#shadow pond family

[queen-rainy-love]

Shadow Milk: What a great audience. I'm sure your daddy would change his mind.

Just Shadow Milk doing his Great-grandfather job. Not like he's waiting for a certain someone. :D

[tathrin]

💋not about any particular fic but what got you into writing X-Men stuff? That was a pleasant surprise in the last ask answer

Oh! Well, I haven't actually written X-Men in SO MANY YEARS but: the old 90s cartoon was my introduction. Then when I was ten I was in Toys-R-Us and I saw a comic book next to the action figures??? I didn't even know they MADE THOSE!??? MOM MOM MOM LOOK I NEED THIS MOM!!!!

And that was uhhh. the beginning of the end, really. One of those "and my whole life changed" moments, second only to watching the first Star Wars at the age of six and seeing Leia come out with her blaster not set for stun and shoot that stormtrooper. BAM. And just like that, I was a different person forever.

Same with discovering comic books. The ability to put art and words together to tell a story??? SHEER PERFECTION.

I got my first AU Creation Training when I was a kid and my little brother and I would play action figures (almost always X-Men or Star Wars) because we'd spend like an hour pre-play determining what scenario we were going to do that day. "Canon or AU?" "AU." "Existing or New?" "New!" "Okay, what's the Point of Divergence...?" and then we'd map-out how everything in the continuity would change based around that pivot point up until the place where we wanted to start playing...and then we'd start to play.

[kabuki-writes]

Interlude || The Prize Of A Father's Pride

chapter: 5 chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: General Acacius is forced to tell his daughter, that she will soon marry Emperor Geta and become Empress of Rome - a trade, which saved her life and that of her family, but at what cost?

warning(s): angrsty themes | semi-edited | english is not my first language, faults may occur | please let me know if i missed anything

Note: We already reached chapter 5 !?!??! Hell, yes! And we're getting further and further. So before this whole plot picks up a little more speed, i thought a small interlude feat. Acacius would be a nice little treat. The next chapter is going to be longer again.

word count: 1.7k

You stood in the archways that led to the inner garden of your family's home. The curtain of the night had already laid itself upon the sky, when you'd reached it, the haunting grin of Caracalla and the words about your father were still on your mind. He had given you no answer on why you should thank the General, and it didn't sound like it was even something to thank him for either. It was more like whatever it was it was about to benefit the Emperors. Yet you knew your father and despite him never speaking it out loud - you've noticed how much he despised the royal twins.

The night was quiet and the villa was softly illuminated by the torches, which the slaves always lit up as soon as dawn came. Your mother knew about your whereabouts, that you went off to the theater with your friends Cicero and Lydia, nothing out of the ordinary. That you met the Emperor Caracalla during your night out was neither planned nor hoped for and yet the time you'd spend alongside him in the royal box still lingered in your head. Should you tell your parents? Maybe it was best to keep it in the shadows, as you didn't want them to worry more than necessary about you.

But when you approached the garden, you heard the quiet sobbing of your dear mother from the distance. You were on your way to your rooms, yet you couldn't ignore something like this, so you stopped beside a pillar and looked down to the inner courtyard with its beautiful pond and the many plants that provided shade during the summer months. You saw between the palm trees, cedars and bushes how your mother kneeled in front of your father, while he hold her in his arms as if something terrible happened - as if someone died.

You were not able to stand it any longer without knowing what happenes, so you stepped out and made yourself noticable.

"Mother? Father? What happened?", you asked quickly, but when Acacius raised his head to look into your direction, there was nothing but pain and suffering in his eyes. The way his eyes were locked on you made your heart sink down to your feet as it was crystal clear that it might have something to do with you. "y/n...", he began, but got disrupted by the sobbing of your mother. "Tell her, Acacius! Please, you need to tell her!"

It broke your heart to see your mother in that state, huddled together and in tears. But what was even worse was the news your father would tell you right in that very moment: "y/n, you... i am sorry," he started and clearly struggled to find the right words. You've never seen your father like this. "I gave my consent to a marriage between you and Emperor Geta."

Your eyes widened and your face went pale in an instant as you froze in your position. "What do you mean?", the trembling words fell from your lips. A marriage?!

"You will marry the Emperor," Acacius repeated, his voice clear but racked with pain. And after a couple of long minutes it finally hit you like an arrow right into the heart. Your breath becme quicker and you had to sit down on one of the stone benches. In this moment you were not even able to bare the sight of your parents, while the realization kicked in. No tears came from your eyes, in fact, it even surprised your own father how you took the news. But the depiction of stoicism came at a high cost, as you clearly had to fight within you against the urge to just scream.

And your father knew that. He knew you better than anyone, you were always his sun and stars, the one person beside his wife to which he tried to come back every single time when he went off to war. Slowly your mother came back to her feet with the help of her husband, but her usual soft face was covered in tears and her eyes were swollen and red as she looked at you. "What have you done, my love... ? You need to be honest with y/n, please... i beg you. She needs to know," she whispered with an urgency in her voice and even a small amount of anger.

Your eyes ripped themselves from the pond in front of you, staring at your father, who looked at you like a broken man. "He threatened to kill you and your mother, it was the only option... trust me, i would've never agreed to it otherwise. May the gods damn me for my pride, that i thought i would be able to put them down together with the senate. It was a plan that is nothing more than dust and ashes now." Acacius rushed to you and took your hands into his, pressing them tightly as if he feared you would fade away if he didn't. "I can never forgive myself to put you into a position like that, y/n," he whispered, and for the very first time, you witnessed the fear in your father's eyes. And he feared for you.

But all those words disappeared in your ears, as you tried desperately to numb the anxiety within you. Now the words that Caracalla said to you made sense and they echoed in your head once more. Nonetheless how could you hate your father for this? You knew he did it for the sake of the people, he always fought for Rome and never for himself. This was the way he was and you would've never wanted it to be otherwise. Yet you were now the one to bear the consequences of your father's actions, a sacrifice. For the first time in your life, you were the one to protect this family... and you wanted to take this risk. Not that there was an option anyways.

So you took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in your throat, while you stood up from the bench and looked your father right into his eyes. "There is nothing we can do about it, don't we? The die is cast and we have to live with the consequences," you said, even though your voice was cracking for a moment before you took one hand of your mother and one of your father, pressing them gentle and in a reassuring way, even though you still saw how much they suffered. You were their only daughter after all and even if it wouldn't be the Emperor, a marriage always called for a daughter to leave her parents behind. "Please... i don't want you to look at me like i am already dead", you whispered with a hint of desperation as it hurt you even more that your own parents still treated you like they had to protect you from this world. If fate wanted this to happen, then you would find your way through it.

"I will marry him. If that will save my own life and yours then be it", you said again, while ran down your mothers cheeks once again as she hold your hand in ache. She said your name before her voice stopped. But in that very moment, your father stepped in and pulled you into a tight hug, holding you for a long moment that felt like an eternity. Acacius blamed himself entirely for all that was happening and in this very moment, he promised to himself that he will find a way to get you out of this situation. There was still hope, if he was able to be careful enough.

"You're my daughter, y/n... i know you will not lose yourself in this, i know it...and i will always be proud of you, no matter what...", he mumbled in reassurance, trying desperately to fullfill your wish not to treat all of this as it was your clear funeral. That wouldn't be right, he knew that too. You would live on, but at what cost?

"How much time do i have left?", you suddenly asked, while you slowly removed yourself from your father's arms. Right now the whole situation was still so unreal for you, even though you knew this will change soon enough. The brows of your father furrowed as he took your mother's hand to hold her and give her something of the strength he'd recovered - at least a bit. "Sadly Emperor Geta made sure not to waste any time with this: He expects the stipulatio (engagement promise) tomorrow, a celebration will happen at the palace to announce it publicly... and then the formal wedding will take place in two weeks, still in Juno to avoid that bad luck falls onto your union."

"As if the gods would grant him luck with a forced marriage like this," your mother mumbled, while she tried her best to wipe away her tears and regain her posture. "There are not even enough sheep in all of Rome that he could sacrifice for this..." She was still pale like a corpse due to this news, but at least she was able to regain her anger again despite the helplessness.

Your fingers buried themselves into the fabric of your pale blue toga as you recollected your thoughts. There was no time left, no real time. But did you expect it to be otherwise? In a way, a lot of women would envy you for this opportunity. Marrying an Emperor meant that you would rise up to be an Empress alongside a God, nothing was more noble and meaningful. Men fought wars to earn power and honor, women needed to take a different path in this world, marrying and bearing children - only to be sidelined by history nonetheless. You didn't want to face the same fate. And in the end you were still your father's daughter through and through, carrying the family name like a ritiualistic armor.

“Whatever anyone does or says, I must be emerald and keep my colour," you whispered a quote and your father instantly got it. With an understanding nod, a weak smile appeared on his lips.

"Marcus Aurelius...", Acacius noticed right away as it was a quote from his 'meditations' which your father had given you to read. It helped you now more than ever and the same could've been said about Acacius as well.

_________________________________

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[cursedartistnelari]

He didn't know what to say.

Tweek’s heart twisted painfully in his chest as he glanced at Feldspar, the resemblance to his version of Craig hitting him so closely- The tavern bedroom was dimly lit, with flickering candles casting warm shadows on the wooden beams overhead. The scent of roasted meat and spilled ale hung in the air from earlier in the evening. Yet, all of that faded into the background as Tweek focused on the figure before him.

Feldspar stood confidently with his arms crossed, the sharp lines of his jaw accentuated by the soft glow of candlelight. His eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief that was all too familiar, but Tweek’s heart sank further as he took in the details—the way Feldspar carried himself, the easy grace with which he moved. It was like looking at a reflection in a warped mirror; everything about Feldspar reminded him of Craig, yet he felt an insurmountable distance between them.

He’s not my Craig- Tweek thought, but the assertion did little to ease the ache in his chest. Memories of his own Craig flooded his mind—those mossy green eyes glinting with humor, the way he’d chuckle at Tweek’s frantic twitches during AP history, and the warmth of their shared moments back in South Park by the pond during the winter.

Tweek could almost hear Craig’s laugh echoing in the tavern’s lively ambiance, feel the weight of his presence beside him.

This Craig wasn’t his Craig. And rescuing Princess Kenny was his only way back to the one who was.

With each heartbeat, the pain of missing his home intensified. His friends, his family-

#SouthPark #creeksp #spcreek

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

Ok this was just a fragment I made for @ashbub 's fanfic on AO3 ❤️ as a commission. I LOVE HER WORK!!! I was so happy when she wanted me to illustrate it 🤧

If you wanna read it, here's the fooood fanfic

[jellojolteon]

Saw the thing @ modmad was putting forth about what pokemon you'd realistically have as a first partner and had to jump on the will to draw while it was manifested lol I grew up on a few acres in an area that was mostly farming and mining and I loved helping my mom garden because we might find worms!!! There is not a shadow of a doubt in my mind that I'd have come across a few orthworms and wanted to be BFFs with the first particularly good-natured and patient (and small) one I found lol

Would have also been a lot of bugs and stuff because we had a small magikarp pond in the garden. The wild seismitoads would come lay their eggs in it. Bonus family purugly keeping watch just to make sure everyone was being nice to the 4-year-old

[jostystyles]

this mad love makes you come running | jh

a/n: me posting a fic? who'd have thought! this is my entry for the eras tour fic challenge hosted by @comphy-and-cozy and @wyattjohnston ! i was assigned i wish you would (taylor's version). ive never written for jack before and i felt as if this song fits him perfectly and this was born. thanks to c and demi for hosting <3

word count: 2.1k

2:07 AM

The bolded white lettering of the clock on Jack’s dashboard shone at him as he glanced at it, the clicking of his turn signal drowning out the low volume of Stick Season that played through his speakers. As he rounded the corner, his chest tightened with a sense of a feeling he couldn't quite figure out. Coming into view was the street he grew up on, where he played street hockey with his brothers, the pond that would freeze over in the winters that they’d skate on for hours until their cheeks were numb. But before he arrived at his family home, he passed a house that brought back a feeling he knew. Guilt. As the memories started reeling through his mind, his foot let up on the gas slightly as his headlights crossed the yard. Illuminated was the front door his fist had knocked on too many times to remember. His knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel so hard, releasing pressure as he let a soft sigh fall from his lips. Jack’s heart told him to turn into the driveway, but he thought to himself, no. It’s in the past. That was his problem. The past. Something he can’t change, but he yearned to fix. Swallowing the guilt, he continued on to pass a few houses before pulling into the driveway of his parents home. He shook Luke awake lightly before exiting the car. Grabbing the bag out of his backseat, he let himself look towards the window down the street he used to throw snowballs at, seeing a dim light glow through the curtains. He threw his bag over his shoulder and crept quietly into the house, the darkness guiding him to the bedroom he once occupied when he lived there. Baggage discarded to the ground and stripped to just his sweats, he climbed under the cold covers and unlocked his phone, opening his contacts. His thumb hovered over the one he wanted, and pressed it quickly before staring at the blinking blue cursor trying to think of what he wanted to say. He hadn’t reached out since that night, when he was hung up on and he threw his phone across the room with salty tears streaming down his face silently. I can’t. She hates me. He thought to himself, before locking his phone and tossing it onto the bedside table, rolling over and waiting for sleep to overtake him and free his mind of the memories running through it. 

2:07 AM

(Y/N) glanced at the clock that sat on the desk next to her, wondering who the hell is driving down her street with those stupid LED lights this late, and why the hell they were going so slow. Shadows appeared on the wall across from her window, and she knew exactly who it was as hs he thought back to a conversation she had with her neighbor yesterday. It was Jack. The thought of him pulled at her heartstrings, just like it did when Ellen mentioned he’d be home for a few days, the Devil’s schedule giving them a few days to take maintenance and drive home. (Y/N) tried to play off the way her body was shaking was due to the bitter Michigan cold that came with the holiday season, and not the fact that just the mention of Jack’s name sent a chill through her bones. Did his mom even know? Did she know that for the past 6 months her middle son and his best friend hadn’t spoken because they had crossed the line that was once rising and crooked but fell straight down? Did she know that (Y/N) still loved him after he broke her heart? She probably didn't. So she put on a smile and said she looked forward to seeing him at the Christmas party. Blinking back to reality, (Y/N) sighed and picked up her phone. The email was still pulled up that contained her lease agreement to the apartment she just signed in Brooklyn. If things went the way she wanted, she’d have told him the second she signed it because in reality, she missed him too much to be mad anymore. She wanted badly to remember what they were fighting for, and why it turned into Jack telling her he didn't want to see her anymore and they needed to go back to being friends. She hung up the phone too quickly to give him a chance to explain. The reality of it was that neither of them knew if they could even call each other that. Friends. (Y/N) didn't realize how fast her heart was pounding until one of her cats jumped into her lap with an inquisitive purr. Giving her a pet, she sighed and opened the contact she hadn’t touched since that day 6 months ago. Just ask him. Swallowing her nerves, she pressed the call button and put the phone to ear. It rang a few times before going to voicemail. “Yo, its Jack. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you” Hearing his voice, she inhaled before letting herself talk. 

Jack couldn't sleep. He was tired, but his body wanted otherwise. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he grabbed his phone and almost choked on the breath he didn't know he was holding when he saw a notification he never thought he'd see again. 

(Y/N) <3 voicemail 10 min. ago

Hands shaking, he clicked on it and the voice he had been longing to hear started speaking. “Hey, Jack. It’s uh, (Y/N). I saw your mom yesterday when I got to my parents. She told me you and Luke were coming home for a few days. I’ll uh, be here too until a little after Christmas. Um, I know this is like, probably not anything you were expecting but uh, if you wanna talk I’d really like that. Just let me know.” 

He couldn't bring himself to do anything but stare at the screen for a few seconds, before opening his texts and typing out a message. Hey, got ur voicemail. Meet at the pond in 10? If ur still awake. The bubble appeared that she was typing almost instantly. see you there. His heart almost exploded out of his chest as he scrambled out of bed, grabbing his Devil’s hoodie and tossing on his beanie. He crept quietly down the stairs, trying to not fall because his joints felt like jello. Coat and boots on, he let the door click shut behind him as he walked through his backyard. A million thoughts were going through his brain as he walked the path to the park in the neighborhood where the pond was. Don't mess this up. He reprimanded himself. The snow crunching under his boots, he stopped in his tracks as he approached the pond. (Y/N) stood by the streetlamp, the soft yellow glow illuminating her features. Jack’s heart leapt and his body felt warm. She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Her hands were shoved in the pockets of her puffer coat, the earmuffs he bought her in New York covering her ears. He smiled softly. Was it a good sign she didn't throw away something he gave her? Forcing himself to move, he walked towards her. 

“You look freezing.” A voice pulled (Y/N) from her thoughts, as she’d been staring at the giant analog pole clock that read 2:43 AM. Jack always knew how to push her buttons, especially with his stupid little chirps. “I’m sweating right now actually. Very warm.” She chirped back.  

“Hi.” he said, big blue eyes looking up at her. He was nervous, she could tell. His shoulders were hunched over and he has a look about him that resembled a dog with it’s tail between it’s legs. 

“Hey. “ She replied, giving him a soft smile as if to say, This isn’t a fight. You're ok.

“I'm really glad you called. Sorry I didn't answer right away. I’m sorry.” He said, shifting his weight back and forth. (Y/N) had a feeling that the second apology didn't have to do with the message she left. 

“Its okay, Jack.” 

He looked at her, seeing the (Y/E/C) of her eyes for the first time in what felt like forever. It took everything he had to keep his feet planted where they were and not to jump into her arms and start sobbing. Instead, he swallowed the tears he knew were bound to fall and nodded at her, a sign she took to start talking. 

“I wish I never hung up the phone like I did that day. I should've let you explain yourself. I deserved an explanation. You told me you didn't want me anymore, and I just shut down. We were doing so good, J. I mean we had finally figured out whatever the fuck had been going on between us for years and then all of a sudden you acted like none of it was true. Can’t you imagine how fucked up that is? How shitty I felt? I was so in love with you, and we were fighting over something stupid, and then you just fucking break my heart our of nowhere.” 

Jack shook his head so fast it might as well have fallen off his shoulders. “No, no. I never said I didn't want you. I’ll always want you.” 

“Then why did you forget about me? Why didn't you call me back and tell me?” She retorted, stepping towards him. 

“I’ll never forget you as long as I live. I wish I could go back and do it all over again. I never would've said all those things.” Jack replied, his frozen hands reaching out to wipe the tears falling from her eyes. 

“Then why did you say them, J?”

The nickname only she ever called him made his heart soar. “Because I was trying to push you away. When we were just friends, I knew I could never lose you. And then when we started seeing each other over the summer, I knew it was going to kill me if it ever ended. I love you so much that it terrifies me, and so I figured that if I shut you out before it got too serious it would hurt less. Especially because you still live here, and I’m in Jersey. I’d be too selfish to always wish you were with me. I’m a fucking idiot. You did deserve an explanation, and I was too caught up in my own self loathing to give you one. I figured having you hate me was better than letting you love me and then one day realizing you don’t.” By now, they were both crying, Jack’s hands still caressing (Y/N)’s face and her gloved hands resting on his hips. 

“You’re so fucking dumb, Rowdy. I could never hate you. You're the love of my life. I was so afraid you found someone else and didn't want me. I should have reached out.” 

“No. No. There's never been anyone else. I could never love anyone else. Not while I love you.” 

Silence fell between them for a moment. “You still left.” (Y/N) spoke. 

“I know. You see me in a way no one else does. And you love me for who I am, like the real Jack Hughes. Not the Jack Hughes everyone else sees. That’s, I think, a part of why I did it. I was terrified of you leaving me. So I left first. And I’m sorry. I want you. I wish you would know that.” 

“I do Jack. I wish you would've told me that from the start. You deserve love, no matter how scared it makes you. Stop thinking about if it doesn't work out, and think about if it does.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, lips brushing ever so slightly. “I love you, I’m sorry.” 

“I know, baby. I love you too.” She kissed him. It was full of force, like it would be the last. 

Jack sighed into it, thinking back to the summer when he kissed her for the first time. It was a warm summer night by the lake. Now, it was a snowy frozen night but the warmth of her lips would be a feeling he’d never grow tired of. 

6 hours later, when Luke woke up and walked past Jack’s room to see them embraced and fast asleep, he smiled to himself, glad he suggested they return home for a few days.

tagging: @wineauntie @2manytabsopen @lam-ila @fallinallincurls @laurenairay @ilyasorokinn @senditcolton @cellythefloshie

[dduane]

Invictus

In the dimness he woke and knew it was too late. Morning never came so late unless the world was ending.

Fortunately, he knew what to do about that.

He blinked and ruffled his feathers, looking around. This was his place. Surrounding a patch of grass were two holly trees, a pine, a cypress whose branches all went the wrong way, and much shrubbery, mostly beech and thorn. The shelter was good here, even on nights like last night. And in the holly, food appeared hung up: good food that tasted of fat and meat. It was all his. Later, when it was time for sex, there would be someone else who’d get some of it. But right now, he owned it.

This cold white stuff on the ground did complicate matters. It came and went without warning, and here it was again. Now, others who might have spent the morning scratching around the ground instead of stuffing themselves full up here would be turning up in his territory, eating his food. His feathers ruffled up again, this time with rage at the thought. Bastards. Bastards. Kill them all.

He hopped up onto the branch that had the best view across the patch of grass and into the bushes, and sang. Bastards! Who wants a piece of me? Come and get it! Because this was when it had to be said, no matter how much you might have preferred to sit quiet with your feathers fluffed up, conserving your heat. The dim sky was already paling toward that too-cold blue. It would be a bad day, cold, everybody and his family would turn up here trying to get at the tree food, which was what you needed this time of year if you meant to stay alive until dusk –

And suddenly he heard the harsh dark cawing coming from across the hardened path, across the wall, in the wood full of tall starved pines. He shivered. Not so early, he thought, what are you doing up at this hour? But he knew. That one wanted the tree-food too. It had come for it before. Now, in the silence before the morning wind, he heard the flapping of the wings.

Hastily he turned to the food cage, ate a few mouthfuls, felt the fat melt down his throat like blood, like life. Almost before he finished, the darkness had landed with a noisy thrash of leaves and branches up in the holly. A huge expressionless black eye gazed down at him.

He sang. It was almost all he could do. It’s mine! Stay away, or I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! But the outcome was hardly so simple. The black-headed, white-backed shape with the axe-like beak bounced down another branch, and another, its eye on that tree food, that meat. It liked meat too. He’d once seen it zoom down onto the pond and simply pick up a baby duck and fly off with it. I’ll kill you if you get any closer! Don’t push me! I will!

It came closer. It was winter, it was death, the shape now only one branch of holly away. He sang as if life depended on it: because it did. If he had enough to eat, the sun came up. If the sun came up, the world was safe. It was as simple as that. Go away! I have to eat the food or the world will end! I’ll kill you to keep that from happening! Monster, go away, don’t make me rip you up — ! He fluttered at the monstrous gaping head, enraged, desperate.

A clacketing, rattling noise from behind. The black eye went wide, the death-pale bulk roused its wings and flapped clumsily out of the holly tree. Desperate with relief, he flung himself at the food-cage again, and ate with frantic speed as the sky paled brighter, toward day-blue: and between mouthfuls, he sang at the top of his lungs, shuddering with relief and triumph. Bastard! I warned you not to mess with me! Victory! Victory!

The sun peered up over the far hill. The shadows fled. He gorged himself as the black bird flew off, and stopped, and shouted again, Victory!

…She stood there with her mug in one hand, looking out across the back yard snow at the dot of red breast deep in among the holly branches, pecking furiously at the suet in its little cage. “Boy,” she said to the husband, back in the kitchen, “listen to that guy. You’d think he’d just won World War Three.”

“Yeah. Where’s the milk?”

The door closed. On the snow, the sun of the shortest day shone.

Victory!

[secretress]

❝𝐏𝐀𝐂: 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐝𝐨𝐦. 𝐔𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧, 𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠.❞

A love letter from your future spouse

🍓 ݁₊ ⊹ . 🥛 ౨ৎ Masterlist Subliminal Channel Tips

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Pac Summary!

♡ A fs love letter.

♡ One angel number with an intuitive message/meaning of the number.

♡ Resonated channeled song and its lyrics with intuitive messages added to it.

Moodboard | Divider

Pile I

Hi love, hi sunshine.

What's up? How are you doing, my pretty flower? Well, in all honesty, I am awful with words, and a love letter is hard, but I will suck it up just to show my love for you.

Sometimes. When I look at the stars, I will think about you. Sometimes, when I glance at lily ponds, I will daydream about you. And sometimes when I call you, I fawn over the little things you do, because every little thing you do is incredibly beautiful and deserves to be fawn over.

Sometimes, when I struggle and miss your presence, I remember that I can always call you and ramble about the small things during my days. I can find that solace even if we are far apart... And sometimes that scares me because what if we lost touch with one another—that I would never get to see you? All of these doubts eat me alive, but then I hear your small laughs about my days, and all of them disappear.

Do you think one day we could start a family? Maybe I believe anything is possible—after all, I landed someone as perfect as you (psst, I manifested you). So the fact that I have you as my lover makes me wonder if I can ever have kids with you. We can adopt too; I don't care, but having biological kids with you would also be so lovely.. After all, everything about you is lovely. I am someone who always gives too much love to others, so if it's too much, let me know, but loving you is so easy. How can one stop that? That scares me.. If you ever told me to stop loving you so much, it would make me feel like I was losing a small part of myself. Quite frankly, I don't think I could ever deal with that—I just, I just couldn't.

When I looked at the sky the other day, I kept thinking about our connection. I know we don't know each other. Hell, I'm fucking daydreaming about you right now, but I really want to see you. Maybe one day we will meet each other, and when we do, I will become the happiest person alive. Because the idea of loving someone I am manifesting is something.. It's.. it's just. I can't express it with words, but it's definitely something so magical. Everything in my heart is fluttering with happiness because I get to see you smile in my presence. I always thought I wasn't worthy of love. Look at us. Fuck. Thank you for loving me.

Thank you (x5) for loving me.

Fs. 

I was listening to Terrified by Katharine McPhee, and as I was editing your reading at "when I look at stars'' the song said, ''every word feels like a shooting star.'' So for those who have doubts about this relationship, do understand that this is really your confirmation.

Angel numbers: 1222

Meaning of 1222 through an intuitive message. 1 is usually associated with goals and what you're looking for. 2 is usually associated with reminding you that everything is going to be okay and that you are in the right place. Combining both of them, intuition says, ‘’you are in the right place. All the hard work you have been doing for yourself—all the shadow work that you have been journaling, all the beautiful messages you have been giving to yourself—is what will help you find your goals. Your ideas which you keep postponing are something that needs to be done. Stop procrastinating and do it right now. You will never know when the right time comes since it doesn't exist. Make it your right time.’’ Basically, intuition says there is no such thing as diving timing. Divine timing doesn't actually exist since it's all about healing and treating ourselves with kindness. It's all about what we do during those times we have during our isolation, or, in a positive sense, our resting period. Truthfully, since you are working on yourself and removing your inner demons for yourself and not for others (since I heard that a lot of people think you are doing it for a boy when you aren't), you can attract your future spouse with the speed of light and grab the fruits. The fruits are your manifestations or your wishes in life. 

Channeled song: 

Invisible - Hunter Hayes

‘’And you've been trying for so long / To find out where your place is.’’ This is about you trying to figure out where you belong. Intuition says people in your life believe all the hard work you are doing is for this man, your ex, or someone you used to have feelings for. The people in your circle are very close-minded, but deep down inside, the fear of letting go of these connections scares you, so you let them stay. If I were in your place, I would let them go since people like that don't deserve to be in my world. And I feel like some of you will say, ‘’yeah because you aren't dealing with it’’ and for those who have said that, lol, I just let go of a friend group like that 2-3 weeks ago. So let them go and realize all the beauty that will come out of it.

‘’And you're not invisible / Hear me out / There's so much more to life than what you're feeling now / Someday you'll look back on all these days / And all this pain is gonna be invisible.’’ This is your future spouse calling out to you and yearning for your love. They are letting you know that when you look back on your life, you are not only going to feel blessed with how your life went but also come to the realization that there is more to life than the negativity you are feeling and associating yourself with. This person is going to make you feel like magic, (which is something you deserve, and you cannot tell me otherwise).

‘’So your confidence is quiet / To them, quiet looks like weakness / But you don't have to fight it / 'Cause you're strong enough to win without a war.’’ Basically, intuition says your intuition and higher self are telling you, ‘’even though you are a quiet person. Despite you being timid, none of these are bad qualities; it makes you stronger because you are observing everything and you know others' deepest, darkest secrets through their behaviors. So don't let your skills go in vain.’’ To sum it up, if there is any confusion, people perceive quiet and shy people as fragile and needing help, but in reality, it could be that or they have no desire to speak to people that do not intrigue them or aren't worth their time. People don't see that because they are lost in fitting in with the crowd. Your higher self and my intuition are saying, don't fit in the crowd and do your own thing. Not only will that attract your fs but also heal your heart that you have been blocking with bricks to protect yourself from the pain your inner circle is causing and your deadbeat parent (I hear father, but I also believe it could be the mother for some).

‘’These labels that they give you is just 'cause they don't understand / If you look past this moment / You'll see you've got a friend / Waving a flag for who you are.’’ And lastly :), this is your fs telling you that they will always have your back no matter what. And they love you so fucking badly. Emphasis on so fucking badly, I could hear your fs tell me to add that in. 

Masterlist ♡

Pile II

Hi, my love. 

As your future spouse, it’s my duty to defend and honor our promises, but sometimes I mess up because I'm shy. I'm sorry in advance, but I try very hard, but I mess things up. Sometimes I feel like a child when you scold me.. I know sometimes you feel disappointed with the things I do, but I ask you.. As of now, please treat me with more dignity and respect. I'm human, just like you. Do you think a child deserves this treatment? No. 

Okay, before I fully channel everything, this pile has toxic energy. You have caused your fs an insane amount of anxiety and trauma, so now that you are aware of this. Why don't you improve as a person? This person is absolutely soft and adorable, and they do not deserve that type of energy).

Sometimes, at night, I like to walk along the streams or near our pond area in our backyard and feel the coolness around my feet. The water tickles my feet gently, and the water droplet splashes around the soles of my feet. The feeling is so warm and relaxing, just like you once were. What happened to that? Why did you let them take away (your name's)  golden heart? Why do I deserve the same treatment when I was by your side this whole time? I was never and will never be your enemy, so please change for the better. I want (your name) back; (your gender) was deserving of the greatest, and so am I. Please go back to them and let me honor my promise again. I wanted to protect you, but now it’s too hard. I cannot do it anymore. I am writing this love letter to you in the hopes that you change for the better. In hopes my words and my love being poured onto this can shift you and make you realize that you are now the reason I despise myself, the reason why I struggle to love myself. I don't want to stay in this stale situation; I want to move on, and I want you to move on and treat me better. So maybe.. I will now try to show you the love we felt when we met instead of now. Since you feel like poison.

When we danced in the park that one night, the moonlight shone on top of us. Like we were the main characters of a romantic movie. Do you remember that feeling when we were laughing together and I finally saw you smile? That happiness shattering your stoic face—it was incredible. I realized that that was the moment I fell in love with you. My heart jumped out of my chest that day. Do you remember when we had small dates with each other and you bought me something small? You thought I wouldn't wear it because of your ex(es), but I did, and your eyes widen. Do you remember that softness appearing on your face that day? I remember it vividly. I blushed that day and hid it with a cough. Do you remember me constantly coughing that day, and you wondered why this was happening? Do you remember how I kicked your shoes and said it was an accident so you could look under the table and not notice me covering my flushed face because of that facial expression you had? The realization that someone did, in fact, love you. God, I remember that feeling so well. It made me so happy. I remember all of these small moments with you, and I know that you will. One day, it will happen just as it should.. But then something happened: you shut everyone away, especially me, and sabotage everything at the end because it was better to be a cold-hearted bitch than stay and let me protect you. Please, (your name), realize that I love you despite what you have done to me. I can forgive you; I really can, but I want your real self back. Let me love them, let me shower them with compliments; just let me back in. 

I forgive you,

Fs. 

So this is written in past and future tense. Of course, these dates haven’t happened for you, however, I wasn’t able to channel them from a present perspective for the majority of the letter. They were focused on pouring their love on you without thinking. It was a desperate call for you to change and not become cold. And for many of you, not for you to become the one thing you hated. So instead, learn to heal your open wounds and better yourself instead of being an ass in the future. 

Angel number: 777.

Usually, 777 is associated with good luck, or good luck and prosperity are heading your way. However, intuition says, ‘’despite good luck (your fs) coming your way, allowing those icky thoughts to reappear constantly in your head is what will mess things up in the future with your fs. In order to remove these thoughts, work on your inner feelings and improve yourself. Do not allow evil to invade who you are as a person, and instead, allow the kindness that you still have to shine upon you and shield you from the dangers of others. Become the person you desire and still love. Do not become them, you will be miserable.’’ So, basically, working on your inner feelings is healing your inner demons. Everyone deals with them, but it’s our responsibility to actually take care of them and make them angels, or, in this case, remove them from your system. Taking care of them or removing them, however you see fit, is all about being kind to yourself and removing the high standards you have for yourself. And in order to be kind to yourself, think of your favorite person, object, whatever, and think, ‘’would I be a jackass to them/it?’’ No, you would treat it or them with respect and love because it’s your favorite thing. Think of it like that with yourself. You can use your kindness to protect yourself. Usually, kindness has a bad reputation because people who are kind either become people pleasers, get taken advantage of, etc., but you could always balance your kindness and rational thoughts so you don’t get hurt like your future self did. Because this situation has not occurred yet, as of now, try to balance those two out. Also, imagine that (your favorite color) aura or bubble is surrounding you and protecting you from evil. 

Channeled anime: 

Death Note 

I am aware this is completely different, and you were promised a song, but I wasn’t able to do that as Light from death note kept appearing in my mind. For those who are watching this, ignore this since there are spoilers, and if you are still curious, I’ll keep it as vague as I can. 

(Please, remember, this is about your future self. Not your present self). 

The reason my intuition mentioned an anime instead of a song is how Light, the main character, became the person he hated. This is what you have become. His desires were to protect the innocent, but ultimately he did the opposite. As time goes on throughout the show, he starts to become power-hungry, but in your case, it’s a lust for isolation. He saw everything as a game, and with you, you used your kindness as an advantage to abuse your spouse (I know you are saying you would never, but you did in the future). And also, hurt your friends to gain advantages or small tokens of something to get ahead of life and get whatever you want. Not only, in the future, do you break your morals, lose your respect from others and your inner child, but fuck things up all for power. Power, isolation, and hatred for what others did to you. Do you believe this is worth it just because you were hurt? Why do you want to hurt people who didn't do anything? You got hurt, sought revenge on those who didn't hurt you, and became like your abusers. Your future self keeps mentioning, ‘’karma’s a bitch.’’ And yet, how can it be if it’s aimed at those who cannot do much? I know you want to be protected and understood, but how can you if you allowed this to occur and pushed those away who were, in fact, protecting you but in the shadows? Use this as your guide and change for the better since fate doesn’t exist, not really. And if you believe in it, then change your fate. Become your own guide and improve. Because your energy will be awful, the way you have treated others in the future will be awful, and I feel the anxiety radiating off of you—you don't like who you have become in the future. So, don't change, protect yourself instead.

Masterlist ♡

Pile III

Hi sun, hellooo to my sun. Hi, hi, hiiii, hi. 

I’m saying a lot of hi to you because I'm ecstatic to be around you. Your personality makes me very happy, yay. You're reading this right now, so lucky me. I just have to say this: I wish right now you were with me so I could run to you, jump into your arms, and peck you like a goose, and if you ever become sick with me, well, you can't! I won't allow it, so that means you can’t pick someone else; only me, me and drum roll, please! Me!

I really love talking to you–OH wait, well, we haven't met yet, but I do! We will stay up all night talking to each other, and the thought makes me giggle~ You are my favorite sun person… Well, I know you are going to call me the sun, but nope! I am the star around the moon waiting for you, so when you go up and chase your ambitious goals, I am at home rooting for you. Sorry, I'm a homebody, so I don't like going out so much, but I'll go out just for you! That is how special you are; of course, I can't really explain it through this letter, so we have to meet first! With that being said, you are the sun because you brighten up my world and everyone around you. I know right now you are feeling depressed, but fear not! I am coming; actually, psttt, I am dashing towards you like Sonic, and if Mario had a baby, wait. NO WAIT, I MEANT IF SONIC AND THE FLASH HAD A BABY OMG NOOO IM SORRY. As I was saying, coughs if Sonic and the flash had a baby together—that’s how fast I am coming to–ru–RUNNING TO YOU, FUCK IM SORRY. I'M SO EXCITED, I KNOW I DON'T HAVE TO APOLOGIZE BUT I AM EXCITED. Anyway, as I am saying, I am running to you if the flash and Sonic had a baby together, because that’s how fast I am, and in other places, if you know what I mean, raising my eyebrows in a funny but sexy way. 

Oh, that reminds me, btw: don't eat green apples when we meet because you're going to choke on them and die! No, I am joking about the die part, but you do choke a lot, and I become very scared because we are friends at that time, and well, I think youre going to die, but I know that you aren't, but I think you might, so it scares me and I can't handle it, and now I am rambling, but you get the point, so no apples for a week, so that means you are kind of like a horse on a diet... Even though they eat apples, imagine that you are a horse who can't eat apples! Yes!!! Oh, wait, why would you be a horse? Okay, wait, it doesn't matter because you are my horse, so that makes me a princess/prince and therefore you gotta protect me. Wait.

This is a love letter, NOOOOOOO, wait. Lets start! I love you so much. You make me so happy that I can ramble on for no reason, and you are enjoying every part of it. Thats why I like things about you because you listen to me and hear me out, and you make me happy. I am rambling again, but this time it doesn't matter because it's all abouttttt yooooouuuuu. Yeah so i love you A LOT and YOU mean the WOOOORRRRLLLLDDDD to me and thank you for being–THANK YOU FOR–WAIT. I AM GLAD THAT I WILL MEET YOU, SO THEN THANK YOU FOR BEING IN MY WORLD. All this present and future stuff is making my head spin, like those anime drawings of the characters or the other animations or drawing pieces you see on websites or drawing platforms. Oh yeah, did you know that I am an artist? Yeah, me neither, thats because you taught me how to draw gremlin laugh, but yeah, cya later!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The bestestttt (not a word i know that shut up, grumpy face) perrrrrrssssssoooooooonnnnn evvvvveeeeeerrrrrr!!!!!!!!!!! Ya gal/lad is outie five thousand!

I kept feeling rambling and childlike wonder with your future spouse. You make them very comfortable with who they are as a person, and with this, they can channel their inner child with you. You will show them new hobbies, and because of this, in the future, it will become their career. So despite this, if some of you are not artists, you will be opening a new world for them in the art field because art isn’t only drawing, animation, etc.; it does have music or poetry involved. 

Angel number: 1313.

On an energy level, the number symbolizes a goal you had in mind shifting and transforming into your reality because you were able to trust your gut feelings and allow things to come into your nature. You used to be afraid of change or those who gave you things; asking for help scared you. Now you are healing toward that goal and learning to let go when people help. You are able to prioritize things that make you happy, even if it’s a one-time thing, because chasing things does become hard, but knowing now that you are able to get the things you want makes you blessed. You embody the attitude of gratitude, and from now on until the end of August, things will come in abundance. Keep embodying this attitude to further it until the end of the year. When the end of the year comes, make more goals for yourself, but find goals that are worth what you are looking for. Understand who your higher self is, and ask them what goals helped them become who they are now. Your higher self isn’t necessarily your future self; you worked hard to become your desired self. So make sure you learn what is actually important for you while also listening to the same gut feeling that you have. People say 13 in general is an unlucky number. Still, some people ditch their ideas on the number and make it their favorite number. Intuition says not to follow people’s guidance when it comes to things that don't make sense; don’t follow the crowd if it’s not something you are actually agreeing on or intrigued with. Make sure to follow what you believe in, and if people find that to be stubborn, then who cares? Make sure you do things that make you happier in the long term before you meet this ray of sunshine. 

Channeled Song: 

Sunsetz - Cigarettes after sex

‘’Strangely, there's nobody else around / So you open your dress and show me your t*ts / On the swing set at the old playground / And when you go away I still see you / The sunlight on your face in my rearview.’’ Aside from the 18+ nature of the song, the minute I heard it play, I knew it was from your future spouse. As we are aware, they are full of light and embody a star nature; this song beat felt the same way. When the song said, ‘’Strangely, there's nobody else around / So you open your dress and show me your t*ts’’ I heard your future spouse laugh at this because, despite their gender, they are prone to being open about the sexual world. And the idea of showing their chest to you makes them excited. Of course, this isn’t an 18+ reading, so I cannot add more. ‘’On the swing set at the old playground / And when you go away I still see you’’  is about them showing you all of their childish nature and you accepting them. Because I hear your future spouse mention, ‘’thank you very much for accepting me for who I am. I had many people ignore me or disrespect me constantly because I had to act my age. But you were the only one in the entire worrrrrldddd to accept and love me without expecting anything.’’ Also, intuitively, they are always going to daydream cute scenarios with you and see you as a cutie despite your rough nature. Because everywhere they go and explore the depths of the world, you will have to accompany them. In the flesh or not. They will daydream you near them if you cannot make it or if it's a long-distance relationship (for some). 

‘’A love that nobody could destroy / Took photographs like Brautigan's book covers / That we both adored.’’ So, I feel a lot of third parties coming into this relationship on their side. A lot of people are jealous of them and cannot handle the fact that they finally found someone who appreciates their true qualities. So a lot of toxic people will try to sabotage the friendship at first and then eventually the relationship, and they are naive, so they might believe it, so be careful with that. Eventually, though, I do see them realizing it, and the fact that you stayed makes them love you harder, hence all the ramblings (you making them comfortable to do so). Both of you are going to take a lot of pictures together and post them on social media, whereas those who don’t use social media often will make collages out of them and decorate them around their room or apartment. Some will hide it from their parents, and others will boast about it positively. Just stay careful, because you never know other people’s intentions with it. ‘’That we both adored.’’ This just shows how healthy and beautiful the relationship will become for you when they ask you out. I feel a lot of you always ask other people out, and you have mentioned it to them once, so the idea of asking you out makes them happy because it’s removing a boulder off your shoulder. All I will say is that they will be the reason why you find true happiness since a majority of you are chasing the idea of happiness. With them, you can feel it and keep it; it’s not a one time thing; this leads to a beautiful thing. I’ll stop here since I don't want to give you any spoilers about it. 

Masterlist ♡

Pile IV

Tw: Abuse

Hi, my dear,

Right now, I have been feeling down in the dumps. Things have been tough, very tough. Lately, I have been struggling to find happiness in my life. And I was praying for something, anything to feel something. But nothing came through, this broke me further. Then I started to realize something.. Why should I ask someone for help when I can do it myself?

So that is what I have been doing. I'm working on myself, so when we meet, you have someone you can be devoted to. I know it sounds like I'm not actually taking care of myself, but I am. And it sounds like I am only working on myself for you, as if all of this is for you and not me; some of it is partially true, but at the same time, I am thinking of myself. It’s important that you do the same thing, because I know you like to do things for other people but don't.

You know, I see you struggling to get your job or homework done. I am in the same boat. We are the same after all. I think it’s special that we are on the same path, the same journey, and most of all, the same love level. We both had it rough with a lover, but you know what? We can make that our special bond; I'm not saying that is what our relationship is about—I'm saying it could connect us further and see where everything takes us. You know how people bond over something negative, and that makes them fall for one another? I don't want that. (I hear them laughing and then smiling). All I am saying with my gibberish words is that sometimes people use their trauma to bond with each other, but they can like other things. Does that make sense? Sorry, love, I'm absolute garbage with words. Everything is a mess, isn't it? Again, sorry. Now, I want to start with the actual love letter.

Dear (your name),

Our future is bright. It’s beautiful. I will be the one to shower you with all the riches and luxuries in the world, and all I ask for is your beautiful heart. The heart that you have hidden from the world from all the negativities you were given isn't you anymore. We are connected like one. This is your reward for still staying sane. I know everything as of now is complicated, but do know I will find you one day, have a rose in my hand, and ask you to be mine. I know that sometimes you doubt if I will ever come, but remember that those who wait have the best rewards. Sure, I sound arrogant, but no, I know my worth in the future, and I know you will too. It’s okay to appear arrogant; what matters is on the inside. People's judgment is useless, just like their opinions of us. So don't focus on their chaotic and negative words; focus on what I tell you. I want to guide you and make you love yourself so much. Even when you know your worth, let me show you all that you can know. I want to marry you one day. I want to bathe you with all of my love. I want everything from you, and I will give you everything. You are the most beautiful person I have ever met. I know that we haven't met, but I will say the same thing because it’s the truth. This is why I love you, (your full name). Thank you for being my blessing and for being my princess (regardless of your gender). 

Take care with lots of love,

fs.

Angel number: 2266 

2 is about being in the right place, and whoever you believe in is telling you that you shouldn’t worry. 6 is about mental diet, focusing on the positive to align you with your higher self. Whenever negative thoughts appear, remind yourself that this isn’t good for you. Negativity isn't good for anyone. Remind yourself that you are deserving of love. Learn to heal with patience and care. If you force yourself to heal, you never will. Forcing ourselves isn’t consistency; it’s abuse. Sure, sometimes it looks like it helps us, but then we stop doing it and relapse into the same loop. Do you like to be controlled and forced by others? I doubt it. Don't do the same thing; you are not deserving of it. What you are deserving of is love. Give yourself the love you deserve and need. It's important that you prioritize yourself instead of others' needs since people come and go, and don't be the one to let yourself go for someone else. It's not worth it, and your love and presence aren't determined by whether someone appreciates the good deeds you do for others. Your worth is dependent on what you do for yourself, so if you believe taking time for yourself and doing something for yourself is selfish, then it's selfish. But would you say the same thing to the people you work your ass off for? No, don't be a hypocrite to yourself. 

 Channeled song:

Therapy Session - NF

‘’My music is violent, you gotta be kidding me. I guess that your definition of violence and mine is something that we look at differently.’’ This is your fs telling you to start looking at things differently. You always see the good in people, even when they make a mistake. Even when they piss you off, even when they hurt you (not by accident), you always forgive them without a second thought. Don't do that, it’s hurting you just like it’s hurting them. ‘’Do you honestly want to be stuck in quicksand all the time? Don't do that, princess. I cannot handle it.’’ 

‘’How do you picture me, huh? Want me to smile? You want me to laugh? You want me to walk on the stage with a smile on my face. When I'm mad and put on a mask? For real though!’’ This is how both of you feel. Always wearing a mask and acting around for other people’s entertainment. It’s not worth it to put on a mask unless you have to protect yourself. Intuition says that you do, but remember to be careful. Do not do things that you cannot control, so if someone says otherwise and then threatens you because you didn’t. Then try to not allow them to step on you and subtly mention something to get their insults away from you. For example, intuition says, ‘’when you see them talking crap about you, don’t allow it. Stand up for yourself with something small. If they say how disgusting or how ugly you looked today, tell them that you disagree, and that’s it. Keep in mind that protecting yourself isn’t always causing war with one another, but saying something like this can stop a lot of issues and keep it as if you are having a normal conversation.’’ 

 ‘’I am aware it's aggressive. I am not here for acceptance.’’ Your future spouse is telling you to stop seeking acceptance from the people you help. Learn to seek acceptance from yourself. That is the person you have at the end of the day. Intuition is telling me some of you are a system (DID). So intuitively speaking, rely on your protectors. Ask them to take care of you and help guide you when people are rude to you. I know controlling and altering isn’t like control, but intuition says, ‘’ask them. Let them know how you are feeling, and ask them like a friend. It’s okay to vent to them; they want to help you after all. Those who do not accept you because of what you went through are not worth your time or the value you place on them. You are deserving of more, but you must allow it to come through.’’ 

‘’Apparently he likes to beat on her mama. I got so angry inside. I wanted to tell her to give me his number. But what you gon' do with it right? You gon' hit him up then he'll start hitting her harder.’’ This is your life. Your energy. It can be switched where your mom beats your dad, stepdad. Your grandparents, etc. Your future spouse will be protecting you from them, (and yes, they will love you despite having DID, loves. Don’t worry). Except instead of the abuser hitting your guardian more or you, they won’t allow it. I am hearing a cop signal sound, so it’s possible that they will beat your abuser endlessly and get your abuser to jail (this is for some), and on the other hand, expect someone who is going to love you dearly and protect you from the “wicked witch of the west. I’ll protect you with all of my heart, and my soul is yours as your soul is mine.’’ 

Masterlist ♡

[bruhhxiao]

Being with Anubis (sfw/nsfw)

Ennead Anubis x gn!civilian!reader

! Warnings: violence(?), smut, a bit of possessiveness. No use of y/n !

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

As your and Anubis relationship started to grow you started to think how you guys meet.He was pretty cold and distant at the start, never spoke. You guys meet at night. You were about to finish your family work. It was pretty late and you were heading home but you got attacked by a huge snake, you covered you face by the fear as the snake proceeded to attack, but it didn’t… you raised your head and you saw a pale hand holding into the snake “neck”. He threw it away. He didn’t say a word a walked away.

“wait… please wait! I should thank you properly.”

You get up by yourself and followed him but he placed his long curved stick in front of him, avoiding letting you come closer.

You started to pray and gift him fruits, meat and sometimes money even though your family had financial issues. You would place the gifts in front of his little statue you had in you house but he never took them. Until one night you had a nightmare, you cried in your sleep calling for help but when you opened you eyes you saw a tall figure standing beside your bed you screamed in fear but he suddenly rested his hand on top of your head, when you heard your mother calling your name checking if everything was okay he disappeared in his shadow.

After you had your nightmare he started checking on you while you slept, one time he thought you were dead when you were deep asleep exhausted from work, he lowered down with his ear near to your mouth. As you turned around he would jump a bit by surprise and he stepped back a bit looking a bit confused at your shivering body. He covered you with the blanket that had fallen on the ground staring a few seconds more shaking his head while disappearing.

One day you were taking a bath in the pond playing with fallen leafs. You toke a big breath and you dipped your head under the water, rinsing your hair from the natural products you had used to clean it. Once done you were about to step out Anubis was behind you sitting on a rock staring at you. You sat in the water covering you body and screaming embarrassed, he didn’t look away in fact he just leaned his head on the side like a confused poppy. You yelled at him even though he was there to protect you, a man on his 40s was watching you, he was hiding behind a tree but when the man met Anubis gaze under his mask he became pale as snow, runnig away and shaking in fear. You looked back at the God and he got up walking towards you with a veil of linen, you asked him where he got that from but the only thing he did was kneeling down to meet you eye even though his eyes were hidden by the mask, he leaned the veil to you waiting. Your cheeks almost as red as a ruby you took it and he walked away disappearing into the nature. It passed sometime since you last saw Anubis so you went to his temple but it was empty and dark, you walked inside even though you were scared. You walked to his statue looking behind you. Something grabbed your hand pushing you into the statue but you didn’t hit the hard worked sculpture… your back bumped into a warm strong chest as muscular arms hugged your waist from behind. You looked back it was Anubis making a sign to stay silent so you did. Light air cleaned your lungs as the wind blowed you hair, he stepped back you realized you weren’t in the temple but you were in Duat! He was staring at you waiting for the motivation of your visit.

“it- it’s been a while since I last saw y-“ he cutted you off ”Humans and Gods shouldn’t get along.” He said firmly.

It was the first time you heard his voice and you weren’t expecting something like that, you heart skipped a beat, your throat was tight and you eyes were shiny almost puffy. He pushed your shoulder and you fell into the darkness. You woke up in your bed the next day.

You were carrying a basket full of fruit thinking about Anubis that left you a few months ago lost in your thoughts you tripped. Roots start to grow around your ankle. “he’s gone soft for you?” you heard but no one was around. A hole opened under you as roots dragged you inside. You opened you eye you were hanging upside down. “You got yourself a human, son?” You heard falling down almost crushing on the ground Anubis catches you holding you thigh. His jaw clenched as he jumped and cutted root by root as they grown around you he pushed you into a black hole but you grabbed his hand, your back hit the ground he landed on top of you. He got on his arms, teeth showing in anger “I told you humans and go-“ he didn’t have time to finish that your hand hit his cheek. If it was someone else they wouldn’t had time to raise their hand but you were different, he felt pain this time, his heart hurt. “I was so scared!” You told him hitting your hysterical crying. He sat on his knees and pulled you by your arm, he pulled you into his bare chest gently gripping on your hair as you hit his shoulder. “It’s not fair! It’s not fair! You can show up whenever you want and leave for months! But why can’t I look out for you!” His eyes widened by your request.

He took off his mask showing his curly black hair, his face brushing on your left shoulder as he hold you in his chest. He backed away pulled your chin up you didn’t have time to realize that his warm, plump lips hit yours kissing you gently as he caressed you right cheek. Whenever you tried to speak or pull away he kissed you more holding you tight. He lies on top you caressing your body and face tracing sweet lines to your upper to lower body. His hand playing with your vest, as his hips slowly moved against yours. Sweet moans left you mouth as you tried to suppress them, he bit you neck and collarbone working with his finger on your intimacy. He pushes two fingers inside telling you he couldn’t hold it in for much longer. Your hip grinding on them after the pain became pleasure, he was gentle, he was holding back making you first as special as you deserve.

“mine, mine.” He mumbled against your skin.

His eyes looking into yours as he positioned himself between your legs he bumped his nose into yours as he pulled his tip in. Making you groan in pain, he kisses your chin to your ear as he pulled all in, your body arched blood boiling into your veins. He holds your left hand as he trusts working in your insides holding your right leg on his shoulder, you called his name as he speeded up. Hot moan hit your neck as he speed up, he grabs your hips as he knelt trusting deep inside of you. You reached your orgasm holding tight on his wrists, he throws his head back as you ate his member, his trust slowed down but he worked deep, you were about to cum again. He holds you kissing your puffy lips tasting you, feeling you as your tongues touched each others. He trusted one last time, your body trembled at his orgasm. He lies on top of you kissing your tears away, gently trusting. He laid on the side, out of breath, he pulled you into his arms placing his mask on your head.

“Mine”

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

HENLOO! It’s my first time writing here! English is not my first language so I apologize if there are some grammar mistakes!

[v6quewrlds]

❝ all that matters, j. burrow. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: joe burrow will always be a stubborn, ohio boy. even when his wife's brother is a 4-time nba champion for the cav's rival team.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: this was a cute request sent in by an anon. i had so much fun writing this one. might turn this into a cute little mini-series that i revisit every now and then, we'll see though.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: fluff, some language, joe wears cavs colors to a warriors home game.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: joe burrow x curry!reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 3k.

You leaned into the bathroom mirror, your hazel eyes scrutinizing the smudge of mascara you had just applied. It was a rare evening when you had the luxury to play around with your makeup products; the rigors of your soccer schedule usually had you rushing from the pitch to your London flat and back without much time to breathe. But tonight, you had promised Joe something special: a date night.

The youngest of the Curry siblings, you had grown up in the shadow of your older brother's fame, but now you were a star in your own right, a forward for Chelsea FC, making waves across the pond.

Your honey-blonde hair, the result of your most recent self-care Thursday, was pulled into a sleek ponytail, and you adjusted your custom Warriors letterman jacket with a smile. It was a nod to your brother and the Curry family's accomplishments, but more importantly, it was a declaration of where your allegiance lay tonight.

Joe emerged from the walk-in closet, grinning wide as his blue eyes crinkled, wearing a wine and gold vintage Cavs shirt underneath a black jacket. "Ready to rep the O-H-I-O?" he teased with a flex of his muscular arms.

You rolled your eyes, playfully swatting at him with a laugh. "You're insane for wearing that in the Chase Center, Joe. The Warriors' fans are going to eat you alive."

Joe shrugged, unbothered. "I'm not worried. Besides, it's just a game, right?" He winked, the singular dimple in his cheek deepening, and you couldn't help but smile back. Your fun rivalry was all part of your dynamic, a playful tug-of-war that had begun when you first started dating and had only intensified as your respective athletic careers had taken off.

"Steph's gonna kill you, babe." You laughed as Joe spun around, striking a pose in the middle of your luxurious hotel room.

Joe chuckled, pulling you closer. "Nah, he'll love it. Besides, I'm not scared of a little trash talk. I've faced down 300-pound linebackers, I can handle some rowdy Warriors fans." He kissed your forehead lightly, and you felt a flutter in your stomach. You had been married for a year now, but with the distance and your hectic schedules, moments like these felt like a first date all over again.

You stepped out of the hotel and into the brisk San Francisco night, the air buzzing with the electricity of game day. The lights of the Oracle arena shone like a beacon, a stark contrast to the darkness beyond. Fans were already streaming in, slightly tipsy, jerseys donned, and voices raised in chants. The air was thick with the smell of popcorn and pretzels, the sweet scent of victory and hope.

Your Uber pulled up, and Joe held the door open for you, flashing a grin. "Ladies first," he said with a dramatic bow, which earned him a coy eye roll in return. You climbed in, the leather seats cool against your skin, and headed towards the stadium.

"You know, if you keep that up, people might think you have a crush on me," you quipped, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you stuffed into the backseat of the sedan.

Joe leaned in, whispering, "But what if I do?" His breath tickled your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. You giggled, swatting him away, the warmth of his touch lingering.

As you approached the arena, the crowd grew denser, a sea of blue and yellow interspersed with a few brave souls in wine and gold. Joe pointed each group of Cavs fans out to you who simply rolled your eyes in return. You made your way to your courtside seats, the anticipation of the game mingling with the excitement of your date night. Ayesha and the kids sat upstairs in their family suite, recognizing that the excitement of the floor would be too much for little Caius. The arena was a cauldron of noise, fans stomping their feet, the echoes of their chants reverberating through the rafters.

Your heart swelled with pride as you caught sight of your brother, Steph, warming up on the court. His movements were fluid, a silent symphony of skill and athleticism. You knew Joe was watching him with a mix of admiration and competitive spirit. Despite being from different sports, they shared a deep respect for one another's talent.

As you settled into your seats, the Jumbotron blazed to life, displaying a montage of the players' faces. When Joe's filled the screen, the crowd booed playfully at the sight of his Cavaliers jersey, and Joe laughed amusedly, soaking in the attention. You elbowed him gently, whispering, "You're asking for it." He just grinned wider, his amusement more pronounced than ever.

Your face was displayed after his, and the stadium erupted in cheers, a wave of love that washed over you, making you feel both awe-struck and invincible. You smiled in acknowledgment, flashing a shy grin that could only be described as uniquely 'Curry'. The contrast between Joe's jeers and your cheers made you both laugh.

The game tipped off, and the atmosphere was electric. You were in your element, both of you were used to the roar of the crowd and the thrill of competition. The Warriors played with a finesse that was a testament to their unrivaled teamwork. Meanwhile, Joe remained unfazed by the glares of the die-hard fans around you, occasionally throwing a peace sign or a thumbs up, his charm doing wonders to lighten the tension.

You watched your brother closely, your heart racing every time he had the ball. Each shot he took was a masterclass in precision, and each pass was silent communication with his teammates that seemed almost telepathic. Despite the noise of the arena, you could hear the sweet symphony of sneakers squeaking against the gleaming hardwood, the swish of the net, and the thump of bodies colliding. It brought you back to your childhood, watching your father play in arenas just like this one, and then your brothers in their AAU leagues.

Joe's hand found yours, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your palm, grounding you in the present. He leaned in to whisper in your ear, "I know you're enjoying this, but don't forget we're still on a date."

You turned to look at him, your smile brightening slightly. "You're right," you conceded, tearing your eyes away from the mesmerizing dance of athletes on the court. You shared a kiss, quick and sweet, that seemed to echo in contrast to the pulse of the game around them.

The second half began, and the Warriors picked up the pace. Each basket scored brought the stadium to its feet, and the air was charged with excitement. The tension grew as the clock ticked down, the score neck and neck. Joe, despite his jovial exterior, couldn't hide the tension in his grip on your hand.

Your eyes remained glued to the game, your heart racing with every play. You felt a strange kinship with the players on the court, a shared understanding of the blood, sweat, and tears that went into every win and loss. Your mind drifted to your own training sessions, the countless hours spent perfecting your craft, and you couldn't help but feel a swell of pride for your brother's success.

The third quarter ended with a dramatic buzzer-beater, and the stadium went wild. The energy was intoxicating, a heady mix of adrenaline and anticipation. As the players took their seats, the kiss cam made its reappearance. Though the two of you had been lucky enough to evade the cameraman the first round, this time, it found you this time around. The crowd's cheers were mixed with good-natured jeers at Joe's persistent loyalty to his Ohio roots when he appeared on the Jumbotron again.

Joe leaned over, whispering, "I dare you," his eyes alight with challenge. Without missing a beat, you turned to him, your own eyes twinkling. The cameraman hovered above you, waiting. And just as the spotlight hit your faces, you leaned in for a kiss that was more passionate than any you had shared in public before. The crowd erupted into applause, and even the die-hard Warriors fans couldn't help but cheer for the star-studded couple.

Your kiss played out on the giant screen, and even Steph couldn't resist looking over from the bench, shaking his head in feigned disapproval. The sight of your brother's amusement only made your heart swell more. You were a family of champions, bound by love, competition, and a shared love for the sports that had defined your lives.

The final quarter was a battle royale, with each team fighting tooth and nail for every point. The tension in the arena was palpable, a living, breathing entity that seemed to pulse with every heartbeat. Joe was on the edge of his seat, his eyes never leaving the court, even as he held onto your hand tightly. You, too, were absorbed in the game, your nails biting into your palm as you willed the Warriors to victory.

As the last minutes ticked away, the score remained tight. The crowd was a blur of color and noise, a symphony of hope and nerves. Then, in a moment of pure magic, Steph took the ball, dribbled around two defenders, and launched a fadeaway three-pointer that swished through the net, giving the Warriors a lead that would ultimately seal the deal. The stadium exploded in a cacophony of cheers and high-fives, and you jumped to your feet, screaming with pure elation.

Joe leaned back, a look of mock defeat on his face. "Well, I guess the Currys wins again." He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his smile unwavering.

You couldn't help but laugh, pushing your husband's shoulder playfully. "You say that like it's a surprise," you teased, nudging him with your shoulder. "You married into a family that doesn't like losing. Get used to it."

The final buzzer rang out, echoing through the arena, and the Warriors emerged victorious. The sea of fans around you surged to their feet, a wave of euphoria crashing over them. The Jumbotron played highlights from the game, and Joe couldn't resist pointing out every time the camera caught him looking less than thrilled. "Look at this face," he said with a chuckle, "It's like I'm at a funeral."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't wipe the smug smile from your face. "You're just salty," you said, leaning into his side. "It's okay, you have to lose sometimes. It builds character."

Joe squeezed your hand, his competitive spirit not quite letting him admit defeat. "Yeah, yeah," he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "I'll just have to beat you at something later to make up for it."

The stadium lights dimmed, and the players made their way to the locker rooms. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and victory, the cheers slowly morphing into a low murmur as fans made their way out. The arena staff began to clean up, and the reality of the night's end set in.

You and Joe waited patiently for the crowd to thin out before being escorted down the tunnel alongside a few other Warriors' family members. As you approached the waiting area, you spotted your sister-in-law Ayesha settling baby Caius in her arms. Your nieces Rylie and Ryan were engaged in a hand game with your nephew Canon, mysteriously all fully awake in anticipation of seeing their father and auntie.

"Is that the Currys?" You called out, your voice a mix of excitement and fatigue. You haven't had much time to spend with the kids since your move to London so any chance to see them was a blessing. Ayesha's face lit up as she saw the two of you approaching.

"Hey, Joe," she said with a knowing smile, eyeing his outfit. "You're a brave man."

Joe grinned back, his confidence unshaken as he leaned over to embrace her warmly. "I'm an Ohio boy, Ayesha. I wear my colors proudly."

You stepped forward, kissing Ayesha's cheek then Caius'. "How did the little ones survive the game?"

"They're all about the snacks, not the score," Ayesha said, her own eyes sparkling with mirth. She handed Caius to his aunt, and the baby's tiny hands reached for your letterman jacket. The sight of your brother's name and number on the back of his onesie made you chuckle.

"He looks just like Steph, square head and everything," you said, bouncing the baby in your arms. Caius gurgled happily, oblivious to the sports allegiances swirling around him. The three other children's laughter filled the otherwise empty tunnel, a reminder of the joy that these games brought to your lives, beyond the wins and losses.

"What's going on, champ?" Joe offered a fist bump to Canon as he knelt down to the kids' level, Rylie and Ryan flanking his sides with hugs of their own. Canon's eyes widened with excitement as he attempted to recount every thrilling play of the game in dramatic fashion, his enthusiasm bubbling over like a pot of boiling water.

You couldn't help but feel a tug at your heartstrings. Despite the chaos of your lives, these moments with your family grounded you. You looked over at your brother, who was signing autographs and taking selfies with fans. His eyes met yours, and you knew he felt the love too.

"You guys have fun?" Stephen asked, making his way over to the group of you with a bounce in his step. His oldest three children took off in his direction, their laughter bouncing off the walls of the tunnel like the echoes of the game.

"Always fun to watch you kick butt," Joe said, giving him a hug that was half squeeze, half pat on the back.

Steph grinned, his teeth gleaming against his tanned skin. "Thanks, man. Always a pleasure to send your sorry-ass fan club home where they belong." He clapped Joe on the back, the teasing glint in his eye never fading.

You hugged your brother tightly, feeling the warmth of his post-shower skin against your cheek. "Great game, Wardell," you murmured into his ear, the sound of his government name falling off your lips drawing a scowl from the basketball player.

"Don't start with that," he spoke back, his voice a mix of affection and annoyance. He took another moment to greet his wife and infant son before turning his attention back to Joe. "No seriously, how you gonna wear that in my house?" He nodded towards Joe's shirt, feigning disgust.

Joe just laughed, shaking his head. "I gotta represent, even if it's in enemy territory."

Steph rolled his eyes but couldn't hide his amusement. "As long as you keep that one in line," he nodded towards you who simply kissed your teeth, "I'll forgive you."

"I'll do my best," Joe replied, looping an arm around your waist. "She's quite the handful most days. But luckily for her, she's got good taste in quarterbacks," he added, planting a kiss on your cheek.

The adults shared a laugh, your bonds unbreakable despite your playful arguing. The night was still young, and the promise of more teasing and laughter lay ahead. The tension of the game had been a welcome distraction from your daily routines, but now, as you stepped into the cool San Francisco Bay breeze, the reality of your careers crashed back in.

You knew your time was limited; tomorrow, you'd be back in the grind, preparing for your upcoming training camp with the US Women's National Team. But for now, you cherished every second with Joe and your family, the joy of the victory still buzzing in your veins.

As you made your way out of the arena, the cool night air greeting you like a refreshing splash of water, you whispered into Joe's ear, "Thank you for flying out with me. It means a lot."

Joe looked down at you, his blue eyes warm with affection. "Anything for my favorite girl."

"You got more than one girl, Burrow?" You teased with a squint of your eyes, a smirk playing on your lips.

"Just you and the football, baby." He whispered back. You strolled down the crowded streets, the distant echo of the game still reverberating in your ears, mixing with the chatter of the fans leaving the arena.

"Unless you have something you wanna tell me?" He continued with his low whisper, his thumb brushing across your stomach as he held your waist delicately. The conspiratorial tone hinted at his most persistent wish in the last few months, one that had become a running joke between the two of you.

You playfully elbowed him. "Don't start with me, Joe. You haven't upgraded yourself to baby daddy yet." But the smile on your face gave away your secret longing. The thought of a baby had been a topic of gentle teasing and hopeful glances for a while now. It was a future you both craved, but one that had to wait until your schedules allowed.

You continued to walk in comfortable silence, the cacophony of the city blending into the background. The night was alive with the glow of streetlights reflecting off the pavement, the distant honks of cars, and the occasional cheer from a passing fan. As you approached your Uber, Joe paused, looking around at the bustling streets of San Francisco.

"You know, I could get used to this," he mused, his eyes taking in the scenery. "Maybe we should get a place out here."

You looked up at him, your smile growing. "You'd leave the Bengals for me?"

"Woah, I didn't say all that," Joe chuckled, shaking his head. "But maybe a second home wouldn't be the worst idea." His eyes searched yours, hopeful and playful all at once.

You felt the weight of his words, the hint of a future where your paths didn't have to be so separate. "We'll see," you said, your voice softer than you intended. The thought of having Joe all to yourself away from the bustle of his Cincinnati fame was tempting, but you knew your careers weren't going anywhere, not soon enough for the two of you to seriously consider a second home anyway.

You slid into the Uber, the cool leather a stark contrast to the warmth of Joe's hand in yours. You leaned your head against his shoulder, watching the city lights blur by, feeling the gentle rhythm of his breath against your hair.

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ I could never choose to love another (maybe one day I can learn to love you too). ❞

Gojo Satoru x male!reader | angst, unrequited love, arranged marriage | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 3.7K

warnings: minor mentions of homophobia, emasculation (r! is forced to wear traditionally female garbs due to "tradition"), angst.

masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's

"You were born bluer than a butterfly, beautiful and so deprived of oxygen. Colder than your father's eyes — he never learned to sympathize with anyone."

"You were born reaching for your mother's hands. Victim of your father's plans to rule the world. Too afraid to step outside, paranoid and petrified of what you've heard."

authors note: (whisper chanting) wedding, wedding, wedding *song on repeat: BLUE by Billie Eilish

Black was the colour of elegance, formality, and misfortune.

It’s resolute. Existing in carefully filtered hues of shadows. The colour swallows up everything. A sharp contrast to everything it’s put besides. Your eyes are naturally drawn to it. Then, like everything in nature, the colour black has its equal.

White was a symbol of good fortune, and innocence.

Just as powerful in the way it both lifts other around it and yet becomes the most striking. A balance in their nature.

They’re unifying colours. Opposites but equal. A dichotomy that humans have found themselves philosophizing over. Yin and Yang, they were two fishes circling each other in the pond; they belonged together just as much as they seemed totally opposite of each other.

You suppose that’s why you’re wearing white for your wedding and Satoru, black. A binding of hands, families, fortune and misfortune.

A tradition of celebrating a union of equals.

A lifelong partnership.

It feels more like a sham to you.

This ceremony was unneeded and unnecessary. You’re sure a simple contract would’ve been more than enough. But, as great clans of sorcerers, traditions were not to be taken lightly and you were marrying into the Gojo Clan of Japan. This elevates you and your family’s social standing — finally being able to suckle at the teats of High Society and their riches without having to strain your necks and stick your tongue like a runt.

You will be Gojo (Y/N), husband to the most powerful sorcerer in your lifetime and you will be grateful and content. You will be taken care of. Never worry about anything because you will be just as untouchable as your other half.

Despite these “truths,” your heart feels so heavy you’re sure it has dropped to your stomach.

Like a frenzy of snakes, your intestines have wrapped themselves around your frantically beating heart; coiling and squeezing because this feeling has not left you the second Lady Gojo had come to discuss what alterations you needed to make for your wedding garbs.

Your breath hitches as your servants carefully tighten the obi around your waist. Your arms are outstretched as the servants busy themselves with tending to you. Those dolls you’ve seen your cousins play dress-up and make-believe with, you’re beginning to pity them. The hands are invasive as they worry about the way the fabric is falling and if there are any wrinkles in sight; your hair was kept neat and out of your face for the hard wig they were putting on, they do this after they painted your face with powders and colours.

The bags under your eyes concealed delicately and your lips pampered so there'd be no imperfections in sight.

All the while, they say nothing about the grimaces of discomfort on your face. Simply nodding in approval once satisfied. They tell you they’ll place another layer of cloth on you and you tell yourself that you’ve been through much worse.

But the second that weight settles, you can smell the incense they burned at your mother's funeral. It’s strange how one's brain can make these correlations. Bridging a memory completely unrelated to now and ruining it.

The smoke glides across your face and up your nose. The burn of them makes your eyes water. That smell — no amount of flowers could ever get rid of that burning smell.

“Young Master, do you need anything?” their voice surprises you enough for tears to fall. The servants gasp quietly, suddenly concerned at the state of you.

As if you’re a doll that had just come to life in the middle of play. This servant has the most unusual hair, inky black but in a way that’s obviously fake as it shines unnaturally blue under the sunlight. You wonder what their real hair colour is, so your watery eyes look at their eyebrows.

Stained, no giveaway to the truth.

Their voice was deep but also gave nothing away. A truly androgynous individual, with the most peculiar haircut. Blinking away the tears, you shake your head and turn away.

“No, I’m alright. Just overwhelmed, and excited,” you chuckle. “It’s my wedding day after all.”

They weren't convinced. Those coral coloured eyes seemed to ripple; as if a stone had been thrown into a calm lake. The servant turns and coldly announces for everyone to leave the room. Your older servants, your mothers, squared their shoulders.

"The young master should not be left alone on his wedding day," she begins. Her voice giving you a minute sense of comfort. She was a kind woman. Loyal to a fault. She cared for you the best she could, offering you her shoulder to weep on when she told you of your mothers sickness.

"You forget your place among us, young one."

The peculiar servant regards her with a placid expression. Yet, when she moves to approach you, they extend their hand out to the side to stop her.

You look between the two of them as they openly glared at each other. They lean in to her ears, hair slipping forward like a curtain, and they whisper. Whatever it is that they murmured makes her skin turn pale. She whips her head, gasping as she stares at them in horror.

Then, you were alone.

"What was that?" your voice was heavy with trepidation. The servant assures you with a polite smile. "My job is to ensure you are alright, Young Master. The room was beginning to get stuffy. Please, allow me to dress you myself."

Themselves?

It took three people in order to create the padding around your body. Essentially mummifying you in white so your shape was not distorted. Then another two servants assisted in your wrapping, securing the padding to your body and tying everything into place.

Like a proper bride.

It was emasculating. But the elders were already unamused by the binding of two men in matrimony — they demanded the wedding remained traditional. You found it hard to care, wanting to get this over and done with already.

The servant tilts your head up, gently pressing a cotton pad to your tear line and offering another smile. They smooth out what they can of your robe, getting behind you and quietly taking off the clips around the rim of your collar. It helps you breathe, if only a little, and your shoulders droop.

You suppose there isn't much else to be added onto your ensemble. But you appreciate the care they're putting in refining the hair accessories on your wig, using the flat sides of a rat tail comb to ensure the lace front was pressed neatly.

"...It feels like a helmet," you confess dryly. "It looks like one, doesn't it?" You gesture to your head.

"A pretty one," their reply makes you chuckle.

"They dress me up like this in order to humiliate me and my clan."

Your fingers curl into fists. They tilt their heads, regarding your fists with a glance then moving to your right to check the state of the lace.

"Do you feel humiliated?"

You twist your head, your expression now warped with simmering anger.

"I'm a man." You seethe.

"A beautiful one." They remind you. Not flinching at the subtle warmth your palms are emanating. "Why should you feel humiliated when you look as beautiful as the rising dawn? Don't do that."

They lean in and your breath hitches. You're so close you can tell they've combed through their lashes with mascara, feel the hardened brush of them on your cheek as they whisper in your ear.

"Don't give those rotting old bastards sorcerers the satisfaction of looking at the top of your head."

When they pull away, you feel like you can breathe again.

"I will be placing the wataboshi for you, Young Master."

You nod, the ache in your shoulders disappearing.

Wearing white is to symbolize your bride's willingness to be dyed in the grooms colours. Satoru thinks that's a bit of a dramatic description. It sounds more ominous than it does romantic.

He grunts as his servants tie the endless seams and cords. Folding it, smoothing it out — Satoru feels more like fresh dough being kneaded than he does a groom. The servants hasten their pace. He feels worn out. A vein on the side of his head pulsing as he reminds himself to unclench his jaw.

He can see himself in the reflection of the tri-fold mirror before him. He looks proper. Dressed in a black haori, with the striking white emblem of his clan on either fold.

Willingness to be dyed in his colours?

He sighs, furrowing his brows to keep his eyes hidden away. A servant asks if he needs anything, he waves their concerns away and tells them to continue.

"Are you sure if this is what you wish to do, Satoru?" his mother's voice echoes in his mind.

"I won't allow him to be humiliated further because of my actions. I have to be responsible. I have to marry him."

"You have to marry him?" she arches a brow his way, lifting the cup of tea to her lips as she watches him.

"You're mistaken, Satoru. The only one with power in deciding if this marriage is not the (L/N) Clan. It's us. It's you."

(Y/N)'s decisions do not matter. You accepted his dowry. Refused any other, is what she's telling him. The Gojo Clan's status is leagues above yours. If you refuse to marry him, Satoru can't imagine the ridicule you'll face. Your father — and his new bride — would cast you out.

It sickens him how weak you are. Your social standing is already so fickle, your clan just beginning to shake the fleas of the lower ringed trash from its fur. You deserve better than this.

You deserved choices.

He had never seen someone more devoted to sorcerer politics than you. You were a good son, a dutiful son.

Yet, your fate is in his hands. If he rejects your hand, you'll be humiliated. If he continues this path, he fears for your happiness. You'll be forever tainted by Satoru regardless of the choices he makes.

Forever dyed in his colours.

He flutters his eyes open, straightening his shoulders as the weight of the kimono reminds him of your red-rimmed eyes. The day of your mother's funeral, your hands healing him and washing him away from grime and filth while Suguru's marks were still so dark and blooming.

What a good husband you'd be.

He can't allow you to be shunned by your family, by sorcerer society.

He has to save you. He has to honour you. He has to.

Because he loves you. He has to.

He has to.

For you.

He'd do this for you.

Satoru looked handsome. You can barely seen him from underneath the hood, keeping your gaze ahead at the back of a shrine servant's head as he leads both you and your soon-to-be-husband towards the shrine.

It rained a little earlier, the sky was no longer gloomy so it provided the scenery with a shimmering quality. The leaves of the old ginkos tree decorating the grounds with its golden and orange leaves; every sway of its branches speckling light onto the puddles of rainwater which makes it shine like a gem.

The servant with the peculiar hair, they held a red umbrella over both you and Satoru's hair as your procession continues.

"You look beautiful," Satoru says. You eyes widen. In all the hubbub, the chaos after your mother's funeral, your father's marriage, preparing for your own, missions slipped between here and there. You'd forgotten this side of Satoru.

This unabashed mouth of his. With that sharp curl and those perfect teeth and blushed lips. His voice sounds so light despite the heavy cloud that'd been lingering over your heads.

The Star Plasma Incident, Geto Suguru's betrayal, your marriage.

Your refuse to let your eyes water. If Satoru can be this strong, then you will be just as strong as he is.

"I'm sure you do to," he turns his head. Not that you can see it. Hence, the joke. Satoru smiles your way and you're glad this hood protects you from more than just wind, dust, and dirt. Because the sight of his smile would make your palms clammy and your heart flutter.

It gives you too much hope. It is your wedding day. Most would say hoping wouldn't be too egregious. You'll be performing your marriage before the shrine gods after all, praying to them for happiness and wealth in your future with your husband.

Satoru reaches for you, slipping his black sleeves through the divot of your elbow and steadying you as you climb the steps. From behind you, your step-mother awws at the display.

You're sure Lady Gojo is curling her nose at her voice behind her handheld fan. This fills you with a little vicious delight.

The gods should hate you for this, but you swallow down that guilt as Satoru hitches you closer.

You enter the Pavilion, admiring the architecture and care of the shrine masters and maidens. You feel hope building in your chest. Despite your best efforts, it begins to lift its head. This shrine has seen so many marriages. Such as the marriage of Satoru's own parents, and his parent's parents.

Despite being arranged, despite being loveless in the beginning, they seemed happy.

Your wedding robes descend on your shoulders again and the scent of incense wafts up your nose.

Your mother's final breath echoes in your ears.

You feel your throat close up.

The priest is announcing to the gods of your marriage with Satoru and all you can feel is nausea. He stands next to you and your head is held high, the elders and higher ups watch from the sides and you hope they can't see the way your mouth presses into a thin line.

Satoru is wearing black. He wore black to the funeral too and your mother, white. Your brain does that thing again — making correlations out of thin air.

You are not not a walking corpse. Satoru was not a man grieving. You are both getting married. You are supposed to celebrate. This is not a funeral. This is not an unfortunate event.

The shrine maiden before you offers Satoru a sakazuki dish filled with sake.

This ritual feels mocking. Satoru doesn't even enjoy drinking. His taste buds were akin to a child's. He prefers sweets, sometimes you marvel at how he hasn't gotten a cavity. So you wonder how his face is like when he takes his sips — despite the eyes on you, you turn to see.

He does not grimace. Not even a twitch in his brows. He takes one sip, the second, then finishes the sake.

His mother had told you that the first sip is to show appreciation to the heavens above and for their ancestors. The shrine maidens hands you a cup and you carefully hold it in your hands.

Fuck your ancestors. What have they ever given you?

Still, you bring the rim of the dish to your lips and take two sips, tipping the cup for the final one.

The second set of cups are supposed to symbolize you. The couple. It's a vow for you to care for each other for as long as you live.

Satoru's lips press over the edge, he drinks and drinks and drinks. He does not grimace, he does not falter. He closes his eyes, breathing out slowly as he hands the maiden his cup.

You watch. Entranced. Hoping to see a frown, a sign that he does not want this.

You take your cup and drink.

The third is meant for fertility. Both you and Satoru drink, ignoring the curl of the elders lips or the disdain in the others.

Fuck them, the both of you thought together.

You're offered a wooden comb and carefully wrap it in cloth before holding it between your palms, holding your pressed thumbs to your chest as you pray.

It is Satoru's turn to watch. He can see your lashes across your cheeks, the colour painted on your lips glimmering like the rain droplets on those golden leaves.

You were breathtaking.

When you stepped out of the car, he knew the old fucks were expecting a good laugh. Seeing you dressed in bridal garbs, with a veil, makeup and effeminate — they did not laugh. They drank you in, eyes widening at your beauty. It fueled Satoru with pride.

You're turning, Satoru blinks for a moment but turns to face you as well. You hold it between your palms and he cups his hands over yours. His large hands covering yours as he accepts the comb in front of the attendees.

This is a symbol of his determination, of his willingness, to make this marriage work.

He connects his gaze with yours and your lips finally part to allow you to breathe. He nods and your finger twitches for a moment but you give him the comb.

He then turns to offer it to the gods.

The sun is beginning to shine, clouds blowing away as you continue the next part; the reading of the vows to the gods.

He unravels the scroll, offering you the other end and you press your shoulders together as you both held it.

He reads;

"On this great day, before the Great Gods, we are wed. We are eternally grateful for this blessed ceremony. From today, we vow to love each other, to trust one another, to be there for each other for the good times and the bad; we promise that this will stay unchanged throughout our lifetime."

He reads out today's date. He reads out his title as your husband, then his name, and you swallow your nausea as you read out your title as his husband, then your name. You help him fold the paper back, hoping he didn't see how your hands tremble.

The shrine maidens come to your sides with a sprig of leaves. You both take it, hold the stem to between your fingers and the leaves to your head. Lady Gojo had told you this sprig would carry your thoughts and prayers through the end to the gods.

You hope they do not hear your cynical thoughts, your fears, your anxieties; you hope they can only feel the little bits of hope for happiness you're desperately wishing for.

Finally, finally, comes the exchanging of wedding bands.

Satoru's eyes softened as you slip his on. It's beautiful, intricate up close and simple from afar. The gem in the centre twinkling shyly under his gaze. You can't help but smile as he holds your hand in his, preciously slipping on your ring.

The silver glinting under the sun, as did the gem embedded in it. It was your favourite colour. He remembered.

The shrine maidens disperse, pouring sake into the cups of the guests and the both of you tenderly hold each others hands as you finally face them.

Gojo's parents watch on proudly, your father looked smug, his wife weepy as she blinks up at the heavens.

"Congratulations!"

They cheer, downing the sake, in celebration for your union and to Satoru's ascension as head of his clan.

You've done it, son. You imagine that's what your fathers expression is trying to convey. A well done nod sent your way.

You slip your fingers loose from Satoru.

"I know you're watching," Satoru grumbles as he slips his sunglasses on. The wedding was still ongoing, families dining together, and he excused himself for some fresh air while you changed into a more comfortable kimono.

"I felt it from the goddamn entrance of the shrine."

"He looked gorgeous," Suguru speaks from behind the body of a tree, twisting a gold leaf in between his fingers. "He's always been handsome, did those old fucks think putting him in white would be funny?"

Satoru does not answer. He simply stares at Suguru and yet, his wedding ring burns. He brings his gaze to it, flexing his fingers in an attempt to get rid of the phantom sensation.

"You here to give a wedding gift?" Satoru asks. Suguru turns and smiles. He had put his hair in a half-up-half-down hairdo. It suited him. A lot.

"Your hairs' gotten longer," Satoru's cheek twitch as the ring warms again. Suguru just offers a laugh, reaching into his robe and pulling out an envelope. He offers it to Satoru, who stares down at it.

"You actually gave us a wedding gift?" Satoru scoffs. Not yet reaching for it.

"It'd be rude of me not to."

"...Keep it."

Satoru tells a servant to speak from behind the sliding doors, effectively making them squeak in alarm as she stutters out that you're ready to step back into the fray.

"I'll be there shortly."

"Mah, Satoru — "

"Don't." He snaps out, glaring at Suguru.

"Don't." He says, softly now.

Suguru's eyes widen, his hurt evident as he gazes up at him.

"I'm sure your new church will need the money more than we do."

They say nothing to each other. Satoru turns to head back inside. Suguru's hands fall.

He hopes the Gods do not see this. He hopes the Gods can't hear how fast his heart is beating and how it breaks as he slides the doors close.

Satoru walks in just as you do. This kimono is less heavy, you move with a lightness in your step and no longer in stark white but instead in a gorgeous blue. The fabric dyed a darker colour at the ends to balance out the bright hues — the colour of your skin harmonizing the colours together just like your hair.

You looked at him, brows pinching at the sight of his sunglasses.

"Are you in pain?"

He should ask you that, shouldn't he?

After all you've been through, he should ask if you were hurt.

He shakes his head, smiling as he takes them off.

You're stronger then that. Pitying you, babying you, reopening the wounds you have — there was no need for that. You were his husband now, he will bare your burdens together. As he vowed to do in front of the gods.

He slips his arm through yours.

"Never. Not with you by my side, beloved."

You roll your eyes at him, ignoring how hot your cheeks feel at his lame attempt.

Maybe...maybe this could work, you tell yourself. Today went by so smoothly, it must be a sign.

Maybe you can be happy.

[queen-rainy-love]

Pastry: Stay back!

Shadow Milk: Now, now Dove. No need to get snappy. Your future husband broke our deal and I want to just talk to him, grandpa to grandson.

Pastry: You don't fool me! You plan to harm me and the children! Velvet told me everything!

Shadow Milk: *suddenly gets calm* Ah. So he did. Should have known that his little dove was going to find out. *shrugs* Oh well. *starts to float over to Pastry* I need to keep my end of the deal.

Pastry: *alert* Stay back!

*Shadow Milk reaches toward Pastry, a cruel smile forming. Pastry flinched and fell back a bit. Before either one of them could react, a shield formed around her. It shocked Shadow Milk pushing him back.*

Shadow Milk: What the-?!

Pastry: (Lady Sugar Swan Cookie's feather must have been activated!)

Shadow Milk: *eye twitches* That energy...that dumb big bird! I should have known she was going to step in! Aarrgggh!

Pastry: (I need to get to Pond Dino and Strawberry Shortcake before-)

Pond Dino: Ma?

Strawberry Shortcake: *whimpers* W-what's going on?

*Both Cookies looked over to see both Pond Dino and Strawberry Shortcake standing near the stairs. Before Pastry could call out to them, Shadow Milk lunged toward them. However, another shield formed around them, shocking him.*

Shadow Milk: AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGHHHH! I'm getting real tired of this game!

Pastry: Children! (Velvet, where are you?)

*Meanwhile, Red Velvet is dealing with three sister criminals who is hunting him down.*

Red Velvet: (Something feels off. I need to head home!)

[maplleaf]

《 Spark 》

[Boothill (HSR) x GN! Reader]

Boothill is a leaked char, but no story spoilers. Just his general vibes from the leaked pics I saw.

Very short too lol, I'm trying to get my motivation back for the dr ratio fic

"Ouch, can't ya' be a bit gentle, Spark?"

Your brows furrowed at the remark and nickname. The sound of mechanical parts malfunctioning is heard clearly, all due to the work of your hands.

"For the last time, I'm not a fucking mechanic. You just keep on insisting I fix you up," you scoffed, but still trying your best to somehow fix his arm. "And what does Spark even mean?! I told you I don't know any of your slang."

Boothill laughed, "why don't you ask your family fellas?"

The half cyborg could see the shudder that went down your spine as you attempted to fix his robotic arm. "They'd kill me. Even touching you would make me lose my upcoming projects."

"Ya' wound me, Spark..." Boothill remarked, feigning a wound on his heart, despite him placing his hand on his right chest.

The sentiment made your roll your eyes, going back to the task at hand.

Both of you remained in a blissful silence after, your whole focus on Boothill's arm, not even realizing the pair of grey eyes staring at you under the shadow of his hat.

A small chuckle escaped his lips, 'a sight better than any dreams,' he thought. Shamelessly staring at you, leaning back against the chair and enjoying his view.

Your focused face brought him glee. The way your lips pout as another error came up in your attempt to fix his arm, the brief moment where he could see stars in your eyes, only to be shrouded in dissapointment once more as another failure struck.

He relished in your... everything. The way you agreed to help him despite knowing barely anything about his robotic parts made his heart melt, knowing that you just want to help him.

Just looking at you made him giddy inside, the thought that you're touching his arm can motivate him to fight the entire Bloodhound Family on his own.

He didn't care if he got roughed up in the fight, any losses he might've gotten in any fight is a win if it means he'll be seeing this.

Before he knew it, you noticed his gaze fixed on you. "Your sharp-ass teeth isn't making the staring comforting..."

Hearing that made the latter laugh again, taking off his hat and using it to cover his mouth, but his vision still locked onto you. "This' better, Darlin'?"

The sudden nickname made you stop in your track, Boothill's frustrating smirk hidden behind the hat. With a scoff, you grabbed his hat, throwing it right at his face before standing up from the chair.

"Fix this arm by yourself. I'm heading back to the Golden Hour," you spat out, dropping the tools on the table, walking over to the glowing blue 'pond' that became the entrance to the dreamscape.

"What? A nickname ruffled ya' up?" Boothill teased, seeing you lay down and close your eyes. His words were met with a middle finger coming from you, right before you drifted off to the dreamscape. The furrowed and irritated face turned into a peaceful slumber.

Seeing you asleep, Boothill sighed, wearing the hat back on his head. Mechanical sounds could be heard from his arm, and a few moments later; he stretched the robotic arm, as if nothing was wrong in the first place.

He walked over to you, making sure you were truly sleep.

The cold mettalic hand went to your face, moving away the strands of hair on your face.

He smiled, his sharp teeth showing faintly beneath the smile. "Good dreams, Spark," he murmured softly.

"... one day I'll tell you what it means."

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

Spark – A lover, a beau.

[kabuki-writes]

And All Eyes Were Set On Brutus

chapter: 3 chapter 1 | 2 | 4

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: After their visit of the Colosseum, Marcus Acacius worries even more about his beloved daughter. Meanwhile a dangerous rumor finds its way into the Emperor's ears.

warning(s): NSFW | mention of violence | mention of alcohol | swearing | sexual implications | semi-edited | english is not my first language, faults may occur | please let me know if i missed anything

Note: Thank you all for your ongoing support and your comments on my previous chapters✨🙇‍♀️! I really enjoy to write this fic as a Geta and Cara stan myself and it honors me that you continue to share your love for these two and this fic. I really hope you like this chapter as well, because this time it gets a little more... spicy.🌶️

word count: 3.6k

Rome was becoming nothing more than a painful cage for General Acacius. From the very first day he had to wear the white armor of victory, he felt like a slave with no other choices than to watch how everything he had known changed for the worse. He despised himself for not being able to protect his own daughter from the eyes of the Emperors, that were now set on her. He should've never taken her with him, he should've sticked with his principles. But then again, what choice did he even have, when he faced an order by the most powerful men in the world.

There was no chance to defy them openly, speaking up now would bring danger to his whole family as they would have to face the consequences of Marcus Acacius' actions. He wasn't so delusional and naive to think that the anger of the Emperors would only befall him alone, no, they weren't like that. So when the day came and a senator stepped forward to the General, he hesitated. Geta and Caracalla were beloved by the people as they gave them victories, bread and games - as long as the plebs had that, no one gave a damn about who sat on top. For them it was all the same, but the senate was different.

After the death of Emperor Commodus, the senate reestablished the Roman Republic, but wasn't able to secure their power. Many cities and regions took their chance to rebel against Rome as most of the generals refused to serve the new order - that included Marcus Acacius as well, who quickly sided with his old friend and brother-in-arms Septimius Severus, the father of the now ruling Emperors Geta and Caracalla. They took their legions and marched on Rome, where Severus took the power from the senate again only one year after the rebirth of the Republic. Acacius did believe in Severus, he did believe in the vision his friend had for Rome as well as his strength and wisdom as Emperor. Nearly two decades he was not disappointed while he served his old friend as a close advisor and his first general.

The senate got reduced to nothing more than a theater stage, with no real power or influence. And Acacius was sure that they would forever hate him for the service he did to Severus. Yet men like Gracchus must've sensed that the general was getting more and more delusional given the current reign of the twins. So the politicians approached him carefully and together they formed an alliance in the shadows. Their plan: Overthrowing the two Emperors and install the Republic again. Acacius stood never on the side of the senate... but nothing was as terrible as Geta's and Caracalla's tyranny. And if that is a way to protect his daughter and his family from them, he happily claimed himself a Roman Republican now.

Coming from one of his nightly visits at senator Gracchus' home, Acacius noticed that there was someone still sitting in the inner garden of his Roman city residence. He took off his cloak and approached you slowly as you watched the turtles in the small pond between the plants and flowers, while the water of a small fountain rippled in the silence. "Your mother told me, that you were sitting here the whole day", he said with a low tone, careful not to scare you with his sudden appearence, before he took a seat right next to you on the stone bench. When he watched your face, he saw all the thoughts that were probably going through your head after the situation in the Collosseum yesterday. For a long moment, the two of you simply sat in silence, while one of the turtles walked along a mosaic before it fell into the water.

"I am not a child anymore, i don't want you or mother to protect me any longer", you suddenly whispered, before your head turned to your father. In your eyes he saw how you struggled to maintain your neutrality as you faced the danger that may come over you, if you'd accept this new attention further. "And yet i don't know how to deal with... them? I suppose i cannot refuse any of this?" Your question carried a sense of pain, because you already knew the answer and it was equally as hard for your father to shake his head in response.

"I thought so...", you mumbled and leaned forward give one of the turtles a leaf of salad you had snached from the dinner table earlier. Acacius had seen many battles and many terrible things, but nothing was harder than to see you like this. And nothing was harder than to feel helpless. All he could do was laying his hand softly and reassuring on your shoulder.

„You’re my daughter, y/n. And you’re right, even if I want it to, I can not protect you anymore… all I can promise you, that it is going to be alright."

He searched for a way to fix all of this, even though he couldn't tell you how. It was better this way as it would only drag you deeper into the dead end that your own father had already set up. The mere thought about it made his heart grow even more painful.

"Do you regret it sometimes?", you suddenly asked, looking at the vibrant clear water of the pond. "What do you mean?"

"That you marched with Emperor Severus back then?"

This question wasn't easy to answer, it was written on Acacius face, as he turned his face to the turtles and sighed.

"I did believe in Severus... i still do. Under him, Rome was able to secure itself and become strong again. What comes after that now - only time will tell. But what i know is that i have to leave in a few weeks with my troups again. An order of the Emperors."

It wasn't a particular surprising news, but nonetheless your fingers digged themselves into the fabric of your toga-like blue dress, while you still hept your head high. Despair was no useful emotion and not a good thought right now. You needed to stay calm, stick to yourself and find a way on how to deal with all of the things that were happening. As you'd said you were no child anymore - you will find a way out if this, even without your father.

You didn't say a word in response, however you closed your arms around him as the fear that with him being gone it could get even worse, lingered on your mind. Little did you know that the world you had known was already on the brink of falling apart.

_____________________________________________

The smell of incence, wine, sweet perfume and sweat filled the rooms of Emperor Caracalla's chambers, while naked bodies moved themselves to the rythm of a small group of musicians. The melodies of their instruments mixed themselves with the moans of the men and women in ecstacy, the worshippers of Bacchus - god of wine, euphoria and madness. Drinking and making love was the way they prayed nearly every night as Caracalla found in it a way to escape the reality that almost drove him crazy. Here in his chambers, the only Emperor that mattered was him, the only word that was heard was his own. At least one small realm for himself, while he had to share the rest of the world with his twin brother.

But it was different this time, when he stared at the scenery with a mind clouded in intoxication. His breaths went ragged, while he sat on a bed decorated with velvet cushions, a young man kneeled between his legs and sent him to elysium with his tongue, while he was surrounded by beautiful slaves, women with golden chains, that decorated their naked breasts and hips. And yet even in a scenery like this, where he usually found a way to calm his restless mind, he was still thinking about her. Not only her, sadly - that goddamn General was another thought. The hero of Rome was no pleasant figure for him anymore, he was nothing more than a Brutus, but Caracalla was not the one to end up like Julius Caesar.

The mere thought of killing this treacherous son of a whore hit Caracalla's brain and made him cum into the mouth of the slave that had his dick deep in his throat. This peak of his pleasure would've helped him to relax if not one of the praetorian guards stepped in and walked with his black and lilac amror through the voyeristic scenery like it was a halluzination in front of the Emperor's eyes. Without a second thought, Caracalla simply pushed the young slave, who was still sitting at his feet, to the side and stood up. His hand quickly grabbed the white toga that layed on the floor which he threw over his own naked, pale body. "Why do you disturb me!?", he hissed, as if he wasn't already expecting him.

The soldier ignored the music, the slaves that layed on the ground and fucked each other, just as he ignored the half-naked Emperor right in front of him, who still wore his golden laurel crown and his jewelries. "Emperor Geta waits for you."

For a moment, the young man with the gingerblonde hair stared at his guard, before he nodded quickly, as if it got him out of a daydream. "Yes, yes i will come to him, i am right there, tell him that. And get that slave Marcellus here," he answered, hand waving him away before his tone shifted and he screamed at his 'guests'. "Get out, GET OUT OF MY SIGHT! NOW!" The music stopped immediately and all eyes were set on Caracalla, while the first slaves already got to their feet again. „NOW,“ he repeated in a louder and added in a hissing tone „…or I will claim your tongue with a dagger!“

Caracalla was impossible to read fully, just as he was impulsive. It would’ve not been the first time one participant of this nightly debaucheries had lost his tongue or another part of his body.

_____________________________________________

Emperor Geta waited in his embroidered night robe, which was half open, exposing his bare and pale chest. Sitting on a cushioned wooden chair, he stared with tired eyes out the window of the balcony, the darkness of Rome in front of him. Just as his brother he had someone in his chambers, but instead of a whole horde of slaves he had chosen one good whore with hairs that reminded him of you. It was just a dull replacement, he knew that, yet it was enough for a good fuck before he would’ve went to sleep.

If there was not his twin brother, who‘d call for him in the middle of the goddamn night. By the gods he hated to be disturbed like that, especially after countless of times his brother got him here only to share uninteresting - sometimes even paranoid - gossip with him, which Caracalla had heard from the mouth of one of his slaves.

When the curtains of the attached room opened and Geta saw his brother entering with his wild hair and only with a toga over his bare body, his nose twitched in anger. „Don‘t tell me you disturbed my sleep and called for my immediate coming while you were fucking whores at your damn orgy!? When you’re telling me that your problem is, that you can’t sleep now, I will cross you myself!“ Yes, it wasn’t the first time Caracalla had called him for such nonesense. And usually Geta had a lot of patience with him, given his psychological condition, but not tonight.

Caracalla stopped in an instant and looked at his brother with big eyes as if he tries to convince him that he wasn’t guilty of anything. „Yes, but- I had a reason for that!“ he insisted, which only fueled Geta's anger. „Lucinius, bring us the slave!“ Caracalla quickly said and the Praetorian guard who just had informed him about his brother came in with a skinny, yet tall young man. He was a slave but given the clothes he wore, it was clear that he had a higher rank within the household he was serving in.

„Who is that, one of your toy boys?“ Geta asked, eying the stranger he‘d never seen before. But Caracalla shook his head and stepped forth to place his hand on the shoulder of that slave.

„No! He is a slave from the household of senator Gracchus,“ he explained and couldn’t hide an almost devilish smile as this said slave was here for one reason alone - to tell them everything. „Marcellus, tell him,“ he ordered and whispered into his ear. „I promised you your freedom and a good amount of gold, to return to your family. You want to see your daughter again, right? So don’t disappoint me now.“ With those words he stepped back for a moment, giving the slave a moment to breath as he seemingly tried to find the right words. He was nervous, the way his fingers twitched and his eyes were glued to the marble ground under his feet.

"I... i am a servant in the household of senator Gracchus for nearly a decade now", Marcellus began and forced himself to look up into the testing eyes of Geta, who was growing more impatient with each second passing. "The General... General Acacius as well as a couple of other senators visit my master regularly in the middle of the night and they always retreat into a secret room in the cellar of his villa."

With an amused whistle Geta interrupted him. "Why should we care for the sexual escapades of a group of old men?", he hissed, but Caracalla threw in with a darkened shimmer in his eyes. "Wait for it, you will be furious, trust me! Continue."

Marcellus needed a second to calm himself down and stop to shake as he formed his next words. "When i brought them wine once, they stopped with their conversation as long as i stayed in the room, but when i was in the corridor, they spoke again. They didn't know that i was still there, so i just listened and- it was clear that they questioned you, my Emperors. They questioned your leadership and the general - i wouldn't dare to speak out loud such a blasphemy against your rule, if it was not what i've heard with my own ears."

Geta's face darkened with every new information Marcellus was telling him and slowly he realized why his brother was so eager to get him here. The laugh of his twin filled the room, which turned hysterical. "Tell him, Marcellus!"

"General Acacius and the senators Gracchus, Livinidus, Galba and Erebus plan to overthrow you with the legions that are under Acacius' command," he said and had to force every word out of his mouth, afraid of the anger that cooked like a vulcano in Geta. His hands formed fists and he bit his tongue. All this time, Acacius - the hero - was a traitor, a Brutus. And now he connected the dots, thinking about every time this General wined about going off to war. This maggot.

"And this is true!?", he asked in a loud, demanding tone. "If that is a lie, we will punish you in the most terrible ways you could imagine and feed you to the lions in the Colosseum!" Marcellus eyes were filled with tears of fear, yet he shook his head heavily.

"No, please! I speak the truth, i swear it! I swear it in front of Jupiter himself, please, you must believe me! I came to Emperor Caracalla, who promised me my freedom if i tell it here again. It is no lie!"

"Kill him", Geta ordered in a cold tone and before Marcellus could even scream, it was the blade of the Praetorial Guard that cut his head off from behind, making it fall to the ground like a ball of bones and meat, followed by his body. Under the resounding laugh of Caracalla, Geta ordered the Guard to leave them so that he could speak to his brother in private.

"You just read my mind, dear brother! I wouldn't have let him go either", Caracalla sang. "We should kill them all, that bastard Acacius and his old senate sluts! Let's cut off their heads and spike them on the Palatin for all to see!"

But Geta was already two steps ahead when he closed the distance between him and his twin. Yes, he was furious, it took him all restraints to not give in the urge of ordering their murder. "No," he said, which drew a questioning look on his brothers face.

"What no?! Those are traitors, TRAITORS! You've heard the same things i did!?"

"I did, but the senators are no danger. These old men talk about the republic which is nothing more than dust and ashes! A faded dream and without any backing, they just continue to shit themselves in the senate. When our father took Rome, the people cheered to him, because they didn't want a Republic but a strong Emperor to guide them, remember? The head of the snake is Acacius! He must die, and he will die, but not yet!", Geta started and turned to the balcony, leaving his brother for a moment as he stood in the darkness with his his white toga. "We need his legion, and we will make him our fucking dog, who has no chance to ever decline any order of us, if we have his beloved daughter. If he doesn't do as we say, then she will die."

But he will, Geta knew that. Nothing seemed to be more precious in Acacius' life than his family and especially his dear daughter. And this whole situation had a bonus for Geta, because when he turned to face Caracalla again, he announced. "I will force him with an order to marry his daughter to me!"

Caracalla froze in place, his eyes staring at his brother as if he just had a bad dream. "What?", he simply asked again, while his brother's anger turned into anticipation. "With a marriage we bind her to our reign and therefore we will bind the General. Acacius delivers us his own daughter and his own head on a silver tablet with his treacherous nonsense!"

Geta wanted to place his hands on his twin's shoulders, but Caracalla slapped them out of his way. "I don't accept this! NO! I DON'T ACCEPT THIS!", he screamed at him, which really irritated his twin. "Why can't I be the One to marry her!?"

There it was. For the first time, the twins revealed in front of each other that they longed for the same girl. And that made it complicated. Nonetheless Geta was still confused, why his brother reacted like that, so he reminded him of what Caracalla said all those years.

"You never wanted to marry? How many times did you told our father before he died? Every time he said to us, that we would need to find ourselves someone to take as a wife, you refused. You were too busy indulging in your late night activities and Bacchus rituals."

He stepped forward with an intense glaze in his eyes. This way of being instructive, while Caracalla was still his twin and technically even older than him, made his brother's mouth twitch in response to his next words. "May i remind you about the fact that i am the one of us dealing with most of the political responsibilities, because you always wanted to stick to your fun."

Those words were indeed true, as Caracalla hated those senate discussions, which lead to nothing and were only for show - an illusion for both the plebs and the upper-classes. Geta continued, but not without making clear that he saw himself worthier of you being his wife, bound in front of the gods. "All of that is fine, brother. I've always protected you from the boring senators and hypocrites of the Roman elite, while you collected the most beautiful slaves and enjoyed yourself. You have no duties, as long as i take them off your shoulders and finally shut up all the people, finally demanding a royal marriage after all those years. And given all of that, i do think i deserve to marry before you to present Rome an Empress."

Caracalla stared at him, straight into the eyes of his twin Geta and his fingers twitched. If he would just have a dagger now? But he had none right here and given the fact that his brother was always taller and stronger with his statue, it wouldn't make sense to start a fight. In fact he couldn't even argue against him, as it was true, he was never an Emperor that bothered himself with any political nonesense. Yet he couldn't shake off the urge to kill Geta for this. Again, he took a thing from him he wanted to own for himself - only for himself. Even though his twin showed his goodwill, as he always did. His hands layed itself on Caracalla's cheeks and he gave him a brotherly kiss on the forehead. "Don't worry, dear brother. I am not above sharing her divine presence with you. But she will always be my wife," he whispered, followed by a smile on his lips.

With those words he simply turned and left the room, leaving Caracalla, who was still wearing his white toga over his naked body, as well as the body of Marcellus alone in the dark. His mind got corrupted with so many thoughts in this very moment, but the most prominentely thought was anger. So he screamed hysterically and grabbed the table that stood at the side to throw it down, taking the vase on top and hurled it straight through the room, followed by the head of that damn slave. He hated Geta. He hated him so much and still they had shared the whomb of their mother, which made them share the same blood.

How long would he be able to hold the urge to murder his own brother - especially now as Geta claimed you?

_____________________________________________

Tags:

quuinyoung koshkahhh mmkkzz analves pandora-journey ange-olras tellynojelly targwh0re h3k3t onelemonoat whitenoise808 spooky-cupid dev1lbella onelemonoat hawraa-alzubaidi omg-hellgirl the-holy-pigeon

[buckets-and-trees]

Chosen, Part 1: Arrival

Characters/Pairings: eventual Bucky x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Word Count: 3.4k Summary: After surviving three rounds of interviews, you have been invited for a full-day to tour and interview at the estate and headquarters that belong to the Winged Heritage Foundation.

SERIES Content Warnings: SOFT!DARK STORY, cult themes, explicit smut, dubious consent and enthusiastic consent, veiled truths, gaslighting

CHAPTER Content Warnings: none

Notes: I started writing this story with the intention for it to be a long one-shot, but after it shot past 18k, I realized I would need to break it up into installments, so ... expect sort of a slow burn for the plot? Installments will be posted on Mondays and Thursdays.

Shout outs to @stargazingfangirl18, @witchywithwhiskey, @biteofcherry, and @vonalyn for helping me get my ideas sorted out for this trip!

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You scroll through the note in your phone with questions to ask during a final interview as the car pulls off the interstate and starts down a country highway lined with trees.

At least you hope this is the final interview.

You had applied for a basic administrative assistant position with the Winged Heritage Foundation, but after your first interview you had been called by a recruitment officer and asked if you would consider a different position with the organization, one that hadn’t been posted publicly.

You still don’t know what the position is you’re being considered for, but after two more interviews, you had been notified that you were a finalist and invited to a full-day interview and tour of the Foundation’s headquarters – an estate outside of the city. They had even arranged for a professional car service to pick you up and take you there. The offices in the city, where your previous three interviews had taken place, evidently handles most of the business operations for the Foundation, and the estate is where the more focused work takes place.

You are naturally a bit nervous for a fourth - and full day - interview, but you feel you like your nerves are at a healthy level - present but not paralyzing, a small buzz that will keep you focused.

The car slows as it approaches a break in the trees, and your driver signals to turn. As you round the corner, your breath catches in your throat. A wrought-iron gate stretches across a wide driveway, its intricate scrollwork spelling out "Winged Heritage" in elegant script. The gate swings open silently as your car approaches, as if by magic.

The driveway stretches before you, a winding ribbon of pale gravel cutting through a verdant landscape that takes your breath away. Ancient oaks and maples line the drive, their branches reaching across to form a dappled canopy overhead. Bright morning sunlight filters through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground.

As you travel deeper into the estate, meticulously manicured gardens unfold on either side. Vibrant flower beds burst with color - deep purple irises, sunny yellow daffodils, and blood-red roses. The gardens give way to rolling lawns of emerald green, dotted with sculpted topiaries in fantastical shapes.

As the car rounds another bend, a shimmering pond comes into view. Its surface is like polished glass, reflecting the azure sky and fluffy white clouds above. A family of swans glide gracefully across the water, their long necks arched in elegant curves. At the far end of the pond, a delicate bridge of white marble spans the narrowest point, its railings gilded with gold.

The driveway begins to climb a gentle slope, and as you crest the hill, your jaw drops at the sight before you. A magnificent mansion rises from the landscape, its pale stone walls glowing warmly in the morning sunlight. The architecture is a stunning blend of classical elegance, with graceful arches and intricate stonework that seems to ripple and dance as you approach.

The central facade is a masterpiece of symmetry, with wide steps leading up to a grand entrance flanked by towering columns. Ivy climbs the walls in artful patterns, as if guided by an invisible hand to accentuate the building's most beautiful features.

The car follows the curve of the driveway as it sweeps up to the grand entrance before coming to a stop. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself for what lies ahead. The driver opens your door, and you step out onto the gravel, the crunch beneath your feet grounding you in the moment.

A figure emerges from the ornate double doors at the top of the steps, and your heart skips a beat as you recognize her instantly. Natasha Romanoff, the Chief Recruitment Officer, descends the stairs with astonishing grace. Her vibrant red hair catches the sunlight, creating a halo effect that seems almost otherworldly. She's dressed in a sleek black pantsuit that exudes both professionalism and an air of mystery. As your eyes meet hers, you're struck by the intensity of her gaze - piercing green eyes that seem to look right through you.

As she draws closer, you notice a subtle smile playing at the corners of her mouth, a mix of confidence and what you suspect to be mischief. Over the course of your brief interactions up to this point, she had been nothing but professional, but you could feel some alluring pull or energy that seemed to run deep beneath the surface of her controlled demeanor. She had been present in your second interview, conducted the third with one of her associates, and had been the one to schedule you for this.

"Welcome," Natasha says, her voice smooth as silk. "We're so pleased you could join us today." She extends her hand, and you shake it, noting the firmness of her grip.

"Thank you for having me," you reply, proud that your voice doesn't betray your nerves. "The estate is absolutely breathtaking."

Natasha's smile widens slightly. "It is, isn't it? We find that beauty inspires greatness. But come, let's not linger in the driveway. We have a full day and much to show you."

She gestures towards the entrance, and you fall into step beside her as you ascend the stone steps. The massive doors swing open silently, revealing a grand foyer that takes your breath away. The ceiling soars overhead, at least three stories, adorned with an intricate fresco depicting a beautiful sky, birds in flight, and towering trees, bringing the beauty of the grounds into this entry.

Natasha guides you through a doorway off to the side of the foyer, leading you into a small sitting room. The space is elegantly decorated with plush couches, rich mahogany furniture, and intricate paintings on the walls.

"Please, have a seat," Natasha gestures towards one of the couches as she takes a seat in an armchair across from you. You sink into the soft cushions, trying to take in everything at once - the opulence of the room, Natasha's presence, and her piercing gaze.

"First things first,” Natasha says, a professional smile on her face, “the nature of what goes on here is very sensitive and so I'll need you to sign this NDA before we continue." She hands you a stack of paperwork and a pen.

You quickly skim through the document before signing it, feeling slightly uneasy about signing something so quickly without fully understanding what the day ahead of you will entail. But your curiosity outweighs your hesitation and when Natasha takes back the signed document, she slides it into a briefcase by her side.

"Now that's out of the way," she says smoothly, "let me tell you more about our foundation."

She proceeds to give you an overview of the Winged Heritage Foundation – an overview of its history, mission, and values. It's all very intriguing and impressive - but although what she shares is engaging, outside of supporting initiatives identified as important to its founder and possibly something to do preservation of history or historical places and artifacts, you still feel you don’t have any clearer of an idea of what the Foundation’s actual purpose is. But since you have an entire day here, you don’t press the point now, assuming some part of the day will be dedicated to diving deeper into the work they do.

"But enough about us," Natasha says with another enigmatic smile. "Let's talk about what brought you here today."

She pulls out your resume from her briefcase and goes over your experience and qualifications with sharp attention to detail. She asks probing questions that make you feel like she's reading between the lines of your professional achievements.

"Impressive," she comments once she's finished going over your resume. "Your professional and personal character references also speak very highly of you."

Your brow furrows slightly. “Sorry,” you interject, “I don’t remember giving personal references?”

“No, you did not. But we do a lot of work on our end to vet candidates at this point for positions like this. Surely you understand.”

You nod slowly and train your face back into a smile. At least whatever homework they seem to have done on you came back with a positive result.

She leans forward slightly, and you can feel the intensity of her gaze. "We need someone who's truly suited for the responsibilities, but personnel fit is also incredibly important to us.”

“Of course,” you respond. “And what responsibilities exactly would you be looking for me to fulfill?”

Natasha presses her lips together and seems to scrutinize your face more closely. “You’re being considered for two opportunities. Until later in the day when I’ve made a determination on which I’ll recommend you for, I won’t be disclosing that information to you.”

“Oh,” you’re a little surprised at her directness, but you suppose her reason for withholding the information is logical.

“As the Chief Recruitment Officer, I’m very good at what I do, so I’ll know your future with us by the end of the day.”

Natasha rises from her chair with fluid grace. "Shall we begin the tour?" she asks, extending her hand to help you up. You take it, noting the surprising strength in her grip. “I'm eager to show you the wonders of our estate."

She seems to hold your hand longer than necessary, or maybe it’s just your nerves, maybe you looked unsteady standing up and she was only ensuring you were okay.

As you follow her out of the sitting room, you're once again struck by the grandeur of the foyer. Natasha notices your gaze lingering on the fresco above. "That was commissioned by our founder," she explains. "It's said to depict the view from the highest peak of a mountain range that no longer exists."

She leads you down a long corridor, its walls lined with portraits of distinguished-looking individuals. "Our benefactors and notable members throughout the years," Natasha explains. "Each one has contributed significantly to our mission."

The corridor opens into a vast library that takes your breath away. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stretch as far as the eye can see, filled with leather-bound tomes. The air is heavy with the scent of old books and polished wood. Sunlight streams through tall windows, casting a warm glow over the room. The library is a bibliophile's dream, with rolling ladders affixed to the shelves, gorgeous wooden tables for spreading out books for research, and cozy reading nooks tucked into alcoves.

As you walk between the towering shelves, you notice that some of the books look ancient, their spines cracked and faded with age, some even appear to be bound in unfamiliar materials. Others appear to be in pristine condition, despite clearly being very old.

"Our collection is quite extensive," Natasha says, running her fingers along the spines of nearby books. "We have texts dating back centuries, some of which are the only surviving copies in the world."

"How do you preserve them so well?" you ask, unable to hide your fascination.

Natasha's lips curl into a mysterious smile. "We have our ways. Mostly it’s all down to our librarian Jarvis.”

She leads you through a set of double wooden doors at the other side of the library. Once you exit, Natasha leads you through a series of grand hallways, each more breathtaking than the last. The walls are adorned with tapestries and paintings that seem to come alive as you pass, their subjects' eyes following your movement. You could swear you see a figure in one portrait shift slightly, but when you look back, it's perfectly still.

"This wing houses our main offices and research facilities," Natasha explains as you walk. "We have state-of-the-art equipment for analyzing artifacts and documents, as well as a world-class conservation lab."

You pass by rooms filled with people working diligently at computers, their screens displaying what look like ancient texts and complex diagrams. In one room, you glimpse a team carefully examining what appears to be an old manuscript under specialized lighting.

As you continue down the hallway, you notice a door that seems different from the others. It's made of dark, heavy wood and adorned with intricate carvings. Unlike the other doors which are open or have glass panels, this one is firmly shut.

Natasha catches you looking at it. "That area is off-limits, I'm afraid. Some of our more... sensitive projects require absolute secrecy."

You nod but can't help feeling a prickle of curiosity. What could be behind that door that requires such concealment?

Natasha guides you to an elevator at the end of the hall. As you step inside, you notice there are more floors than you would have expected from the outside view of the mansion.

"We have quite extensive facilities underground," Natasha explains as she presses a button for one of the lower levels. "It allows us to maintain the historical integrity of the mansion's exterior while having all the modern amenities we need for our work."

The elevator descends smoothly, and when the doors open, you find yourself in a sleek, modern space that contrasts sharply with the ornate decor above. The walls are a pristine white, and the floors are polished concrete. The lighting is bright but not harsh, giving the space a clean, almost clinical feel.

Natasha leads you down a corridor lined with glass-walled rooms. In one, you see people in lab coats hunched over microscopes. In another, a group is gathered around a large touch screen, manipulating 3D models of what look like ancient artifacts.

"This is our primary research facility," Natasha says, leading you down a wide corridor. "We have some of the most advanced technology in the world at our disposal here."

As you walk, you pass by rooms with glass walls, allowing you to see inside. In one, you spot what looks like a holographic projection of a complex molecule rotating in mid-air. In another, a team of scientists in white lab coats huddle around a table, examining something you can't quite make out.

You pause for a moment, trying to take it all in. The contrast between the classical architecture upstairs and this futuristic facility is striking. "This is incredible," you say, unable to keep the awe from your voice. "I had no idea the Foundation had such advanced capabilities."

Natasha's lips curl into a satisfied smile. "We pride ourselves on being at the cutting edge of research and technology. It's essential for some of our work. We’re also one of the few science labs in the world that still is granted an affiliation with the nation of Wakanda."

As you continue down the corridor, you notice a few doors that aren't made of glass like the others. These are solid metal, with keycard readers and what look like biometric scanners next to them.

"What's behind those doors?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

Natasha's expression doesn't change, but you sense a slight shift in her demeanor. "Those are our most sensitive research areas. Access is strictly limited to senior researchers and leadership."

As if orchestrated for this precise moment, the doors slide open, and two men emerge, engaged in a heated discussion. Or, rather, one of them is heated, and the other is shooting back casual, sarcastic comments.

Natasha clears her throat, “Gentlemen.”

They both stop.

“We have company,” she says, gesturing to you.

The two men turn to face you, and your jaw nearly drops as you instantly recognize them. Standing before you are none other than Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, two of the most famous figures in the world and certainly at the Foundation.

Tony Stark, looking every bit the billionaire genius he's known to be, is dressed in an impeccably tailored suit that probably costs more than your current yearly salary. His goatee is perfectly trimmed, and his hair is styled with just the right amount of casual messiness. There's a faint blue glow visible beneath his shirt - the arc reactor that's become his trademark.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Tony says, his eyes sparkling with curiosity and mischief. He steps forward, extending his hand. "Tony Stark. But you probably knew that already."

As you shake his hand, you can't help but feel a bit starstruck. Tony Stark's grip is brief but firm and confident, his smile charming yet slightly calculating as he sizes you up.

"And this strapping specimen of American values is Steve Rogers," Tony adds, gesturing to the man beside him.

Steve, standing tall and broad-shouldered, offers you a warm smile that seems to light up the room. He's dressed more casually than Tony in khakis and a fitted blue shirt that barely contains his muscular frame. His handshake is strong but gentle, and his blue eyes radiate sincerity.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Steve says, his voice deep and reassuring. "I hope you're enjoying your tour of our facilities."

You manage to find your voice, introducing yourself. “The tour has been nothing but fascinating and impressive so far,” you affirm.

Tony's eyes gleam with interest. "Oh, you’re the one they’ve been wooing, eh? I was sent no less than five reminders this morning that I was to be on my best behavior,” he discloses with a wink.

Natasha rolls her eyes, and you have the suspicion Steve only barely restrains himself from doing so.

"Anyway, welcome to the Foundation," Tony says.

"Stark is supposed to be one of our most valuable researchers," Natasha explains.

"Eh, that’s why you send Steve down to get me back in line when I’m pursuing tangential projects."

This time Steve does roll his eyes.

You can't help but chuckle at the banter between Tony and Steve. Their dynamic is exactly as you'd imagined from what you've seen in the media - Tony's quick wit and sarcasm playing off Steve's more serious demeanor.

"So, what do you think of our little operation so far?" Tony asks, gesturing broadly at the surrounding facility. "Pretty impressive, right?"

Before you can answer, Natasha interjects smoothly. "I'm sure our guest is finding everything quite fascinating, but we should continue the tour. I'm sure you both have important work to get back to."

Tony raises an eyebrow at Natasha, a silent exchange seeming to pass between them. "Right, right. Important work. Can't keep the world waiting, can we?" He turns back to you with a grin. "It was a pleasure meeting you. I’m sure we’ll be seeing you around."

“You’ll at the very least be seeing me,” Steve says. “I believe I’m scheduled to join you for lunch.”

“And I’m not invited?” Tony protests, but he sports an unrepentant grin rather than any genuine offense.

Steve puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder to steer him away, “You’re not the Executive Director of the Foundation, so, no.”

Tony shrugs out of his grip, “And remind me why that is?”

“‘All administrative, no science,’ as you aptly put it so many times when you remind me why you don’t want to listen to what I say.”

“Right,” Tony replies, but does fall into step with Steve heading down the corridor.

As they leave, you can't help but feel a mix of excitement and bewilderment. Meeting two such prominent figures so casually during your interview process only adds to the surreal nature of this experience.

Natasha gently touches your elbow and guides you away from the metal doors and continues down the corridor. "My apologies for that interruption," she says, though her tone suggests she's not entirely displeased. "Mr. Stark has a tendency to... make an impression."

You nod, still processing the encounter. "It's no problem at all. I'm just surprised to see them here. I knew they were involved with the Foundation, but I didn't realize they were so hands-on."

Natasha's lips curl into a knowing smile. "The Winged Heritage Foundation values the direct involvement of all its key members. You'll find that everyone here, regardless of their public status or their position in our organization, contributes actively to our mission.”

She leads you through more state-of-the-art laboratories and research facilities, each more impressive than the last, before returning to the elevator to bring you surface-level again.

As the elevator ascends, you find your mind racing with questions. The encounter with Stark and Rogers, the glimpses of cutting-edge technology, and the air of mystery surrounding certain areas of the facility have only heightened your curiosity about the true nature of the Winged Heritage Foundation is, showing you so much, but not truly illuminating any answers.  

NEXT PART: LUNCH

Welcome to the Winged Heritage Foundation, lovelies. This is only the beginning... Where will this day take you? And what is going on here?

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[starogeorgina]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐧

Warnings: Smut, swearing, mentions of blood, incest

Pairing: Cregan Stark × reader, Aemond Targaryen × reader

1.04

“Many in my line have been dragon riders; very few among us have been dreamers like Aegon the Conqueror.”

The sound of snow being crushed under Lord Stark’s boots is much heavier; he has remained mainly silently as you walked towards the godswoods. Your grandsire had told men from the north they were not ones for long conversation, but then again, Otto Hightower has been wrong about many things.

“He saw them, the threat in the north, in his dream.”

Lord Stark slows his steps, “How do you know this to be true?”

“Aegon's conquest was not an act of pure ambition. The conquerors goal was to unite all the kingdoms so they might survive the long night. How much faith do you have in prophecy’s my lord?”

“Since the days of the First Men, we have stood as guardians against the cold and the dark. I know what danger lies beyond the wall.”

The closer Vermithor got to Castle Black, the more could the emptiness, that vast darkness surrounding it. The wind screamed in your ears, telling you to go back, to flee, but you could not retreat. Not when you needed to see the darkness. A cold sweat trickles down your back, and you suddenly feel overwhelmed, you away on your feet.

Lord Stark grabs your arm with his gloved hands to keep you steady. “Princess, are you okay? Should you return indoors?”

“I’m fine, my lord; I’m just—not used to the cold.”

He looks unconvinced, but let’s go of your arm. His first name was lingering on the tip of your tongue, but as there were others around, although at a distance, you thought it best to remain formal.

“They are inhuman, elegant, dangerous, and beautiful. The white shadow’s blood is pale blue; they are tall and gaunt. Their eyes burning like ice. Flesh pale as fresh milk.”

You stand on the edge of the pond across from the Weirwood and feel a coldness creeping on the back of your neck, but it disappears when you feel the warmth of Cregan’s breath. “Is the white shadow what they are known as in the south?”

“No, only myself and my sisters know of the threat.” Both you and Helaena had learnt of the prophecy through visions, and your father had told Rhaenyra. “The threat will go by many names: the others, white walkers, white shadows. Some will even refer to them as the cold gods.”

“You have fire in your words, princess, but a prophecy alone cannot be the only reason you came to Winterfell. And it wasn’t to sway which side the North would fight for.”

“There has never lived a Stark that broke their oath; it would have been foolish of me to even ask,” you smile. “The dragons are the last magic of Old Valyria, and they are scared. I believe the looming war between my family will be the last of them; the magic will die out, and then death from beyond the wall will spread and consume all of Westeros.”

“You believe the Targaryens will fight along with the night's watch when the time comes.”

“There is no doubt the north produces the fiercest fighters, my Lord, but a man cannot kill the dead alone. The white shadow fears what can destroy it.”

He swallows thickly, “fire.”

“My father owned a Valyrian steel blade with the words, ‘My blood come the Prince that was promised, and his will be the song of ice and fire.’ The dagger now belongs to my brother, but it should have gone to Rhaenyra. The prince that was promised will come from her line.”

You remove your gloves and place your palm firmly against the bark of the Weirwood tree, feeling the cold against your skin. Closing your eyes, you hear Helaena’s voice in the distance, but it’s not you she's speaking directly to.

“There is warmth beneath all that ice.”

“Ah!”

Opening your eyes, you look down and notice blood falling onto the snow; something had sliced through his thick leather gloves and cut his hand. “What happened?” You apply pressure to the cut with your own hand. “Shall I get a maester?”

Before he can answer, the sound of wings flapping alerts you to a dragon flying nearby. Vermithor and Silverwing fly lower than not casting a shadow over where you stand. Cregan takes a step closer to you and tilts his head down; he kisses you tenderly on the lips.

Seconds pass by, and he’s standing in front of you again, the cut on his hand staining the snow below crimson.

Was the kiss real or a figment of your imagination?

“No, maester. It’s only a small cut.”

You had only known the Lord of Winterfell a few days, but seeing the way his face twists in discomfort makes you want to help. You clear your throat, “then let me clean the cut for you.”

—

The room was silent as you dabbed at the raised skin around the cut on Cregan’s palm with lukewarm water. The wound has stopped bleeding, but you wanted to make sure it was clean. What would your grandsire or mother say learning a princess was attending to Lord Stark in such a way? No doubt the dowager queen would pull a face of disgust, and your grandsire Otto would put a political spin on it. Try to paint you as the image of the mother.

“I thought the cut would have been bigger,” you say quietly.

“Aye, it is small but deep.” He holds up the fang that he picked up in front of the Weirwood tree. “The wolf this came from is larger than my son’s but not yet fully grown. Even as a pup, a wolf's fangs can rip the flesh from a man’s throat.”

“The day will come when they say a Stark will ride into battle on the back of a giant direwolf.”

You look up from the bowl with water and into his eyes, “Thank you. You have a much gentler touch than the maester. I assumed most princesses would swoon at the sight of blood.”

“My brothers used to fight when we were younger, and I would tend to their wounds before our mother would see.” You chuckle, “In his youth, my eldest brother would stub his toe, but would have you believe his entire foot was about to fall off.”

“Not long after Rickon learnt to walk, he went through a phase of screaming seven hells whenever he fell or bumped his head against something, but I soon realized he did it because any lady who saw would rush to coddle him as they do their own children.”

Your heart bleeds for Rickon; no young boy or girl should grow up without a caring mother. You had seen firsthand how Aegon and Aemond turned out spoiled and entitled, with your mother's bitterness rooted deep within them, as did you. Until having a child of your own changed you for the better. “I’ve seen Maitland fall and skin his knees while playing in the gardens of our home countless times; mostly he’ll get up without a fuss, but whenever his father is there, he cries and screams. He only stops when Aemond picks him."

The thought saddens you. Aemond would pick your son up and immediately place him in your arms, because to him it was a woman’s job to deal with whatever woes a child may have.

“Growing up, I was taught that a mother's love was the fiercest of all.”

Your heart flutters. You didn’t like the way Cregan was unintentionally making you feel so... safe. You drop the cloth into the water, which is now tinted red, and go stand by the fireplace.

“Is something wrong, princess?”

Pressing a hand on the wall above the fireplace, you stare down at the flames and shake your head. It was wrong; a man you barely knew should not make you feel more at ease than your own husband.

The chair he was sitting in makes a scraping noise as Cregan stands. “Have I offended you, princess?”

“No, forgive me. I’m just—in my own head.” You turn your head to look at him and are surprised to see the look of concern on his face. “As you said before, a prophecy isn’t the only reason I came here. I wanted to know what it was like to be free.”

“Free?”

“My mother told me women cannot rule, only guide the men that do, which led me to believe I was to make a window in the wall of my own prison. I’ve spent my life so far in the service to men, my father, grandsire, husband, and now Aegon.”

“What is it you desire?”

“To take my son and go somewhere where the name Targaryen means nothing, where the people aren’t scared of our dragons.”

The Lord now stands only a foot in front of you, “princess.”

“Hm?”

“Northerns aren’t scared of dragons.”

No more words needed to be said. Cregan takes a step forward and touches your chin with his rough fingers and gently tilts your face upwards so his lips are mere inches from yours.

You opened your mouth to say something, but no noise came out. Cregan presses his lips against yours. It was a gentle kiss.

Resting his forehead against yours, he asks, “Should I stop?”

“No,” you whisper. “Kiss me again.”

He kisses you again, but this time it’s full of urgency. Was it dishonorable? Yes, but the feeling of his mouth on yours was amazing. Addicting. When Cregan’s lips move to the side of your neck, the need to touch more of him becomes too much, and your fingers fumble as you untie the thick fur covering his shoulders and back.

He kissed below your ear, then quietly said, “You are a rare beauty.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch Cregan kneel in front of you. Putting his hands under your skirts, his palms glide up your thighs until they reach the top of your tights, and he pulls them down. You remain frozen in place, feeling his breath warm against your core; his stubble rubs against your skin as he plants gentle kisses above your womb.

“Wha—oh, gods.”

You barely manage to cover your mouth in time to muffle the moan that escapes it as Cregan uses his tongue on you in a way Aemond never has.

“Oh,” you use one hand to keep your skirts up and the other pressed against the wall. If it wasn’t for Cregan’s strong grip on your thighs, you would have lost your balance. “Gods, gods!”

Your eyes roll back, feeling the flat of his tongue against your clit. It doesn’t take long for you to reach your peak. Your legs shaking around his head as you scream Cregan’s name. You drop your skirts when he stands again; your eyes linger on his lips, fascinated by the way your arousal is smeared across them.

He’s so close, your breaths mingle in the air. “Princess,” he brushes his nose against yours. “My dragon princess—”

You grab hold of the waistband of his breeches and start pushing him backwards until his legs hit the chair facing the fireplace. Cregan smirks when you pull his breeches down low enough for his cock to spring free, then push him backwards. Lifting your skirts, you straddle his thighs and sink down onto his cock.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.”

You set a slow pace at first, rocking your hips until you get used to the stinging sensation of him stretching you out.

Cregan brings one hand up to cup your breast, “You are so perfect, so beautiful.”

You begin rocking your hips faster the more praise falls from his mouth. Tangling your fingers into his hair, you lean forward and press your lips against his.

You'll pray for forgiveness in the morrow, but for now you wanted nothing more than Cregan.