hard she pushed or pulled.

She read a great many books from the ages of four to six such as The Very Busy Spider, The Rainbow Fish, Stellaluna, Little Monsters, and her favorite, Chickens Aren’t the Only Ones where she learned the words oviparous and ovoviviparous from Latin ovum. She learned that as a human female, she too carried eggs, but they didn’t have hard shells. They were very small like the size of a pinhead and would exit her body on a monthly basis in a process called menstruation. Once her ovaries released all their eggs, she would experience menopause. Both words came from Greek mene, and as she had never seen the moon, her caretakers rewarded her on her seventh birthday with a light that allegedly glowed like it.

She experienced several other major events after turning seven years old. The greatest one was moving out of her small room into a new habitat. It seemed to stretch on forever but was still encompassed by four walls; however, these ones buzzed with electrical currents that made her hand go numb after a while. She had an entire dwelling to herself with a big bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen, a dining alcove, and a den with sofas and pillows for lounging or reading on. She preferred the latter, having developed a disdain for idleness. The more she read, the more her caretakers indulged her requests, such as cooking. She needed fruits, herbs, and vegetables, so they gave her tools and seeds to cultivate a garden. Once her plants had matured, an unexpected specimen was introduced to her habitat.

A boy.

He wasn’t a permanent addition, he was just visiting from elsewhere in the facility. Having only interacted with adults in positions of authority until now, she wasn’t sure how to engage someone her own age. The boy explored her habitat as she followed him in silence, observing, forming opinions. He was more impulsive than her, promptly climbing a tree when they reached the woods. “Why are you doing that?” she finally spoke.

“So I can see farther,” he answered.

“What are you looking for?”

“I just wanna see everything.” He glanced down at her with reddish-brown eyes. “There’s nothing like this in my habitat.”

Until today, she had been under the assumption that she was the sole child in the facility since the caretakers never mentioned otherwise. She must have surpassed some milestone allowing her to interact with them, which filled her with excitement. “What’s yours like?” she wondered.

The boy gazed at the lush fields, the quaint cottage, the meandering brook, and the peaceful grove. “I don’t have grass, trees, or a little house like yours. I just live in a room.”

“That sounds boring.”

~*~*~

They spent the whole day together. He taught her to climb trees and she showed him how to blow on a blade of grass to make silly noises. They splashed in the brook, picked more berries, and laid in the field as the sun started to sink beneath the glass dome overhead. A caretaker finally arrived to collect the boy. The girl walked with them toward the only exit from her habitat, stopping at a cement pad lined with red and yellow paint. If she stepped over that line, she got a warning buzz. If she touched the door, she got a nasty shock. “Hey, wait!” she called as the boy crossed the threshold, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Brick,” he replied with a grin.

“Brick.” She also smiled. “I’m Blossom.”

[dreadysficrecs]

Stucky Fic Rec List #29

Tuesday, January 25

🍓Kitchen - Hallway by AustinB - [Gen; 1,9k words]

[Canon Divergence; Friends to Lovers; Mutual Pining; Requited Unrequited Love; First Kiss; Happy Ending]

"Why don't you want to live with me?" If he wanted his space or his independence, he'd have said so before, not the infinitely more vulnerable, "I don't think it would be a good idea."

Bucky seems surprised; not in his features, but in the length of time it takes him to answer. Finally, "I can't. I wouldn't want to—to make you uncomfortable."

It hits Steve like a punch to the gut.

Wouldn't want to walk down the hall in a towel after a shower and risk Steve popping an inappropriate boner, now would we? He might spontaneously burst into big gay flames, poor soul.

🥖Too Tempting Not to Touch by @iamthe-wo-manwhocan - [Teen; 1,2k words]

[Shrunkyclunks; Retired Steve Rogers; Streaking; Meet-Cute; Height Difference; Flirting; Fluff and Humour]

Steve’s been living upstate coming up on seven years now, and he’s never once had an intruder.

Maybe he should’ve seen it coming, given how large his land is. Someone’s bound to wander through sooner or later, either lost or on a wayward hike. He just never thought that someone would be bare-ass naked.

Steve finds that living by the woods attracts some—interesting surprise visitors.

🌼 How we rolled up the carpet so we could dance by @rohkeutta, art by @sulasaferoom - [Explicit; 7,8k words]

[Canon Divergence; Established Relationship; Canon-Typical Violence; Porn With Feelings; Protective Steve Rogers; Bucky Barnes as Captain America; Bucky Barnes Feels; Hurt/Comfort; Angst; Body Worship; Rimming; Anal Sex; Bottom!Bucky; Cuddling & Snuggling]

Steve’s already showered and changed into sweats and a tank top, his hair still sticking up in cowlicks. When Bucky drags himself to the couch, still in his uniform with soot on his face, Steve takes one look at him in the soft glow of the living room lamp and opens his arms.

Bucky drops the shield on the floor and crawls over Steve’s legs to collapse on top of him, tucks his face under Steve’s chin and exhales. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

🌙 Over the Moon by NeverAndAlways - [Mature; 3,3k words]

[Canon Divergence; Established Relationship; Mpreg; Trans Bucky Barnes; Pregnant Bucky Barnes; Graphic Childbirth; Protective Steve Rogers]

Exactly what it says in the tags.

💫 Lessons in Falling by lillupon - [Mature; 28,3k words]

[Modern AU; Sports AU; Olympics; Friends to Lovers; Slow Burn; Pining; Fluff and Smut; Hurt/Comfort; Insecure Bucky Barnes; Protective Steve Rogers; Resolved Sexual Tension; Eventual Smut; Happy Ending]

Bucky is a diver stuck in a rut. His synchro partner treats him like a deadweight and his coach keeps threatening to cut him from the team. After his spectacular failure in the FINA World Diving Championships, he’s ready to take a break from the sport. And then he meets Steve, a brilliant newcomer to the competitive diving scene in search of a synchro partner.

🍅 a friend with seed is a friend indeed by @rohkeutta - [Explicit; 1,7k words]

[Canon Divergence; Established Relationship; Gardens & Gardening; Fluff and Humour; Explicit Sexual Content; Bottom!Bucky; Bad Jokes; Dorks in Love]

Steve’s trying to go for a run. He really is.

But Bucky’s sorting his planting paraphernalia at the dining table, his coffee half-forgotten near his elbow: empty food cartons he’s washed and collected carefully for months to wait for the right time, the flat little bags of seed with overly saturated photos of vegetables and flowers printed on them.

🌞 Not Bad (for the End of the World) by relenafanel - [Teen; 2,4k words]

[Canon Divergence; Friends to Lovers; Wakanda; Recovering Bucky; Attraction; Feelings Realisation; First Kiss]

[the more I look at the stucky Infinity War hug the more it exudes this raw BFFs who are a little nervous around each other now because they’re weirdly into each other’s new looks mood]

Bucky comes in from a day of work to get ready for an impending war, blow-dries his hair, has a small crisis over his nascent attraction for Steve. Just usual Bucky Barnes things.

🌶️ Good morning by Trans-bucky - [Explicit; 4,5k words]

[Modern AU; Established Relationship; PWP; Age Difference; Sugar Daddy Steve; Daddy Kink; Dom/Sub Undertones; Blow Jobs; Face-Fucking; Anal Fingering; Anal Sex; Bottom!Bucky; Orgasm Control; Begging]

Steve turned in his arms, reaching up with one of his large hands to grab the back of Bucky’s head, his hair pulled tight in his fingers. Bucky instantly felt like his legs had turned to jelly. He let out a little whimpering sound, which only made Steve tighten his grip.

🥂come on, just do it (do it til it feels alright) by @kickflaw - [Explicit; 6,1k words]

[Modern AU; Established Relationship; Secret Relationship; CEO Steve Rogers; Intern Bucky Barnes; Silver Fox Steve Rogers; Holiday Party; Age Difference; Power Dynamics; Semi-Public Sex; Possessive Behaviour; Jealousy; Dom/Sub Undertones; Blow Jobs; Dirty Talk; Facials; Come Marking; Implied Bottom!Bucky]

Jesus, anyone could decide to walk in at any moment. Anyone could open those doors and there wouldn't be enough time for he and Steve to separate. They'd be discovered, necking like teenagers, all intertwined disarray, violating at least a dozen human resources codes and regulations.

Bucky didn't care.

He wanted to grind against Steve's hard, huge dick until he came. He wanted to drop to his knees and mouth at Steve's cock through his bespoke Burberry slacks. He wanted Steve's rough palms all over him, and if he couldn't stay quiet, Steve would just have to make him.

[daily-escuella]

God You're Disgusting - Micah Bell - NSFW Short

Micah x f!Reader

In honor of @kitty-the-outlaw's Micah Fucks Monday I have something VERY different for you o.o

I've never written smut before so I chose a character/scenario that was not very tender so I wouldn't get too shy writing it but I'm so extremely nervous to post it haha Inspired by Micah when he says "I'm always likely to despise them more afterwards."

((Thank you @ttuesday for your help proof reading this! <3))

Word count: 1970

Second warning this is !!!NSFW!!! please only read if you're comfortable with that and 18+

Kinks/warnings: Degradation, disrespect, little bit of dom/sub, orgasm denial, dirty talk/name calling

You stood in the dark at the usual place, resting casually against a large tree. Nothing but the half moon and the cherry of your cigarette to light the night air in front of you. Your heart skipped when you heard approaching footsteps and the rustling of a large leafed plant being pushed aside, but you kept your face neutral, gaze distant.

A low chuckle sounded to your right as the man you’d been waiting for arrived at your meeting place.

“I knew I’d find you here again,” he groaned softly, a slight mocking tone to his voice. You hadn’t missed a meeting since the first time you’d made this mistake with him. You couldn’t help but scrunch your nose at his comment.

“Shut up.”

“Gladly.” He replied as he snatched the cigarette from your hand and took a long drag on it. You glared at him, looking over at the man for the first time. He hadn’t even washed his hair, it looked stringy from grease and sweat, even in the night. You let out a sound of disgust as he blew the smoke out towards you, flicking the mostly finished butt to the ground.

You both hated each other. You hated each other just a little more after your secret meetings in the woods. He was a disrespectful, slimy rat.

He knew it too.

But you were the woman who kept coming back for more.

Micah closed the gap between you, roughly taking your waist and pulling you against him. Even through the material of your skirt you could feel he was hard. You felt a throb in your center as you couldn’t help but grind against him slightly. He leaned in to smell your hair, sighing in a way that made your skin crawl.

“Kiss me.” You demanded. He obliged willingly, holding you firmly around the waist with one arm, taking your face in his free hand and meeting your lips. His mustache itched your face, you never liked the feeling. He pushed the kiss deeper, the taste of the cigarette not masking his usual flavour. You groaned against him as he swiped his tongue hungrily over yours. “God, you’re disgusting,” you breathed when he finally pulled himself away. He laughed in response before moving to kiss your neck. That damn mustache. You pulled his head roughly against you and he found a spot to bite down on. You couldn’t help but gasp.

“You’re so dirty…” he groaned as he cupped your ass, pushing your shoulders back against the tree you’d previously leaned on. “My dirty whore,” he groaned between rough kisses down to the nape of your neck.

“Fuck you,” you replied, the sneer audible in your voice despite your breath getting heavier at his touch.

“Mmm hmm hmm,” he chuckled against your skin, “maybe you’re right, you’re not a whore,” he planted more kisses along your neck until he was standing upright again to look in your eyes, “you won’t let me pay you.”

You slapped him.

His eyes were wide as he registered what you’d done before a lusty smile took over his face. “Bad girl,” he chastised before grabbing your throat, pushing you back and kissing you deeply once more. You couldn’t have fought him off if you wanted to, he was surprisingly strong. Instead you grabbed the back of his head again and pulled him in hard kissing him back just as deeply, drool escaping the corner of where your mouths connected. You bit his lower lip as he tried to pull away and he growled in reply, moving down to your neck again to plant more rough kisses and bites. Keeping one hand on your ass, he reached up to cup a breast, groaning at its softness in his hand. You knew he hardly deserved to enjoy your body like this, but feeling degraded by him ignited a feeling in you like nothing else had.

“Fuck me already you snake,” You hissed as he left another mark on your collarbone.

“With pleasure,” he laughed, turning you around and pressing your chest against the tree. He unceremoniously flipped your skirt up and you moaned in twisted lust at his disrespect. Normally he’d enter you immediately, but this time he took a moment to admire your body in the moonlight. He let out a soft groan as he peeled back your undergarments, exposing your sweet sex to the night air. For the first time ever he lowered to his knees and swiped his tongue along the slit. You gasped at the unfamiliar sensation.

“What the hell are you doing back there?” You questioned apprehensively, though you tried to sound pissed off.

“Ain’t I allowed to admire how wet I make you?” he replied lewdly, taking another pass with his tongue at you. You shivered at the feeling, all at once turned on more and disgusted with yourself for loving it. He paused his work briefly as you heard the sound of his trousers opening. You expected him to stand and enter you finally but instead he pressed his mouth back to your center, kissing it hungrily as you heard what sounded like him touching himself. A wave of pleasure coursed through you at the sounds of him moaning against you, enjoying your body for the first time as more than just a hole to dump his seed.

Your body tensed as the pressure of your high built, your breath quickened and your hips pushed back against him involuntarily as he worked relentlessly with his mouth. Suddenly as your pleasure nearly peeked he pulled away from you. The cold air hit immediately and you moaned remorsefully at the absence of his touch. “No…” you groaned helplessly.

“What’s gotten into you?” He asked mockingly, swiping a finger along your slit, chuckling at your hips bucking reflexively.

“I could ask you the s-” you gasped at his touch again before continuing, “-same. Take me already you bastard.”

Instead of doing what you’d asked, he slipped two of his fingers inside you and pressed his mouth to your clit, licking and sucking it mercilessly. You stopped yourself from crying out by chomping down on the back of your hand though that did nothing to stop the torrent of needy moans he drew from you. It took only moments for your high to build back up, your hips bucked against his hand as the pressure grew again. You could feel yourself involuntarily gripping his fingers with your internal muscles when he withdrew them, once more pulling away from you with a dark chuckle at your cry of distress.

“What the fuck?” you cried incredulously. He laughed in reply which made your chest burn with anger. “Why won’t you just fuck me already? I have things to do!” You lied, frustrated, but he knew there was nothing left at camp to finish.

“I love watchin’ you squirm for me,” He breathed, swiping his fingers along your wet slit before pressing them into you once again, chuckling triumphantly when you groaned needily.

He’d found a new way to torment you and he was loving it. You knew you could walk away, finish yourself off alone, end the suffering you felt deep in your core, but you craved him. You knew it wouldn’t be the same without him buried to the hilt inside you. Finally you were reduced to degrading yourself further by begging for him. “Please Micah…” you gasped softly as he stroked that perfect place inside you, pulling another involuntary sound out of you. You could hear the smile on his face as he groaned hornily in reply.

“What did you say?” He asked innocently, suddenly stroking that sensitive place harder in a circular motion.

Your eyes flew open at the intense pressure from his fingers, your mouth hung open uselessly, breath caught in your throat as you endured the pleasure. When he finally relented you felt yourself throbbing around his fingers, you ached for more. Needing a second to catch your breath, you whispered, “Please Micah, please fuck me.”

He sighed in a satisfied way as he withdrew his fingers and stood. He put his hand, shiny with your wetness, in front of your face. “Be a doll and clean me off.” He demanded, looking down at you with a devilish glint in his eye. You hesitated for a second, looking between him and his hand before obeying, taking his fingers into your mouth. You were slightly relieved it tasted good, though he didn’t deserve it. Chuckling darkly as you complied with his lewd request, he pressed the tip of his cock gently against your opening. You couldn’t help but be immensely turned on by it all. He was such a filthy, horrible man. He groaned as he took his hand back and rested it on the side of your ass, admiring the view. Even in the dim light of the moon he could see it all clearly. He rocked the tip slowly against your opening, pulling just far enough away when you tried to push back on him.

“Ah ah ah,” he chastised. “Now, what were you sayin’ earlier?”

You scoffed. Gritting your teeth, you mumbled, “Please.”

He withdrew his cock entirely from you, the absence of its warmth leaving you feeling gutted. “Nicer than that.”

You whimpered before relenting softer, “Please, Micah... please…”

“Good girl,” he cooed before thrusting himself to the hilt inside you. You cried out as he groaned deeply. He stayed mostly still, only gently grinding himself deeper as he mercifully gave you a chance to adjust. As slicked as you were, he was thick. Though you’d never admit it to him, the way he stretched you out felt very good. After a pause he began to move, pulling almost entirely out and slamming back in a few times before finding a generous pace that worked well for both of you. You felt yourself throb around him as you listened to his involuntary moans. He was loving the way you squeezed his every inch. “Reach your hand back and pleasure yourself.” He demanded through groans. You obliged, moving the fabric of your skirt aside and rubbing your sensitive nub as he continued to thrust relentlessly. The angle you were at from reaching back made it so he was striking the perfect place inside of you.

It didn’t take more than a minute to feel yourself getting desperately close to your high again. As the pressure built to the brink of no return he finally let it come over you, pressing his hips firmly against yours, achieving his own release simultaneously. He gasped and panted as you felt him throbbing inside you, unloading everything he had as deeply as he could. Your muscles tensed as you choked out a sob of pleasure, gripping tightly around him, milking him for all he was worth.

As you both came down from your highs he slumped his body over yours briefly, reaching a tired hand up to your arm to caress you gently. You let it happen for a minute before saying with false impatience, “alright get off of me already.”

He chuckled softly as he regained his posture, pushing into you once more with his slowly softening member, drawing a final gasp from your lips before pulling away, leaving you a dripping mess as his fluid leaked lazily out. You’d clean yourself up later, for now you just pulled your bloomers up and fixed your skirt back in place as Micah tucked himself away again and fastened his trousers.

You pulled out a new cigarette and lit it to get the taste of him out of your mouth. He sniffed satisfied and looked back saying with a laugh, “Same time next week?”

“Fuck you.” you replied, flicking the burnt match to the ground with a smirk.

[my2phetaliaheadcanons]

Ju’Lost: Sea

White frothy waves rocked the small, wooden, lifeboat. Their gentle crashes were in time with the shallow breathing of the sun burned, straw berry blond man in the middle.

Oliver lied under the thin shade provided by a low hanging piece of yellowing canvas. His normally vibrant blue and pink eyes were hazy and dim as they stared at the side of the boat in front of them. The consistent motion had long gone from comforting to sickening. The brown, glass jug next to him had run out of water two days ago.

Slowly Oliver blinked, his mind fuzzy as the day’s heated fury turned into the night’s icy loneliness. The cool sea breeze felt nice as he stiffly crawled to the splintered side.

Huffing, he leaned heavily against it. Oliver’s burned skin painfully crinkled as he sullenly gazed at the moon’s silverly glow.

Its stillness reminded him of that cursed Spaniard’s stoicism. The normally cheery Oliver now growled as his mind’s twisted eye replayed the moment of mutiny.

Armando Fernández Carriedo, a Spanish nation marred by his own bloody conquests, had set his umber eyes on Oliver’s ship.

The first mate had found Armando hidden among the dark rum bottles. A drunken smile on Armando’s chapped lips as the muscled man was dragged out like a rotten stray. He had no shame as he insulted Oliver in front of his men. The rank of alcohol filled the air like a smoke cloud as his mouth continued to spew its filth.

Oliver remembered with satisfaction when he slapped the drunken idiot. Temporary stunning everyone into silence as he spoke down to the drunk.

“The brig would do nicely,” Oliver smiled at his first mate. “Don’t you think?”

Nodding, the first mate past the orders. At the memory, Oliver grimaced, he never should have let his crew near that bloody dog.

The dark hours in the wet, brig was all that Armando needed to plant his devilish seeds. Each crew member that came to feed him were greeted, questioned, and discussed with. The vines of doubt grew quick as the men spread gossip like a ink filled kiss, twisting their captain into a cotton candy leviathan. 

Their minds ran rampent with questions. Were they the next one to be eaten? Would they be sacrificed for in the next raid? Or would Oliver make an example out of them.

The pressure became to much when Oliver punished a man for questioning his authority. The crew watched in silent horror as the man was carved like a cooked chicken, organs falling on to the wooden deck like seagull droppings. The carcass itself was soon dragged by Oliver to his cabin, to never be seen again. All the while, his large smile remained.

His first mate, lead the rebellion. Digging the cell key from his pocket freed Armando, begged him to free the crew from Oliver. Punish him the way God had intended.

Armando smirked, “Get me my Ax and saber, and then I’ll grant your wish.”

They obliged quickly, returning the deadly blades to their wielder. Shivering, Armando took a deep breath and shouted.

“LET’S SEND THE TWISTED BEAST TO THE WORLD’S END!”

The angry chorus agreed and charged to the Oliver’s quarters. He fought back, wounding and killing many. Yet more came, they pilled on Oliver, forcing him down.

He thrashed like an angry gator, teeth gnashing for some flesh to grab.

“Well, well, look at how the tables have turn amigo.”

Blue snapped to meet brown.

“You, snake!”

Armando cackled, “Drop him in a lifeboat. The sea will sort him out.”

The men dragged Oliver, his thrashing returned, ancient curses spewing from his lips, damning the crew to failure and death, the closer they came to the boat.

They grunted,Oliver had been thrown in and boat dropped before he could recover.

He gasped as he collided with the rough bench when the boat disturbed the ocean.

His ribs burned as he struggled to catch his breath. Vomit burned as it climbed his throat. In his dizzy state he attempted to stand, when a loud bang from above turned his world black.

When Oliver awoke, he was covered in blood and alone, lost in the wave. Anger beating in his mind like a dark tropical storm.

[cuebooks]

A Night of the Lonely

Main Character: Alastair Carstairs

Series: No, but two parts separated by: {}{}{}{}{}

Word count: 2,542

Reading time: 3-5 minutes

Any questions? Ask them in a reblog or in the comments and I’ll happily answer them

Hope you enjoy!

The cold winds caused Alastair’s skin to prickle and flush red with the bitter temperatures. He had taken these roads every night for the past week to find his father in the rundown bar. Sipping whatever drink infatuated him that night.

Alastair wanted to head home and see if Elias could make it alone. If he could survive in this cold without Alastair. But Cordelia was tucked in her bed. Her soft snores echoing from her bedroom to his ears. He and Sona had finally read her to sleep, getting her just calm enough to slip into it. She was waiting for Elias. So was Maman. They wanted to see him in the morning.

So he continued on. Letting his cheeks get whipped by the winds. His hands shivering in the pockets of his maroon coat. His favorite coat that Cordelia picked out for him. It showed off his complexion and his beautiful eyes, his Maman had said. He always wore it during these treks to remind himself that someone cared for him. It was his armor against his father.

He walked into the rundown bar, a mix of discolored woods, a lively hearth, and soft chattering from the small crowd filling it. He looked up to the bartender that was maybe a foot or more taller than him. Her hair tied back into a plait allowed him to see her face. “He’s over there, Alastair. Be careful; he’s had more than usual tonight. I took the last drink away from him, and he….”

“It’s okay. Thank you, Anira. How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing.”

Alastair stared up at her. Her features soft and shaded from the light of the flames. “I can pay, I promise. Besides, I don’t want you to get in trouble again.”

The look in her eyes told him she wasn’t going to say anything, so instead, he handed her a few bills that were more than enough. “Plus tip.” He grinned, showing his missing tooth on the left side of his mouth. He had lost it two days before, an achievement that made him proud; his mother smile, and Cordelia gag. She only offered a smile and said thank you.

As she walked away, he heard her mumble something along the lines of ‘he shouldn’t have to.’ He didn’t ask for her to repeat it. He’d heard it before. He knew he shouldn’t have to fill a role other than big brother and child, but he did. What was he supposed to do? Let his mother and sister handle Elias? No. At least it only hurt him. At least he could protect someone.

He found his father on the same stool as yesterday. His hair a mess, and his jacket off, strewn somewhere. His beard had started to grow back, and Alastair made a mental note to help him shave later.

His feet made small sounds against the wood, his weight not enough to make much noise. He placed a hand on his father’s, and Elias looked at him and smiled. “Esfandiyār!” He slurred, and Alastair wanted to step back. But he didn’t. Maman and Cordelia, he repeated in his head. He did this for them. For their happiness. Besides, Elias wasn’t as bad as he could have been. He seemed happier than he had earlier in the day.

“Come on. I want you to read me a bedtime story. Like you used to.” His voice was soft and warm, mimicking the way his mother spoke when she was reading them bedtime stories or in her children’s blanket forts.

“You’re old enough to read on your own. Let me finish this.” Elias said, staring into the bottom of his glass filled with a tinted brown liquid.

“Cordelia wants you to read to her.” Alastair tried again; usually, her name helped catch his attention more than his own. He didn’t know if it was because she was younger, his little daughter with her bright smile, or if he favored her. Maybe it was simply because she wasn’t the child in front of him. Elias set down the glass at her name, and turned— falling off his stool— and headed for the door. Alastair righted the stool, thanked the bartender, and left. His short legs falling behind.

Elias started to wander down the street aimlessly as if he didn’t know where he had come from. “This way,” Alastair waved him over, and Elias straightened his back. The cold wind righting him. Or alerting him. “Did you know brother Zachariah has a meeting in town soon? I could summon him if…” Elias only gave him a disapproving glare. Elias did everything to keep Alastair and Cordelia away from Jem. Maybe because he had left Jem. Maybe Jem— Zachariah, Alastair corrected himself, knew that their father wasn’t alright.

Elias told Alastair stories about the silent brothers— how they crept into your mind and tore into you and corrupted your sanity. Alastair knew it wasn’t true, but the seeds had already been planted, and the vines only continued to grow. But still, Zachariah was family. Alastair always asked the angel to protect him when he heard of his travels. He recalled the kind stories he heard of him, hoping one day to carry the Carstairs name half as well as he did. Kindness, open-mindedness, and honesty, he thought. That’s what makes Zachariah amazing, along with his never-ending love and strength. Never-ending love Alastair remembered. Love the man in front of me.

So with love in his fragile heart, he slowed down and held his father’s hand. “I don’t need your help. I can make it home just fine. I’m not you,” Elias grumbled and pulled his hand away from Alastair’s, and stalked ahead down the wrong street.

Another piece of his heart broke off. He wondered how many were left. How much more could his father break his heart?

Alastair looked at his father ahead, “I only wanted to hold your hand,” he whispered. The cold wind whistling over his quiet words.

The door unlocked, and Alastair held it open for his father.

Elias walked in and stumbled a bit to a table pressed against a foyer wall, but it was barely noticeable if it hadn’t been Alastair who was watching. His father was good at hiding when he drank too much; of course, he always pushed his own limits. But Alastair knew him too well. Watched it happen too often. He had to. It’s how he knew when to pull Cordelia and Maman from him and distracted them when Elias went too far. Like always, he fixed himself a drink, and Alastair went to fetch water to refill the liquor that had been poured.

The only footfall was from Alastair’s tiny feet. He couldn’t hide their sound. He was too tired, too— he should have been in bed hours ago.

He went to the couch and found his father asleep. Snoring softly like Cordelia did. He smiled a little at the reminder that Elias was a father to Cordelia; people could tell— she looked like him and Maman. Alastair had always been happy he garnered his looks from his mother’s side— at least, that’s what Maman had always said.

Alastair slowly moved to sit on the floor by his father’s hand and pried the glass from his grip, and returned the glass to the table. He took the water he collected and poured it into the alcohol bottle along with the remaining liquor from the short glass. Filling the bottle so no one would notice the sunken level.

Alastair pulled a blanket from the closet and carried it to the couch, laying it on the floor and pulling Elias off the couch carefully. A small thud of his father’s body to the blanket made Alastair look around to make sure Cordelia hadn’t woken up. He pulled the corners of the blanket off the floor and tugged. Tugged the blanket into the guest room, through the halls, and past the stairs.

Alastair eventually got him on the bed. The covers pulled to his father’s feet.

Alastair had finally untied his father’s shoes and placed them under the bed. Undoing his shirt next, spraying a scent to cover up the sour smell his father radiated from the night before. Alastair knew you didn’t smell drunk until the next day when you started to sweat it out. He sighed— he hated that he knew that.

He changed Elias’s pants next. His mother hated when people slept in items that had been worn outside to bed— the distinct smell of dirt, she passed the disdain onto Alastair.

He set down a glass bowl filled with water. And slowly grabbed a razor and shaving soap. Dabbing Elias’s face with a washcloth wet with warm water. Elias only groaned.

Alastair gently lathered the soap onto his face. Shaving where his father preferred. Gentle and with the grain. Never nicked or cut. Perfect like it had to be. And wiped the rest off with the cloth.

Alastair’s hands were tired as he shakily poured the water out as he was tired and barely tall enough to see over the counter to the bathroom sink.

He reset the bowl under the sink—the razor on the side of it, next to the shaving soap.

When he returned to the bedroom he placed the covers over his father. “Night, baba. Sleep well and have only good dreams.” He crawled back off the bed, careful to close the door behind him quietly. He left the water on the nightstand and moved back to the couch. He picked up the bottle of alcohol and placed it back where it belonged. The sun hadn’t started to rise, but as he moved to the steps, he saw the moon passed halfway across the sky. He wished there was a rune to transport him instantly to his room, under his soft blankets.

The stairs were quiet underfoot. But something stopped him in the halls— Cordelia.

Cordelia stepped out from her door and looked at Alastair.

“Layla? What’s wrong?” He asked, moving beside her.

“I’m thirsty, Ali.” She whimpered as she rubbed her eyes. Her hair was falling out of the braid their mother had styled.

“Come on, Layla.” He offered her his hands, and she jumped to him, giggling lightly as he picked her up. Her small frame was easy to hold for him. As he walked to her bed, she asked him, “may we play ‘save the castle’ tomorrow? You always play a great knight. Always so protective and kind.” She giggled as she struggled to say the words coherently at her young age. Their mother taught them big words, working with their speech every day like she had when she learned English. She was determined to make them perfectly fluent in Farsi and English, among a few other languages.

Alastair tucked her back in. “I’ll get you some water, and of course, we can play ‘save the castle’ tomorrow, but you have to sleep.” She nodded softly as she recrawled under her sheets and smiled at him. He slipped out of her room, saying he’d be right back.

He didn’t want to make her wait, so he went to his room, where he had a few glasses of water for Layla. She always did this. Sometimes knocking on his door for help. His hair was a darker red than hers for now. He knew it would turn black soon, and he was excited about it. He would look more like his mother and his mother’s parents— something his mother told him to be proud about. He hoped he would always be proud to be Persian.

He placed the glass on the nightstand. “There you go, Layla, be careful; it’s only a glass. There is no lid.” She smiled at him and grabbed the glass. She was slowly drinking the water. Then carefully placed it back.

“Thank you, dadash.” She cuddled back under her blankets, and he kissed her forehead like their mother always did. He sang her a short lullaby in Farsi. His voice carrying around the room, and her eyelids became heavy.

“Sleep tight, Layla.” He let go of her hand.

“Sleep tight, Ali!” She whispered.

He closed her door again and passed his mother’s a few doors down, and checked on her. Her deep sleep let his heart settle a bit more. And he moved on to a dark room, where he lit a candle. His father’s study. He opened a book and looked at the latest news of silent brothers. His father had some connections, and Alastair had written to them and asked about Zachariah. He knew if his father found out, he’d threaten to kill Jem, but Alastair couldn’t help it. Jem was a Carstairs. He was family. He read over the latest news. Jem had just gone off to London again for William Herondale, claiming that Gabriel had demon pox. He shook his head and laughed softly.

Mr. Herondale had the dedication he had to admit. But Jem had made it there, safe. He smiled, happy Jem was okay. He put the book away and pulled out another piece of paper— to write a letter to Mr. Herondale. Asking, just like his father would have, when Cordelia could see Lucie again. Cordelia missed her and Lucie’s family. Alastair had to admit he missed them too. He always laughed and felt happy in London. Not the place but the people that surrounded him. He admitted that he also liked how the Herondales and Mrs. Gray were buffers between his father and his family. Cordelia had been asking, and he could tell Maman wanted to get out of the city. So he wrote. Over and over— perfecting his handwriting, his diction, his grammar. Making everything perfect.

He placed it in an envelope and left it for Raisa. She would send it off in the morning. He scrambled off the chair. Lowering his feet off one at a time since they couldn’t reach the floor while sitting yet.

After doing some of his father’s work, he left the office, and the sun had started to rise. He huffed softly and frowned but shook his head and moved toward his room. He could get a few hours before he had to wake up and help Raisa get breakfast ready.

Maybe tomorrow, his heart will heal, and his father will help put it back together��� not destroy it. But he knew better than to give himself false hope. He knew better than to trust the man that was weak. That had put the weight of the family on Alastair’s shoulders instead of holding it himself.

He pulled the covers over himself. His maman, sister, and father were all tucked away by him, and yet he sat in the dark room. Alone. No light. Wishing for hope.

But he knew better.

Just one more day, he said. Like he had for the past several months.

The shadowhunter academy, he thought. Just make it there, and you’ll be okay, he whispered into the dark.

He hummed himself a lullaby his mother taught him, and when he finished, he drifted off to sleep. His tired bones and aching heart settling into the mattress. Accepting the dark.

Tag List: @itsjusta-j-really @magigingercal @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1

(Let me know if you want to be added or taken off, please)

[riddlecrux]

Rosehall

Day 1 of Elriel Month is here! Summary: He knew that Rhysand's orders weren't fickle nor laced with lies, yet he couldn't phantom how his brother turned on him. How he, of all the people, couldn't understand how badly he wanted to be happy.

You can also read it on ao3!

They didn't talk.

No shy glances, no accidental touches while passing each other through the corridor, no warm smiles behind the rim of a wine glass. Even the silence in which he was sitting was unbearable, so different than the one that carried comfort and jasmine scent that always made him content, whole, at ease. Now, sitting alone on the fine chair in the House of Wind he was barely breathing. He was suffocating with loneliness, heavier than the one that crawled through his bones in that dark cell from his childhood. A real pain exploded behind his closed eyelids.

The night air pricked on his face as he tried not to think, not to feel. It was as if the gaping hole in his chest was a thing of his own shadows - swirling inside, eating him out and leaving only shreds of his broken emotions. He tried. He tried so desperately not to fall for her. For yet another unattainable person that was next to him just to mock his misfortune. It was something completely wrong. How one can take so many failures and still delude himself that maybe this time the ending would be different.

He was such a damned fool.

Azriel opened his eyes as a sharp pang in his chest enveloped him in another wave of utter bitterness and helplessness. The thing with Elain was something he hadn't expected - she came into his life wielding a fork and suddenly he could see clearer than ever before in his life. How sun caught in her golden-brown hair and how the freckles on her left cheek created a small triangle. And the way all that loveliness faded away when she was stripped of her own free will - and how he failed her at that moment. The arrow to his chest didn't hurt as much as her screams. The terror of them was still haunting him during long nights of insomnia and half slept nights.

And there was that companionship they formed. Based on silence and gardens. Teas full of leaves and sticky fruit floating on its surface. Elain always preferred her to drink sweet, even if her nose scrunched each time she sipped from a porcelain teacup - pale pinky held in the air as if she was still a lady in a room full of liars and men trying to woo her. Maybe during those moments of tranquility between them, he started to appreciate her gentleness even more.

Their meetings slowly but surely transformed into nights full of sleeplessness and sore throats - silence turned into constant chatter about everything and nothing. The first time he heard her giggle his world turned upside down. In that particular moment she was all he saw, in all her golden glory and chocolate smear on her chin - so warm and bright, so out of his reach. A secret. His secret, a memory to be locked inside his mind's labyrinth.

Sometimes he wished that both of them stopped before they had even begun their… relationship. Because maybe if he possessed more self strength and if he was less selfish, he would have protested when Elain touched his hand while they were resting in the garden. Or when he caressed her cheek while trying to get rid of the soil splattered there. Whenever they touched Azriel felt as if he was healing. These small palms that traced ridiculous figures on his scarred hands brought him comfort no one else did. A touch so tender that he wanted to break in halves only for her to mend him again. She was nothing like him and at the same time so familiar, so understanding. When she looked at him with her brown eyes full of terrors and beauty, he knew that she could see his soul. Every ugly part of him. And she never averted her stare, never flinched from his touch - she wholeheartedly accepted him.

Sighing out loud his wings twitched behind him when his eyes darkened once again. He knew that Rhysand's orders weren't fickle nor laced with lies, yet he couldn't phantom how his brother turned on him. How he, of all the people, couldn't understand how badly he wanted to be happy.

"Long night?" He snapped his neck at the voice and inwardly relaxed seeing cold silver eyes staring at him without fear.

"I suppose so," shrugging his shoulders he turned back toward the city, one hand still on the glass of strong alcohol he was pouring into himself for hours. A screech of a moving chair resonated next to him and with a slow exhale he sipped his drink.

"Not the fire this time," Nesta huffed and he saw in his peripheral vision that she poured herself a decent shot as well. "Both of you are the same," a small smile ghosted on her lips before she drank the brownish liquid in one go.

"Me and who?" He knew playing stupid wouldn't work on her but he was so tired. He had already lost, so Nesta seeing him at his worst would be nothing in comparison to the thunder inside his mind. The oldest Archeron sister let out a dry chuckle which indicated that she was aware of his silly attempt of deflection.

"Elain," her name awakened something inside him. Like a golden tether holding him upwards, longing after the female that brought up such emotions from him. "She used to glow these days, you know," he saw her playing with the rim of the goblet. Long finger stopping suddenly as if the glass burned her. "I know what happiness looks on her, and whenever both of you interacted or spent time together she was always… so bright. So alive," his heart thumped a few times before it gave him a painful tug. "The moment you saved her life was the first time I had wished that you were her mate," the wound opened again, a small sound escaped his mouth before he slumped forward. "But fate isn't so merciful. Yet, Elain made her own way in this life. I saw how she escaped that empty shell she used to be and how she learned to breathe again… with you ," Azriel wanted her to stop. To let go of this torment she was exposing him to.

"I can't listen to this," he stood up, his wings stretching to its whole span. "You know it's impossible," his bitter laugh echoed in the interior. "We both know that it doesn't matter if I have feelings for her," he was ready to fly away when Nesta's hand caught his elbow. Silver eyes shone in the darkness of the night with ancient power.

"It's her choice," she whispered. "She doesn't want her mate, she has never wanted that bond," her grip loosened for a bit and he was tempted to run away but her expression held him in one place. "But she wants you. She chose you. And you know it because I saw how you look at her, how both of you glance at each other," she pinched him when he was composing himself from snapping at her. "Ask her. Ask her about what she wants. Take her to the place where it's just both of you, so no one can interfere," her nod was final and with it, she slowly turned around and vanished upstairs. His jaw hurt from the force he was clenching his teeth. Nesta's words were a poison that circulated through his bloodstream.

Could he have that conversation?

Could they possibly be together?

The night air was cold against his burning skin when he shot up in the sky, wings outstretched and tense.

*

He landed on her balcony.

The beige curtains were dancing in the air, metal dreamcatcher swaying on the wisps with a soft melody. There were plants and flowers scattered around the balustrade and his shadows skittered around them, leaping into petals and leaves before returning to his form. He stopped beside the wooden table to see half-finished tea and some papers - a few of them with drawings of different gardens, trees, and notes about the seeds. However, what caught his attention was a stash of papers with Elain's handwriting. All of them were thrown around the surface with drops of tea marking some of them. There were letters forming sentences, he could pinpoint some of them, ones that weren't completely crossed out in the pale moonlight. He was about to touch one scroll with his name on it when his shadows whirled around him with a soft warning.

"Spying on me?" The sweet scent of jasmine and honey embraced his person as his hazel eyes blinked at the sight in front of him. Elain was in a white nightgown, tiny ribbons on her freckled shoulders were something he didn't know he needed to see in his life. Her loose hair was curling at its edges as the tresses touched her middle. She was watching him, big brown eyes stoic and unnerving.

"No," he breathed and her smell attacked his senses, driving him crazy. She crossed her arms under her breasts and padded towards him. Her feet stopped next to him and with a lazy movement, she gathered her papers without glancing at him. He could see her nape, soft and pale and so inviting as she leaned across the table. His fingers curled into fists when her presence burned his self-resilience.

"Do you need me for something?" She inquired letters in her grip and a slight frown on her perfect face.

"Actually," his shoulder tensed when she shot him a questioning glance. "Yes, I need you," he left it there. A pause and weight of his words, waiting for the judgment and perhaps hatred. But it never came as Elain silently turned to him, her lips parted and a soundless sigh ghosting in the air between them. She peered at him, irises wide and somewhat gentle before she touched his biceps and he was ready to be undone.

"We should talk," her breath tickled his skin as he nodded without thinking twice. "Here?" Her question woke him up and trying not to scare her, he offered his scarred palm while stretching out his wings.

"There's a place I want to show you," his words echoed in the dead of night and as her small fingers wrapped around his hand he could finally breathe again.

*

When they arrived the moon was high in the sky, its light reflecting on the waters of a marble fountain in front of the manor. He exhaled letting Elain down as she politely exchanged her thanks. She pried her hair from the face and with newfound excitement, she whirled around facing him with a bright smile.

"I dreamed about this place," her voice was warm and all he wanted was to touch her to make sure she was standing there under the moonlight. "The gardens were something I have wanted to see," she pointed a finger in the direction of a greenhouse and a patch of flowers and vines.

"Dream or a vision?" He knew he shouldn't test his luck, yet deep down inside he felt as if he had already known the answer. As if it was imprinted inside his heart for a long time.

"Vision," she answered, walking towards the field of roses. Her palm touched some petals while her hair tumbled down towards the ground. "I saw you here," her digits closed around the stem with silent amusement. "You were happy," she turned around and looked straight at him.

"This is Rosehall," the lump in his throat made it difficult for him to speak. It was like a fever dream of his, having her here in the fields of flowers and so painstakingly real.

"Very suitable," she smiled and turned once again stepping onto the soft grass. "It's a pretty name," he heard her sitting on the ground and when he glanced up he saw her lying flat on the earth. Her knees were slightly angled but her face was upwards as if she was watching stars. Azriel staggered towards her, breathing fresh air as he finally stood up on her right.

"I haven't thought about its name for years," he slowly sat and looked at her profile. She was gazing at the sky with a small smile. Happiness looked beautiful on her, it made her glow.

"There's so much...space," she breathed and her chest moved in a slight erratic manner. "You can almost taste freedom here," Elain blinked as she turned onto her side. She faced him and he thought that there was never a time in his life when he felt so many emotions at once.

"I'm sorry," the edges of him crumbled as his eyes started to burn. He didn't mean to hurt her, not in the slightest. He was just too… selfish. And she was everything he had ever dreamed about, an embodiment of home, of a warmth he so desperately searched for. "It wasn't a mistake," he whispered as her hand fell upon his abdomen. Always trusting, always inviting.

"Then what? A distraction?" She mused as her body leaned forward and she was mirroring his position. "I will never know as long as you won't talk to me," she supplied with a pain in her voice.

"No, never a distraction. I have wanted this," he circled the air with his hand ambiguously. "From the moment you clenched onto that fork you were someone I have wanted to be with," his head lowered down Azriel didn't want to meet her eyes.

"Why haven't you told me?" Her confusion mixed with regret pained him.

"You have a mate," he muttered while plucking on some innocent straw of grass.

"And you know I don't want him," her palm searched for his cheek and as she turned his face to look at her, he saw tears in her eyes. "Whenever I'm with you I feel whole. Alive. I look at you and feel so scared," he inwardly flinched yet she held him in one place. "Scared of losing you. Every time I lose sight of you I feel like I'm drowning. It's as if a part of me was ripped apart," she closed her trembling lips and stared at him with utter devotion.

"Elain," his fingers touched her neck, his thumb circling around the hollow gap between her shoulder and jaw.

"That night I chose you. Us," she said with a final note, leaning against his hand. "It's my choice, no one else's," a butterfly-like kiss ghosted on his inner palm.

"Rhysand's orders," he gulped when she pushed him down and climbed onto his lap.

"Fuck Rhysand's orders," she spat and for a moment both of them were silent. Then he laughed, a true bellowing laughter erupted at the back of his throat at her vicious remark. Her giggles followed and he had never heard such an extraordinary sound.

"Never deemed you as a foul mouth," he managed when she slumped forward, enveloping him in a warm hug.

"I live with Illyrians and a very pissed immortal being," a hot kiss on his neck made him shiver.

"Elain," he took her face in his hands and stared at her brown eyes with a heat crawling down his spine. "Elain," he whispered again while closing the distance between them. She whimpered when he finally nibbed at her lower lip. The sensation waking up something primal inside him, a storm of feelings and needs attacking his senses. Her warm mouth opened and he finally kissed her - something exploded in his chest, something brilliant and intimate. It was as if everything was set in order, the way her lips moved against and how their bodies molded into one. He could feel her, smell her need and anticipation. She was shaking as her small fingers dug into his neck.

"Azriel," his name on her lips was his undoing. He opened his eyes and saw her… glowing. The golden hue enveloping both of them into a cocoon of intense bliss. When she opened her eyes the golden color lingered there for a while before vanishing, leaving both of them gasping for air.

"You were always there," he realized touching his chest. A vibrant thread blinding him with its magnitude.

"Rosehall," she laughed tracing his scars. "You have waited for so long," Elain kissed his temple while embracing him again. "I'm sorry I have made you wait for so long," the bridge between them sparkled with love and belonging.

"I knew you would come to me," nothing but the truth slipped through his lips as he gently cupped her chin. Both of them stared at each other, halves of two finally found. A home he had longed for, held in his arms as a scent of roses and jasmine shielded him from the world.

[otonymous]

“The Most Beautiful Girl In The World”: The Guys As Fathers (MLQC Headcanon)

Hi dear Nonny!

What a wonderful idea!  We could all use a bit of fluff every now and then 🤣 I hope you’re doing well too!  Sending you much love along with these headcanons!  Hope you enjoy the read! 🥰💖 

Victor:

Daddy’s little princess - this little girl is the CEO of Victor’s heart

She is also the unofficial CEO of LFG: Victor loves to bring her to work with him every now and then, and all the office staff go absolutely ga-ga over her

Goldman.  Is.  Smitten. (Especially since she has a way of softening Victor’s hard as nails exterior)

Victor likes to front like he’s strict, but he’s not fooling anybody.  Just one look at the tenderness in his eyes when he’s looking at his daughter would tell you who’s really the boss

Psst!  He loves to spoil her!

And by spoiling, we don’t mean that she gets whatever she wants, all the time (although daddy’s heart DOES thrill a little inside to see her all bubbly with happiness after he presents her with a gift) — Victor will also ensure that he carves out time from work to spend with his family (there will definitely be a shift in work-life balance)

He won’t let her get away with everything though!  The man will still insist that she be on her best behaviour when necessary, but he is a lot more lax than you would’ve expected from him

Family time would consist of: horseback riding lessons, teddy bear picnics and tea parties (best believe she will be sending an actual invitation in the mail to Mr. Mills) — you will absolutely melt the first time you see Victor perched uncomfortably in a tiny chair, holding a mini plastic teacup to his lips and asking a stuffed cat if it would like another scone

She LOVES to be Victor’s sous-chef in the kitchen, and when she gets a bit older, she’ll also become daddy’s jogging buddy

Victor will always, always read her a bedtime story, even when he’s away from home on business, even if it means interrupting a meeting (Victor will establish a new norm; his peers will come to respect his family values)

The absolute apple of the eye of Victor’s father and aunt: this munchkin can do no wrong.  If she is to be spoiled rotten by anyone, it would be by these two.  

Every time you go over to their place for dinner, it’s pretty much guaranteed that you’ll be leaving with a trunkful of new toys

This little girl would be a good mix of her mother and father: she’ll inherit her father’s jet black hair, but the intensity of her eyes will be softened by your genes

In spite of all this generosity, your little girl will grow up to be far from spoiled

She will be incredibly compassionate, and will go from donating her many, many books and toys to other less fortunate kids as a child to organizing charity functions, etc., as a young adult.  

Victor couldn’t be more proud.

Lucien:

The shift is seismic the very first time Lucien holds his newborn daughter in his arms

“She looks just like you,” he whispers to no one in particular, careful not to wake you as you get one night of precious sleep immediately postpartum before your nights become interrupted by endless wake-feed-soothing back to bed cycles

Lucien doesn’t sleep that first night in the hospital; he spends it cradling your daughter by the light of the moon seeping in through the thin slats of the blinds

The cool rays illuminate every single feature that Lucien sets his mind on memorizing: her eyes — still a little bit swollen, the flare of those tiny nostrils, the sharply defined cupid’s bow of the most perfectly shaped lips

He is putting his face to the downy soft hairs on the crown of her head, nose pressing to cheek to inhale the scent of his newborn daughter

A tiny seed of anxiety begins to sprout from deep within Lucien to know that he will never have this moment again with her, and it feels like time is already slipping from the tight grasp of his hand

But then suddenly, she opens her big, bright eyes.  Quietly, she stares at her daddy, her irises the same colour as the ones drowning in her gaze, and the nervous clench in Lucien’s gut dissolves

And when she opens and closes her mouth in a soundless gape as if to say that everything will be okay, Lucien knows he would give his life in a heartbeat to protect hers

This little girl is wise beyond her years, and will often say things that surprise the adults around her; family friends will refer to her as an “old soul”

She is far from a little chatterbox, preferring instead to listen and observe those around her, her big, bright eyes patiently taking in every detail

Initially, you’ll be concerned that she isn’t speaking as much as other children her age.  Lucien will take his time reassuring you, an almost knowing smile on his lips.

When she does finally speak, she blows everyone away with the relative complexities of her sentence structures

Little genius: your daughter shares her father’s intelligence and can often be found snuggling up under her favourite camphor tree, books and sketching pencils in hand

She loves flying kites with her mommy and daddy

Quiet but kind, she’ll have no shortage of friends and admirers

You might be surprised, but she also has a wicked sense of humour.  Enjoys delivering jokes with the cutest wink in the world.

Her favourite place in the world is daddy’s laboratory.  The noisy whirs of those big, fancy machines make her jump for joy and Lucien cannot help but smile

There are times — especially when you guys are at your happiest as a family — that Lucien has to fight back the anxiety that all this could be taken away from him.  The melancholic tinge in his smile is so slight that even you could miss it at times.  But your daughter will always catch it.  And when she does, she’ll slip her tiny hand within her father’s much larger palm, look up and give him the biggest smile she can muster.  It’ll always bring him back to the moment.

Little though she is, she gives him strength beyond compare

And on the day of her graduation from university at the top of her class, she’ll be given a priceless gift from her parents: a silver pen named Iridescent.

Gavin:

Usually so calm, cool and collected in even the most stressful of situations, Gavin is a nervous wreck when you go into labour

He is pacing back and forth and back and forth in the hospital room.  You almost want to send him on an errand to get some popular street eats with a guaranteed long line up just so he can calm TF down and not get in the nurses’ way

He is offering you ice chips before you even ask for it, patting at your forehead with a facecloth even though you’re not sweating, giving you his hand to hold every two minutes even though you haven’t started pushing yet

When you mention that he should probably try to calm down since you likely have at least another hour to go before your cervix is fully dilated, he nods in agreement and starts doing push-ups and sit-ups on the floor

The battery of Gavin’s phone dies from all of Minor’s messages asking if the baby has arrived yet

Birdcop is fit to burst from all the joy his body just simply cannot contain the moment his little girl arrives

Because now he has not just one, but TWO of you!

Your daughter will be the splitting image of you, except for her striking amber eyes

The names she gives her stuffed animals will be strangely familiar: Fluffy, Softy, Pearly Jr., etc. (you’ll have to ask her whether daddy helped with the naming 🤣).

Minor’s enthusiasm cannot be dampened: he is over so often with food, diapers and offers to do the housework that you basically have to make him your child’s godparent LOL

Gavin is a giant teddy bear when it comes to your daughter: he cannot say no to her and lives to see her smile

She is gifted with her father’s athleticism, and Gavin won’t hesitate to personally instruct her on the art of self-defence starting at a very young age (needless to say, any future suitors will be given very intense once-overs by Gavin, even little boys at the playground; you can never let your guard down)

Eli is on Gavin’s watch list the moment G-man overhears her shyly asking you about “daddy’s handsome coworker” the year she turned 8

Yes, she will also be getting a bracelet with a GPS tracker LOLOL

She is incredibly strong: could probably toss Minor around like a burlap sack by the time she’s 12

This little girl is all about the thrills, screaming, “Go higher, daddy!  Higher!” in Gavin’s ear as he flies with her on his shoulders

He will take her to the BEST places for stargazing at night (when she’s old enough to stay up) — best believe this is something G-man will lament the loss of when she’s all grown up

Yes, the motorcycle will be her ride of choice the moment she gets her licence (much to her parents’ chagrin)

Gavin cannot help but tear up every time he watches her play the piano, especially if she plays with her mother at the same time

Psst!  He has a photo in his study of the two of you sitting next to each other on the piano bench, the late afternoon sun streaming in through big, French windows, dappled by leaves falling from the ginkgo tree planted in the backyard

He only wishes his mother could’ve been there to see his beautiful baby girl

Kiro:

This little star charms absolutely everyone at first sight: the doctors and nurses that help deliver her are completely enamoured with this little bundle of joy

Tears are streaming from Kiro’s bright blue eyes the moment she is placed into his arms for the first time; he’ll bend over to give you the biggest kiss while gently cradling the baby, the salt of your tears mixing together

This little girl has the best laugh: clear and bright and like music to the ears of anyone lucky enough to hear it.

And she laughs often — daddy is hell-bent on filling her childhood with love and joy and will do anything to make her smile

You’ll often see Kiro crawling around the house on hands and knees, your daughter shrieking with laughter as she tugs on his golden hair, yelling “Giddy-up!” over and over again

Genetics aside, let’s just pretend that her hair is long and golden like her father’s.  At times, she literally looks like a doll come to life, especially with those azure eyes

Budding superstar: this girl has inherited her father’s talents when it comes to acting and music.  She is hitting those high notes, projecting that beautiful voice and basically hamming it up all the time just to get a laugh from her adoring family.

Kiro will “complain” about double standards because Savin will always have a tasty treat for her whenever he sees her, saying “Make sure your daddy doesn’t get any, okay?” LOL

At the same time, Kiro decides to (gasp!) cut down on his junk food habit when his daughter is born.  He actually already started out of solidarity during your pregnancy, and wants to be healthy so he can have as much time as possible with his beloved family

Kiro also cuts back on his workload when his little girl arrives.  This daddy is super involved in all aspects of taking care of his baby and his wife.  You’ll never hear him complain about having to change a dirty diaper.  In fact, he even does it better than you do — no leakages here! LOL

Kiro LOVES to dress his daughter up and will often wear matching outfits with her.  Baby and daddy denim overalls?  Check.  Father-daughter couture?  Check.  

Baby globetrotter: you guys will tag along with Kiro when he flies overseas to shoot on location.  Kiro loves having you and the baby near.

When she gets a bit older, you can bet that they’ll be the best gaming buddies (you’ll insist on her having completed her homework first, but Kiro will secretly let her play one game before she starts - “just don’t tell your mom, or else we’ll both be in trouble!”)

Charming and bright, your daughter is also a bit of a tech wiz.  Learns to code at a very young age under her father’s tutelage, and enjoys building computers from scratch as a hobby.

This little girl carries joy with her wherever she goes, spreading it around like warm sunshine

Shaw:

Shaw is soft, soft, soft the moment he becomes a father

He could be blasé about everything else, but not when it comes to his daughter, the absolute treasure of his heart along with his wife

There will be times that you wake up in the middle of the night and find his side of the bed empty.  You’ll hear his footsteps, softly pacing back and forth before a large window as he tries to sooth your infant daughter back to sleep.  Shaw will look like he literally stepped out of a ‘90s Calvin Klein ad campaign, topless and clad only in low slung pyjama bottoms as he cradles your daughter in his arms, the muscles of his biceps bulging in the pale moonlight that casts a silvery glow on his lavender hair.

(Example of a Calvin Klein ad from the 1990s)

Guess your thirst will have to wait till your daughter falls asleep again to be slaked LOL

This little girl will have her father’s amber eyes as well as the fine features of his face — she will slay all the kids in school with her beauty

Loves to snark her dad but is all sweetness to you (Psst! Shaw (not-so) secretly loves it!)

A fast-talker and quick-witted: sometimes, you think you can actually hear her mind working

Absolutely loves her daddy’s skateboard and would much rather learn new tricks on her own board than play with more age-appropriate toys

She is also a bit of a bookworm: loves to read and is often surprising you with new topics of interest, everything from ancient civilizations to meteorology

Your little girl will often snuggle up to him and ask him what he is reading.  Shaw will then proceed to read to her, even if it’s a paper or a textbook.  Her quick mind has been able to grasp even abstract concepts from a very young age.  She’s a bit of a genius in that respect.

Inherits her dad’s love of music.  The two of them will enjoy rocking out in the basement the moment she is big enough to properly hold an electric guitar (with you sneaking peeks every 5 minutes to make sure she’s still got her protective headphones on LOL)

She’ll take after her dad in that she’ll seem uncomfortable with the concept of authority starting at a very young age.  She questions nearly everything and will drive many of her teachers up the wall, although they will also recognize the extent of her incredible intellect.  She’ll set herself apart at school as a leader, having also the charisma to charm those who would wish to follow

Her dad, of course, is absolutely ecstatic to have a daughter capable of thinking for herself instead of blindly following others (and you will be too!)

🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣

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