#just worried for my fellow siblings

[andwithinme]

You Are Not a Sodomite, By a Gay Christian (Me!)

I'm begging people to understand that being called a 'sodomite' or calling yourself a 'sodomite' is not some cool religious rebellion thing, it is a horrible and disgusting thing to be compared to. No, Sodom and Gomorrah were not same-sex places, that was not the sin that God destroyed them for-- it was sexual assault, pedophilia, inhospitality, and much much more-- and the only reason people think for even a moment that it was about homosexuality was because of the famously mistranslated line that so many homophobic 'Christians' use to disown their own flesh and blood that-- when translated correctly-- only refers to pedophilia and not homosexuality.

Being a gay Christian myself, I find it very hard to understand why people use such terms proudly without researching in full the gravity of the words. I know that many people have religious trauma, that is something I grapple with myself, but if you're gonna be rebellious try not and call yourself a criminal in the process.

I'm only making this post because I want others to not be seen in a bad light and not to be misunderstood because of something they did not understand fully when they heard it. I love everyone, and I want people to be seen for their good parts and not their bad. No, you are not a sodomite, you are a wonderful person and you do not deserve that name attached to you at all. Most of my friends and loved ones (minus family) are atheists or agnostic and I still respect them. Why? Because that is what Jesus would do, and Jesus is my role model.

[in-tua-deep]

wait i just remembered. on friday we has a "awesome committee" staff meeting which is apparently just a meeting for staff to like. bring food. play games. and bond with each other? and this week we played two truths and a lie

mine were i have only broken one bone and it wasn't even my fault (lie), i'm the youngest of five children (true), and i dislocated my arm six times before the age of seven (also true)

so many people picked the youngest of five children as the lie. one person commented that they thought i might have four sibling but i don't give off youngest child energy or something

what does that mean

what. what energy do i give off. what birth order vibe do i have. i just remember this happened and it has been haunting me ever since

[caleanamajored]

i wonder if ill ever be as interested in like...gender and identity as i was when i was a teenager. im at the point in my life where im she/her in my head, he/they to those who know me, she/her to those who dont. idc abt the minutia of my identity. i sure used to! perhaps it only served me when it was a function of self discovery wrapped and layered among the other self-discoveries of the teenage years. but its occurred to me now that those who dedicate their lives to things like gender studies, its a passion for them. its not just a byproduct. they may have discovered that passion during that phase of self discovery, but the bug that bit them held on, whereas i guess i shook it off at some point.

[starry-bi-sky]

don't you want to be a cult leader? - danyal al ghul au

this is mostly a joke post but i thought it was funny and had to share so--

his first mistake was, obviously, inheriting his father's inability to see an injustice and stand still. -- actually, danyal's first mistake was his lair being so big. a mountainous island with a large temple in the center resembling his old home in Nanda Parbat? With sprawling foliage and rivers and streams and waterfalls galore? What was he going to do with all that space? Let it go to waste? He had plants there! Native trees of the ghost zone growing from the soil! He couldn't let it all be left unchecked!

So naturally after helping a fellow teenage assassin ghost -- who he later learns is named Akihiko, -- from Walker of all people, he sent them over to hang low at his lair until it was safe enough for them to wander around the Zone. Walker couldn't get through Danyal's astrofield if his life depended on it, and trust him -- he's tried. Danny was clearing out debris from his stupid transport vans for weeks.

Honestly it wasn't so bad, he and Aki really quickly became fast friends and Danny loves having a sparring partner close to his level again -- he hasn't had this much fun fighting since he left the League. Aki was very dedicated and levelheaded, the both of them clicked really well because of it.

Nonono, the real trouble began after Danyal met some long-passed League members and allowed them to come join his island as well. Apparently they had made a few enemies of the zone, and maybe Danyal still felt some loyalty to the League. He couldn't just let them be left to rot. Their zealotry could be overlooked so long as they kept it contained and helped him take care of his island.

And it.. snowballs from there? He meets a teen squire aptly calling himself Ambroise -- whether that was his living name or not is yet to be seen -- who died during feudal france, who is just about as dramatic and passionate as every french stereotype makes them out to be. He calls Danyal "my moon and great muse" -- which is both flattering and little uncomfortable, but Danyal's grown up in the League as the Grandson of the Demon Head, he is used to mild worship. he passes it off as nothing more, nothing less. -- and while his energy is overwhelming on the worst of days, he helps Danny draw out of his shell more in ways that Sam and Tucker still struggle with.

Him and Aki butt heads a lot, but the two seem to hold the other in at least some positive regard, so Danny doesn't worry too much about them fighting while he's gone. It only becomes a mild issue when Aki also begins calling Danny "my moon". It's a little sweet, so Danyal brushes it off.

Then he takes in a troupe of ghosts some time after he defeats Pariah Dark and they begin calling him "great one" just as the yetis do in the far frozen. This is where he meets the twins -- a pair of sibling ghosts who call themselves Trixie and Missy (short for Trick and Mislead) -- who aren't quite as passionate as Ambroise but more energetic than Aki. Eventually they also start calling Danyal "my moon" and attach themselves to his hip, even within the living. They like to hide in his shadow and cause trouble for the rest of the students. He makes sure they don't hurt anyone.

He's pretty sure Aki is jealous, same with Ambroise, but he can't be too certain other than the fact that they become much more lingering (re: clingy) whenever he visits the island.. Something he's trying to do much more often these days due to the increasing amount of people living there now. Since when did he become so popular?

Then there's Pēnelópeia from the Greater Athens, who ran away from home and joined his Island after he ran into her while she was being chased by Skulker -- and he's pretty sure the reason was because of her chimeric appearance. Her strange eyes and mismatched wings and lion's tail and talons. She assimilates into his friend group very easily, she gets along well with Ambroise and Trixie and Danny usually finds the three of them climbing the trees to pluck the most fruit from the top. They can fly and he knows it, but they prefer to climb.

Then finally there's silent poet Akkara who comes from ancient mesopotamia, who gets along most with Aki -- which is no surprise there considering their similar personality dispositions. he watches Aki and Danyal fight each other and leaves comments on this or that that he notices. He writes Danyal poems on clay tablets and leaves them by his room.

They're one big mismatched group of outcasts, and Danny's got the other ghosts on his island to tend to, because they're living on his island and he wants to be hospitable even if he struggles with that. But he spends the most of his time with them.

Sam and Tucker are making fun of him. Tucker jokingly tells him 'careful Danny, at this rate you're gonna start a cult'. Danny really wishes he had taken that joke more seriously.

He just. keeps. collecting people. Wayward souls lost in the zone, looking for shelter or refuge from something or other -- whether that be another hostile ghost, or a past afterlife, or just a purpose. Danyal finds them, he takes them in, offers them a place on his island until they are ready to leave. Many seldom do. He's not complaining -- he has the space, and it feels like it's only ever growing.

His close friends, his "inner circle" as he's heard the others call them, keep insistently calling him "my moon". He starts calling them his stars, because then it only feels fair. They're his stars, this is his constellation. It becomes a thing; little star halos begin forming behind their heads, picking them out from the rest. He loves them so much, it's hard to place. Sam and Tucker are also his stars, but they reside in the living realm, they're his tie to Life. Meanwhile, his friends here know what it's like to be dead, and sometimes its nice to relate.

Those living on his island keep calling him "Great One" and he's beginning to notice zealotry in their care for his island. He really, deeply appreciates it. His close friends gain nicknames -- as his stars, it's only natural for him to pick them out from the cluster in the skies. Akihiko, his Sirius and bright star. Trix and Missy, Castor and Pollux, the twins and troublemakers. Ambroise, his zealous Antares and close friend. Penelopeia, chimeric and loyal Vega. And Akkara, his Arcturus and strength.

It's ridiculous how long it takes for him to notice; he is, of course, a deadly trained assassin. He is meant to be observant -- and normally he is! But somehow this becomes a blind spot. One that becomes too big to be dealt with by the time he realizes it.

He should've noticed when Aki, his Sirius, stood beside him one day while Danyal looked over his island and saw the sprawling spirits carrying on about their afterlife and bowing to him as they saw him, and said: "I looked down into the depths when I met you; I couldn't measure it." They aren't one for flowing prose, it took him so off guard he was silent for over a minute before he finally spoke.

Danyal should've recognized devotion for what it is, and yet he didn't. He should've recognized it when Antares began spouting praises about him, crowing about his radiance and resplendence to the heavens. He just brushed it off as Ambroise being Ambroise. He should've recognized it when Trix and Missy nearly broke Dash's leg after he knocked Danyal's books out of his hands, he excused it as them being protective. Of them coming from times where such violence may have been customary -- after all, that's what he used to be like. What he was still like, sometimes, when his emotions nearly got the better of him.

He should've noticed it when the people living on his island followed his word like gospel, looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky. When his friends gifted him a shawl with the moon phases delicately embroidered into it, with silver, shimmering thread and moving stars lovingly stitched into it. Their constellations seen clear as day in the dark fabric. When he found small shrines dedicated to him -- but they lacked any image of him beyond stones carved to look like moons, so he ignored it. When the religious imagery began popping up.

He really, really should've noticed it when a bunch of cultists accidentally summoned Antares, and Antares had turned to him when he arrived and called them heretics. But he was so centered on the fact that they had kidnapped one of his stars, that he hadn't paid much attention to what Ambroise had said.

Sages say that faith is blind, they should also say faith in you is even blinder.

It really only hits him one afternoon while he's sitting in Sam's room studying with Tucker, Missy and Trixie lounging at his feet, Aki sat on his right, Penelopeia braiding his hair, Ambroise draped against him, and Akkara lurking over him. Its one of the rare few times they're all in one room together.

It hits him like a bolt of lightning. He looks up from his textbook. "Oh Ancients," he says in no amounting shock. Everyone looks up to him.

"I've become my grandfather."

[bunny-jpeg]

sibling situation

simon 'ghost' riley

cw: smut & plot, mactavish!reader, size kink/difference, missionary sex, unprotected sex, marriage & babies (at the end), romance, simon's found family

this rabbit runs on reblogs & comments! feed the rabbit!

simon knew that johnny had a sister. you had been brought up in conversation tons of times. after the death of your parents, you and johnny were really all each other had. but johnny left for the military right before turning eighteen and you struggled to put yourself through university. it wasn't the easiest life and simon could understand, he had his own scars of his childhood.

"so, why are you dragging me out here again, johnny?"

"get ya out of that shoe box flat. got a little more leg room where i am."

johnny had driven the car all the way to edinburgh with a promise that a little time away would do wonders for the other man. simon had his ear talked off about how london was just too big, and while edinburgh was a city. it would be a break from the intense metropolitan of london. if need be the two of them and you could go on a getaway to the countryside.

"this better be good, johnny."

"ah, don't worry! i promise, you'll have the time of your life!" johnny reached over and slapped his friend on the back, "plus, you have to meet my sister."

the flat that you shared with johnny was well kept. of course it was, your brother was out most of the year with an automatic deposit for rent and when he was home, it was so ingrained with the military that things were kept tidy. and you on the other hand enjoyed tidiness as well.

even if cleaning the place in his absence felt a bit much sometimes, you still at least picked up your socks off the floor, put the clean dishes in the cupboard and washed out the carafe of the coffee maker. but you had worked over time to make sure everything was perfect, not for your brother (he could clean himself), but rather the mysterious guest that he was bringing.

you didn't want his lieutenant to think you lived like animals!

when the knock on the front door came, you happily welcomed them. your gaze was captured away from your grinning brother and rather the larger man beside him. he wore a black medical face mark, but you could see the tiredness in his eyes. the mop of blond hair and a slight scar over his eyebrow.

"oh, kid, this simon. simon riley, my lt." johnny smiled, patting his fellow solider on the arm.

you shot him a glance, "i'm almost thirty, johnny. i'm far from a kid." you were a bite fiery, simon liked that.

johnny beamed back at you, "but you'll always be my little sister. gotten into trouble while i was gone?"

you let both men in and replied, "well except for yelling at those stupid kids from the secondary school about smoking in front of my window. nothing else really happened."

johnny dropped his bags on the hardwood floor and kicked off his boots. he put them correctly by the door before he stretched his arms over his head, "where's that guy you were seein'. teddy or somethin'?"

simon stood a little straighter. of course you had a boyfriend, look at you!

you waved your hand, "oh, he's long gone. i guess cousin nikki's words are true." you looked at your brother, "never date a man in finance. turns out he had more than one bonnie in his pocket."

johnny dropped his shoulders and remarked, "never liked the guy anyway. seemed a little uptight, would never survive a gathering of the mactavish's." he laughed.

simon felt odd in the space. seeing the siblings interacting. he thought of his own brother for a moment. instead he just followed suit and took off his heavy boots as well.

you looked at simon, "i hope it's okay that you take the couch. this place is only two bedrooms. the couch." you gestured to it, "does pull out so hopefully you'll have enough room. but, if you don't, tomorrow my lovely brother can give up his room."

"my room!" johnny replied loudly, "i've still got sand in my crack for the mission and you're givin' my room!"

you shot your brother a glance which johnny coward from. no words had to be said. johnny knew that it would be the right thing to do. after all, simon was his guest.

the afternoon went by slowly, and you and johnny moved through the small kitchen like a team. johnny was good at dicing and you were good at keeping an eye on the sauteeing vegetables.

"simon." you said which made simon look up from his spot at the small dining table. your eyes met and you pushed some hair out of your face, "two things. one, there should be a headband on the table it's soft and used for make-up. i need to get this hair out of my eyes. secondly, johnny never said that you had any dietary issues. is there anything i should avoid? i just sort of got our normal grocery order."

simon perked a little bit more, "oh i don't have any allergies or anything, ma'am." he gave a small nod, "i could eat anythin'."

you nodded, "okay, excellent!"

the blond found in endearing. it was almost hypnotic watching you put together the vegetables with the hearty pasta sauce. you worked a stove top like no other. the only problem was that your brother kept getting in the way of his sight of you.

been a while since a woman cooked him a meal.

simon got up quickly and gave you the headband. it was soft and pink colour with two sewn on cat ears made of the same material. you put it on and simon's heart skipped a beat. you were just so beautiful.

dinner of pasta, toasted buns and salad were served with a bottle of grocery store wine. the three of you drank, ate and chatted. you and johnny had most of the conversation while simon enjoyed listening.

he figured out that he could listen to you talk forever.

"well, i'm tired." johnny said as he rubbed his eyes. he finished the rest of his wine before he got up. he patted you on the top of the head, "i'll do the dishes in the mornin'. thanks for dinner, kid."

you rolled your eyes, pouring yourself another glass, "i'm not a kid."

johnny chuckled then looked to simon, "she'll get ya comfortable for the evenin'. i'll see ya tomorrow." before his tired steps headed towards the bedroom. soon the door closed and the sound of his body hitting the bed could be softly heard.

you leaned back in the kitchen chair, one leg draped over the other with your arms crossed. you admitted, "it must be hard to date. finding someone who understands your world."

simon stretched out a little more in his chair. he eyed the empty wine glass in front of him, "i try not to think about it so hard."

"i've heard stories about you. the terrifying ghost. there one moment, gone the next." you then reached across the table to drag a finger down the inside of simon's wrist, "i wonder if i had you in my bed tonight, if you'd be gone by morning."

your admission made simon's dark eyes grow a little wider. he said, "well, i have nowhere else to go."

you smiled a little, "must be lonely. i know it's lonely for me. to feel close to someone."

simon asked, "do you want to sleep with me miss mactavish?"

you chuckled lowly, as to not awake your brother in his room. you leaned back a little once more and gazed at him. you were definitely johnny's brother. the look in your eye said it all. you tilted your head a little to the side and asked, "is it that obvious, mister riley?"

the sound of wooden chairs against the floor as the two of you made your way to the bedroom. you took simon by his tattooed wrist and got him into your room. the door was shut a little louder than you hoped. you turned on the light and simon was already working the belt of his jeans.

you were quick to get your t-shirt off and you saw simon's hungry gaze on you as you became free of your clothes. his eyes raked the exposed skin and thought you looked like a dream.

"like what you see, simon?"

he nodded, "more beautiful than the photos, ma'am."

you covered your mouth while you giggled, "no need for the formalities. if my brother is underranked by you, then i'm sure as hell as a civilian."

simon got a hold of your waist, "you deserve a little more respect than your brother." then pulled you in for a soft kiss. even with his scars that you had seen over dinner. you thought he was beautiful.

it made you warm all over as you pulled the dark t-shirt on his shoulders. he helped you get out of it. and your hands pressed against his chest. you admired the scars, the tattoos, the overall beauty of him.

"i wish my brother had said his lt was hot prior. i would've tried to get with you sooner."

simon picked you up by the waist, your legs wrapped around his waist as he brought you to the bed and sat you down. he then started to work at the button of your jeans. once they were off, he cupped the bulge in his pants.

you slipped out of your simple purple panties and the white bra you wore. you then laid out on your bed with your hands behind your head and you giggled softly.

simon was absolutely smitten by you. he had come to the conclusion that when they were talking about the beauties in scotland. they meant you. and only you. once you were both naked, he got onto the bed.

the bed was a bit smaller than he had hoped, but you two could fit into it thankfully. he was worried that his large, bulkier frame would inch you off of the mattress. but it was a lot easier when he got between your legs. his achy erection, bright red at the tip, begged for attention.

you swallowed a little, "i wonder if it'll fit."

"then you tell me if it does. got it? you mactavish's have a habit of not showing pain." simon gave you a pointed gaze.

you covered your face for a minute, "okay. talk about my brother ends here. i don't want to hear about him while you're balls deep inside of me."

simon chuckled lightly and leaned in for another kiss. he said softly, close to your lips, "if it's anything, love. you're much more a looker than he is."

you held onto his blond locks and pulled him in for a hot kiss. you made a small noise when he shifted your hips up against him. to get a better angle of his cock inside of you.

"simon."

he said softly, his voice still gravely, "beautiful, beautiful girl. i don't know what that last boyfriend of yours was thinkin'. why want another when he could have you. but, i guess that means more for me."

your cheeks grew hot and simon pressed his cock up against you wet slit. you felt your heartbeat race at the anticipation of what was to come. you tensed up at the feeling of his cock being pushed into it.

"i got ya, i got ya. you feel so good there, love."

you nodded, "it's been a while. sorry if i'm too.. tight."

simon loomed over you like a comforting shadow. he gazed down at you, but there was a softness to his tired eyes. you didn't realize how pretty his eyes were. a deep dark brown, that lured you in while in the soft lighting of your bedroom.

he started to move against you and you let out a small moan. the bed squeaked a little bit. thankfully the frame didn't hit the wall. you two had to be somewhat quiet. even if your brother could be heard snoring in the room next to yours.

the sex between you two was quick, but not rough. the idea of bruising such a beauty made simon feel disgusted. you were meant to be cherished. he wanted to know everything about you.

"you are quite handsome, simon."

"thank you, love." he said softly as he held onto your thighs and moved against you. even in missionary you looked beautiful. the slight bounce of your breasts in time with his movements. he wanted to kiss all your soft parts throughout his visit in your sweet home.

he could get used to a warm meal and a warm cunt to bury himself into every night. maybe johnny was right, staying with you was better than being in london.

maybe he could get used to scotland.

he knew he could fit easily into the chaos of the mactavish family. if he could handle johnny, then he could handle you. at least he could fuck one of you quiet.

you felt your heart hammering at the feeling of it all. your noises were so sweet that it made simon need to bury himself deeper inside of you. he needed to feel all you could offer.

call him a sick puppy, but his brain was now wired to need you. you were a hit of a feeling that simon was so painfully unfamiliar with that it almost scared him. but as he admired the sight of you under him.

those soft lips partially opened, your eyes closed. you looked like an angel, and he swore he found heaven.

"beautiful." he said softly, his rugged voice made you feel like honey. gooey and warm, filling.

you came with your hands in his shaggy blond hair. your back arched as you felt the heat through you. you moaned a little louder than you hoped for as he continued to thrust up into you.

panting breaths between heavy thrusts as you laid spread out on the bed, letting simon move quicken his pace to reach his climax. he could feel it on the tip of his tongue. and with a few more heavy thrusts, he finished inside of you. his cheeks flushed and his mouth hung open in a heavy pant.

"fuck, simon."

"beautiful." he said absently. not able to think of much else besides your beauty. you were the kind of woman that simon was into.

he pulled out of you and rested down beside you on bed. you chuckled softly, your head still a little full of post orgasmic bliss. you got the covers on top of you and cuddled him naked.

clothed would be a worry in the morning.

when morning came, simon tried to slink back to the couch before johnny woke up. but when he exited your room and entered the main living space. he found johnny sitting there at the kitchen table. he was leaned back into his seat. simon caught sight of the pistol on the worn wooden table.

"so, si." johnny said, looking away from his paper to look at his fellow solider, "what are yer intentions with my sister?"

it had been a very long time since simon felt the stone of dread in his stomach. he tried not to show it across his scarred face. simon could instantly recall every military statistic that johnny had. there could be a million and one ways that the scottish solider could kill simon. and it wasn't like simon could do anything, he couldn't kill your brother.

there was a brief moment of silence between the two of them. neither made a motion or noise. simon wondered what was to come next. no amount of training could've prepared him for this.

but johnny broke the silence with laughter, "i'm just messin' with ya! the gun's not even loaded. just wanted to scare ya." he leaned forward in his seat. he looked at simon, "i don't care how my sister sees, but i have to be a little bit intimidating, don't ya think so, si?"

simon chuckled nervously.

johnny's suddenly expression dropped and he put down his paper in favour of the unloaded pistol. he pointed the front of it to simon, one eye closed as if he was going to shoot the blond in front of him. he said, "but if you break her heart there, simon. i won't be so forgiving."

the doorway to your bedroom opened with a loud creak and your voice rang through the apartment the three of you were in, "I swear to god! john michael mactavish! you better not be intimidating him!"

-

"you're seriously crying?" you asked your brother as you watched him gently take a hold of your newborn. your brother was a military man for christ's sake. he was weeping like a baby.

simon loomed over his colleague, protective over his newborn. his stern brown gaze read simply, "don't fuck it up, soap." he was ready to jump in if johnny fucked it up.

you were resting back in the hospital room, you just had your child with simon. you two had been married for a little over three years. it became habit for simon to come with johnny post-missions. the drive up to the city and you waiting for them.

a hug for your brother, a kiss for your lover.

now you were watching your brother cry at the sight of his nephew. the chubby little boy bundled up in a blanket. unaware of his weepy uncle. you looked at him with a slightyl stunned expression.

you probably cried less when you finally pushed him out. you didn't want to tell him the news because you thought he was going to cry more. while your son's first name was oliver, his middle name was john. after the crying mactavish in the hospital room.

"he really takes after us." john remarked when his cries died down.

you chuckled, "he sure does, johnny. now hand him over before you drop him." <3

[kurogxrix]

Stomach Empty, Heart Full

[part 2]

Viking!Bucky x Wife!reader

IN WHICH you’re sick and refuse to eat, but it’s nothing that your beefy husband Bucky can’t help with.

WC: 2.5k

Warnings: vague mentions of smut, mentions of puke, beefy!bucky, INACCURATE VIKING UNITS, pregnancy(?).

A/N: my mom is the BIGGEST viking fan and yet idk anything abt em so…yes everything about this is inaccurate. From their beds to their huts but it’s fiction so who CARES.

A huge campfire was bustling outside your hut, that you knew. The sounds of men and women alongside their noisy children made the headache currently gnawing at your head just about 10 times worse. You’d been lying sick since this morning and if you were being honest with yourself, all you craved was for a good sip of water alongside the company of your dear husband. 

Talking of, Bucky had been gone for far too long now. Even though he’d just gone on his regular routine as a fellow warrior, it helped that they’d only gone out to hunt that morning. 

You suddenly winced as the high pitched wail of a kid adventuring far too close to your hut breached your ear drums, and from the thud that you’d heard a split second before, he’d taken a nasty fall to himself. It didn’t help that his father had chosen the front of your hut opening to reprimand his son, the headache feeling like it would burst out from your head and carve a hole through your skin at any moment now. 

You couldn’t tell what sort of sickness you’d picked up on, but hell if you wouldn’t give up anything in your possession in that instant for an ounce of relief. Your stomach yelled at you for food, but the ache in your head only increased the growing nausea that came with your illness. You were sure that once you’d be healed and back on your feet, you’d kill whichever scum had passed on their bug to you. 

Comfort only came as you curled over yourself, soft blankets warming you, the stitches and patches of soft furs from all sorts of animals that Bucky had hunted and skinned for you. You missed your husband so, so much more in your sick haze. Your eyes finally started to droop as you felt your body giving in to slumber, which was hard prior to the insane pounding at the far back of your head.  

It didn’t take long for your vision to darken, your rumbling stomach being the furthest of your worries as a faint smile overtook your features as you felt the headache begin to dissipate as sleep pulled you in its arms. You could almost taste it, the sweet and victorious taste of relief, when- 

“You are not joining us tonight?” And there it was, the pounding in your head almost immediately punched back to life at the loud sound of whoever that was that had breached your hut. You groaned in dismay, turning around reluctantly to find your sister looking at you in confusion. It didn’t help with the fact that she was your sibling, but at that instant you wanted nothing more than to rip her hairs straight from the root and craft yourself a rag doll with them out of spite. 

“Get out.” you mumbled before rolling back, not missing the way her eyebrows furrowed at your rudeness. You’d treat her a little better if you felt a little better, but you didn’t, and to add to that the only person that you wanted with you right now was probably fighting off whatever beast was hiding in the forest. 

She did, however, listen to you for what felt like the first time in your entire life as sisters. A content sigh left your lips at the newfound silence, as silent as it could be with a meal in preparation happening outside. Finally, you felt the warm arms of slumber welcoming you again in the embrace that you seeked so much, and it felt a little too good to be true. Maybe because you had a knack for jinxing yourself, but the sound of the hut door creaking again had you close to tears. 

The sound of metal colliding against the floor however, gave you a brief idea that it was in fact not your sister. You didn’t have it in you to greet your husband, instead choosing to wallow in your pain as you held yourself like a dying child. You didn’t hear much from Bucky but the rustling of something that sounded big and meaty, probably a catch that he’d brought home to skin later. 

On his side, Bucky was confused as to why you weren’t outside with the other people. It wasn’t that you didn’t know that the feast had arrived, and if you’d fallen asleep, the doubling in noise would’ve surely awakened even the deafest foe. He contemplated waking you up before his blue eyes fell upon the bucket of water by the door, as full as it was before he’d left home that morning.

With his eyebrow furrowed, Bucky kneeled beside you in all of his silence. You could hear the trinkets attached to his belt clanking against one another, his booted feet causing a heavy thud against the floor. 

“You haven’t drunk, you haven’t eaten.” he stated as a matter of fact, and your undying silence threw him off. He’d been your husband long enough to know that you weren’t sleeping, eyelids shut as a decoy more than anything. The beefy brunette sighed at your actions, eyes flickering between the  abandoned wooden plate that harboured his food, waiting for him in all of its loneliness. The cut of meat had his mouth salivating for a taste, after all he had been gone all day to bring back food for his people, why shouldn’t he enjoy it? 

Yet, he just couldn’t get himself to as he eyed your curled figure. There must’ve been a reason why you hadn’t bothered to take care of yourself today, of course there must’ve been one, and as your husband - it was all the more his duty to care for you. There was no resentment or obligations in his actions, only love. 

One of Bucky’s palms slid under your cheek, disconnecting your face from its warm place upon the layers of furs. You whined in dismay, but Bucky didn’t falter. His huge palm covered half of your face, his thumb rubbing at your cheek with inclination. You felt your body relax once more as he slowly let go, as much as you’d normally complain, this time you felt happy as your cheek made contact with the blanket once more. 

Your peace didn't last long, not when you had a burly husband who had enough force to take down a 300 pound beast on his own. You gasped suddenly as you felt his arms wrapping themselves around you, before pulling you into the warmth of a familiar torso. You wasted no time getting comfortable, you head pushing impossibly further into the firm flesh of his chest to serve as a pillow. It didn’t faze Bucky, blue iris simply gazing down at your slithering form. 

“You haven’t eaten today,” he states again, and this time you’d actually taken the courage to look up at him, eyelids pushing away from each other painfully slowly as you tried to adjust to the dim light of the oil lamps burning by the side of the hut. You could feel his warm palm slowly inching itself into caressing your back through the material of your dress, the beaded necklace that you wore squished between the both your bodies. 

Bucky didn’t ask, he could tell that you were ill and you had no intentions of talking if you didn’t feel well. So he did what he could, a hand digging into the meat in his plate to rip a fat piece off. You watched in dismay as his hands dragged to your mouth, pausing before you closed lips as you refused him access. 

“You’ll be even more ill if you don’t eat, come on.” his gruffly voice sent shivers down your spine. You could feel the ends of his long, auburn hair tickling your cheeks as the wind whistled past the cracks of your shared hut. Your nose involuntarily scrunched at the smell of the meat before you, which you normally loved like all people in your village. Bucky took notice of your discomfort, lowering his hand slightly to prevent you from puking all over him and the place. 

You made a sound of frustration, sick and tired of being sick and tired. You simply wanted to eat and all the more drink but your body just wouldn’t let you do any of it. So sick that tears pricked at your waterline again, resurfacing the throbbing headache that'd been killing you since this morning. 

You couldn’t even have told when the sob had burst through your mouth, but it had apparently and it didn’t fail to startle the hulk of a man you were lucky to call your husband. In a split second, the food was dropped back in the discarded plate, and his hands were quick to carelessly wipe clean against his cloak with little to no care for it. 

Bucky’s heart was hardened from the series of events that’d turmoiled his life from his birth, being a viking was anything but easy. He’d bathed in blood, his own like not, he was scarred mentally just as physically. Yet, he was fierce with a shell as hard as rock to carry his sorrows in. Despite all, nothing hurt Bucky like seeing you upset, or even worse in this scenario, hurt. 

Cradling your head to his chest, he tilted your head softly towards his own as you cried upon his chest. It was weird seeing a woman such as yourself cry over something that couldn’t be seen, yet enough described because your words wouldn’t even allow you to. So to say that Bucky was worried was an understatement, you’d never cried over something so minor, best to deduct that it wasn’t.

“I’ll go and fetch the lach, better hope that Thyra has the herbs to fix you a remedy.” he spoke more to himself than to you, referring to the village healer. You didn’t want him to go though, you’d spent enough time on this miserable day away from the only man you’d wish to see, so you weren’t about to let him go. 

“No, I can handle it until daytime. I just want to eat…I’ll try the meat again.” Bucky looked down at you in hesitance, remembering the way you looked so sick at the approach of his food. Nevertheless, he brought the food back up to your mouth, and you had to fight the inner battle to not throw up now and then. He could see your struggles, yet he only focused on your determination. 

You chewed slowly so as to not upset your stomach further, giving Bucky the time he needed for him to get a taste of his own meal as well. Sure, the cut was barely enough for a man of his size but at least he’d get you to eat, he could always go out and get some more once you were satiated. His hand that wasn’t busy feeding the both of you was still glued to your back, keeping you flushed against his chest as he sat legs crossed amongst the many blankets. 

You couldn’t help with the way your heart soared at his worry, at his care, and at his love. Sure he wasn’t the most verbally expressive man, but his actions meant more to you than any I-Love-Yous. The way his fingers curled against your side as a measure of extreme protection had you weak in the knees, and that said a lot considering you weren’t even standing. 

By the time you’d both exhausted whatever food was on his plate, Bucky’s skilled hand worked for water. Grabbing a cup from the side, he sought water from the bucket by your front door. He took a drink first, draining the cup in two quick gulps. You watched as he served himself another cup, a drop of water dribbling past his beardy chin and onto the defined curve of his Adam's apple. 

Fuck and if he didn’t just look so hot, you’d really gotten the finest pick of all men in your village. You lifted an unsuspecting hand up to his cheek, the prickly feeling of his beard against your palm made a shiver run down your spine. So much for all the days he’d spent buried between your legs, you felt a ghost of the burn you’d feel on your inner thighs at the friction everytime. 

The sounds of water sloshing around brought you out of your daydreams, finally receiving the end of the cup as he lifted the edge to your lips. You liked everything about this, getting pampered while laying in your husband's arms. You couldn’t possibly have gotten two sips down your throat before-

“Maybe I should call the midwife to check on you tomorrow.” Bucky randomly blurted out, and you swore you’d never accidently taken a gulp of water this big before. The choking came first, then the excessive coughing fits before the headache resurfaced again. Now maybe you’d rethought everything, maybe you didn’t want to spend the rest of the night with Bucky anymore. 

His hands quickly abandoned the cup to rub at your back, some silent apology of some sorts for surprising you, and eventually causing you to choke. 

“You don’t think…” you looked up at your husband after you had calmed down, expectant baby blue iris staring right back at yours. Your lips were slightly parted in the confoundment of his words, you found yourself unable to speak past your sentence. You didn’t know any contraceptives further than a remedy of herbs, spells and whatnot the untrustworthy pull-out method. Yet even if  Bucky had been very obedient when it came to following that way, there were some days where he just couldn’t help himself.

His silence made you sigh to yourself, but you didn’t feel like speaking further yourself. The hut fell into a peaceful silence as you both wallowed in the other's presence, soaking each other's affection through soft touches and occasional prayers.You closed your eyes once more for the night, allowing yourself to fully sink into your husband’s burly arms.

Bucky didn’t complain, waiting for your shoulders to fall limp in indication that you’d finally submitted to the slumber you so craved. Now that you were sleeping, tucked and fed, he could finally go out and reach for a serving more appropriate for a man of his size. Though he staggered for a second, kneeling besides your sleeping form along the blankets that he’d arranged over you. 

He moved the blanket properly after noticing that you’d already managed to mess up the ‘bed’ despite being dreams deep into your sleep. Bucky allowed his hand to hover over your stomach, before providing extra heat to the area that crossed his palm. He watched as your lips twitched into a smile in your sleep, his thumb uncontrollably caressing at the clothed area at the sight of your delight. 

A rare smile tugged at the corner of Bucky’s lips, something that only you and his family had gotten to experience more often. His hand left your stomach as he rose to his feet, a distant dream of an infant swaddled by green cloth burning by the back of his mind. He didn’t turn back as he left the tent, stomach empty but heart full. 

-

i’m working on 2 requests rn but i’ll be busy all weekend so expect a fic by next friday‼️

[wri0thesley]

my heart a frozen thing (I of III)- capitano x reader

the tsaritsa's handmaidens are enviable indeed; perfect, chaste, and honoured beyond measure. a well-oiled machine. but you do not quite fit in. lucky, then, that the tsaritsa herself has intervened, to find you a position that befits who you once were - to arrange your marriage to one of her most trusted lieutenants.

cw: arranged marriage, mentions of death/freezing to death, corpses, weird religious themes, bullying. reader is referred to as a 'handmaiden', wears a gown, but no pronouns are used. wc: 5.4k. sfw.

a/n: capitano and his little handmaiden are a little thing i've wanted to explore for a while; i don't usually do series, but i have a very clear idea of where this is going and i hope i can get it there! in my head this ought to run to three parts, but here is the first! i had a lot of fun just making up background for this honestly fbgnkjgbfn.

i.

The halls of Zapolyarny Palace have never felt so cold. 

They are halls that you have walked a thousand times, at the behest of your Goddess; chambers that you have traversed for as long as you can remember. You learnt yourself here - so much so that the person you once were, the family you once had . . . that has faded to nothing. You have been a ward of the Tsaritsa since you were six years old, and you would not have had it any other way. 

After all - are you not one step down from divinity? Do you not follow in her wake, untouchable and lovely? Do you not provide her with anything she could need? You see the Fatui members who walk these halls, the Harbingers - their hands are stained with blood up to the elbows, their figures stooped from war, their faces twisted with their troubles. They have clawed their way up the ranks -

And you? You have done no such thing. Something about you had called out to the Tsaritsa and she had welcomed you to her bosom and you had accepted, allowing yourself to be draped in furs and glittering crystals, to stand proud and haughty, to kneel for her and ensure her skirts are never dirtied, her every whim is met . . . 

Until today, you suppose. 

Her lips had felt like ice when she had kissed you on your forehead, and you had known then that you would walk from her chambers freezing cold and stripped of everything you held dear. You have always known that your fellow handmaidens did not like you; that they had envied you the Tsaritsa’s favour, that they have whispered that you are unworthy. Such things are easy to ignore when you know that you are cherished, though - and you had ignored them. You had ignored how they had ripped holes in your stockings and sent you on wild goose chases and errands, how they whispered behind your back when you fell into formation looking harried and rushed and imperfect because you had not been able to find your hairbrush in the morning. 

But the handmaidens of the Tsaritsa are supposed to be a unit. You are all supposed to see one another as siblings; to think of nothing more than Her, and how you may serve Her. It is this that the Tsaritsa had said to you in your private meeting, as you had shivered and burned with the cold ice of humiliation. 

“I love you,” she had said, with her voice as lovely as shattering crystals, as she had pressed that traitorous kiss onto your forehead. “Do not worry, little one. I shall ensure that you will not be thrown to the wolves.”

And then she had told you exactly how she was ensuring that, and you had had no choice but to stand before her, trembling, chin jutting proudly up - and pretend that you agreed with her decision. 

There is nobody in the dormitory when you go to pack what little things you have; you are glad of that, at least, so that those who have brought you down to this station in life cannot gloat at you. You do not have many things of your own; of course, the handmaidens are given fine clothes, but they are more uniform than ordinary wardrobe. You pack your hairbrush, a book, a few other creature comforts - but you are supposed to be a homogenous unit, after all, and to make yourself too individual would simply not do. 

One of the Tsaritsa’s servants is waiting outside of the door for you when you emerge. You shiver in the cool air, but try to keep a thread of your calm; give her a trembling smile. She looks at you with curiosity in her gaze, but she does not pry; that is not the way of things here. You soon lose track of where she is taking you.

In Zapolyarny Palace, there are paths that you walk every day; to the chapel, to the Tsaritsa’s chambers, to the hallowed halls and meeting rooms and anywhere else a handmaiden may be needed. But you do not wander freely beyond that. You know there are offices and spare bedrooms and studies and libraries galore - it is a most magnificent work of architecture - but you are not at liberty to explore them. So you soon lose your bearing as the servant brings you through hallways you’ve never seen, past doors you never knew existed. You feel your heart begin to beat too fast in your chest, anxiety crawling up your throat. 

You do not know what is to happen to you now. 

You know in theory what the Tsaritsa expects to happen, and you ought to believe her - find her infallible, as your Goddess and Archon surely is - but you have learnt, today, that nothing is infallible. You do not think any handmaiden in the history of Her Majesty’s service has ever been let go like you - and, too, you know none of them have suffered the humiliation of being--

You can barely even think the words. You think of the first Harbinger again, the one directly beneath the Director; the looming presence, the always-worn mask, the whispers that follow in his wake . . . you cannot imagine yourself on his arm. Cannot imagine yourself in his bed. Cannot imagine yourself standing beside him at an altar, promising him eternity--

“We’re here.” The servant’s voice is timid; even though she must surely know that you are disgraced, there is still - in your bearing and in the fine white furs and silks you wear - the reminder of what you were before disgrace came knocking at your door, and she has been taught that the Tsaritsa’s handmaidens are pure and perfect and precious. How you wish you felt that way. 

“Thank you,” you say to her, swallowing to try and clear the dryness in your throat, trying to summon a smile. She bobs an awkward curtsey and inclines her head before she scurries away down the corridor, no doubt to whisper to someone about the scandal that is unfolding within the palace’s halls. 

You look at the door to your new life. It is carved with swirling snowflakes; a solid impenetrable wooden shield from the rest of the palace. You do not know if it will stay your door, but you have nowhere else to go now. You cannot go running back to the dormitory of the handmaidens; surely, by now, they will all have been told exactly how you have been disgraced--

Your gloved fingers fasten about the doorknob as you force your traitorous heart to beat evenly. You must take things as they come; there is no point getting too frightened just yet. Some of the Harbingers do indeed keep quarters in the Palace - Pantalone, you know, has a wing set aside for his use. And Pulcinella, too, needing to be near the beating heart of Snezhnaya, has rooms here. 

It is in the nature of a handmaiden, you remind yourself, to be calm. To keep their wits about them. It is proper of you to maintain an even voice and a pretty face, to be ready to be called to your service at a moment’s notice; and though you are not, really, a handmaiden any more . . . your entire life has been governed by these rules, and such things do not desert one so easily. So you keep your head held high as you step into the room, your chin jutting out, your eyes wide, your face proud--

And you do not let the tears fall, like your life is collapsing into the sea around you and leaving you adrift with no safe harbour (your beautifully designed ice sculpture of an existence), until the door is closed and nobody but you and the sharp coldness of the mirror mounted on the wall opposite is there to see it. 

ii.

You are expecting to be brought before him, as would befit a man of his status - a status that now far outranks your own. You are expecting Fatui grunts or serving maids to come and fetch you from the neatly appointed little room of the Palace, to drag you before the Harbinger you are to become reliant upon, and to have every part of you scrutinised. Perhaps he will find you wanting, you think bitterly; perhaps he does not want to be a part of this mockery any more than you do. Perhaps he will snarl beneath the mask and despite the Tsaritsa’s attempts to save your life, will have you banished to some cold unfeeling corner of the Palace where you will freeze to death and nobody will find your corpse. 

(It would hardly be the first time such a thing has occurred in Snezhnaya). 

You are not expecting that the first of the Fatui Harbinger, he of the war glories, second only in the chain of command to the Director himself, would lower himself to come to you. 

But come to you he does. 

The room that you have been given is lovely if impersonal; a bedspread patterned with sprigs of blue flowers, an ornate mirror, a wardrobe and a shelf of knick-knacks. You, as a handmaiden, have never had cause to tend to the guest rooms - that is for those whose service is less important, whose place in the world is less holy - but you do at least know enough to know that is what this is. And you suppose, too, that is what you are now too. 

No longer somebody who truly belongs in the Palace; no longer one of a flock of beautiful befurred doves, cooing and twittering over who will be granted the honour of smoothing Her Majesty’s dress, of combing her hair. Simply a guest - a person waiting to see what the next step in their life will be. Perhaps Zapolyarny Palace will be a pitstop; perhaps your new betrothed will have somewhere else to put you like an ornamental doll. 

Perhaps he will take you to his camps, his fields of war, install you in his tent until you have forgotten the luxury of silks and glass and the blood he sheds stains your white furs red. Your nails dig crescent moons into your palms at the thought of it; of all of the ways your life could spiral into decay and dirt when it has only ever been pristine and beautiful before. 

You are sitting on the bed when the knock comes, when the door is opened before you can even call out. You see the faintest outline of some Fatui soldier, before his bulk is silhouetted in the doorway and your breath is robbed from your chest. 

Seeing him pass by you in hallways, or at the table when you have been called to the Tsaritsa’s side, does not do the man justice. He seems to tower over you; his presence in the room makes it seem like a dollhouse more than anything functional. Your eyes flitter, afraid to rest upon him too much lest you see something terrifying staring back at you. 

You cannot describe it, but your entire body seems to go into a freeze response; you sit there, exactly like the ornament you are so afraid of becoming, your gloved hands neatly balled into fists upon the luxurious fabric of your handmaiden’s gown, your eyes wide with surprise and fear.

You expect him to stride in; to take what he has been given, self-assured as only a member of Her Majesty’s most esteemed lieutenant can truly be. Thoughts flash through your head; of him throwing you upon the prettily patterned bedsheets and having his way with you, of him grabbing you roughly and letting his hands explore the merchandise he has been granted. 

Certainly, the visual of him makes those seem the most likely course of action. The massive stature, the shadows that his shoulders throw across the room. The impassive iron mask; the armour that he dons, whether he is on official business or not. Your shoulders draw up against your ears, preparing for something, though you know not what. You catch a glimpse of eyes, bluer than the hottest fire--

And then Il Capitano sinks to one knee in front of you and reaches for your trembling, gloved hand. Your breath catches in your throat as he draws it closer to himself - but then, he presses his mask against the fabric in an echo of a kiss, and from beneath the helmet he wears comes a voice like an echo in an iron chamber. 

“Little handmaiden,” he says - and then, “I regret not coming sooner.” 

“I--” Your tongue will not work around the syllables. It trembles in your mouth; only your willpower alone stops your teeth clacking together like some awful grisly musical instrument. “My Lord Harbinger, I . . .” 

“Do not worry,” he says, his voice still a strange echo - you cannot imagine getting used to it, cannot imagine it whispering words of love into the shell of your ear. You can imagine it, though, booming across a battlefield, and the thought makes your heart seize in your chest. “I have no intention to hurt you. I am . . . most honoured by the privilege that has been entrusted to me.” 

You realise with a start that you are the privilege; that this is punishment for you, but it does not seem so to him. The thought gives you pause. 

Even the word . . . ‘privilege’. He does not call you a reward; does not act as though he has been given you as some Archon-won right, to do with as he pleases. For the first time, you let yourself wonder if perhaps your fate is not to be as cruel as you had feared. 

“Thank you,” you say to him, your voice a thready little mouse-whisper of noise. Capitano does not move from his place before you, kneeling upon the parquet flooring of the room - his hand does not let go of yours for a moment, as if he cannot quite believe that you are real flesh and blood there before him. You cannot properly see his eyes behind the helmet - only that bluefire suggestion, the glow of something behind the ornate visor - but in your time as a handmaiden of the Tsaritsa, you have grown used to the sensation of being looked at, and that is certainly what he is doing. 

“I intend to do this properly.” He tells you, with the door still open, with the Fatui soldiers who had accompanied him still stationed outside of the door listening to every word that he says. “I intend to make you mine in the eyes of the Tsaritsa and everyone else who matters.” 

You think once more of the altar; you think of your uniform of pure white furs, traded for something lacier and gauzier, something more of a wedding gown than a ritual dress. You think of being chained to this man for all eternity--

And though he has been kind to you in these few brief moments, though your Archon had said she wished to see no harm come to you . . . once more, you think of Capitano’s reputation. Of the war fields and the bloodshed, of his victories and his spoils, of the way you have heard he throws himself into conflict like it is the only thing that keeps his blood pumping through his veins. 

But you cannot say a thing. 

“Tomorrow,” he tells you, and he says the word like a sacred thing - a prayer on his breath. “Tomorrow, I will marry you, and I will take you home.”

He does not leave his words in a question; there is no space for you to reply. You swallow your protestations as he stands back up and bows his head like a gentleman, though you know he is stained with blood in a way you had never expected to be yourself. 

(You think of his hand on yours; imagine bloody fingerprints where he had clung to you. Marked. Soiled. No longer pristine and pure; no longer one of the Tsaritsa’s favourites. You stand upon the precipice of becoming something else, and it terrifies you). 

“Tomorrow,” you echo, but the door has already closed behind him. 

iii.

You cannot sleep. 

The bed is fine; finer, perhaps, than the one in your dormitory that you have slept on for decades. The blankets and coverlets, with their pretty patterns, are warm (warmer than you are used to; the handmaidens are kept close to Her Majesty, and coldness permeates the air wherever she dwells. You had not realised just how cold you were used to being until you had slipped into this bed in a guest-room of the place you thought of as your home).

But your mind will not quieten. 

You cannot stop thinking of Capitano, and all that his future entails; cannot stop the whisper of his voice, constrained as it is by his helm, when he says the word ‘home’. What is a home for you, now? At this moment in time, ousted from Her Majesty’s Service and not yet yoked to the first-ranked Harbinger, you are a creature that has nowhere to lay down their roots. 

If you slipped out of this room, and out into the cold Snezhnayan winter . . . you would be another nameless person, another corpse frozen to a block of ice. You have not been out amongst the general populace in some time - that is not a duty that befits one of the handmaidens - but what memories you do have, before six, remind you that you would hardly be the first. Indeed, finding some poor soul frozen into the next life is an occurrence that happens to all citizens of Snezhnaya, eventually. 

A memory rises unbidden to the forefront of your mind; another child, who looks like you but older, concentration writ clear on their face as they try and unbend fingers from a poor man rimmed with frost with lips of pale blue. An older woman, shouting - a sickening snap--

You squeeze your eyes shut and force the memory away. There is nothing, you remind yourself, before the Tsaritsa’s tender care. If there ever was, it has gone the way of snowstorms and blizzards; there is no use remembering. It has been so long that all of the figures in your memories, too, are perhaps no better than markers in the frozen ground. 

If you cannot sleep, you tell yourself forcefully, you are not going to allow yourself to be haunted by nightmares of your own making. You will lie here, in this lovely little room. You will let yourself think of the warmth that seeps into your bones; you will let yourself remember it. 

One final night; the first night you can truly remember where you are free. 

And as for what tomorrow holds - as for the thought of standing beside Capitano, as to the thought of his home - be it tent or wing of rooms or little shack or anything in between - you will not think on them. You will think of how, if you wished, you could toss and turn and no other handmaidens in the dormitory will hiss anger at you beneath their breath. How you could sing in this room, like a pretty bird, and nobody would shout for you to shut up as they throw their pillows at you.How there will be no ringing bell in the morning, no sidelong glances from your fellows who do not think you deserve to play the role you are given. 

There is blissful silence; the luxury of having a bedroom to yourself, of being an individual when you have for so long been an entity made up of so many. 

You do fall into sleep, eventually. 

You dream of being a beautiful white horse, your hooves leaving distinct prints in the snow, blending alone into the barren landscape of your homeland. 

When you awake, there is a dress hanging on the wardrobe opposite the bed. 

You do not question it; how they found time for your measurements, who made it, whether it is Capitano’s design. Your training does not fail you; things happen, and you must accept them. The easy freedom of last night is gone, and the weight of what you are to become settles like a mantle around your shoulders. 

It is still service, you tell yourself, as you bathe in the little basin in the adjoining room. The soaps and potions that are lined neatly up on shelves are scented like something fresh and clean and floral; the kind of flower that makes you think of rolling hills and ticklish breezes. The handmaidens used toiletries scented with spearmint and frostflower, as the Tsaritsa had chosen - you wonder if these bottles here are the choice of your betrothed, or merely coincidence. 

You perform your ablutions and ignore the fact that you are preparing yourself for something you do not fully understand. If you stop to think too hard upon what it is you are primping and preening for, you do not know if you will be able to keep the thread of your calm - as it is, your hands are shaking when you step into the gown left for you. 

It is undoubtedly a wedding gown. 

It is not cut in the Snezhnayan fashion; there is no trimming of pale blue diamonds, of furs or feathers or warmth. This is the gown of a beloved maiden in a tower; something to be worn whilst dreaming of gardens, all pretty eyelet lace and delicate embroidery. Wearing it, after being so used to the garb of one of Her Majesty’s attendants, feels almost like being naked. 

There is nothing for your hair; you leave it unbound. There is no other ornamentation; you suppose, when you think about it, your glimpses of Capitano have never suggested him to be a man of excess. If it were one of the others you were to wed - Pantalone, perhaps - you have no doubt you would be draped in jewels. 

If it were Pantalone that you were to be wed to, you think, he would not have been satisfied with a mere ceremony, rushed through the next day. You know from gossip he is a man who thinks he deserves better than the world has given him, that he would never take less than excess. A brief gladness that it is not the Regrator that your Archon has given you to flashes across your mind--

And then you remember Capitano, the size of him, the mystery of what lays behind his mask, and you swallow the lump in your throat. 

There is a serving maid at the door, holding a bunch of flowers in her hand - they are delicate things, white petalled and lovely, scattered with pink roses. You breathe in the scent to calm yourself and recognise them as the same scent that lingers on your skin and in your hair - and the serving maid gives you a small, nervous smile. 

“They’re Cecilias,” she tells you. “from Mondstadt. The Captain asked for them specifically.” 

She says his name in the same way so many of the citizens of Zapolyarny Palace do; with respect, and reverence. There is none of the fear that edges those who whisper of other Harbingers in her voice - you have heard horror in the tones of those who speak of Dottore, the Doctor . . . But Capitano seems to command awe and respect. You want it to be comforting - but you cannot help but wonder if it is merely that those who know his true nature are quieted by his sword. 

“Thank you,” you say, for you cannot make your voice shape any other words. Your tongue has grown leaden in your mouth, the moisture gone from it completely, and you know the thing that has sapped your ability to speak is fear. She gives you another smile, and looks at you in your gown. 

“You’re beautiful,” she says to you, as if to reassure; perhaps misunderstanding your terror of your bridegroom as the normal nerves of someone about to tie their life to someone else’s in matrimony. The whispers of your dismissal have had time to grow their own stories, after all; few things move faster than gossip in a place like this. “Come. We shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

You’re helpless to do anything but let her lead you. The hem of your gown trails on the floor behind you, but the Palace is spotless; it does not gather dust or dirt. You pass through the halls like a ghost, and you wonder if that is how you look. 

As a handmaiden, you had moved with purpose, with the assurance that you were Somebody. As the betrothed of a Harbinger, you move like somebody sentenced to execution, your heart pounding in your throat. The halls seem silent around you. You wonder, if given the chance to do it all again, how you would stop all of this so you would not find yourself in this position, walking to what could very well be your own doom. 

“Here,” the serving maid whispers, stopping by a door. You look at it with dumb terror in your heart, but you keep your face an impassive mask as you have been taught to do. You know where you are; you know this chapel to be the Tsaritsa’s most sacred place. You have been given access only a handful of times; the handmaidens who serve your Archon here are far more senior than you. In time, you had hoped you would become one of her most trusted, one who could sit with her in prayer in this private sanctuary--

You suppose that is a dream that will never come to fruition now. 

You give her a smile - a trembling thing, but you have been taught how to behave - and as she opens the chapel door for you, you square your soldiers and summon all of the courage you have (what little there is; courage is not a thing that is encouraged amongst the handmaidens, amongst those who must move and act as one), and you place one foot in front of the other as you begin your walk down the aisle. 

You tell yourself you will not look at the pews - hewn of glass, the more to resemble the Tsaritsa’s beloved ice - but as you begin a walk that feels as though it lasts forever, you cannot help it. The chapel is still a sanctuary; it is almost empty, in fact, but for a few faces sitting at the very front. 

The Tsaritsa herself presides, and you immediately lower your eyes to the ground. You have seen her before, of course - have tended to her when called - but it would not be proper of you to stare. She is still your Archon. Your fingers tremble where they are wrapped around your bouquet. 

Capitano stands, as patient and as still as a massive statue, at the altar. He is dressed still in his armour; the only concession he has made to the idea of a wedding is a buttonhole tucked into his chest, of matching roses and Cecilias to your own. You can see that burning bluefire from across the room, and as you walk closer and closer to it you are hit by the urge to laugh at the thought that perhaps you are simply walking into hellfire. 

And a few other familiar faces fill the first row; that is Pierro, you know. The Director. He sits ramrod straight, the second-largest man in the room, his cloak serving to highlight the severe lines of his face. There is The Knave, too - in her beautifully-cut suit. There is the smallest smile playing on her lips, as she looks from you to Capitano and back again. 

Not all of the Harbingers have come to see this spectacle - you are silently glad of the absence of the Doctor - but there are enough there that you feel sweat prickle down your spine, gathering in the small of your back. You force yourself to swallow and to breathe. This chapel’s aisle has never felt so long before. 

But even though it feels as though the aisle will never end, end it does - too soon, too quickly, and you are at the end of your last walk as somebody free and unmarried. You are standing beside Capitano, ready to pledge yourself to him as your Archon has demanded you do. 

You wonder if he is smiling beneath the helmet. Your own face, you’re sure, must have the look of a deer staring down a bow and arrow; wide, frightened, terribly aware suddenly of its own mortality. But there is nothing a doe can do when she is a hunter’s quarry, and there is nothing you can do now either. 

So you say the words, after they issue forth from the Tsaritsa’s lovely voice and she commands you to repeat them. You listen to Capitano make the same oaths, his voice still a strange echo. You do not hear them, not really - but it does not matter, because they are binding in the eyes of your Archon and it is your Archon who has witnessed them being said. 

Your hand is shaking when Capitano takes it to slide the ring upon it. It is plain, too; a silver band, etched all over with some decorative scrollwork and words in a language you do not understand. 

You have never seen a marriage. The handmaidens do not do such things - they are chaste, and pure, and when they are done with the service of the Tsaritsa they remain so even when cast back to the powdery snow. But you have read books, and you know that a marriage usually ends with a kiss; a sealing of the pact that two people who love one another have made. 

You steel yourself, then, to see below Capitano’s mask. You try not to dwell on possibility; the idea of him being monstrous or disfigured or perhaps even just perfectly ordinary. You try to prepare yourself for the feel of another’s lips upon yours. 

But the Tsaritsa never decrees that it is time for Capitano to kiss his spoils. 

Indeed, Capitano takes your hand - his own like a massive claw, yours delicate and tender in his grip - and leads you back down the aisle. He does not look at you as he does it; but you have the strangest sensation that he is . . . uncomfortable, with the way that everyone is looking at him. That such pomp and circumstance is perhaps not something he would generally choose. 

In fact, when the door closes behind you - when you and he are briefly, briefly, briefly along in the corridor . . . something in him seems to unknot. He lets forth a rattling breath, his shoulders sagging just a touch, that would perhaps be invisible to any other eyes but the eyes of a frightened, lonely little mortwal who has been torn from what they thought was their purpose in life and thrown to the whims of somebody that may yet be a monster. 

“Little handmaiden,” he rumbles, from somewhere low in his chest, and you wonder if it is indeed relief that makes his tone seem almost comforting. “The formalities are done with. You are mine, and I am yours.”

He tilts his helmet, and that bluefire burning behind the visor finds your own eyes; almost imperceptibly, perhaps because he sees the terror in your gaze, he seems to soften at the edges. 

Hesitantly, he reaches out a gloved hand; just as hesitantly, he cups your face, the metal cool against the softness of your cheeks. He turns your face towards him, with a grip that you expect to be rough and possessive but is as gentle as the first layer of snow upon a shooting leaf. 

“Let’s go home,” he says. 

Home brings to mind your dormitory; the identical rows of beds, the identically dressed handmaidens, the comfort of routine. Home whispers in the back of your mind of something cooking in the oven, of a rowdy family gathered around a battered old table, of three children older than you and three children younger than you. 

You cannot return to either of those places. 

So all you can do, then, is smile for the man who could be captor or lover or liberator, but is now, inarguably, your husband. 

And let him lead you home. 

[cherry-bomb-ships]

Hello everyone! Welcome to our Valentine's Week mini Self Ship event!

Pr*sh//ip please dni

From February 12th to the 18th, I'd like to invite you all to participate in a self ship event all about love! This is meant to be a low-effort, laid-back event where the hardest thing you'll probably have to do is interact with other people 😅 Each day will have a different theme for every type of f/o and self shipper! The themed days are listed below:

February 12th - Familial F/o Day! This day will be all about focusing on your familial f/os! Parents, siblings, kids, or any other character you consider part of your family. ❤️❤️

February 13th - Platonic F/o Day! This day is dedicated to all our fictional besties!! Give some appreciation to the f/os that are there for a good laugh and a shoulder to cry on. 💛💛

February 14th- Romantic F/o Day! Of course, Valentine's Day itself will be dedicated to the special f/os in our lives who are there for us through thick and thin. Our f/os love us every day and we love them, but we'll give them extra love today! 🩷🩷

February 15th - Self Love Day! Sure, it can be argued that all of self ship is a form of self love, but I really want us all to focus on it today, by thinking about and maybe even listing out the things that our f/os would especially love about us. 💝💝

February 16th - February 18th - F/o Takeover & Letter Writing Weekend! This one is a bit of a player's choice; option one, an f/o takeover! Y'all know the drill on that one by now, let your f/os of choice answer questions on your blog for the weekend. ❤️ Option two, for those not into takeovers, is to spend the weekend writing love letters to your f/os! They can be as short or long as you like, while also making as few or as many as you'd want to. I'd also like to highly encourage sending out f/o letters to your fellow self shippers from their own f/os! ❤️

There we have it! That's our weekend, laid out in its entirety. However, these are more guidelines than strict rules. You can really run the week any way you like, as long as you're enjoying yourself!

I would also like to add that this month, for those who don't know, is Black History Month, so while you focus on your ships, don't forget to show some love to my black brothers and sisters in the self ship community as well! 🧡🧡🧡

I'll have some more suggestions on things to do below the cut, but I'll end it here up top, because this is long enough as it is. Feel free to reblog to get the word around, and for just one week, let's only think about love. ❤️💝🥺💝❤️

Now then, here are some suggestions on things to do over the week on our themed f/o days:

For our creative types, you could create some art and doodles, writing and drabbles, gifs, screenshots, or any other type of content for your f/os of the day.

For those who want a more chill experience, just some good ol' gushing will work perfect! I'll also be trying to make some short ask games full of questions for each themed day.

For the self-love day in the 15th, I highly encourage everyone to make a list of things that their f/os love about them. Of course not everything is always perfect, so if you'd like, you can also talk about your flaws and the way that your f/os would still love you with them. I don't wanna see any self deprecation though, because I know all of you are much more wonderful than you may think! ❤️❤️

Lastly, for the weekend, as I said earlier I would love to see people sending out letters to other self shippers. If anyone remembers the To My S/i events from a few years back, as much as I would love to run an event like that, I know that's setting some people up for disappointment when they don't receive any letters, so I want it to be something that's encouraged but not expected. That being said, it's still highly encouraged! Even if you're worried about how accurately you may write someone's f/o, I believe you should still give it a try anyway! 💝💝💝

That's about all the suggestions I have, except for this last one: while this week is about love for our f/os, I still wanna see love for our fellow self shippers with plenty of interaction going around, even something as small as a reblog or question sent for an ask game makes a big difference! And remember, just like the New Radicals said, "you only get what you give."

If you're reading this far, then thank you! Go ahead and throw a "btw my f/os love me" into your tags to let me know you got this far. I hope everyone enjoys the event!! 🩷❤️💝❤️🩷

[literallyjusttoa]

I have been obsessed with the idea of Paris coming to the modern day in the same way Midas, Lityerses, and Medea did. Like, If anybody had some unfinished business, it's every citizen of Troy. Anyway here are some different little scenarios I've cooked up about how this silly little war criminal fared after making a mad dash for the doors of death in HoO.

Ok, so in this scenario, Paris is recruited by Gaea just like all the other spirits who come back from the dead. He ends up being tasked with working alongside Octavian. At first, he's driven only by grief and anger at the loss of his own family and city. As they approach Camp Half-Blood, Paris regularly remarks on how happy he is that's he'll be the one storming the walls this time. But over time, he slowly finds himself growing worried about Octavian's sanity. He tries to steer Octavian away from making reckless decisions, but Octavian refuses to back down. Paris sees the deadly fervor of his fellow soldiers in Octavian, and pulls away. From here we split off into two endings. 1. (the sad one) Octavian's fate plays out the same as the books and Paris just has to deal with how his actions unintentionally spurred the young man towards his own death. Or 2. (the happy one) Paris leaving is the wake-up call Octavian needs, and he pulls himself out of battle at the last second, breaking the cycle of hatred and wrath that started at Troy. Pick your fighter I guess.

In this scenario, Paris is not the only one who comes back from the doors of death. Half of the Argo II crew find him in Ancient Greece (Don't ask why he's there instead of Turkey idk shhhhh) And he's very helpful to them in whatever quest they're trying to complete at the time. All's well that ends well, except the OTHER half of the Argo II crew actually just met up with Hector on the other side of Greece lol. Turns out neither brother knows the other is alive, and the Argo II take the time to reunite the pair. I would specifically set this in BoO, and have the focus be on Jason and Leo as parallels for Hector and Paris, especially with them both thinking about sacrificing themselves bc of the prophecy (the whole "storm or fire" thing). Like, my idea is that a lot of emphasis would be put on Hector dying first, and how he sacrificed for Troy, and how Paris wishes he could've saved Hector. And Jason would come away from that thinking "Yes, I want to be Hector, i've made peace with making the final sacrifice to keep my friends safe" and Leo thinking "I'll do what Paris couldn't and give my life so that Jason doesn't have to" and ahhhh angst.

This is a ToA scenario instead of an HoO scenario. Paris and one of his siblings come back to life like in the last one, but instead of it being Hector, this time it's Cassandra. Idk when this would happen in the timeline of ToA, bc those books are so tight knit (maybe the infamous TTT to TON roadtrip) But I would add a little side quest where Apollo and Meg have to find Cassandra bc Nero's trying to kidnap her or smth. They run into Paris while they're searching for Cassandra, and the three of them team up for a lil bit. In this scenario, Paris works as a direct parallel to Apollo, all though he's a bit further behind on his redemption journey. Basically, Apollo feels like he's looking at slightly embarrassing old pictures of himself. When they find Cassandra, Apollo offers a genuine apology for everything he did to her. Emboldened by Apollo's example, Paris also opens up to Cassandra in a way he'd never done before. The two are finally able to air out their shared grief from Troy, and they set out to ... idk New Rome or the Waystation or smth. Either way they're a lot closer as siblings now, and Apollo promises to visit them once the Trials are over.

Of course, these are only my ideas that kinda fit into canon, I have a whole bunch more that go entirely off the rails. Anyways this pathetic little failure of a man has bewitched my body and soul or whatever I love rolling him around like a balled up chewing gum wrapper.

[sabersandsnipers]

A Trap Lies Ahead

Request:

How would romanced Astarion react to Tav (probably a bard Tav) offering to use themself as bait to lure out one of Astarion's sibling vampire spawn? Like, instead of just running into Dal and Petras, Tav preforms at where Astarion says are frequent haunts of his siblings, with Tav basically making themself seem like an easy target. Just an idea for a scenario.

You stare at your reflection in the standing mirror. Astarion flits around you, a tape measure hanging around his neck. His actions are precise and practiced, and you notice the focus in his gaze. 

His confidence does nothing to cure your nerves, though. After brainstorming for hours on how to lure one of his fellow spawn in for questioning, you didn’t think offering yourself as bait would be something to consider. You were even more surprised that Astarion even agreed it. But he’s determined to corner another vampire and get answers. 

Astarion lines the tape up with one of your arms, and you shiver as his fingertips brush against your skin. His gaze meets yours briefly. He studies you for a moment, and you hope he doesn’t notice the fear crawling within you. 

But centuries of studying people has made him an expert at reading expressions. He lets his touch linger on your skin a moment longer, a small gesture of comfort. You know he senses the worry in you. 

A few minutes later he pauses in front of you. You glance down at him from the pedestal he put you on.

“I have all the measurements I need,” he tells you. He plays with the measuring tape in his hands. “I’ll get to work on the dress.” 

His eyes flit around nervously, and he’s unable to meet your gaze. Your hands have started shaking at the thought of baring yourself to the danger ahead, and you know anxiety has started to grip him as well. You tilt his chin up, forcing him to look at you. 

“We’ll get through this,” you say, as much to yourself as to him. 

He sighs, but his stance remains tense. He steps forward a bit and buries his face in your chest, inhaling your scent. You lace your fingers in his curls and press a kiss to top of his head. 

“I’m sorry I’m putting you through this,” he says. Your heart clenches at the hurt in his voice. This is as much torture for him as it is for you. 

You cradle his face in your hands, stroking your thumb along his cheekbone. His eyelids flutter closed at the sensation. 

“I trust you, Astarion. And we have to do something. We can’t just wait for them to come to us,” you tell him, hoping your words will ease some of his guilt. 

He grabs your hand and places a kiss on your palm. His eyes meet yours, a new determination settling within them. 

“I will be close by, love,” he says. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

A smile pulls at your lips, and your body warms at his protectiveness. “I know. I just worry you might do your job too well with how that dress is gonna look,” you joke. 

He lets out a breathy laugh. “I will admit you’re going to have to look irresistible, but you don’t even need a dress to do that in my opinion.” 

Your cheeks flush with heat. “As long as you’re the only one that  gets to touch me by the time the night’s over.” 

His hands grip your hips and lift you up to place you before him. His gaze now looks down on you, but the way he looks at you doesn’t make you feel smaller. 

“If they lay a hand on you, they will know a different fear by the time I’m done with them.” His words are hard but his expression is soft. You can’t help the shiver of excitement that runs through you at his promise. 

His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling your forehead against his. You let out a breath at his proximity, savoring the way his thumb strokes the sensitive skin on your neck. The stress that had gripped you so tightly before has vanished with Astarion’s words. 

And you can’t help but feel sorry for any enemy that has the guts to touch Astarion’s mate.

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Congratulations on 1k followers! Your works are amazing, and you deserve it!

Can you do SAGAU, Ranpo (60) with Nahida and Furina (if you don't do both, Nahida is okay)? Plus a child!Reader still recovering from the trauma/abuse prior to the appearance of the BSD cast.

Take care, and keep up your good work!

🎉🎉🎉

Thank you :)

If you were not alone

Part V

Bungou stray dogs character: Self-Aware! Platonic! Ranpo Edogawa

Genshin Impact characters: Platonic! Nahida, Platonic! Furina. Aranaras. Melusines. Small Elynas Cameo.

Reader: Child! GN! Reader

Warning: English is my second language. Mentions of child abuse, terrible parents.

🕵🏻 Vanarana was quiet tonight. Araja was letting you two stay in his house. Ranpo was thinking about past few days, while you was trying to get dome sleep. You were whimpering in your sleep from time to time, so Ranpo gave you head pats, to ease your fear just for a moment. Ranpo let out a growl. This forsaken Teyvat did everything, to break you completely.

When almost a year ago, back in their old world, he and others learned, that you were a child, they were worried, that "their manga" will scare you. Oh, how they wish, that the manga's events would be the scariest thing in your life.

Ranpo had great memory. And he despised every memory about meeting with your "parents".

Ranpo hated, how, in the eyes of neighbors, they were a normal family. How no one would suspect, that they abuse their own flesh and blood.

Ranpo hated, how they couldn't just get rid of your parents, without raising a suspicion. Without having police on their back.

Ranpo still recall, how you looked when you first met. Scared, thin child, who were hiding behind the door, trembling, at the sight of adults arguing.

Ranpo still recall, when your parents asked for a tidy sum, when they realized that he and others are ready to do anything for you.

Ranpo had never seen such rotten people before. They literally traded you like a commodity...

Bless Karma for taking you and other kids outside, so you didn't witness that scene.

But Ranpo especially hated, the words, your "parents" said to them, after Fitzgerald paid and all of them were ready to leave with you.

"Last piece of advice. Don't expect anything from [Y/N]. Your job in making something out of them will a waste of time. Just bashed them with a shovel. Fertilizers are always will be useful."

In a two month they would prove their statement, when Chuuya and Verlaine would use their abilities to bury that "parents" alive.

🕵🏻 For a year Ranpo and others were taking care of you. They loved you, spoiled you, were kind towards you. They found you a therapist and support you. Small step by small step, you start recovering.

And Teyvat threw almost all of you progress away.

Nightmares, fear and tears have returned.

And Ranpo hated, that he can't completely take them away from you.

He wasn't powerful in terms of raw strength. He was genius and had Poe's book. You two can hide, you two can escape.

But this dumb religious fanatics were ruthless. They followed you and followed you two.

Sometimes, Ranpo wished, that Ayatsuji was with you two. Fellow detective was as protective over you, as every one of them, and "Another" would be a very useful in this world.

If wishes were horses...

There is no need in wishing for something.

Ranpo knew, that you need to return home as soon as possible. He must protect your little sibling.

🕵🏻 When you two reached Sumeru, Ranpo almost lost all hope. You two were hunted, and, despite having some helpers (whose help saved your lives), it doesn't change the fact, that powerful of this world hated you. They hated a child, Ranpo's little sibling.

They were trying to KILL a CHILD by the order of ANOTHER CHILD!

Ranpo's thought were interrupted by a jingle. A little sphere, that Nahida gave him, glow. Soon he heard Dendro Archon's voice.

"Ranpo? Is everything alright?"

Ranpo didn't recognize his voice, when he spat.

"[Y/N], before going to bed, asked if I can deduct, why they deserved to suffer."

Nahida wasn't answering for some time. When she spoke, her voice was soft.

"Ranpo... They are trying to find meaning in suffering. I think, for all their live, they heard, that bad things happens to bad people. And they knew, that they are good. So why..."

Nahida didn't finish the sentence. She doesn't need to.

Ranpo was quiet. He pet your head, when you whimpered in your sleep again.

Nahida spoke again.

"I asked Aranaras to help [Y/N] with nightmares... They will enter her dreams any moment now. Before that, let's discuss, what I have learned today about Alice's whereabouts."

🕵🏻 In Sumeru, Ranpo's hope bloomed again. Nahida was really helpful. And, thanks for Aranaras' help, your nightmares disappeared. Maybe, you two could peacefully stay in Sumeru, until Alice's next visit?

Ranpo hopped, that it would be the case.

This hopped disappeared in flames, that destroyed Vanarana.

🕵🏻 Merusea Village reminds you and Ranpo about Vanarana. Place, where some strange creatures lived, who were helping hiding you, and local (former) archon, who was helping them.

Ranpo was really grateful for that. Melusines were guarding you two, making sure, that you two are safe. Ranpo heard, how one melusine mentioned, that "father" also wanted to keep you safe.

Furina wasn't a master fighter, but something in her made you feel less afraid. She console you and bring sweets for you and Ranpo.

🕵🏻 Ranpo and Furina were eating their cakes, while you were playing with melusines. Ranpo can't help, but smile through tears. You looked happy. Furina spoke.

"I am glad, that [Y/N] are happy again. Even for a moment..."

Furina's gaze harden.

"And people are asking why I wish, that this creature on the Ivory Throne just rot away. For "The Holiness" sake, people lose every bit of empathy and mind."

Ranpo nodded.

"When we found a way to our world... Our friends might visit this place again. To have a small "talk" about kindness and kids..."

Furina nodded in return.

"Don't forget to punch someone of the Holy Guard for me."

🕵🏻 In a few days, Neuvillette found you. Dragon was ready to destroy the village. Melusines, he was found of. Furina, whose sacrifice saved Fontaine. Ranpo, who wanted to protect you. And you. A simple child, who already had enough violence in your life.

But, some power hold him down.

You were hiding. You wanted to protect Ranpo, Furina and melusines. You wanted to save Nahida and Aranaras.

You wanted to go home.

Your emotions and powers reached their peak.

And The Great Beast Elynas gave you all his powers, so you could reach Nahida's and Aranaras' prisons.

Portal was open.

______

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa expect, that he will find you and Ranpo tied up in some criminals' lair.

Not in their barn, after small earthquake and surrounded by a bunch of vegetable things, faun people, kid with white hair and girl dressed in blue and with a top hat.

🕵🏻 There is a lot of work to do. Nahida, Aranaras, Furina and Melusines heed help adjusting to new world. You need even more support and kindness. But Ranpo wasn't afraid of it. He will help you. He will make sure, that his little sibling will never cry or suffer ever again.

______

Tag list: @withered-blossoms , @myluckymoon @cocodrilofeliz @c4xcocoa @vvyeislazzy @whisperingwinters

[melgolbach]

First time [Mike Schmidt x Reader]

“ and the first time that you kissed me,

I drank dry the river lethe”

Mike’s heart was beating rapidly. Today was the day. The day that he’d add more into the Schmidt family, a fellow member. He fixated on his fingers, his eyes going haywire as they looked towards your side of the church and as to his side. He gulped, as he looked at your mom, and your siblings. They were all talking to other family of yours, whispering, then glancing back and fourth at him.

Mike wasn’t close to anyone, so the groomsmen were mostly from your side of the family that he felt closest too. The best man, a cousin of yours, noticed that Mike was starting to have a panic attack.

“Are you okay, Mike?” He questioned into his ear. Mike nodded, half listening to him. “Y—yeah.. sorry I don’t do well with big crowds like this, and to be the center of attention.” The cousin chuckled, “well get used to it. Her family adores her, so everyone is gonna want to talk to the both of you tonight.” Mike nodded slowly. Then, everyone went silent.

The song you picked started to play, his lips turning into a smile. Can’t help falling in love, of course, started to play as soon as you got into view. There is already tears falling down the poor man’s cheeks. Your dad was seen next to you holding your forearm carefully, while your hand rested on top of your dad’s.

He could hear crying on the other side of him, your cousin was just as worse as he (and apparently your whole family too). The best man patted Mike’s back, toughening up when you got close up. Mike smiled widely, picking up your veil that covered the beauty of your face. You were stunning.

Mike stopped breathing as soon as his eyes locked in with yours. Your hand in his. This is really happening, he thought.

Mike simply couldn’t hold it in any longer. He broke down, in front of you, and in front of everyone that is witnessing the wedding. “Mike?” You whispered, placing your hand onto his cheek. “M sorry,” he sniffled with a small smile. “M just in my feels right now,” he shrugged off his emotions, coughing and then looking up to the priest that was standing in the middle. Then, the wedding continued.

As the priest went on and on and on rambling, Mike couldn’t help but remember the simple times where it was just him and you, and Abby.

The first time you kissed him, he couldn’t believe it. After all these years alone, he himself had thought he’d die alone. He’d rot alone. Abby, the only one in his life, taking care of him as he got older.

The first argument, he thought he’d lose you. He was the first one to say sorry to you. He was sure you didn’t want him after the way he yelled at you, scared of the actions of what Mike’s done. But you were already in his arms washing away the worried face Mike had.

The first time you both had sex, god Mike was in a complete mess afterwords. He had never felt so good in his life, you had completely changed him after Mike had put himself inside of you. To him, if he ever lost you, he doesn’t think he’d ever feel the same way with anyone else after you. So, he can’t lose you. Whatsoever. At all.

“Now you will repeat after me,” the priest says. The two of you were so lost in thought that both of you didn’t hear anything he had said. “Hello?” The priest sang jokingly. “Anyone home?” He snapped his fingers in front of both of your faces, then the two of you had been brought back into reality. Laughter filled the church and echoed could be heard. “I’m sorry, what?” Mike nervously spoke. “You two are really in love,” the priest laughed.

“Now both of you will repeat after me,” he looked at you two in the eyes this time. “I [Name] [Last name] take you, [NAME], to be my [wife/husband]. I promise to be faithful to you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love you and to honor you all the days of my life. [Partner two repeats this vow.] Bless, O Lord, these rings which we bless in your name.” The priest spoke.

Mike inhaled, and exhaled. “I, Mike Schmidt, take you, [NAME], to be my wife. I promise to be faithful to you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love you and to honor you all the days of my life. Bless, O lord, these rings which we bless in your name.” He finished. You copied after him.

The priest smiled widely. “And now will the ring bear come over?” He called out, a little boy around the age of five came out, handing over the rings to Mike. Mike placed the ring onto your ring finger, and you placed his onto his own. Your hands both holding each other afterwords.

“Mike Schmidt,” the priest spoke. “Do you take [NAME] [LAST NAME] to be your wedded wife, to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, and forsaking all others, be faithful only to her, for as long as you both shall live?”

Mike looked like the happiest man on earth in front of you. “I do.” Gasps and giggles could be heard in the church.

“[NAME] [LAST NAME], Do you take Mike Schmidt to be your wedded husband to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health and forsaking all others, be faithful only to him so long as you both shall live?”

Your almost new husband looked at you with complete awe, and your heart skipped a beat. “I do.” You said. “And now, everyone’s favorite part!, I pronounce you husband and wife.” The priest spoke. “You may now—” Mike did not hesitate to place his lips on yours, his hands resting on your white dress near your hips. “Kiss the bride..” the priest said with a chuckle.

A/N: this is so corny and cheesy but idc bc I love Mike Schmidt

[bakugoushotwife]

kinktober day twenty-five: biting kink

>>> oh yeah i got a new laptop! went back in and reformatted the other days so hopefully they aren't an eyesore but we back on track with choso here :)) he's so.....yum...he's so....biting coded idk

>>> starring: choso kamo x curvy!f!reader >>> cw: sorta dark content just to be safe, biting, a little blood, one spank, spitting, oral (f!receiving), doggy, uh kinda yandere coded i suppose, one kinda baby-trapping comment >>> wc: 3.3k >>> event masterlist:

choso is a family oriented man. it’s at the core of who he is, and everyone knows how important his family is to him—no matter how small said family was. his brother yuji meant a lot to him as his only “blood” relation and closest friend. he loves the guy more than anything. or, he thought he did. that was easy to say until he met you of course. choso was new to life despite his soul being over a hundred years old, and he had never experienced the emotions you bring him. the joy, the excitement, the true love. it amazes him and he’s still not quite used to all of it just yet, despite the several years that you’ve been together. 

you met through yuji during the height of his woes of war and the inner battles he fought against his own cursed brain—toeing the line between human and monster. at some point, he made peace with not belonging. he knew that yuji loves him and that was really all he needed. he didn’t have to relate to yuji’s struggles. his perfectly human issues, like running behind on laundry now that fushiguro is on a mission and isn’t hounding him to do it. he didn’t have to relate to the emotions of love and worry and anxiety or jealousy, not until yuji introduced him to a fellow sorcerer—a kyoto school alumni. you were radiant. like a captive ray of sunshine. he hadn’t experienced such warmth in his chest, blossoming across his face. what was this? he missed your name. he was too busy panicking over introducing himself and how he would do so that he’s already made a complete fool of himself by the time he bows at the shoulders and gives you a gentle whisper of his name. 

you miss his name too, he was much too quiet. you look to yuji, and he clarifies. “my brother, choso. the one i was telling you about!” he pats your back, and you do remember him telling you about his older sibling. by the time choso’s lifted back to his regular posture, he’s convinced yuji’s probably only revealed the most embarrassing things about him and that you would be put off just by the knowledge of what he is. but when he looks at you again, you’re smiling. you give him your hand instead of bowing, repeating your name and cheerfully offering to show him around kyoto city. 

he was so glad he accepted. that warmth in his chest never went away. you were so addictive. you didn’t bat an eye at his awkwardness and you seemingly took pleasure in teaching him any gaps he had yet to experience. that day, when you showed him around the city–he had no clue what it was that he felt for you. he followed you around your town, touring shops and exploring scenery with you, with no trace of embarrassment. you were easy to get along with, naturally talkative and entertaining—he learned a lot about you that night. you were captivating. you were standing at a natural pond, pointing out some cranes and spouting off facts about their mating cycles. he had no clue what half of it really meant, but he liked the sound of your voice and the excitement shimmering in your eyes. he knew he wanted to feel this warmth again. he never wanted it to go away—his body was buzzing with the feeling of being alive. he’d never had that before. it was you, it had to be you, maybe that was your cursed technique. but either way, choso was hooked. 

“you’re beautiful.” he blurted out in the middle of your educational rant, and he’s not sure what made him say so. clearly you were gorgeous—but the confidence to confess it was something he was sure he would lack forever. maybe his brother had rubbed off on him, after all yuji was very outward with his affection for his boyfriend. but you weren’t choso’s anything. he just met you. and if he hadn’t left an awful first impression, he was sure he had made things way to awkward for a first interaction now. 

but you giggle. he likes the sound. it was warm like that feeling in his chest. you turn to give him your attention then, and he really gets to see the gentleness in your eyes. so free of judgment, so soft as they look over him. he’s sure he’s blushing again. 

“so are you.” you grin, one side of your mouth higher than the other. he’s entranced by it. but he’s not the only one affected by this first time encounter. you were amazed by his kindness. he was easy and gentle, not to mention ethereally gorgeous.he was tall and broad, and even though he was covered head to toe, you could tell by the veins in his hands that nothing but strength and muscle lurked beneath his oversized sweater. 

that really sent him reeling. what does he say to that? he’s never been in this position before and yuji certainly didn’t give him any pointers. he could only follow his overly-forward example in his established relationship. “i like you. i want to see you again.” he tucks his hands in his pockets and scuffs his boots over some dirt. 

“like a date?” you ask, brow raised and hopeful. it had only been a few hours of wandering together but you liked the calm tranquility he brought—along with that strikingly handsome face. 

date. date? he knows what that is, he remembers something about these. it’s where couples spend time together! but you weren’t a couple yet, so… was that different? he could ask later, right now you stare up at him expectantly—and he can’t say no to that look on your face. “yes. romance.” he nods, and you smile softly at the attempt.

though romance you he did. he must have learned a lot in the weeks leading up to your official first date, because from that point on choso never ceased to amaze you. he surely didn’t know everything about being a boyfriend, but you made things pretty easy on him. he mostly acted off of instinct, and where that failed him–you made sure to keep him informed on how to love, console, talk through his feelings, and navigate any other bump in the road along the way of your beautiful three years together. 

you taught him how to embrace his intimacy, too. and boy, is that his favorite way of loving you. he is clingy and possessive–you’re the only person alive who could evoke such neediness from him, of course he wants to stay near you always and make his claim on you as visible as possible. hasn’t he already established how beautiful you are? i mean your nature and beauty alone was enough to bring someone like him out of his shell. he can only imagine what effect you must have on lesser men. 

he never imagined that lesser men would include your male coworker— partner. even worse. he may be unfamiliar with several things that this life has to offer, but the concept of a work husband was not lost on him. especially when it comes time to pick you up that day. choso always liked to pick you up. he liked to see you as soon as possible number one, and number two he liked to make sure his presence was still well noted around your infested office. he picked a good day to stop by, apparently. your partner had you trapped in your chair—his body wedged between your desk and any escape. choso could tell by the look in his eye that his intentions were anything but pure–and clearly the healing bruises peeking up over your collar weren’t enough to let the pervert know that you were more than spoken for. 

you could feel his energy as soon as he rounded the corner, and your relief was clear. you slump into your seat, ready for your loving boyfriend’s rescue from this horribly awkward conversation. your relief doesn’t last long. the look on your boyfriend’s face was that of pure rage, his eyes a dark purple flame. your pesky coworker seems to feel the perilous stare. he wheels around to be met with the boyfriend you warned him about, and he opens his mouth to make excuses. 

“leave. don’t talk to her again.” he utters from your doorway, making sure the man had to walk past him to obey his requests. “want kids one day?” he threatens, raising his brow, his face a nasty scowl. the guy backs aways from you immediately, tucking his head to slide past choso and pray that his sliminess doesn’t get on his clothes. choso growls a little upon his exit, slamming your door shut behind him. your kind and gentle boyfriend was in the backseat of his own mind, and you knew it. he was blinded with jealousy—though he trusts you with his life. it just disgusts him that anyone can picture you in the way that’s only meant for him. if he could, he’d make sure no one could even look at you, though that’s far from an achievable reality. he stares at you, the fire dimming in his eyes only slightly since you were not the source of his rage—but you would surely be the resolve of it. 

you could tell what he was ordering you to do without him having to say a word, and it wouldn’t be the first time that you’ve let choso fuck you in your office. it excites you to see him so controlling. you unbutton your blouse, moving from your office chair to the desk to present yourself for him. he growls approvingly, thumbing over his bottom lip as he admires you. you’re already a patchwork of bruises in various stages of healing—and thanks to your overzealous partner, he’d have to add more to the collection. 

“just panties.” he orders in that low silken tone of his. you can see the imprint of his cock steadily hardening against the casual black jeans he chose to wear today. your mouth nearly salivates at the thought of how rough he was about to be with you as you grip at the sides of your pencil skirt, yanking it down your legs and into the floor before you move for your bra—sighing at the relief of your free chest meeting the cool air. he nods, tugging at the neck of his shirt to remove it. 

your body just puts everything in overdrive. every need to take you and mark you up intensifying tenfold. you are perfect, sultry little lips, a perfect rack and curves for days. he knew he was hardly the first guy to fantasize about you—but he had to make sure he was the only one taking up your thoughts. you shudder at the reveal of his chiseled top half. he was so bulky despite first impressions, huge biceps and thick, veiny forearms. his chest was wide and pecs defined, he was a god. your legs shift wider in subconscious accommodation for him and he’s pushing his jeans down and giving you a half-lidded smirk—enough to make your panties stick to your cunt in anticipation of him. he grabs your chin, giving you a harsh kiss. he was so dual, so easy with you one moment and brutal with you the next, it was everything. he gnaws at your lip, shoving his thick tongue into your mouth, licking over the walls over your cheeks and tasting the bitter energy drink you’ve been sipping on your tongue. he chuckles when he pulls away, your lip puffy in the spot his teeth met. 

“so pretty even your coworkers want you. what am i gonna do with you, sweetheart?” he sighs, sinking to his knees. he rubs you over your panties, enjoying the squishy mush he feels waiting for him beneath the fabric. you kick your legs on either side of him, leaning back on the desk to get more of that feeling, his fingers temporarily hooking on your clit with each pathetic little roll of your hips. “only this wet for me though, right?”

you nod vigorously, parting those swollen lips to plead your case. he swipes your panties to the side and loudly spits against your clit. his other thumb comes in to spread the nasty lube. you clamp your mouth shut again at the feeling of his digits stroking over you, your studious boyfriend having learned exactly where to touch you through your times together. you shudder instantly, body responding through jerks of your legs and trying to shut them around his head. that only makes him move his fingers all together, leaning in to suckle your clit in between his teeth, biting at the sensitive nub. you can feel his hair rub against your inner thighs, the warmth and wetness of his mouth making you look around for a way to ground yourself against the rapid stretching elastic feeling in your core. his hands find the dimples of your thighs, kneading at them and groaning as he flicks his tongue against the nerves now—memorizing the patterns and speed you liked best like this quick figure eight he was doing now. 

one hand grips the desk, your other coming up to grip at his black pigtail, whisper-chanting his name as helplessly grind on his face. he knows you won’t last much longer, and he knows exactly how to push you over the edge—letting his fingers take the place of his mouth so he could occupy his teeth with the plush skin of your inner thighs. luckily you love it, his sick need to brand you in the most dangerous way possible—loving the message it sends. you squeal as he sinks into your flesh, seeing stars from the combining sensations. 

“choso!! cumming, oh shh—” your mouth drops open, the shocks coming over you in waves. if he was in a kinder mood, he’d work you through the onslaught and let you sit on his length, working you both out in such a delicious fashion. but he’s insatiable, and one of those sweet squeals from you is not anywhere near enough. he stands back to full height, pulling off those soaked panties and letting them lie forgotten along with the rest of your clothes. you’re so gone already—so beautiful and blissed out in the way that you have taught him exactly how to do this to you and no one could be as attentive and cater to you like he does. you look up at him so sweetly, you’ve given over your entire body for him to decorate as he sees fit—and your neck doesn’t have his teeth marks in the delicate skin where everyone can see. no, he had been a gentleman so far, keeping everything coverable–tasteful peeks available depending on the work shirts you chose. he thumbs over your lip, scraping his teeth over your jaw and nipping at different places just enough to bruise, loving the blues and reds left in his wake. he knows to be careful, to avoid your carotid–no one’s more in tune with blood flow than he is. so he picks his spot, laving his tongue over it as his fingers play in the mess between your legs, making you gasp and hump into his hand again like the eager little girl you are. you scream out his name when he bites, the iron tang of blood dripping on his tongue and down that pretty neck of yours. you kick your feet, the pain so deep but so good—connected directly to the panging need in your cunt, you can’t deny that his kink is one you share. 

you can see the red staining his teeth when he pulls away to look at the little streaks running down your skin–just enough. he would never seriously hurt you, and he knows that you love to be bitten and branded as much as he loves to do it. you grin at the sight of him, blood on his lip and desire burning in the place of his earlier rage. he turns you, helping you lean over your desk so he could see what marks needed to be replaced on your ass. he licks his teeth, several had healed up and disappeared to his distaste. he slaps the supple skin, making you jump a bit with giddiness—some dizziness even. you push against your wooden desk to feel his warmth, his large hand enough to sting your whole cheek as his teeth sink into the other. your eyes roll back a little, knowing this one had drawn blood based on the way he soothes over the indents with his tongue. it’ll be hard to sit on it tomorrow, but he compliments the brand with a few hickies surrounding the main piece, palming at your skin to soothe. he loves hearing you mewl and moan when he claims you, he loves seeing that glistening layer of your want for him on your thighs when he spreads your ass cheeks, grunting out just how happy it makes him as he guides his fat leaking cockhead to the eager entrance. 

he hisses and you moan when he bottoms out in you, giving you inch by inch without mercy. you press your cheek to the cool wood of the desk, only able to feel the heat of your body and his hot cock sliding in and out of you. you can’t speak, he fills you too well. he’s angled too perfect, hitting every spot over and over to make you stupid—unable to even hold yourself up any longer. he loves using such a brutal pace on you, thrusting powerfully enough that his balls slap against your bruised ass. you clench down around him so tight he’s worried his cock might snap in two—but it’s so worth it for the animalistic moans spilling from your throat every time he nudges against your cervix. you look so cute beneath him, clawing at the desk and screaming his name in those silent yells. 

“is this my pussy? tell me who’s pussy this belongs to.” he grunts, pulling your arms behind your back. you arch to fight against the depth he’s getting, only to give him more with your squirming. he tightens his hold to keep you still, using his other hand to pull your hair up for a clear answer. you inhale sharply at the pain, the feeling so blissful you can feel another elastic band stretching thin inside you. “asked you a question, sweetheart. speak up.” 

“yes–” you choke out, trying to collect your thoughts in between the loud beats of your heart and throbs of your pussy. “all yours, ‘s your pussy chos–choso!” you cry out, the rubber band snapping as he finds the weak spot of your womb. 

“that’s my good girl, want my pussy to cum for me.” he squeezes your wrists in one big hand—freeing your hair. you gasp out, nodding eagerly as the release comes gushing, your series of babbles and squeals enough to do him in. he slams his cock as deep as it will go–hoping to one day mark you as his in the most obvious way possible as his seed spills into your insides. he rocks you both through it this time, a sign that your boyfriend was returning to normal after receiving the cure to his sour mood. his soft hands caress the curves of your waist as he stills, catching his breath. you lay beneath him in a dream state, blood on your body and traces on the table and on his own person. he chuckles a little—hopefully your partner, and any other oblivious skeez, gets the point now, if your screaming didn’t run them out of the office.

[cancerian-woman]

klonnie au|inspired by the haunted mansion: For over a thousand years Klaus has loved and mourned his former wife, Bonnie. He has searched and discarded many companionships, but no one has been able to love and understand him like Bonnie did. Klaus has forcibly adapted to life without her, but on his journey to break his curse, he sees Bonnie following around a certain doppelgänger. He knows in his heart that Bonnie has returned to him and he's going to need his siblings' help getting her back.

An excerpt from this fic:

Bonnie set her skepticism aside as she sat her duffle bed on the large vintage ottoman of the Mikaelsons spare bedroom. Rebekah planned her birthday sleepover for her fellow cheerleaders weeks ago. This “holiday” was extra special to Bonnie’s physics partner, as her older brothers would be turning home from their business trip. While Rebekah has only been at Mystic Falls High for four weeks, Bonnie oddly trusted her like a sister.

The little witch was the first to arrive at the Mikaelson mansion. With whispers of magic in the house Bonnie couldn’t help but investigate. As a newbie witch, she wanted to find any source of new information possible. Her bedroom for the night was vintage styled and decorated with vibrant flowers in every corner. The smell of citrus hit her nose and she couldn’t be more pleased.

Bonnie did a twirl in the mirror admiring Rebekah’s choice in silk nightgowns and headbands. The witch saved herself some preparation time by pinning up her curled hair. Her peer did inform her since she was there first, she got to choose the red gown specifically. When was the last time her life was centered around an enjoyable night and not the struggles of being supernatural?

“You look beautiful,” Rebekah grinned, and stepped into the bedroom. “I could not imagine my birthday without you. You have been the kindest friend.”

Bonnie quickly accepted the hug. She felt a sense of magic within Rebekah but trusted she’d tell the truth on her own terms. Whether that be as a witch, werewolf or vampire. This girl was kind and it wouldn’t be fair though her friends suggested otherwise to call her out. Besides, Bonnie hadn’t even met the rest of the family. The cheer squad’s first night at the Mikaelsons wasn’t going to be filled with drama, not on Rebekah’s day.

“Wouldn’t miss your birthday for the world,” Bonnie replied, giving Rebekah an extra squeeze. “I can help you set up.”

Rebekah laughed at that. “Nonsense, darling, I can handle everything. Take a tour of my home.”

“Are you sure?” Bonnie asked, with her eyes wide. “What if I helped set the tables, arrange blankets or even do the food?”

“Yes, do not worry in my home you are not a guest here,” Rebekah said, sternly with a sigh beginning to turn away. The teen wasn’t even finished applying her makeup-and was still dressed in her bright robe. The rolls were just beginning to slip in her blonde hair. “Just shout if you need me!”

Bonnie checked her phone Caroline and Elena would be running late for different reasons. The others on the squad were on their way or running behind leaving Bonnie to explore on her own.

The Mikaelson manor sent shivers down Bonnie's spine. The place felt like a magical hotspot, giving her goosebumps all over. While she admired the clever vintage-themed designs of the family, she found their home to be dangerously confusing to navigate.

Bonnie decided to go to the nearest room with a light seeping through under the door. She gasped, as she accidentally stepped into a private art space.

The woman in the painting reminded Bonnie of herself before she entered the supernatural world: happy, carefree and filled with gratitude. Magic gave this woman joy. She existed across different eras, and Bonnie couldn't help but notice the time periods, which ranged from 1002 to the 2010s. The artist signed himself as Nik M with sentiments on eternal love. The woman through the art had lived through each era, embodying the luxurious fashion trends of Black women.

Bonnie wouldn’t go so far as to call this woman her doppelgänger, but the similarities were striking. They both had green eyes, golden skin, thick dark hair and other common traits like freckles in the Bennett’s. The young witch tried not to dwell on it, but for a moment, she entertained the unsettling thought of being a doppelgänger and shivered at the idea.

The painting that captivated Bonnie the most was of a woman with curly hair obscuring her face, holding her head high as if magic were being used to promote relaxation. Surrounded by a lush garden, she appeared more content than anything else in the world. In fact, in none of these paintings the woman was never down; she was at peace. As Bonnie reached out to touch the painting, she quickly withdrew her hand when the door opened.

“Not everyday I find a beautiful woman in my study,”

This man was unlike any she had ever seen. His dimpled grin and the curls resting on his shoulders caught Bonnie off guard. He had an enticing scent of expensive cologne that hinted at his attention to appearance. Although his shirt and pants were a simple dark henley with jeans, she couldn't help but notice his preference for a chain featuring a butterfly around his neck. Yes, she noticed an English accent similar to Rebekah’s.

“You can call me Nik, what is your name?” Nik asked, holding his hand out for Bonnie. “I am one of Rebekah’s eldest brothers.”

“Bonnie. Bonnie Bennett,” Bonnie said, returning the shake.

Their enclosed hand jolted upon touch and Bonnie quickly pulled away hoping Klaus didn’t notice.

“I thought Rebekah said you wouldn’t be home until later?”

“It is my sister’s birthday, what type of brother would I be without a surprise?”

“Dramatic entrance, for a smart brother.”

“I strive for the element of surprise, my love.” Nik smiled at the compliment.

Never being alone with a grown man before Bonnie’s mouth went dry and she got flustered. She was met at an uncomfortable crossroad. Be herself or do what her friends would do? She chose herself first.

“I can leave,” Bonnie suggested, not knowing how to flirt properly. “I know art can be really personal. I wouldn’t want to disrespect your space.”

“As an artist, explaining my motives is just as important. Would you desire a tour?” Nik questioned, holding his hand out for Bonnie. “There are hundreds perhaps more here. All of my wife.”

Bonnie reluctantly accepted the warm invitation. Their hands jolted and she felt a fiery passion burn the closer she was to Klaus.

“Do you mind if I ask what happened?” Bonnie asked, as judging the photos of the woman framed on his antique desk.

“She was murdered, and before that, we promised eternal love. We wanted our story to be heard for centuries. I use my art to cope with her loss.” Nik sighed, as he traced a photo of the woman in seventies inspired clothing. “Love will never die, it was rather the purest forms of eternal affection.”

“I’m sorry you lost her. The way you remember her is really beautiful, Nik.” Bonnie compliments, and secretly swoons over him. “Did you ever receive justice for her murder?”

Klaus mockingly grinned at that question. “That person will never be heard from again. Tell me, Bonnie, do you ever think it is possible for souls to be connected?”

“Sounds like something out of a movie.” Bonnie said, brushing off the question. Not wanting to reveal her witch status.

“I think some people are aligned by fate. What goes around will return if it is meant to be.” Klaus pauses, and gazes into Bonnie really studying her beauty.

Klaus's throat went dry as he realized that Bonnie was exactly who Rebekah had described: his small, courageous, and daringly beautiful witch who loved him unashamedly. The red silk gown sparked the most enticing thoughts in his mind, and her skin still bore the sweet scent of honeysuckle that he remembered. However, instead of rushing to confess things that might send Bonnie running for the hills, he chose a softer approach.

“You're distracting, my love, would you like to see other pieces of art? The gardens perhaps?”

Bonnie blushed in response. There was something mystical and comforting about the mystical English artist. She’d rather hear stories about a man who loved his wife so much he kept her immortal in time.

“First, I want to know all about the artist and his work dedicated to making his wife immortal,” Bonnie said, looking into Klaus eyes. She might not tell everyone but she too enjoyed a romantic story from time to time!

For a fleeting moment that almost made the witch step-away she believed she saw Amber colored eyes but blue settled back in.

“Who would I be to disagree with a ravishing woman?” Klaus asked, pulling Bonnie closer to him. He wanted to moan at how sweet she smelled.

Bonnie giggled, and rolled her eyes. “Then I want that tour of the gardens and the pool area please? Rebekah is still getting ready.”

“As you wish,” Klaus obliged, and he noticed how Bonnie loved eye contact and physical touch as he explained his motives though she already understood him.

Klaus didn’t need to taste her blood or have a witch perform a spell to understand his wife had returned back to him. Once the time is right, Bonnie too will believe in their love again. His mother and father sought to keep them separated and Klaus will go to the ends of the earth to ensure Bonnie never leaves his life again.

The original vampire is just grateful Rebekah stalled Bonnie as he removed the paintings of her sleeping, jogging, gardening and anything else without her knowledge that would incriminate him too soon.

[cioud-berries]

Mutual Benefit || Chapter 6

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I struggled so hard with this one because the next one is the one i want to really write. Anyways next week is finals week so hopefully I will be writing more once its winter break!! 

Summery:

Posts season 2: Spoiler warning!!

Being forced into an arranged marriage, [Name] tried her hardest with her unreceptive husband Salo. After his death, she was forced to replace his council position, trying to figure out who she was as a person. Sevika never expected to get anywhere close to the council, let alone join them. As the stigma around people from Zaun still stood, she struggled to gain the respect from her new fellow councillors. With so many differences how could the two really help one another?

Chapter Warnings:

Season 2 Spoilers, alcohol involvement.

Word count: 2,560

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<- Previous Chapter || Mutual Benefit Master List || Next Chapter ->

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        Handing her passport to the enforcer, Sevika watched [Name] and Sasha make their way onto the airship. The guard gave her a nasty look as he handed her passport back. Sevika brushed by with a roll of her eyes.

        Once she was on the ship, she walked up to [Name] and Sasha. Sasha was jumping up and down, extremely excited that Sevika was going to be joining them. “I can’t wait for you to meet Agalea!” Sasha happily told Sevika.

        Sevika gave [Name] a questioning look, as Sasha had not explained who Agalea was. “My niece.” [Name] clarified.

        Sevika nodded in response, leaning against the airship as it began to take off. “What should I know about your family?”

        “My eldest brother Maxwell is the heir to the throne. I think you’d like him. But he can be a real pain sometimes.” [Name] explained with a small smile. “My father will like anyone, so never worry about him. My mother…” She paused, trying to find an explanation for her and what Sevika should expect. “My mother is very protective over her family. So just watch your eyes.”

        “What’s that supposed to mean?” Sevika cocked her eyebrow with a slight smirk.

        “Don’t even pretend like you don’t know how you look at me.” [Name] jokingly glared at her. “I think she might actually banish you if she catches you.”

        “Fine. I’ll only admire you in private.” Sevika jokingly scoffed. 

        The mood slightly changed as [Name] deeply exhaled. “But the biggest unspoken rule of my family is: Never mention my dead siblings.” 

        Sevika nodded, her head. A look of sadness just barely broke through. Wanting to change subjects, Sevika asked, “What’s your eldest brother like?”

        “Oh Gods.” [Name] huffed, rolling her eyes. “He’s a brother.”

        “I wouldn’t know.” Sevika replied, now really wanting to know about this mysterious brother of hers. “I had no siblings.”

        “He’s both one of the most amazing and worst men I’ve ever met.” [Name] explained. “We’re very close after everything we went through. He’s really fun. But at other times I just want to-” [Name] looked down at her daughter that was looking out into the ocean. She could only whisper her next words, “Kill him.”

        “Sounds about how most sibling relationships are.” Sevika responded.

        “I genuinely don’t understand how he not only found a wife.” [Name] sighed in frustration. “Sometimes he literally wakes me up in the middle of the night to ask if I would want to go drinking with him.”

        “He sounds like my kind of fun.”

        “We’ll most likely go to the bar tonight. You’re welcome to join.” [Name] invited. 

        Sevika scoffed with a small smirk. “Do you know who you’re talking to?” [Name] only smiled in response.

        The airship continued on and after many hours they arrived at the port. Sasha was jumping up and down at the terminal. She could already see her cousin Agalea waiting for her. [Name] had to hold Sasha’s hand, making sure she doesn’t trip and possibly fall off the side of the boarding dock. 

        “Welcome to Sembyr.” [Name] told Sevika, before turning her attention to the people waiting to welcome them.

        The second they reached solid ground, [Name] let go of Sasha, letting her run to her cousin, hugging her. Next to Agalea was an [Name]’s father. He had a large smile on his face, but he waited beside the two children.

        [Name] sped up her pace, hugging her father once he came at arm length. “It’s been too long.” He mumbled.

        Chuckling, [Name] pulled away. “It’s only been a few months.”

        “I know.” He smiled at his daughter. “But you know I worry about you. Especially after Salo’s death.”

        [Name] grimaces at the mention of him. “I’m doing much better without him.”

        “I know. I just meant that you’re now raising Sasha all alone. And now you’re a councilor on top of that.” He expressed his worries.

        “Dad, really, I’m fine.” She tried to extinguish his worries, knowing he never would be able to. Wanting to get over the topic of her dead husband, she turned to other things. Stepping aside, she allowed Sevika to join the conversation. “This is Sevika, she is one of my fellow councilors.” 

        “Ah right.” He said to himself, forgetting that [Name] was bringing. “It’s nice to finally meet you! [Name] has told us quite a bit about you.”

        “She has?” Sevika asked with a cocky grin. 

        [Name] was more than embarrassed, but she could only hide it with a confident smile. Her father continued, making it even worse. “Oh yes! I am very thankful for your help with all that council stuff. She’s also told us about-”

        [Name] was quick to cut her father off. “Where’s mom and Max? I was expecting them to be meeting us.”

        “Oh right.” He exclaimed, forgetting to explain that. “They’re in a meeting. So I just thought that I would bring Agalea with me.”

        “Maybe we should start heading over?” [Name] asked, just wanting to get home.

        [Name] and her father talked as they walked their way to the castle in the distance. Sevika stayed quiet, only talking when talked to. She could immediately tell that this was a new [Name]. The real [Name]. One that didn’t have to pretend to be anything other than herself. 

        While the adults were talking, Sasha and Agalea were telling each other what fun things had happened in the past few months. It then turned into who had been having the most fun and had the better story.

        “Well I made a cool new friend.” Sasha crossed her arms. “And she’s been teaching me self defence.”

        Agaela looked shocked. “My dad won't even allow me to touch a sword.”

        “That’s her.” Sasha whispered, pointing at Sevika. “Under her cloak is a mechanical arm.”

        “She looks so cool.” Agalea looked admiringly at Sevika. “I wanna see her metal arm!”

        “She only shows it to me.” Sasha huffed, wanting to be special.

        “No fair!” Agalea whined.

        Sevika had overheard the whole conversation. Looking over her shoulder to look at the two girls. They immediately noticed that they were caught. Agalea got bashful, looking away from Sevika; While Sasha only gave her a bright smile. 

        Sevika chuckled, putting her attention back on [Name]’s conversation. Agalea and Sasha immediately went back to discussing Sevika, trying to be quieter, but they weren’t at all.

        They arrived at the castle gates. Sevika was stunned at just how big the building was. It was bigger than the council building, and that was an office building, but this is a home. She knew [Name] was rich, but this kind of wealth was incomprehensible.

        The doors to the castle opened, revealing an older woman and a man that couldn’t be much older than [Name]. [Name] left her fathers side, running up and hugging the woman first, and then went to the man. Sevika could only assume that it was [Name]’s mother and brother.

        She walked up to the group that was exchanging warm words. The man, who was known as Maxwell. He gave Sevika a wide smile, walking up and reaching his left hand out to shake hers. 

        “You must be Sevika.” He greeted, waiting for her to shake his hand. 

        She only glared down at his hand. To shake it, she would have to reveal the weapon that hung off her shoulder, and she could possibly chop his hand off. “I am.” Is the only way that she responded. 

        [Name] walked up to them, leaving her mom to bombard Sasha with kisses to her face. “She doesn’t have a left hand idiot.” She told her brother while rolling her eyes. 

        Maxwell made a shocked face as he switched what hand he used to shake. Sevika then grasped his hand, shaking it briefly. “[Name] has told me that you’re new to the council. How are you liking it?” 

        “It’s been frustrating working with such idiots.” Sevika didn’t like how chummy he was being, after just meeting, thinking that he had other motivations. Sevika clarified what she meant. “All except [Name].”

        [Name] gave a small smile at the exclusion. “The situation in Piltover reminded me of what we had gone through.” [Name] explained to Maxwell. “Since you too quickly rose to power, I thought you could bond over it.”

        Sevika huffed, rolling her eyes. She didn’t see how they could have anything in common with her.

        “These are all discussions that should be held over a mug of beer.” Maxwell whined, preferring to be drunk. He had a slight issue, whether he knew it or not. 

        “That’s what tonight is for.” [Name] smiled, knowing that they would like one another once they shared a beer together.

        The mention of them getting drunk together piqued Sevika’s interest. [Name] told her that she had to be on her best behavior around her family, but she knew that with a little alcohol in her system, her eyes would most definitely wonder.

        Maxwell was called away by a guard, as next in line he was always busy. It left [Name] and Sevika alone, as [Name] showed Sevika to her room. “I know you just met all of them, but how do you like them?” [Name] asked, her family meant a lot to her and Sevika was becoming an important person in her life, so she wanted to make sure that they were getting along.

        “I haven’t talked to them enough.” Sevika flatly responded. “I didn’t get to talk to your mom.”

        “Yeah.” [Name] huffed. “She does that the second she gets her hands on Sasha.”

        “Her liking of me seemed to double.” Sevika told, talking about Agalea’s newfound admiration.

        “They’re very close.” [Name] explained. “They tend to start liking the same things.”

        “I can tell.” Sevika let the smallest smirk get through.

        “Don’t worry though, Sasha spends most of her time here with my sister in law or mother.” [Name] told. She stopped in front of a door. The one that would be Sevika's room. She chewed at the corner of her lip. “So that means that we can finally have some alone time.”

        [Name] batted her eyelashes at Sevika, giving a cunning smirk. Sevika took it as a sign to go in for a kiss, leaning into her. But she was met with nothing as [Name] backed up. “But you need to settle in first.” 

        Sevika’s face contorted in frustration. [Name] was edging her, making her wait for it. She couldn’t understand why [Name] wouldn’t allow her to just drag her into the room and show her how she really feels.

        [Name] was slowly backing up more. “My  room is right next door.” She informed, but ‘right next door’ was almost halfway down the hallway. “So just knock if you need anything.”

        Sevika watched ask [Name] turned away, there was a bit of sway in her hips as she made her way to her room. Sevika opened the door to the room she would be staying in. She was met with a room that was bigger than her whole apartment.

        She spent hours, lounging around the room, trying to find something to do other than nothing. As the sun began to descend, there was a knock on the door. When she opened the door, [Name] stood there in completely different clothes, ones that closer matched the style of Sembyr. Sevika didn’t mind at all as it revealed more of her body than any of her old clothes ever could.

        “We’re about to leave for the bar.” [Name] told Sevika. “If you still want to join, of course.”

        “This is all I’ve been waiting for.��� Sevika added, walking past [Name] into the hall.

        They quietly made their way down to the foyer, where Max stood with another man. They were conversing but when they saw [Name] and Sevika out of the corner of their eye, they stopped, turning their attention to them. 

        “This is my friend Orionn.” [Name] introduced. “He is also currently one of the king's guards.” 

        Orionn awkwardly waved as Sekiva nodded to acknowledge him. They walked out of the castle, heading towards the gate. Orionn and Maxwell walked in the front, going back to their conversation. [Name] and Sevika walked behind them by a few steps, not talking. 

        “How are you liking Sembyr?” [Name] asked.

        “I haven’t seen much.” Sevika said, as she was in the room for the past few hours.

        [Name] nodded her head. “Well you’ll see the heart of Sembyr soon!”

        “A bar is the heart of Sembyr?” Sevika asked with a cocked eyebrow.

        “Yep!” [Name] smiled. “It didn’t use to be. It was the headquarters for the revolution. When we won, it became one of the biggest hotspots in the city.”

        “So your family were revolutionaries?” Sevika asked, still not getting the whole story still. 

        [Name] nodded “My mother became the head of the revolution. When we won she ascended to the throne.”

        “And the revolutionaries were okay with another monarchy after the last one oppressed them?” Sevika asked.

        “Yeah.” [Name] awkwardly answered, seeming a bit unsure of the reasoning. “My mother was royalty. She was supposed to be heir but knew she would just be controlled by everyone around her so she ran away. The revolutionaries convinced her to join the cause. And the rest is history.”

        Sevika’s brows furrowed, still confused at why people would act in such a way, yet it was exactly what happened with her. They wanted independence but instead Sevika joined them. The closer they got to the bar, the more crowded it got. Many people watched the group, as it wasn’t every day you got to see the royals out and about. 

        The bar was not what Sevika thought it would be. She was expecting some fancy uptight bar, but it looked like any normal one. When they entered, it was packed, having to squeeze past people to get through.

        To make sure they didn’t get separated as they walked to the back, [Name] grabbed Sevika’s hand. Sevika was shocked at the sudden physical contact as [Name] pulled her along. Maxwell and Orionn got lost in the crowd, so it was just now [Name] and Sevika.

        Once they made it up to the bar [Name] let go of Sevika’s hand. They were at the very edge of the bar, as [Name] waved down one of  the bartenders. They both ordered drinks, staying in their spot as they waited.

        “I didn’t think it would be this packed.” [Name] admitted.

        “The last drop has never been like this.” Sevika added. 

        Once they got their drinks [Name] they silently stood while drinking. Feeling looser, [Name] began to sway to the music. Sevika smirked at her as she quickly finished her drink. Before she could order another, [Name] placed hers down, grabbing Sevika’s hand again. 

        Leading Sevika to the dance floor, she began to dance. Due to the amount of people around, they were basically pressed up against one another. “Come on? Don’t you want to dance?”

        “I don’t.” Sevika deadpanned, standing still as [Name] continued to sway to the music.

        “Awe come on now.” [Name] pouted, grabbing her arm, and used it to spin herself. 

        Sevika’s cold stare softened as [Name] enjoyed herself, staring into Sevika’s eyes, drawing her in. She huffed, slowly swaying back and forth. [Name] could only smile, happy to have someone join her.

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THE LION CHRONICLES

Pairings: girlfriend!Lute x f!reader, fatherfigure!Alastor x f!reader, motherfigure!Rosie x f!reader, siblings!Emily and Sera x f!reader

Summary: Y/N, older sister of Emily and younger sister of Sera, mysteriously disappears from Heaven. She is found by two quirky overlords, who give her a fresh new start. Meanwhile, those close to her mistake her for dead.

A/N: this is just many thoughts put together, this would be the first time I'm making a serious project with fanfiction, so it could take me a while to get the hang of it :3

Warnings: mentions of sex, grief, canon-typical violence, WLW, eventual smut (probably), angst, daddy issues, mommy issues, approval seeking

| OPENING // PART 1 |

˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

They said I'm a traitor.

Maybe I am. All I know is that I did what I had to do.

I was raised to know that falling from grace was the worst thing that could ever happen to an angel. In my eyes, that was another of the multitude of lies I'd been told. The worst thing that happened to me wasn't falling, it was never seeing my sisters, my love or my home again. To never walk on the fluffy clouds. To be unable to protect Emily. To leave Sera to deal with responsibilities on her own. To never feel Lute's skin against my own.

What was true, however, was that falling was the most painful thing an angel could experience. The excruciating pain of my wings being torn off my back, the horror of seeing the six feathery stumps on the ground, golden blood spattered everywhere I turned my gaze, the agony of my halo being snapped, the tumble through the portal and the crash with the stony street of wherever I had stumbled upon.

Two people approached me as I laid stranded on the ground. Their shoes were right in front of my nose: one pair was black, red at the toes and above the ankles, the shape accommodated to hoof-like feet; the other pair was all black, a black and red striped gown draped over them. My blurry vision could just make out spots of colour and the lady's feminine appearance, while the one with hooves was more difficult to distinguish in the moment, but it was at best an effeminate man.

"A fallen angel?" A radio-filtered voice spoke right before I blacked out.

˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

"Look who's up!"

I opened my eyes, finally seeing more clearly than before. I was lying on my stomach on a red-pink couch and weakly lifted my head to look at what I could: the room was of hues of red, pink and boysenberry, a somewhat pleasing palette for Hell. I rolled on my back to get a better look around but the pain that radiated from my shoulder blades stabbed me again, making me cry out and sit up, leaning my shoulder on the couch. I could feel that the tiny stumps that were left of my wings were bandaged with gauze, the difficult tying of the material limiting the movement of my arms.

"Be careful with those, darling, don't push yourself." The lady from before spoke, seated on the bed in front of the couch.

"Thank you for rescuing me, Miss...?" I trailed off.

"Rosie, darling. Welcome to Cannibal Town." She introduced herself with a smile. She seemed quite lovely, almost motherly with the way she spoke.

"Cannibal Town?" The notion made me a little uncomfortable, but if she wanted to hurt me, she'd have done so already.

"Don't worry, dear, no one's out to eat you," the voice from before spoke, the man with the hooves, I guessed. "Alastor, pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure!"

This Alastor seemed like a quirky fellow: his never-ending smile, his moxie, his mannerisms and his radio-like voice, to name a few, were quite charming, but at the same time off-putting. I didn't know whether he was to be trusted or not, but he did save my life along with Rosie.

"The pleasure is all mine, sir." I replied with a weak smile and a small nod.

"Now, tell us, however did we stumble upon Sera and Emily's kindred in such an unbelievably unpleasant condition?" Alastor asked. The names of my sisters sent chills down my spine. I wondered what they were even thinking of me, their own sister, vanishing like that. What if they thought I died? Or worse... what if they thought I left them? That I didn't love them anymore and found a better way to live? And what if Lute thought that?

My breathing quivered and my eyes brimmed with tears at the mere thought. I sniffed quietly and began telling them what happened, voice thick with tears. "Sera approved the extermination. It's disgusting, it's inhumane, it's hypocritical... I couldn't let that happen, I couldn't let Emily find out about such a thing. I couldn't let Lute get involved in such danger... and for what? I know she can handle herself, but I couldn't risk losing her... and Emily's far too innocent know. I- I tried to stop it, I tried to make peace, but what I got instead..."

"Oh, you poor darling..." Rosie frowned and sat beside me, patting my head with affection, and I couldn't help but lean into her touch.

"Say, let's keep your... old titles a secret, dear Y/N, hmm?" Alastor said with an exaggerated tilt of the head, his neck emitting a loud crack with the motion. The noise made me flinch, but the fact that he seemed to be perfectly fine only added to my wonder and curiosity about him.

"Yes, sir." I agreed, looking down at my torn-up gown littered with clumps of feathers.

"To do that, you need a new look, darling." Rosie smiled, to which Alastor agreed with enthusiasm.

"Indeed you do, my dear!" He said and paced back and forth in front of the couch, examining my figure. He seemed to disapprove of the tousled hair, ripped angelic gown, gashes and stumps. "You need new clothes, a fresh new start, and- oh! Animal ears!"

"Animal ears?" I ask with a confused tilt of my head.

"Yes, darling. It's already hard to hide your glow, dim as it may be, and your wings are still a little visible on your back. You need a little something to redirect focus," Rosie explained, resting her chin on her hand. "I bet a nice purple will look great on you."

"Hmm, agreed." Alastor quipped and snapped his fingers. In a heartbeat, the gauze and wounds were gone, replaced by a bright purple striped dress suit, a white shirt, a black and purple bow tie and a darker cloak draped over my shoulders. I was still weak from the fall, but the pain was gone and the look made me feel a little better.

I got up and looked at my reflection in the mirror, a small smile spreading on my lips at the sight. Perhaps it wouldn't be that bad here. "You look stunning, darling."

"Thank you, Rosie." I smiled.

"We're not done yet, my dear," Alastor snapped his fingers again, another beam of light flashing around me. "There we are. Perfect."

I opened my eyes and gasped softly at the reflection in the mirror: fluffy golden lion ears twitched atop my head, the tiniest rebellious mane sprouting from between them; a long tail curled and swayed back and forth from under my spine, fuzzy brown tip flicking idly. "A lion?"

"Indeed, dear child. The lion has been a symbol of courage, dignity and nobility for centuries. All qualities that fit you like a puzzle." Alastor encouraged, tapping my back with the back of his cane to correct my posture.

"What about me says courage, dignity and nobility?" I asked, ears drooping with sadness as I gazed up at him with a small frown. A fallen Seraphim, alone and damned forever could never be worthy of such appellations.

"Ha, ha, my dear child, you attempted to stop the extermination-" he began.

"And failed..." I interrupted with a soft sigh.

"Failure is the greatest teacher, Y/N. However much it hurts, what you can do is run from the consequences or face them and learn from them." Rosie spoke with a gentle smile. The feeling of approval, of being guided was so foreign, yet so warm and incredibly welcome. What she said made me think, I had never looked at it that way.

"Nevertheless, you stood up against something you deemed incorrect and you bore the title of Second High Seraphim with class," Alastor continued, tapping the bottom of my chin with his cane. "Walk with your head high, as if you still own your title."

I look at my reflection in the mirror and smile, my new fangs sparkling with cleanliness. Whereas before I saw a broken princess, a gangrenous limb that had been deemed infectious and severed from the organism, now I saw a woman with elegance and panache, the feline traits accentuating the good of my character. There was my new philosophy.

Courage, dignity, nobility.

˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Lute had spent the entire afternoon combing through the denizens of Heaven to look for you. Her and Adam had split up to find you, and had had no luck. She hadn't tried asking your sisters yet, they must know where you are better than her, surely. Ever since Lute had made her relationship with you official, she had become a part of the family, treated like your consort.

"Your Highnesses, forgive me, but have you heard from Y/N?" She asked the two sisters.

"No. She was supposed to be here hours ago." Sera said, anxiously placing back and forth, throwing an occasional glance out the window for news.

"We were hoping you had." Emily spoke, approaching the taller soldier. She was trying to keep up morale for Sera, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to do so.

"No, I wish," Lute ran a hand through her hair, letting out a small sigh. If something were to happen to you, she didn't know what she'd do. "She spent the night before she left, she only told me she'd be back by noon."

"We'll find her. Don't worry." Emily offered with a  soft, reassuring smile.

Before Lute could say anything else, a frantic knock on the door brought the women's attention to the matter at hand. Sera and Emily scrambled forward while Lute rushed to open the door, met with Adam's solemn gaze. When she saw the look on his face, she felt something eating her stomach from the inside. In all the time the three of them had known Adam, they had never seen him out of his obnoxious, conceited character.

"Sir? News?" Lute asked, the suspense so thick it could be cut with a knife.

Adam opened his mouth to speak, debating how to say the words, then closed it and sighed, handing a piece of a broken object to Lute and one to Sera.

Y/N's halo.

Sera cried out, the anguish in her sobs palpable as she dropped to her knees and buried her face in her hands. "No!"

"Adam, it can't be true...! She- she has to be out there somewhere!" Emily pleaded, trying to convince herself of what she was saying rather that everyone else.

"We found this outside the gates. It was in a pool of angelic blood with a clump of her feathers," he sighed, looking at the ground and closing his eyes. "I'm really sorry."

The eldest Seraphim felt her stomach dropping to her feet. She had failed to protect her own sister from this. Her gut-wrenching cries were difficult to hear, especially for Emily. The young Seraphim gently pried the halo from Sera's hand and held it in her own, trembling as her sister's blood stained her fingertips. The sobs racked her body as she clung to her older sister, the only one she had left.

Lute's airway felt like it was closing up. Whatever could you have done to deserve such a fate? The last time she had seen you was when you left her place to go to the meeting. The night before she had laid with you, spent feverish hours making passionate love to you. If only she had known, she never would have stopped. She never would have let go.

When Adam noticed her hyperventilating, he tentatively rested a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. However, Lute shrugged off his touch and slammed the doors open, flying away with a choked sob while holding the chunk of bloodstained halo in her hand.

Her black and white wings flapped with reckless abandon, carrying her to a quiet, isolated corner where she could think. Sobs of agony racked through her during the flight, bloodshot eyes blurring with ugly tears as she reached a lonely building and landed on the rooftop. Lute dropped to her knees and held the piece of you in her hand, resting her forehead against the object while her breath trembled and stuttered. Her other hand buried itself in her pristine white hair and she screamed her throat raw. She screamed for the love of her life, for her grief, for her anger. For never getting to see your face again, to kiss you, to hold you, to feel you. Because she'd lost who she was fighting for.

And all because of sinners.

Filthy demon scum had taken away her reason to live.

A low growl rumbled from her burning throat as her grip tightened around the halo, knuckles going white with the force. The thought of some disgusting unholy creature even breathing the same air as you made her blood boil.

In that moment, she vowed to do whatever it took to avenge you.

Starting with the extermination.