#one of my beloved grandchildren

[najahmeq7]

🇵🇸Pain, sadness and suffering every day we die. Yesterday I told you about our neighbors. Today I tell you about the loss of the most precious thing we have, the uncle, beloved, and honorable professor, Imad Muqdad, who was martyred today, along with a group of his grandchildren, in a Zionist bombing that led to the destruction of everything. This is our life. Every day we lose someone dear and precious to our hearts. Today our relative was martyred. Tomorrow it is us, and God knows best.🇵🇸🍉🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

🚨An urgent appeal to the kind-hearted people who stand by me and help me in our ordeal. We are being bombed every day and every hour there is a martyr.🚨

I am Najah Al-Hila, a mother of four children. My house has been completely destroyed, and my husband Khaled was injured in the war. I have a small child who has no milk, and we have no food. We are trapped and don't know how to face these difficult circumstances. Please, donate to us now. We are in desperate need of any possible help, as every passing moment increases our suffering.

My situation is extremely difficult, I can't describe the pain I endure every day. My house was destroyed, my husband Khaled was injured in the war, and my young children don't know what safety or peace means. I can't provide their most basic needs. The little one in my arms can’t find milk, and we have no food. I try to be strong in front of them, but my heart is breaking with pain and helplessness. I don't know how to get through this, or where to find help. Life has become very dark for me, and I am powerless to change anything. Every day that passes is a heavy burden, and I walk through it with no hope. I need a hand to help me, or even a word to reassure my heart.

My situation has become unbearable, and every moment that passes increases the suffering of me and my family. I am in urgent need of immediate financial assistance, as I cannot provide even the simplest necessities for my children in these difficult circumstances. I need at least $150 to secure milk for my little one and some food for all of us. Any donation, no matter how small, could make the difference between life and death for us. Please, don't leave us in this crisis, as I am living in conditions I cannot bear any longer.

I am now trapped in a place I cannot escape from, and the situation here is unbearable. My house has been completely destroyed, my husband Khaled was injured in the war, and I am struggling greatly to secure the basic needs of my children. The little one cannot find milk, and we have no food. I cannot reach any outside help due to the siege. I am completely helpless, and every passing moment increases my fear and anxiety. Time is running out, my life is in your hands. Please, save us from death. I desperately need an urgent donation to help me meet my children's needs and keep them alive in these difficult circumstances.

As you read this, there are those who are lying under the rubble, waiting for death. Those who lost their families, their homes, their dreams, and I am one of them. My family and I were displaced after our home was destroyed. All that is left for us is some clothes and memories that refuse to die under the bombing. Today, we have been struck by a tragedy. On the first day of Eid, children and their father went to play and buy some toys. They were bombed by a missile that led to the martyrdom of all of them.🥹🥹

Don't leave me, stand by me. Your donation will reach us. Your participation will help us reach our goal. We have collected approximately 13,198 out of 80,000 to help rescue my family before I lose them like we lost others. Please save us.🙏🙏

I can no longer provide for the necessities of life. My family's future is completely destroyed. I can no longer live in Gaza. I want to leave the Strip, so I need $5,000 per person.❤️

I hope everyone who watches my story will help me.

So I can get out of Gaza and find treatment and a better life for my children and family.

I am asking for help, and I hope you will help me and donate.

To save my life from death.

I hope you will donate even $25-50; it would be wonderful. Any more than that would make us happier.🙏❤️🇵🇸🇵🇸

🇵🇸🇵🇸My campaign has been verified by both🇵🇸🇵🇸

@gazavetters (49)

@el-shab-hussein

@tamamita

@gaza-giving-tree

@90-ghost

@a-shade-of-blue

@bilal-salah0

@sar-soor

@omegaversereloaded @punkitt-is-here @tamamita @skunkes @ot3 @valtsv

@wolfertinger666 @paper-mario-wiki @nyancrimew @spongebobssquarepants @sabertoothwalrus @90-ghost

@komsomolka @sawasawako-archived @hotvampireadjacent @certifiedsexed @isuggestforcefem @3000s @chokulit @ankle-beez @pickledangel @pissvortex @prisonhannibal @apas-95 @neecheeneko-blog @memingursa @afro-elf @vampiricvenus @turtletoria-art @marxism-transgenderism @beetledrink @bevsi @beserkerjewel @feluka @i-am-a-fish @spacebeyonce @bonkcreat @11thsense @boobieteriat

[slutfics]

ᥫ᭡. FATHER HEADCANONS .ᐟ

characters: obito uchiha, kakashi hakate, itachi uchiha & neji hyuga.

warnings. none. fluff, domestic life, not proofread.

writers note. how i think they’ll act as fathers, kakashi isn’t married i believe and the other ones are dead, so i just wanted to make a little something for my beloveds, especially for obito since he’s been nothing but a nuisance in my head. I love him.

OBITO UCHIHA !

he’s definitely the ‘big family’ type of guy, probably would want at least four kids, five the highest. yea, he likes having little spawns, even if he doesn’t look like it.

he doesn’t yell or spank his children, however there’s been times when he has yelled because they were acting out.

when he’s irritated, his children would know it’s time to stop, his voice deepens and becomes stern and he has a look that makes them stop whatever behavior they were doing. he could be scary, but other than that he’s a chill dad.

his ‘time-out’ methods are putting his kids in the corner or extending their chores. sometimes he’ll make them clean the front yard and bathroom.

he actually smacks his kids over the head when they don’t listen or throw his slippers at them. depending the age of his children, let’s say ten through fifteen, they’ll think it’s funny before he has them cleaning something they don’t wanna do.

his uchiha genes are stronger than yours, they’ll have his eyes and hair color and depending how many kids you have with him, only couple would have your hair color and eyes (the skin color will possibly slip in). they’re also short tempered.

he likes training his kids and is often proud of them when they finally have it down.

he keeps all of their colorings they’ve made him, he keeps them somewhere safe so they can’t get ruined or lost. (he might go bonkers if they get lost).

he’s a very overprotective dad, his children have to be home at a certain time. he will personally hunt them down if they’re not home by the time sunsets.

obito spoils his children but not to the point where they don’t understand ‘no’ he will put his foot down and doesn’t tolerate tantrums. he also doesn’t have favorites, he knows that isn’t right, especially as a parent, all of his children are treated equally.

wise words from obito to his children: “get your ass down from there right now.” “keep acting like lunatic and I’ll send you home and you won’t come out there until dinner, do you understand?”

KAKASHI HAKATE !

kakashi would only want two kids, a boy and a girl. he sees this as a perfect amount, he’s fine with children, he just doesn’t want a zoo of them, and plus he’ll probably have grandchildren in future.

he’s a very chill and patient dad, he knows how to handle his children and they listen pretty good, however.. they’re sassy and he knows they got that from him and he refuses to admit it. his kids are pretty mean, but they mean well.

he also doesn’t spank his kids, but he does make his kids clean the entire house and makes sure there isn’t a single speck of dust flying around.

kakashi knows his children’s interests and will personally try to understand it, even if some of them are a bit weird.

he’s the type to tell his children that santa won’t bring them presents because they’re misbehaving and won’t listen to him. he’ll also tell them that the boogieman will drag them out of bed by their feet and take them away. (they haven’t slept in their own room for a week).

he likes to pinch his children cheeks, he thinks it’s adorable. he also ruffles their hair, especially if his children possessed his beautiful spiky hair.

kakashi’s genes are strong, but it’s a well mixture of yours, if you have moles, freckles or whatever, your children with kakashi will have them.

there’s been times where he doesn’t know how to handle temper tantrums, the only thing that comes to mind is to send his kids to their room to have them scream it out. (they’ll fall asleep afterwards and by the time they wake up dinner is already done.)

kakashi is a good listener, he knows how to handle his kids emotions and is there for them. however there’s been times he has to be straightforward with them, he knows he can’t always sugarcoat things just because they’re his kids.

kakashi may be chill, but he does have strict rules for his children to follow. he has tied his child to a tree and will do it again if he has to.

kakashi’s wise words to his beloved children: “oh! is that so? would you like me to tell mommy what you have been doing? no, then knock it off.” “you are in big trouble when we get home, you are to clean the bathroom, do I make myself clear?”

ITACHI UCHIHA !

itachi, the gentle soul that he is. he’s also someone who will have two children, genders are irrelevant to him, he’s just happy to have a family, even if his little spawns have him stressing and worried.

he’s the type of dad that you wouldn’t want to be mad, they know it’s time to settle down when he’s upset. itachi doesn’t have to say anything but look at them, and you wouldn’t know if he’s mad, but they do, they know when he’s pissed and that has them shutting up within an instant.

itachi doesn’t lay a hand on them nor does he yell, but he does put them in time-out or send them to their room and have them think about what they have done.

itachi is a rather patient dad, and if his kids are toddlers he would know how to handle them and calm them down. he likes taking them on walks and have them cry on his shoulder as he tells them a little story or something to have them keep their mind occupied. if that doesn’t help, he’ll try putting them down for a nap.

he likes making them their foods. he’s the one who packs their lunch for school and makes them breakfast in the morning, he also makes sure that his kids have healthy meals. yes, he allows his children to eat junk food, just not all the time. he wants his kids to grow big and strong, as he likes to tell them.

he likes listening to them talk about their day at school or just have a casual conversation with them, he really likes quality time.

his children don’t get bullied in school, he’s scared them off, as much as he’s a gentle man, he’s still a scary guy and doesn’t tolerate other children bullying his own. he doesn’t like seeing them cry. however, he will speak the child’s parents in hopes to settle things.

when his kids suggested a game, he lets them win, especially if it’s hide n seek, he knows exactly where his kids are hiding and he hides in the most basic spots for them. (he just really likes hearing their squeals and giggles when they find him.

if his children are older, he would like to know where they are heading off, he doesn’t restrict them from having fun with their friends, he just doesn’t want anything bad happening to them when they are out. they have a certain time they have to be back home. will not tolerate back talk.

he does ground his children, the longest time they have been grounded was three months and no, he doesn’t forget and will make sure they learn they lesson. he loves them, but he will teach them that their actions have consequences.

itachi’s wise words to his children: “you are misbehaving, would like me to grounded you? then stop that.” “I will not be teaching you that, you have not been listening to be for the whole day.”

NEJI HYUGA !

neji is aware how difficult it will be to rise kids, so he’ll possibly have two or three kids, genders don’t matter to him, he made them and he’s going to raise them the best he can. there’s a lot of things that he doesn’t tolerate with them and that is back talk, he doesn’t like back talk, at all.

neji definitely spanks his kids, is it hard? no, not at all, but it’s enough to sting and he’s well aware how heavy his hand could be. he also has a major soft spot for them, so spanking his kids isn’t often.

his byakugan does actives when he’s pissed off with them and that could be a scary sight for them and they know they’re in deep trouble, especially when they did something they weren’t supposed to do. his children don’t purposely make him mad, it’s horrifying to them.

neji doesn’t like when his kids cry, it makes his heart pang and he tries his best to comfort them.

his the one who bandages them up when they get hurt and will lecture them as he does so. he knows how reckless children can get, especially when they are unattended. sometimes he’ll have to supervise them.

when he trains his kids, he does not overwork them, once he sees them tired and barely holding themselves up, he’ll either stop or have them rest up a bit before continuing. he makes them tea and food, or give them water then have them shower.

his children have a bedtime routine, his kids need to be well rested and will not stay up to early, he has them study occasionally so they know what they are doing.

he’s the type of parent to pinch his kids arms, that’s a warning sign for them to knock their shits off or they’re in big trouble once they return home. or sometimes he’ll simply just look at them and they’re already know they’re in trouble.

if his children were to snitch on another and they’re yelling who did and who’s denying, everyone is in trouble and they are to stand in the corner until he says they can leave and if they start acting up, he sends them to their room to take a nap or he’ll train them.

neji is a good dad and he’s a bit on the strict side when comes to them, however he doesn’t prevent them from doing things they want to do, as long as it’s not criminal or cause them serious harm. he’s also the type to tell his children to get up back and try again or tell them to walk it off.

neji’s wise words to his kids: “do you want me to give you pow-pow? then stop this nonsense.” “get in the corner and think about what you did.”

© SLUTFICS. . . please do not repost, steal, copy or publish my works on other platforms, however reblogging and ♡ are greatly appreciated.

[sleepynoons]

Under the Same Sky

Mydeimos and you are husband and wife. In ancient China, where the heavens and earth exist in the same dimension, your husband slays beasts and demons to protect the Emperor and the Holy Nation. You yourself are closely related to divinity, though it is a relationship you wish to abandon, because the heavenly forces have only wished the worst upon you. And it seems nothing has changed, when the divine wants to destroy your and Mydei's relationship.

mydei x afab!f!reader, chinese mythology!au, nsfw

word count: ~17,400

cw: angst/slight comfort, minor character death, religious/spiritual imagery/themes/depictions, graphic descriptions of violence/blood/death, unprotected sex, marking kink, a singular instance of a blood kink, undertones of codependency, unintended phainon slander (truly just for the plot)

notes: to my beloved beta, @staraxiaa, i love you. truly. you have such a beautiful mind and an unmatched cadence to your words. thank you for all that you do for me, and this piece would not have come out of the vault without your encouragement and advice.

to readers, would soo appreciate reblogs, comments, and tags on this piece! i always put a bit of my soul in my writing, but truly, as a chinese person myself, this fic is especially special in my heart. i may post an author's note (update: you can find my thoughts here), but for now, i hope you are able to walk away from this piece knowing a bit about my heritage, culture, and mythology, though there may be several historical inaccuracies LOL

EVERYONE IN the village knows Mydeimos loves you and you love Mydeimos. In particular, the elders, those who often sit under the weeping willows at noon and fan themselves with their cheap linen imitations of the gongshan, laugh amongst themselves about the blush that had blossomed on Mydeimos’ face with your first appearance and has never left since, until the faint outlines of their grandchildren appear on the border between the horizon and the flat earth. Because who could believe that their village chief, a figure of authority and demand – though a son he will forever be remembered as in the villagers’ eyes and memories  – would ever look so pathetically adorable. But at this point, it is not a question anymore, moreso a teasing remark the people make in the presence of their adored chief.

And you, a girl of an unknown origin, from another collective li and li away, have also become a beloved member of this village. Even if you were not Mydeimos’ wife, your kindly manner, speaking always with a warming wisp of a smile, and the gentle curve of your upturned palm have won over the hearts of the villagers here.

It is clear to everyone that, by the decree of the heavenly gods above and their kindred spirits down on this earth in the forms of the water, leaves, wind, and destiny, that you and Mydeimos are for each other, to always be intertwined and inseparable in this vast, vast universe.

–

My love.

Mydei – just Mydei in your presence – twitches in his sleep, the magnetic pull of your voice coming from somewhere between the depths of his half-conscious, sleepy haze and the echoes from the four sun-stricken brick walls of your shared bedroom. You tantalize him already, when he has so much to do, so much to worry, so much to protect. After all, being one of the Emperor’s generals is no casual title, and one can tell because all he can boast about is the long hours of never-ending work and the deplorably large number of men he had to send to the infirmary the other day for they all lacked strength comparable to his. Indeed, he has much to be concerned about, yet in the spare moments of tranquility he is granted in the early morning, he allows himself to bask in both the warmth from the dawn sunlight that streams through the bamboo folding screens and radiates from your lulling tone.

Mydei.

He blinks awake, your silhouette discerned with more clarity with each closing and opening. You are holding the blanket up to your chest with one arm, while your other reaches over to stroke his hair, straightening out strands that have splayed themselves across his forehead, intermingling with the lengths of his eyelashes and paralleling the cut of his jawline.

You will be late.

Displeased at your reminder, he grunts and leans into your palm, the shape of it meant to caress and cradle his cheek. You do not make any noticeable reaction, except for the slight lifts at the corners of your lips. And you let him assume control of your hand, relinquish your time as well, so that you can connect with him before he sets off for another long day at work. Though work is never just work for someone as noble as Mydei, as even the trek to the Palace is fraught with danger, where assassins and mercenaries can be prowling in the shadows, waiting for the right timing to strike, attack, kill your lover, the chief of a village a slight ways away from the Capital, a general to the Emperor and this Holy Nation. 

Mydei then cups one of his hands over yours, and sits up with your fingers interlaced. With a quick glance, he is sated and actually smirks at the marks that bruise, bloom, and flourish across the delicate skin of your shoulders and neck. He leans over to kiss a spot that is undoubtedly the most stubborn of them all, the last that will fade from remembrance. 

I know. I am on my way now.

And, without another word, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and gets up to stride over to the washroom. You watch from your position, eyes lingering over the hardened and muscled build of his legs, the jagged scars that etch themselves into the broad scope of his back and sides, and the tanned lines that have begun to form on his arms, a sign that the height of spring has arrived. You wait until he has left the room to release a pleased hum before you, too, stretch and prepare yourself for your day.

In the courtyard, it is more than obvious that spring has fully encompassed the Holy Nation. The magnolia buds are green, hurried and eager in their pursuit for growth, and the scent of damp soil has begun to dissipate from the lack of overnight snow and frost. A young female servant, a recent addition to your handful of helpers, speaks in rapid, excited breaths as she serves you powdered cakes in bite-sized pieces and pours oolong tea into a brown porcelain cup, reciting news about the Emperor’s several princes she had overheard when she went to the market earlier today. You cannot help but chuckle as the servant takes a seat beside you, her arms propped up on the table with her face resting on her fist, humming as any young girl in love would. It just so happens that your head maid comes over at this moment and scolds the younger one.

Get up! Where are your manners? Apologize!

You simply wave them both off and ask the young servant to continue her relay. After all, she is not of age yet, so she can only daydream, and who are you to not indulge in such whimsies. She tells you of the second youngest prince, one of three in her generation, and she fantasizes of colliding into him in the streets as he makes an escape from the Capital. It is no surprise that the prince, along with all nine of his royal brothers, are mischievous, something that many Daoist priestesses have foretold as they ventured in and out of the Palace, prophecies that trace back even before the births of many of the Emperor’s sons. Yet the young servant’s fantasies are far too exaggerated and dependent on coincidence to ever materialize, so after a while, you begin to ask her other questions.

How are this season’s harvests? Are there murmurings of strife and conflict along the Northern border? Are the rabbits back?

She responds accordingly: seasonal goods, such as green peas and plums, seem to be more expensive and sparse than last year; no outbreaks so far, and people are anticipating a peaceful year ahead; the rabbits have begun to leave their burrows! In fact, regarding that last point, the servant urges you to finish your tea faster so you can visit the babies, and despite the exasperated protests from your head lady-in-waiting, you gulp the last dregs of your drink, bits of loose tea leaves included, before gathering your dress into your fists and rushing out of the pavilion.

Rabbits are cautious creatures. They are aware of their disadvantages and their being on the bottom of the food chain. And while this village that you have become a part of and that Mydei grew up in has long taken root in this region of the Holy Nation, the local flora and fauna have yet to fully adapt to the presence and caprices of humans. Where you are from, it is quite the opposite, in that the people of your origin have learned to assimilate with this earth, rather than the other way around. Where you are from, the rabbits are not afraid to come out of their burrows and shallow mounds to peer curiously – fearlessly – at their human neighbors.

As you and the young servant approach a lush corner of the courtyard, your steps decrease in stride and bumbling excitement. Instead, the two of you tread with silent passes, almost as if you were rabbits yourselves. And when the two of you make it to the edge of the walkway, you stand still and hold your breaths, waiting earnestly for even the most fleeting of a glimpse of the animals.

Since your youth, you have had a talent for disappearing, in the most neutral sense possible. With ease that a person of ego cannot bear to imagine or replicate, you are capable of shedding off all and any attachments you have to your person and melding into the sways of the wind, the humming of the bees, the thrums of the soil beneath your feet. You showed this ability of yours to Mydei before, albeit unintentionally. It was happenstance, something you had done out of habit when he had taken you out for a stroll along a manmade pond near the east end of the Capital and you were trying to feed a pair of restless magpies. You were only shaken out of your illusory state from the grounding pressure of his hand against your shoulder blade.

With an ability like that, you could easily conceal yourself and become an assassin.

You shrugged in response because, unlike him, there is no obligation for you to pursue the art or administration of death, and you figure you will never have to either.

This is all to say that, had it not been for the chirp of excitement from your lady-in-waiting, the rabbits would have approached you out of sheer intrigue. And as quickly as they shuffled out of their home, their grey and white whiskers and fluff ruffling in the breeze, their beady eyes take note of you and your servant before they recede back to safety. Your lady-in-waiting sighs with palpable adoration and lovesickness, and you promise her that there will be another chance tomorrow.

For the rest of the morning, you eat a quick breakfast under a pagoda, admiring the jasmine blossoms that flourish around the circumference, before making way to your fitting. Fittings only occur when special occasions are imminent, and with a banquet at the Palace in celebration of the fourth prince’s birthday occurring in two weeks, your other ladies-in-waiting have brought back several robes from the market for you to try on, no doubt on Mydei’s orders. There is a generous collection of blush, cream, and sunshine brocade and linen that await you, and as you dress and undress, tie and untie, spin and spin, it is unanimously agreed upon by all of your attendants that nothing will be returned. There is also a tray that holds various accessories, most notably a tasteful amalgamation of embroidered fans and gold-accented jinbu, and those are all kept as well. Of course, upon realizing that all of these valuables are yours and yours only, you pass on a message to one of Mydei’s servants to also visit the market with expectations of purchasing new cords for your husband’s hair, as well as a replacement for his worn yudai.

Then, it is lunch, but you tend to spend this time with the other villagers. With a parasol in one hand and a basket of tangerines and dried dates in the other, you head to the edge of the village, accompanied by two guards for formality’s sake. At the perimeter, where brick walls intercept a wide, trodden path, there are several benches and tables so that both residents and travelers alike can rest. When you first arrived, you, too, sat down here, gulping down a flask of water as you observed the hustle and bustle – not as busy as the Capital, but festive enough to indicate decent business and progress.

The elders and a few mothers already present greet you with dips of their chin. Usually, citizens are to greet those of nobility or high-ranking government positions with strict curtsies and bows, and while Mydei insists on the custom in speech, he does not uphold this rule quite as stringently. The reason for your visits are twofold: to know your people and to gather information. Though you have not yet born descendants of your and Mydei’s own, you have come to realize that children have sharp ears and loose mouths, fervent in their interminable search for entertainment and delight. The village is close enough for children to pursue education in the Capital if their parents so wished, so until many of them return, you pass your time underneath the arching path of the sun exchanging pleasantries and discussing matters.

By the time the little ones return, the sun is bathed in orange gold, half-concealed by the mountains you had once traversed, and there are but a few of the fruits remaining, just enough to quench their parched throats. As children do, they clamor to their respective guardians, complaining about the heat and how they are so sweaty and tired that there is no conceivable way they can continue to study later tonight. They also recognize you, and with a lightheartedness that more often occurs between friends of the same generation, they whine for your treats. You laugh as you hand the last pieces out, as you would when feeding cabbage bits to rabbits.

Upon your return home, the moon already having replaced the sun as the night’s guardian, you dismiss your guards, so you can bathe while the rest of the household eats. You much prefer solitude when you are in a vulnerable state, and your ladies-in-waiting are no exception to this preference, even if they are no stranger to a woman’s body. Sat on a stool, you strip yourself, letting all the layers collapse in a disheveled pile, and remove any pins and beaded strings from your hair. By now, your servants have become familiar with your ways, so there is already steaming water in the bronze bathtub, so you directly step in and submerge yourself up until your neck.

The hot water is not very pleasant against your warm skin, but you stay regardless, as spring evenings can still be unforgiving and biting. You watch as the water sloshes against the solid walls of the tub, causing the steam to waver before resuming its vertical ascendance, and do nothing even when a few splashes escape and drip down the exterior. After all, this time is allotted for you to think, nothing more. Your thoughts are preoccupied with declining trade with farmers outside of the Capital, many citing long-lasting droughts and fires as primary culprits, and there have been a sharp incline of those suffering from heat strokes and asthma. Some have even mentioned hallucinations of more than a single sun in the sky, and while you are not one to be affected by superstitious or mythical stories, you do find it odd that there have been multiple accounts of such a phenomenon from various distinct folks. These are pieces of information you must report to Mydei, though it is too early to draw any actionable conclusions.

You arise from your bath half an hour later, when the water has simmered down to a lukewarm. You dry yourself, adorn a simple beige gown with a matching robe over it, and make your way to the kitchen. By the moon’s position, if all goes smoothly, your husband should return in about two hours, more than enough for you to prepare his dinner.

Although you are not obligated to cook, you have sensed Mydei’s hesitation when it comes to consuming food that is prepared by those he is unfamiliar with. He trusts you and the villagers, but many of your household’s servants are from the Capital or elsewhere. Therefore, for both his sanity and safety, you have taken on the responsibility to provide him meals so that he may eat in peace at home. Besides, it is also an opportunity for the two of you to simply be together.

Just as you have set the last plate onto the dining table, Mydei returns, lamellar plates thunking and chain mail jostling with every heavy step he takes. It is a heaviness that resounds in your heart, for it is a reflection of his fatigue and, more importantly, the weight of the responsibilities he bears.

He does not come to greet you, not yet. He does not like appearing in front of you with his armor still on. He wants to avoid bringing in the stench of blood and grief into this abode he shares with you – does not want to taint you, his person of comfort and solace, with the violence you have no desire to take part in. Though, try as he might, deep down he knows it is to no avail, as his hands, the same ones he uses to touch and feel you, are already stained with death.

In the small shed, surprisingly compact and spare for a master of many weapons, he shrugs everything off with laborious groans. As each weighted iron slab and scratchy sheet of chain mail drops to the ground, Mydei lavishes in the slow regain of freedom in his movement. Lastly, he pulls off his helmet, and with a quick rub of his sleeve against a permanent smudge, he sets it on top of a drawer that contains duplicates of his uniform, first aid, and short daggers. He does not linger, and instead, swivels around to head to where you are.

When Mydei rounds the corner to stand in front of the kitchen entrance, double doors swung wide open, he cannot help but pause in his tracks, just a few paces away from joining you at the table in the center of the room. You peer at him from your seat, your chin resting in a divot formed by your palms, and also observe him, his face shrouded in shadows.

It is not so much a staring contest as it is a reverent yearning for one another. For no reason at all, it seems the two of you have a habit of practicing restraint – hesitation – before allowing yourselves to indulge in each other.

Come sit beside me.

I will. Let me admire you first.

And so you wait.

From Mydei’s perspective, you are the most beautiful at this time of the night. It is not to say that you are not in the morning, when you are still slumbering beside him with your hands splayed across his bare chest, or when you are pinned underneath him, a sinful image of you in your most disheveled state – his stained robe splayed out underneath your figure, your lungs heaving with pitched whines, your knees trembling with indecision as you fail to choose between spreading yourself open so that he can enter deeper or closing, and thereby restricting his movement, because the pleasure is unbearable. You are always his most precious, but he believes you are at your best when you are working towards an objective. And since your marriage, you have honored his same priority in protecting his people, and he will forever admire this determination of yours.

Truthfully, he never required such a sense of responsibility in his wife. In fact, before he met you, he had never imagined shouldering this duty with anyone else, let alone a stranger from somewhere far beyond. But you are no longer a stranger, and now, during your shared dinners, you are able to speak of this place as if you grew up here, alongside him and all the other villagers. You speak with incredible depth and acute intuition, and fortified by the precision and clarity in your words, he cannot help but think that, despite your personal aversions towards leadership and confrontation, you deserve to stand beside him in the ranks.

The oil lamps and candles on the dining table brighten your face with a gentle golden glow. He can see the flames’ flickering in your eyes, and behind you, he can hear the crackle of smoldering wood and charcoal. He walks over and takes a seat beside you, noticing the faint traces of fire and herbs that linger in your hair and at your shoulders. Pressing the side of his thigh against yours, he picks up his chopsticks and begins to eat, a gesture for you to initiate the conversation.

There is noticeable delay. We can no longer ignore the growing connection between the slowdown of trade with the recurring delusions of multiple suns in the sky. 

Do you think it could be divine punishment?

If we had incurred the wrath of Tian, we would have long suffered, and the Emperor would have justified the recent happenings. Our deities have no interest or patience for prolonged torture.

We will need to wait then. We need to know more, or else we will be searching in vain.

No.

You set down your bowl and look straight ahead, peering outside at the courtyard – or rather, at a point somewhere beyond the walls of the courtyard. Mydei can feel your presence wax and wane, expand and recede, until it settles down into a light thrum, akin to the tranquil qi of lotus petals and mossy creeks. He can still see you, without a doubt, but he knows that if he had not been in this room with you right now, he would have never been able to find you here without incredible effort.

It is magical, truly, how you can quiet your presence. In his many years of training and fighting, he has met only a handful of incredible soldiers who can do the same. He was only able to gain this ability himself after maturing as a person and facing the near-death consequences of overwhelming, unbound bloodlust in the midst of combat. That is not to claim that you did not learn in the same ways, but he cannot confirm nor deny because, for better or worse, you never speak of the past. Otherwise, outside of the army, he only knows of the high priests and priestesses that can also adopt a kind of otherworldly aura during their rituals and prayers.

He chews slowly, more preoccupied with observing your profile. Your features are unperturbed, essentially blank, and there is an unfocused fog in your eyes, sharply distinct from the ambition burning within your irises at the beginning of dinner. You shiver, probably to your own ignorance, and he places his things down so he can take off his robe and wrap your shoulders with it. To his surprise, and contentment, you instinctively lean over to rest your shoulder against his without disrupting your thoughts. Just as you wait for him, he waits for you.

By the time the shortest of the three candles, once a sixth of its original length, is about to extinguish, you come to, and the light in your eyes returns as well.

Innate divinity – not to be conflated with the ability to call forth divine powers or forces – is only granted to a few select individuals. More than likely, there will be no need to search the common folk.

Let us begin at the Palace.

Will the Emperor take to this idea?

Perhaps he already has conjectures of his own. I shall request an audience.

Divinity is an intricate, mysterious subject. Deeply embedded in the belief systems and cultural underpinnings of this Holy Nation, most people are naturally mesmerized and fearful of Tian’s deities and their abilities. Even those who are born with divine abilities, namely the Emperor and a select few of his children, and those who can invoke divinity through sacred objects and incantations, such as priests, priestesses, and monks, advise all to be cautious of incurring heavenly wrath. 

When you first heard of the hallucinations, you thought it to be the aftershocks of severe heatstroke. Then, when many more farmers and traders began to verify the sighting of various suns, it became clear that the divine was involved because, when individuals who have no capacity for divinity are exposed to these mystical forces, their minds and behaviors can be continuously affected. That must mean they must have come in contact with a mythic beast or creature.

The deities are known for having many children and several other distant brethren, some of which exist on the earth, roaming around as Buddhist guardians, such as the regal Dapengs, or man-eating snake monsters, the most infamous being the nine-headed Jiuying that terrorized seafarers for decades until Mydei slayed it. In this case, an immediate possibility was the return of the boar demon Feng Xi who often wreaked havoc upon farmlands. Feng Xi was also subdued by your husband a few years ago, but it would be no surprise if it were to appear again, typical of the inexplicable nature of divine beasts. But upon investigations of the ruined farmlands by their respective prefectural ministers, there were no signs of terrifying waste or death, only the usual symptoms of a long-lasting drought and ashy remains from fires caused by unrelenting dry winds. With further consideration, you also know that it is impossible, from personal observations and experiences, to invoke a heavenly force powerful – brutal – enough to cause a disaster of this magnitude. In other words, by process of elimination, the problem has to either be the direct doing of a human blessed with divinity or, even worse, a creature or deity from Tian themselves. 

You can only hope it is not the latter.

Your concern must be showing on your face, as Mydei leans over to rub his thumb firmly against the apple of your cheek.

No more. Come back to me.

You nod, knowing when to be obedient. When Mydei speaks to you in this tone, sympathetic yet earnest, you know he is looking out for you, grounding you before you can fully lose yourself. While you have impressive mental strength and foresight, you lack an attachment to the present, and without supervision, there is a very real risk of you drifting far, far away, disappearing as you once did when you were young.

Your husband takes you by the hand and guides you back to your shared bedroom. The brief walk is silent, save for your footsteps and the occasional greeting from a guard. The two of you part momentarily when you enter the chamber, as Mydei heads to the side to open the window screens to allow streams of moonlight into the room, while you take your seat on the center of the bed. It is not cold even as a slight breeze filters into the room, for his robe still shields your back and shoulders. However, you elect to take it off, and Mydei watches you strip, not just his clothing but also your layers underneath, from where he is standing.

The moon always manages to cast a romantic light on all that it befalls, and through the midst of your moans, his pants, and the joining of your bodies, over and over and over again, it generously extends its rays so that the two of you are able to have a clear view of each other in your otherwise pitch black room. Surprisingly, there is also a warmth to the moonlight, a soothing and comforting quality to it, that makes you feel as if time is passing slower than it actually is. In this prolonged moment, you can pinpoint every single movement and sensation between you and Mydei – his steeled grip around the base of your neck as he presses you tightly against his chest, the curling of your toes with every deep thrust, the crescendo of his heartbeat against yours. In this room, there is only you and him, isolated and ignorant to the rest of the world – the universe, even –, and defying all rules of space and physics, you solely focus on extending the present for as long as you can, while Mydei struggles to convey to you just how deeply obsessed and enamored he is with you. No one can intervene in this proud, unabashed act of intimacy, and if either you or Mydei dared, both of you would even describe your shared bond as sacred. And, especially for you, you know to not use that word so carelessly.

And when Mydei lays you down to peel off your legs and instead press them down, as close to your ears as possible, he goes impossibly harder and deeper. In this space, there are only the two of you, though you are only seeing him, and he is only seeing you. There are no thoughts or even carnal desires, just a fundamental appreciation and unconditional loving for the other. You whimper – my love – as he presses his sweat-stricken forehead against yours, and he responds with a passionate roll of his hips and a scathing bite that draws blood at your left shoulder. With your arms wrapped around his head, you keep him there and leave him with no choice but to continue making love to you until you unravel at your climax with your teeth clenching, thighs shaking, mind spinning, soul soaring. Mydei soon follows, piercing his nails into your hips to mark you on the outside, releasing within you to mark you on the inside, and between labored rasps of your name, he smears his lips and tongue over yours in hopes of memorizing your addictive taste, your delighted sounds, and your passionate touch.

The two of you stay intertwined, even when neither of you are reeling from the impact of your highs. To part would be to abandon this private realm, which would mean returning to your normal tendencies of hesitance and restraint, and even though all of this will repeat once again tomorrow, you lack the patience to wait, still imprisoned in the moon’s warped, elongated trajectories of time and space.

Despite your defiance, the two of you fall asleep, consumed by wariness and longing, and another day of your life passes.

–

The Emperor has ten sons and countless more daughters. Today marks the seventeenth birthday of the fourth prince, and as expected, it is a grand event. Earlier, at the celebration’s reception, there were hundreds of dancers in neat rows, all flicking their sleeves and arching their fingertips to the rhythm of the Capital’s grand orchestra, also perfectly organized and harmonious as a whole. Following the conclusion of the performance, guards, servants, and lower-ranking officials dash back and forth and around the expanse of the Palace to ensure the undeterred progression of the fourth prince’s birthday party, while higher-ranking officials and generals, along with their accompanying guests, mill about before filing to their respective seats along the two columns of tables laid out parallel to the walls of the central courtyard. In the center front, there is a raised stage with a constructed overhang large enough to accommodate the Emperor, the Empress Dowager, and all ten sons. The platform and steps are entirely covered by a luxurious red carpet with golden floral patterns, and from Mydei’s seat, you can marvel at the delicate porcelain dishware set on top of masterfully carved wooden countertops. You are not used to such lavish displays of wealth and luxury because, although Mydei has long been one of the Emperor’s most loyal and trustworthy generals, that does not necessarily mean you are invited to visit the Palace often. Therefore, as the two of you wait for the birthday ceremony to officially begin, you try to sit as still as possible in order to marvel and take in your surroundings.

During this period, many governmental and bureaucratic figures visit your and Mydei’s seat to say their greetings and make elucidating small talk. Despite assuming his role as one of the Holy Nation’s protectors, your husband cannot abandon certain pet peeves of his, and he shuts down all but one of these conversations with dry responses that reveal nothing of his thoughts or opinions. The only official that he properly responds to is the Head of the Security Bureau, a man by the name of Phainon. From past dinner conversations, you remember Mydei mentioning this man but with the questionable nickname “Deliverer” instead. It was in reference to Phainon’s previous position under the Central Secretariat, though the reason behind his transfer to the Security Bureau continues to remain a secret even to your husband. Regardless, it is obvious that Mydei only tolerates this man at best, so you make sure to listen intently to their conversation.

Mydei! Rare to see you so festive!

It is Mydeimos for you, Deliverer.

Ha, yes, of course.

What is the Security Bureau doing here? What happened to keeping a low profile?

No worries, it is only me, and almost everyone here still believes I remain under the Secretariat. I am also here because I have news to share with you.

Hurry, then.

Phainon does not, though. He hums and begins to look around the courtyard. For a moment, you sense his gaze, but it does not linger for more than a full second. With a shake of his head, your husband sighs and takes deep gulps of water to keep himself preoccupied until the Security Head finally carries on.

He will want to speak to you, when it is your turn to congratulate the prince.

Regarding what?

But Phainon shrugs, and this time, there is no hint of evasion or distance. He truly does not know. But he does leave Mydei with one last piece of instruction.

You will be last in line.

After a few more teasing remarks, Phainon bids the two of you farewell, and from your periphery, you watch him disappear from the south gate.

Before dinner, all of the officials present are to line up in terms of rank and nobility, and, one by one, greet the Emperor, Empress Dowager, and the princes, as well as present their gifts. As per military customs, Mydei requested a new sword sheath of untarnished gold be made for the fourth prince, to represent unwavering courage and honorable victory, so that shall be your offering. However, these interactions usually do not last for more than a few minutes, the last ones usually even more rushed, to ensure that everyone gets their turn and are not too irritated by mealtime, so you wonder how exactly the Emperor will relay his message. Furthermore, you find it suspicious that Phainon requested your husband, one of the generals under direct supervision of the Emperor, to place himself last.

Alas, you find yourself in another situation where you cannot draw sound conclusions. But now that Phainon has left and no other officials have the gall to approach Mydei, you can actually enjoy the ongoing celebrations with your husband.

You fill his tea cup and then yours, though you take a sip first. When you look up at him, he nods in affirmation before drinking himself. The walls, you notice, are a rustic red-brown, though much of it has been covered up by the willows and persimmon trees that were moved specifically for tonight’s event. Scattered between the trunks of the trees are gathered shrubs of all kinds, from batches of orange peonies to short stalks of bamboo to clusters of purple asters. You wonder if you could bring back a few roots or seeds with you, but with one sharp glance from Mydei, you discard the idea immediately.

Your husband knows that you are bored, though, so he offers some reprieve.

There are rumors that the fourth prince might not even make it to his own birthday party.

I am not surprised. I have heard the Emperor’s sons are quite rowdy.

I believe Phainon is here to ensure that all of the princes arrive on time and participate through its entirety. I must say, it is quite entertaining to see him chase after a few brats.

Mydei.

Do not worry. The Emperor is understanding. Besides, I am sure he wholeheartedly agrees at the current moment.

Oh?

Mydei raises his chin, staring up at the night sky. It is hard to make out any one star due to the outstanding numbers of torches, lamps, and fires distributed around the courtyard, but it is not like Mydei was looking at the stars in the first place. The two of you are different in this way. You often seek the world when you think, looking outwards for celestial signs, while Mydei often becomes more introspective with his musings. Even when it looks like he is searching for something, he most likely is not, as he believes all of the answers he needs are usually, perhaps with some effort required, within one’s grasp.

Phainon has aided our investigations of the Palace. He is confident that the culprit is not to be found here.

Your fist digs into the sleeves of your gown.

There are not even signs of collusion?

You know the deities would never stoop to that level. They do not need the help of mortal intelligence or treachery. Regardless, the Emperor has been made aware of the situation, and is quite preoccupied with it. His sons’ constant running about and lack of any sort of drive or initiative is certainly not doing him any good either.

Pursing your lips, you glance at your husband, only to find him already staring at you.

Fear not, my wife. I have slain products of the divine before.

His eyes seem to glow with fierce intensity. The red and orange streaks in his eyes are more noticeable, not because of the myriad torches surrounding your table, but rather because his eyes are widening out of enthusiasm. You scowl, disapproving of his evident bloodthirstiness, yet despite your opposing morals, you slip a hand into his hold. By instinct, he begins to press at the pads of your fingertips, while rubbing circles into your palm. If it were any other day, any other moment, his physical affection would soothe and reassure you. Unfortunately, as Mydei has just confirmed the worst of your suspicions, the fear taking root in the pit of your stomach has already begun to sprout and overwhelm the rest of your emotions.

Surely there is no need to jump into a fight.

Huh, you propose a negotiation? Our deities already know what the consequences of their actions are – they do not care to change their ways, even with such knowledge. What makes you think their minds are still susceptible to reconsideration?

Perhaps some of them do care.

Your husband snorts. To be honest, he is a little surprised by your response. Neither of you are particularly devout, and throughout his many years of knowing you at this point, he knows you are not fond of the divine. So for you to defend them, to the extent of betting on their fickle and spare goodwill, is unusual.

It is not up to me, my wife. I act based on what the Emperor asks of me.

Something in you – a gut instinct, a trained intuition – tells you that you will find out the Emperor’s decision by tonight.

After another half hour, composed of more light-hearted conversation and small bites of snacks to whet your appetite, a gong finally sounds, its ringing reverberating throughout the entirety of the Palace. You feel your bones quake with each vibration, and only after its last echoes have died off does your body regain stillness. The Emperor’s secretary makes his way to the center of the stage, and with a deep bow, commands everyone to rise for the Imperial Family. Everyone stands and bows, faces parallel to the floor, until all members of the Imperial Family settle into their seats, which the secretary confirms several minutes later. Afterwards, you all line up.

Other officials have curious looks on their faces as they see you and Mydei turn away from the stage. One even asks where the two of you are headed, wondering if you have lost your minds and are intent on abandoning the ceremony, but neither of you respond and continue toward the back of the line. 

You and Mydei do not speak for the entire hour that it takes for your turn to come. The whole time, nervous and intimidated stares are directed your way, but both of you could care less, simply standing side by side, close enough for your sleeves to brush against and overlap each other.

When the rest of the officials have returned to their seats, only you and Mydei remain, standing a few feet away from the steps that lead up to the raised platform. With a nod from the secretary, Mydei leads you forward, always a step ahead, and when the two of you stand level with the Imperial Family, you get on your knees and raise your clasped hands in front of your dipped heads.

Good evening, your Highnesses. Congratulations to the Fourth Prince, for reaching his seventeenth birthday. We hope the prince continues to live a prosperous, fortunate, and long life, and I present this sword sheath, a product of the finest metals and months’ worth of labor, a tool that we hope he will use as he prepares to lead this Holy Nation. We pay our deepest respects to the Imperial Family.

An attendant takes the sheath from Mydei’s outstretched arms. Usually, one would be dismissed shortly after presenting their gift, but the secretary has yet to tell either of you to rise. Instead, you hear the sound of a chair’s legs rubbing against the carpet’s fur, along with padded footsteps that stop right in front of your husband.

General Mydeimos, you have done incredibly in serving me, and ultimately, this Holy Nation. Your loyalty is not to be questioned.

You recognize this voice. It is jaded yet firm, gentle but irrefutable. The Emperor is telling you his decision.

I want to make an announcement to all that are present, to heed my intent and my resolve. This Holy Nation has coexisted with and lived under the guidance of Tian, but it has not always been a harmonious or even peaceful endeavor. As Emperor, it is my sworn duty, an oath I have undertaken since the day of my inauguration, to protect my people, including all of you, and I can promise you that, throughout these many years under my rule, Tian and I are connected and that I have been in constant search to make a more serene coexistence – a symbiosis, if you will – possible. However –

It seems the Palace and everything within it unanimously sucks in a quavering breath.

– it has become apparent that the heavens have no interest in granting us such serenity. Of course, by no means is this speech of mine a declaration of war or defiance. Rather, I believe this burden I am about to share with you is, in fact, a challenge for this Holy Nation, and one that will be undertaken by a representative of my choosing: Mydeimos. General Mydeimos, please rise.

As much as you would love to raise your head and stare at Mydei like everyone else, you have not been granted permission to lift your head, so you can only continue to heed the Emperor’s message carefully, trying to discern any subtle implications while continuing to pay attention to the words that follow.

For the many years that he has served me, General Mydeimos has become a pillar in the Holy Nation’s defenses. He has slain many of Tian’s earthbound descendants, protecting this land from the destruction of loose spirits and evil demons. Under his watchful gaze, he had confirmed the prophetic fragments I was receiving from Tian, that it is part of this Holy Nation’s fate that we are to face our doom if we remain motionless and ignorant. My people, hear me now, and listen to me carefully, as this message of mine is not meant to inflict any unnecessary fear or anxiety. However, the heavens have told me, as I am telling you, that if nothing is done, the entire world will be burned to its core by the manifestation of ten suns. No human, no animal, no plant will survive the onslaught of ten more suns, no ocean or lake or sea can withstand the fire of ten more suns, not even Tian’s earthbound descendants will be spared.

For this most inauspicious prophecy, I must apologize, on behalf of my ten sons, for their continuous mischief and negligence have been deemed the cause of this impending tragedy. Indeed, Tian has whispered as such in my mind. This Holy Nation deeply understands the various attitudes our deities have towards humans. Some are indifferent, some are intensely curious. It seems this impending tragedy has come about from the latter. My ten sons, this Holy Nation’s royal princes, have inspired the same mischief and negligence in ten of Yudi’s sons. They aspire to experience the same carefree play that my sons have gone away with – escaping the Palace, tricking the innocent to satisfy their personal greed, disappearing for extended periods of time. This behavior has never been acceptable in the Imperial Family, yet despite our fervent attempts to curb their behaviors, Yudi’s sons have already seen enough. 

There is now more than one sun in the sky, there is no mistake to that. We will continue to see more and more suns appear, and by the tenth, we will all perish. We must not cast doubt on this matter anymore, because the severity of this issue is life-threatening.

But, again, need I remind all that are present that I do not wish to embed an unjustified sense of fear or anxiety in any of you. The reason I have called upon all of you is because I would like all that are present to bear witness to this heavenly oath that General Mydeimos will take.

You cannot help but gasp, a sharp, harsh intake of breath that almost causes you to sputter and cough. But, even when the world feels like it is falling down on you, you manage to bear the pain, and you stifle it with tears gathering in your burning eyes.

General Mydeimos, there is no end to your remarkable feats in the military, and we are grateful for all that you have done. However, this ask of mine is one of a difficulty I can promise you have never faced before, and you must know, it could be the last task you ever undertake. Knowing all of the risks, I still ask you to take the following oath: I, General Mydeimos, under the watchful eye of the people of this Holy Nation, the Emperor, and all of Tian who are interested, I pledge to take down all but one of the suns, even at the cost of my own life.

It feels impossible to breathe. It seems, no matter how you try to escape, how far you run away, or where you disappear to, the divine will always catch up to you, pulling you away from your loved ones, and the other way around. Hot streams of tears pour down your cheeks, and the only way to prevent yourself from making any noise is to bite down on your lower lip, until your jaws are locking and your teeth are piercing through the thin flesh. Your clasped hands shudder violently, not only from the exhaustion of holding them up for so long, but also from how tightly they are gripping onto each other. Your knuckles are without a doubt strained, and your fingernails are digging into the backs of your hands. Your ears ring with deafening silence, while straining to hear Mydei’s response, yet you also do not want to listen, fearful because you know that, even if he had a choice, he would always agree to a brutal fight.

Without a beat of hesitation, your husband, chief of your village, a general of this Holy Nation, speaks.

I, General Mydeimos, under the watchful eye of the people of this Holy Nation, the Emperor, and all of Tian who are interested, I pledge to take down all but one of the suns, even at the cost of my own life.

Despite the crescendo of applause, the drums, the gong, you hear nothing. You are not sure how it is that you manage to bow to the Emperor, make your way down from the stage, and return to your seat alongside Mydei’s, but to be honest, you do not care how you did any of those things. All you can think about is that, once again, your loved one is being separated from you, all because of the heavens and the divine, and even if his hand is clutching onto yours at this moment, so tight that you can no longer feel the tips of your fingers or the center of your palm, he has never felt farther away.

–

There is no more of your routine with Mydei. He is taken away at the end of the birthday party to begin making preparations for his conquest, leaving you to return to the village alone. He does not visit, can only make time to send concise messages, but he does promise you that he will return the night before he is scheduled to leave.

This is not Mydei’s first conquest, but it is his first conquest that you are dreading, to say the least. It is difficult to encapsulate the extent of your mental anguish because the resurfacing of past traumas, of memories you are insistent on forgetting, is a dark, murky sensation. It is asphyxiating, but you do not know that you are being choked until it is too late, past the point of return. You are no different from a sleeping mouse in the coiled chokehold of a starving snake, and there is nothing to save you, not even to witness your death. Part of you knows this is a globalization of an internal anxiety, as Mydei has not been slain. He is well and alive presently, but that does not answer your deepest concern: will he survive? Even if you sought out divine signals as you had once routinely done over a decade ago, you have been taught that it is taboo to seek the fate of an individual. Fate can be consulted for villages, the weather, long-term wealth, but to determine the death of somebody, even an important figure, is strongly discouraged as there is no use in disturbing one’s mind over a matter that has been set in stone since the birth of this universe.

Not that any of that is relevant. You are sure the divine, even the weakest of Tian’s spirits, would not heed your call, would pay no mind to a trivial woman that had, a long time ago, abandoned her position as a high priestess, and in turn, her prolific ability to invoke divinity. Had you remained at the convent and grown into your role as high priestess, perhaps only then would they give you a fraction of their time, but then, in that case, you would not be praying for Mydei’s safety, but rather for the protection of this Holy Nation as a whole.

There is no particular reason for why you have hidden your past from Mydei or the villagers, other than to save face. After all, no one would believe in the loyalty or commitment of a traitor. Regardless, now that there is established trust, you staunchly believe there is no need to share distasteful matters, like your pathetic past. At this moment, everyone should prioritize Mydei, as well as ensuring the operations of the village during his absence.

Mydei finds you not in the dining room, but in his office at his desk, with a candelabra burning away, as if you are prepared to work the whole night. You are combing through a few scrolls that were once shelved, the old texts he used to pore over when he was training to become village chief. It is not that you are a stranger to their contents or to the duties of the village chief. It is simply that, when you are uneasy, you tend to return to the very basics, to instill confidence within yourself that there is a logical rationale behind your actions and decisions. He knocks on the office doors and watches through the parted screen window as you scramble up from your seat from surprise. He chuckles, but had there been any listeners, they would know those were half-hearted at best.

We need to talk.

It is comforting, though, that there remain some things that will never change. Even if you are not honest, Mydei will always face you with a straightforward attitude, and compared to before, he feels more present, confirming that he is, in fact, standing in front of you, when he loops your arm through his. You let him guide you away from the office and to your shared bedroom, where you can, for the last time in a while, immerse yourselves in this space dedicated only to the two of you.

On the bed, he pulls you into a tight, engulfing embrace. With his chest molded against your arched back, his legs spread out to barricade your form, his chin atop your left shoulder where the bite mark once was, the two of you parse through all and any matters.

There will be a caravan arriving in a month’s time.

The north west gate needs to be rebuilt.

We should consider extending trade to some of the towns in the south.

You will miss it when the peaches are in season.

Be sure to visit Grandma Li. She tends to forget to take her medication.

Do not forget to rest your arm. Feng Meng will not take it easy on you, even if you are his general and him your soldier. You will always be his master first.

When you need me, look up at the moon, because I will also be gazing at it. Never forget that we are forever under the same sky.

The moonlight is especially consoling that night. Unlike his usual tendencies to dominate and overwhelm, your husband lets you set the pace, and atop him, he watches you surge up and down, the moon’s beams illuminating your damp skin, your parted lips, and your glossed eyes. Your breasts, hips, thighs ripple with every unforgiving drop of your body onto his, and his cock pierces you deeply in turn, reaching and hitting spots that cause you to see stars. He never fails to make you feel fulfilled, but tonight, you are voracious, and you just want more, more, more of him. You want to embed pieces of yourself into his body, so that throughout his campaign, no matter how long it lasts, he will never once waver when he thinks back to your touch, your scent, your love. As you continue riding him, you run your hands over his sturdy form, letting your fingers trace the divots of his muscles, the fat of his chest, the red streaks of tattoo that paint his arms. It is also so that you will never forget, drawing an illustrative map of his body so that in your times of loneliness, anxiety, and want, you also have something of his to depend upon. Perhaps you have forgotten how to live without your husband, but that is a subject for introspection later. In the present, you decide to accelerate your movements and apply more force with every exerted rise and fall.

Eventually, you collapse forward because by no means do you have as much stamina as your husband, but you urge yourself to push forward nonetheless and resort to more shallow lifts and dramatic swirls of your hips. With your face buried against the underside of his chin, you begin to mouth at his neck and Adam’s apple, the rumble of his groans and hisses traveling and vibrating straight through the thin skin of your lips. When it looks like your husband’s exhibiting a significant amount of restraint, with the way his head keeps shaking side to side and his hands grip onto your thighs with shackling strength, you cannot help but smirk, ready to give him his release that he is so desperately delaying. You litter a line of kisses down to his collarbones, and after a few laves of your tongue, as if to smooth and placate him, you bite down, sinking your teeth into the juncture where his neck and shoulders meet, clamping down so hard with the intent to punish, to instill guilt, to kill his fighting spirit.

Normally, you would never do such a thing. You have no interest in tying your partner down or forcing them to sacrifice the people and things they love and enjoy. But since he has granted you so much selfishness already, you might as well go the full way and make him really understand the state he has put you in. For, even upon reflection, you know it in your bare, raw soul that you will never know life without your husband. Where he goes, you follow. If he is alive, you will be, too. But if he were to die, then your time will also have come.

Your husband cries out loud with a wild shout of your name, arms flying to enclose themselves around your figure out of both surprise and overstimulation, and with a spontaneous jerk of his hip upwards, his cock collides with your core and slams into that spot, the one that always has you ripping apart at the seams and screaming for mercy, pulling you up to your euphoric high with him. Ironically, it feels as if you are falling from Tian, soaring through the sky while being unable to breathe, a coursing pleasure followed by a stinging, bittersweet pang. You do not even realize you are sobbing until your husband muffles your wails with his mouth, swallowing your grief and despair down with his own fears, of which he definitely has but will never voice.

Mydei is not used to seeing you so sentimental. You are more aloof and reserved, so he is not as practiced with handling your outbursts as he should be. But even he knows that this torrential surging of your emotions is really a broken heart personified. You need him to know that your heart is being torn and cracked and smashed by the inevitable reality of his leave, and he knows you are telling him that only he can fix you by coming back in one piece and with a sound mind.

For the remainder of the night, he holds you impossibly closer, one hand always keeping your face to his chest, the other always wound around your waist, his legs always tangled with yours. And before he falls asleep, he looks out the window, gazing up at a sliver of the starry sky, and prays to the moon to cast its gentle, assuring light upon you every dusk he is gone. Despite his personal gripes with the divine, he is convinced that, with the way it has never failed to make you look so mesmerizing and delicate underneath its glow, the moon will continue to bask you with its nurture and protection for as long as it takes for him to return, and he is soothed by that thought, because someone needs to look out for you in his absence.

By the early dawn, he is ready to leave. The two of you stand at the entrance to your abode, and with a chaste kiss to your forehead, he finally parts from you, distancing himself in slow motion. You watch, rooted to your spot, as he gets on his horse, relishes in one last longing gaze, and sets off. He rides away without looking back, and when he is out of sight, you, too, return to your bedroom without even the faintest sign of indecision or doubt.

–

Mydei returns not the following summer, but the summer after, right when the peach blossoms have begun shedding to make way for the green buds that will, in two to three weeks’ time, fruit. There is no fanfare or parade, not even an announcement to notify you of his arrival. In fact, for the little over two years since his departure, you were not informed of any aspect of his campaign from official channels. It did not matter, though, when everyone was able to keep track of his progress with every morning that passed.

Barely a month after his leave, you woke up with sweat soaking through your clothes and blankets, as if you had remained in a bath with your clothes on for several hours. You made it a habit to leave your windows open every night, but had you woken up that morning any later, you would have been sunburnt to the point of permanent scarring from the three suns that were just beginning to rise in the sky, their unrelenting heat scorching everything that happened to soak in its light. You got up and warned everyone in the household to remain indoors, and perilously, you took not one, but two, thickly lined parasols with you as you made your way through the village to issue warnings and usher those that were outside back into their homes. The flowers that you had tended to just the other afternoon were already wilting, dehydrated, and you goaded the rabbits from their hole with a trail of fruits and leaves to another you had haphazardly dug where there was everlasting shade.

Later on, you would hear that Mydei had first tried to negotiate with Yudi’s sons, telling them to fulfill their appetite for mischief with something else, but given the inconsistencies in the rumors, it is not clear whether the sons ignored or denied the general’s demands. It seems that Mydei’s attempt at swaying their minds only further encouraged them to follow through with their plan, and Yudi’s sons began to wreak havoc shortly afterwards. As a result, it became a hunt, one that required Mydei and his troop to race around the Holy Nation in search of each of Yudi’s kin. Mydei and his men could only attack at night, when the sons had left their daytime posts to make way for the moon, but they never came down together, instead settling in different parts of the Holy Nation.  

The information you managed to garner, in the form of riveting tales and dubiously trustworthy gossip, either came from the village children’s eavesdropping or the occasional letter from Phainon, which he sent under personal regards. There never was an explanation for why you were kept in the dark, and you never bothered to ask either, because what good would it do for you? Had your husband been slain, you and everyone else in the world would have known already, and you need not entertain excessive hope. All you had to do was see if you could wake to another day.

The worst occurred a year and a half into Mydei’s journey, when there were six suns in the sky at once, their brightness bleeding out even the pure blue of the space beyond. Everybody stayed indoors and covered every possible crack or opening to prevent sunlight from leaking in, but not without the cost of broiling within their own rooms. On days when it was more possible to venture outside, you and your guards had to visit the occasional house to pull out dead bodies, smelling of decaying rot, feces, and steam, and bury them before even their right to a dignified burial was stolen by Yudi’s kin. And this was not a problem exclusive to your village. The Palace began to ring a large gong, three resonating beats, at noon every day to honor the growing number of victims, and there was a national decree for every home to light incense and perform daily prayers during the early evenings to beg for Tian’s interference.

Of course, nobody from Tian ever responded, but it seemed as if Mydei had sensed his people’s tortured cries, and from that point onwards, the suns continue to be felled, one after the other, until only one remained, the same sun that has stood with the earth since the very beginning.

You are in his office when your head lady-in-waiting calls out your title with excited raps against the paneled doors.

My Lady! You must come! Someone has come for you!

You are on your feet immediately, and you almost knock her over when you burst through the doors.

However, you are not greeted by your husband. Rather, it is another familiar face that greets you with a toothy grin and a proud hand saluted at his head.

We have made it back, safe and sound!

You cannot help but throw your arms around the man’s neck, hugging him without reprieve for air. His arms do not reciprocate, for it is inappropriate for a man to demonstrate affection towards a taken woman, but by his hearty laughs, you know he is overjoyed by your reaction.

Where is your master, Feng Meng?

In the Capital, reporting to the Emperor. I have come to fetch you, Madam, to attend his ceremony! You must hurry!

Without another thought, you and your servants rush to dress you. There are flurries of orange sashes, twirling skirts with golden beads sewn at the waist, the clicking of green jade against white jade, and in no later than ten minutes, you are in an oxcart that speeds its way to the Palace.

It is extremely difficult to get to the Palace. First, all entrances to the Capital are at a standstill, bottlenecked by a flood of traffic composed of several donkeys, horses, and merchant carts. The inside of the Capital fares no better – in fact, made worse by all of the pedestrians, street-side shops, and narrow paths. It is only after your cart finally pushes its way through the long lines and leaves the more populated and mercantile neighborhoods that the traffic disperses, and then it is an orderly journey to the Palace. When the guards ask for the purpose of your visit, Feng Meng simply needs to flash the handle of his sword, and you are directed to enter through the back gates, typically only reserved for guests of honor.

You swallow thickly from the infinite, various thoughts swirling in your mind. Will he have scars etching every corner of his body? Will he be several shades tanner? Is his hair an unruly length, or has he cut, or worse, singed it short? Is he a changed person, more violent in demeanor or fatigued from excessive stress? You do not plan on bombarding him with your questions, as he is probably answering plenty from government officials and the Emperor himself, but you also cannot guarantee that you will be able to restrain yourself. Though, the more you think about it, you are not sure how you should react when you see him. Should you wait for him to approach you, or should you take the initiative? Will he want to embrace you or keep you at a distance to give himself some space? How different is he from the man he was more than two years ago, and what will this current version of Mydei think of you when he sees you?

You fail to devise a plan by the time your cart comes to a stop and Feng Meng holds his elbow out to help you jump down. The Palace guards instruct you to wait with the other soldiers' wives, mothers, and fathers in the tea room around the corner, and Feng Meng directs you before he has to leave to prepare for the ceremony himself. You are unsure if Mydei will come to you as you wait in the tea room, so in the case that he does, you find a chair closest to the open entrance, and sit in perfect posture, still and quiet. The other people in the room are frantic, sharing the same questions and concerns you have, but requiring and taking advantage of the comfort of family to alleviate each other’s doubts and fears. You are reminded that neither you or Mydei have other family to turn to, only each other, and oddly enough, you become more optimistic.

All of you are in the tea room for two hours before a Palace guard comes to beckon the entire gathering to follow him. The guard guides all of you to your seats, near the back of the same courtyard you were in for the fourth prince’s seventeenth birthday party. This time, instead of two columns of tables, there are rows upon rows of people kneeling shoulder to shoulder, facing in the direction of the raised center stage. As per usual, the Imperial Family has yet to make their appearance, but they soon will after the highest-ranking officials finish taking their seats.

Finally, with the blaring sound of horns and gongs and drums, the award ceremony begins, and the Emperor, Empress Dowager, and the ten princes ascend their thrones. The secretary comes at the end of the line, and with a nod from the Emperor, the former begins his speech.

Today marks the official end of General Mydeimos’ campaign to defeat ten of Yudi’s sons. General Mydeimos and his men have returned victorious, and so, we host today’s ceremony in tribute to their bravery and success.

The crowd breaks into a clamoring of applause, a little more unruly due to the ecstatic and celebratory atmosphere.

We will present General Mydeimos and his troop of 62 surviving soldiers with honorable military status, in addition to multiple monetary benefits. We will also mourn the loss of the 138 soldiers, whose lives were lost throughout the campaign’s duration, with a funeral procession that will take place the following Saturday and Sunday. Families of the deceased will receive imperial support, and on behalf of this Holy Nation, we are indebted to the sacrifices you and your sons have made. More information regarding the funeral and compensation will be announced and distributed in the coming days. With that, we will begin by awarding the 62 soldiers.

A line of soldiers marches forth from behind you, and you closely observe them as they trod past you. Their faces are set and stern, and they are wearing their tattered armor, rusted and melted swords, bows, and spears held in place on their backs. You also notice several holding onto the solder in front of them, and with a closer look, you realize many of them have either a diminished or total loss of sight. As the line reaches the steps to the stage, the secretary begins calling out each name, handing every person when it is their turn a bronze badge with an engraved solar insignia and a hefty bag of riches. There is no applause, as silence is a way of demonstrating utmost attention and respect, until all the soldiers have been named and awarded. The survivors line up once again and seat themselves along the walls of the courtyard.

Then, an obedient hush falls across the crowd, all in anticipation of the true hero. You, too, suck in your breath, eyes darting around in search of your husband, the chief of your village, a general of this Holy Nation. With a deep breath, the secretary announces his presence in a booming, grand voice.

General Mydeimos, please enter!

Your abilities to speak, breathe, even think are stolen from you. It does not feel like reality when you see Mydei, his hair tied in a clean knot on the top of his head, a velvety black cape billowing behind his broad, intimidating figure, the metal blade of his glaive glinting fiercely underneath the rays of the single sun in the sky. Mydei spares nothing to the crowd, not a prideful smirk or disinterested glance, and simply kneels deeply when he makes his way in front of the Imperial Family.

The Emperor rises from his seat, and the secretary is prompted to narrate.

General Mydeimos, the Emperor would like to personally bestow you your rewards, for your incomparable feat in defeating Yudi’s sons, ten of Tian’s mightiest creations. On behalf of the Imperial Family, he would like to award you a ranking within the nobility and an accompanying northern estate in the Capital. Furthermore, your village will receive recovery aid from the government and many trade benefits. Thank you, once again, for your service.

The Emperor gestures for Mydei to stand, and attaches a noble badge onto the latter’s cloak. Mydei then turns around and bows to the crowd.

General Mydeimos, would you like to say anything, in light of your return and victorious conquest?

He sweeps his eyes across the hundreds of people in front of him before lifting his head and glaring up at the clear blue sky.

My men and I have returned, and the Holy Nation is safe. We are safe, and undefeated.

Through the thundering of applause, cheers, and cries, you tear up at the glorious sight of your husband. He is far away, not as far as he was these past two years, but still a fair distance away such that you cannot make out the features of his face. How blessed it is to live in the same world as him, you think, and it seems your undivided admiration of your husband causes you to accidentally rid yourself of your presence. Mydei’s head snaps to look in your direction, having sensed a change within the audience. He cannot see you individually, but he knows you are somewhere amongst that section of the crowd, and he nods his head, dipping his chin with solemn confidence. Then, he begins to make his way down the steps to take his leave.

That is, until a shiver runs down his spine, a gut instinct alerting him of a formidable presence, and he swivels around to look behind him as his hands reach for his glaive, only to be blinded by a shining white light. What is even more concerning is, as he tries to block the light from his view, he notices that there is no reaction from anyone else present – in fact, there is no sound at all. The light begins to retract on its own, and as Mydei blinks through his stunned vision, he sees that the secretary, the guards lining the bottom of the stairs, the officials sitting in the front rows of the audience – all of them are frozen in place, mouths open in mid-conversation, hands stuck beside their heads in dramatic gestures, eyes wide open, unblinking. The scenery has not changed one bit, aside from the fact that everyone and everything is unmoving, yet he can still sense the formidable presence surrounding him.

Oh, I thought it was just you and me.

A voice, coming from everywhere and nowhere, speaks. Suddenly, a familiar voice – your shout – pierces through the silent space.

Mydei!

He turns to where he once looked in the crowd and spots your standing figure. But before he can sprint to you, or call you over, the voice speaks again.

Forgive me, I do not mean to scare either of you. I had only intended to speak to Mydeimos, however.

With that, your body slumps over and drops onto the ground. Without hesitation, Mydei swings his glaive and, with a snarl, holds it out in front of himself, body poised to attack.

What did you do to my wife!

You cannot fight me, for I will not appear in front of you. As for your wife, I have put her to sleep. I only wish to speak to you.

Concerning what matter?

But the voice does not speak again, and instead, his glaive is replaced, and a ball appears in one hand.

What is this! Answer me!

An elixir of immortality, made of a blade of grass found only in Tian. If you ingest this elixir, it will grant you endless life, and you will become one of us. Take this as a sign of my gratitude.

Before he can respond, there is another flash of that same blinding white light from earlier, and the chaos of the courtyard returns, everything resuming their intended ways. Only the ball in his hand, the lack of his weapon, and your unconscious form indicate that his conversation actually took place.

Following the award ceremony, Mydei is invited to stay as a guest in the Palace, but he declines, not even trying to come up with a reason to justify his need to return to his village immediately.

He returns before you do but only needs to wait for half an hour before he hears you running through the walkways of your estate, approaching your chamber where he is waiting for you. Even though he had encountered Yudi’s sons, all ten of them combined would pale in the face of the omnipotent force that had approached him, and he is sure you are as, if not more, distraught as he is.

When you come rushing in, he rises from the bed and catches you as you leap at him, your trembling body against his.

My love, are you alright!

I need to show you this.

You refuse to separate from him, though, so he squeezes his hand into the crevice between your neck and his chest, and presses the elixir against your skin. That causes you to jump back, and your expression can only be described as one of pure shock.

That cannot be.

Mydei purses his lips.

The voice said it can grant immortality.

That - that voice. Only Yudi and Wang Mu Niang Niang possess access to the elixir of immortality. It - it must have been her! How can this be!

If it is Wang Mu Niang Niang, she said this was a gift out of gratitude.

He watches you take shaky steps back to him. You are trained on the ball in his palm, in disbelief of the existence of it.

W-well… are you going to take it?

Mydei snorts.

Of course not. I would be a fool to separate us from each other for any longer. I also have no intention of becoming a liar or a hypocrite, when I have had little regard for the divine since my birth. Have you forgotten what your husband is like?

His words, mostly tart with a hint of lilting tease, manages to draw a huff of a chuckle from you.

I am home. And I plan to stay for a while.

He scans your face and frame. There are more lines on your face, no doubt a result of your labor and sleepless nights from watching over the village by yourself. Your hair has also gotten quite thin and is a lighter shade, washed out by the suns’ harsh light, and there is both a rigidness and a frailty to your aura, both of which he has never sensed before. You, too, take your time in observing your husband, who has indeed gotten quite tan, and his hair is even longer, reaching down to his hips. There are several patches of his skin that are charred and burned, and you wince at the notion of such extreme pain and beating. Some things remain the same, however, such as the chiseled lines of his muscles and the bold red of his tattoos.

Moreover, this beat of hesitation, of holding each other at an arm’s length away, stays constant as well. But it does not last as long anymore, when Mydei breaks first and draws you into his hold. This embrace is one saturated with warmth, longing, and satisfaction, your first genuine hug since the two of you parted ways over two years ago. You take in his presence, as he does with yours, and in this room, this space just for the two of you, it finally feels complete and whole again.

Later, before the both of you head out for dinner with the rest of the villagers, Mydei decides to hide the elixir in a wooden box that he conceals in the corner of the bedroom. Though neither of you may have a need for it, it may be safer to conceal its existence, especially from potential prying eyes and envious minds.

–

A week later, a Palace messenger arrives at your estate to announce the holding of a banquet that evening in honor of Mydei and his troop. Your husband scoffs at the invitation, but with a stern glare from you, he begrudgingly accepts. These days, Mydei deigns to leave your side, constantly following you about as you resume your village duties and responsibilities. You also make time to bring him around to show him what he has missed out on.

One dawn, you take him to visit Grandma Li’s grave. You bring a basket of pears, homemade rice cakes filled with peanut butter, and incense pillars as offerings, and Mydei kneels for a long time in front of the grave. Another lunchtime, the two of you go to collect peaches, and as it was a Sunday, the children who had no school to attend that day joined you with their parents and siblings. You also show him the rabbits that you raised, the babies now fully grown with fluffy white coats and beady red eyes. And the night before the Palace’s banquet, your village hosts its own at your estate, and many of Mydei’s men come over. Mydei sits with his disciple Feng Meng, while you mill about to pay your respects to the village’s elders and to extend your appreciation to the soldiers present for their loyalty toward your husband.

You pass by a table occupied by a large family of seven. You are especially close to this family’s twins who are both ten-years-old, though not out of personal bias, but because they are relentless in their pursuit for your affection. As so, when the twins notice you, they scream out to you.

Eat with us! Eat with us!

You laugh, shaking your head with a soft smile.

Sorry, little ones, but I must eat with the chief tonight. I will join you for a meal another day.

They huff, crossing their plush arms across their chests. Then, as twins are with their shared thoughts and intuition, they share a cheerful look before turning back to you. The older of the two, a girl, speaks first, before the younger one, a boy, follows up, and the two continue to alternate back and forth.

We heard something interesting at school yesterday!

It is about the chief!

And we heard it from the ninth prince himself!

The prince said the chief had a forbidden medicine –

– a medicine that would make him young forever!

But we read in our books that that kind of medicine only exists in Tian.

Yet the prince looked awfully serious. Is there something wrong with the ninth prince?

Or is the prince right? That the elixir of immortality is real?

You pat their heads while maintaining your expression.

Lower your voices and hush now. If you are caught speaking ill of the Imperial Family, you will lose your tongues. Eat, before dinner gets cold.

You bid your farewell, and head back to your table. As you walk, though, you mull over the twins’ words.

As much as you despise your upbringing as a child of the divine, you find that the hard skills you learned since young have been more helpful than not throughout your life, even after you abandoned your post. Like now, you know not to ignore the signs. Twins are fortuitous, especially boy-girl pairs, and given that they brought up the elixir of all subjects tells you that Wang Mu Niang Niang’s gift is not something that can be so easily forgotten or discarded. You must exercise caution and remain vigilant, all while exhibiting inconspicuousness.

When you return to Mydei’s side, you realize Feng Meng is gone. You ask about the latter’s whereabouts, to which your husband responds that his disciple went to the bathroom. You run your hand through his hair, tracing your fingernail through his braids that you did this morning, before you excuse yourself to change into something warmer.

You pad through the darkened walkways, stopping whenever you run into a guard or a lady-in-waiting. You ask if they have seen Feng Meng, and you follow each of their instructions, until you realize you are navigating towards your husband’s office. Before you make the bend that would allow you to see the office, you wait, extinguishing your presence as you have done when tending to the rabbits and channeling your foresight. When your soul is quiet, everything around gets louder, and though it is faint, there is a vanishing trace of disdain that you can sense that stains the path to Mydei’s office. The flickering nature of the presence tells you there must be another human nearby, one skilled but not yet masterful. But before you can fetch Mydei for help, you must confirm your suspicions.

With quick and light steps, you glide to the old willow that drapes itself over the office building. From behind the trunk, you can peer inside one of the windows, though it does take some effort as it is only wedged open by a fraction and there is no light inside. From what you can tell, there are several unfurled scrolls strewn across his desk, and if you strain your ears, you can hear the shuffling and rearranging of the items on the shelves closest to you. While you do not know who this intruder is, as it could be someone other than Feng Meng, it is clear that someone is there.

You hurry back and try your best to keep up the silencing of your qi, despite the thrumming of anxiety that courses through your blood.

Mydei catches onto your intentions quickly, as he notices your appearance has not changed at all upon your return. You note that Feng Meng’s absence persists. He comes up to you, but instead of directing him to where the intruder is, you loop your arms through his and gently urge him to follow you around the villagers and soldiers. After all, you do not know if the intruder is acting alone, and if not, there could be those watching your husband closely.

As you pace around, you quietly inform him.

Someone is ransacking your office. I believe they are looking for the elixir.

How would they know about it?

Even the children have heard about it. At the very least, it is known that the ninth prince has been talking about its potential existence in the Capital.

How would the ninth prince know about it?

It is a good question, so you ponder it briefly.

I have a hypothesis, if you will entertain me.

Please, go ahead.

Remember how I was awake initially? It could be that the Imperial Family was also awake.

How could I have missed that?

No, not in the same way that you and I were awake. We could move about, even under Wang Mu Niang Niang’s spell. I was most likely able to withstand her spell because of my tolerance to divinity. By that logic, then, it is possible that the Imperial Family and priests were also able to retain their consciousness during her appearance, but were solely limited to that.

That is enough said on your part. The rest, Mydei understands. It is his turn, then, to formulate a strategy.

I will take the direct route to our bedroom. Veil yourself and go from the back, around the washroom. I will leave first, or else they will be suspicious of you.

He rubs his thumb across your cheek, a gesture of reassurance, and he makes some conversation with a few of the elders to his side before he goes on his way. You spend even longer lingering around the villagers, but also with the soldiers, to see if any of them are accomplices. But there is no sense of hostility or hatred from them. The more you investigate, hovering within the soldiers’ presence, the more confident you are that none of them are involved. That leaves you with two options: the intruder is acting alone, confirming their identity as Feng Meng, or alongside members of the Security Bureau.

You sigh. You must go now.

–

Mydei is broiling with anger. There is no need to hide his presence, as he wants to make it known that he is furious. His people have long suffered at the hands of the current empire, the village having been conquered during his incompetent father’s reign, and while he has tried to make peace with the Emperor, he has never once forgiven him and the Holy Nation. Now, he is being targeted for something he did not ask for – if they wanted it, they could have just asked for it! He shakes his head and rolls out his wrists, preparing to draw his blade and kill all that invades his home.

You are too reckless, Mydei.

Mydei swings, but misses.

Deliverer!

The Head of the Security Bureau steps out of the shadow, a black mask covering all but his piercing blue eyes. Had Mydei not worked with the Head before, the latter’s sudden appearance would have startled him.

You fool! You have always been the Emperor’s dog!

Mydei, it is you who is the dog. You need to be subjugated. The Emperor will no longer tolerate defiance from you or your village.

Defiance! How laughable!

This is not a laughing matter.

This is no matter in the first place.

I am afraid, then, that this is not something we can talk through.

Mydei has no doubt that he can defeat Phainon. His only fear is that he will not be fast enough.

–

It seems you were right in following the signs because you are exceptionally lucky. The moon lights your path so that you can navigate your way through your abode with ease and speed. So far, there does not seem to be anybody trailing you, and the intruder is nowhere to be seen, so they are not targeting you either. At this rate, it is likely that the intruder has left Mydei’s office and is searching elsewhere.

You take a deep breath out of relief when you arrive at your chamber and realize that no one else is present. There is only one entrance to your bedroom, so you take extra care to be silent as you come around from behind the building, and when the coast is clear, you sneak into your room. You pay no mind that the inside is dark, as you know the placement of everything by heart. You approach the corner of the room where Mydei hid the wooden box inside a large jar with bamboo planks stacked on top. You remove everything one by one, hurrying but prioritizing the need for silence above all else. But, again, it seems luck is on your side, and you are able to retrieve the elixir without a hitch. You move everything back to their original placements, except for the medicinal ball that you tightly clutch in your fist.

All is well, until you step out of your bedroom. 

You cannot help but scream when you see Mydei, bloody and battered, fighting against Phainon, bruised and limping.

No!

Both of them cease their movements, surprised by your presence. But before either of them can come to, something surges up from beneath you, and a hand flies up to grab you by the neck, limiting your ability to breathe without delay.

It hurts. It is an excruciating pain of being crushed under a heavy weight. You have heard that suffocating is akin to drowning, which feels like being roasted and burned from the inside out. You wonder if Mydei has ever experienced pain like this, perhaps when he received those patches of permanently seared skin. In your choking, murky view, you can make out the blurred outline of Feng Meng, his face contorted in an ugly, deceitful frown as he breathes heavily. And through your pounding ears, you barely make out his words.

I know you have it! If you just give it to me, Madam, your life will be spared!

Even if you could talk, you would not answer. However, since you cannot speak anyway, you demonstrate your refusal by flailing, thrashing your legs in every direction possible and beating Feng Meng’s arms with your fists. You know that you are only wasting your energy, but since Feng Meng is not ready to kill you yet, you desperately take in shallow gasps of air as well. You can hear Mydei screaming your name over and over again in between silvery screeches of gold colliding against brass, and by now, you think your guards should be on their way to address the commotion. But even their arrival might be too late for you, and it seems your luck has run out.

Feng Meng’s grip on you tightens, preventing air from entering you entirely. You probably look like a fish out of water, uselessly gaping your mouth and sputtering drool all over.

Madam, I will only ask you once more, or I will take it by force! Please hand over the elixir!

It is no use. You will not give him the elixir, and he needs to retrieve it by any means. With no compromise in sight, the two of you are at a standstill. That means one of you has to take action.

Without another thought, with the last remnants of your fading strength, you bring your shaky fist to your greying lips and release your clutch, dropping the ball into your mouth. 

Then you swallow.

It is as if time has stopped, once again. Everyone else, including Mydei, is frozen in the middle of their actions, and only you are able to move for however long you have. You remove Feng Meng’s chokehold on you, and heave in desperate breaths.

Your mind immediately begins to clear, and that is made apparent when you sense her. Now that you know who she is, her omnipresence, preceded by a white light, is less frightening.

That was not intended for your use.

You take another deep, shuddering breath.

My apologies, Wang Mu Niang Niang. But I figured it would be better than handing it over to the likes of Feng Meng. He would have eaten it on the spot.

That was not a call for you to make.

But you knew this would happen. I know the divine are capable of seeing into the future.

You are too powerful for your own good. Perhaps this was the best outcome, after all.

Seeing that you are still on your own, you rush to Mydei’s side, placing a hand on his cheek. His eyes are wide, golden and rouge irises twinkling under the moonlight. His mouth is wide open, as he was probably in the midst of screaming at you to Just hand it over! There are blood splatters that cover his temple and neck, and you use your sleeve to rub those away, before peppering kisses onto the corners of his lips.

Mortal, I will allow you to bring two things from this earth to the moon, where you will join me.

You pause in the middle of your kissing to respond, icily.

If you are pitying me, I will have none of it.

Are you in any position to refuse pity? Regardless, you do not have a choice. This elixir is of my making, so you must obey my commands. On the moon you will reside, and every year on this day, I will grant you the opportunity to see your beloved on this earth.

You leave one last kiss on your husband’s nose before you step back. Although you will be able to see him once a year, it feels… strange. You had promised yourself that, upon Mydei’s return, the two of you would be able to return to your normal routine and only be subjected to a few hours’ worth of separation every day. Even now, as you let your eyes linger over every centimeter of his face, you can tell that much of him has changed throughout his campaign, and before you have the chance to memorize his new contours and creases, it is you who must leave, by divinity’s demand, and you will never be able to know him as well as you once did.

How strange and twisted, you think, but for some reason, there is a distinct sense of acceptance within you. Perhaps the past two years have tested you, and you no longer fear fate’s outcomes because, at the very least, Mydei did the impossible in defeating Tian’s dwellers and survived. It might also be that you know Wang Mu Niang Niang is already demonstrating as much mercy as the heavens will allow, so even if you were to throw a fit or beg for more, the goddess herself would not be able to do anything. Or maybe, at one indistinguishable point, you unconsciously resigned yourself to the divine, and knowing that it will do anything it can to torment you, you have carried that grief along and never once set it down. This sudden unraveling of your life and the way you have known it to be has simply allowed that grief to surface, and you can only shake your head when faced with the darkened, disintegrating state of your heart.

You proceed to shuffle backwards, away from Mydei, until he is barely out of reach. You take the golden cuff that holds his front braid together, before you walk to the nearby courtyard where the rabbits reside. You uncover their burrow, unrooting purple forget-me-nots and creeping buttercups, and reach in to pull out the runt of the newest litter, no different from a solid figurine in your palm.

I am ready.

How strange, your choices. Explain to me, mortal.

There is not much to it. I suppose I find sentimentality in things that keep me going.

How bold of you, to not tell the truth in front of the likes of me.

You could force it out of me, if you so wish.

You watch as a staircase and railing of stardust, moonlight, and cosmic nothingness appear before your eyes in the middle of the courtyard, spiraling upwards and into the sky, ending somewhere far beyond where the moon hangs. You stare at Mydei’s braid cuff and the baby rabbit, which you notice is beginning to shiver, and you tuck both of them in the inside of your robe before ascending the first steps of the staircase.

As you climb, you notice the earth below you gradually resuming its time. A breeze brushes past the tips of your ears, and you delight in the perfume of fresh mint, blooming magnolias, and rose peonies it carries. In the distance, an owl hoots, and a pair of magpies flutter down to a pond you cannot see. You lose yourself to the natural order of the earth because, soon, you will leave this land.

Suddenly, a yell of your name draws you back. You lean over the railing and see that below, Mydei is gazing up at you. You can still make out the expression on his face – one of loss, desperation, and frustration. He is biting on his lower lip, and there are divots between his eyebrows. His eyes appear especially glossy and bright underneath the moon’s light.

Where are you going?

To the moon.

Can you come back down to me?

I cannot.

Your husband takes a few seconds before replying, and as you wait, the sound of grass blades ruffling and bats flying fill the silence.

I see. Then can I come up to you?

Wang Mu Niang Niang intercedes.

No. You will live out the rest of your life and die on this earth.

You and Mydei share a solemn look. Neither of you can say anything, as both of you have begun to weep, quiet tears clumping together eyelashes and rolling down the apples of your cheeks. But Mydei is also aware of the unforgiving reality that you may disappear at sudden, so with a shaky, breaking voice, he attempts to carry on the flow of the conversation, clinging onto any chance to hear his wife’s voice again.

When will I next see you?

Whenever the moon rises.

I will look up at the night sky every evening. And in person?

Every year, on this day, at this time.

I will meet with you every year. I swear.

I look forward to it, my love.

Are you cold? I am sure it is cold on the moon.

Do not worry. I have all that I need.

Wang Mu Niang Niang intercedes once more.

Enough of your idle chatter!

But the two of you carry on, because both of you have realized that Wang Mu Niang Niang is kind, and no longer are the two of you fearful of Tian or the divine or divinity as a whole. Rather, in the last, ticking seconds that you have, it is most important to cherish and express the unyielding, everlasting love you have for each other, as husband and wife. With soft, longing smiles, you utter the same sentence together.

We are forever –

– under the same sky.

Both of you press your fingers to your lips before extending your arms out towards each other, hoping that the full extent of your yearning, love, and devotion will be conveyed and reach the other. Then, with a flash of blinding white light, you disappear from Mydei’s sight.

You, of course, can still see him, but you will yourself to turn your chin away and climb up, up, up so that by tomorrow night, you will have made it to the moon, and Mydei will be able to see you from the window of your shared bedroom.

The world resumes, as if you were never there at all, as if time never stopped flowing. But Mydei knows you were real, are real. He reminds himself he need only survive tonight alone, and tomorrow, he will see you again, for the two of you can never be apart for too long.

And he is right because, by the decree of the heavenly gods above and their kindred spirits down on the earth in the forms of the water, leaves, wind, and destiny, you and Mydeimos are for each other, to always be intertwined and inseparable in this vast, vast universe.

–

“Lao Lao, why do we eat mooncakes during the Mid-Autumn Festival?” A little boy, no more than six- or seven-years-old sits at the dining table, feet kicking back and forth as they dangle off the edge of a chair meant for an adult. On the table, there is an array of emptied pots and plates, evidence of a large and festive meal devoured. Sitting directly across from him on the other side is his maternal grandmother.

“Because the lady on the moon likes them,” the grandma replies, preoccupied with tearing apart the packaging of a mooncake, which she hands to her grandson.

“Why do we care about the lady on the moon?”

The grandma’s eyebrows furrow. “Aye, Duo Duo, watch what you say! It is an important cultural celebration.”

“But why?”

“So many questions! She saved her husband, alright?”

“What happened to her husband?”

The grandson watches his grandma pause before recalling, “He was murdered by his student with a club made out of a peach tree.”

“Woah, that’s oddly specific. Did the husband love the lady on the moon?”

“Of course! Do you know nothing about the Mid-Autumn Festival? Before his death, the husband would burn incense and stare up at the moon every night to see his wife, and every year, today was the only day he could meet his wife in person. That is why we honor our ancestors during this festival, because we are closest to them now.”

The grandson shrugs, having lost interest halfway through his grandma’s explanation, romance lost on his inexperienced shoulders. “Sounds weird.”

“Duo Duo!”

The grandson ignores his grandma and pries open his mooncake. “Wait, Lao Lao, can you eat the yolk for me?”

“Aiyah, just eat it all yourself!”

[domina-honoribila]

You worship a cowardly and sinister god Christian. Christ has brought you nothing but misery and tyranny, and told you to hate your truest self and discard the pleasures that enhance your life. He has made you a slave and told you freedom was a sin. There are thousands of gods, and he alone is too cowardly to admit to his followers he is not the only way. Your world will one day perish. The slaves of Christ controlled the world for a time but that time will end and the old gods will reclaim their world. Your dear capitalism will be abolished, your nations will have no borders and your cities will have no police. Your suburbs will disappear and your nuclear families will fade. Your grandchildren will be queer and pagan and they will laugh to think that anyone ever worshipped christ. Hail thor, fist of the revolution. Hail Hel comfort to the oppressed. Hail Odin guide of the people. Hail Saga voice of the poets. The gods of this world have spoken to me and shown me the path to freedom. I hope someday you are no longer on the path of tyranny.

Bruh, one of my mutuals received this same ask, work for word. You think I'm gonna abandon the religion I gave up everything for, because of a lame copypasta? YOUR ancestors rejected their false gods, you need to do the same.

I was a pagan, when I was a child. I grew up in a pagan household. There's no freedom there. Real freedom is in Christ. Your beloved Norsemen kept slaves. Christians freed them.

[novaursa]

Hour of the Wolf

- Summary: Cregan keeps his promise to you, and delivers Northern justice to the South.

- Pairing: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: These events happen right after The Wolf's Flame. To read all parts of this story, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. This is the last part (conclusion) for this series.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 5 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

The cold wind that blows down from the North seems to follow him even here, into the heart of the South, where the air is usually filled with the warmth of the sun. Yet today, the skies over King’s Landing are heavy with a gray pallor, as if the gods themselves know that justice is at hand. You are not here to witness this, but you are the reason for it. Every step Cregan Stark takes is one of duty, but also of love—love for you, his Y/N, his beloved wife, and the mother of his children.

The streets of King’s Landing tremble under the march of Northern boots, the sight of direwolf banners casting long shadows against the red stone walls. Cregan’s expression is as hard and unyielding as the land he comes from, his gray eyes focused on the path ahead. He is the Lord of Winterfell, the Wolf in the South, and today, the Hour of the Wolf has come. 

Outside the Red Keep, the air is tense, the men around him anxious. They know what he is capable of; they know the purpose behind his presence. Justice. It is the promise he made to you, and the promise he will fulfill. Waiting at the gates, he finds two figures—one is the boy king, Aegon, the youngest of your mother’s children, and the other is Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, your grandfather. 

Aegon stands tall, but there is a shadow in his violet eyes, a weight that he has carried since he took his place as the King of the Seven Kingdoms. Corlys, too, has the look of a man who has seen too much, but still, there is a fire in him, one that refuses to die despite the years of war and loss.

As Cregan approaches, it is Aegon who speaks first, his voice steady despite the turmoil that surrounds him. “Lord Stark, we have been expecting you.”

Cregan nods, his gaze unwavering. “And I have come as promised. The South will know the meaning of Northern justice.”

Corlys steps forward, his eyes sharp as they search Cregan’s face. “The traitor Aegon II is dead, found poisoned in his chambers,” he announces, his tone devoid of satisfaction, yet also lacking in sorrow. “The throne is now secure, but the realm is not yet at peace.”

For a moment, the air is still, as if even the city itself is holding its breath. Cregan’s expression does not change, but there is a flicker in his eyes—a glimmer of something darker. “The death of Aegon II was too swift,” he says, his voice low and filled with the cold of the North. “He deserved more for what he did to your family, for what he did to my wife.”

Aegon shifts uncomfortably, but Corlys holds Cregan’s gaze, understanding the weight behind those words. “Justice has been served, in one way or another,” the Sea Snake says, his voice carrying the wisdom of his years. “But what of your children, my grandchildren? How are they?”

The question brings a softness to Cregan’s hard exterior, a flicker of warmth that only thoughts of you and your children can invoke. “They are well,” he answers, a hint of pride in his tone. “Safe in their mother’s embrace, in the heart of Winterfell. And Killian, our eldest, has had a dragon hatch from Thraxata’s clutch. A fine beast, worthy of a Stark and a Velaryon.”

Corlys’s eyes widen at the news, and even Aegon’s lips twitch in something that almost resembles a smile. The thought of a new dragon, born of your bonded dragon, Thraxata, the Midnight Fury, a creature of polished obsidian and violet fire, is enough to stir the blood of even the most hardened man. It is a symbol of your strength, your legacy, and the legacy of the children you have borne with Cregan.

The Sea Snake nods, his gaze distant as he considers the future. “A new dragon, a new beginning,” he murmurs. “Perhaps there is hope yet for this broken realm.”

Cregan does not reply immediately. Instead, he turns his gaze toward the towering walls of the Red Keep, a place that has seen too much bloodshed, too many betrayals. He thinks of you, of the letters you exchanged before he rode South, the promises made between you. He is here to fulfill those promises, to ensure that your family, your children, will inherit a world where they can grow without the shadow of war looming over them.

Finally, he speaks, his voice as unyielding as the North. “Hope is something that must be earned,” he says. “And I will see to it that this realm is worthy of the children it will one day belong to.”

With that, Cregan Stark, the Wolf in the South, turns his back on the Red Keep, his mind already turning to the tasks ahead. There is still much to be done, and he will not rest until justice, true justice, has been delivered. For you, Y/N, for your children, and for the memory of your family.

As he walks away, the wind picks up, carrying with it the chill of the North—a reminder that Winterfell, and all that it holds dear, is never far from his thoughts.

The throne room of the Red Keep is a place of power, but also of shadows—of secrets whispered in the dark and blood spilled on the cold stone floor. Today, however, it is a place of judgment. Cregan Stark, the Wolf of the North, stands before the Iron Throne, his presence imposing, his expression as cold as the winter winds that sweep across his homeland. The crown has been secured, the usurper dead by poison, but the realm still bleeds, and it falls to him to stitch its wounds.

He takes his position as Hand of the King with a heavy heart, but with unshakable resolve. Justice must be done, and he is here to see it through, not for his own glory, but for you, his beloved Y/N, and for the future you share. He remembers the words he once whispered to you in the quiet of your chambers, promises made in the stillness of Winterfell: to protect, to avenge, to make the world safer for your children. Today, he begins to fulfill those promises.

Before him stand nineteen men, the accused, each bearing the weight of their sins. Traitors, conspirators, men who played their parts in the bloodshed that tore the realm apart. They are the remnants of a conflict that has claimed too many lives, the final vestiges of a regime that crumbled beneath the weight of its own ambition.

Cregan’s voice rings out in the hall, deep and unwavering, as he addresses them. “You stand accused of treason, of betrayal to the crown, and of crimes that have brought the realm to the brink of ruin. Justice is what I seek, and justice is what you will receive.”

The room is silent, the tension thick as his words hang in the air. There is no mercy in his tone, no room for doubt or leniency. The eyes of those before him are filled with a mixture of fear and resignation. They know what is coming, and they know there is no escape.

Cregan’s gaze moves across them, his expression unreadable as he delivers the sentence. “Those of you who have been found guilty, you will take the black. You will live out the remainder of your days on the Wall, defending the realm you have betrayed. Your lives are forfeit, but the Watch will have your service.”

There is a murmur among the accused, some relief, some despair. The Wall is a harsh fate, but it is life, of a sort. But not all will receive such a sentence, and they know it.

Cregan turns his gaze to the two men who stand apart from the others, Lord Larys Strong and Ser Gyles. They do not flinch under his scrutiny, though they know what fate awaits them. They are men who have accepted their end, men who understand that the blood they have spilled cannot be washed away by mere words.

“For you,” Cregan continues, his voice colder now, “there will be no such mercy. Lord Larys Strong, Ser Gyles Belgrave, you have been judged, and your sentence is death.”

The room is silent again, the weight of his words settling over all who are present. Cregan steps forward, the greatsword Ice in his hand, the Valyrian steel gleaming in the dim light of the throne room. It is a blade that has seen many executions, a blade that carries the history of House Stark in every inch of its steel.

Without hesitation, Cregan raises Ice, his muscles rippling beneath his furs as he prepares to deliver the final justice. The men before him kneel, heads bowed, accepting their fate. It is a grim task, but one that must be done. For you, for your children, for the future of the realm.

The blade comes down, swift and sure, and in a single stroke, both men fall. Their heads roll across the cold stone floor, the blood pooling at Cregan’s feet. The sound echoes in the chamber, a final, resounding note of justice delivered.

Cregan stands over the fallen men, Ice still in his hand, his breath steady. He feels the weight of his duty, the coldness of the act, but also the warmth of satisfaction. It is done. The traitors have paid for their crimes, and the realm can begin to heal. 

As he steps back, wiping the blood from Ice with a cloth handed to him by one of his bannermen, a raven arrives. The black bird flutters through the open windows of the throne room, a small scroll tied to its leg, the wax seal of Winterfell visible even from a distance.

Cregan’s heart skips a beat as he takes the scroll, recognizing the seal immediately. It is from Maester Kennet, and he knows what news it carries. He breaks the seal with a steady hand, though inside, his emotions swirl. The paper crinkles as he unrolls it, and he reads the words written in the familiar script.

"Lord Cregan,

It is with great joy that I inform you that Lady Y/N has given birth to a healthy son. Both mother and child are well. The boy has been named Rickon, after your noble father. Winterfell rejoices at the birth of its heir, and we await your return.

Maester Kennet"

Cregan’s heart swells with a warmth that almost overcomes him. Rickon. Another son, another piece of the future you will build together. He closes his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to picture you in the great hall of Winterfell, holding your newborn son in your arms, surrounded by Killian and Alysane. He can see their smiles, hear the laughter that will fill the halls once more.

He tucks the letter away, the coldness of the throne room fading as he turns to leave. His duty here is nearly done, and soon, he will return to you, to your children, to Winterfell. He will hold his son, he will see your face, and he will feel the warmth of home once more.

But for now, he is still the Wolf in the South, the Hand of the King, and there are still tasks that must be completed before he can return to you. He steels himself, knowing that with every step he takes, he is one step closer to home, one step closer to you and the life you have built together.

The fire crackles softly in the hearth, its warmth chasing away the chill of the Northern winds that rattle the ancient stones of Winterfell. The room is quiet, filled with a peaceful stillness that you savor, holding your newborn son close to your chest. Little Rickon, barely a few days old, sleeps soundly in your arms, his tiny breaths warm against your skin. His dark lashes rest against his pale cheeks, so much like his father’s, and you can already see the strength in his small features, a promise of the man he will one day become.

You sit in a chair by the fire, wrapped in furs that keep you warm and comfortable. The weight of your son is a soothing comfort, grounding you in this moment, despite the swirling thoughts that sometimes pull your mind southward, toward King’s Landing, where your husband, Cregan, now walks paths that you wished you could have shared with him.

It was a hard decision, staying behind. You wanted to be there at Cregan’s side, to see justice served for what was done to your family. But the weight of your pregnancy had kept you here, in the North, far from the seat of power and the vengeance that now unfolds. You had argued, begged even, but Cregan, in his stern but loving way, had insisted. His duty was there, and yours, he said with a gentle hand on your belly, was here, with the child you were carrying and the children who needed their mother.

You sigh softly, glancing across the room where your other children play. Killian, your eldest, is sprawled on the floor, his dark hair a wild tangle as he wrestles with a small dragon, a hatchling from Thraxata’s clutch. Vexion, as Killian named him, is a striking creature, barely larger than a hunting hound, with scales of deep midnight blue that shimmer like sapphires in the firelight. His wings, though small, are strong and powerful, the membranes tinted in the same shades of violet as Thraxata’s, and his eyes, bright and alert, match the deep purple of her own.

Killian laughs as Vexion snaps playfully at his fingers, his little teeth harmless for now, though you know that one day, they will grow sharp enough to rend flesh and bone. But for now, the dragon is just a playful companion, a symbol of your legacy and the bond your family shares with these magnificent beasts.

Alysane, your daughter, sits beside her brother, her pale hair cascading over her shoulders as she carefully arranges a set of wooden figures. She’s creating a scene, you realize, a miniature version of Winterfell with figures of wolves and dragons placed carefully around the perimeter. Her little brow is furrowed in concentration, but she smiles when she hears Killian’s laughter, her violet eyes sparkling with the same mischievous light that often shines in Cregan’s when he is teasing you.

Watching them, your heart swells with love and pride. These are your children, your future. They are the reason you stayed behind, the reason you now feel a deep sense of contentment despite the ache of being apart from your husband. Here, in this room, surrounded by the warmth of the fire and the presence of your children, you find peace.

Rickon stirs in your arms, making a soft, contented noise, and you gently rock him, brushing a kiss against his tiny forehead. “Hush now, little one,” you murmur softly, your voice filled with a tenderness that surprises even you. “Your father will be home soon, and then we’ll all be together again.”

The thought of Cregan’s return brings a soft smile to your lips. You imagine him walking through the doors of the great hall, his face breaking into a rare, warm smile as he sees you and the children waiting for him. You imagine the feel of his arms around you, the strength and warmth that have always been your greatest comfort. You imagine introducing him to Rickon, watching as he takes his newborn son in his arms for the first time, the pride and love shining in his gray eyes.

But for now, you are content. Content to be here, with your children, safe in the heart of Winterfell. You have known loss, grief, and the cold touch of betrayal, but you have also known love, fierce and unyielding, and that love has given you these three beautiful children, each one a piece of your heart walking around outside your body.

“Look, Mother!” Killian’s excited voice pulls you from your thoughts, and you look up to see him holding Vexion aloft, the little dragon’s wings flapping furiously as he tries to stay airborne. “Vexion’s learning to fly!”

You laugh softly, a sound full of warmth and joy. “He’s doing wonderfully, my love. Just like you.”

Killian beams at your praise, setting Vexion down gently on the floor. The dragon immediately scampers over to Alysane’s miniature Winterfell, sniffing curiously at the wooden figures. Alysane giggles, gently guiding him away from her carefully arranged scene.

You watch them with a full heart, feeling the warmth of the fire, the weight of your newborn son, and the love that fills this room. Yes, you wish you could be with Cregan, standing beside him as he delivers justice, but you also know that this—being here, with your children, holding Rickon close—is where you are meant to be. 

You lean back in your chair, closing your eyes for just a moment, allowing the peacefulness of the moment to wash over you. Soon, Cregan will return, and your family will be whole again. Until then, you have this—this quiet, this warmth, this love. And that is more than enough.

The air in Winterfell is crisp with the first touch of spring as you stand at the gates, your heart pounding with anticipation. The sun is low in the sky, casting long shadows across the courtyard where you wait with your children. The news of Cregan’s return reached you only this morning, and ever since, you’ve been unable to keep the smile from your face. You’ve missed him with a deep, aching intensity, and the thought of having him home again fills you with a joy that’s almost overwhelming.

Killian and Alysane stand beside you, both of them practically bouncing with excitement. Killian’s hand is clutching Vexion’s leash, the little dragon sitting obediently at his feet, though his violet eyes are alert, as if he too can sense the importance of this moment. Alysane’s hand is in yours, her small fingers squeezing tightly as she peers down the road, searching for the first sign of her father.

The minutes feel like hours, but then, finally, you see them: the first of the riders cresting the hill, the Stark banners flapping in the wind, and your heart skips a beat. Cregan is home. 

As the riders draw closer, you spot him at the front of the group, his dark hair falling loose around his shoulders, his broad frame unmistakable even from a distance. The sight of him stirs something deep inside you, a rush of warmth and love that makes your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“Father!” Killian’s voice breaks through your reverie, and before you can stop him, he’s running across the courtyard, Vexion darting after him with a playful roar. Alysane releases your hand and follows suit, her laughter ringing out as she races to meet her father.

Cregan dismounts with ease, dropping to one knee just in time to catch Killian in his arms. Alysane is close behind, and he sweeps her up as well, holding both of them tightly against his chest. His deep laugh rumbles through the air, the sound of it filling your heart with a warmth that melts away the last remnants of the cold that had settled there in his absence.

You watch them, your vision blurring slightly with tears. This is what you’ve been waiting for, what you’ve dreamed of during the long nights alone—this moment, when your family is together again. 

Finally, Cregan looks up, his gray eyes meeting yours across the distance. For a moment, the world seems to stop, and it’s just the two of you, connected by the unspoken love that has always been the foundation of your bond. He rises to his feet, one arm still wrapped around each of your children, and as he walks toward you, you feel your breath catch in your throat.

When he’s close enough, you close the distance between you, your hands reaching up to cup his face. His skin is cool from the journey, but beneath it, you can feel the warmth that has always drawn you to him, the steady, reassuring presence that you’ve missed so much.

“Cregan,” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

He smiles, that rare, genuine smile that’s reserved only for you and your children. “Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice deep and rough with emotion. “I’ve missed you.”

And then his lips are on yours, gentle at first, but quickly deepening as the months of longing and separation melt away. His kiss is everything you’ve needed, everything you’ve craved—warmth, love, passion, and the undeniable connection that has always bound you together. You lose yourself in him, in the taste of him, the feel of him, the way his arms wrap around you, pulling you closer as if he can’t bear to let you go.

For a moment, the world fades away, and it’s just the two of you, lost in each other. You can feel the beat of his heart against your chest, strong and steady, a reminder that he’s here, he’s home, and you’re safe in his arms.

When you finally pull back, your forehead rests against his, and you take a moment to just breathe him in, to savor the feel of him against you. “I’m so glad you’re home,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

Cregan’s hand comes up to brush a strand of silver hair away from your face, his touch tender and filled with love. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he replies, his eyes soft as they gaze into yours.

Killian and Alysane, sensing that they’re witnessing something special, are unusually quiet as they cling to their father’s legs. But you can see the joy in their eyes, the way they look up at him with adoration and love. 

Cregan glances down at them, and then back at you, his smile widening as he takes in the sight of his family. “I’ve missed so much,” he says, his voice tinged with regret.

You shake your head, squeezing his hand. “You did what you had to do. And now, you’re home. That’s all that matters.”

He nods, his eyes shining with the same love and pride that you feel swelling in your chest. “I’m home,” he repeats, as if savoring the words. Then, he looks at you, his expression turning more serious. “How is Rickon?”

Your heart swells at the mention of your youngest, and you can’t help but smile. “He’s perfect, Cregan. Just like his father.”

Cregan’s smile softens, and there’s a tenderness in his eyes that makes your heart flutter. “I can’t wait to meet him,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

You nod, taking his hand and leading him toward the keep. “He’s waiting for you,” you say softly. “We all were.”

The walk to the great hall is short, but it feels like a journey, each step bringing you closer to the home you’ve longed for, the completeness you’ve missed. When you enter the hall, the warmth of the fire greets you, along with the familiar scents of Winterfell. But it’s the sight of the small cradle by the hearth that draws your eyes.

Cregan steps forward, his movements careful and reverent as he approaches the cradle. Rickon is awake, his tiny fists waving in the air, and when Cregan leans down to look at him, you see the wonder and awe in his eyes.

“He’s beautiful,” Cregan whispers, reaching out to gently touch his son’s cheek. Rickon’s eyes, a soft gray like his father’s, blink up at him, and a small, contented smile spreads across his tiny face.

“He looks just like you,” you say softly, stepping beside Cregan and slipping your hand into his.

Cregan shakes his head, his eyes never leaving Rickon’s. “No,” he says quietly, “he looks like us.”

The words bring a lump to your throat, and you lean into Cregan’s side, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. This is your family—whole, safe, and together. 

You stay like that for a long moment, just watching Cregan with Rickon, feeling the love and contentment that fills the room. Then, slowly, Cregan straightens, his eyes still filled with that soft, tender light as he looks at you.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, his voice full of meaning.

You smile up at him, your heart full to bursting. “For what?”

“For giving me this,” he replies, his hand gently squeezing yours. “For our children, our home… for everything.”

You reach up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing against the rough stubble that you’ve missed so much. “We built this together,” you say softly. “And now, we’ll enjoy it together.”

Cregan’s eyes darken with emotion, and he leans down to capture your lips in another kiss, this one slow and full of promise. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and you can feel his breath mingling with yours.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispers, the words a vow, a promise, and a declaration all at once.

“I love you too, Cregan,” you reply, your voice filled with all the love and devotion you feel for him.

The world outside may be cold and harsh, but here, in this moment, in this place, you are warm, safe, and complete. Cregan is home, your children are safe, and your family is whole. And that is all you need.

Excerpt from Fire and Blood by Archmaester Glyndwyr, Chapter: "The Hour of the Wolf and the Dawn of the Dragon"

The Dragon That Followed the Wolf

In the aftermath of the Dance of the Dragons, the realm lay in ruin, its people exhausted from years of bloodshed and treachery. The Iron Throne, once a symbol of absolute power, had become a seat of sorrow and conflict. Aegon III, the Dragonbane, who had ascended to the throne at a young age after the fall of his mother, Rhaenyra, found himself ill-suited to the demands of kingship. His reign, though marked by attempts at restoration, was overshadowed by the lingering shadow of the civil war and his own deep-seated melancholy.

It was in this time of uncertainty and discontent that voices began to rise among the lords of Westeros, calling for a new ruler—one who could unite the fractured realm and bring about a new era of prosperity. These voices soon coalesced around a single name: Killian Stark, son of Cregan Stark and Y/N Velaryon, a boy of strong bloodlines and even stronger will, who had already shown promise as a dragonrider, bonded to Vexion, a dragon of Thraxata’s clutch.

Killian's lineage was beyond question. As the great-grandson of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon, his claim combined the noble blood of House Targaryen and House Velaryon with the unyielding strength of House Stark. With his mother Y/N, the only daughter of Rhaenyra, and his father, Cregan Stark, the Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, Killian embodied the unity of the North and the Targaryen bloodline.

It was Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, who first championed Killian’s cause. The aged and wise Lord of the Tides, having outlived nearly all of his contemporaries, saw in his great-grandson the potential to restore what had been lost. The Sea Snake's influence and respect among the lords of Westeros were unmatched, and his advocacy for Killian as the rightful heir to the throne was taken with the utmost seriousness.

Corlys's argument was simple yet compelling: the realm needed a king who was not only of noble blood but also one who could command the loyalty of the dragonlords and the great houses alike. Killian, with his Stark resolve and Targaryen fire, was that king. He was a boy with the blood of the dragon in his veins, and unlike his predecessors, he had a dragon at his side—a symbol of the power that once ruled the skies of Westeros. Vexion, though young, was already growing into a fearsome beast, his deep midnight blue scales and violet eyes a reminder of the might of House Targaryen.

The Great Council of 138 AC was convened at Harrenhal, a place chosen for its neutrality, to decide the fate of the realm. The lords of Westeros, weary of war and eager for stability, gathered to debate the future. Among those who spoke for Killian was not only Corlys Velaryon but also his father, Cregan Stark, who had already proven his dedication to justice during the Hour of the Wolf when he served as Hand of the King and dispensed justice to those who had betrayed the realm.

Cregan Stark was a man of honor and few words, but his presence at the council carried weight. It was said that when Cregan rose to speak, the hall fell silent, and every lord in attendance felt the weight of his words. He did not advocate for his son out of ambition but out of duty—to his family, to the realm, and to the memory of those who had suffered and died during the Dance of the Dragons. He spoke of the need for a ruler who could command both respect and fear, a king who could rebuild what had been broken, and a dragonlord who could ensure that the skies of Westeros would never again be darkened by treachery and betrayal.

The lords of Westeros, many of whom had fought in the Dance or had seen their lands ravaged by it, were moved by the arguments presented. They saw in Killian Stark the hope of a new beginning, a ruler who could bridge the divides that had torn the realm apart. The fact that he was a dragonrider only strengthened his claim, for the memory of dragonfire was still fresh in the minds of many, and the power of the dragon was seen as essential to maintaining order in a realm as vast and diverse as the Seven Kingdoms.

Thus, it was decided by the Great Council that Aegon III, whose reign had been marred by personal tragedy and political strife, would abdicate the throne in favor of Killian Stark. Aegon, who had always been more comfortable away from the throne than upon it, accepted the decision with grace, retiring to Dragonstone, where he would live out the remainder of his days in relative peace.

On the first day of the new year, in 139 AC, Killian Stark was crowned as King Killian I of House Stark and Targaryen, the Dragon-Wolf, first of his name. His coronation was a grand affair, attended by lords and ladies from across the realm, each of whom pledged their loyalty to the new king. As the crown of Aegon the Conqueror was placed upon his brow, Vexion let out a mighty roar, his wings unfurling as he took to the skies above the Red Keep, a symbol of the new age that had dawned in Westeros.

The reign of King Killian I was marked by a period of reconstruction and renewal. With his parents by his side—Cregan Stark as his most trusted advisor, and Y/N Velaryon as the queen mother—he worked to restore the realm to its former glory. The North and South were united as never before, and under his rule, the great houses of Westeros found a new sense of purpose and loyalty to the crown.

During their marriage, Cregan and Y/N had more children, each of whom played a role in the continued stability of the realm. Their eldest daughter, Alysane Stark, was married to the heir of the Vale, further strengthening the bonds between the North and the South. Their younger sons, Rickon and Jory, were given lordships and served as key figures in the court, ensuring that the realm remained united and strong.

King Killian I’s reign saw the rebuilding of many of the great castles and cities that had been destroyed during the Dance. The Targaryen bloodline was secured through alliances with the other dragonlord houses, and the power of the Iron Throne was restored. The scars of the past were not forgotten, but they were healed, and the realm once again prospered under the rule of a strong, just, and wise king.

In the end, the Dragon-Wolf proved to be the ruler that Westeros needed—a king who could command both the loyalty of his subjects and the respect of his enemies. His reign ushered in a new era of peace and prosperity, and his legacy would be remembered for generations to come as the king who brought the broken realm back to life.

Thus ends the account of King Killian I, the Dragon-Wolf, and the legacy of House Stark and Targaryen.

[syndrossi]

Okay, look, I said no more AUs until I post Resonant ch37 but in the stress of waiting/prepping for tomorrow's + Friday's interviews, I decided I could write a little comfort AU as a treat.

Here's a little piece of what I'm calling "Reignite AU," which is a mash-up of Restoration AU (Rhaella lives) + Regret AU...

x~x~x

“Why did you bring him here?” Rhaella asked sharply.

The man currently resting on the bed within the guest chamber of their Braavosi home was still pale from blood loss, though the wound in his thigh had been stitched and bandaged. It was not his condition that alarmed her, however. Rather, it was his very appearance.

He looks like kin. Like Aerys in some ways, before the nightmares at Duskendale had caused him to abandon personal grooming altogether. Younger, however. Late in his twenties, if she had to estimate. Not much older than Rhaegar would be now, had he lived, and the more she stared at the man, the more she could see her dead son as well.

“Forgive me, my lady,” Ser Willem said, the title accompanied even now, three years since she had been forced to fake her death and flee with her children to Essos, with a grimace of apology.

She had not been “my queen” for some time. For anyone to guess that she was more than the children’s beloved nurse, just another loyalist who had gone into exile with Ser Willem, was far too dangerous. Targaryen children alone were no threat to Robert Baratheon, for all that he had purportedly cheered the murders of her good-daughter and grandchildren. Targaryen children with their mother, the queen, however…

“There is more,” the knight continued, and once she tore her gaze from the familiar-unfamiliar man before her, she could see that he was unsettled. “A great deal more.”

He pulled the blankets up, and Rhaella shot to her feet with a gasp. Curled beside the unconscious man was a tiny red shape that raised its head to regard her with golden eyes narrowed with wariness. It shifted its wings, removing all doubt that it was anything but what it appeared.

“A dragon,” she whispered.

Dragons had been dead for centuries, and Summerhall had near swallowed her family whole when they had tried to return them to the world. Dozens died that day, and the only dragon who drew breath was my son.

Yearning gripped her, and she extended a hand toward the tiny hatchling. Its neck was long, almost snake-like, and its snout came to meet her outstretched fingers partway, its tongue flitting out to taste them briefly. It then shifted even closer to the man. Its rider, Rhaella corrected herself, though the term seemed ridiculous with the creature so small.

“I did not even mark the presence of the beasts at first,” Ser Willem said. “His knight was wandering the streets, invoking the name of your royal house in search of aid for his lord and his lord’s children.”

“Children?” Rhaella asked, startled.

She had heard the sound of giggles emerging from Dany’s nursery, but she had assumed it was merely her daughter engaged in play, either with her dolls or one of the servants. The rest of the knight’s words trickled into her awareness then. Beasts?

Rhaella hurried out of the chamber and threw open the door to the nursery. Within was her daughter, her eyes bright with merriment as she ran from two young children who could not be more than two years of age, while two more tiny hatchlings circled them in the air, as though themselves at play.

They paused their game, turning to Rhaella as one, and Dany’s face broke into an even bigger smile. “Mama!” she called, barreling into her skirts to envelop her legs in a hug.

The other two children stared at her, their own mirth turning to sorrow within moments. And although they were creatures of legend, it was not the young dragons who stole her gaze.

Rhaella could not tear her eyes from the light-haired child, whose hair shone the same silver-blond as her eldest son’s. His eyes, a purple just as dark, filled with tears as he stared back. He looks like my Rhaegar.

“Muña?” the toddler called out, his voice wobbling.

“Yes,” Rhaella gasped, unable to help herself. She dropped to her knees, and he ran into her arms sobbing. She kissed his hair, heart aching with memories of years long past. Beyond, the other child continued to watch her, his gaze warier.

They look the same age. Twins?

The other babe had dark hair, not unlike her sweet granddaughter’s, though without her streak of silver. His eyes were not purple, but rather a deep, solemn grey, and yet he too looked as though he could be hers.

“What is your name, my dear?” she asked softly, holding her hand out to beckon him in.

The toddler approached cautiously, halting just out of arm’s reach. “Baelon.”

Baelon. One of her family’s given names. “May I hug you, Baelon?”

He nodded after a lengthy pause, and she gathered him into her chest, her arms now full of children. Baelon accepted a kiss to the cheek, and she kissed his brother again. “And what is your name?”

“Rhaegar,” he said.

Years as Aerys’s prisoner-wife had sharpened her control to the finest of points, but still Rhaella struggled to choke back a sob. She smiled serenely instead, her heart fragile as glass within her chest as it continued to pound.

He is my son. She knew that she had not birthed these children, and yet she was equally sure of who he was. The gods have returned my son to me. And perhaps, in little Baelon, one of her sons who had died in the cradle. Or even one of my grandchildren.

“I want my kepa,” Baelon mumbled into her dress.

“He is resting,” she said. “But you may see him if you are quiet.”

That mollified him, granting her time to recover from her daze to look upon their little dragons at last. They were of a size with the red one. One was a deep blue that glinted silver all throughout under the sunlight, and by the way it was hovering near Rhaegar, she guessed it to be his. The other was keeping its distance, a striking black with patches of bronze along its chest and the inside of its wings.

“This is Qelebrys,” Rhaegar said, noting her shift in focus with a sharpness that was just as much her son’s. “She’s my dragon.”

“She is beautiful,” Rhaella said. Even the poetry of her name invoked her own Rhaegar. “What is your dragon’s name, Baelon?”

“He’s Shadow!” Baelon chirped, head turning to his dragon. “And that’s Ser Willam!”

Rhaella had entirely missed the man standing watch in the corner of the nursery, near-blending with the shadows. He marked her attention with a respectful bow, and she caught sight of a long blade sheathed at his side. She swallowed her alarm, resolving to have words with Ser Willem—that would grow confusing quite quickly—about allowing armed men into the house without speaking to her first.

“Ser Willam…?” she asked pointedly.

“Ser Willam of House Royce,” the knight said.

That did not ease her tension. The Vale had been Robert��s greatest ally, and Aerys had murdered Lord Royce’s son, Kyle. Yet he is in the service of a man who looks like one of my house.

“Who is the boys’ father?” she asked.

The knight’s frown held a mistrust near equal to her own. “Prince Daemon.”

Daemon— “Blackfyre?”

The knight shook his head. “He wields Dark Sister, my lady.” That was not what she had asked, and they shared a look of confusion. “May I have your name?”

Her impulse was to lie, as she had been lying for the past three years to protect herself and her children. Viserys and Dany could be of House Targaryen. She could only be Lady Rhea. But they have dragons.

Tiny dragons, yes. But dragons would grow.

And he has my son.

“Rhaella Targaryen,” she said. She saw no need to bother with meaningless stylings when her family’s throne belonged to another.

The knight bowed once more. “I would see to my prince, if my lady would permit.”

She recognized her own tension in him, and became aware of Baelon’s hopeful gaze once more. “Of course.” She smiled at the children. “Shall we go visit your father?”

x~x~x

Shoutout to @textbookchoices for suggesting this particular twist on a "Rhaella lives" Restoration AU.

[darkestspring]

Could you do one where aegon’s wife is the daughter of rhanerya and daemon and when blood and cheese happens (it was meant for aemond solely and they were ordered to flee if they couldn’t find him but they decided to not listen and tried to kill her babe but failed due to her fighting them off) she turns into team green because she believes that her parents wanted her babes dead and also rhanerya and daemon’s reactions to this

It was grief. The knowledge that it was your father who sent them made you want to claw out your own heart just to make it stop hurting.

How could it be? It had to be a lie, your loving father couldn't have done this? Had your mother condoned this? He couldn't have done it without her explicit word.

You were so numb that you let them flee, they wouldn't get far with how you'd broken a leg on one of them and the other one's skull had to be broken or fractured. You had started keeping a piece of metal that you had found out of sheer paranoia.

You sobbed as you cradled Jaehaerys close to your chest, trying to comfort him but you were so panicked that you let out a shriek when Aegon slammed the door open.

You stared at him with startled teary eyes as you cluttered your rattled son close to you, your body relaxing as you saw him. "A... Aegon..." You sobbed, your lip quivering.

Aegon panted as he rushed towards you, stopping top check on the still frightened Jaehaera, picking her up from her bed and walking closer to the two of you. "My love." He whispered softly as he wiped the blood off of your cheek.

"It... It's not my blood. I... I had to protect Jaehaerys, you... You understand, don't you?" You looked up at him with pitiful eyes, tears still streaming as you cradled your son close to you.

"Of course, I'm not mad, my love. Come... Come sit down." He ushered you to sit down on the bed, looking over Jaehaerys, relieved to see him unharmed.

"It... It was two men... my father sent them..." Another sob bubbled up in your throat.

Aegon's attempts to comfort you turned into anger. "I will send a missive of war. I won't let them get away with this. Let's go to bed. I won't let them twins sleep alone tonight."

Rhaenyra looked down at the letter in disbelief, grief and despair filling her. "I need to speak with my husband. Please vacate the room." Her words were soft but enough to send the rest of them running.

Once the room was vacant, she tossed the letter on the table in front of Daemon before hissing out. "Explain yourself."

Daemon grabbed the letter, disbelief filling his gaze, "This is wrong. I ordered them to kill Aemond and to retreat if they couldn't find him! I never ordered them to attack our daughter or our grandchildren." He refuted the claims in the letter.

"Yes, well, one of them was almost killed! Our daughter refuses to speak to us any longer and this is a declaration of war on the terms on attempted slaughter of Prince Jaehaerys, our grandchild." Her voice increased but she was shouting.

"My poor daughter." She sobbed into her hands. Would her beloved daughter ever talk to her again.

Jace shoved the doors open, stomping forward. "Send me."

"Jace? I ordered-"

"Mother, my sister just sent a declaration of war, i think we have more pressing matters." He stared at them both. "Send me, I will meet with my sister. I will speak with her on neutral terms, not as Prince Jacaerys but as Jace, her brother who always helps her."

Rhaenyra's last hope truly was this. "Be careful."

[aeneia-art]

As much as 100% Lucanis Dellamorte has never had sex before and the image of him being so unsure about the whole thing is real fucking cute - do you really think for a second Caterina was going to leave her heir having no idea what the hell goes on in the bedroom? Sex is a known weapon to the Antivan Crows, used often. That means whether he wants to have sex or not, someone CAN use it against him, and they undoubtedly will. She's not going to leave the Dellamorte grandchildren wide open. Just happens that Illario took to it, and Lucanis didn't.

Yeah sure he might never have followed it up, but he probably got his sex ed talk from a well respected courtesan or crow who specialised in seduction, male or female, who explained every little intricacy, expectation and way that seduction, foreplay and sex worked.

What's more: it seems much like actual renassiance italy, antiva has a high expectation around passion and intense emotion, but with even less prudery because there is no expectation around priests, and that manifests in open depictions and discussions of the nude body, passionate writings about intimacy (we know Lucanis likes Romance novels), and sex workers being MORE naturalised. (It was very expected that any nobleman worth his salt should have a Mistress, because otherwise who even were you? Poor? ) Having the favoured heir of the First Talon being a blushing confused mess about sex would look weak.

Not having had sex is not the same as not knowing what the hell he is doing.

(Also for all my beloved Illario fans out there - ILLARIO TOTALLY HAS MISTRESSES (of whatever gender you prefer we are equal here), and not just one or two flings, something pretty he keeps as a status symbol, you'll take that from my cold dead hands.)

[astarionancuntnin]

Hello! No idea if you’re taking requests, or if they are only Astarion x f!reader, nor how dark you go.

But you think you can write a Gale x f!reader in the third person (Name is just Tav) and Gale is obsessed with having a baby that he and Tav do it every minute even when Tav is asleep?

I'll go as dark as you allow me to go bb (also thank you for your patience oh my god i swear im gonna get through all my requests eventually). fair warning that this is my first Gale fic and i haven't done his romance in game, with that being said-

Silent Night

pairing: gale x tav (fem, not decribed but its implied she looks younger than him by a few years)

rating: E

word count: 3.7k

cw: 18+. smut, mentions of pregnancy, obsessive anxious thoughts, porn with feelings, coercion, unprotected sex, drugging, somnophilia, non-con, breeding kink (and breeding), creampie, using cum as lube, cock soaking, gaslighting, this is a dark one y'all have been warned. full list on ao3.

read on ao3

my masterlist

or keep reading down below~

Ever since getting rid of the Absolute, Gale’s life had been exactly how he had pictured it, and that meant spending most of his days lavishing his wife, Tav. Not a day could go by where he and his beloved did not indulge each other. Not only did they spend every single night at it - it was every single moment they had together: out on a picnic date, while they were cooking, when they were snuggled up on the sofa reading - as if their primal urges could never be satisfied.

Especially Gale’s.

After getting married, he had made it his primary goal to make sure his wife was satisfied at all moments and Gods above did he deliver. Truth be told, his drive had only gone up since they discussed their future, and potentially having a family — a child! Gale could hardly believe it; it was one of his wildest dreams and it was now just within reach.

Growing up alone with his mother, he still struggled with the idea of being a father as he feared to not be up to everyone's expectations — moreso Tav’s — but he couldn’t deny how he hoped he could eventually get the chance to be the father he always dreamed of having. Give his mother grandchildren that she could visit, make their friends aunts and uncles, even new company for Tara; finally have a real family of his own.

They had been careful in the past, however. Tav would always drink a potion that acted as contraceptive before doing anything, and it had been Gale's greatest disappointment. Every time, he wished she'd forget or would dismiss it so he could finally have it his way with her.

Thankfully, Tav was interested in the idea, but he noticed her doubts everytime the topic was brought up.

After everything they had gone through and the uncertainty of their future because of it, she had asked for some time to think about it. Make sure they were appropriately settled in — had a house, a stable income, a place secure for a child to grow up — and yes, of course, that was reasonable, but Gale couldn’t keep his mind from picturing her, with her breasts full of milk and rubbing her belly, swollen with their child.

My, what a sight.

It was enough to get him in the mood to put a damned baby in her.

But, Gale was a patient man, he could wait. Surely, she would make up her mind and have a clearer idea soon enough. She wasn’t saying it just to waste her most fertile years away, only to watch the opportunity fly out the window, or waiting for the next best option in terms of partners. They were married, for Gods’ sake, they had vowed to stay together until death did them apart, and after what they had survived, they were assured to live until their old days; they would be together forever.

…Right?

She wouldn’t just leave him now of all time, now that they were safe and secure. She didn’t just stay out of convenience, surely not. She couldn’t have lost interest since their adventure ended and was just looking for a way out — buying her time until she could safely discard him as Mystra had done to him in the past.

Oh Gods… but what if she was?

It’s not like he was getting any younger. If anything, the stress of destroying the absolute had taken a toll on him that must’ve made him age twenty years in the few months alone it had taken them. It only struck him when he gazed upon his beloved, still the very depiction of youth, as opposed to him. She remained beautiful as time passed by and he loved to admire her, but it was a constant reminder that he wasn’t getting any younger, and the orb in his chest hadn’t helped in the matter either. Even if he figured out a way to live longer, a skill he could learn as a wizard, she wouldn't have the chance to be blessed by those same powers Gale had; he would outlive her and he would be left behind — alone.

Again.

She would have every reason to look for someone more younger, who could age with her, and less broken than he was, and the darkest parts of him couldn’t accept this reality — wouldn’t accept it.

It didn’t matter that they were married, or how many times she had reassured him, those same thoughts came back crawling like a pest.

So that night, before heading to bed, Gale prepared Tav's herbal tea as usual: with chamomile, citrus, and honey — just warm enough to be comforting — and a dose of a special potion he took care of obtaining at the market during his errands earlier, just to make sure she would sleep through the night undisturbed.

Such a good husband! The merchant had exclaimed after he had explained his wife was suffering from insomnia. Taking care of his wife and tending to her utmost care, so thoughtful!

Oh, if only they knew.

They explained in detail the exact effects of the potions, and he didn't need further convincing before dropping a pouch of coins on the table and taking off with the magic concoction.

Upon watching his wife drink the tea he had so kindly prepared, Gale could only see how right the merchant had been — Tav wasn't even halfway through her cup that her eyelids grew heavy, her head wouldn't sit straight, and her entire body screamed at her to go rest.

Gale, the caring and loving husband he is, took it upon himself to bring her to bed and lay her down comfortably, still in her night clothes, with her breathing already heavy with sleep. He pushed her hair aside, letting his knuckles brush against the supple skin of her cheek as he took in the sight of her.

His beautiful wife — almost bare as she wore a short, lilac silk nightgown, and a soft pair of lace underwear, one he would eventually remove tonight to finally take what was rightfully his.

It would be preferable if she were awake, of course, but with the way her own doubts had plagued her mind, Gale thought it fair to give her head a vacation. She could rest peacefully, and he could give her a gift she didn’t know she wanted; he would help her see reason this way and she would have no other choice but to accept it if it just happened to her.

It was for the best, for both of them — he had always been careful, always so damned careful, respecting her wishes; what about what he wanted? What about his needs?

To breed her in the dead of night, leave her with a sticky mess between her legs to wake up to, then offer her another round of morning sex to cover up the soreness he would've caused her the night prior so she could stay completely inconspicuous until her sickness shows up and her belly grows swollen with a new life and—

Oh, Gods above, no, what was he thinking?! He couldn’t do this to her — not like this; not when she was asleep, but… Hells, he couldn’t ignore the throbbing erection this vision had given him. The sheer fabric of his underwear rubbing against his cock made him groan; he wouldn't be able to let it go now… And she was right there, out cold, it’s not like she would mind it if he were to just use her a little, right?

He sighed. Fine, just a touch then, just enough to ease the ache.

He let his hand reach down and underneath his underwear, where his fingers wrapped around his length, hard and angry, and he let go of a heavy breath as he pumped himself just once. Once too many, as it only made him more desperate for what could be around his cock instead of his hand.

Just a few strokes, just enough to satisfy my needs so I can go to sleep.

His grip was strong, but he pumped himself slowly as he eyed Tav's sleeping form. His thumb moved to the head of his cock, where he found a bead of pre-come already dripping, calling out for its home that rested between his wife’s legs. He rubbed it against his tip and slid it over his shaft to lubricate himself — hoping to find some relief with his own arousal — but only found himself wishing it were from his beloved, laying right there in front of him.

Gods dammit… Fine — just a touch, then… just a little… touch…

While one hand kept stroking true, his other one found comfort in the softness of her warm breasts. Small compared to what they could be if she were carrying their child, gorged in milk, but nothing short of delicious, as he remembered their taste in his mouth, his tongue circling around her plump nipple…

Oh, the taste of her–

As she moved in her sleep, he let go, afraid that he had woken her up, only for her to have simply slightly moved her legs apart, naturally lifting her nightgown up above her thighs and allowing Gale a clear view over her beautifully wrapped entrance — all of this without him needing to even lift a finger.

He chuckled nervously, thinking only for a moment she might have been awakened by his lewd touches. Still, she remained unconscious, and he remained painfully aroused by the sight of her barely covered cunt, with her legs wide open. She was right there, ready for the picking, just for him.

Hells, why was he second guessing himself, he had already spiked her tea, it's not like she would know either way; in for a penny, in for a pound, right?

Okay, okay, just a finger, just to pick up her moist and apply it over myself. That's all I need. Nothing more.

He pulled her legs together, just to slide her underwear off, only to be hit with the scent of her arousal completely coating the silk he had pulled away from her entrance.

By the Gods, my love. You're positively soaked. What have you been dreaming of, I wonder?

He brought her underwear to his nose, breathing in her aroma, and a shiver ran down his spine as he let his thoughts wander once again to his original plan. As he looked back to her, legs spread open and slit glistening wet, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind anymore; by the time he would be done with her, her womb would finally be claimed by his potent seed, and she would bear his child whether she wanted to or not.

Hells, forget the finger, I must taste you.

Letting go of his night robe and sliding down his underwear completely, he crawled over the bed and between her legs, settling comfortably with his face right besides the warmth at the apex of her thighs. He wrapped one arm around her soft thigh, while the other hand slid up to her wet slit, squeezing her puffy lips to push her juices out and admiring it drip over their bedsheets.

“Heavens above, my love,” he whispered against her cunt, his low, raspy voice carrying the lust he was done denying himself. “You look simply delicious.”

Bringing his face closer, he pulled his tongue out and pressed it flat against her entrance, swiping up along her slick ever so slowly to collect her essence. A shudder ran down his spine at her taste as he swallowed down her juices.

He murmured, against her core, “Not even the Gods could rival your taste, my heart.”

Using his thumb and finger just below her clit, he spread open her lips to expose her fully to him; pussy wet and enlarged by her arousal, almost as if she knew he was there, as if she subconsciously liked it.

Wanted it.

He breathed heavily over her slit, his mind hazy with lust as he finally dipped his tongue deeper into her folds, working his skilled tongue in and out of her. He took his time to collect her arousal in his mouth and tasted everything she had to offer him; he wanted to please her more than anything else, even as she slept through it all. His tongue circled around her clit and his mouth latched onto it to suckle, until he felt her reaching her first orgasm as she whined faintly in her sleep and her legs twitched — but she remained unconscious through it all, allowing Gale to eat and drink his fill of her.

Pulling back with his chin coated in her essence, he licked his lips with a smile. If this continued to go just as well, he would need to go back to the seller to thank them again.

Satisfied with her taste, and with his cock practically begging for her as he had smeared the bedsheets with his precome, he sat up on his knees and lifted her legs to bring them up and around his waist, then pressed his length over her cunt with a breathy sigh.

“There, there,” he purred as he rubbed his cock along her flushed and wet lips. “That’s a good girl, lying still for her husband. I just need a bit of you, love; you can rest. Just be good for me.”

If there was any doubt of her arousal, now it couldn't be ignored. Despite Gale’s assault of his mouth on her and the certitude he had drank every drop of her come as she climaxed in her sleep, a faint line of her juices dripped down from her entrance as he coated himself with her wet and stained the bed just below them.

I'll just slide the tip of my cock against her entrance, just enough to feel her— Gods, I need to feel her warmth.

No bed sheets or underwear in the way between her and him anymore, which made it all the more simple for him to align her waist with his and push her legs apart as he leaned against her with his arms on each side of her head. His length easily found its way around her warm lips, as he slid between them.

So very soaked for me, fuck— so wet and warm. Just stay like that love, your husband just needs you a little more.

Carefully moving his hips back, he pushed his tips against her entrance, and it didn’t take him long to come to a dreadful realization.

I can't wait any longer — I need this, please forgive me, Gods, I need this.

Slowly, he pushed himself all the way inside of her, and a broken gasp escaped his throat as he hit the end of her channel, filling her completely with his cock. Despite having completely sunk inside of her depths, it still wasn’t enough. He would only be satisfied when she would be filled to the brim with his seed, burst after burst of his cock spilling inside of her until she was leaking with his cum.

He picked up a rhythm — slow and careful at first — but it quickly fastened as he lost himself in the feeling of her tight walls around him, squeezing him even as she was sleeping.

“You little vixen–” he whispered, his voice breaking as he spoke to her as if she were conscious. “Ahhh… Just take it, take it for me. That's right, just like that… Oh, you little tease— you've wanted me to do this, haven't you? Have your husband come and fuck a baby into you as you slept? Are you truly this depraved, love? Are you this much of a whore for your lover?”

As she turned her head around and her arms moved up to touch his chest, Gale thought of the worst right away and slowed down his thrusts once more, but never stopped completely; he couldn’t find the strength within himself to stop now that he had gone this far.

He brought a hand up to softly cup her face and stroke her cheek, “Shhh, please don't make me do this, please, my love.” He whispered, pleading. “Don't fight it, just let it happen, you were doing so well.”

She whimpered, either from a nightmare or the potion wearing off, and brought her floppy arms up to weakly push against Gale's chest. Asleep or not, he couldn't allow her to try and stop him, not now. He picked her wrists and pinned her to their bed as he picked his rhythm back up, pounding into her.

“None of this now, dearest,” he growled. “Your husband is fulfilling his rightful duties to you, and I know you want this, your cunt has been begging me to put a baby inside of you for weeks now. This is for your own good; our own good— fuck—”

When her eyes began to flutter open and she mumbled his name half-asleep, he didn’t need to think twice before casting a sleep spell on her to make sure she would remain calm and docile. He wouldn’t back down now, the best he could do was minimize the damage on her.

His head fell forward, with strands of his hair falling from his messy bun to cover his face and tickle hers.

“I'm sorry my heart,” he pleaded as she slept through his assault, and he wasn't sure anymore if he tried to convince her or himself the most. “You gave me no other choice, I need to take you tonight. I need to make you mine and mine alone. It's for your own good, I promise.”

As if his words had slipped past the veil of her consciousness the moment those words left his lips, he felt her cunt clench around him.

“Oh Gods, even asleep your cunt wraps so tightly around my cock.” He moaned, biting his lips to muffle the desperate sounds fighting to leave his lips. “It's okay, you don't need to use that little head of yours, your body speaks for itself with how it's milking me.”

He wrapped her legs back around his waist and cast mage hands to keep them locked in his back. There was only one way tonight was ending, and he wasn't going to back away until his job here was done.

Despite the sleeping spell and the potion, Tav whimpered as Gale fucked into her recklessly, with a rhythm nearly desperate.

“Fuck, you moan so prettily when you take my cock, I might just burst yet—”

His thrusts started to become sloppy, losing his clean rhythm to replace it by one borderline animalistic as he pressed himself wholly against her body, her breast crushed against his chest with each push of his hips. In the dead of this warm, silent night, the only sounds keeping them company were the sloppy splashes of his hips against hers, his balls slapping against her tight little asshole, and his breathy moans that grew only louder and out of control, barely noticing just how loud he was getting.

“Please let me give you the life we deserve,” he begged, not caring for the sound of his voice anymore. “Let me breed you, bear my children, make me a father– fuck!”

His body pinned Tav down, his cock completely buried into her as he spilled himself in the depths of her womb. With his concentration faltering, she started whining through her sleep spell as if she had fought through it to wake up. With his cock still pulsing his white, hot come inside of her, he brought his lips over hers to muffle her sounds with a one sided kiss.

“Shhh, it’s okay my love, it’s over. You’re okay, I’m right here. I’ve got you. Shhhh…” Gale ushered in her ear as he kept his body pressed against hers, his breath hot against her skin, and brushed away the hair from her face. “Let’s just stay like this for a moment. I need… I need this.”

He stayed inside of her for a few long minutes, until his breath came back to him and his cock went soft inside of her, only then allowing himself to pull out and lay back next to her; it was all too soon when he lost the warmth of her walls around him, and even soft, he knew his cock was missing it's home as it rested sadly over his belly in a puddle of his cum and her essence.

Making sure to avoid any doubt from her, he got up to slip his briefs and her panties back on before sliding back into bed and pulling the covers over both of them, then turned away to pretend to be sleeping. As he finally broke the concentration on his spell, Tav slowly woke up to a sweaty, but very much seemingly asleep Gale.

She shook his arm to take him out of his daze, “Gale? Gale… wake up!”

He turned around as if just woken up, “Gods, Tav,” he mumbled, feigning his fatigue. “What time is it?”

“Did you…” Her voice is sleepy and confused. “Did you fuck me while I was asleep?”

“What?” He exclaimed, raising himself up on his elbows and rubbing his eyes. “Gods, love, who do you take me for? I would never impose myself onto you like that, you must've had a nightmare. Are you quite alright? Come here–”

He brought the back of his hand to rest over her forehead, as if to check her temperature, and pulled back with a worried look.

“Poor thing — you're burning.” He brought her head to rest over his chest as he pet her head, trying to soothe her back to sleep. “Hush now, you're safe, I've got you. Shhh… You’re okay…”

Within minutes, if not seconds later, she slipped back into a restful sleep, with her head moving to the beat of his chest rising, and Gale couldn't help but admire her, chasing away the guilt of his actions as he realized the necessity of it.

The faint light of the rising sun exposed the glistening laying between her legs and pooling over the bedsheets past her panties, and he instinctively licked his lips at the mere thought of it.

Now, there would be no doubt in their future, only a certitude swirling around in his mind.

In time, she will be the most amazing and caring mother.

He just knows it.

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

tag list (comment or message me if you want to be added!): @grimistheangerinmystares @silverfangmarks @roguishcat @nyx-knox @anacdoce @jwera @annnagennnie @angeldarkness95 @marlowethebard @hellethil @frankie-mercury @ariajc79 @ladycroft5245 @lets-just-daydream @pursuitseternal @longjohnsilverfish @asterordinary @charmandabear @moochiepoo

[sillylotrpolls]

It's another "extended edition" poll! This question was first asked in June of last year, and with some recent polls breaching containment and sparking confusion for non-Silm readers it seems like an excellent time to bring it back.

I've replaced the three lowest-polling options from the previous poll and added five new ones. I had to paraphrase to get them to fit the 80-character limit, so do read the original thread for the full versions and additional jokes.

Credits in order: @absynthe--minded, @hennethgalad, @blindbrilliance, @vigilantsycamore, @finnritter, @i-am-the-inksinger, @daegred-winsterhand @maglor-my-beloved, @kanalaure, @squirrelwrangler, @what-would-maglor-do, @captainofthefallen.

[spidermaninlove]

Are TZ Married?

I spot a yellow-diamond ring (at least five carats, maybe six), from Bulgari. “This is my splurge, my treat-myself,” she smiles. “I do get a little employee discount,” she laughs shyly. “It feels like it’s gonna be an heirloom, like one day I can give it to my grandchildren.”  -- Zendaya for British Vogue, October 2021 (Interview conducted on July 1, 2021).

According to a Bulgari representative, Z's yellow diamond ring is an "engagement ring."

Rewind to November 2017 when Z posted this to her Snapchat account:

Then she immediately followed up with this Snapchat post:

Z's fondness for yellow diamond engagement rings obviously predates 2021. So did she or didn't she buy the Bulgari yellow diamond engagement ring for herself? That is the question. After reading the following statement in her interview in the October 2021 issue of British Vogue, I have serious doubts.

In February 2021, when asked during an interview if Tom would settle down now, he said he would do. x Five months later, on July 2, 2021, Page Six confirmed Tom and Zendaya were a couple.

But Z preferred to keep her dating status private during her interview on July 1, 2021 with British Vogue -- the same day the paparazzi photographed them kissing:

...dating her IRL is, she insists, a tall order. The list of approvals is long – “my dad, my brothers, it’s a whole thing. Good luck to whoever wants to take that on,” she scoffs. Perhaps her Spider-Man co-star Tom Holland, who has long been rumoured to be her boyfriend, is up to the task? After all, the following day (July 2, 2021), photos appear of the pair kissing in a car after our lunch (on July 1, 2021)."

August 2021

TZ attended their friends' wedding in August 2021. While at the wedding reception, Z did not participate in the traditional bridal bouquet toss. She watched the toss from their nearby table and then shared a kiss with Tom after the bouquet was caught. x

On September 1, 2021, TZ finally acknowledged they are a couple via Tom's Instagram post.

In November 2021, Tom told GQ that he and Z will talk about their story and what it is when they're ready.

"This isn’t my story. It’s our story. And we’ll talk about what it is when we’re ready to talk about it together.”

In June 2023, during an interview with BuzzFeed, Tom said, "I'm locked up, so I'm happy and in love..." x

In July 2023, during a podcast with Jay Shetty, Tom stated, "My relationship is the thing I keep most sacred. I don't talk about it. I try my best to keep it as private as possible. We both feel very strongly that that is the healthiest way for us to move on as a couple." x

September 2023

Miss Nicaragua allegedly shared during a live that she had met TZ in Oakland and that she hopes Zendaya's marriage goes well (post blogged on September 18, 2023). Note: TZ were in Oakland August 25-26, 2023.

Three days later, on September 21, 2023, Darnell went live on Instagram to adamantly deny Zendaya is engaged.

If she's not engaged, is she married? 🤫

October 2023

Law and Darnell were on the bridal floor in Vera Wang's store in Beverly Hills on October 13, 2023. I believe it's safe to assume Z was there as well.

February 2024

During a BBC Radio 2 interview, Z stated that British people are her family now.

April 2024

In a Vogue article dated April 9, 2024, Z described her perfect future which includes a protected life with her family.

Speaking of a protected family life, TZ recently adopted a dog named Daphne from Protection Dogs Worldwide.

And speaking of dogs, Z left her beloved Noon with Tom in London while she went to California. Tom even took Noon to work at the Duke of York's Theatre several times while Z was far from home (pun intended) for a couple weeks during the months of June and July 2024.

Note: Tom recently posted Noon, along with Daphne, on his Instagram account. x

October 2024

In October 2024, Tom launched his non-alcoholic beer, BERO. One of the three BERO brews, Noon Wheat, is named after "Tom and Zendaya's dog, Noon" and the "cofounder's (Tom) dog, Noon". So Noon is no longer just Z's dog. Noon is TZ's dog. Noon is Tom's dog, too. Noon is their dog.

Tom considers himself Noon's dad. Both Tom and BERO posted for Noon's birthday calling him "My birthday boy" and "Tom's furry child," respectively.

November 2024

Noon is called one of "the most loved members of the Holland family..." on The Brothers Trust Instagram post.

April 2024

An Atlanta paparazzi posted this to his Instagram account and then deleted it.

And then he posted and deleted this the following week:

February & April 2024

Dom Holland attended Z's London premieres for both Dune 2 (February) and Challengers (April). Is this considered father-in-law behavior?

May 2024

According to Ashley Perez, her notary instructor "insinuated" TZ may have gotten a confidential (non-public) marriage license.

Note: Ashley attends a college near the Bay Area.

California Confidential Marriage License Requirements:

The participating parties must be at least 18 years old to apply for a confidential marriage license. ✅

There are no CA state or US residency requirements.  ✅

The couple must state to the notary or county clerk office that they have been living together, as husband and wife or partners ✅ - not as roommates - at the time they apply for the marriage license, and must sign an affidavit on the license attesting to living together. There is no time requirement as to how long the couple has lived together.

You are not required to get married in the county where you purchase the confidential marriage license; however, you must be married in California.  You must file the license in the county where it was purchased.  

No witnesses are required to be at the ceremony, AND no witnesses sign on the marriage license.

The marriage license is a confidential record and is registered at the County Clerk’s Office in the county where it was purchased. A notary public with special authorization may issue, sign, and file a confidential marriage license.

Secret, Civil, Private, and Traditional Weddings

It's not uncommon to have a civil wedding ceremony and then have a traditional or destination wedding at a later date. Celebrities Joey King, JLo, and Elizabeth Olsen have done it. Anya Taylor-Joy originally eloped in New Orleans in 2022 and then had a wedding in Italy the following year. Millie Bobby Brown had a private family wedding in May of this year and is in the process of planning a second wedding for family and friends. Robert Pattinson and Suki Waterhouse recently had a secret wedding ceremony. Beyoncé, Kerry Washington, and Margot Robbie had secret weddings as well. Did TZ have a civil/secret/private wedding ceremony and are they planning a traditional/second wedding in the future? If so, it wouldn't be the first time they've kept their relationship status a secret.

Disclaimer: The opinions stated in this blog post are for entertainment purposes only.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Pray

Faith should not be transactional. Bartered to the highest bidder and sold as the winds shift. Bought with miracles and blessings. Heaped upon powerful champions and gifted at the sweet words of avatars. Perhaps it is old fashioned of me. Or maybe it is "naive" as I have often been accused.

To be honest, I am just not used to The Divine being so active.

Perhaps it is loyalty. Perhaps it is... faith. I do not know. But I can not imagine being swayed from the Goddess I serve. Not when... unlike BEFORE? I can... can actually FEEL Her presence.

I still laugh in disbelief sometimes. In AWE. Can you even IMAGINE? Sitting there, head bowed in prayer, in that quiet little temple of nowhere special, and... while expecting NOTHING? Feeling... feeling love. A gentle, all encompassing, hand that picks you up without moving you. Cradles your soul like a beloved child.

There aren't really words to explain what it feels like. It's somewhere between talking in circles, poetry, and gibberish. But BEAUTIFUL. So utterly, utterly beautiful. I can not comprehend why anyone would ever turn their back on her. Could EVER be bought with showy trinkets and bits of gold. Party tricks.

I am an outlier, in that regard.

Only myself and the Elders remain.

No one comes. Not to worship, not for blessings or wisdom. Not even to rest from the rain. Our humble temple more quiet then it has ever been. There was always SOMEONE. We are, after all, a temple too our Lady the Nox Viatoris. Keeper of those who travel at night, in places of peril, or should the worst occur... their soul's too safe resting. (Also, several small and fluffy nocturnal animals!)

"Night" was rather loosely defined, too. It honestly meant any place of low lighting. So a deep valley or cave worked too. Under belly of a city. Sewer system. We had smugglers, on occasion. They were generous. Honestly quiet devote. And as long as they didn't break the tenets of Our Lady's teachings? Well... what Oddly Weathy Worshiper with Working Knowledge Of Sewer Systems!

It was a well known joke. Everyone ignored them.

But one by one... they stopped coming.

The locals who's families had worshipped here for generations. The merchants who always came "just in case". The smugglers who "could use a bit of luck". Random travelers, guided by our Lady to a place of safety. I began to hear scoffs, as I went into town, from the younger generations. Get "concerned hints" from aunties and uncles I had know all my life.

Fellow priestess started too... drift away.

First seeming distracted, praying more, then praying less, going for longer and longer walks, their ceremonial robes getting increasingly half-hearted, then... after the final, damning stage of "staring off towards town a lot"? They would leave. Some with excuses. Others with vitriol. Our home colder and colder for each one gone.

The Elders heart's were breaking. They were watching the slow death of the only home they had ever known and could do nothing to stop it. The temple was dying. The children they had raised, the little ones who were all but grandchildren, abandoning them without second thought or simple discussion. For some whispered promise of foreign gods.

But I? I intend to stay, no matter what.

I who had been born to travels that did not want me, here in this temple that DID. Loved by these walls and this Lady. Who was given a second chance when my first ended so abruptly. Who would walk with Her one day. Proudly and with love. This was my home. Even if I had to take care of it by myself, I WOULD.

Things in town grew... vitriolic. Tense. Like a simmering heat had spread across the street where once, cool water flowed. It lurked beneath the surface. Volatile and burning, as bright colors seem to spread like sickness across the town. They felt... aggressive, somehow. Those colors. As though anyone NOT wearing them must answer for the crime of it.

I had them pushed upon me.

Again and again.

"It's cheerful!" "Look how bright and sunny they are!" "You'll look GREAT!"

I served a night goddess. The brightest color I was allowed to wear was off white to represent the moon and stars. Night blooming flowers if I could find them and justify it. It wasn't a matter of PREFERENCE. They KNEW this. I could NOT wear their gifts. Not the clothes. Not the jewelry. Not the decorations. None of it. Especially not with...suns... on it.

It was then I did more then just suspect. As I held the most recent gift, pushed upon me by well meaning friends. Struggling to remain patient. The sun sewn into the cheerfully dyed fabric MOCKED and sneered. Gaudy and ugly to my eyes. I turned, back to the temple, the rest of my shopping forgotten.

It could wait.

When I returned? I showed the Elders what I had been handed. Elder Antilla going so pale she nearly fainted. It was all that they had feared. At last, one of the major players had decided to swallow our tiny region whole. We were nothing but a small regional faith. Our Lady a weak but kind Divine in the grand scheme of things. She took care of us.

Could not offer us miracles and silks, honey and splendor. But she could love us. Protect our souls and guide us. The stronger Gods? Oh, they could offer SO MUCH more. Tempt and sway away Her faithful. Starve her into nothingness as they strip her of power. Consume her, as they had so many others before.

We had been safe.

Because we were far away and of little interest, tucked away between mountains that lead to nowhere of strategic worth. Few people to even convert. But seems... our time had run out. One of them had come for us. And oh... oh how EASY it had been for them to pour their power and wealth into swaying our faithful away. Buying their souls for a pittance of power and a laugh.

We had to sit down.

The mood grim.

The Elders would not live much longer, I knew. Perhaps that was why they were ignored. That, or the other God knew they could not sway them. They certainly would not sway me. I refused. Even if I had to worship alone. Became some cultist in the woods. I would NOT leave Her.

I prayed.

The silence felt deafening. But at least I was not alone. My Lady's arms held me close. As though trying to shield me from the world. Shaking, tears of grief that left no marks, dropping one after another upon my hair and skin. Suddenly the arms around me tightened in alarm. Pulled, as though commanding me to stand. To be ready to run. There was FEAR in that action.

I was on my feet at once. Turning towards the open air of the entrance.

Up the road, old and worn with the passing feet of countless travelers, came the crisp step of expensive boot leather. The rustle of leaves, the chirping of birds, all of it, seemed to hush as the sound of footsteps got closer. As though nature itself was afraid to draw attention of whatever was coming.

It was the light that changed first. No longer coming from just above us, yet somehow? It still was. The mid-day's sun was bright, cheerful, yet perfectly ordinary. Natural in the way countless summer day's have been. But the light coming from up the path? Low and shifting like a lantern swings, in a way that can only be ORGANIC?

It BURNED.

The sort of light that purges all in its path. That blinds and maims and burns. So hot everything becomes cold, as nerve endings char away. Like the blinding light off winter snow. Pale and reaching. Hungry. Consuming. W...What WAS that? It was getting closer. I backed deeper into the temple. Towards my Lady's idol.

The hush grew louder and louder, in it's terrible absence of sound.

The light brighter, as whatever IT was, got closer.

My eyes could see no shadows, so it probably wasn't real light. It hurt to look at. Yet it didn't hurt in the way staring at bright lights SHOULD hurt. It was painful because it had... claws? Thorns. Jagged, dragging edges that ripped at the something in me that SAW.

I could See because I needed to See, I think.

She NEEDED me to know what stood before me was not merely a man.

And THAT? That is the form it took. The liar and thief. A burning monster at the threshold of my home. Dressed in the finest silks and satins stolen faith can buy, the jewels glinting from his belt enough to buy several small nations. THAT was not a man. It just looked like one. Wore the face of one.

High Priest? Champion?

Goddess help me, an Avatar?

They were enmeshed. Woven so tightly they were all but an extension of the Divine. And it BURNED. Bright, holy, and terrible. A Sun standing before the Moon's own temple, with purging fire in its heart.

"Hello, little Thing. You've been quite stubborn, haven't you?"

They didn't raise their voice, yet still my bones felt like they rattled in my skin. The few windows we had, shook. Light fixtures swayed. I... I was afraid. I would NOT cower, but oh, Lady, I was afraid. His voice felt like the desert sighing against my skin. The edge of a threat.

"I lay out treats and you do not come. I invite the town and you will not hear me. You brothers and sisters kneel at my feet, yet you? You spurn me, too give your loyalty away for nothing."

I watch as he casually reaches to the air to his side. As though accepting something offered from someone who is not there. A cigarette. He tucks it into his mouth and cups the end, his finger glowing brightly as he lights it.

He takes a drag then exhales.

Letting the smoke whisp, rudely, past the unspoken barrier between us and into the temple proper. It's scent mixes discordantly with the incense. Making what was once lovely a cloying and choking mess. I watch him smirk as he takes another drag. Send more smoke inside.

His disrespect is deliberate.

"What can the festering night give, that the loving embrace of the day can not give better?"

His smirk rolls into the mimicry of a laugh. The monster's head tilted as though to consider my reaction even as the empty sound echoes against the temple's walls. It has the depth of a laugh track. The warmth of one. How... HOW has this CREATURE fooled ANYONE? Destroyed us so utterly? It is cruel.

"Ah~ so THAT'S what it is, you precious little Thing." He whispers, somehow the most terrible sound he has made so far. The power of it drags against me covetously, lingering like hands. "True Faith, given freely. You really do love her so, don't you? That wretched, unworthy, Nothing. Little Thing~, you should love ME instead."

It ended in a croon. As though trying to entice me. But all I could hear was static. The pounding of my heart as fear released adrenaline into my body, bringing the world into hyperfocus. "Me"? My ears had not deceived me, right? That THING in mockery of man's form... said "me"?

Oh, Nox Viatoris, our Lady who guides us, on darkest paths in deepest night... h.. hold my soul with kindness. Walk with me, on this broken, troubled path. That I may not face it alone. I... I am scared.

That... That was An AVATAR.

The extension of the Divine upon this mortal world. Not nearly their full power, but even a fraction of the INFINTE? Is beyond mortal capacity to fight. Only Avatars could handle other Avatars. On rare occasions, Champions, should they band together. But I... I was just a priestess. A humble child of nowhere.

Oh Goddess.

I back up. My back hitting the alter. I... I was probably going to die here. Our faith, wiped from the face of the map. I finally understood. He had come to stomp, like crushing ants, on what few hold outs dared linger at the fringes of his domain. Sent his Avatar to convert and destroy.

Our home would be nothing but rubble, wouldn't it? Generations of faith, gone. Our history, burned before his uncaring purge. At... oh Goddess, dear Lady, at least I would walk that final time with her. Could return the kindness she had shown so many. He was going to kill her. Kill US.

I...I refused to let her die alone.

Against my back, I felt the cool warmth of my Lady, leaning against me. Her unseen arms around me in comfort. For me or herself, I could not tell. It did not matter. I stood taller. Head high, shoulders back, feet shoulders wide. Shaking, yes, but unwilling to cower.

If I died today, I would walk proudly with Nox Viatoris.

The smile had slipped from the Avatar's face as it blankly regarded the spot directly behind me. Like a puppet sliding back into default in that absence of commands. I briefly wondered... who had he been? The faithful man, who gave up his form? Who was hollowed out and USED? He was beautiful. Had he been asked?

Or had he had this terrible thing inflicted upon him?

I would never know.

"That's rather annoying, you useless little parasite. She and I were having a conversation." The puppet's, the AVATAR'S mouth, barely moved. "Can't you go check on those wastes of space of yours? The ones that you've only barely managed to keep? They should be dead soon, you'll need to do your job. I'll take Good Care~ of this bright little soul. Don't bother coming back."

"No need." Came the deceptively soft rasp of the high priest. His normally kind face colder then I had ever seen it. Fierce and determined as he lead the other elders from the where they had been meeting in the gardens. Had the Goddess called them? Or had they simply sensed something was wrong?

"I am afraid that although the temple is said to be open to all, that is not, in fact, strictly true. Those that come here with malicious intent are not welcome. Nor those who come to cause trouble, intent regardless. YOU have caused grief and pain here. We do not welcome you to these halls. Please go."

Elder Lilam was subtly pushing me towards the back of the group. Their eyes somber as they met mine. I... I did not cry. There would been time for such things later, I hoped. I nodded back. Understood. Went, softly, on quiet feet. Past the alter, into the back, down the main hall on swift but not running feet.

To the back, where the wanderers bags were. For those our Lady calls suddenly to travel. To wander the roads in search of lost travelers in need of aid. I grabbed more then my fair share of bags. I... I did not suspect I would be coming back. Then into the back gardens. Where we grew herbs and vegetables for the kitchen.

The front of the temple SHOOK.

A terrible burning light. Heat and death. I barely kept my feet under me. Broke into a sprint. Away from the only home I had ever known. The Elders I was certain our Lady now walked to their rest. Towards the mountains and forests I had explored all my life. I... I could only hope they would protect me.

In my chest, the mantle of High Priestess settled. Heavy and mournful with our Lady's grief. I would have to carry the weight. There was no one else now. They were gone. With her. They had done all they could.

Felt their sorrow, their love, and it was all I could do not to let my tears blind me.

I needed to see the path. Could not risk missteping even once.

Behind me, down further below, and now hidden by the trees, I heard the temple crash and shake. As it was torn apart. Pillar by pillar, room by room, lifetimes of love and memories were destroyed. The murals painted in my childhood were surely gone by now. The hand carved doors that had lasted for centuries. Paint splatters and embroideries from generations of youth who had grown to call that place home.

Gone.

All of us, gone.

I ran.

I ran and I HATED myself for running. What could I DO? What could I POSSIBLY hope to DO? All I had left was to survive. Too carry them forward. It hurt. Worse then any breaking bone or burning skin. I couldn't even cry. I... I didn't have the TIME.

I hit the tree line. Didn't dare go too much higher. Didn't know if Avatars could fucking fly. Didn't want to find out the hard way. So many things I did not do. Was there anything left I DID do? Was GOOD for?

There was.

The shadowed place between two mountains. Mid-day had past. Afternoon was meandering towards days end. It would only get darker from here. Ha ha... where was this? When we need it? Oh, I knew. The monster timed his arrival well. At the height of his power.

But this was MY house now.

He may be stronger then me? But that meant NOTHING. I did not need power here. I needed SUBTLETY. A whisp of nothingness of a breeze of shadows. I could feel him, slow and steady, arrogant in his assumptions, pursuing me. He really did know NOTHING about those he destroyed. We were beneath his notice.

I hope the hubris burns as he chokes on it.

I slip between the mountains, into that deep rift of a valley, more crack then anything, and... VANISH. I am One with the Night. A traveler on Her path. Safe in her care. Sideways and one step removed from reality, as I race forward. No longer stumbling over uneven rocks and clambering on unstable terrain, the path beneath my feet is soft and smooth. I grin, as far away, that bastard falters.

"Oh, you clever little Thing. I forgot you still had tricks. Amusing~"

"It won't keep you from me though, I WILL have you in the end. And you will worship ME. Look only upon ME. And you will be my favorite, I think. I am going to chase you down, little Thing. So go ahead and pray. It will do you no good."

"You are going to be MINE, beautiful in the sunlight. You have no choice."

[blackpearlblast]

ezzideen's recounting of eid during the genocide, translated and put together by boshra. all sides have alt text and full transcript under the cut.

link to ezzideen's facebook page / donate to ezzideen's campaign

slide 1: A picture of a lit candle in the darkness.

Title: Story of Eid Through the Eyes of Ezzideen Translated from Ezzideen's Facebook page

slide 2: For ten consecutive years, the arrival of Eid brought a lump to my throat, a lump with many meanings for me (exile from my country, being away from my mother, my beloved, and my family and relatives, in a country where no one else knew of Eid's arrival but me). Before coming here, I thought long and hard about what I should do during the Eid days. I imagined thousands of scenarios: How would Eid pass?

slide 3: Which house would we visit first? Should I give out Eidi (gifts to children, like my uncle's grandchildren and my cousin Abu Bilal's children)? Would the first house we visit be my grandmother's? How would my mother react when I give her the Eidi? What would be our first breakfast? Should I go to the Eid prayer in jeans or in traditional clothes? Where would I and the young men of the family spend Eid night? And many, many more details, from where we would spend the first night of Eid to what kind of nuts we would buy for the guests.

slide 4: And today, on Eid day, here I am writing this text without needing to know answers to any questions, because Eid has passed like this: My big uncle's house was destroyed (no need to visit it), my uncle's grandchildren and my cousin's children have died (there is no one to give Eidi to), my grandmother also has died (no reason to visit her house, as it suffers in silence as we do), there is nothing in the markets fitting for the luxury of an Eid breakfast (and if found, no one in the country can afford it),

slide 5: Abboud, Bilal, Ahmed, Mohammed, and Yusuf were killed (the adornment of our family's youth) so there is no need to think about where to spend the first night of Eid, no need to choose what I wear for the Eid prayer (as no prayers are held and no mosques are in this country), and my mother? My beloved, I am ashamed to even mention to you that it is Eid! As for the rituals of Eid, there is no ritual but to cry in imposed silence, for even God wept silently for the martyrs this morning as the rain fell.

slide 6: Screenshot of a post from Ezzideen's Facebook page.

Caption: Main post from Ezzideen's Facebook page. Link in bio.

[11queensupreme11]

today is my birthday 🎂 can you answers this question I have what if Cthulhu had a child with a sea monster or something it run away or something but lay a egg so Cthulhu took to his mom for help when it hatched it was a god Percy had to breast-feed her grandchild how would the other yandere and God react (ps this is her first grandchild and it boy he not going be a yandere he just a grandma boy ) hope you write back to my question

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

percy would breast feed her grandbaby if necessary!!! 🥰 she won't even be reluctant about it tbh, she'd be like "oh no! they need breast milk but the mother left? 🙁 it's okay, give them to me, i'll breast feed them 💖" cuz it's a baby in need, you know??? 🥺🥺

poseidon would BEGRUDGINGLY allow it. he is NOT happy by any means ofc. in his eyes, cthulhu should've hunted the mother down, strip her of any titles she had, and turn her into a wet nurse where her only use would be to feed the child and nothing more since she doesn't want to be a mother so badly 😒

loki fucking HATES it. he's always so freakishly jealous but in this case it's not in a "THAT SHOULD BE ME" kinda jealousy but more like "you should only be feeding OUR children, nobody else's!!!! 😡"

for anubis, he's growling, snarling, and barking mad lol. similarly to loki, he doesn't want percy tending to any kids that aren't from him. he whines and sulks about it for hours on end, but that's as far as he goes. he understands.... but he doesn't LIKE it.

beelzebub's in agreement with poseidon. he would've preferred it if cthulhu dragged the mother back and enslaved her or something, you know? she doesn't want to be a wife or a mother? then make her useful as a wet nurse then. stop putting more work on HIS beloved wife

apollo and hades would be the only ones okay with it 💖 no jealousy or anything, they understand that this is percy's beloved grandchild so ofc she'd want to help out. cú chulainn's.... somewhat okay-ish about it. he's a bit annoyed cuz "oh great, now you're taking care of your grandchildren too?"; she's already got 15,000 kids and now there's grandchildren being needy? he's annoyed, but he won't throw a fit about it and just grumble.

[lgwifey]

PROMISE

chapter one

Demetri Volturi x Fem!(cullen)Reader

Chapter Warnings : mentions of death, grieving

2004

Denim covered hips swayed sensually to the record player's tune. The intro of 'It's Been A Long, Long Time' echoed through the glamorous and modern build of the Cullen's house.

Y/N had been left by herself whilst her adoptive father was at the hospital, adoptive mother at the local shops and siblings all out in the forest for their daily meal. She'd ate early in the day, a rich young stag. Her taste buds lit up at the memory, delicious.

She mouthed along to the words as they blasted around her bedroom, dry sobs pausing between every other word, falling dramatically onto one of the plush cream couches layed around the room.

Beside that particular couch rested a dark oak coffee table, an equally as dark photo frame holding an aged black and white photo of said girl. In the photo, a young man stood beside her, a cheesy grin across his lips and a beige fedora tilted on his short hair. He held an arm around the excited expressioned girl, his hand holding her trench coat covered hip whilst one of her feet popped in the air slightly.

Golden eyes turned to the table, the song drifting out as the next ballad of soft jazz started playing from the corner. Y/N locked her saddened eyes on the frame, hand reaching out to grab it as her eyes remained running over the figure beside her past self. She let out a soft sigh, venom filling her eyes but never falling.

A manicured finger etched over the man's face, finger scratching across the glass lightly as the teenage girl sat upright. A pout grew on her perfectly plumped lips as she let out another sigh.

A knock came from the outside of her room, Y/N’s eyes immediately shooting to the figure stood in the crack of her opened bedroom door.

She placed the frame back carefully, her hands positioning it perfectly before she gave a small apology and raced to the dark leather case to turn her music down.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you come back."

Esme just gave her adoptive daughter a sad smile, entering the room fully and sitting herself on the couch closest to the door, a dark brown corduroy two-seater.

"You missing him ?"

She just gave a sigh, a heavy blink pooling venom as she lowered the volume on the musical case and made her way back over to her previous seat, eyes forcing themselves to meet Esme's sorrowful ones.

"My friend from New Jersey, she urm, she sent me last week's papers."

Esme just looked slightly confused as she watched Y/N fiddle with her fingers. A large diamond stood out amongst her plain hands, the golden band tight around her usually empty ring finger. That piqued her attention, Y/N hadn't worn that ring in over forty years.

The conversation broke for a second, the younger girl reaching across for a thin paper cut out sat on-top of a stack of books on a difference table, this one standing slightly taller and further away from the door. She handed the delicate inked page to her mother figure, Esme's brows raising as she accepted the page and began to read over it.

"The obituaries ?"

"Yep."

A gagged pause came after an answer to her question, Y/N’s hand came to cover her mouth as a dry, choked sob echoed over her quiet music.

"It arrived this morning."

Esme came to a realisation as she read the bold writing a few columns down.

THOMAS PISTANO

beloved husband, son, grandfather and brave businessman

age 85

"Y/N, I'm so sorry sweetheart."

Another sob echoed through the room as Esme paced to place the paper on the closest surface and rushed to pull her youngest child into a tight hug.

"Sweetie, this is completely natural."

"He wasn't even mine anymore, he had a wife. Grandchildren ! Grandchildren that I could never have gave him."

"He grew old, it's what humans do."

Esme just pulled her daughter closer, Y/N relaxing in her arms as the older woman ran her cold fingers through the slightly disheveled hairs.

"It's what I was supposed to do, with him. I didn't even know he was out of jail !"

The older woman held back a grimace, thankful that her adoptive daughter couldn't see her expression at the moment as she continued to comfort her empty sobs. Y/N never had the best taste in men, but it was to only be expected with her background.

"It was how you coped sweetheart, no one would blame you for not knowing."

"I should've been there, at his bedside !"

"Y/N, you would've gave him a heart attack if you suddenly appeared after sixty years. It's better that you didn't know."

"I guess."

Her head suddenly shifted, moving from surrounded by Esme's arms as she just gave a sad attempt of a smile.

"He'd probably have had a heart attack at how Benny I sound now."

"I'll pretend I know what that means."

Y/N just struggled down a snorted laugh, Esme giving a slightly less sorrowful smile as she stood up from the couch, the loud footsteps and shouts of her other children appearing downstairs.

"I'm going to go a check on you brothers and sisters, take your time sweetheart. Go for another hunt, you look like you need some more energy."

"Okay, thanks Esme."

"Always here," She spoke clearly, turning away from the door for a second with a thick, faux New Jersey accent. "Don't you forget it."

Y/N just gave a snort of laughter, shaking her head dramatically at the mock of her natural accent.

"That was terrible."

"Well it made you smile, now go eat."

Esme left with a smile, closing the door and assuming her daughter would use the windows to enter the forest. Her children barely ever used their front door, no matter how many times she told them to. Y/N was the worst for jumping out of her windows to leave the house, Edward a close second.

Speeding down the stairs, the matriarch of the Cullens gave her children a clap of greeting, her smile more faux then usual causing a gathering of questions, Edward standing quite at the back of the group as he already understood the thoughts on the situation that was about to be explained to them, he held back from rushing up the stairs.

"Everyone's fine, don't worry. Just give your sister some time over the next few days, Tommy passed last week."

"What ? Wait, I thought she'd stopped keeping a check on him after '57."

Alice gave a confused look as she questioned more, Esme just giving a sad sigh.

"One of her friends send her a news clipping, thought she should be made aware. She's wearing her engagement ring again... and listening to jazz."

"Oh God."

The curse came from an exasperated Rosalie, the blonde rolling her eyes as she hung her coat up on one of the pegs by the front door.

"Rose, be nice."

Edward sent a warning glare to his sister, just getting a huff in reply.

"If I have to hear Frank Sinatra on repeat for five days again, I might go on a killing spree."

"I might join." Alice caught Esme's disapproving look as soon as the words left her mouth, quickly adding onto them. "I love Y/N, don't get me wrong, but there's only so much 'That's Life' I can take before I go insane."

"Just be nice around her please, she needs your support."

"It'll be fine Esme, she always is."

Edward gave the reply, all of the teenagers giving their adoptive mother a bright smile each as she gave a soft smile back.

"I know, I know. I just worry about you lot - you know that."

She turned to leave, wondering off to her office to sketch up some plans of their next home. She was thinking an extension on their Denali home would be lovely. She quickly ran away from her sketching thoughts, turning back to the mix of teenagers - who were busying themselves muttering about the latest drama at their school - with a confused look.

"Do any of you know what a ‘Benny’ is ?"

A confused expression hit most of her children, the look seemingly being contagious as the deepest voice spoke up in a questioning manner

"Like the ice cream brand ?"

He was just scoffed at by the bronze haired boy next to him, the only one not looking utterly befuddled at Esme's question and Y/N’s terminology.

"Shut up Emmet, it's slang for a Yankee."

"Oh, right. Good to know."

Edward just gave a laugh, Esme finally walking off to her study.

Chapter Two

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[pingnova]

I met a quiet old man while browsing the plant books and accessories at the trading post this spring who asked what I was looking for. Most white people came to look at the jewelry and the expensive woolen blankets, so I guess it was a little unusual how closely I was examining all of the books on plants.

I held up a deck of native plant playing cards and said I was a forager, looking for more guides on local plants. He nodded thoughtfully and said there was a lot of medicine in wild plants. I smiled awkwardly, not sure why he was talking to me. But I reciprocated: "What are you looking for?"

He said he wasn't sure. He pointed to a few books on flowers, not necessarily edible vegetables. "They're beautiful," he said unsurely.

I nodded to encourage him. "Plants aren't just for eating, they're for appreciating too. We need beauty and nutrition."

Now he smiled, mostly hidden by his mustache, and told me he had a community garden plot he had tended for the past thirty years. Wow, what dedication.

Abruptly he says he has one year to live. He's at the trading post to find parting gifts for his son and grandchildren. He says this all very calmly, he's clearly been preparing for some time. And I stare at him because he seems so well and I've just met him. The idea of him dead is disturbing and shameful.

"Oh," is all I can say.

"I think this year I'll fill it with flowers."

He says it so warmly. I remember he was talking about his beloved community garden patch. I'm filled with heaviness and disbelief that he is soon dying and here wasting time talking to some random about growing flowers. But I manage to stammer something.

"It can't all be vegetables. Soft and beautiful things are important too. Especially in hard times."

Now he fully turns to smile at me. Again in my shock I think he's too content. Shouldn't he be raging? Crying, screaming, anything? But his mustache is white, he mentioned an adult son and grandkids, he seems well enough now and reasonably confident in his plan for a full season of flower gardening. Rapid-fire I conclude he's already done all of this and doesn't need it from me. Right now he's just discussing how important and sacred plants are with a likeminded young stranger.

He finally says, "Flowers are a soft landing after a long battle."

I choke out some kind of agreement so I don't accidentally cry. I wish him some kind of luck and awkwardly crabwalk away. I'm not really the king of social interaction even when its not emotionally loaded.

I bought my cards and books on vegetables and looked at the lone few on flowers he had been perusing. I'm in my twenties and don't plan on dying anytime soon, but how much time do I spend being as fast, efficient, and artless as possible in order to "survive" when that survival is never even in question. I have anxiety, I have ptsd, I'm an activist. All necessary and inescapable works of life. But this man had a season to live, death certain, and wanted to spend it growing flowers.

I went back to the register with a small book on flowers. When I'm hunting a forest to learn the native vegetables, I no longer ignore the blooms. If the battle is long, I want to grow flowers too.