#safer gathering guide

[thatonebirdwrites]

This dude has been getting the word out about LongCovid. His articles are fantastic and I recommend all of them. His digging into the research is excellent.

This talk is lovely, and he tackles the impact of Covid in an amusing way.

He digs into the anger and guilt. He's done so much for the community, and this talk digs into his work. Digs into the pain and suffering so many turn a blind eye to.

Thank god for him.

I am exhausted, I am isolated, I am often forgotten by community, I cannot get out on my own anymore. I have an energy-limited disease that often leaves me bedridden.

I understand being exhausted by this, but me and tens of millions of others can't escape it. So we talk about it because we need support. We need resources. We need community, and yet society has essentially abandoned us.

I have LongCovid. It is a nightmare. It has destroyed my mobility, destroyed my immune system, and restarted up chronic conditions that had been in remission.

(Yes, Covid hurts the immune system -- see the link at the end with the database of studies, the sources are in there. T-cells in particular are damaged by Covid, and those are crucial for the immune system.)

LongCovid doesn't really go away. I've had it for over three years.

Covid's ability to restart diseases in remission (even cancer!) is not talked about enough.

One of my close friends died because Covid brought her cancer out of remission; she said to remind everyone that if she dies, it was because of LongCovid. (Again see that link to the sources for the research on how covid does this, I do not have the health to input in all the links directly.)

There are tens of millions of children and adults with LongCovid. And yes, children are impacted in harmful ways.

The denial and abandonment has made an entire generation of immuno-compromised kids, and no one knows yet how that will impact their development. What we do know is that Covid and LongCovid does negatively impact children's bodily systems.

Not masking, not vaccinating, not funding research to fight Covid and LongCovid, not crafting more reliable and accurate covid tests -- all of this is killing and disabling entire generations.

Why is this okay?

Surely people are not okay with mass death and disablement? Surely people are not that uncaring and callous?

And yet I have had people try to rip off my mask. Who gleefully tell me they do not mask and do not care to mask. That goes beyond denial. That is violence. Yes, not everyone is that horribly violent, but the alarming amount of people who are? The alarming amount of people in positions of power like that?

It's anger-inducing but also terrifying.

I get how hard it is to face difficult things. But if we do not face the hard things, we cannot move forward and we end up complacent in eugenics and mass death and disablement.

We can't ever build a better world until we care for one another.

But we cannot care for one another unless we engage in pandemic mitigations like masking, vaccination, air filtration, washing hands, and building better and more accurate tests.

Community cannot happen without these layers of protection.

So when people tell me they don't mask, this is what I hear: "I am either in denial or I do not care about those around me or about my own health."

I'd like to believe people care. I'd like to believe people struggle because of fear and denial rather than being heartless and uncaring.

And yet, people and our government doubled down on denial. Where protections were destroyed. Where funding was taken away. Biden had four years to repair and rebuild the Pandemic Mitigations and Task Forces (Obama had bolstered these so we've regressed.) Instead, Biden choose to adopt Trump's strategy of claiming we won against it, that the pandemic was over. He pushed for policies that favor profits over the health of our communities.

The claim the pandemic is over are lies from our government. The pandemic never ended. Covid still evolves and still infects and still damages multiple body systems. The more you get covid, the higher your chance of LongCovid, which is massively harmful, disabling, and sometimes deadly chronic disease.

We could have fixed this. But instead, our government, our so-called society, choose denial. Why? If you examine what the CDC and Biden's office has says over the last four years, you'll notice a callousness toward disabled people. (Ed Young ripped apart these words in many of his articles too. I dropped articles of others doing the same in my database below, which is searchable.)

We've seen this abandonment before with other diseases, especially ones that impacted communities society doesn't like. People have analyzed and compared the response to AIDS to LongCovid, and showed how the abandonment tactics are used in both.

Nowadays, we fought hard to build up resources to those suffering from AIDS. LongCovid sufferers have no resources. Not yet. We need to galvanize community to fight back against that abandonment.

There is no cure for LongCovid. There is no treatment that reliably works. Most of the so-called LongCovid clinics I've researched engage in often out-dated and proven harmful practices that force us to engage in extensive physical therapy.

Except LongCovid is an energy-limited disease. Exertion means collapse. The more we exert, the harder our body has to work to get oxygen to our cells, and studies (and lived experiences) keep showing that extensive physical therapy makes the disease worse.

So no, we have no resources. There often isn't any groups or services in town that help us.

The so-called "disability services" that exist for disabled populations are underfunded, understaffed, and not trained on layers of protection or on energy-limited diseases. So often such services exacerbate the illness rather than assist it. These services are often inaccessible, especially to us bed-ridden with an energy-limited disease. They also do not offer anything that can help manage the disease. At best they might offer help with cleaning or bathing, but that's about it.

Treatments that actually work for LongCovid does not exist, not in America, and not in most of the world. So again, no resources.

Support groups for people are mostly nonexistent or they are inaccessible. Those too ill to fight for access are left with nothing.

So many have been left to rot in isolation. Many have died alone.

If we don't care for one another, then how will any of us truly survive the horrors?

With Trump back, we cannot trust our government. I'm not convinced we ever could as me and many disabled people had watched (and Ed Young covers in his articles) the government's slow abandonment of entire communities.

I get it. The work is hard. It's very hard to make sense of all this.

I get that many of us are being gaslit by not only those in denial but even by the President of the USA. It hurts and makes it even more difficult to move forward or know what is truth.

But we do know the truth.

We can find that truth.

Love and care illuminates truth.

And love and care requires us to adjust our behaviors. We cannot care for one another unless we change our behaviors.

If we wish to survive the pandemic and fascism and mass abandonment, we must care for one another, and that means engaging in layers of protection.

Layers of protection includes vaccines, N95 (or better) masks, air filtration, improved tests to be more accurate and reliable, and hygienic practices.

This is something People's CDC builds up (a community-led group that analyzes the research and makes the information accessible to us. Who does what the US's CDC does not do anymore.)

This is the People's CDC's excellent guide to safer gatherings.

Yes, this requires work, but if you do these tasks with other people, where the community shares the burdens of these tasks to spread it out, it becomes easier.

This is what accessibility looks like. This is what care and love looks like. This is how we protect ourselves and our communities.

I simply do not have the spoons to input in the research links for my sources, so here is a link to a database I keep updated of research over the years.

I honestly don't know how to convince people to care for one another.

But that's what we desperately need as a society. To stop living in denial about the pandemic (about climate change and rise of fascism too), and to start caring for one another by getting vaccinated, wearing masks, improving air filtration, etc.

Anyway, that's my thoughts.

Be safe. Care for one another. Protect one another. We only have each other.

Seriously excellent and even uplifting talk by Ed Yong. HIGHLY worth your time!

Yong is a Pulitzer-winning science journalist who's written (among other great things) some of the best, well-informed and empathetic coverage of COVID and Long COVID since 2020.

—

I can't highlight any one part; the whole thing is great. But one thought I had was that he shares this important anger that's often present in empathetic, deeply caring people — Terry Pratchett comes to mind, for example. Sagan, Miyazaki and others, in other ways. It's an anger that's difficult to carry and should not be romanticized. But I feel grateful to people like this, who are able to funnel into work that helps others and enriches all of our lives.

[silverskye13]

Silver's Care Guide for the Impulsively Inclined:

Hi, did you just receive bad news? Are you one of the many many people who, upon receiving bad news, react with self destructive spirals, or lash out in a need for control? Are you just really fucking sad, or angry, and would like an alternative to hurting yourself and others? Are you just feeling a little manic or impulsive?

Welcome to my handy guide for alternative (self) destruction! These are alternatives to physical and immediate harm to your person. That does not necessarily mean they are safe, just safer, and they are all things I've done before to mixed results. With that in mind.

Remember the golden rule: if what you're doing cannot be fixed, repaired, or healed within an hour, don't fucking do it. You have one body, and one life, and regardless of what your thoughts say in the moment, that body and life is necessary for your future happiness. Prioritize yourself; harm objects instead.

Alternatives to harming yourself or others:

Kick something loud. A tin can. A plastic bag. Take it to an outdoor space and see how far you can kick it, and how loud a sound you can make. If you have multiple objects to kick, listen to the differences in sound. How one thing sounds hollow and another rattles.

Kick something soft. A pillow. A hackey-sack. Take it to an outdoor space, or kick it against a sturdy wall (I recommend brick or stone). Listen to the sound of the batting, or the beans. See what shapes you can get it to land in, and how deep a divot your foot can leave.

Tear paper. Get a cheap notebook, some old bills you don't need, note cards or old magazines. See how big of pieces you can make. Put several sheets in your hand and see how thick the paper can get before you can't tear it anymore. See how thin of strips you can tear. Experiment with folding it into shapes and trying to tear along the lines.

Do a very small controlled burn. Newspaper, a cheap notebook from the dollar store, a handful of old homework assignments you don't need, a candle, etc. The best objects are ones made to burn such as matches or candles. In lieu of that, focus specifically on paper, as it will have fewer chemicals/fumes that can damage your lungs if you inhale smoke. Take it to a well ventilated place, the floor of a concrete garage, your driveway, an empty lot or sidewalk. If you have a burn barrel or fire pit, use it. If you have no access to any of these things, make the burn very small [less than half a page at a time] and confine it to your sink. If your building has automatic sprinkler systems, don't do this. Light one edge of your paper on fire and watch it curl. See if you can burn small, individual poke-holes in the page. If you are lighting a candle, watch the wax melt. See if you can light one match using another. When a match is used, try and burn what's left of the stick. If you want some extra catharsis, write a person you hate, a source of your angst, or just general thoughts on the paper you're burning.

Throw rocks. Go outside and touch grass -- and look for rocks while you're there. All sizes are fair game, but the bigger they are, the harder they are to throw. I recommend something the size of a marble. Gather a number of rocks and throw them one at a time, trying to hit targets like trees or fence posts. If you can find a convenient body of water, throw them in there and listen to the splash.

Skip rocks. Skipping rocks across the top of the water can also be a fun challenge to use your aggression on. For skipping rocks specifically, you want a stone that is smooth and flat. Hold it between your forefinger and your thumb, and throw sideways in an arcing motion. You are trying to get the rock to spin. The combination of the spin, and the force, and the flat side hitting the water, causes the skip. I average 3 skips per stone. Beat my average. My Papa, who taught me, used to routinely get 5-7 skips. Beat him after you beat me.

Play a violent or fast paced video game. Most people have games on their mobile or console devices these days. Pick something quick, with low investment and high reward. Shoot-em-ups and arcade games. Something with a number that ticks up, and stock zombies you can kill. Try to beat your high score, or aim for an exact number. My lucky number is 13, so I will often try to score a number that's a multiple of 13.

Break glass. This one requires some investment to do legally and safely. Note: I am not telling you to throw rocks at people's windows or vandalize property. This is an alternative to those things. Find or obtain (I buy mine at Michael's for $10) some glass panes. They can be multicolored if you're feeling fun. Cover a pane in an old sheet or the plastic bag you bought it in. With a thick soled shoe or a rubber mallet, smash it. Try to make fun shapes with the pieces. Listen to the crunch. Keep a broom and dustpan ready, and make sure you have dedicated time to clean the mess. There is nothing worse than walking barefoot through a room and cutting open your foot.

Smash pumpkins, guards, watermelon, etc. Exactly what it says on the tin. Grab your murder-able vegetable of choice and a weapon (stick, hammer, sword, axe, etc) and go wild. Make as big a mess as you can. I mean absolutely destroy that fruit. If you aren't covered in the blood of your prey, have you really won? Take a long shower afterwards, and wear clothes you don't mind staining. Too depressed to clean up the mess? It's fruit. The local wildlife will thank you. Though if it's summer, you may get ants/bees.

Switch a tree. Find a switch. If your parents never made you pick your own switch, congratulations. If they did, you know exactly what you're looking for. Grab a stick, something green and flexible and long -- whip like. Go to the tree you wish to switch, and smack the shit out of it. You can also do this to bushes. Try to make the whip-crack noise, listen to the whistle of the branch through the air. See if you can take the individual leaves off a branch. Smack the shit out the tree with your switch until the switch breaks. If you're still feeling angry and impulsive, rinse and repeat.

Alternatives to moping sadly / wallowing in self pity:

Write a list of things you enjoy. This is just to remind you that you do have joy in life, actually. Focus on finding the smallest things possible, the ones that are truly niche to you and you alone. An example for me would be the strange purple-red color your veins take on when bright light is shining through them. I could stare at that color for ages. I'm talking really strange, personal joys. The way a sharpie brand pen clicks. How saying a word too much turns it into not-a-word. Make a list of those things.

Find a favorite texture and run your hands over it. Over and over. Obsessively. If this texture happens to be a pet, all the better! If not, that is also fine. My favorite texture is running my fingers through my hair when I've put hair gel in it. The feeling of detangling it with my fingers, all the sharp brittle hairs loosening into softness again, is the most cathartic in the world. Close second is my fingernails on very cheap construction paper, the pulpy stuff they give to kindergartners. Pass your hands through the texture until it loses its allure. Listen to the sounds it makes when you run your hands across/through it. Smell it, and smell your hands after you've touched it. Rub it on other parts of your body, like your arms or your neck. Try to pick it up with your feet.

Eat your favorite food. I don't give two shits about calories. This is comfort. If you don't have access to your favorite food, or it is too hard to cook with the energy levels you have, get the closest approximation you can find, or get your second favorite. Eat it slowly. Try to pick the tastes apart on your tongue. Make obnoxious noises while you eat, or eat it in a way you normally wouldn't. Eat ice cream with chopsticks. Eat soup with a butter knife. Lick pudding off the tines of a fork. Use your hands I don't care. Slurp out of the bowl like a dog. Pretend you're a caveman. Get stupid and silly. It's food. It's food. It's food. Enjoy every moment of it!

Tell a friend how awesome they are. Pop into their inbox and ask them about their day. Call them and ask for five minutes of their time. Invite them to dinner. You don't have to get super heartfelt if you're scared of being weird. Just say "Hey, have I told you you're awesome recently? Because you are." Be prepared to list at least one reason why.

Go cry about it. Seriously. In the words of my boss, "Sounds like you need to drink a bottle of wine, put on the saddest episode of your favorite TV show, and have a good sob fest." Crying is a releasing of built up chemicals in your brain, which is why people sometimes cry when they're happy or pissed -- you've got too many emotions inside and you need to literally put them outside. So if you're feeling the Miseries and need a quick release, give yourself a reason to cry and go for it. And I'm not talking like, tasteful wife mourning her husband lost to war with a single stoic tear down her face. Get ugly. Sob your eyes out. Scream, and wail, and thrash. Pretend you're an Irish widow who's just lost her child to famine and dirge. Lament. Do that thing in the Bible where people are so upset they tear at their clothes. When you're done, breathe, and breathe, and breathe again. That feels... Better. Doesn't it?

Listen to calming music, or sing/hum a song. This one might just be a me thing, but it is hard to be truly miserable when there's a soundtrack playing in your thoughts. This works best if the music you're listening to has no words, and is calming. We are not looking for sad mixes on YouTube. We are looking for lofi, and orchestra, and rainy mood. Something to dampen thought, not enhance it. I like putting on rain sounds and humming as I walk through my house. It lets me take action while still providing background noise I can rely on.

And that's about it, I think. I hope! My scattering of thoughts can help you! Or at least get you thinking about what works best for you. Feel free to add your own thoughts in the comments and I will try to reblog them!

Remember: we are prioritizing the safety of self here. This is to curb impulses for self harm, and self destruction, and the harming of others. Above all else, stay safe.

You've got this. I believe in you.

[hello-sweetheart]

You know that trope where Person A thinks Person B is just being nice but they’re actually flirting. What about the opposite? Person A misreading their behavior and being the only one falling impossibly in love.

Clumsy in Love Part 3

Adiel had already gone to bed by the time he heard frantic knocking at his door. He stumbled through his apartment hazy with sleep, a hand stretched out to guide him through the dark until he reached his living room. The lights were blinding to his eyes.

“Adiel?” Came the muffled voice through the through the door. “Can…can I come in please?”

Dread washed over him quick and ugly, churning his stomach as his shaking hands unlatched the locks. Had something happen? Was Eddie hurt? Or—

He hesitated to unlock the last latch. Was Eddie drunk? No, he shook his head. Eddie doesn’t… he doesn’t drink, not like that. He doesn’t get…like that. Not like his ex.

“Adiel?” It was softer now, and he finally opened the door.

“Eddie?”

His voice was still rough from his abrupt wakening, but he looked over quickly checking for anything really. When he couldn’t find anything, his shoulders finally loosened.

“Hey,” Eddie smiled a little crooked and forced, “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“It’s cool. Come inside, are you okay? It’s,” a brief glance at his digital watch, “it’s two in the morning, Eddie.”

They shuffled inside and Adiel locked the door behind him. Guiding Eddie to the kitchen as he flicked on a couple more lights.

“I know, I know. I’ve just been,” he gestured vaguely and his rings caught the warm tones of the lights, “driving around. For a while. Uh, my heads just been a mess today and I…”

“And?”

Adiel encouraged him softly.

Eddie, always so unapologetically himself and taking up space in any room he’s in, looks unsure. He looks away, eyes a bit hooded from exhaustion, he thinks. Sadness, maybe.

He has to guide Eddie’s hand away from where he’s begun to wear down his thumb nail again. A habit that he sure Eddie’s picked up from him.

“And, I wanted to see you.”

His heart might actually sore inside him.

“Well,” he offers a cheeky grin and spins on his toes until he’s facing him again, “you have me.”

“Yeah, I have you.” The words carry weight to them. Adiel’s cheeks flush with warmth.

“You do. Come, let’s go put you bed. You don’t have to say anything until you’re ready.”

Having Eddie is his bed always feels like the world to him. It’s one of the only moments when his mind is able to still, thoughts silent. All his worries are gone when he has Eddie in his arms.

It not just when they’re being intimate (‘canoodling’, he says because he likes to make Ed groan), it’s about having him in his space and still feeling safe. Safer, even. And it’s unlike anything he’s been able to feel in his past relationships.

Safe. Being open and vulnerable and still falling asleep next to someone. Eddie coming here at night, because he feels safe enough to be vulnerable, too.

Adiel always falls too fast and too hard, but he just feels so much. Too much. And they only had a couple months together now, but he can feel himself falling. Not there yet. But he could, soon. It’s as if he’s bracing for the impact of it all.

“You’re still awake.”

“I need to tell you something. I can’t sleep until I do.”

Adiel hums.

“Earlier today, or, yesterday I guess. I was at Steve’s house and… he kissed me.”

The night is so silent, even in the city.

“Did, did you want to kiss him?”

“He kissed me. He surprised me and…I didn’t kiss him back. I wouldn’t do that to you, Adiel.”

He gathers Eddie in his arms, his chest against Eddie’s back, and burrows deep into the nape of his neck.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry that he kissed you.”

“He’s my friend. An unlikely one, but one of the best that I have. I don’t want to lose that. I can’t. I, I owe him my life.”

“No.”

“I do. I’m only here because of—“

“I know what he did for you and I’m so grateful you’re still here, Eddie. I don’t want to imagine a world with you. But if he’s as good as a friend as you’ve said he is, then he wouldn’t want you to feel like you owe him anything.”

“You’re right. I don’t mean it that way. Just that… he’s important to me. And I don’t want to let it go.”

“Give him time then, and space. He’ll need it right now and you’ll have to respect his boundaries.” Like he didn’t respect ours. He nuzzles deeper and breathes in his scent it’s thick with sandalwood.

“I feel like it’s my fault that he feels this way.”

“Can’t make anyone feel anything they don’t want to.”

“When did you get so wise?” He laughs.

“Hush, baby. We both need some sleep.”

“You’re the best among men, Adiel. Goo’night.”

“Night, Ed.”

He’s burning with jealousy, but he can keep it tucked away. Steve means something to him. And that’s what he’s afraid of right now.

He tightens his arms around Eddie, being selfish with his warmth.

I just found you, he kisses his shoulder, I can’t lose you.

———

Something changes after that night. It’s not noticeable right away, his friends don’t notice, but Adiel does. He notices everything about Eddie, even the finer details.

He doesn’t mention Steve anymore, at least not to him. And Adiel doesn’t know if this is a good thing or not.

He didn’t notice how much Eddie talked about Steve until he stopped.

He has these moments in between their kisses and conversations where he… gets lost, for a lack of a better word. His eyes carry this far away look and Adiel know he’s not here with him.

He kisses him back to him until his eyes are alight again and smiling enough to show off his one crooked canine.

When will his kisses stop being enough? Will Eddie simply float away from him, like a cherished red balloon escaping the grasp of a small child, only able to watch it go.

He tries to hold onto him tighter. His hand interlocked with his, squeezing and rubbing his thumb on Eddie’s knuckles just to make sure he doesn’t float away.

He doesn’t want to hold too tight that he suffocates him, but he can’t help it.

I can’t lose you, I…

There are many things he loves about Eddie that he can list off, but the one this that makes him different is how he doesn’t care about Adiel’s strangeness.

His timid demeanor that he never grew out of. His constant need to be reassured. His laugh, more of giggle that gets him strange looks. His restless fingers and chewed, painted nails down to a stump.

All things he’s been called effeminate for.

Targeted, pushed aside, excluded…

Eddie takes all these traits and kisses them one by one. Nurturing them. Loving them. Seeking them.

Eddie makes him feel like man, instead of questioning his masculinity. He’s even painted his nails for him and didn’t bat an eye when he asked for baby purple instead of the assumed black.

“Baby, do you mean lavender?”

“Oh my god, shut up! If it’s called baby pink why can’t it be called baby purple. Stop laughing!”

Eddie makes him feel like it’s all okay. That he’s okay.

And everything, everything will be okay, too.

Until it wasn’t.

———

Eddie didn’t stop making him feel loved or cared for, but it felt different than from before that night. Today has feeling to it. Like the end.

He keeps stalling against the inevitable.

“Adiel—“

“Let’s watch movie? You can sleep here again and I’ll make breakfast for dinner,” because Eddie doesn’t like savory foods after dark, “I have a couple new tapes to choose from—“

“Baby.”

Baby purple.

No, no, no. His hands are shaking again.

“You know, don’t you? That it’s the end for us?Adiel, I wish we could’ve been different,” He holds his shaking hands and Adiel focuses on them instead of meeting his eyes. It’s been a long time coming, doesn’t mean he feels prepared.

“Have you been… seeing him?” It’s the first time since that night that they’ve talked about Steve. His hands are squeezed tight.

“No! God, I would never go behind your back. I haven’t talked to him since then, I promise. I’ve been giving him space, trying to let him come around on his own time, but…”

“But you miss him.”

His world is falling apart.

“Have you been in love with him this whole time? That day in the music store, did you like him then too?”

“No. Maybe? I, I really don’t know. I don’t think I ever saw him that way. I didn’t even consider it a possibility until he—“

“Yeah, until he fucking kissed you!” He pulls his hands away and doesn’t miss the fact that Eddie didn’t try to hold onto them.

“Until he kissed me.”

Why must it hurt this much?

It always hurts so much.

His body is shaking but he avoids any attempts of Eddie trying to comfort him. Can’t bear the way he looks at him scared and careful like he’s trying to calm a wild animal.

Everything was perfect.

They could’ve been perfect,

If it hadn’t been for one fucking kiss from some guy that can’t stay out of people’s relationships.

“He’s stealing you away and you’re letting him!”

“He’s not stealing me, Adiel! You can’t steal people away like that, they have to be willing to go.”

“Willing to leave me?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I love you, Eddie.” It’s a dirty trick to say it here and now, but it doesn’t make it any less true. Adiel needs to say it. Needs Eddie to know.

Some sick part of him enjoys the hurt look that crosses Eddie’s face, but it’s not close to feeling vindicated.

“I fucking love you, Ed.” He whispers it this time.

“I… I loved you, Adiel. Wish I could’ve loved you longer.”

“It’s been months since he kissed you. He might not even like you that way anymore.” Might not love you the way I can. “I don’t understand, how can you throw away everything for a maybe?”

“It wouldn’t be fair for any of us if I stayed. I know I’ve been absent minded, know that you could tell that I didn’t have my all in us anymore. You deserve someone who doesn’t make feel that way. Adiel. I don’t have any right to ask, but can you you try to understand—“

“Then don’t ask! You shouldn’t! I don’t want to hear about what you think that I deserve. Just, just leave. Please.”

“…Will you be okay?”

“No, but I’ll have to be. Go, Eddie, I’m not yours to worry over anymore.”

He doesn’t know how long he stays on the kitchen floor. His head hurts, his heart feels empty. His nose won’t stop running no matter how many times he wipes away the snot with his sleeve.

He must look like a mess. Look unattractive.

Adiel feels unattractive.

He didn’t even notice the sound of someone unlocking the door and step in until familiar arms are around him. He’s engulfed immediately in warmth and the scent of coconut. Vanilla.

A humorless laugh escapes him, Eddie must have called her.

“I love him, Tiff. There’s something wrong with me.”

“Oh babe, no. No. Nothing is wrong with you.” She rocks him in her arms, tucking him into her neck. Her signature afro puffs tickle his nose. The same hairstyle she’s kept since they were kids.

“Just haven’t met the one right?”

“You’ll find them, babe. You still have us. You still have me. Now and until the next life.”

“‘Til the next life, Tiff.” A pinky promise as old as time.

He curls further into her and not for the first time he wishes that they were straight. That they could feel that way about each other.

Life would have been so much easier.

They would have had much less heartbreaks, and maybe, he wouldn’t have been so broken.

Part 2 < 💛 > Part 4

[kandlewick]

i'll dry the villain's tears

t h e r o s e r e d t y r a n t ' s m o t h e r pt.2

you get reincarnated into a role that became the breaking point of the villain's story and you, be it an unwillingness to cause them harm or a desire to survive, must work hard to make sure they grow into a better (or at least safer) person.

You felt entirely too overdressed sitting here at the park. Your former body's wardrobe was obviously not meant for anything too strenuous and that apparently included just enjoying your time outside in the sun. You could feel the sweat gather in uncomfortable places... but your nerves weren't just because of the warm weather.

Trey's mother sat beside you, much more dressed for the occasion, and watched as Trey and Riddle reconnected. You could hear the two of them laugh and giggle as they began playing as if nothing had ever happened and the two were quick to run up the steps leading to the slide, followed by a whole gaggle of other children. You let out a soft sigh of relief at the sight.

Not just the clothes, but your body was so stiff and rigid it was hard to even relax as you tried to breath. Your back was straight as a rod while you sat on the uncomfortable park bench, your well manicured hands firm on your lap and you shuffled uncomfortably in place. Trey's mother eyed you from her spot on the bench and offered a small smile, like she was acknowledging how strenuous this whole situation was for you.

"I'm guessing you've never brought Riddle to a public park before, huh?" She crossed her arms and leaned on them over the table, linking her fingers together, "You look like you're about to faint."

You forced out a laugh, too embarrassed to meet her gaze and pulled at the high collar of your buttoned top. You could practically feel heat waves steaming off of you. "Something like that," you admitted, "I wasn't exactly a good mother when it came to recreational activities."

You inwardly cringed at your wording — what, is Miss Rosehearts vocabulary infecting you too?

Trey's mother hummed as she continued to look at you. You could feel her bright hazel eyes staring at you. You could feel a cold sweat drip down your neck.

"Please stop me if this sounds too forward," Trey's mother leaned back but quickly offered her hand to you, "but my name is Dinah."

You blinked up at her, startled. She... wanted you to shake her hand?

She offered up her hand again and made a motion for you to follow. Almost hesitantly, you reached out and clasped her hand in your own, shaking it. Her palms were so warm, comforting, almost the exact opposite of your body's cold touch. She smiled at you, the dimple on your cheek crinkling with delight.

"I figured since our children are such good friends, we could at least try and act cordial." She glanced over as your two children sat next to each other on the swing set, the elder Trey guiding Riddle on how to kick back his feet. Riddle was hesitant and stumbled a few times, but kept giggling all the same, obviously entranced.

"Trey likes to baby younger kids," Dinah smiled, "I wonder how he'd do with younger siblings..."

You noticed that too as Riddle followed him around like a little duckling chasing after its mama. Whatever Trey did, Riddle would follow even if it meant pushing his limits. Trey watched carefully from the other end of the playground as Riddle jumped from one platform to the next, his arms out and knees shaking as he tried to keep himself balanced. Whenever he would stumble and topple over the edge nearly sending him into a fit of tears, Trey was quick to act and followed him back to the beginning.

"He's a sweet kid." You mumbled, "You're a great mother."

She gave you an almost sympathetic look, noticing your tone before reaching out and grabbing your hand, "Hey, you're not doing so bad now either." She squeezed your hand in her own and offered you an encouraging smile, "Parenting isn't easy and sometimes you don't notice the damage until it's too late but look at you," She gestured to your whole self, "Better late then never, right?"

You both sat there idly chatting until much later then you had figured you would and before long, the sun had began to set, casting the park in a orange hue. You were caked in sweat but Riddle wasn't doing much better. The two children came back huffing and puffing from exhaustion, sweat dripping off their foreheads like rivers. Riddle looked especially tired, his cheeks a bright red.

"I think I'm ready to go now," Riddle sighed.

You gave him a small smile and pulled him close, rubbing your pristine sleeve against his cheeks and wiped away any of the dirt that stained his skin, laughing as he let out a soft whine. Trey wasn't faring any better and was quick to lean against his mother's lap. Dinah ruffled his hair but her face quickly grimaced at the sweat in his hair. The kids obviously were going to need a bath after this.

You pulled Riddle in to your arms and tucked him under your chin. His bright red hair tickled your face but you held him even closer as his arms wrapped around your neck. He let out a soft sigh against your shoulder. Trey, being much taller then Riddle, simply grabbed Dinah's hand. He tiredly looked up at the young boy in your arms and smiled, his hands raising to offer Riddle a small wave.

"Bye, Riddle. We'll play again sometime, ok?"

Riddle turned his head and nodded, a sleepy smile on his face, "Mmmhm..."

"We will do this again sometime, right?" Dinah lowered her voice and leaned over so that Trey wouldn't be in ear shot, "This isn't a one time thing?"

"Oh?" You blinked over at her. Oh! "Yes!" You reassured her, your voice a little too loud, "Yes, we would love that. Riddle would love to." I would love to!! You screamed in your head, eager to befriend her. You wanted friends too!!!

Dinah gave you a dazzlingly bright smile, "Then I think we should invite Chen'ya and his uncle next time too!" Riddle and Trey straightened up at this and you could tell the two of them were excited about the thought.

"His uncle?" You questioned. That doesn't sound very familiar.

"Oh yeah," Dinah laughed behind her hand, "Chen'ya's parents are always out of the country on business so he lives with his uncle and his grandfather. My husband and I are good friends with them both and his uncle is a really fun guy, I'm sure you'd find him... interesting!"

It would certainly be interesting meeting someone new that you had no idea about... plus you'd be able to apologize properly to Chen'ya and whoever his guardian was. It could possibly be very... fun. You could feel your body hum in excitement as you found yourself nodding eagerly, nearly bouncing Riddle in your arms, "I would like that very much."

And then after exchanging phone numbers, you and Dinah parted ways, the two children eager to return home and rest.

"Mmmm," Riddle hummed in your arms, his hold on you loosening as he began drifting off, "I had a lot of fun today —" He yawned loudly, his head burrowing itself further into your neck, a content smile on his face, "Thank you."

[accio-bagel]

Coming in hot with a Natty appreciation post ❤️

Wall of text below the cut

I love Natty. She's my brave, frustrating, badass girl, and while the writing for her storyline lacked somewhat in comparison to the other companions, much of the discourse I see around her is so negative - it has really been disappointing to see the kinds of things people say about her. She doesn't have to be your favorite. I'm not saying you have to love her. But you can actually prefer Sebastian and Poppy without disparaging Natsai. You can also critique her without resorting to making fun of her voice or accent. Give her a chance and consider her dialogue and her actions, and you might gain some more appreciation for her.

She is a peak Gryffindor and here are some reasons why I love her, including her flaws:

Friendly, kind, and empathetic: with her experience being the new student the previous year, she knows how scary it can be and she's quick to offer you a place to sit on your first day of class, then readily shares her book with you when she sees you don't have one. She even gives you advice during Summoners Court when you're playing against her, and isn't upset if you win. She tells you she was actually planning on asking you to Hogsmeade with her if you choose her as your guide. She wants you to feel welcomed right away and wants to get to know you.

Brave, powerful, and reckless: just like Sebastian, she jumps in to help you fight a troll without a second thought on her first day knowing you, and she's a strong duelist both in Crossed Wands and on your missions with her. She is ready and willing to gather evidence on her own while you go save a host of beasts from poachers the second she finds out a Hippogriff that means something to you is in danger. She sticks her nose into business she shouldn’t and doesn’t consider the reality of the dangers she’s getting herself into (a very Harry Potter trait.) But would you really rather have her be without flaw? Sounds boring. Ultimately she doesn’t ever let fear stop her from acting to protect others - don't forget she dives in front of the Cruciatus curse for you! She's a damn good friend to have by your side.

Proud and confident but can still be humble and open to change: she is happy to share some interesting information about Uagadou if you choose to ask her and she has pride in both her magical abilities and where she came from. She's confident in Summoner's Court but acknowledges afterward that it took her a while to gain that skill. She also admits she likes the drama of using a wand and she's grown to appreciate Hogwarts and Scotland (except in winter, which who can blame her? it's cold!)

Talented: to name just a few examples, she can cast wandless magic, Weasley calls her out as one of the best students in school, and let's not forget she's an animagus by age 15 - we know from the Harry Potter books that is no small feat and very few people actually achieve the ability.

Strong morals and ideals, stubbornly so: she is a pure heart and wants to take down the bad guys so nobody has to suffer the same way she did as a young girl. Can you really begrudge her youthful idealism? While her motivations are a bit muddy because she has no solid personal connection to Harlow or Rookwood, she is ultimately looking at the bigger picture and striving to make the world a better, safer place. Like Sebastian and Poppy, she won't let anyone talk her out of her ideals and remains undeterred in her belief that what she's doing is right, regardless of the dangers involved. While it shouldn't be up to two teenagers to clear out a criminal organization, in the end, she and you actually do get Harlow arrested finally, no thanks to the utterly useless Officer Singer, so Natty kinda had a point.

Loving and emotional: she is emotionally open with you and isn't afraid to ask for support from a friend while she's suffering from grief and guilt about her father. She isn’t embarrassed to tell you that you’ve inspired her to stand up to power, or how much your friendship means to her. Despite her frustrations, she loves her mother deeply, and she misses her father with all her heart.

Rebellious and independent: similar to Garreth, she has a guardian whom she feels is suffocating her. She wants to roam freely in her animagus form and explore her new home on her own, but her mother is worried about her safety (fair) and the closer Professor Onai clings, the more it pushes Natty to act out. She wants to challenge the system which is allowing Rookwood to strut around Hogsmeade like he owns the place when he should be in prison, and takes matters into her own hands when the authorities fail to act. Nothing more punk and badass than fighting the man and getting shit done.

Pretty, cute, tall: really, seriously look at her! Big Brown EyesTM and lashes for days. Freckles! Need I go on? (I will anyway.) Her profile. That cute little curl in the front of her hair, and from the back her hairstyle looks like a flower. I also recently noticed she is slightly taller than the female MC (tall girls need more love in media) and I can imagine them and Poppy being a cute witch trio of different heights. I also think her awkward smiles are endearing.

Lovely, soothing voice: I find her voice to be very soft and personally, I could listen to her talk all day. Her VA, Jessica Hayles, put so much emotion into her lines, and did you know she also voices three other characters: Nellie Oggspire, Charlotte Morrison, and Hyacinth Olivier? I have huge respect for a VA who can do multiple accents and change their voice to be so distinct for each character that I would've had no idea if I hadn't looked it up.

If anyone actually read all of this just know that I appreciate you deeply

[bigfan-fanfic]

Abjuration (Mage!Reader x Bucky Barnes)

A sorcerer!reader helps Bucky relax with their magic. NOTE: Can be read as platonic, and for gender neutral readers as well

Bucky sighs, pulling you into the safehouse, finally setting down his weapon.

You gulp, and then practically collapse on the bed.

It's basically a one-room shelter. a kitchen, a bed, and a communication center.

Bucky is on mission from the Avengers to protect you, to guide you safely back to the Avengers compound and avoid HYDRA, who would wish to use your magic powers for evil.

But HYDRA has been crafty, keeping in pursuit enough that you haven't been able to magic yourself and Bucky right to the Avengers.

And with them on the tail, Bucky knows he can't get you out to the extraction point.

Bucky quickly finishes sealing up the door and looks over at you. "Not having a great time?"

You groan a little. "It's been rough, but... at least we're safe, right?"

"As safe as I can make us." Bucky sighs. "We'll have to lie low here for a while, but we'll be trying to make it to the extraction point at our first chance, so you better get some rest."

"What about you?" you ask, slightly concerned. "I mean, you're the actual soldier, you should be well rested, right?"

He raises an eyebrow. "I don't know if you're capable of providing a reliable watch - you're wiped from casting those spells to help us get away."

You nod, acknowledging his point. "Still-"

"I don't sleep well anyway." he admits. "It's hard for me to ever really feel safe."

"I can help with that," you brighten. "I think, at least."

He frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I can perform a protection spell on our safehouse here. It may not keep everything out, but it'll provide enough of a barrier to defend against most things, and will alert us quickly if something is coming."

Without waiting for an answer, you begin moving, summoning your power from the wellspring inside you. Your magic always is improved when you're helping someone you care for, and Bucky has become a good friend these past few weeks on the run.

You haven't been anywhere secluded or long-term enough to justify expending your magic reserves on a protection spell, so this is the first Bucky's seen.

It takes a good twenty minutes to perform the ritual, gathering energy and focusing it, and Bucky arranges the gear and starts preparing some of the MREs in the kitchen stock, though he occasionally glances back over at you as you walk the perimeter of the safehouse, trying to touch every wall.

About halfway around, light blooms from your fingers, a soft amber color spreading outward, twinkling golden lights of concentrated power studding the ephemeral nebula of amber light spreading now over the ceiling.

Bucky watches in awe, field rations forgotten as you pull the rudimentary bed away from the wall and begin drawing runes in a haphazard circle, each glowing with light and floating a little off the floor around the bed.

"That'll be for when we sleep." you smile. "I'll activate it from the inside to give us some extra protection."

"Same bed?" Bucky finally manages to say, tearing his eyes away from the magic as the walls fade back to normal, the light now faint, now gone.

"If it's not a problem. That way we can both fit in the circle and you can get some sleep."

He nods, then chuckles. "You ever slept on a safehouse bed? Good luck sleeping."

You laugh and walk over to him to see about eating.

And later, Bucky hesitantly takes off his tactical gear and armor - he claims it helps him feel more relaxed, but it's not great for sleeping in.

He sits on the bed, cross-legged and alert, watching as you gently lean over the side and touch the rune circle. It blazes with power and sends light cascading upwards in diaphanous sheets in soft colors, forming a dome of protection before it coalesces into little spheres of drifting light, like night lights, like tiny stars gently watching over you both.

"I hope you feel a bit safer." you say softly.

"I do. The magic... I feel like it's strong. And... like it's on my side." Bucky says, leaning back to watch the lights drift as you tuck yourself under the blankets.

"Good night, Bucky."

"Good night, Y/N." Bucky whispers back. It's only after he hears your breathing change to that of unconsciousness that he slides his body downward, now lying down. And glancing at the lights, he truly does feel, if not safe, then protected.

He lets his eyes fall closed, and without trouble, drifts into sleep.

[fen-luciel]

Jealousy part 3

Part 1_2

Warnings: age gap/toxic behavior

Vernestra-Padawan reader/jedi Qimir

Leave a comment and share if you are enjoying the story.

It was less than two days after that dinner that I confronted my master during one of her working nights.

I went to visit her late, the deserted hallways and dim lights guiding me as I made my way to one of the meeting rooms where I knew she would go when she needed a place to concentrate.

I had been tossing and turning for a long time in bed. Time passed as usual, yet it felt as if I had a clock ticking over my head. I could hear the ticking of the seconds, a countdown that kept me awake, though I couldn’t understand its end or meaning. Or rather, I suspected what was tormenting me... no.

I knew.

That acidic feeling twisting my stomach was tied to all those memories that kept replaying in my head, sweet memories that I felt were inevitably becoming more and more tainted every day. I had decided that I needed to take a break, some distance, to grow. And if I couldn’t manage that, then it would be ridiculous to complain about something I wasn’t trying to change myself.

So, I gathered my courage.

As soon as I left my room, I realized that Vernestra was not there. In the shared living room, there were still signs of her passage, like some books piled on the table, the chair moved, and the lamp turned off and left near the rest. Just to be sure, I checked her bedroom, but my suspicions were confirmed when I saw the bed still perfectly made.

I went out after putting a cloak over my pajamas. I knew exactly where she was when she needed her space to work, so I took the stairs to the lower floors.

It was late at night, the moonlight outside lighting my path even though it was mostly clear, given the simple and empty hallways of the Jedi Temple. From a distance, I saw the orange light under the door that I recognized well. I knocked a couple of times before opening it, knowing that just as I expected to see her there, she knew that only I would come looking for her. And indeed, when I stepped into the room, she didn’t even lift her eyes to look at me.

She was sitting at the center of the large oval table, numerous papers spread before her, with some secondary, warm-toned lights illuminating the table's surface. I closed the door behind me using the Force as I approached, sitting on the opposite side from her, the cloak wrapped tightly around my waist, the hood over my head to shield me from the light evening breeze coming through the cracked windows.

“Trouble sleeping?” she asked, breaking the silence that had surrounded us after a few minutes of my entrance.

Her eyes remained fixed on the papers she was reading and marking with a pen from time to time. I stared at her in silence, mesmerized by those simple gestures, the rough sound of the pen scratching the paper and the surface beneath it. I could have lived that moment for the rest of my life. In peace.

"I need to talk to you," I began after exhaling deeply. I pulled my feet onto the chair to hug my legs tightly, a cold I didn’t understand shaking me to the core. I don’t know if she noticed something was wrong or if it was just a natural reaction to my words, but she stopped writing to finally look me in the face, her expression furrowed, perhaps picking up on something in the few words I had spoken.

“Of course. Tell me, my padawan.”

I pursed my lips into a line before clearing my throat. I looked away for a moment before meeting her gaze again, Qimir’s name echoing in my mind, "I’d like to receive a mission away from the temple for a while. I need a change of scenery. I feel ready." That last sentence connected to what had happened some time ago when I had a breakdown in Qimir’s arms. We had agreed together that I would stay near the temple until I felt safe again. Even the missions we had done together had always been in safer, more controlled locations. But now, I needed that distance, even if I didn’t feel quite ready.

She placed the pen on the table, her posture now composed as she leaned back in her chair, her fingers slightly intertwined in front of her on the smooth surface. "Is that what’s making you so restless? I could feel you were agitated in your room."

Obviously, she understood that something was going on. It was impossible to pull the wool over her eyes in such a childish way. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you," I replied, buying myself a few moments to think.

She shook her head, her gaze still fixed on mine, making me uneasy. I could almost feel her thinking, as if she were trying to read my mind through my eyes. "Please. You know I would have come here anyway. It helps me focus. But, you haven't seemed at ease these days. I was hoping you’d come to talk to me when you felt ready, and now this is what you're asking me? Is there nothing else?"

We were both whispering, perhaps caught in the stillness of the quiet evening, yet her words hit me like a slap. Of course there was more, I wasn’t a good liar, or maybe the lie itself was too far-fetched to be believable. But I needed to distance myself from Qimir.

"I'm... suffocating here. I want to try and take that next step, even if... it scares me." I admitted, without revealing too much, pulling the fabric of my cloak tightly around my knees, curling into a cocoon on the chair.

There were a few more moments of silence before she lowered her gaze back to her papers. "Alright, you could actually help me with these senators. It’s nothing complicated—you’d mostly be there to reassure them. I can send you with Qimir if—" but I cut her off abruptly, my tone sharper. "No."

I realized my mistake, but it was too late to take it back. She looked at me, still hunched over the sheet she had picked up, then slowly set it down before leaning forward onto the table, her elbows on the surface, hands clasped together once again. "No to the mission? Or no to Qimir?"

She already knew the answer, I could hear it in her tone when she said his name, emphasizing and drawing out the letters. Whether she wanted me to admit it or not, it was obvious she had already figured it out. Their relationship hadn’t been great for a while now, and I knew that well. Still, she had never said anything bad about him in front of me, but now she seemed ready to point fingers.

"I... should go alone, right?" I didn’t feel up to voicing my doubts about Qimir. The guilt was eating me alive, and I didn’t think I had any right to accuse him of anything, but I also couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine in a relationship I was starting to feel trapped in. "It's not about Qimir. Really." I sounded like I was trying to convince myself more than her. "I want to take the next step. To move forward on my own."

I struggled to meet her gaze, preferring to focus on the slight fluttering of the papers scattered across the table, swaying at the corners with the light gusts that came rhythmically every few minutes. She, on the other hand, was seeking out my eyes with thinly veiled insistence. "And that's it? Nothing else to add? If something’s bothering you, you should tell me, padawan."

I nodded. "I need to move forward."

Long moments followed my words, as I lost myself in the light scratches on the table’s surface, and she remained still, her gaze fixed on me. "Okay. Then..." she finally moved, reaching for the datapad casually resting to the side. "Here." She placed the device in the center of the table in front of me. Moments later, a hologram of a planet appeared. "This is Ord Mantell. There are conflicts on the planet due to particularly violent political debates. They have no shortage of soldiers, and the Jedi haven’t been requested as assistance, but there’s a shortage of doctors and nurses. I’ve been organizing a potential team to send, and you could act as an assistant, helping out in the field."

I listened in silence, but with a light in my eyes that grew brighter with every word she said. I had always wanted to serve as a medic. I’d asked her countless times, even at the cost of falling behind on missions, a request she had always denied—until that night.

"Really?!" I squealed, more excited than I wanted to admit, and she nodded.

That was enough to distract me from Qimir, even more than I had imagined at first. I went to bed excited, but also a bit nervous, afraid that it was all just a dream or worse, a lie. But the next day, when I came out of the bedroom, everything was already prepared.

My bags, the transport, the mission details.

Everything.

I couldn’t help but notice the more pronounced bags under Vernestra's eyes, a sign that she had spent the entire night organizing my departure. I didn’t thank her verbally, knowing she wasn’t the type. A single glance was enough to show her how much I appreciated what she had done for me, and I knew from her smile that she had received the message.

It was still early morning when I got into the taxi that would take me to the spaceport where the rest of the team was waiting. I didn’t look back twice, caught up in the euphoria.

There wasn’t room to think about anything else.

From the first day I set foot there, I was already swamped with duties. The situation was truly tragic, between refugees and soldiers. Being there as part of the humanitarian aid meant we had the responsibility to help anyone in need, which in practice meant our base was completely packed in every corner.

The main hospital in one of the safe towns was the gathering point for all sorts of aliens—displaced children, homeless families, wounded of every kind. They were everywhere, crammed inside and outside the base where a tent camp had been set up for when there weren’t enough beds.

For the record, I don’t think I ever saw a bed free.

Once again, my expectations didn’t compare to reality. Sure, they teach you to be ready for anything, but reading or hearing about it was nothing like the real thing.

Maybe I was too young to be there. I wasn’t even the youngest, actually—I saw ten-year-olds helping as best they could, carrying medicine and tools to those who needed them. But there was a huge difference between us.

You could see the war and pain in their eyes. The galaxy had already marked them deeply, but me... I was weak.

I don’t know how many attempts it took me to get used to the pools of blood, the terrifying wounds of the soldiers, the cries of the families. It was all psychologically crushing, to the point that I even considered quitting.

Not the mission.

The Jedi.

I didn’t even have the stomach to help those in need. Was it really worth doing a humble job like a librarian or a caretaker?

Maybe they were better than me—they were there out of vocation, not to run away. I, on the other hand, wanted to flee.

Maybe being a Jedi wasn’t my path.

I stayed there for months. I told myself I’d talk to my master about my thoughts when I returned. Maybe it was too early to judge myself, maybe I really just needed time, maybe I needed to be forced through it. But... wasn’t that all wrong? The fact that I was in the middle of a war at such a young age. Inexperienced... alone.

I managed to make some friends, meet other Jedi, but I still felt a void.

I wanted to talk to my master about my doubts, but I didn’t want to worry her even more.

So, I called the one person I thought I was close to.

Qimir.

I felt uncomfortable calling him after disappearing for months without saying anything, but I believed he would understand. He knew better than I did the pace of our duties.

It was a particularly stressful evening that convinced me to call him. We had suffered many losses, and I had run away every single time. When the patients started gasping their final breaths, I froze, terrified. My hands would tremble, and I’d be pushed aside to make room for someone more capable.

I used to think death was quiet, yet all I kept hearing were breaths drowning in blood and bodies convulsing with unnatural, monstrous spasms, I would say.

I fled, leaving death behind, took a shower with the little freezing water that came from the showerhead, and threw myself into bed, but I couldn’t sleep.

I wanted to clear my head, but I had nowhere to escape to, so I thought of Qimir.

I needed him and his comfort.

So, I decided to call him.

He answered after a few minutes. I expected to see him looking sleepy, but what appeared before me was a very different image. He was wearing his usual tunic, his hair slick with sweat, his face dirty with soil.

"Look who’s shown up."

He smiled at me, but the warmth I was hoping for was nowhere to be found.

"Qimir... I didn’t mean to disturb you, but..." I pulled my legs to my chest, curled up on the bed, the blankets reaching my chin.

"Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?" He interrupted, his voice low, hoarse.

"I... it was a last-minute thing. I talked to Vernestra and—"

He let out a laugh that cut off my words. "I bet. She wanted to get you away from me."

I looked at him, confused. My heart skipped a beat—something about the start of this conversation didn’t feel... right.

"What? No. It was something I had asked for and—"

"So, it was you who wanted to leave?" The question came out almost like a growl.

For some reason, I sat up on the mattress, something in the pit of my stomach making me feel uneasy.

"Qimir, what are you saying? Did... something happen?"

He stayed silent for a few minutes.

Something in his gaze was off... he seemed angry. Or maybe there was more to it—I could glimpse a sinister spark in his eyes.

"Vernestra didn’t tell you, did she? We’re at odds over you."

I remained silent, confused, trying to understand what he meant, and he took that as a cue to continue.

"I asked her to make you my padawan."

I wondered how long ago he had visited her,

"She refused."

I bit my lip, thinking. I wanted to try and lighten the conversation, but it didn’t seem possible. "Qimir... I... I don’t understand. I don’t know why you want me to—" I tried to speak slowly, searching for the right words, but a thud on the other end made me jump. "You don’t understand? Don’t you see? The bond between us? We’re meant for each other. You are mine." The icy expression he gave me took my breath away.

This... this wasn’t right.

"No, Qimir. You’re losing control. I want to help you, I’ll talk to Vernestra and—" another thud interrupted me. Wherever he was sitting, he suddenly stood up, his hands clenched into fists. Despite the small size of the hologram, I could still feel an aura... dark. Suffocating.

"I’m tired of hearing you mention her. She’s the one clouding your mind. I’ll deal with her, and I’ll show you who’s right."

He ended the call.

I sat there, mouth half-open, ready to say words I couldn’t even begin to form.

What was he doing? Why did everything seem worse now that I was away?

I wanted to call him back, but the thought made my hands tremble.

I wanted to call Vernestra, but I didn’t have the courage to say aloud what I was starting to suspect.

So, I wrote her a message.

A long message about Qimir and some of his behavior. I never explicitly mentioned his words—they were more suspicions and general doubts, not accusations.

Again, I was weak... I couldn’t accuse him of anything.

I sent it and got back under the covers.

I couldn’t sleep, and things got worse when I received a response in the middle of the night.

"Qimir has become dangerous to himself and others. Stay away from him. Don’t return to the temple until I tell you."

That was the last straw.

It was confirmation.

No need to say anything explicitly—she seemed to understand exactly what I was referring to.

I spent a long time reading and rereading that message, and the longer the minutes passed, the more a bad feeling weighed on me.

The Force seemed to speak through my nerves, a frightened voice telling me to move, to act before the worst could happen.

I didn’t think twice.

I got up on shaky feet and quickly packed a backpack with my essentials. There were only a few hours until dawn, and it was easy to find someone to ask for help among the other Jedi.

I didn’t say much, just that I wanted to speak to my master about the past few months. In less than three hours, I knew where to find her and was on a shuttle that would take me to the base in space where I’d board a small single-seater to reach my destination.

I ate some rations with trembling hands, spent hours in hyperspace, lost in my thoughts. I tried writing a message—actually, several messages to my master—but she didn’t seem to be responding.

So, in a panic, I wrote to Qimir, something casual asking where he was and what he was doing, but he didn’t answer either.

It could mean everything or nothing, but I was nervous. I needed to see her, to know more about what was happening between those two.

I reached the planet in the middle of the afternoon. It was mostly a research area, with a few peaceful towns, and miles of mountains and swamps. I landed in the town where I knew I would find her along with other Jedi. Nothing seemed familiar, but as soon as I introduced myself, I was warmly welcomed.

"Where can I find my master?" I asked.

The answer I received nearly gave me a heart attack.

"She’s up in the mountains, collecting more samples and traces. Why the rush, though? Not even two hours ago, Qimir was here asking about her as well."

I stammered some nonsense in reply and headed straight into the dense forest.

I didn’t realize that the directions, while accurate, were vague about the distance, and by the time I continued running, the sky had begun to darken.

I felt the Force calling out to me, screaming a warning—the sense that something terrible was about to happen. I wanted to believe I was just being paranoid, but I knew something was wrong.

I started to recognize traces on the ground—signs of digging, markings on the trees... and finally, the sound.

A man’s voice shouting.

I was exhausted from the running and the lack of sleep accumulating with each minute, but at last, I saw them.

They were at the edge of the forest, beyond a cliff that separated them from the other side of the woods.

"You abandoned me!" Qimir suddenly shouted, making me jump. Vernestra was staring at him intently without saying a word, her expression hard, her posture rigid.

"You’re losing your way. Surrender and let me help you."

At that moment, I noticed Qimir had his lightsaber in hand. As he moved to strike, I jumped out of the shadows, shouting his name.

Silence surrounded us.

Both of them realized my presence at that moment, looking at me in surprise.

Qimir whispered my name before taking a step toward me, his eyes wide. The coldness I had once recognized was now clear in his gaze. It terrified me.

Almost at the same time, Vernestra and I drew our lightsabers against him. I took a defensive stance, stepping back, my hands trembling.

"You’re pointing a weapon at me? After all the time we’ve spent together?" His voice was hoarse, low, almost a whisper that made me shake like a leaf.

"Qimir... please... you’re scaring me," I admitted, my eyes locked on his.

I don’t know if seconds or minutes passed, but his response was the final piece of that disaster.

"You’ve been deceived, just like I was, by Vernestra. But don’t worry, I’ll save you, my flower."

With a feline leap, he turned, his blue saber clashing with her purple one.

I stood there, frozen, watching them. I could barely recognize them, so angry with each other. The smiles, the jokes, the time spent together—it all seemed like it had never existed behind those furious eyes.

They fought relentlessly, without holding back. It was the first time I had ever seen two experienced Jedi in battle—fighting to survive a mortal duel.

I knew both of their combat styles well, as they had both trained me. I wanted to act, to move and help my master, but I didn’t have the courage. I wasn’t sure if I was more afraid of hurting Qimir or of the dangerous fight itself, but all I could do was watch, my mouth trembling.

I snapped out of my trance when I heard Qimir’s furious shout. "I will kill you!"

With a swift move, he struck her hard in the side, and without thinking, I rushed forward, putting myself between them and blocking his next blow.

"Qimir, please, no—" I managed to stop him again. My hands were shaking, and I was gripping my saber so tightly that my fingers hurt.

I pushed him back a few steps, my ears ringing, unable to sense my surroundings, too focused on him—on his rage-filled eyes, his furious strikes, the sound of our sabers clashing, too often close to my face, stealing the air from my lungs.

"Stay in your place, or I’ll teach you a lesson."

I blocked another strike, but I was naïve to think it would work again. With a precise slash, he cut my lightsaber in half, leaving me defenseless.

The crystal in the center of the hilt was shattered, now split into two pieces that I held in my hands.

Still in shock, I let my guard down, and he took the chance to throw me against a tree. I hit the ground, gasping in pain.

In front of me, Vernestra seemed to have recovered and reentered the battle.

The blow had stunned me, leaving my heart in my throat. I rubbed my eyes and got up to reach them.

Everything happened so fast.

A well-placed strike followed by a choked gasp.

I froze.

Vernestra fell to her knees, impaled by that blue saber, hers rolling across the ground toward me.

My ears were ringing.

It was as if my mind had gone blank.

Maybe it was survival instinct, or perhaps the shock I was feeling, but I moved without thinking.

Using the Force, I summoned her purple saber to me and, activating the whip, snapped it forcefully at Qimir’s back.

His scream of pain twisted my insides.

The look of shock and hatred in his eyes as he turned, losing his balance. Before he could move, I instinctively pushed him hard, away from Vernestra’s body.

Maybe I pushed him too hard.

When he stumbled back, finding himself at the edge of the cliff, he couldn’t regain his balance. The ground beneath him gave way, and he fell, staring at me—maybe scared, maybe betrayed.

The silence that followed was chilling.

I rushed toward Vernestra, but it was too late. Her body lay on the ground, her eyes wide open, empty, and the smell of burnt flesh filled my senses.

I wanted to lean over the edge, to see if Qimir was still alive, driven by the survival instinct that, now that everything was over, finally allowed me to recognize the danger.

No.

I didn’t move.

I remained on my knees in the dirt, a dull ringing in my ears that kept me from thinking.

And the lifeless body of my master, whom I had failed to save.

[itsgrimeytime]

When he's afraid of losing you... || Rick Grimes (TWD)

"You can't be serious," you relented, trailing behind Rick as he walked through Alexandria -he, apparently, had somewhere to be.

"Oh," he spoke, tone a bit frustrated and a scoff echoing his lips, "-I'm serious."

"Rick, this is ridiculous-"

"What's ridiculous-" he stopped, turning towards you and raising his voice -you were sure half the people were staring now, "-is the shit you pulled out there."

"What?" You asked, tone dipping into frustration -the tension in the air thick, "Saving someone's life? You know if that walker had gotten any closer-"

"Of course, I know-" he growled out, before silently pinching the bridge of his nose -his eyebrows furrowed in that way they always did when he worried, "-Look, we'll talk about this later."

"Oh, no no no no no-" you laughed, stepping in front of him to effectively block him in, "-you started it, and I'm going to stop it. You can't just say I can't do runs anymore and run off with your tail between your legs before telling me why."

"I did tell you why."

"Oh? I didn't hear it-" you scoffed, aggressive and petty but you were at that point.

Rick groaned, hands flying out in dramatic gestures, "You aren't careful enough, you run into everything without thinkin'-"

"Oh, and you are?"

"This isn't about me," he deflected, still walking wherever he needed to go -you easily matched his stride, "-I do what I have to."

"And I don't?" you questioned, clarifying -sharp and pointed, "She was new, she's young and scared. I stopped her from dying-"

"Doesn't mean you should," he yelled back, frozen in place, and suddenly the words set into your skin -as his voice lowered to only your ears, "-Look, you could've gotten hurt, Y/N, and what would I do if you got-"

"You don't think I go through that? Every day?"

Rick faltered, his tone dropping into something you couldn't quite grasp -you didn't want to, you had your own prerogative, "Y/N-"

"Hell, what about yesterday?" you started, the concern of the day heavy on your lips, "When you decided to run off without telling me shit-"

You, of course, were talking about one of the spur-of-the-moment runs, he'd taken upon himself to be a part of.

"That was urgent."

"Right," you rolled your eyes, before setting into a determination, "-and saving someone's life isn't urgent?"

"Y/N, you know it's not-" he began, anger dissipating into a frustration -hands running through his curls with fierce abandon.

"That's not what it's about?" You echoed, confused and poking and prodding to see what truly stayed in the center, "What is it about then?"

"Y/N," he was soft, spoken just to you -you heard the tremble in his tone, "-I can't lose you."

Looking into his pools of blue, you sighed -trailing your fingers up to his face, eager to reassure him. Brushing them through his beard, and cradling him there -you thought of the words to say.

"You won't. You know that... You will never-"

"I don't," He started, tone much quieter than before and much, much less angry, "-I don't know that. I mean, I... I try to keep you and Carl and Judith safe, but-"

"Rick, Rick, baby-" you were comforting -titling his face to match yours, "-look at me. You're doing your best, that's all you can do. That's all any of us can do. And no, you don't know. Not really, but-"

You paused, trying to gather your words -dragging your thumb along his cheekbone, "But we're here now. All of us, safe. We take it one day at a time, okay?"

Rick sighed, heavy and tired (you noted to stop whatever he was set off to do and guide him back to the house for some rest) -leaning into your fingers with a trust unlike any other, "Will you, ugh. Will you at least try to be safer?"

"If you will," you quipped, adding on with a teasing smile, "-marriage is all about compromise, you know."

"Oh, we're married now, huh?" Rick grinned, a bright one that crinkled by the eyes (you counted it as a win), and moving forward to dance his hands along your hips.

"Could be, if you tried harder."

Rick laughed out loud -head falling back, and you caught the contagious smile then -eyes scattering across your face in open admiration that you still weren't sure you could ever get used to.

"Gimme time, sweetheart," he spoke, more seriously, pulling you to his chest -just between you two, "-gimme time."

[ghostandkonigsmaus]

Could you do a fic/oneshot idk about Ghost and reader going for a walk or going to some store

I have the hc that Ghost doesn't wear the skull balaclava if he's not working or with the 141, so he wears a black surgical mask but you can write he however you want. Anyway, a group of teenagers pass by them and give Ghost dirty looks, he notices and is like "Hey reader, are you sure you like going out with me?" Moving away from her a little so the others don't look weird at her

Meanwhile she's like 🤭I have guard dog privileges, my bf is so handsome🤭 lol just fluff after that

-🍓

READER IS REFERED TO AS FEMALE

TW! THIS FIC INCLUDES: Angst with a happy ending (nothing too bad! just a tiny bit of angst), fluff, bullying?

Word count: 721 words

A/N: Tysm for all of the asks and support that has been and are being sent to me! I can't describe how greatful I am for it all, I'm currently working on asks and a ghost fic I plan to put out soon, as long as there are no major disruptions! :3

--------🎀--------

You and Ghost had decided to take a stroll to the local mall because he wanted to treat you; a weekly occurrence because he just loves his little girl so much. You look up at him in admiration as you cling onto his muscular but soft arm whilst walking to the next shop. Your eyes slid down from his eyes, to the surgical mask he was wearing, you could just about make out his smile as he proudly walked with you and carried your bags. When you and ghost were out, he preferred to wear a simple, black surgical mask instead of the skull balaclava he wears when he's with tf141: he didn't want to scare anyone, especially the innocent little children, he couldn't bare it.

You and ghost approach a big group of teenagers and ghosts grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer to him so you don't get lost. The mall was already so busy and this extra congestion just served as a major inconvenience. As you walked past them, they began to point and snicker at ghost, shooting him dirty looks. Your heart breaks into tiny little pieces as you watch his proud smile drop into an ashamed look. You both continue to walk past the group but Ghost moves away from you, releasing your grip on his arm. You try to regain your hold on him but he moves further away, eyes set on your destination. You resort to lightly tugging on the hem of his shirt and thankfully, he finally looks at you.

"Si... Is everything okay?" You asked softly. Ghost looks into your eyes and his heartstrings tug at the look of love and admiration, but also worry in your eyes. He doesn't deserve this; you're too good for him.

"Y/N... are you... are you sure you want to be with... someone like me?" he chokes out hesitantly, tears gathering along his waterline, "like, are you sure you like it?" You didn't think it was possible for your heart to break any more than what it did earlier but hearing Simon say such derogatory things about himself truly brought upon feelings of sadness you didn't even know existed. "It's just that I'm not the best person you could be with, there's so many men out there, more normal than me and well you choose to be with me but I just don't think that-"

"Si." You cut him off. You guide him over to a safer, less congested area and you stop walking. You place your hands on his biceps and you just look at him as you smile. "Simon, you are the best person I've ever met. I don't want someone else, I want you," You bring your hands up to his shoulders, "you make me feel so many emotions that I can't even begin to explain, you make me feel so safe." Tears find their way back into Simon's eyes but this time, not because of sadness.

"When you do your little habits, it makes me love you even more because I remember how perfect you are. Let them stare, let them giggle and make snarky remarks, because it doesn't matter. What matters is how amazing you are and how much of your heart and soul you put into loving me. You are everything and more of what I could ever wish for. You are my handsome, kind, caring boyfriend who wouldn't hurt a single thing outside of work." You bring your hands up to his cheeks to wipe away his tears and you place a soft kiss on his lips. "I love you, Simon Riley." You say as you pull away. Simon smiles at you and brings you in for a tight hug."I love you too, Y/N" he takes a deep breath to calm himself down. "Mmh, lovie, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Words can't describe how much I love you."

You pull away and smile back at him as your arms find their way back to his. You hold on tight and you two continue to walk along the mall, but this time, Simon won't shy away in fear of embarrassing you; he will stand next to you, no longer ashamed of himself and proud of having a girlfriend as amazing as you.

[copperbadge]

Radio Free Monday

Good morning everyone, and welcome to Radio Free Monday!

Ways to Give:

forlorn_kumquat linked to a fundraiser for Ms. Hageman, a primary school teacher in Puyallup, WA who is trying to get a new and safer rug for her classroom; her students regularly gather on the rug for community time, and the current rug is too small, with tripping hazards at the corners. You can read more and support the fundraiser here.

marveltrumpshate's 2024 fandom charity auction is now live, with 180 creators and 293 auctions offering fanworks and fan labor across the Marvel universes, including inexpensive options for those on a budget and opportunities to join "pod" bids where fans bid in groups. Bidding will be open until 11:59pm on October 26th; after winning, you donate directly to the nonprofit to pay your bid and get your prize. You can read more and reblog here, including ways to find what your special interest might be and a guide to bidding.

Ilana linked to the next production at Worlds Elsewhere Theatre Company: a table read of The Vampire by JR Planche, the play version of John William Polidori's novella The Vampyre, adapted and directed by Ilana herself! They'll be simulcasting to Twitch and YouTube on Sunday the 27th (this coming weekend) at 5pm US Eastern time. Worlds Elsewhere is a nonprofit virtual theatre company that in addition to being entirely viewer-funded raises funds for charitable causes; you can find more info about the event here and buy a ticket here; read more about the theatre's mission here.

Recurring Needs:

loversdoom is raising funds for an assessment to get help with mental health so she can be treated and remain in school, where she has a safe place to live and basic psychiatric support. You can read more, reblog, and find giving information here or give via paypal here.

onedollopofsourcream is fundraising to help support a large family including young children during a difficult time; they particularly need funds for needed medication (including insulin), and hopefully eventually to get out of an abusive living situation. You can read more, reblog, and find giving information here.

chingaderita has been trying to help their family get back on their feet after a house fire that left them in an unsafe living situation with black mold, and now needs to pay for healthcare before the end of the month to secure treatment for several health issues. You can read more, reblog, and find giving information here.

memprime linked to a fundraiser for a friend, virtualalternative, who needs help with cat vet bills after their cat had several blockages; you can read more, reblog, and find giving information here.

And this has been Radio Free Monday! Thank you for your time. You can post items for my attention at the Radio Free Monday submissions form. If you're new to fundraising, you may want to check out my guide to fundraising here.

[hyperfixatedonthisnow]

Siren's call

*not my GIF I know, I know, I suck at titles, but I’ve come to accept this about myself and therefore so must you! Summary: A Siren and a privateer fall in love, but how will he react when he finally learns what she is? Requested by: Anonymous - Sturmhond/Nikolai finds out his girlfriend is a siren. How will that go? - Dearest anon, I am *so* sorry that this took me so long to put out. I fell down a bit of a rabbit hole researching Sirens and found your request so interesting that I honestly could have written much more. I started out with Sturmhond, then switched to Nikolai after reader learns his real name, and I went with Sirens as shape-shifting mermaids, rather than the Greek version of bird like creatures, mostly because it was easier to write in but also because birds freak me out a bit tbh, I’m hoping you don’t mind. Also there’s smut at the end, but if you don’t like that then feel free to stop reading when the kissing starts 😉 I realized way too late that I probably should have asked you for more details 🤦‍♀️ So I can only hope that this is something close to what you wanted! Word count: 7.5K ish - because much like our favorite prince/privateer, I prefer to use several words when one will do 😅

Warnings: NSFW - 18+ only. Mild peril, mild angst, a touch of fluff, minor OC’s who exist only to further the (minimal) plot, a very brief mention of non-con (but not with Nikolai), smut, fem!reader, P in V sex, semi-rough sex, marking, unprotected sex (not recommended in real life!)

You had been following the ship closely for weeks, watching the crew, learning their habits, and charting their course to figure out the best time to take them. Amalia preferred to wait until they were close to land, though it was easier and safer to simply lure them into open water out at sea. She liked the challenge, but more than that, she liked to be the last thing the men saw before they died. It made her feel powerful- to know how much they wanted her and could never have her.

If it was up to you, you would wait until nightfall and sing from a distance, letting your enchanting lullaby guide the men from their beds straight into a watery grave. You didn’t take pleasure in their deaths, even if you knew it was necessary. Unnatural your sisters teased, for a Siren to have such a soft heart. Amalia never joined in with the teasing, though you knew she didn’t really understand you either. Still, she indulged you by allowing you to act as scout, and that meant you could mostly narrow down the targets to pirates and slavers, offering the fishermen and other sailors some small semblance of protection.

Whenever possible, you would scout several ships at a time, so that you could choose the one you wanted and hopefully sway Amalia towards it when you returned to discuss your findings. Unfortunately, only one ship had passed through your waters in almost a month, and although you felt it was worth saving, there was no second option.

When you met with Amalia, you thought carefully about what you had found before you spoke, deciding on the major details you should share with her and filtering out your own more personal observations.

At first glance, it had seemed like a Pirate ship, but further investigation proved that it was not. The crew was an eclectic mix of men, women, and Grisha, of various ages and races. The captain - who went by the name Sturmhond and insisted he was not a pirate, but a privateer - was young, barely out of boyhood, and yet it was clear that he commanded their respect.

He ran a tight ship, but he always treated his crew warmly and he worked alongside them often, doing his fair share of the hard work. He was rarely angry and never cruel, as far as you could tell. At night the crew would gather on the deck to drink and play cards, and he usually joined them. He didn’t seem to think himself above their company as some captains would. You watched him dance and laugh along with the others, and when he lost at cards, he always took it in good humour.

In the conversations you had overheard, the captain’s responses were measured and kind, free from judgment or scorn. Although they carried an impressive arsenal of weapons, you had witnessed no violence from him, nor any of his crew. No prisoners taken, no poor souls forced to walk the plank, no slaves bound in the hull of his ship.

He spent most of his hours working on some flying contraption and after several failed tests, you saw his joy when it actually worked. He was a good man, you had concluded. Intelligent and funny, and handsome, too. You tried to imagine Amalia’s face if you admitted that last bit out loud - she would probably think you had taken leave of your senses completely.

You bit your lip, wondering how you could persuade her to spare them, to spare him.

“Actually, I was thinking… maybe we should… let this one go,” you suggested tentatively. Might as well just be direct.

Amalia stared at you as though you had grown an extra head. “Let them go?” She said after a moment, her nose scrunching in disgust. “You think these men should live?”

“They aren’t just men,” you rushed, trying to justify yourself. “There are women on the crew, and Grisha too.”

“And?” Amalia prompted.

“And, they don’t deserve to be punished for the sins of men,” you argued, “they’re innocent.”

Amalia rolled her eyes, “They’ve chosen to take up with a pirate, have they not?”

“Privateer,” you corrected, but the moment the word was out you wished you could call it back.

Amalia narrowed her eyes suspiciously at you. “Privateer?” She echoed.

“Yes?” You squeaked, and it sounded more like a question than an answer. You cleared your throat. “Yes. He’s not a pirate, he’s a privateer, and he’s a good man, Amalia. I’ve seen it.”

Amalia laughed, “There is no such thing as a good man,” she muttered, “They are all the same. Weak-minded, arrogant, selfish creatures. They live only for violence and destruction.”

“Not him,” you said firmly. “He’s not like the others.”

“He’s exactly like the others,” she snapped, “If you gave him the chance, he would kill you without a second thought.”

“No,” you argued, “You’re wrong about him. He’s smart and kind, and good. I swear it.”

She studied you for a long moment and you tried not to fidget under her disapproving gaze. Your cheeks felt hot, and you knew you were probably blushing.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve gone and fallen in love with him!” She exclaimed finally.

You said nothing, but your silence was answer enough. You looked away, pressing your lips together. It was out there now, no point in trying to deny it.

“Foolish girl,” Amalia said, shaking her head. “There is no future for you with him, surely you must see that?”

“Of course I do,” you whispered, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill over. “But I won’t watch him die Amalia. Not this one. I can’t.”

Amalia sighed, and then she surprised you by pulling you in to a tight hug.

“Please,” you begged, voice breaking.

“There’s a storm coming,” she murmured into your hair, “I suppose we could wait it out.”

“We could?” You questioned hopefully.

“If they can survive it, on their own, then we will leave them be. That’s the best I can do.”

Relief flooded through you, and you hugged Amalia tighter. “Thank you!” You cried.

She pulled back to look at you, her expression troubled. “I know you don’t want to believe it, but men are dangerous. All men. Even your privateer,” she said seriously, hands gripping your shoulders, “So if I do this, if I let him live, it is on the condition that you agree to stay away from him. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you answered without hesitation. You would do anything to protect him.

“You must never see him again. Not ever. Promise me,” she insisted.

“I promise,” you said, the words bitter on your tongue.

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The sea was rough, waves cresting 30ft high only to crash back down, as loud as thunder. You watched as the ship rose and fell along with them. You weren’t supposed to be here, had promised to stay away, but you couldn’t help yourself. You had to know that he would be ok. Amalia had agreed to wait until the storm had passed, but if the ship ran aground her small act of mercy wouldn’t matter.

You moved closer, letting the current sweep you towards the ship. It had to be taking on water, but so far, the crew seemed to be holding on. Once you were close enough, you watched them carefully. The Grisha who usually guided their sails spread his arms wide, fighting a losing battle against the ferocious winds. He was just a boy, and not nearly powerful enough to tame such a storm alone. A woman jumped from the lookout, rolling across the deck, and landing gracefully on her feet beside a tall man with similar features. They moved to secure the main sail, working in perfect tandem. A man in a teal coat ran from post to post, tightening the rigging and testing the knots before making his way to the helm to take the wheel. Sturmhond. His hair was plastered to his face, his clothes soaking wet. He took the wheel with both hands, pulling hard to the left, and though his expression was determined, you could sense his growing desperation.

The ship slowly began to turn, forcing the bow away from the storm. Trying to outrun it. For a moment it looked as though his plan might actually work, but then suddenly the ship listed dangerously starboard. Sturmhond struggled to right it, but it was too late. A wave crashed over the now tilted masts, snapping them clean away with a force that rolled the entire ship on to its side. It bobbed precariously for half a second, sailors clinging to the railings, before another wave hit, cracking the hull. If they weren’t taking on water before, they certainly were now. Finally, a voice called out, “ABANDON SHIP!” and the crew began leaping into the sea, frantically trying to escape the wreckage before it capsized completely.

Your eyes scanned the chaos, looking for Sturmhond. You found him clambering up one side of the railing, the ship already beginning to sink beneath his feet. He was looking around, searching for something. Checking all his crew had managed to get out. And then you saw it, at the same time he did - the Grisha crewman, hanging upside down, tangled in the remains of the rigging. The boy struggled, desperately trying to free himself, but he was stuck. Jump, you urged the privateer silently, leave him, but you already knew he wouldn’t. He turned away from the water and began climbing towards his crew mate instead. Stupid. He would never make it in time. The ship was sinking rapidly. In just a few precious seconds it would go under, and when it did, anyone still on it would be pulled under along with it.

You wanted to help him, but you knew you shouldn’t. You thought of your promise to Amalia. She would be furious if she found out you were here, even more so if you interfered. You hesitated, still watching from a safe distance as Sturmhond reached the Grisha with barely a moment to spare. He tugged a knife from his boot and cut the boy free, allowing him to drop safely into the water beneath them. The boy didn’t wait for his captain, he immediately began swimming away from the wreckage. But before Sturmhond could follow, another huge wave swept over the ship, dragging it - and him - underwater, just as you had predicted. He was going to drown.

You made a split-second decision, diving under the water to search for him. The weight of the sinking ship acted like a vacuum, sucking everything downward to the sea floor. You followed it down, but you couldn’t see him anywhere. Panic clawed at your chest. Had he made it to the surface by himself? You turned, ready to go back up, when a flash of teal and gold below you caught your eye. There. You dove back down, looping your arms under his and hauling him against you. He was limp, a heavy weight in your arms. You held him tight, swimming away from the wreckage and towards the surface as fast as you could.

When you reached the surface, you pulled him above the water line, working hard to keep you both afloat. His head lolled back on your shoulder and his eyes were closed. You weren’t sure if he was breathing, and you felt panic building again. You tried to ignore it as you headed for the shore, where you shifted quickly into human form. Once you had dragged him onto the wet sand, you laid him on his back and pressed your ear to his chest. There was no sound, no movement that suggested breathing. Maybe he swallowed too much water?

You turned his head to the side and then placed your hands over his stomach and pushed upwards, hard. Was that the right thing to do? You weren’t sure, but you thought you had seen it done before, once… maybe. Nothing happened. You tried again, and again… and again. Were you doing it wrong … or were you just too late? But then, suddenly, he was coughing up a lungful of water and gasping for breath as he came round. After a few moments he blinked his eyes open, finding you still leaning over him.

“Am I dead?” He mumbled.

“No,” you assured him. Thank the sea goddess! Overcome with emotion, you flung yourself at him, sobbing in relief. His arms closed around you hesitantly, though he surely thought you were insane - a perfect stranger, crying over him and hugging him without invitation.

The storm was over and the sea eerily still by the time the rest of his crew managed to make it to shore. You had calmed yourself, and Sturmhond was sitting up, chatting amiably with you, as if he hadn’t almost died mere minutes earlier. You learned that he had another ship, the Volkvolny, and he cheerfully informed you that really, the storm had done him a favour, because he hadn’t liked the other one all that much anyway. It was nothing short of a miracle that everyone had survived the wreckage with only minimal injuries, and that put them all in a remarkably good mood considering the circumstances. Sturmhond introduced you to the crew, and casually insisted you join them at the local tavern, to dry off and have a strong drink, or two.

As you got to your feet, you caught sight of Amalia at the far side of the shore. Too far away to really make out her features, but you could imagine the look of disappointment on her face. You had broken the promise you made her, and worse than that, here you were walking and talking with humans as though you were old friends. To top it all off, you had committed a cardinal sin amongst Sirens - you had saved a man’s life. You had chosen a man over your sisters, and no matter how much Amalia loved you, this was the one thing she could not forgive.

At the tavern, you quickly discovered that Sturmhond and his crew were a lively, friendly bunch. You were treated as the guest of honour since you had saved the captain’s life, and they welcomed you with open arms. So, when they planned to move to the Volkvolny, and asked if you wanted to come along, you agreed to go with them.

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It was far easier than you would have expected for you to adjust to your new life aboard the Volkvolny. You found that you had watched enough Sailors over the years to pick up some of the basics and luckily you hit it off with Tamar, who quickly took you under her wing, teaching you the more advanced skills. You listened to endless hours of poetry readings from Tolya, and in exchange he offered to teach you how to fight. In fact, most of the crew accepted you readily. In truth, a lot of the men had just been so enthralled by your ethereal beauty that they were half in love with you at first sight, and the fact that you had saved their captain’s life had been enough to endear you to the rest.

All except for one woman, a young Grisha heartrender named Laila who seemed set on hating you no matter how hard you tried to befriend her. Tamar said it was jealousy - Laila wanted to be the captains favourite but he had never shown any interest in her, and now with you around, he likely never would. You tried not to let it bother you, but you were worried that she might sense something was different about you and early one morning she confirmed your fears when she cornered you in the galley, pushing you up against the wall.

“I’m on to you,” she hissed, “you’re hiding something and I’m going to figure out what it is.”

You played it cool, pretending you had no idea what she meant, and though you briefly considered throwing her overboard, you ultimately decided it was too risky. Instead, you did your best to avoid her at all times, at least as much as you could avoid someone living in such close proximity, and you became an expert at hiding in plain sight.

The bond you had formed with Sturmhond as a result of saving his life grew into a fully-fledged friendship, and then, into something sweeter. Over time, you found yourself sharing his bed as well as his company, and once he trusted you enough to reveal his true identity - Nikolai Lantsov, royal spare to the Ravkan throne - you were moved into the captain’s quarters permanently.

You missed Amalia and being on the sea everyday but never in it, was its own special kind of torture, but you had made your choice and you would do it all over again in a heartbeat. You would choose him, always, whatever the cost. So, you vowed never to use your power again, if it only meant you could keep this new life, if it meant you could keep him. But of course, nothing was ever that simple.

You had been on the Volkvolny for almost a year when it finally happened…

The crew were gathered in a loose circle on the lower deck, chatting and sharing several bottles of liquor, relaxing after a long day. You followed Nikolai down the steps to join them and when he took the only empty seat, you didn’t hesitate to drop yourself into his lap. A chorus of wolf whistles and hooting erupted from the crew around you.

“Perverts,” you muttered, giving them the middle finger and they all laughed.

Nikolai looped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You leaned against him, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, content to just be close to him while the crew drank and talked around you. You joined the conversation only when spoken to directly and luckily no one noticed your contemplative mood, as they all got steadily drunker and rowdier as the night went on. At some point, someone started singing a sea shanty and one by one the rest of the crew joined in, happy and loud, and painfully off-key. You smiled and clapped along, but otherwise stayed quiet. Laila was watching you carefully from across the circle.

“You’re not singing,” she said suddenly, and you were sure you weren’t imagining the accusation in her tone.

“Oh, no one wants to hear my singing,” you laughed nervously, waving her off, “honestly I’m terrible.”

She narrowed her eyes at you. “You can’t be that bad. Come on, just sing a few lines,” she pushed.

You shifted uncomfortably on Nikolai’s lap. His hand tightened on your waist, and you knew he was listening. You struggled to think of another excuse. “I- umm…”

“Leave her alone,” Tamar interjected, and you flashed her a grateful smile for coming to your rescue. “She doesn’t have to sing if she doesn’t want to.”

“But she never wants to sing,” Laila muttered petulantly, “don’t you think that’s odd?”

“What’s odd is you insisting she does,” Nikolai said, an unmistakable edge to his voice. “Let it go Laila.”

Laila flushed at the reprimand. She reluctantly fell silent again, but she was glaring at the drink in her hands, her expression murderous. Silence stretched awkwardly for a few seconds, until Tolya thankfully broke it by producing a deck of cards and starting a game.

You declined to play, and as the cards were dealt you turned your attention away. Through the gaps in the railings, you could see the miles of deep blue sea that stretched all the way to the horizon, and you felt a familiar pull, calling you home. You closed your eyes as you inhaled deeply, letting the salty air fill your lungs. Home. You would never be truly at home here, on this ship, and that thought filled you with sadness. You thought of Amalia, and you wondered if she missed you, the way that you missed her.

You were pulled from your reverie by Nikolai shifting beneath you. He leaned over you to throw his cards down on the table, declaring he was bowing out of the game and then he sat back, pulling you further into his lap.

“Everything alright, my love?” He asked quietly, his lips brushing your ear. You pushed away your melancholy, turning your head so you could look at him.

“Yes,” you murmured, and you meant it. You wanted to be here, with him, no matter how much you might miss home.

“Thinking about how absurdly handsome I am?” He waggled his eyebrows at you, and you laughed.

“No, but I was thinking about you,” you admitted, “about how I ended up here.”

“Ah, so you’re thinking about the time you saved my life then. No wonder you looked so serious.”

“Which time?” You mused, teasing him, “There are so many, I think I’ve lost count.”

Nikolai gasped, all faux outrage. “Once.” He insisted, “It was one time.”

“If you say so,” you smiled indulgently as he leaned in to kiss you, slow and deep, his hand cupping your jaw. The whistling and jeering immediately started up again. You pulled away, rolling your eyes at the crew’s antics.

Nikolai sighed. “For Saints sake,” he grumbled, but he sounded more fond than angry.

When you looked up, Laila was glaring at you. She fixed a smile on her face as you met her gaze, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’ve been thinking,” She said loudly, gaining everyone’s attention, “what exactly happened, the night you joined us? We’ve never heard your side of the story.”

Had she figured it out? You tried to keep your expression as neutral as possible, but you had stared at her for a beat too long, and now everyone was looking at you, waiting for your answer.

“There’s really not much to tell,” you said carefully.

“Don’t be so modest,” Laila said, her smile sharp, “you saved the Captain’s life after all, and I want to hear every detail.”

Your heart pounded. You should have pushed her overboard when you had the chance. As you tried to come up with a plausible story, the ship was suddenly engulfed in a thick fog.

After that, everything happened so quickly that you barely understood it. One moment you were sailing in open water, the night clear and still, and the next, you were dodging gunfire in near blindness, as men appeared from nowhere and swarmed the ship. The crew fought valiantly, but you were outnumbered and outmatched by a pair of the most powerful Grisha you had ever encountered. You had heard rumours about the drug jurda parem, and now it seemed you were seeing it’s effects first hand. All around you was chaos and you couldn’t keep track of anything. Before long, most of your crew were injured and eventually, all of them captured.

The fog dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, and then there was Nikolai - bleeding, gagged and bound - forced to his knees on the deck of his own ship.

A man grabbed you from behind, holding you against his body with an arm around your waist and a hand twisting painfully in your hair. Nikolai tried to call out as he caught sight of you and your captors laughed.

“Looks like we’ve found the captain’s whore,” one of the men chuckled.

The one holding you ran his hand up from your waist to roughly grab at your breast. You held perfectly still, you weren’t going to give these animals the satisfaction of a reaction, but Nikolai struggled against his bonds, and the man standing over him backhanded him hard across the face. He swayed on his knees, the force of the blow almost knocking him over, and blood trickled from the fresh wound at his temple. The men began talking amongst themselves, loudly detailing all the disgusting things they would enjoy doing to you later.

“Don’t worry,” Nikolai’s captor taunted him, “we’ll let you watch.”

Nikolai struggled again, cold rage clear in his eyes as the men laughed. For a brief moment, he managed to get to his feet, but that only gave his captor an excuse to hit him again, and again, until he slumped to the floor, and when you screamed in protest, the men laughed harder, enjoying your misery.

These men were going to die today, you decided, and you would not show them the mercy of a quick death.

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and started to sing. At first the men only looked at each other in confusion, but as your melody continued, they gradually fell under your spell, their eyes glazing over. You tried your best to focus only on them, but it wasn’t an exact science, so your crew also felt the effects. Conveniently, they were all bound and so had little chance of hurting themselves.

You concentrated on the Grisha first since they were the biggest threat, followed by the rest of the men. At your instruction, they turned as one, and forming an orderly line, walked to the side of the ship before binding their own hands and feet together. Then they clambered up onto the railing, and one by one, threw themselves into the water, like lemmings leaping off a cliff. You saved the man who had smacked Nikolai for last, and before he jumped, had him stab himself with his own blade several times, just for good measure.

Once the last man entered the water, you stood at the railing, feeling a perverse sense of satisfaction as you watched them trying, and failing, to fight against their bonds in an effort to return to you. You watched each one slowly begin to sink beneath the water, and only once you were sure there would be no chance that any of them might survive, did you stop singing and move away. When it was done, you set about releasing your crew from their bindings and tending to their wounds as best you could. They were groggy from the after-effects of your song, and it took some hours for everyone to fully come around. No one could really remember what had happened, and you pretended not to know either. You could only cross your fingers and hope that no one realized the truth of what you had done.

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Nikolai was quiet in the aftermath, and though he put up a good front for the rest of the crew, you could tell he was shaken by what had happened. Once everyone was attended to, he announced he was going to his office and he took your hand, pulling you along with him. You followed him to the captain’s quarters in silence.

He let you enter first and you heard the soft click of the lock as he closed the door behind him. You perched yourself on the edge of his desk as you waited for him, but when he turned, he leaned back against the door instead of coming closer. His face was set, his eyes hard, and you knew that he had finally figured out your secret. Honestly, you were surprised it had taken him this long, you had always known it was only a matter of time. You watched him carefully, but you said nothing, waiting for him to speak first.

“You’re a Siren,” he said finally.

You nodded your head in answer, even though he hadn’t phrased it as a question. He stared at you for a long moment, and you could almost hear the cogs turning in his mind, mulling over the many questions he must have. Eventually he seemed to settle on one.

“How many innocent men have you killed?” He asked.

“Innocent?” You huffed, “None.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, “But you have lured men to their deaths, haven’t you?”

“I have.” You conceded. He knew what you were now, there was no reason to lie.

“So? How many?” He pressed. “You must have some idea.” He crossed his arms over his chest, closing himself off to you.

“I didn’t exactly keep a tally,” you muttered.

“Tell me,” He demanded, “Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, suddenly unable to meet his gaze, “I can’t remember them all.”

“Those men had lives and families,” he said, outraged, “they were someone’s father, brother, son, and you don’t even remember them?!”

You felt your own temper beginning to rise and you struggled to keep your voice even. “They were Slavers. Murderers and Pirates. They were the worst kind of men.”

“You don’t know that!” He argued, “What right did you have to judge them?”

“I’m a Siren,” you reminded him, “It’s what I was born to do. I followed them first, watched them, saw what kind of men they were with my own eyes. I only ever took the bad ones.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “So now you expect me to believe Sirens follow some kind of moral code?”

“Not all Sirens, but I expect you to believe that I do.”

“How am I to believe anything you say” he scoffed, “You’ve been lying to me since the day we met.”

“I didn’t lie to you, not really. Everything I told you about myself was true. I just omitted one small detail.”

He laughed, but there was no humour in it. “I think we have a vastly different understanding of the word small,” he muttered, “and a lie by omission is still a lie.”

He wasn’t wrong, but … “You lied to me too, Sturmhond.”

He straightened, no longer leaning against the door, but still kept the distance between you. “That’s hardly the same!” He protested.

“Isn’t it?”

“Not at all,” he huffed, “besides, I told you the truth once I thought I could trust you. Although clearly, I was mistaken.”

“You can trust me,” you insisted. “In case you’ve forgotten, I saved your life - twice. You’re welcome, by the way!”

He didn’t look convinced. “That first night, when you rescued me, were you watching the ship? Just waiting for an opportunity to kill us all?”

“No! I mean, yes - I watched you for a while, but I was never going to lure you. I convinced my sister to let you go,” you rushed, desperately trying to explain, “I promised to stay away from you and in return Amalia agreed that they wouldn’t go after you, if you survived the storm on your own.”

“But we didn’t,” he said, brow furrowed in confusion. “The ship sank and I almost drowned.”

“I remember. I was there when the storm hit. I saw you save the boy who was trapped in the rigging, and when you went under, I came after you.”

“I don’t understand. If you promised to stay away from me then why were you there?” He asked, frown deepening.

“I just needed to be know you would be alright,” you admitted softly, “I wasn’t supposed to help you.”

“I don’t suppose many Sirens would go out of their way to save a man from drowning,” he said, mouth curving into a wry smile.

“No. It goes against their nature. But you decided to act the hero and almost got yourself killed in the process,” you muttered angrily, “so I had to choose, and I chose you, even though I knew my sisters would never forgive me.”

“So, you really did save my life? That was real?”

“Yes. Everything between us has been real for me, I swear it,” you said earnestly, “I gave up everything for you.”

He moved towards you then, coming to stand over you where you were still sitting on the edge of his desk, and you widened your thighs to allow him in between them. He was so close that you had to tilt your head back to look at him. You closed your hands in to fists, fighting the urge to reach for him.

“And tonight?” He asked, “Did you kill those men?”

You could have lied, or pretended not to remember what happened, but you didn’t want there to be anymore secrets between you. “I did,” you confessed, meeting his eyes. You weren’t ashamed of what you had done. “and I would do it again if I had to. They would have killed you.”

“You’re not sorry,” he said, and you wondered if he wanted you to be.You thought about it for a moment, but when you closed your eyes, you could still see him on his knees. No. You weren’t sorry at all.

“They got what they deserved,” you hissed, “and the world is a better place without them in it.”

He gave a short, sharp nod of his head in agreement, and you smiled. Whatever he thought of you, he understood this at least.

“Tell me why,” he said, lifting a hand to brush your hair back from your face. “Why did you save me?”

“Because I love you,” you answered honestly, leaning into his touch when his hand lingered. “I loved you then and I love you now, even if you don’t feel the same.”

He dropped his hand, taking a single step back and you had to stop yourself from swaying forward, chasing the physical connection.

“How do I know that my feelings for you are truly my own? That you’re not influencing me somehow?”

“In what way?”

“I don’t know,” he said, “by using your Siren powers to manipulate me? To seduce me? How do I know you’re not just making me think I’m in love with you.”

“Are you?” You asked hopefully, “In love with me?”

He looked away. “Maybe,” he hedged.

“Well, Siren power doesn’t work that way. My song inspires lust-addled obsession, blind desire, unwavering obedience - not love.”

He stared at you for what felt like an eternity, considering your answer. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth as he studied you, and suddenly all you could think about was how much you wanted to kiss him.

“Okay.” He said finally. He stepped closer, into your personal space again, but frustratingly kept his hands to himself.

“Okay?”

“Yes. I believe you,” he said, “but you still should have told me. I had the right to know that the woman I’m sleeping with, the woman I fell in love with is a-“

“A monster?” You finished for him. You knew what men thought of creatures like you.

He glared at you. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“That’s not what you were going to say?” You asked, feigning innocence.

“No.” He said firmly.

“Mmm,” you hummed skeptically. “So you’re not afraid of me?”

He blinked at you, as though the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Should I be?”

“Well, a little bit couldn’t hurt,” you teased.

He shook his head exasperatedly, but he was smiling now, that perfect crooked smile that never failed to make your heart skip a beat. He put his hands around your waist, finally, pulling you into him and you fisted your hands in his shirt to keep him there. He lowered his head at the same time that you tilted yours up, and your lips ghosted over each other, close enough to share a breath but not quite touching.

“I have one last question,” he said, and you bit back a sigh. For saints sake, what else could he possibly want to know?

“Have you ever used your power to seduce me?”

You squinted at him, trying to decide if he was saying you might need to use your power to seduce him. You felt a flush of annoyance at the suggestion. “No,” you said carefully, “should I?”

He shook his head, no. “I already want you,” he admitted.

“Good,” you smiled, “because I want you too. All the time.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up into a pleased little smirk. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, leaning into him, and this time he kissed you for real, his lips soft but insistent against your own, not pulling away until you were both breathless.

“I’m still angry with you,” he said, when he finally succumbed to the need for air, “for lying to me.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, and you meant it.

“I know,” he said and then he dipped his head to kiss you again.

He brought his hand up to cup your face, the other still gripping your waist as you opened your mouth to him. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tangling his tongue with your own and every time you pulled back, he only allowed you to draw a single, ragged breath before he claimed your lips again.

One of his hands ran up your side from your waist, until his thumb grazed the swell of your breast over the thin cotton of your shirt, and you shivered, leaning into his touch. You could feel his growing arousal against your thigh, and you were suddenly overwhelmed by the need to feel his bare skin against your own. You tugged his shirt free from his breeches, pulling it up and off over his head before he could protest.

He immediately slanted his mouth over yours again, as if he couldn’t bear to be parted from you for more than a few seconds, and you let your hands roam over his broad shoulders and chest, before you worked on removing your own shirt. Your fingers slipped over the small buttons, and you growled in frustration, breaking away from his kiss so that you could see what you were doing. He made a sound of irritation, ducking his head to nip lightly at the curve of your neck and you gasped, your shirt momentarily forgotten as you grabbed a fistful of his hair instead. He groaned low in his throat when you pulled him closer rather than pushing him away, and he nipped at you again, teeth grazing your pulse point, this time hard enough to leave a mark. You moaned as his tongue flicked out to sooth the sting and you felt his lips turn up into a self-satisfied smirk against your skin.

When you finally succeeded in unbuttoning your shirt, you reached around your back to unhook your bra and removed that along with it, and then you dropped your hands to the laces of his breeches before he could distract you again. He finally realized your goal then, and began to help, rather than hinder you, pushing his breeches and underwear down to his ankles so that he could kick them away. You stood so that you could do the same and once you were both naked, he lifted you back up, so you were sitting on the edge of his desk again.

You leaned back on your hands, and he dipped his head, capturing one pebbled nipple with his tongue. You arched your back, pushing your breast further into his mouth as his fingers skated along your inner thigh towards your centre. He gave a small grunt of satisfaction when he found you slick and ready for him and you threaded your fingers through his hair, tugging him upwards until he released your nipple with a soft pop.

He slipped two fingers inside you easily, and when you clenched around him, he let out a distinctly strangled sound. You met his gaze as you sat up, so you could hook your legs around his thighs, locking your ankles behind his ass to keep him there, and you enjoyed the way his eyes fluttered closed and his breath hitched as his cock settled between your thighs, so close to where you wanted him. You tilted your hips up, and he took the hint, guiding himself into place and filling you completely with one quick, hard thrust that had you crying out.

You clutched at him desperately, barely able to do anything but hold on as he set a punishing pace, driving his hips forward fast and hard, only to retreat, again, and again, until you were both panting. His hands gripped your hips so hard that you knew there would be finger shaped bruises there tomorrow. The desk creaked loudly, almost drowning out your mutual sounds of pleasure, the sturdy wooden frame rocking beneath you with the force of his thrusts.

His face was buried in your neck, and you tugged impatiently on his hair as you felt the first tendrils of your impending orgasm began to creep up your spine, until he lifted his head so that you could capture his mouth with yours. He slipped his hand between your bodies as he felt you tightening around him, his clever fingers finding your clit and tipping you over the edge into climax with just a few precise movements. You cried out his name, convulsing around him as you came, your hand tightening in his hair so hard that it must have been painful, and you felt his rhythm falter. He thrust harder, pushing as deep as he could possibly go, once, twice, three times, then he stilled and shuddered, spilling himself inside you.

You all but collapsed against each other, both boneless and breathing heavily in the aftermath of your orgasms. He was the first to recover, and he pressed a sloppy kiss to your temple as he straightened, retreating from your body. He moved over to the basin near the bed, dipping a clean cloth into the water and wringing it out before returning. His hands were gentle, in stark contrast to how rough he had been minutes before and you tried not to wince as he carefully cleaned away the sticky remnants of your shared release, but his observant eyes caught it anyway. He pressed a finger under your chin to gently tilt your head up.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked, face creased in concern.

“No,” you answered, much too quickly.

He raised his eyebrows at you, his expression disbelieving.

“I’m a little bit sore,” you reluctantly admitted.

His face dropped into a scowl, and you knew he was angry at himself for being so rough with you.

“I’m ok,” you assured him, brushing your fingers across his forehead to smooth away his frown.

He searched your face, looking for any sign that you might not be telling the truth and you met his gaze, your expression loving and completely open. He rested his forehead against yours, peering down at you through his lashes.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said after a moment, and you knew he wasn’t just talking about right now.

“Never again,” you promised.

“Okay.” He said softly.

He leaned in to kiss you, sweet and chaste, just a slow glide of his lips over yours before pulling back to slide one arm underneath you and the other around your back. You squealed as he scooped you up, bridal style, so that he could carry you over to the bed. He pulled back the covers with one hand and then lowered you down and crawled in beside you, immediately curling his body around you.

You tried to relax into his embrace, but you couldn’t, not when there was still so much you needed to talk about. You were afraid to bring it up, too scared to hear him say that this was the last time you could be together, so you waited until his breathing began to even out and he was almost asleep before you forced yourself to speak.

“What happens now?” You asked quietly.

“Huh?” He mumbled sleepily.

“With us,” you elaborated, “do you want me to leave?”

“What? No.” He said, suddenly sounding much more alert, “Of course not.”

He rolled on to his back and you turned to face him, propping yourself up on your elbow so that you could look at him.

“What will you tell the crew?”

“Nothing,” he said simply, and though you should have been relieved, you only felt more anxious.

“But Laila is already suspicious,” you pointed out, “and Tolya and Tamar are too sharp not to figure it out eventually.”

“Then we’ll tell them the truth.”

“They won’t want me on this ship when they find out what I am, Nikolai.”

“Last time I checked, I was the captain,” he smirked, “I decide who I do, and don’t allow on my own ship.”

“Don’t be stupid, it doesn’t suit you,” you grumbled, “You’ll end up with a mutiny on your hands.”

“Then we’ll leave,” he said easily, as if it was the most obvious solution.

“Leave?” You repeated, not sure you had understood.

He shrugged, seemingly completely unbothered by the idea. “I was always going to have to go home eventually.”

“You can’t just leave. You love this ship!” You protested.

“I do,” he said, turning on his side so that you were face to face, “but I love you more. It’s my turn to give something up. If it comes down to it, I’ll choose you, always.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest. Hadn’t you just been thinking that very same thought earlier? He leaned in to kiss you, slow and achingly sweet, and all of your protests died on your tongue. He nudged you gently to turn over, pulling you back against him and wrapping his arm around you, so that you could be the little spoon as you finally went to sleep.

[starkeven]

Glory & Gore.

Werewolf ! Rafe x Vampire ! reader.

warning : blood sucking, blood kink, HEAVY SMUT UNDER THE CUT, p in v, power play, teeth play ( LMFAO ? idk how to word it. ), family war. lmk if i forgot anything.

Both of your families were sworn enemies, bound by a hatred older than any living soul on the island. You had been here for ages, long before the world changed, back when your kind—vampires—ruled the island in its glory days. It was a time when the night belonged to you, vampires, when power flowed through your veins as effortlessly as the centuries passed. Until the Camerons came.

Werewolves—Camerons feral, proud, and relentless—challenged the natural order of things, turning the tides of power. Their arrival marked the beginning of a bitter war, one that stretched across centuries, leaving scars too deep for healing.

But that was long ago. The wars had quieted, the world had moved on, yet the weight of that ancient rivalry remained, shaping every glance, every interaction, reminding you that some things were never meant to be forgotten—even if the war itself had become a distant memory.

You were both born into this conflict, taught that their blood was your enemy, just as yours was theirs. The Camerons controlled the real estate market, their influence extending over the land itself—every house, every piece of property, every deal went through them. It was their stronghold, their mark of dominance, built stone by stone over the years.

Your family, on the other hand, had secured the island’s lifeblood: tourism. From the grand resorts to the quaint seaside cafes, the sprawling vineyards to the guided tours through ancient, haunted ruins, it was all in your hands. Your name was synonymous with the island's allure, drawing in visitors from all over, their money flowing into your coffers, feeding the empire that had once ruled uncontested.

It was a delicate balance, this division of power. Both sides kept the peace for the sake of the island’s prosperity, but everyone knew the truth—the truce was as fragile as a whisper. Beneath the polished veneer of business deals and territorial lines, the old hatred still burned, ready to resurface with the smallest spark.

Tonight was different. The air was thick with anticipation, charged with an energy that unsettled you more than the usual Midsummer gathering ever had. It was an annual event— a fragile tradition that dated back to the uneasy truce between your families. Every summer, the two clans came together to celebrate the so-called "peacetime," though everyone knew it was more for show than true reconciliation. Smiles were forced, glasses raised in toasts that carried the weight of centuries of grudges.

But this year, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to happen, something that would change everything. You knew he would be here. Rafe Cameron, the heir to the werewolf clan, and the one person who made your blood boil more than anyone else. He had a way of making his presence known, always in control, ruthless, handling everything that belonged to him with an almost brutal precision.

Rafe had a reputation. The kind that sent whispers through the crowd when he entered a room, the kind that told you it was safer to stay out of his way. He dealt with problems the Cameron way—swiftly and without mercy. Anything, or anyone, that threatened his family's power was eliminated, no questions asked.

You had chosen the crimson red dress for a reason. It was bold, deliberate—an unspoken declaration that tonight was different. A statement had to be made, though you weren't entirely sure what that statement was yet. The fabric clung to your figure like a second skin, the deep color standing out against the moonlit evening, drawing attention the moment you stepped into Tannyhill.

The sprawling Cameron estate was as grand as ever, every inch of it a reminder of their dominance over the land. As you crossed the threshold, the first thing that hit you wasn’t the lavish decor or the murmurs of the mingling guests—it was the smell. It slammed into you with an unexpected force, making your head spin and your breath hitch.

Someone was in heat.

It was unmistakable, the sharp, primal scent that clung to the air, seeping into your senses and settling deep into your bones. You weren’t sure who it was, but the effect was immediate. A dizzying warmth spread through you, unsettling and invasive. Every inch of your body seemed to react, a visceral response to the scent, sending a tremor down your spine.

This wasn’t just any night. Whatever had brought you here, whatever tension simmered beneath the surface of this fragile truce, was about to come to a head. And you had a feeling it had everything to do with him—Rafe Cameron. The predator in him was unmistakable, and somewhere in the depths of this house, you knew he was waiting. Waiting for you.

You knew, without a doubt, that it was all for you. The scent hanging heavy in the air, this shameless display of power and lust—it was a message meant solely for you. Your body remembered him before your mind even had the chance to catch up, and the memory of that night came rushing back with a heat that sent a shiver down your spine.

It had been a few moons ago, but it felt as vivid as if it were happening now.

The night Rafe Cameron had taken you, relentlessly, without holding back. His body pressed hard against yours, his skin burning with raw, primal heat as he pounded into you over and over, driving you past the point of control. Your fangs had sunk deep into his flesh, tasting the iron tang of his blood, marking him just as he marked you.

He hadn't just claimed your body that night-he'd claimed every part of you, leaving you so tangled in his scent and his touch that it was days before you could return to your own house. You could still feel the way his scent had clung to your skin, overwhelming every other sense, reminding you with every breath that you had been his, even if just for that fleeting moment.

It was intoxicating, dangerous-exactly the kind of thing that shouldn't have happened between two sworn enemies.

But it had. And now, standing here in the midst of the gathering, with his scent in the air and the tension coiling around you like a noose, you knew this night was no different. He was here, and he wanted you to remember everything.

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog of memories that clung to your mind, and reached for the nearest crimson glass, almost as if it were calling out to you. The liquid was dark, rich, and you downed it quickly—one glass, then another, letting the warmth spread through your chest. By the third, the hum of the alcohol started to dull the tension twisting in your gut, but it didn’t erase the knowing feeling coursing through you.

Then, the sound of applause rippled through the room.

Straightening up, you wove through the crowd, your heels clicking softly on the polished floors, and that familiar sense of unease settled in once more. It was like you were on autopilot, following the sound, knowing what you would find.

And there he was.

Your father stood tall in the center of the room, his face the picture of nonchalance as he shook hands with Ward Cameron, the two heads of the families locked in the familiar dance of politics. But your focus wasn’t on them. No, your heart quickened because standing right next to Ward was Rafe. You could feel him before you even saw him.

He hadn’t looked at you yet, but you knew—he knew you were there. His eyes were scanning the crowd, but his focus was distant, almost strained. You could sense it, the tension in his posture, the way he held himself too still, trying to appear calm and composed, but failing. He was lost already, the scent of you in the room, the pull between you undeniable, even though he hadn’t even laid eyes on you yet.

You slipped through the crowd, watching him from the shadows, a smirk playing at your lips. You hadn’t come near him, hadn’t spoken a word, but you could already feel his need—the way he was unraveling. Even without looking at him, you had him. He was losing himself, and it was because of you.

But deep down, you knew the truth—you weren’t in a position of strength. For all your attempts at control, his scent was overwhelming, sending wave after wave of raw, intoxicating lust surging through your veins. Your breath grew uneven, your heartbeat erratic, no matter how hard you tried to focus. It was futile, especially when you felt it—the weight of his gaze burning into your back. The intensity of it was enough to send a shiver down your spine, like a spark igniting something inside you that you couldn’t hope to extinguish.

It almost felt like a shock, jolting you from whatever fragile hold you had on yourself. That’s when all your carefully constructed demeanor crumbled. The confidence, the smirk, the game you thought you could play—it all vanished the moment you turned around and locked eyes with him.

Slowly, deliberately, you faced him, your crimson eyes glowing in the low light as they met his. And there he was—Rafe. His expression was dark, predatory, but it was the way he licked his lips that made your pulse stutter. The hunger in his eyes mirrored everything you were feeling, and that’s when it hit you—you weren’t any stronger than him. You weren’t any more in control. You were just as lost, just as consumed by the pull between you as he was.

In that moment, it was undeniable. Whatever this was between you, it had already devoured you both whole, and there was no turning back.

And lost, oh, how lost you were. Every rational thought had disappeared the moment he touched you. Now, your body was pressed against the rough bark of a tree, your cheek flushed and your breath ragged as he pounded into you from behind. His fist was tangled tightly in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp, while his other hand muffled your cries, stifling the sounds that would've torn through the quiet night. But it was impossible to silence the desperate whimpers that escaped you, the way your body trembled with every relentless thrust.

Rafe was merciless, moving against you with an intensity that sent shivers through your entire being. His chest was hot against your back, his breath heavy in your ear. Then, you felt it-his tongue, teasing along the edge of your ear, sending jolts of pleasure through your already overwhelmed senses.

His voice was dark, taunting, the words dripping with cruel satisfaction. “ What would your poor daddy say if he saw you like this? ” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “ Getting fucked by a werewolf... reeking of him for days? ”

The shame of it should've burned you, but instead, it only fueled the fire raging inside you. You couldn't answer, couldn't think-only feel. The war between your families was nothing compared to the war inside you now-one you had already lost the moment he laid his hands on you.

The moment his hand released your mouth, a loud moan ripped free, filling the night air. You could hear him laugh behind you, low and wicked, as his pace quickened. His hands gripped your ass roughly, fingers digging into your skin, leaving marks you knew would last. His breath was ragged, matching the relentless rhythm of his movements, and you could feel your own body betraying you-your fangs revealing themselves as the primal pull between you grew unbearable.

His nails scraped against your skin, each drag sending a mix of pain and pleasure coursing through you. His voice, thick with lust, whispered in your ear-praises laced with degrading words that made your head spin, your mind teetering on the edge of submission and chaos. Every filthy thing he said, every breathless taunt, only pushed you further into the abyss.

You bit down hard on your lip, tasting blood, trying to ground yourself as the sensation threatened to overwhelm you.

Everything was too much. The rough scrape of the tree bark against your flushed skin, the aching pressure of his body pressing into yours, and the intense pleasure that surged through you as his fingers found your clit, playing you like he knew exactly how to unravel you. Pain and ecstasy merged, making it impossible to separate one from the other. Your body was lost to him, lost to the sensation, drowning in the dark, twisted pleasure that consumed you both.

You couldn't help it-your body reacted on its own, tightening around him as the pressure inside you built to an unbearable peak. That's when you heard his voice, cold and commanding.

“Don't fucking do that, ” he growled, his tone laced with warning, before his hand came down on your ass with a sharp slap that made you cry out, the sting of it burning through your skin.

The raw power behind his strike left you breathless, and you could only nod, trying desperately to hold on. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop the way your body clenched around him, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

It was building, the pleasure twisting tighter inside you with every relentless thrust, and finally, you felt it-the moment of no return. “ ´m coming... ” you babbled, barely able to form the words through the haze of lust and need.

“ Oh yeah? ” he asked, a cruel laugh slipping past his lips. He knew. He could feel it too, the way you were trembling, so close to shattering. You nodded frantically, seconds away from the release your body was begging for, every nerve alight with anticipation.

But just when you thought you'd finally fall over the edge, he stopped. Pulled back completely, leaving you empty, desperate, the sudden loss almost as painful as the pleasure had been. The shock of it hit you like a wave, your body screaming in protest as you hovered on the brink, denied the one thing you needed most.

“ Rafe-what are you doing? ” you protested, your voice shaky, your body still pressed helplessly against the tree, aching with unfulfilled need. You could barely stand, your legs trembling, but even then, you didn't move away. Some part of you was still hoping, still wanting.

He shrugged casually, as if what had just happened was nothing, his hand smoothing down his suit as he pulled his cock back into his trousers. That damned smirk played on his lips—the one that made your blood boil with anger and desire all at once. God, how you hated that smirk.

“ You gotta work better than that, ” he said simply, his voice calm, almost amused. The arrogance in his words left you breathless, your heart racing in frustration and disbelief. He knew exactly what he was doing to you, how close you had been, and now, he was walking away like it didn't even matter.

And then, with one last look at you, bent over against the tree with your dress still hitched up, he turned and started to run through the trees, disappearing into the shadows as he made his way back to the party. The sounds of the celebration drifted through the night, distant and surreal, as if mocking the raw, burning desire still coursing through you.

He'd left you there, unfinished, throbbing with need, and all you could do was catch your breath, knowing deep down that this was only the beginning. The night was far from over, and whatever game Rate had started, you were already too deep to pull yourself out.

let me know if you want part 2!

[elysiaheaven]

𝐁𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠?-𝟔 (The Fox's Wedding)

Words:2749

Bailu, despite her small size, moved quickly as she guided you to a safer spot by the riverbank. Her movements were swift, almost like a blur, as she darted back and forth. Before you could even think, she had already wrapped a soft blanket around your trembling body, offering some warmth against the cold that clung to your wet skin.

"You're soaked," she said, her tone brisk as she rummaged through a small pouch tied around her waist. She pulled out a few vials of medicinal herbs, her tiny hands working with the precision of an experienced healer. Despite her youth, there was an undeniable wisdom in the way she moved, and you couldn't help but be struck by how competent she was for her size.

You tried to adjust the blanket, realizing with a flush of embarrassment that your kimono had become almost transparent from the water, clinging to your skin and revealing more than you intended. With a swift motion, you tugged the fabric tighter around yourself, trying to hide the parts of you that felt too exposed. Bailu noticed but said nothing, her focus on preparing the medicinal herbs.

She handed you a small vial, her eyes glancing over your soaked form with mild curiosity. "Drink this," she said, her voice soft but authoritative. "It'll help warm you up and keep you from getting sick."

You took the vial, feeling its warmth seep into your fingers. You swallowed the mixture, feeling the heat spread through your chest and ease some of the tension in your shivering body. Bailu sat beside you, her small frame somehow exuding a strange sense of comfort and assurance.

After a moment of silence, she looked up at you with those big, curious eyes again. "Why couldn't you walk?" she asked bluntly, her tone more inquisitive than accusing. "I saw you limping like someone who hadn't used their legs in a long time."

You hesitated, your mind racing for an answer. You couldn't tell her the full truth—it was too complicated, too dangerous. But something about her gaze made you feel like you could give a part of it away, just enough to satisfy her curiosity.

"I..." You took a deep breath, carefully choosing your words. "I was imprisoned by my father for a long time. He... he never let me walk." The truth of those words, though partial, still stung as they left your lips. It wasn't the whole story, but it wasn't a lie either.

Bailu's eyes softened slightly, and she sat back, nodding as if she understood more than you'd expected. "That's rough," she muttered, her voice quieter now. "But if you couldn't walk for so long, how are you walking now? Seems strange."

You avoided her gaze, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. "I've been... getting help." You weren't ready to share the details of your twisted bond with Jiaoqiu, not with her.

Bailu, sensing that you weren't going to offer more, nodded slowly. She handed you another vial, this one filled with something stronger, meant for easing pain. "Here. For the pain in your legs. If you keep pushing yourself, you might hurt them more."

You took the vial from her, giving a faint, grateful smile. "Thank you."

Bailu shrugged, standing up and stretching her tiny wings slightly. "Just don't drown next time. I'm not always gonna be around to fish you out," she said with a small grin, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yeah... I'll try not to," you replied softly, watching her as she darted off to gather more herbs, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The weight of what you'd seen in the mirror, and the truth of your cursed existence, still lingered heavily in your mind.

You sat there, trying to pull the blanket tighter around yourself, a man approached and took a seat next to you, his eyes scanning you in a way that made your skin crawl. He didn't speak, but the way he looked at you—like you were something to be examined—made your discomfort grow tenfold. Your heart pounded in your chest, and despite the blanket, you felt terribly exposed.

Before you could react, Jiaoqiu rushed toward you, having heard what happened from Bailu. His usual calm demeanor had a hint of panic in his eyes, especially when he saw you trembling. "I told you not to come out," he scolded softly, his voice filled with concern rather than anger. He crouched beside you, hands hovering over your shoulders as if unsure whether to comfort you or chastise you more.

But you weren't paying attention to him. Your focus was entirely on the man beside you, who was still watching you intently. You gripped the blanket tighter, trying desperately to cover yourself. Jiaoqiu noticed your distress and quickly glanced over, his eyes darkening the moment he caught sight of the man.

Without a word, Jiaoqiu stood up straight and pulled you close, pressing your head gently against his chest, shielding you from the stranger's gaze. His arms were firm but gentle, wrapping around you protectively. You could hear his heart beating steadily against your ear as he turned his attention toward the man.

"Do you mind?" Jiaoqiu said, his voice calm yet carrying an unmistakable edge. "It's not exactly polite to stare at someone's wife like that."

The man sneered, looking you over one last time before scoffing. "Wife, huh? She looks pathetic to me."

Jiaoqiu's lips curled into a smile, but there was something unsettling about it—a smile that didn't reach his eyes. It was the kind of smile that held a silent threat. "Pathetic, you say?" he mused, his voice light, almost playful. "Well, you know, staring at another man's wife isn't exactly the best idea. I hear people get... unlucky when they don't know how to mind their own business."

The man's bravado faltered, sensing something dangerous beneath Jiaoqiu's calm exterior. His sneer faded, replaced by a nervous glance at the pair of you. Without another word, he stood up abruptly, backing away. You could hear the rustling of his clothes as he hurried off, his footsteps growing faint as he disappeared from sight.

Jiaoqiu let out a small sigh, still holding you close. "Some people never learn," he murmured, his voice softer now. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you, his arms still around your shoulders. "Are you okay?"

You didn't answer immediately, still shaken by the encounter, but you nodded faintly. The warmth of his chest had helped steady you, and the way he shielded you from that man's gaze made something inside you feel strangely secure, despite the odd tension between the two of you.

Jiaoqiu gently guided you to stand, keeping an arm around you as he began leading you back. "Next time," he said quietly, "stay where it's safe. You don't need to deal with people like him."

You glanced up at him, catching the way his jaw was clenched. He wasn't angry at you; you could tell he was just worried, though he tried to hide it behind his usual composed mask. 

 Jiaoqiu guided you back toward his home, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered from the earlier encounter. When you finally managed to speak, your voice was strained but sincere. "Jiaoqiu, you're actually a good person," you said quietly, trying to bridge the gap between your tumultuous emotions and the reality of his kindness.

Jiaoqiu's expression shifted, a flicker of something—perhaps doubt or anger—flashing in his eyes. "Good person, huh?" he mocked softly. "You always betray the good people in your life. That's what you do."

His words struck a nerve, and before you could fully process your own emotions, your anger flared uncontrollably. You grabbed him roughly and slammed him against a nearby wall, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly. Your eyes blazed with a furious, red light as you stared into his eyes.

"How dare you judge me!" you shouted, your voice echoing with a mix of rage and desperation. "You don't know anything about me! You don't know what I've been through!"

Jiaoqiu's eyes widened in shock, his composure shattered by your outburst. He tried to push back, but your grip was unyielding. "Let go of me," he said, his voice strained.

Instead, you held him even tighter, your emotions spiraling out of control. "You don't understand the pain I've endured! You don't know what it's like to be betrayed and used!" With a final, decisive shove, you pushed him forcefully into the nearby river.

The cold water splashed up violently as Jiaoqiu fell in, and you immediately screamed, panic surging through you. Without a second thought, you rushed to the edge of the river, plunging in after him. The current was strong, but you managed to grab him, dragging his drenched body out of the water and back onto the riverbank.

You pulled him with all your strength, stumbling as you dragged him toward his house. The water dripped from your clothing, mingling with the tears on your face. Your breaths came in ragged gasps as you fought against the weight of his sodden clothes and the adrenaline coursing through you.

Once you reached his house, you pushed open the door and stumbled inside, still dragging him. Your heart pounded in your chest, and your mind raced with worry and regret. You had been harsh, but now you were only focused on getting him to safety.

You laid him down on the floor inside, your hands shaking as you tried to assess his condition. "Jiaoqiu, are you okay? I'm sorry... I just—"

Before you could finish, Jiaoqiu's eyes fluttered open, his expression a mix of confusion and anger. He struggled to sit up, water dripping from his hair and clothes. "Why did you—" he started, but his voice was weak.

"I had to," you said, tears streaming down your face. "I was angry, and I didn't mean to hurt you. I just... I just needed you to understand."

Jiaoqiu though he still looked weary. "You don't have to prove anything to me," he said quietly, his voice hoarse. "But pushing me into the river won't change the past or make things better."

You knelt beside him, your own emotions a jumbled mess. "I just wanted you to see.."

He looked at you with a mixture of exhaustion and something that almost resembled sympathy. "Maybe I don't understand you completely," he admitted. "But pushing me into the river won't solve anything."

As the realization of what you'd done settled over you, you felt a deep sense of remorse. You reached out, taking his hand gently. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for things to get so out of control."

Jiaoqiu remained silent for a moment, his eyes studying you. Finally, he nodded slightly, though his expression remained guarded. "Let's just... get you dried off and warm."

He was greeted by another surprise. The entire house was filled with broken mirrors.

You worked to dry yourself and Jiaoqiu, a dark resolve began to crystallize in your mind. Despite the raw honesty of the moment, you knew that sharing the full truth of your past wouldn't change the situation or his perception of you. 

You resolved to maintain your facade, to act as the manipulative spirit that everyone feared and distrusted. It was a role you had played so many times before, and it was easier to continue than to expose the vulnerable parts of yourself. The mask of cold calculation and deception felt safer, even if it was a far cry from the truth.

Yet, amid this resolve, a promise formed in your mind. If you had to play the part of the manipulative goddess, you would do so with a purpose. You promised yourself that you would help Jiaoqiu heal more people, using whatever means necessary to assist him in his work. It was a way to fulfill the role you had been cast in, while also ensuring that your presence had some form of value.

You maintained the pretense of your previous demeanor, even as you tended to Jiaoqiu's needs. Your movements were calculated, your expressions carefully controlled to reflect the detached yet alluring persona you had mastered over the years.

You helped Jiaoqiu clean up the broken mirrors, your mind was a storm of conflicted thoughts. Even if you were to reveal the entirety of your past, it seemed increasingly clear that it wouldn't change anything. The distrust and fear might remain, and it would only add to the chaos of your already tumultuous situation.

So, you resolved to maintain the facade of the manipulative spirit you were known to be, at least outwardly. It was a mask that served you well, and it was the only way you could ensure that Jiaoqiu would keep his word to help you become human. With each shard of glass you swept up, you silently promised yourself to support him in his healing work while remaining in his life as his wife.

Jiaoqiu worked alongside you in silence, the only sounds being the soft clinking of glass and the rustle of cleaning supplies. Despite the tension, you could see his weariness and the strain of the night's events etched into his features. As you worked, you took careful note of his actions and demeanor, determined to blend into your role as a dutiful, if not somewhat enigmatic, spouse.

When the last piece of glass was swept away, you stood back and examined the now-cleaned room. The broken mirrors were no longer a visible reminder of your outburst, but the emotional damage was less easily repaired. Jiaoqiu looked at you, a mix of relief and lingering wariness in his eyes.

"You don't have to help me clean," Jiaoqiu said quietly. "I could have done this myself."

You smiled faintly, your eyes flickering with a mix of genuine care and the practiced deceit you'd decided to embrace. "I wanted to. It's part of my promise to you. I said I'd help you, and I meant it."

He nodded, though his expression remained guarded. "Thank you. It's... not easy to trust someone who's betrayed so many, but I appreciate the effort. Here is the package."

"It's for me..?"

Jiaoqiu handed you the package containing the kimono, his expression remained stoic and distant. "This is the kimono we ordered yesterday," he said, his tone cold. "I thought you might like to dress in something traditional."

You took the package from him, your fingers brushing against the soft fabric inside. His words seemed almost dismissive, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness at his lack of warmth. "It's pathetic," you said, attempting to mask the wave of emotion that threatened to overtake you.

Jiaoqiu's gaze grew colder, his eyes hardening as he turned away. "It's the best I could do," he replied curtly, walking away without another word.

Once he was out of sight, you carefully unwrapped the kimono and held it close to your chest. The fabric was soft, and the intricate patterns spoke of a level of care and craftsmanship that you hadn't expected. As you held it against your heart, tears welled up in your eyes, and you began to cry quietly.

"This... this is the first kindness I've received," you whispered through your tears. The kimono, a simple gift, felt like a profound gesture of goodwill. It was a reminder that despite the darkness of your past and the role you played, there was still a chance for something genuine and kind in your life.

The tears streamed down your face as you clutched the kimono tighter. The emotion overwhelmed you, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to feel vulnerable. The weight of Jiaoqiu's gesture, however small it seemed, was a stark contrast to the manipulative and cold façade you had been maintaining.

With the kimono in hand, you took a deep breath and composed yourself. The tears had subsided, but the impact of Jiaoqiu's kindness lingered. As you prepared to put on the kimono, you vowed to yourself that you would cherish this gesture, no matter how insignificant it might seem to others.

You dressed in the kimono, you admired the way it draped around you, its colors and design a beautiful blend of tradition and elegance. The fabric felt like a comforting embrace, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope.

[sethsclearwater]

request: “Poly paul and Seth with pregnant reader who suddenly gets the urge to so small home Reno's because she's so restless 😅Protective boys coming out pls”

warnings: none

word count: 1.69k

…

“absolutely not-” paul started, quickly coming to pick you up off the counter you were currently kneeling on as you attempted to reorganize the glasses inside, “you’re gonna hurt yourself doing that.” he added, setting you down and running his hands over your very pregnant belly.

“i’m pregnant, not dying paul.” you rolled your eyes as seth came over, pressing a quick kiss to the crown of your head, “tell him seth-” you encouraged your other boyfriend who just shrugged and you huffed, crossing your arms over your belly.

seth squeezed behind you to get a better look at the cabinet you were currently reorganizing, “why don’t you sit down and i can organize it, yea?” he suggested and you sighed, nodding as paul guided you over to one of the chairs at the kitchen table, helping you sit down. 

you shot paul a look who just laughed at you, sitting down in the seat next to you, “you still need to clean behind the oven. i want that done before he gets here.” you added, side-eyeing him as he groaned, clearly not even remotely interested in cleaning. 

“if you don’t do it i will. we’ve got a lot of stuff to do. i also want to paint the cabinets, that paint is chipping and it’s gonna bother me if it’s not done before he gets here.” you explained and paul sighed, nodding as he got up and ran his fingers through his hair. 

“i got it, i got it.” he muttered as he headed into the laundry room to grab the cleaning supplies to clean behind the oven. you sighed happily, resting your hands over the baby bump as he gave a kick against your palm. 

seth quickly finished organizing the glasses, the two of you typically seeing a bit more eye-to-eye than you and the oldest member of your trio when it came to decorating, “better?” seth asked softly, coming over to crouch in front of you and press his hands to your baby bump, smiling when he felt the small flutter under his palm as your baby moved. 

you hummed, nodding, “way better. can you paint the cabinets?” you asked before adding, “i don’t trust paul to do that.” paul scoffed as he came back in the room, rolling his eyes as he pulled the oven out so he could clean behind it. 

“where do you even come up with this? you’ve never once brought up cleaning behind the oven,” paul groaned as he got behind the oven to clean. 

seth chuckled, getting up to grab some of the new paint you had picked out from home depot a few weeks prior, “she’s nesting paul.” seth called in response, coming back a few moments later with the paint and a brush. “you still want the green color?” he asked you softly and you nodded, watching carefully as he opened the lid of paint, making sure he didn’t get any on the marble countertops of your kitchen island. 

“can’t sue just induce you?” paul asked and you and seth both rolled your eyes at the idea. you had just hit the 40-week mark a few days prior and paul could not have been more ready for you to give birth already.

“he’ll come when he’s ready, paul.” you glared at him and he just groaned, getting back down to continue cleaning behind the oven, “besides i like him better in me. much safer.” you added and seth nodded, coming over to press a kiss to your head before heading over to the cabinets to start painting. 

paul got back up a few moments later, coughing from all the dust behind the oven which had you and seth laughing, “i told you it was filthy back there.” you noted, satisfied with your decision to make paul clean behind the oven.

he rolled his eyes again, “keep rolling your eyes lahote!” you called teasingly, laughing as he walked outside to throw out all the junk he had gathered from behind the oven. 

seth peeked over his shoulder at you, both of you bursting into laughter at how stupid the whole situation was. paul returned a few moments later, having washed his hands, and sat down in the chair next to you, gently resting his hand on your baby bump, “why isn’t he kicking?” he asked you, his tone laced with a hint of worry and you shrugged.

“he’s probably just tired. he was moving a minute ago.” you explained softly, “his feet are over here.” you added, gently moving paul’s hand so he could feel where your baby’s feet were in case he kicked. 

paul nodded, pressing a soft kiss to your belly before turning his attention back to you, “what else is on your list?” he asked and you sighed, grabbing the list you had made the night before.

you hummed as you scanned the list, trying to figure out what needed to be done most urgently, “did you finish putting the other crib together yet?” you asked softly, peeking up at him and he shook his head, getting back up and stretching his arms over his head. 

“can you bring it in here to put together? i want to make sure it’s right.” you asked and he nodded, heading into the bedroom to grab the crib. you had convinced both boys that you needed two cribs, one for your room and one for the nursery, figuring you’d want the baby in your room for the first month or so. 

while seth worked at painting the cabinets, paul came back in and started working on getting the crib together as you crossed off all the items on your list. “we should also repaint the bedroom.” you added, paul making a choking sound at the idea as seth just laughed.

“pretty girl,” seth cooed, setting down the paintbrush and coming over to crouch in front of you, “you aren’t gonna be able to sleep in the bedroom if we repaint it. i don’t think it’d good for you or the baby to be in there for a few days.” seth explained, gently brushing a piece of hair behind your ears as you huffed and nodded, not happy that you had to cross that one off your list.

“did we get the fitted sheet on the crib in the nursery yet?” you asked and he nodded, smiling at you before pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

“the blue one? or did you want to change it to the one with the plants on it?” he asked, knowing you had made a scene over the sheets not even 24 hours ago when you suddenly decided you hated the color blue.

“the one with the plants on it. the blue one is hideous.” you said, frowning as seth just chuckled and nodded.

paul groaned as he got up from the floor, having finished putting together the new crib in record time, “i put the plant one on it last night.” he said as he came over to you and sat down on the chair next to you, gently resting his hand on your belly. 

he let out a sigh of relief that you didn’t know he’d been holding in when he felt the familiar flutter of your baby’s kick against his palm, “you’re so good with that.” you beamed up at paul, pressing a quick kiss to his lips as both boys chuckled.

“did you have those dates today yet? my mom said to eat those every day.” seth asked and you shook your head, nose scrunching at the thought of eating dates again. 

both boys just rolled their eyes as seth grabbed them out of the fridge and put a few in a bowl for you to eat before handing them to you, “you don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to but i think you should. she said it’d help with your labor.” he added and paul shot you a look, pushing the bowl a little closer to you. 

paul was a bit overbearing when it came to the thought of you in labor. he was not even remotely interested in seeing you go through that and had been doing everything he could think of to make sure it went as seamlessly and easily as possible for you, “i’d eat those if i were you.” he said as he eyed you up and you rolled your eyes at him, taking one of the dates and biting into it to make him happy.

“do you know where the ice pack went? i want it for my back, it’s hurting.” you asked softly and paul nodded, getting up to grab the ice pack for you.

“why don’t we go lay down in the living room so you can take some pressure off your back, yea?” seth suggested, taking your hands and helping you up, resting his hand on your lower back as he guided you into the living room.

while seth got you a blanket and helped you lay down, paul grabbed the bowl of dates and the ice pack, heading into the living room to help you out a few moments later. he took your legs, putting them in his lap while he put the icepack on your back as seth threaded his fingers through your hair. 

“eat.” paul encouraged, handing you the bowl of dates which you rolled your eyes at but took nonetheless. seth got the tv on, quickly getting hgtv on for you before running his free hand up your side to gently massage at your shoulders.

you quickly finished the dates, handing the bowl back to paul who was stroking your legs. he pressed a kiss to your hand before setting the bowl to the side, happy with you for eating them. you sighed, squirming a bit to get more comfortable before settling down and closing your eyes, allowing seth and paul’s stroking to lull you to sleep.

[kittyadore]

finding light in the shadows

—𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘦!1610 𝘔𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴' 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘵 —𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 —𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵; 0,8𝘬 —𝘢/𝘯; hi lovelies, this ones quite short, but i promise more stuff coming soon. i missed you all so much and thank you for all the love and support !!

The wind howled outside, and rain pounded against the windows with relentless fury. Thunder rumbled in the distance, shaking the very foundation of your courage. You sat huddled in your darkened apartment, your heart racing, your palms sweaty. Fear gripped you tightly, as it always did when the sun set and the shadows grew long.

As the storm intensified, a sudden crack of lightning illuminated the night sky, followed by a deafening crash of thunder.In a singular moment, the electricity ceased its flow, plunging your surroundings into an abyss of total darkness.  Tremors of panic coursed through you as you grappled with the unsettling realization that you could not endure another solitary minute in the darkness. With your parents absent, away from the city, the weight of self-reliance was pressed upon your shoulders.

Gathering the pieces of bravery you had left, you ventured into the empty corridor, your faltering steps a testament to your determination to escape the suffocating grip of the blackness. Each footfall echoed through the stillness as you sought solace and respite from the overwhelming void that threatened to consume you. Your heart pounded as you stumbled blindly, feeling your way along the cold, familiar walls. You hesitated, trembling, outside your neighbor's door, the faint glow of a candle flickering through the gap beneath it.

Taking a deep breath, you mustered the courage to knock gently. The door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit apartment and a concerned face peering at you through the crack. The sight of Miles, your neighbor, made you feel safer as his presence always brought a sense of calm.

"Miles," You stuttered, your voice quivering, "I... I'm terrified of the dark, and the relentless storm has robbed us of electricity. Can I stay with you until it comes back on?"

Miles' sight studied you for a moment, understanding dawning in his eyes. Without a word, he swung the door open wide, inviting you inside. You stepped hesitantly into his apartment, your heart still racing, but the reassurance of the soft candlelight began to ease your fear.

As you entered, Miles guided you to his cozy living room, where the gentle flicker of candlelight illuminated the space. The familiar scent filled the air, a comforting aroma that wrapped around you like a warm embrace.

"My parents aren't home now, so we are kinda on our own."he began, extending a welcoming gesture toward the couch "They should be back soon though." Surrendering to the plushness of the cushions, you felt a comforting wave of security envelop you. The storm continued to rage outside, but within the safety of Miles' apartment, you began to feel a glimmer of peace.

"I'm sorry for intruding," You murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Miles shook his head, a reassuring smile gracing his lips. "Nonsense. You're always welcome here. We all have our fears, and it's okay to seek comfort when we need it."

The boy moved toward a small bookshelf and returned with a thick blanket, draping it over your shivering shoulders. The warmth of the blanket, combined with his kind words, helped to calm your racing heart.

As you sat in the soft glow of the candles, Miles shared stories of his own fears and how he had overcome them. He spoke of the power of resilience and the strength that lay dormant within you, waiting to be awakened. His words became a beacon of hope in the darkness that threatened to consume you.

Hours passed, the storm gradually subsiding outside. The distant rumble of thunder was replaced by a gentle patter of rain, as if nature itself had heeded Miles' reassuring tales. The power remained out, but within the safety of his apartment, you found solace in the boy's company.

With renewed courage, you stood up, the blanket slipping from your shoulders. "Thank you, Miles," You said, your voice steady. "Your kindness and wisdom helped a lot. I think it's time for me to come back to my own apartment."

Miles nodded, his eyes filled with pride. "Remember, you are never alone. Whenever you need someone, or the darkness threatens to overwhelm you, I'll be here, ready to lend a helping hand."

Embracing the newfound strength within you, you stepped toward the door. As you turned the knob and faced the dark corridor once more, you knew that even in the absence of light, you carried a flickering flame of resilience within your heart.

As you ventured back into the shadows, you couldn't help but feel grateful for Miles and the courage he had inspired in you. Together, you had conquered the darkness, and from that day forward, you would never again let fear hold you captive.

The storm had passed, and the power would soon return, but the true source of light in your life had been illuminated that night — the unwavering kindness and support of a neighbor who had become a true friend.

And so, armed with newfound strength and resilience, you walked back into the embrace of your own place, ready to face the challenges that lay ahead, knowing that you was never truly alone in the darkness.

[tribbetherium]

Insects, just as on Earth, have become tremendously successful on HP-02017: overshadowed by the hamsters and their spectacular descendants, but nonetheless unimaginably numerous, diverse, and vital to the balance of the countless ecosystems and biomes that have flourished across the planet for millions of years, from cold polar tundras to temperate forests to scorching deserts and, in the Middle Temperocene, a time of flooded coasts and expanding oceans thriving with life in its sunlit shallows, even the seas itself.

Many dipteran flies and a few hymenopterans too have taken up partial residence in coastal areas, convergent with Earthly brine flies, whose larvae live in shallow, salty tide pools and whose adults gather in massive swarms by the beach, where they in turn feed a wide array of wildlife such as ratbats, pterodents, rattiles, shrabs, squoads and more. But few live out in the open ocean, a realm whose arthropod inhabitants are instead governed by the shrish, their numerous basal krill ancestors and loads upon loads of nondescript zooplanktonic crustaceans. Yet the presence of coast kudzu, an unconventional, fast-spreading sea grass that floats entirely on the surface and can blanket whole square kilometers of ocean surface in favorable regions, provides a suitable habitat for the most unlikely of marine insects: the kudzu seatle (Thalassoscarabus spp.)

Descended from freshwater diving beetles that likely in turn descended from the darkling beetle Tenebrio molitor, one of the planet's earliest colonists, the kudzu seatle's ancestor was among the many victims of coastal storms that were swept out to sea and became unwitting pioneers. While many unfortunately perished and a lucky few made it to oceanic islands where they flourished, others, of more salt-tolerant strains, remained out at sea, some making it to the patches of coast kudzu where their descendants have flourished ever since.

Kudzu seatles spend much of their time clinging among the tangled floating forests of leaves and stems, to rest, hide themselves from predators, and to lay their eggs. Their eggs, laid in clusters of up to a hundred at a time, are attached to the stems of coast kudzu, where they hatch within a few days' time into small, bristly larvae that cling to the coast kudzu with their six thoracic legs to feed on microbial aggregations, algae, plankton and organic detritus, but are capable of swimming actively through jerky wiggling motions of their abdomens. When at rest, the larvae cling near the surface and extend an abdominal breathing tube to the surface, in order to breathe air, quickly diving and holding their breaths when disturbed by waves and ascending once more as the surface calms. As the larvae grow, they become ever more voracious, soon after graduating to feeding on the coast kudzu itself in its later instars. Once it reaches a full size of roughly two inches, it stops feeding and prepares itself for its transformation.

Yet in the open sea, there are few, if any, places for a larva to safely hole up in and become immobile for a prolonged period of time. As such, the kudzu seatle has an unconventional adaptation: a motile pupa, capable of swimming actively through contractions of its abdomen and possesses a specialized reserve of fat to fuel its motility, separate from its energy sources that guide its transformation as it does not eat for the two-week duration of its pupation. It now breathes at the surface through two thoracic tubes, and spends much of its time at the surface, diving back down when disturbed by vibrations and shadows.

At last, after an average of 14-16 days, the adult finally ecloses as a mature beetle, clinging to the surface of the coast kudzu to allow its elytra to harden. The pupae, guided by hormonal and light triggers, all emerge simultaneously just after sunset where they are much safer from predators. By dawn their exoskeletons will have hardened, their elytra now serving as oxygen tanks where they store bubbles of air, and now, swimming along with the aid of bristly legs and possessing excretory organs derived from their gut lining that clear their bodies of excess salt, the adults begin the final phase of their life cycle, being active hunters of zooplankton and larval shrish and pescopods, as well as feeding on the sap of coast kudzu as a supplement of energy-rich carbohydrates, throughout their adult life that can last as long as six months to a year depending on the species and local climate, throughout which they constantly mate and reproduce incessantly, with each female able to produce as many as 600-1000 eggs in a lifetime.

Various species of kudzu seatle are found across the oceans of HP-02017, such as the most common coastal kudzu seatle (Thalassoscarabus larsoni), which is predominantly a omnivorous plankton-feeding denizen of shallow tropical seas, to the larger pelagic kudzu seatle (T. shocirus) that is a more active hunter of smaller invertebrates in coast kudzu patches in open waters far from shore, to the forest kudzu seatle (T. puget) that thrives in the "emergent layer" of seagrass forests and experience massive population booms each summer that become a feast for predators of all kinds. The latter species, ranging around the shores of South Ecatoria, are very familiar to shore-dwelling calliducyons such as the baywulves and riveners as their breeding explosions seasonally blanket the surface with millions of larvae, many of which wash ashore and are considered a seasonal treat by the ocean-side foragers: though "sea bug season" does not last, as, while the larvae and particularly the fat-rich pupae are a favorite of theirs, the hard-shelled adults they eventually metamorphose into are considered bitter, chewy and highly unpalatable. Due to the somewhat shrimplike appearance of the larva and pupa, the calliducyons do not distinguish them from shrish and merely consider them as just another species of shrish, or "seaswimmer bug": though the resemblance of the adult to terrestrial beetles has not gone unnoticed by the riveners who call it in their dialect as "sea land bug", the paradoxical statement of which is the subject of local rhymes, songs and amusing folk stories.

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